#These mistakes make immunity weak

[forgotten-daydreamer]

doctors and nurses should be forced to work in retail before being allowed anywhere near patients

[popponn]

night's up.

summary: unsurprisingly, you spends night with him too. (aka late nights, staying up & waking up, with him.)

note: long train rides give wonders. i should travel more often. it really makes me whine i want to cuddle nagi and isagi. it's that bad. but all in all, i hope u enjoy this brainless hcs. warning: none, fluff, late nights, reader's gender unspecified.

characters: nagi, barou, isagi, reo

nagi is the type of guy to wake up when you go to the toilet at night, then crouches in front of the toilet door until you come out. he is dozing off there, of course, and will try to ask you to carry him back as if he is not a solid 190 cm made of muscle. also, lock the doors, he will whine at you to go back to bed and will peek. upper half of his face, batting his eyelashes as if he is a cutie. which he is and if it is your weakness better build some immunity because nagi will use it. at least, the natural vanilla-scented cuddle he gives is worth it.

barou is the type of guy to humor your snack craving at 2 am. yes, he will walk with you to the convenience store—handhold and chit-chat included—even if he grumbles slightly about it; especially about health. and as you eat trust hum to dab handkerchief like a nosy babysitter around your mouth at the slightest hint of stray food. this is an off-season only thing though—if he is busy with practice or matches you better have those snacks stocked because why the hell would he let you go out alone. go to sleep.

isagi is the type of guy who will try to stay up late with you when you do. or at the very least, he will try to find a way to tell you that he is there to accompany you. sometimes it's a 10-step-away video call, sometimes it's sleeping while having you on his lap, sometimes it's dragging a mattress to your side, and sometimes it's dragging you to the bed. the methods may vary, but the unnecessarily cute effort is definitely there for a guy who sleeps early. and no he is not clingy. this is just him refilling his battery.

reo is the type of guy who has sixth and seventh sense reserved for you. this means if you suddenly want something because of a video you watch in the middle of the night, he will wake up before you know it and say "do you want that. let's get it tomorrow." it's not even a question then he will go back to sleep. don't make a mistake though, the next morning he will still remember so for the sake of money management, even though he is filthy rich, please control him. usually, cuddles are enough but kisses are also a shortcut.

[dontwinmarioparty]

Smosh Cast as Pokémon Trainers

Your Rival: Trevor Evarts!

As the newest cast member of Smosh, it may feel like big, intimidating shoes to fill. We all know Trevor’s got the stuff for it, but really coming into your own comedic identity may feel like a challenge.

Partner Pokémon: Applin full team: dipplin, mr rime, quagsire, pangoro, slowking, emboar

Gym 1: Amanda Lehan Canto - Water Type

I've never seen such a good yes-and ability in improv than Amanda, you can tell that she's always down to turn any moment into a good time. Her acting talents spread far and wide, but her life experiences beyond that baffle me. The fact she loves scuba diving was the nail in the coffin for me that she's a master of the water type.

Partner Pokémon: Azumarill full team: azumarill, milotic, floatzel, mareanie, dracovish, starmie

Gym 2: Olivia Sui - Grass Type

Grass is a versatile and varied type, with the vibes of some Pokémon being serene and graceful to Rapidly Approaching Your Location, and Olivia fits that to me. She’s incredibly sweet and affectionate with her friends but is fully willing to commit to a bit and confuse the audience.

Partner Pokémon: Cherrim full team: cherrim, tangrowth, shiftry, lurantis, ferrothorn, whimsicott

Gym 3: Chanse McCrary - Fire Type

Chanse has an edge to him that I could see absolutely light up a battlefield. He’s not afraid to flex and show off during a competitive game, which sometimes leads to his downfall, but never takes back from his intelligence and just overall confidence. He’s got the X factor, which takes perfectly to the fire type.

Partner Pokémon: Blaziken full team: blaziken, skeledirge, volcarona, oricorio, ninetales, delphox

Gym 4: Tommy Bowe - Normal Type

Tommy had a point when he said that the Normal type is filled with a lot of Weird Looking Fellas, and I agree with that, but the normal type also calls for versatility, reliability. Having type immunities and only one weakness makes it a type that’s able to reliably stand on its own legs. With the many hats that Tommy has worn over the years at Smosh, the Normal type makes so much sense.

Partner Pokémon: Porygon-Z full team: porygon-z, audino, ditto, cinccino, lickilicky, drampa

Gym 5: Damien Haas - Ghost Type

Damien’s appearance alone would make the hounds be sent after me if I didn’t put him into the Ghost Type. Though intimidating on the surface, the ghost type, once you get past the hesitation, is full of some of the sweetest Pokémon you’ll ever get to meet. Consistently bringing fan favorites to new games with every generation, I can’t help but be reminded of Damien’s affinity for the spooky and alternative despite everything else about him being so gentle. He deserves the ghost type, and the ghost type deserves him.

Partner Pokémon: Chandelure full team: chandelure, gengar, rotom, cofagrigus, aegislash, sinistcha

Gym 6: Angela Giarratana - Dragon Type

The dragon type is powerful, it’s dominating, but it’s also chaotic, hard to wield, and sometimes outright terrifying. Angela being a dragon tamer makes so much sense to me, personally. Her ability to command a room either willingly or by complete accident with a mistake of word-choice never fails to make me laugh and feel hooked to the screen. Just put a big dragon next to her and that’s only amplified.

Partner Pokémon: Tyrantrum full team: tyrantrum, duraludon, noivern, goodra, alolan exeggutor, dracozolt

Gym 7: Arasha Lalani - Flying Type.

Arasha never fails to surprise me with just how above and beyond she goes in any video. No matter how crazy it gets she’s not afraid to yes-and the vibe and enable the chaos in a room. It makes her a fantastic host. She’s going to soar. She’s going to book a marvel movie. Trust me.

Partner Pokémon: Altaria full team: altaria, crobat, archeops, emolga, tropius, bombirdier

Gym 8: Keith Leak Jr - Electric Type

Keith is insanely underrated in the Smosh cast, and I sincerely believe that the OG Smosh Squad would not be the same without him. He consistently bounces between being a straight-man in a lineup to the most insane within seconds. Down to just his fits every single day, and the fact that he BEAT CANCER??? He’s always got me on my toes. He’s Electric.

Partner Pokémon: Zebstrika full team: zebstrika, alolan raichu, ampharos, luxray, toxtricity, pawmot

Team Rocket (or any evil team) Leader: Spencer Agnew - Dark Type

How could this be possible? The chosen?!! Evil? No..I just ran out of gym leader slots and thought it would be compelling lol. Spencer is a mastermind of comedy both in front of the camera and behind it. He’s funny without necessarily even trying, but yet it always comes across as mischievous, chaos, the most out-of-pocket lines you’ve ever heard. He’s clearly such a good guy, but the dark type, at least to my belief, fits the vibe he brings to the cast so perfectly.

Partner Pokémon: Kingambit full team: kingambit, krookodile, obstagoon, weavile, absol, sableye

The Elite Four:

Before you face the champion, you must go through a gauntlet of four of the strongest trainers in the region. Who might this be?

Courtney Miller - Fairy Type

A directorial mastermind, a comedic powerhouse, and overall just slaying boots the house down, Courtney Miller is nothing short of magical. She breathes a life into Smosh that just leaves me knowing for certain that some of our favorite videos would not be the same without her influence. Her ability to sway from one comedic extreme to another, while still showing that sincerity makes her just such a good fit for the fairy type.

Partner Pokémon: Florges full team: florges, sylveon, mawile, grimmsnarl, primarina, gardevoir

Anthony Padilla - Fighting Type

Our local emo boy. Our local “spent a day with everyone” boy. Someone who we were all overjoyed to have back. Not only being an absolute comedic powerhouse, he proves himself to be a jack of all stoic trades, from painting, to yoga, to starting Smosh with computer programming, his path of self-actualization is one to be admired.

Partner Pokémon: Breloom full team: breloom, toxicroak, scrafty, poliwrath, kommo-o, hitmontop

Shayne Topp - Psychic Type

Without a shadow of a doubt, Shayne has shown that (even if partially for a bit), he listens, he cares, and he hopes for the best for Smosh as a company. His energy in videos and being able to match the vibe of almost anyone that he’s paired with is nothing short of miraculous. He’s psychic. Full stop.

Partner Pokémon: Gallade full team: gallade, meowstic, darmanitan, oranguru, alakazam, reuniclus

Ian Hecox - Ground Type

For almost any cast member you could argue that they’re breathing life into Smosh. But I think one deserving of the title of keeping their feet planted is Ian. The way he showed so much resolve during the fall of Defy, carrying the company through Mythical, and stepping up and taking the operation independent again with Anthony shows nothing short of an incredible amount of dedication. Ground type fits him to me. Earthquake is always on a competitive team somewhere.

Partner Pokémon: Garchomp full team: garchomp, alolan dugtrio, marowak, stunfisk, mamoswine, gastrodon

The Champion….

The Chosen

Being the strongest Pokémon trainer of all time is a big, burdening task…but they are shoes which The Chosen is ready to fill. Using every single one of his special techniques, he will be a tough challenge. Are you ready to face it?

Partner Pokémon: Absol full team: absol, darkrai, lucario, zoroark, lycanroc, partner pokemon of whoever is playing the chosen at the time of the encounter

and at long last, you've done it. You're the Champion of the Smosh Pokemon League! Congratulations!!!

[cvrsedslytherin]

Finding Comfort in You.

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x female!Reader

Summary: Sweet & protective Sebastian being a wholesome boyfriend to his girl, who’s not feeling well.

(Just a short fic. I randomly wrote this now while I’m secretly going through it again these last few days. Haven’t been online. Spent hours in a medical lab yesterday, killed me. Sorry if there’s any mistakes, haven’t slept in days. Needed some comfort though. I hope this comforts anyone else who may feel unwell 💕)

— ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚ —

“Sweetheart, how are you holding up?” Came the gentle, low tone of her boyfriend, Sebastian Sallow.

The freckle-faced brunet saw his girlfriend curled up on a lounge chair in his dorm— luckily, just the two of them were in there now. She had gone through a lot in the past few days, not having felt well at all. Her body making it to a point of slight exhaustion now. Her whole, small & delicate frame was hugging the pillow, burying her face into it as she shook her head to answer his question. Other small shakes shown by her body, indicating how bad she felt.

A muffled, “not well” barely heard from the girl’s fragile voice. 

A huge part of him fretted and worried as she temporarily reminded him of his twin sister, Anne. Just for a short moment and that made him go straight to her. Wanting to pull her away from the pillow and into his arms instead. An overprotectiveness came over him, like a high tide. He hated seeing his girlfriend suffer too.

His girlfriend had a weak immune system; she was prone to easily collapsing at times when she’d catch something or even at random. And she constantly got upset at herself when it happened— feeling so meek and weak, which was not welcomed by her. 

Then again, nobody likes feeling that way. 

But Sebastian knew her well and wasn’t going to let her shy away from him now. Not after everything they’d been through. The feelings of weakness, he wouldn’t let her fight through that alone.

Carefully, he approached the chair and her backside— gently, he reached out with his strong hands, starting to rub it. 

“Love, come on… get in my bed. Let me help.” He always kept his voice soft at these moments but also with a slight firmness so she wouldn’t be stubborn about it.

However, being stubborn was in her nature; just as it was for him. She knew all he had gone through with Anne and watching her crumble apart— so she did not want to add another worry to Sebastian’s life. Especially when the boy was so fond of loved ones and would kill for them. Anne and her were his weak spots. She knew just how passionate Sebastian could be and how that often led him down a darker path. 

Though she felt feeble right now, she lifted her face off of the pillow a bit, to be heard and spoke out, “It’s fine… Seb. You were given… so many essays to do. Just focus on your studies, not me. I’ll… get through this.” She tried to sound convincing but her voice truly was strained and it didn’t help that a cough came out after all that. Plus it was a weak answer in general. 

Sebastian let out an unamused sigh, his hands still soothingly rubbing her back as he leaned closer to her. 

“Since when did I become a Ravenclaw? As if I care about that… especially right now. You’re my priority.”

She also let out a sigh of her own, knowing it was a stupid thing that she just said now. Sebastian cared more for her than the blasted schoolwork. He’d always be able to catch up on that anyway. That’s how he always got by. He was smart; even a bookworm— but preferred to not follow rules so much and do his own thing.

“Seb… really, don’t worr— eek!“ she started but he cut her off, making her squeak out. The hands rubbing her back had now snaked around and started lifting her off. For him, it was an easy feat— she was small compared to him and he liked using that to his advantage.

And she had been too weak to even wriggle out of that grasp; they both knew it. Her body had mostly gone limp from feeling sick these days. There was a nauseating feeling bothering her for hours lately, along with a headache plaguing her sometimes.

So there he had her in an instant— her back flush to his towering frame. He immediately took an arm and put it under the back side of her knees once he got them standing. Lifting her into a bridal style, knowing she wouldn’t be able to squirm her way out of it.

Once he had her in that position and saw her weary face along with that messy hair from clear stress, his brows furrowed and a deep frown etched onto him.

“You don’t have to do this alone… please. Just accept my help… I’m your boyfriend, aren’t I? I… don’t want you carrying your burdens on your own.” He calmed himself internally, speaking quietly. Usually, he could get hot-headed but seeing her look so unwell made his heart ache completely. 

His voice always had a way of soothing her— not just his touches. She could feel the care through his words and felt slightly guilty but she was usually like this. Not one to call for help due to past traumas. She’d try handling a lot alone until it got too much. She had those rare moments of breaking down & seeking him— he just wished, she’d seek him more; not only when it became extreme. 

Feeling too tired and even more of that guilt creep in, she leaned her head against him, mumbling. “I’m …sorry, baby. I just… don’t want to stress you.”

That pet name always made his heart burst a little. Honestly, any of them did. He adored being hers. The slightest twinge of a flush graced his handsome, freckled face. 

He huffed though, reaching his bed in that short distance and gently placing her on it. The covers had already been undone luckily and he made sure her head got placed tenderly onto his pillow. She always enjoyed his bed; it smelt of him. His scent always lingers on his pillows.

“Not stress. I worry… and maybe my emotions can get the best of me at times but I’m with you… I’m yours. You’re mine. I care a lot.” He paused, looking at her; starting to gently brush away hair from her face as she let out another cough. 

A slight wince followed after, indicating she felt some pain still. 

“We share these things. You’d never leave me alone if I’m going through it— through anything! So why would I leave you? We’re a couple and I’m not gonna let you get away with this anymore.”

That tone of his stayed soft but the firmness returned, a mild command rushing into those words and she knew, he was utterly serious. Her eyes stared at him… the way that perfectly sculpted hand brushed away her hair and then how those deep brown eyes, (that could melt into honey in the light) looked at her with nothing but devotion. A plethora of emotions hit her as if an ocean wave just rolled in. 

He caressed her face sweetly next, the worry still on him— especially upon feeling that she was of a very warm body temperature. 

“I’ll hold you when you need it most… I can’t stand seeing you suffer, just let me do it more.” Those words had been in the form of a plea now; his hand still lovingly caressing her face. He had gone from mildly commanding to begging a little— only for her. 

Closing her eyes to enjoy the touch of her boyfriend, she nodded slowly. “Okay, love… thank you.”

A small smile finally formed, “don’t thank me for that.”

With that said; of course— he got into the bed with her, pulling the covers over them. He meant it when he said he’d hold her— in the most literal sense. There was no letting go.

Plus it was his bed and it wouldn’t be like Sebastian to NOT get into the bed too. Perhaps that slight mischievous side… was slightly using the situation to his advantage but he meant it all genuinely.

So he cuddled up with her; making her bury her face into his chest while he rested his chin on the top of her head. Legs slightly tangling together; her strained but quiet breaths, touching the skin of his neck. The possessiveness in him wanting to escape out and almost cuff her to him so she could never leave his side. Those thoughts were always whirling in that mind of his. He had his hands wrapped around her; tightly, securely— making her know that she was safe with him. 

The security she felt with him was off the charts and she sighed contently; almost forgetting she was unwell for a split moment. As silent praise— she placed a little, quick but gentle kiss on his neck, making him shiver in sweet torment for a moment. His arms around her getting a bit tighter but not enough to harm— one hand lazily tracing mindless patterns on her back, through her clothes. 

“I love you, darling. Lean on me, rest… and get better soon.” He whispered with all the affection in the world and she replied with an “I love you too Sebastian,” before drifting off in his warm embrace. He would stay the whole time until she woke up. 

[spirit-lanterns]

omg speaking omegaverse, i NEED Alpha!Robin. omgsjjs like she would be the kindest, softest and the most comforting alpha ever to the point people can mistake her as an omega.

like she would have the most control over herself when faced with an omega in heat because GOD DAMN CONCERTS CAN GO WILD (like the stuff that happens there sometimes my godbdbd) but she can barely control herself when omega!reader is in heat like hsbsnsm

i i just want her to fill me up omdhdjdj i will power bottom for this angelic woman ANYDAY i want her to go feral on me AAAAAA

LMFAOOO IM JUST IMAGINING A HORDE OF OMEGAS THIRSTING FOR ROBIN AT HER CONCERTS 😭😭

Robin is immune to all of them though. The amount of needy omega pheromones being produced at her concerts is wild, yet Robin feels nothing cuz the only needy omega that makes her weak is you. Once she catches whiff of you in heat, Robin loses all resolve and comes crumbling down to begging you to let her help you. She wants to fuck you softly and make love to you after the stressful day of dealing with omega fans. She wants to let you know that as your alpha, you’re the only omega she wants and she definitely ensures that by fucking you every night right after her concerts.

Think of it as like Robin rubbing herself clean with your scent. After her concerts, Robin absolutely reeks of horny omega pheromones and she wants to bask in your comforting scent again by rubbing herself against you. Wanting to smell like you so everyone knows that Robin the ever-famous alpha already has an omega she fucks every night 💕

[dabisbratz]

PENANCE — leon s. kennedy x male reader

w.c: 5.1k

౨ৎ . . . warning: light bondage/restraints, fucking on a cross, argument, bottom reader, mixed praise/degradation, leons corny one-liners, impulsive reader, fingering, spit, finger sucking, oral sex, improper use of guns, “make-up” sex (kinda), standing mating press, dirty talk, sir kink, leon’s weak pull-out game, readers genitalia undisclosed, clothed sex, d/s understones, two (2) spanks, phone sex (kinda?)

The last lingering days of winter sit at the very edge of the night, the top of the inveterate day, like the ever-ticking clock resting upon the wall that inches deeper into the midnight sky with its turning. The taste of regret lingers in the air, bitter and sour and pungent, assaulting the senses of any passerby and residents.

So overpowering, in fact, it’s plagued the plagued, drew them straight to you as you ran through the dingy village. Your combat boots slipped through the mud, clingy and riddled with a thick, musty smell that clasped itself to your clothes. The air was thick with fog, an impenetrable layer of milky grays that made it almost impossible to see through, and the gun glued to your hand felt like a cold, heavy brick.

Your mission was simple enough— accompany your superior while he secured ‘Baby Eagle’, make yourself unknown.

Tread carefully.

Your knife— secured by a leather scabbard wrapped around the swell of your thigh— remained cold and sharp. You thought there’d be no use for it— no close encounters.

Tread carefully.

You’d managed to run through the heart of the village, conjuring up quite the mob, full of pitchforks and flames, full of ashes and debris that danced in the air. It burned your lungs more than the running, lit the charcoal fire in the pit of your stomach as you ran until you couldn’t anymore— and your partner was out of sight.

Tread carefully.

Leon told you to stick beside him. Follow closely behind and he’d cover you, as long as you covered him. But you just couldn’t help yourself— the blood rushing through your veins and your heart pumping in your ears— you panicked. You ran. Stupidly, selfishly, you ran. You’d broken the dam and left Leon to pick up the pieces.

The last thing you’d heard before slamming the mass of your body into a wooden door was the gruff scream of your name, Leon, who you knew was more than capable of making it out just fine. That wasn’t the issue, no— it was your recklessness, your brief disregard for his advisory or guiding hand— it was your impulsiveness to run straight into danger.

He’d specifically told you not to on the way there. Stick by his side and you’d be okay— not that you’re incapable—just inexperienced. No strays— none of the sort. No catching any, no following any, no becoming any.

So now you have to pay for your mistakes.

You’re sprawled on the cross like a two-page spread, skin sheen and wet with what you assume is sweat— and dirt sticks to the slickness of your forehead. The pitter patter of rain against the poorly ventilated windowsill lingers, and the dirty glass trembles with loneliness. You can certainly attest to that, with your arms bound above your head and tied up in rusty chains. There’s no one here but you and your thoughts, your increasingly darkening veins and swimming mind.

You don’t remember who chained you up— perhaps the crafty residents of the village with much more intelligence than you’d like to admit, especially considering their predicament. But you do remember the injection of something cold and foreign. Something that absolutely should not be in your body. It doesn’t hurt, though, it’s not uncomfortable. And the wetness of the air bothers your head much more than the injection, if it’s bothering you at all.

It’s more a minor inconvenience than anything, aesthetically.

Perhaps it’s immunity, or maybe just inattentiveness. You’d have to tell Leon about it later, if you ever get to see him again.

You can’t help but think of him, his opalescent skin that travels for miles, the small quirk to his pink lips when he’s reveling in pride, the bleached-blond bundles of hair that sit perfectly atop his head. Like a crown— like a halo. The piercing blue of his eyes, cold as the arctic as he stares right through you. The deep pool of his pupils that dilate and constrict when sunlight hits them just right. . . The swell of his biceps when he crosses his arms, bulging and spilling over his closed fists. His hands, rough and scarred. Gloved and airbrushed with leather gloves that stop just before his knuckles, hiding the veins and muscles of his hands that stream down his wrists like a steady river.

It’s almost like you can hear him, the assertiveness of his voice that reverberates in your ears. Like he’s next to you again, wrapping his large hand around your wrist and maneuvering it into the right position for combat— the thickness of his voice as he notes aloud, “Keep it like this or you’ll hurt yourself.”

This whole time he’s been your keeper, steering you through the village with one hand secured around the handle of his gun and the other cradling the nape of your neck.

(“I got it.” You’d muttered, shaking off the heat of his large palm. There was something calculating in his eyes, and his long, dark eyelashes batted against the prominent curve of his cheekbone.

Your pistol rested in your hand, barely a scratch across its metal surface. You were still a bit slow at reloading, but you got the job done.

“As long as I’m here, I’m sure you do.)

You want to laugh about it now, pitifully, because the chains around your wrists are nowhere near as warm. Just as domineering, maybe, but not comforting in the slightest. It’s embarrassing to admit how often you’d thought about it— his comfort, late hours in the night filled with his voice, his hands, his touch.

Heat pools in your abdomen, swimming down your navel and spreading between your thighs. Now isn’t the time— not that you could take care of anything if you wanted to— You’ve been stripped of everything— just not in the way you want.

There’s a quiet rustle of the leaves, barely audible with the echoing pews of the church, but you hear it. That walking pattern. . . stepstep… step… stepstep’ only belongs to one person, and you feel relief pushing down your shoulders.

“Jesus...”

“Leon,” Breathy like a prayer, your hands clench into fists as you strain against the rusty chains. His figure grows, stalking forward with swaying shoulders that look broader than ever, and his nude lips are pulled tight into a snarl. His eyebrows— full and straight, pinch together with what you assume is anger, and a familiar crease forms between them. “I can explain.”

His shoulders bounce, as if he’s let out a sour chuckle, and there’s a slight shake to his head as he carries himself up the steps to free you. Quite the hero, you can’t bring yourself to stare into his eyes for too long as he scours your body for injuries. Nothing major— nothing he can’t help with, and his blue eyes settle on your face for much longer than he’d like to admit. There’s a soft haze to his furious eyes, the fire behind them dampening as his mind slowly realizes you’re alright for now.

You’re alive.

“Oh, I'm sure you can,” He quips, circling around the contraption you’re chained to. It almost feels primal, his intense gaze taking you in from every angle as he walks forward to trace his fingertips along your wrists. He’s gentle, though, feathery light as he gives an experimental tug to the metal. “And you will. So you better start talking.”

A small breath of relief escapes your freshly parted lips as it’s pulled away, and Leon doesn’t miss the indents freshly engraved into your skin. His frown deepens, but the cool leather of his fingerless gloves feel much more soothing than the chains.

You don’t mind it as much as he does.

A dagger of shame shoots through your chest, beating and writhing against the confines of your rib cage. Your tongue is tied, excuses dying in your throat as you stare at Leon’s five-fingered grip on your wrist. It’s tightening, his nails digging into your wrist ever so slightly, though you already have no chance at escape. You figure it’s meant to ground you, not hurt you.

“It’d be a lot easier if I were free,” You’re stalling, not all that uncomfortable as Leon turns his head in the direction of your face, his head tilted downward and his breath lightly fanning your neck. Warm. “…Leon? Wanna help a guy out, or…”

A characteristic clench to his jaw has the words dying on your tongue, and for some reason unbeknownst to you, he’s seething.

“Pull something like this again and those things won’t be the only ones after your head.” The warmth of his large chest against yours leaves just as it arrives, and he’s tilting his neck to really get a good look at you. Trying to get his point across, you suppose, with steely, gunmetal blue eyes. You can’t help but waver, irises stinging as you turn your attention to your bound wrists. Part of you wants to roll your eyes.

That just won’t do.

Leon sucks his teeth, gripping your jaw with restrained strength so you’re actually looking at him now, and whatever excuse you’ve created dissipates immediately. The look in his eyes—territorial, maybe?—has you at a loss for words, and all you can do is watch his pink tongue dart over his bottom lip.

Whatever he’s thinking about, you don’t like it, because he’s shifting his weight from one foot to the other with his hands on his hips. His face is pensive, but you can still feel the heat of his anger radiating off his skin. Even from a distance. “Shoot the chains or something.”

“Sure, let me accidentally graze you with a shotgun shell while I’m at it.” More bite than he’d intended, Leon loosens the straps to his body armor and lets it hit the ground with a small thud. You blink, eyelashes beating against your cheeks as you blink away surprise.

“Leon—”

“Shh, I don’t give a damn. You could’ve died. Seriously, what were you thinking?” His hair sways, violent and angry and overprotective. “Don’t go running off like that again, you understand?”

“I’m not a kid. I’m a grown man—” Irritation bubbles in your throat— did he just shush you?

“Damn right you’re not. And I’m not your father. Didn’t I tell you not to do anything stupid?”

“I had it under control.” You both know you’re lying through your teeth, but Leon wants to really drive his point home. He nods, noncommittal, snaking his arm around your waist and down the small of your back to unzip the pocket attached to your utility belt. He pulls out your gun, which remains heavy and shiny with disuse.

“Yeah? Under control with no bullets?” He aims the gun at a large mosaic of a stained window, and pulls the trigger with no hesitation. There’s nothing but a click, then resounding silence as he slowly releases the trigger, one hand secured over his knuckles while the other grips the pistol's handle.

“Lee, c’mon, we have stuff to do,” You sound whiny and borderline pathetic. You almost expect him to tell you to ‘use the magic word’, but he’s too busy pressing the pad of his thumb against your lips. His finger tastes vaguely of salt and leather, and you fight the urge to open your mouth and suck on it. “…Please.”

You’re not entirely sure what you’re begging for. The ache in your wrists feels dull and distant, and you can’t help but press the tip of your tongue against the flat underside of his thumb. You watch his pupils blow wide, pink creeping up his neck and pooling around the shells of his ears.

“Okay.” He breathes, broad shoulders melting ever so slightly as he pushes his thumb further into your mouth, taking in every curve and contour of lips as you wrap them around his thumb. It fills your mouth with ease, caressing the flat surface of your tongue with slow, circular strokes. You want more. “Yeah— okay. Tell me you understand.”

“I understand, Sir.” You try to sound more snarky and annoyed than anything, but it’s hard when you’re deepthroating another man’s finger. You sputter around his thumb, can barely form a coherent sentence with it pressing into your mouth like this— but Leon seems to catch on anyway, chuckling humorlessly to himself. Stubborn boy.

There’s a warning pat to your cheek, and suddenly you’re back in that training facility. Dimly lit and nearly empty, save for some equipment and workout machines— save for you and Leon, who kept his hands relaxed as you punched him square in the palm.

It was Leon who was told to take you in, show you the ropes, and he’d done so with a sly remark and a curt nod. It flew over your head at first, whatever he was implying, but you were slowly starting to get it now.

(“Well, looks like you’re stuck with me. Time to break in the fresh meat, then.”)

Only a few months ago, you’d been recruited into special forces, and there was something special about you. Something untapped and not yet tainted— there was still a genuine curve to your lips when you smiled, a sparkle in your eyes as you spoke. Charm was written all over your face, boyish and giddy and eager. You’d reminded Leon a bit of himself back in 1998, full of potential but laced with undeniable naivety.

And, truthfully, he liked you. Likes you, even, because of it. You remind him of who he used to be— why he’s here— to serve and protect. And if he’s being honest, he wants to protect you.

Even if it means putting you back in your place.

Breaking you in.

“Say it like you mean it.”

“I understand, Sir.” You’ve lost some bass in your voice, and it comes out shaky and cracked. You don’t have time to dwell on it now, how pathetic you sound, because Leon’s expression is nothing short of prideful. Your breath hitches in your throat, stuck in your larynx as you want the blond take in a sharp breath. He likes the title.

“Atta boy.” His eyelids are blanketed, heavy as he stares down at your lips with the remnants of a lazy smile. His— your — gun is still in his hand, but with him closing the distance between the two of you, it’s pressed against your collarbone.

You can’t help it; the opportunity is right there, and you find yourself leaning forward to press your tongue flat against the slide of the pistol.

“Playing a dangerous game, pretty.” Leon rasps, but taps the barrel of the gun against your tongue anyway. It’s slick with your spit, shiny and wet and he has to resist the urge to suck on it too. To taste you. “Yeeaah, just like that. There you go.”

It’s like you’ve learned nothing.

With a low grunt, Leon pushes the gun deeper into your mouth, using his left hand to hold onto the nape of your neck and keep you still. Asshole.

Ever the brat, you furrow your brows and thrash against your restraints.

“You can take it,” He hushes you, using that voice he has reserved for hostages or targets, all gentle and sweet. It’s hushed, barely a whisper, but it makes your brain foggy anyway. You can take it. “Give me your mouth. You can do that for me, can’t you? Say ‘yes sir’.”

You try, hard as you can, whining around the barrel of the gun with tears springing in your eyes. It’s hot and heavy now, like some sort of makeshift dildo, but you know the real thing would feel better. Warmer, stickier, curved and veiny. Thick on your tongue and pulsing, salty and sweet and long.

“Jesus-fucking-Christ. Holy shit,” He’s fucking your throat, sliding the metal into your mouth as far as it can go. It’d be much better if it were his cock instead, so big and so deep, leaving a bulge as he grinds it into your mouth. You’d take it like a champ too, eager and greedy. “Breathe.”

“Sir,” You gurgle, drool running down your chin and coating your skin until Leon pulls the pistol away and inspects it.

You watch him part his lips, previously pulled into a frown, to suck along the barrel of the gun and lap up your spit. There’s remnants of mint and saliva, fresh and sour when combined with the metal of the pistol. “Shit—Leo.”

“Tastes good. Did you take my gum?” He hums, witty as ever. It’s a passing comment, one you can’t help but laugh at, and the man seems to appreciate it. Even if he doesn’t exactly say that. He doesn’t give you much time to laugh, instead opts to connect his lips with yours. Finally, you moan into his mouth, much sweeter and pliant than before. You can’t stay mad at him.

“That’s all you needed, huh. Just a few sweet words, a couple kisses… If I’d known that I would’ve done that months ago.”

Only because you’re so needy, though. Your hips buck into the air, grinding against the space between your hips as your heart slams against your chest. You want more— need more, and the ache between your thighs is enough to prove it. You whimper, high in your throat and full of frustration.

“You really like hearing yourself talk.” You can’t take yourself seriously, not like this, but you say it anyway with nothing but the intent to get fucked stupid. You don’t doubt his capabilities, not with the way Leon’s staring at you. Predatory and ready, like he expected you to say that, his large hand gripping his cock through his tightening pants. You swallow hard, sensing some kind of mistake, and manage to gulp down your pride in the process. If you were someone else you’d be scared, running away from his anger with your tail between your legs. But you’re not.

“You just can’t wait, that it? Over here humping my leg like a damn dog, and now you have something to say? What, because your little hole gets frustrated when it’s been empty for too long?”

You’re squirming within seconds, struggling to wrap your legs around the dip of his waist. Even after dropping his armor he’s wearing too many clothes, too many layers that separate your skin from his. You can’t exactly take your shirt off, not without ripping it straight down the middle, but your lower half is free rein.

“Spoiled brat,” It’s something the blond registers too, because his big hands are hastily unbuttoning your pants and tugging them down your thighs, trailing behind with the gentle scrape of his fingernails. “Remind me the only way to keep you quiet is stuffing your holes.”

He’ll be able to see you much better like this, kneeling in front of your position on the cross to really see you. The clenching of your hole, empty and needy, the trail of lube gushing from it just as he hopes to, the shiny slickness covering your inner thighs. He wants to bury his face in it, fuck you on his tongue till you’re downright ruined, fucked-out and plaint. Maybe it’s in your nature to drift off, have your brain cut off from an orgasm (or two..or three) until you’re malleable enough to listen.

Your words are stuck in your throat, choked up and wobbly as his fingers relentlessly press into that special bundle of nerves. You feel like a slut, with Leon’s fingers twisting and pounding away, his newfound grip on your thighs so tight you’re gasping, crying out and squealing. He’s still careful, applying just the right amount of strength to keep you still.

“We don’t have much time,” His breath is hot against your entrance, and it can’t help but flutter with his mouth so close. Leon’s face contorts, softening as he licks a fat, wet stripe alongside it. “Wish I could keep you on my tongue. But you won’t mind something bigger, yeah?”

There’s nothing for you to hold onto as his fingers poke and prod at your hole, rubbing smooth, slow circles around the entrance. You want to wrap your arms around him, grip his shirt like iron and stifle your moans with it— but you’re chained. Leon pauses to stick his thumb in his mouth— the same one previously pressed against your own—and brings it down to you, pushing into your hole with ease. The thought of an indirect kiss has you spreading your thighs, lifting a leg just barely above Leon’s shoulder. Maybe you’re easy— maybe a kiss is all you need. Maybe it’s just because it’s Leon.

“Damn. Feel so fucking good on my fingers, baby,” He purrs, his voice melting in your ears. “Keep it up and I’ll see if I can promote you to Special Forces’ personal fuckhole.”

His fingers are wet and thick, you’re not sure how he’d managed to lubricate them so well, maybe he kept some in those extra storage pockets of his, but whatever it is…feels good. Slick and warm, almost feels like he’s fucking a fresh load of cum into you. The thought has you mewling, hands furled into tight fists as you struggle to stay upright.

With an unending stream of pitiful noises, your mouth pools with saliva that starts to dribble from the part of your pouty lips, and you instinctively spread your legs wide. It’s far from gross, the messiness of your drool catching on your chin and trailing down your clothed chest. It’s hot— you’ve gone braindead from his fingers alone, and he’s barely even started. You’re wailing, more wet and hiccupy sobs than moans, and tears stream down your handsome face in response. It’s just too much: too big, too deep, too warm, too wet.

You can’t do anything but take in the digits, slick and warming up by the minute until they curl, deep and thick. Your eyes roll back in your head as Leon keeps an iron hold between your thighs, rubbing and rubbing at your front and—and oh, you’re so close. You’re so close it hurts, the pit of your stomach filling with light and your toes curling deliciously. You have nothing to grab at, nowhere to hold, nothing to keep you stable as you lul your head to and fro. You sound delirious, and you must look just as bad.

“Ohh, m’gonna—”

“Brace yourself,” He mumbles, gloved hands running up the back of your thighs until he’s lifting your lower body off the cross and placing your knees on his shoulders. It’s intimate, personal and close as he lets out a breathy moan in response to the perfect fit of your hips against his own. “I’ll be gentle, sweetheart. For the most part.”

The blond is still clothed, and it’s hard to gauge his reaction of your naked lower-half grinding against his pulsating erection, with his hair partly shielding his pretty face. But you can imagine it, his pink licorice-twist lips divorced and blush high on his cheeks as his precum mixes with yours, sloppy and soaking the front of his inky combat pants.

You whine, wiggling your hips and kicking out your feet like some sort of brat, a completely wordless attempt at telling him to strip. You know there’s tears streaming down your face, just when you think you’ve taken a step forward you discover you’d taken two steps back.

“You’ll take what I give you,” Like molten lava, Leon’s voice grows deeper by the second. He’s pushing your legs further forward, bending you in half until your legs burn and he’s sandwiched indubitably close. You’re glad you stretched before this, because he’s got you bent like a pretzel— like some sort of cheap whore, and there’s no escape. “Your new mission is to take it and look pretty, don’t complain now. You hear me?”

“Yeah,” You feel yourself nodding from a distance, frantic and erratic despite the strong grip he’s got on your chin. You can feel him twitching beneath you, his cock jumping in his pants as he traps you with his weight alone and unbuckles his utility belt. It drops to the floor, loud and heavy, but it’s nothing compared to the obscene sound of his cock slapping against your skin. He’s unzipped his fly— still clothed, almost like he’s emphasizing his power over you. “Yeah, I— yes, Sir.”

“Open,” It’s not a suggestion, as he’s already rutting his hips against the warmth of your skin and snaking one arm around your waist. The other goes to your mouth, wet and ready, pries it further open so your pink tongue is on display. Leon gathers a glob of spit, but rather than your mouth it reaches your cheek, wet and sticky. Leon’s aim is better than anyone you’ve ever known— so it’s deliberate. “Good boy. Use your manners.”

You swallow anyway, desperate pants obstructed as you stick your tongue out further for more. “Thank you, Sir. For— for your spit.”

Leon sinks in with a loud whine as you clench around the fat head of his dick, whining and gasping, fighting your orgasm off with everything you’ve got. There’s a slight burn— the stretch of his fat, lubed up cock nestling into your hole— but it feels good, indescribable and finally plugging you full. It’s hard to hear anything he’s saying behind the loud squelching of his cock slipping inside, that and your own sounds, but you try anyway. He’s filling you till you’re ready to burst at the seams, pressing his weight against your body so you can clamp down and take him completely, no questions asked.

“F-huck, I can’t… Please, please, you’re so,” You’re on fire, his cock curving up just right as your pillowy walls flutter around his intrusion. Right there, electricity sparks inside you and your eyes roll back with the pinch of your eyebrows. “So deep.”

“Yeah?” The blond laughs, breathless and high off the feeling of your velvety walls constricting around him— clenching so perfectly, so hot and slick with rhythmic pulses along his veiny shaft. His hand travels to press on your navel, and he can feel himself sliding in and out, in and out. “Feel it right here?”

You do. And his hand pressing against it isn’t much help, you can’t focus on anything other than his cock. Your wrists are achy, almost as much as your hole, straining against the chains that you still have yet to break from. But it makes it better, you’re open and free for Leon’s use. Just a hole—to be filled, used, fucked. And, yeah, maybe you are. Maybe you want that, being used by Leon and his strong arms, manhandled into any position he wants.

“Yeah, in my— in my stomach.” You sound so cute, sniffling on his dick with every bounce and thrust forward, occasionally thrashing against your restraints. Leon coos, right in your ear and echoing in the pews. Much like the sound of your skin slapping against his, deep and fast thrusts like he’s pounding the brat out of you.

"God, should’ve had you like this all the time, drunk on cock,” You’re twitching, pulsing and convulsing around Leon’s cock, the fabric of his combat pants rubbing against your front. “Just like that, there you go, honey. Don’t run, let me watch my pretty hole swallow this cock.”

His— oh. Yeah, you suppose, it’s his hole to fuck, to kiss, to use. Since day one, really, when you’d spent your first night after meeting him knuckles deep. It’s incomparable to his own, longer and thicker, faster and better. So, yes, your hole is his, and his alone. You nod. babbling in his ears and wriggling in his arms. You’re his. The implication behind it has your heart stuttering, hammering in your chest as butterflies beat against your tummy.

Oh— You’re cumming.

“Shit, sweetheart. Knew you were a slut.”

“I don’ wanna— I can’t—” You let out an array of desperate, hysterical cries around Leon’s long, airbrushed pink cock, thighs and chest heaving and trembling, and arching off the wooden cross. It takes you a moment to form a complete sentence. “Don’t wanna.. st—op.”

“Yeah, yeah..” Leon nods against your neck, burying his face into the warm skin. His hair tickles your throat, soft and silky. “I won't. We won’t. I got you.”

His big palm cracks against the swell of your ass, loud and echoing in the church. Your core tightens, knees tightening on his shoulders as you cum. Hard and fast, you can barely register the squeals being ripped from your throat. Not over the slapping, the spanking, the—

The crackle of Leon’s radio, loud and blaring in his earpiece.

“Hold on.” Tears spill over your glassy eyes.

“Wh— No! Sir, you—“

“Hey. Don’t ‘no’ me. I’m right here, just sit pretty for me and take it,” He moans, emphasizing his words with a sharp snap to his hips. Your toes curl, searing white pleasure sparking in your stomach as Leon responds to the radio comms. You’re overstimulated, sparks of sensitivity striking through you with every quick thrust. “There you go, such a good boy. . .”

“Condor one to Roost,” He replies, sparing you a gentle glance while your legs lock behind his neck. The blond doesn’t let up once, honey locks bouncing as you cry on his dick. “What?”

“…Very funny. . .” Whatever Hunnigan said must’ve been spot on, because a low growl rumbles in his chest and his balls are tightening against your skin. Blotches of pink bloom in his neck, probably following down his wide shoulders— if only he weren’t clothed.

“Goddamn, you’re gonna make me cum, yeah, wish I could fuck it into you. Next time,” It’s deliciously obscene, the sounds of Leon’s cock reaming your hole like his life depends on it. His voice is barely above a whisper, so quiet but full in your ears. “Next time, we’ll make your pretty hole all messy with my cum. Yeah?”

Leon’s hips stutter, his deep thrusts growing shallow and messy as lube and precum froths between your warm skin. You can feel it all, the way his cock jumps and as he cums, missing a beat before pulling out to spurt the rest on your tummy. Thick and hot, it’s starting to cool on your shirt before he can move to wipe it away. Before he can end the call.

“He’s fine. We’ll have Baby Eagle home in time for dinner. Right, rookie?”

[weskie]

Relief (Albert Wesker x gn!Reader)

900 words | hurt/comfort themes | Fic Directory

His first injection did not go smoothly. 

Albert Wesker is a man of many strengths, but even God is not always immune to the trials and tribulations of laboratory science. Especially not when said science is meant to enhance what makes him so special. 

Yet here you were, one of his chosen. But you knew better than to think of yourself so highly; chances are you're simply a pawn. You know cunning and deceit when you see it, and he stinks to high heaven of such dark qualities. 

Excella gives him the first dose of the supressant, a concoction designed to give him perfect control over the virus in his body.  It is measured precisely based on her own studies and calculations. However, pride kept her from allowing anyone else to analyze her work. There's no immediate response, and she smiles happily. 

And yet you know better, because you had seen her work. Compared to your own, she was way off– as you tried to tell her. She’d been careless with her decimals, a simple mistake with grave consequences. But you are lower on the totem pole. Your word doesn't matter until hers proves to be no good. 

She probably regrets ignoring you when his face twitches, teeth clenching as he grips the edge of his chair, howling the first of many exclamations of harrowing pain. 

“Albert! I–”

But his hand goes around her throat in a mere flash, silencing her, halting any attempt to touch him. 

“You– gah!” He snarls, eyes flaring a deep, fiery red around his cat-like pupils. He drops her and, in turn, falls to the floor himself. Wesker hunches over on his knees, wails of agony leaving him as he clenches his chest and head. 

The virus coursing through his body is being assaulted by an overdose of the suppressant, turning it more volatile and painful by the minute. Balance was key, and he had been thrown far from it. 

There is no counter agent, no painkiller, no balm to soothe his agony– for what could ever help a god?  Both you and Excella watch him writhe, but her fear keeps her from doing like you. 

You're not even sure why you did it. 

You sit behind him, legs splayed, and you pull him back to lean against you. His animalistic growls and pained, gasping breaths fill your ears, but all you do is hold him tight like some sort of human restraint. 

Excella stares at you as if you'd lost your mind. 

Perhaps you have. 

A gloved hand grips your forearm with a force so punishing that it makes you yelp. He could break you with one finger, but he's clearly holding back. He could tear you limb from limb even now for invading his space like this. 

But he doesn't. 

“Breathe, Mister Wesker,” you say. You have his honorific wrong– it's doctor– but surely nobody in the room cares to notice. “It will pass, but you must breathe.” 

A growl and seemingly involuntary jerk of his body disrupts your words, but you hold tight nonetheless. 

You do so for nearly an hour.  Against every tremor, against every wave of pain the likes of which you could never imagine. The only noises to be heard are his tight breaths and the hum of fluorescent laboratory lights. 

Sometime in the middle of things, Excella scurried off to fix her mistake. She begged for forgiveness, but he shot her a look that made her go as white as a ghost. 

The sleeves of your lab coat are shredded, arms bruised, and Wesker himself looks no better. It's as if all the fight had been torn out of him and he was no stronger than any mere mortal. The grip on your forearm is leagues lighter. 

He's probably going to kill you for touching him like this. For reducing him to some helpless infant in need of comfort and support. 

His breaths have steadied. 

Somehow you'd brought your free hand up to thumb at his cheekbone. Some odd, inappropriate manner of soothing his pains. 

“Mister Wesker, I–”

“Save it.” He says, cutting you off. Even his voice sounds weak. That fancy edge to it is gone almost entirely. 

He's clearly awake and aware. Why isn't he moving away? Hell, why aren't you moving away? 

“It was in your best interest to assist me.” 

He's posturing, repositioning his authority despite what had just happened.  Your thumb stops moving and that hand around your forearm grips tighter. When you resume, it slackens. 

“Bold of you to have done this,” he hums. “And all this time I thought you lacked a spine.” 

You're not sure what to say to such a statement. You're not sure what he's getting at either. A punishment? A reward? You can practically hear a smirk in his words despite the fact it was nowhere in sight. 

“I can feel you shaking.” 

Shit. 

“Hm…” Wesker releases a sigh, something you've never heard from him before. “Tell you what, pet.” 

Pet? Pet? 

“Continue your little ministrations until I am on my feet, and I will consider your crimes forgiven.”

What? He wants you to keep this up? 

“Does that sound satisfactory?” He asks. “Answer me, pet.” 

With wide eyes and shaking hands, you nod. 

“Y-Yes, Mister Wesker!”

“Good, good... Now, what punishment has Miss Gionne earned for herself, hm?” 

[zer0brainc3lls]

Newtmas headcanons pt2!

Newt and Thomas both read and they just sit in bed together reading all the time, ever so often gasping and going "you'll never guess what just happened-"

Newt is a chronic clothes THIEF. he doesn't buy baggy clothes because he will just go and steal Thomas's stuff 😭 "its not your shirt, its OUR shirt. big difference." "I BOUGHT IT?!" "AND I PICKED IT FOR YOU!" "YEAH I SEE WHY NOW"

Thomas would see little trinkets or flowers and just give it to Newt with little to no context except maybe "for you!" "i found this" Newt has kept every single one. he presses the flowers and keeps them in a book, the trinkets are in a box.

Newt got told by a doctor he should be using a cane, Newt refused but made the fatal mistake of complaining to Thomas about it.. Newt now has a cane decorated with stickers.

before Newt got the flare he had a weaker immune system then the other guys (aka they have really strong immune systems and his was just normal so everyone thought his was weak) but after he got the flare and got cured it ACTUALLY got weak, like a cold for someone else will have him in bed for days vomiting :( Thomas however almost never gets sick.. so he takes care of sick Newt OFTEN

Newt loves taking care of plants, Thomas cannot keep them alive.

Thomas is wearing shorts in the freezing cold, Newt is in multiple layers the moment the temperate gets even slightly cold

Newt is a flower crown/bracelet WARRIOR. Anytime Thomas comes home with flowers he found if he has enough Newt makes them into bracelets for Thomas to wear around (sometimes he makes crowns but he usually makes bracelets because it’s more practical for Thomas)

Thomas won’t take the bracelets off unless he’s showering/sleeping (so they don’t break) and will wear them till they have withered off

Thomas BEGGED Newt to teach him how to plait hair, once he got it down he plaits Newts hair for him

Thomas sometimes has a hard time focusing, and will sometimes not look at people while they are talking (not in a rude way!!) and Newt will just tap him on the shoulder if it’s someone else but if Thomas is “ignoring” HIM.. yk that move he did to frypan when he was looking at Teresa? Yeah. That gets Thomas’s attention alright 😭 example:

Newt: yeah so then-

Thomas: *staring off into the distance, fiddling with his hands deep in thought*

Newt: *rolls his eyes and grabs Thomas’s face and makes him look at him* y’know you’re s’pose to look at people when they talk to ya Tommy

Thomas: *red in the face* uhm- yeah you’re right- sorry what did you say hun?

(Newt knows this gets Thomas flustered btw. Uses it to his upmost advantage)

When Newt got the cure (I’m insane) he still suffered from the rare burst of anger/paranoia and on very very bad days hallucinations, since he was past the gone when he got the cure. No where near as bad to when he had the flare but still bad none the less, Thomas reassures him constantly and helps him calm down.

Being sick is a massiveee trigger for Newt. Fever, flu, vomiting you name it he’s on edge. Sometimes he gets in his own head and second guesses if he’s really cured but once again Thomas saves the day and is always there for him when he’s sick, staying home more to make sure he’s ok. (Writing a small fic about this btw!!!)

Newt is a back rub fanatic. Loves them. Receiving end or giving he does NOT care!! Thomas figured this out and whenever Newt is upset Thomas rubs his back

Fav kiss placements (giving and receiving):

Newt: gives cheek and neck kisses, loves receiving normal, forehead/hair kisses & neck kisses

Thomas: gives normal, just all over Newts face & neck kisses, loves receiving neck kisses and cheek kisses

More on neck kisses specifically there is a reason beside lust!! Its pulse points, reminds them that this is infact real and the other is ok :)

When they hold hands they sometimes check each others pulses out of habit, if in a uncomfortable scenario one will check the others and if it’s higher they gesture with a head nod if the other wants to leave

They both underestimate their own injuries, the other freaks out when the other is slightly sick/injured because in the scorch tiny cuts or the flu were very dangerous. Not much medicine or anything. Even in the safe haven, it’s a habit they won’t get rid of convinced it keeps them safe. They had a rule in the scorch that they had to tell the other if they were injuried since they own they themselves won’t see it as a big deal. Example:

*in the safe haven*

Thomas: hey Newt I got this cut on my hand today *shows palm, slight cut still bleeding*

Newt: *eyes widen in shock, grabbing Thomas’s hand careful not to touch the wound dragging him away*

Brenda: where are you going?!

Newt: to bandage it!! *tugs Thomas’s faster*

They do the whole deal. Cleaning, bandaging double checking etc :( poor boys

Newt tops, Thomas bottoms. No further questions!!

They are NOT picky eaters. At all. Plates fully clean, they do have favourites though

Newt: he loves sweet foods but also loves spicy food, adores pineapple with his whole heart

Thomas: loves salty food, not the biggest fan of spice. Loves carrots and apples though (the carrot one is canon I think)

Going on about food, they share food without question. Apple? Cut in half. Got a snack? Got extra for the other. The other still has food on their plate (very rare) the other will finish it off.

In the wicked facility whenever Thomas ever saw Newt besides sneaking out (rare af) sometimes they would purposely bump into each other just for an excuse to say hi, very very quickly whispering anything important before being ushered away

Sometimes, the others wouldn’t be there when Thomas snuck around so there were a handful of times it was just Thomas and Newt. Newt remembers this and told Thomas, Thomas however doesn’t and is very sad about it. :(

They have perfected lip reading to a tee. Having full on silent convos while everyone else is just like “really?! AGAIN?” Example:

*Newt and Thomas silently talking, gesturing a fuckton with there faces*

Minho: *whispers to Brenda* I’m slowly figuring out that lil shucking language they got going on

Brenda: *whispers back* how?!

They started learning in the scorch, since they rarely got a moment alone they would silently talk strategy. Slowly but surely it turned into silent flirting in the safe haven so Newt will just mouth something and and Thomas will go OUTLOUD “NEWT. NOT HERE!!” “Tommy they don’t know what I’m saying remember??” “… oh yeah”

Before they got together they got into heated arguments and even got slightly physical, all jokes of course but they would shove eachother around and grabbing each others shirts to “emphasise their point” (GAYYYY 🫵🫵🫵🫵)

Another long yap session, expect more. Also new lil fic on working on but do not threat!! I bet on losing dogs chapter 4 IS COMING OUT SOON. And I may write a short lil spin off of Thomas’s worst flare moments in his pov if yall would enjoy that. And soon one of my moots requested a Jeff x reader fic I usually don’t write those but that will be out soon too!!

[shuttershocky]

I went to the gamepress arknights tierlist and saw that for aoe casters Mostima is rated at the top as S-, then I clicked on her and saw this writeup they've made: "Historically, Mostima has been one of the lowest graded units in this guide. Since nearly launch, she has epitomized early design mistakes, with her paltry damage, long downtime, and high costs. That is still mostly true." Now I'm just very confused, and thought you might understand it better than this newbie haha, why is she both weak and strong at the same time? And the other aoe casters still can't keep up with her?

Gamepress LUL

Mostima is a unit that doesn't have much value until you start hitting the more difficult content. As a Splash Caster (no idea why gamepress insists on using its own nicknames for classes rather than use the official ones), her DPS is low compared to other Caster types, and her DP cost is high. In terms of which 6 star to raise for new players, she's best left for later as she can't quite carry you the way someone like Exusiai or Silverash can.

However, At E2 with module level 3, Mostima has a very unique niche that very few other units can rival (and none of them are Splash Casters). Her second talent unlocked at E2 reduces enemy movement speed when they're inside her attack range. Investing into her module to level3 increases the talent strength from 15% to 30%, and slows all enemies outside her attack range (meaning, globally) by 18%. This combos really well with her S3, which increases her attack range into a wide wave like shape, while tripling her movement speed reduction. This means that without her module, S3 slows enemies by 45%. With her module, it's 90%, the strongest slow in the game.

Now what makes this extra special is that Mostima doesn't inflict the "slow" debuff, but instead reduces enemy movement speed, and also doesn't actually need to attack the enemy, they just need to be inside her range. This makes her the only crowd control unit able to slow invisible or invincible enemies, as well as enemies who are normally immune to the slow debuff (because Mostima doesn't use "slow"). Additionally, the Slow debuff is an 80% movement speed decrease, while Mostima's S3 is 90%, making her slow stronger than everyone else in the game.

For a vast majority of the game's easier stages, you don't really need Mostima, you need a damage dealer. However, once the game starts throwing real challenges at you, Mostima's level of crowd control is unmatched and uncounterable by the enemy, as it bypasses all mechanics as long s they are within her range. This has made Mostima a common pick for harder stages where strong crowd control is almost a requirement, and in that regard she's one of if not the best Splash caster in the game, with only Dusk's second module really rivaling her.

[teaheecoco]

Afk Wilder Hcs Pt.2

(Some of these replace my old headcanons)

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◇ Florabelle is immune to poisonous flowers and collects them. She has many pretty deadly flowers hidden somewhere safe

◇ Bryon is a hybrid. He's half caracal and half hawk. Hybrids are unusual, so he was often rejected by other kids during his childhood

◇ Lorsan has a sweet tooth and has a severe case of hyperactivity if he consumes a lot of sugar

�� Lyca makes strawberry crepes that consist of strawberries(obviously) and yogurt because it isn't too sweet, and it's Lorsan's favorite

◇ Eironn has a high pain tolerance and would fail to notice his wounds until someone points it out

◇ Parisa had a secret childhood friend who was so shy that nobody except Granny Dahnie and Master Arden knew she existed. That childhood friend happens to be Solise

◇ Bryon has 2 forms: his normal form and bird form. His bird form has more features of a hawk- giving him bird claws and the ability to fly. The only condition holding him back from using his second form is that he tends to get violent and predatory

◇ Lorsan and Lyca were really small as babies. So small that they both fit in Granny Dahnie's hands

◇ Lorsan doesn't know this, but some kids would try to pick on him, but Bryon would take care of them directly and even indirectly by launching an Elona attack

◇ Damian once got swooped while flying a kite. He fell on Eomir (lol)

◇ Eironn would accidentally hit his head when entering doors that he's taller than. His height is his biggest weakness, and he would lose at hide n seek a few times due to this

◇ Lyca used to stay up at night reading the stars or just stargazing. Due to that, she had a messed up sleep schedule and depended on anything that kept her awake through the day during her school days

◇ Hewynn has a hornleaf bear plush made by Granny Dahnie

◇ Parisa is a tea connoisseur and owns a lot of tea sets at her place. She hosts her tea party in her garden

◇ Lyca, being the older sister to Lorsan, wanted someone to look up to and saw Florabelle as an older sister figure. She would try to be like Florabelle, thinking she would be a better role model for Lorsan. Turns out that letting Lorsan neglect his assignments was a terrible mistake

◇ Damian has an older sister, and it's Nemora. They rarely see each other but they're on good terms

◇ Eironn is in touch with his elf culture and would pull some out of place moves on Lyca. Parisa revealed that most of it is an Elven's way of expressing certain feelings to someone

◇ Florabelle is favored by the fairy of dreams, Tasi. These two would meet up in the dream realm when Florabelle goes to sleep

◇ Parisa is not much of a gossip girl around people, but she loves spilling the tea with her plants

◇ Lorsan has a crime list in the lightbearer territory, but none of it has been recorded since he only gets himself involved with bad guys unintentionally. He has been locked up before and learned how to lock pick

◇ Florabelle dubbed Lyca and Eironn as star-crossed lovers when telling a story to her students

◇ Eironn curses in elven language

◇ Lyca does her deer's makeup

◇ Lorsan sleeps in a hammock

◇ Bryon lives in a treehouse

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Hope you enjoyed 👍

[sokkastyles]

Hey babes i just want to rant 🥹. I think i genuinely enjoy canon! azula for the way she was written. I think she was a child who didn't get to have the help they deserve. I think, with her childhood, her actions genuinely make sense. Of course she'd be cruel, manipulative, and abusive. She survived because she adapted. She and zuko are polar opposites and that's the point!

I just. I never expected the fandom to completely ruin her for me 🥹. I've never seen so many people justify her actions? I love zuko, but I don't justify the way he hunted gaang, even if he had reason to do so. Because those reasons simply aren't justifications. Zuko, hunted them. That was what he did until he went through hell to learn. To change. To do better. What he did never became right, and that's why the painful realization made him grow.

I'm just. Shocked??? When none of this is ever, like, applied to azula? I recognize that azula had a completely different life that closed her off to the necessary experiences that should have shook her the way zuko's travels did. I mean it took zuko's exile to set him on his journey. But whoa it's crazy that despite knowing this, so many people in the fandom rush to excuse and justify her actions? Or completely misconstrue the writing just to make her actions... Less horrible? But they ARE horrible! That's the point! She didn't have that growth! She didn't learn what zuko did! She's completely devoid of remorse!

She's crudely pieced together by fear of her father, an equal amount of adoration for him, and a drive for perfection in an incredibly hostile environment that would strike her down for less. This has made her spiteful! Hateful! She was abusive towards zuko because she saw his demise as a means for her success and survival.

We understand the reasons, BUT WHY DO WE TREAT IT AS JUSTIFICATION. It's incredibly triggering the way people reject all claims of her canonical abuse. I hate the way they make out her scathing remarks as a quirky character trait. As if abuse is so easily interchanged with sass. Or as if her actions were simply tiny mistakes people should just overlook.

I hate that she's used to make zuko look stupid and weak. Less intelligent, less capable, for not thriving in hostility. As if her presence is an antithesis to zuko's potential and brilliance (if azula talented, zuko no great at anything 🐒🍌).

I hate that they've made a compellingly flawed character, immune to any criticism for the horrible actions they REALLY, TRULY did. So annoyed that most azula redemption arcs are a variety of versions of the blatant disregard for zuko's horrible treatment and the damage of azula's actions. Redeeming azula seems like excusing what she did or just making her "cute". When her childhood should've been reason enough to afford her the growth and learning she really deserves, not the justification of her actions.

Azula did deserve better, but i feel like the people who would most resonate with this statement would disagree with me own why i think so.

It doesn't affect my love for the character, because I don't care about other people's opinions, but yeah, people miss the point especially when they try to argue that we "shouldn't pit them against each other." Like, do you also go into the atla tag and complain about the lack of support for the Fire Nation winning the war? Do you go to football games and yell at the fans for pitting the teams against each other? What nonsense. Especially since Azula should be called out for her actions.

And yeah, I agree, even the people who recognize that Azula needs redemption don't seem to understand what she needs to be redeemed for, and even the people who speak up against her being woobified try to make it seem like it's a problem that relates equally to Zuko, when it absolutely does not.

[tanoraqui]

Dungeon Meshi Liveblog: Mermaids, Kraken, Namari Hours!! & Frogs!

the corpse retrievers' scumminess is clearer in the manga. Kabru's party wasn't even fully dead, just unconscious and paralyzed (@Laios & co did you not notice this? Marcille especially, who laid them out?) but the retrievers still claim a full revival fee, instead of some sort of discount. (I do think they deserve some fee, bc "unconscious and paralyzed" is a great way to BECOME dead in a dungeon.)

Ooh, sorry my mistake: They knock a whole 100gp off the 3,600 revival fee, for the party! Sooo generous.

Ooh the fishmen are deliberately waiting by the mermaids so they can ambush adventurers who plug their ears, making them immune to mermaid song but vulnerable to sneak attack! *furiously jotting down notes for my own D&D games*

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He's so happy! This man doesn't need a kingdom; he needs his sister and a significant yearly grant to support his continuous research into the anatomy, behavior, and edibility of monsters.

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When Marcille's school flashback starts, "Dear Old Shiz" from Wicked starts playing in my head.

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Ok the Marcille vs Undine fight was DEFINITELY cooler in the show, when there was, y'know, movement and color and soundtrack.

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Fuck yeah, Namari hours! Look at her, she's so cool. She could kick my ass. She could kick anyone's ass.

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I like this so much because if Namari is accustomed to being found annoying when she lectures about weapons, that suggests to me that she and Laios have at least once passed a happy amount of time trading infodumps about weapons and monsters respectively, both sitting there thinking, This person is kinda weird but they're giving me useful dungeon-delving advice and trying to help. This is friendship!

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Laios: Really, shoutout to Namari for being so good with a crossbow! One-hit kill, wow!

Namari: Actually, that's the first time I've ever used one.

Laois: [Oh My God I Could Have Died.]

.

I really like how Chilchuck and Laios are very similar in tendency and ability to observe a situation, piece together elements of it and find an answer or solution. We've been having some good Chilchuck time recently - I'm on the frogs now, when he figures out how to use the traps to stop them, and before there was him putting together about eggs in the fish people's hair. He's clever! And it reminds me of Laios figuring out monsters' weaknesses on the fly in battle, as seen with the living armor!

I really miss color in this section, too, though. The vines and frogs were so vivid.

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Chilchuck is a guy who would complain that all mosquitos should be exterminated worldwide because they annoy him personally, and I love him for that. (Senshi and Laios would, of course, immediately explain how mosquitos are actually a key species in many ecosystems...)

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[gestures emotionally] they're a TEAM! They lean on each others' skills in combat, including Laios's weirdo encyclopedic knowledge of monster traits

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I need either these combined or just the first panel as a meme template, I really do.

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She was absolutely persuaded not by his argument, but by how hard he was trying to make it. Also, she wasn't persuaded by that either; the second panel is just Marcille mentally chanting, "For Falin. For Falin. For Falin..."

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IT'S JUST SO FUNNY. My favorite is Chilchuck in the scraps, but there's Senshi's complete roundness and beard that cannot be beardtained in any bearntainer... Laios's frog-eyes making him look weirdly like a bear... Marcille's ears... Impeccable, all of it. This is the photo I would put on their party fantasy!Christmas card, without a doubt.

[gayerthanthegays]

I once saw someone post about yandere dark Nikola Tesla x reader x yandere dark Beelzebub with body horror and smut and I have not seen anyone try and write it so fuck! I'll do it myself! But! I wanted everyone in the manga so fuck!

This reader is Isekai and has a system btw and male

Warning:basic writing with face changing (you are perfect no matter what)

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.

.

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You were just chillin in your bedroom,eating stuff and looking through job applications

After graduation you were just trucking by really,even with your parents help you were just not satisfied with reality

And so you escaped through Fantasy

Every day you would scoured the Internet,trying to find any media that would satisfy you for the day

Until one day you came across Record of Ragnarok

Truly you didn't have any expectations for it really,seeing that it was a battle manga with very real character death

But you digressed,trying to atleast read a chapter of it to just give it a shot

And after you really enjoyed it

Like really enjoyed it

It was no surprise to you that you had an interest in men,I mean come on!

-Who in this world wouldn't want any of these fine ass men!? Not you of course! Infact you want all of them!

But you digressed trying to keep the inner gay demons away you tried to atleast write it out

-It was a mistake since all you would write were fanfictions of going on dates with said men

-of course writing leads to obsession and that leads into no longer having a life

-so yeah with no life you began going deeper into the hole that we all call hyper fixation

-of course that leads into day dreaming of how you were the darling of all the fine men from Thor,to lu bu and even Thomas Edison because you cannot deny he is gorgeous even if he was a dick in real life

-though of course your day dreaming has some disadvantages,like no longer having a social life,being akward with your interests and the wish to have a gorgeous face just like all the gods and fine men in manga,heck maybe you can do it for yourself too

-and maybe that just happened

-one day you were doing your thing,having a new set of products you just bought from the market you began cooking your breakfast,maybe doing a little shimmy while making some food

-once your done you ate some eggs and bacon with a little bit of pancake with a slice of chili on a hotdog before going to the couch,and whoops you died in your sleep,on the couch

-yeah apparently isolating yourself really messes up your immune system and makes it weak,and eating a bunch of things filled with sustenance like chili on a hotdog really messed you up bro

-and so then you died,your soul floating about in the abyss when you heard a ding sound,and boom you had the system!

The abyss was cold,very cold actually,you didn't expect that the abyss had any feeling to it really, infact you didn't expect yourself to feel anything at all since you know,your dead

You were about to accept your fate before a ding sounded

"ding! The system has found a host! Greatings host! I am the wishfuffilment system"

You a dead soul was suprised, after all you didn't actually thought you could get a system,since you know- your a real life person but as you always do,you rolled with it

So after awhile the system gave you some options of subsystems and such and you a greedy thing you are picked all the ones that will make your irresistible

[noosayog]

wc: 500

content/warning: angst

part 9. directory here.

--

When Miya Atsumu had interrupted the vulnerable moment with you, having the gall to so casually ask if he was interrupting, Sakusa immediately was no longer ready to have this confrontation with you. The unwillingness to do this in front of Miya was overwhelming.

At the same time, he already made one mistake by pushing you away that morning. Would walking away be another mistake?

But alas, Sakusa is not immune to the curses of being a man, and men are stupid. So in a moment of weakness (he seemed to be having a lot of these recently), he let the irrational embarrassment take over his mind. The novel feeling of vulnerability - in front of Miya of all people - makes his fight or flight kick in.

And well, he has never really been a fight person. So in his second cardinal mistake, he walks away, even after seeing the plea in your eyes.

Once again, time goes by mundanely. You don’t call, you don’t visit, but this time he knows to expect this. This was of his own doing.

When Miya, again, corners him in the locker room after practice that next day, he's at a breaking point. He knows he fucked up; why does he need to hear this from Miya Atsumu of all people.

"Ya can't keep letting things pass ya by when things get tough."

Never in Sakusa's life did he think he would be getting relationship advice from Miya Atsumu.

Fuck you, Sakusa wants to yell. What do you know, Sakusa wants to yell. But he knows he's just making excuses. Miya Atsumu was… fuck. Miya Atsumu, for once in his life, was right.

As a tangential thought, he realizes he probably needs therapy to develop better communication skills and unpack any childhood trauma this emotional stunting stems from, but for the time being, he just really needs to find you.

–

At your door, Kiyoomi knocks. You used to leave a spare key at his apartment. You gave it to him after he offered you his; an exchange of good faith you had joked. You had his and he had yours. When you left with all your things, he hadn't noticed that you had replaced your apartment spare key with his own until he took a closer look today. You really had completely erased yourself from his life.

It's a humbling experience really, to once have possessed the privilege of freely being a part of your personal space, to now having to respect the threshold of being a friend. Like everyone else.

He knocks after a few moments of silence and still nothing. He wonders if the universe is telling him to give up.

But Kiyoomi has waited long enough and made enough mistakes. He's scared that if he doesn't do this now, he'll never have the courage to chase after you again. He hopes that he's still in time before you can give someone else another chance. He hopes that after today, he won't need to be selfish like this anymore, won't hurt you like this anymore.

Just as he’s about to dial your number, the door swings open and there you are. 

[inamindfarfaraway]

Hnnng dehumanisation in Spies are Forever. Curt's not a man, he's "property of the United States government". Tatiana wasn't a child, she was an “instrument of war”, a “killing machine". It’s particularly poignant that Barb calls Curt property of their government, a cog in the machine, because she knows that she’s in the same boat, and in fact socially inferior to him as both a woman and a support worker to his more prestigious career. She herself has always seen and valued him as a person and is constantly trying to make him reciprocate. But he initially views her as just a cool gadget dispenser. Technology appears to be her only means of asserting her worth and earning people’s attention, which might be why she’s working on a global information network, essentially the internet - the ultimate technological platform for human connection and collaboration. Cynthia is so committed to overcoming her human vulnerability in order to be the best tool her country could possibly ask for that she poisons herself every day to build up an immunity. One of the villains is a literal Nazi who uses a literal puppet. And the other is Owen.

Owen's evil vision is "turning everyone into a spy", aka property. Instruments for him to conduct. Creating a global surveillance network, because the internet has as much power to distance and isolate people as to unite them. The machine failed him when he was a cog in it, so he aims to replace it with a more efficient one and control it this time; he cannot comprehend any ethical improvement to or dismantling of the machine itself. His problem with spies is that they contaminate the ruthless political mechanisms with messy, fallible humanity... and vice versa. Agent Mega messed up the mission because he was human; Curt left his boyfriend for dead because he was a spy. You can’t be both. Person or tool. So Owen chooses the one that can’t be hurt. He willingly becomes a tool of CHIMERA, a living weapon. He kills and tortures hundreds of people, considers himself an actor in a story and others expendable characters, does everything he can to detach himself from ideas of personhood. “Who needs spies when a box in a room can do your job in seconds?" Humanity is worthless. Obsolete.

Except no, it isn't. Curt and his allies proves it. After the prologue, Curt simultaneously makes Owen’s mistake of binary thinking. First he wants to be purely a man, and an absolute wreck of one; then he wants to be purely the greatest spy ever, no sentimental weaknesses. But he can’t maintain that divide. He has to be both. The team win with their skills, training and expertise and by being human - social, irrational animals, working together, loving each for the sake of it, acting spontaneously. They aren’t tools that Owen can perfectly predict and manipulate. Curt surprises him. And Owen, for all his icy calculations and grand talk, cannot escape his humanity any more than he can destroy Curt’s, as his last scene makes painfully clear. He lowers his gun like a person. His voice breaks like one. He bleeds like one. Meanwhile, Barb is a genius engineer and Tatiana is a master assassin. You’d think that their climactic moment of triumph would demonstrate Barb’s amazing technology or Tatiana’s combat skills, but instead the focus is on them simply talking to each other and even Mrs Mega. Human connection and collaboration. Human error that doesn’t negate their victory. “You can break a computer box, but you can’t break the will of a man.” That’s what Curt is. Not property. A man. He is a gay, unemployed man; Barb is a woman in STEM; Tatiana is a female ex-KGB Russian immigrant; all in the United States of America in the 1960s, a very bad time and place to be all of those things. Yet they will survive. They are not alone and they will endure. Spies are forever because they are people.

And the narrative consistently emphasises that everybody is a person! It mocks the Nazis, obviously, but even then Baron von Nazi isn’t a one-dimensional monster, he has emotions and cognitive biases and a backstory and fondness for cheeseburgers. Sergio isn’t just an interchangeable criminal, he’s a devoted family man awkwardly trying to lighten his work atmosphere. Richard Big isn’t just a crass parody, he has moral principles. We hear all kind of characters’ thoughts and feelings: the Informant, Barb’s fellow scientists, the waiter at the casino, the guests at the gala. This affirmation that everyone has a inner life means that yes, anyone can be a spy.

[chosoniisan]

my, what a big heart you have ↠ kamo choso

↠pairing: (wolf) kamo choso | (fox) reader

↠setting: (modern) hybrid au, but make it subtle-ish

↠genre: dark romance-esque

↠caution: yandere behavior (obsession, manipulation, stalking); minor injuries/blood; masochism; (my size/height kink strikes again)

↠summary: you think nothing of it when choso from your office floor invites you over to work on a department report (but perhaps that was your mistake)

↠authoress' notes: I'm so weak to hybrid au stuff and wanted to try my hand at it, particularly with a predator/predator dynamic (although foxes are notoriously skittish), so here we are //// I know this needs to be fleshed out a bit more, but I wanted to write something in-universe as a baseline for future revisiting purposes :')

“Choso, I want to go home.”

Lacing peachy temperance with a touch of diplomacy at the end.

“You just got here, though. . .”

In exchange for stifling a curled lip, portending the razor edge of a sneer, you’re overtaken by the stark dip in your brow and your slightly lifted chin, not so subtly flirting with unfounded authority. “Choso, I’m going home, now.” Despite pure unwavering rolling like thunder, threatening to splinter through his marrow from your pitch alone, he doesn’t flinch. It’s as if he’s utterly immune to the implications blistering in the air, but you’re not opposed to translating a suggestion into plain letters if it means he’ll relinquish his post in front of the door. “So, I would appreciate it if you could just let me leave before it gets too late.”

“But I don’t want you to go yet.” Said simply, too innocently for the deteriorating situation at hand, yet it’s his tilted head and rosy look that has you bristling in full. “I really enjoy your company.”

“That’s the problem.” Cyanide burns on your palate, enough to make you wince and wish in hindsight to take it back because thanks to him you’ve become every bit of the thorn starving to make an open wound out of him. If only he had kept his distance; if only you hadn’t toed the line of dangerous, harrowing, dawning calamity. “I don’t want to be anything other than coworkers. I don’t want to be acquaintances, or friends, or whatever you think we are.”

He blinks at you, genuinely perplexed and not at all reeling back from the pang of a knife driven to the core of him, right where he’s fleshy and oh so sensitive. (There is something horrifically wrong with him, beyond the obvious.) “Did I do something to upset you. . .?” You don’t know which is more audacious—the inkling of a warble in his voice or the absolute refusal to swallow the bitter pill of your rejection. The latter seems to be winning out in your head. . .that is, until he’s a handful of steps closer, encroaching into your orbit in earnest and before you can contemplate recoiling back. (Calm down, you’re not caught yet, there’s still time to weasel your way out of this.) “Was it the tea? I was sure I’d gotten the brand you usually drink at lunch—”

“—Choso, no, that’s not what I’m talking about—”

“—Or maybe I messed up getting pastries for a snack instead of something savory—”

“—Stop, Choso, I’m serious—”

“—But you’re always going to that bakery after work since you’ve got a sweet tooth, so I thought—”

Selectively tuning him out now that you’ve reached the point of no return where you’re primed to throw caution to the wind and make a break for it while he’s corded with untold mania. Unfortunately, the throes of delirium don’t negate the fact that his kind is big, nightmarishly mountainous, and he’s no exception, outsizing you as easily as he breathes. Of course you know that, have always known that in the back of your head, but try telling your thump, thump, thumping heart that when you’re squarely at the epicenter of him. And that’s before you even factor in the festering of his true colors like a contagion, none too surreptitiously admitting to his sins at the foot of your confessional. Which begs the question. . .if he’s willing to divulge his rotten habit of prying into your periphery while you’re none the wiser, then what is he actually keeping close to the chest?

No, scratch that, you don’t want to find out, and you won’t find out if you can help it. The key is to catch him while his guard is down, to stance yourself on the balls of your feet, to measure the distance to the door in a few frantic bounds, to take a deep breath and worry less about the inevitable fallout from your escape. By the time the dust clears, you’ll be turning in your transfer request, and with any luck they’ll relocate you to the Sapporo office, sure, you’re not the arctic type, but you’ll take brutal winters over him brutalizing you—

Right then dizziness spells over you, and you don’t realize it’s too late until it is.

“. . .Are you okay?” Echoes with ripe sincerity, except when did Choso constellate himself this closely to you? Enough that you can feel the heat of him tiding over you to the point of drowning beneath the surface? Is your undoing thinking that you could foil him not with your stature but with a head start toward the door? Backed against the wall, desperate to turn tail and run for the hills (literally), you think so.

“Maybe it would be best if you sat down for a bit. I can get you some water, too, that should help you feel better, yeah?” Comes another attempt at cloying coercion, whisking straight through one ear and out the other, has no choice but to when your pitifully vulpine brain is fraying at the edges, cannibalizing itself up before he has a chance to dig his claws into your grey matter.

Claws and not fingers, because he is every bit vicious, unseamed, hungry for a taste with an open hand—

“Don’t touch me.”

Split blood and wolf’s flesh cake underneath your fingernails, nauseating an already faintly you.

See how quick you are to spurn him, ravage him right up until you’re faced with the spatter of your transgressions. You’re frozen like a sheet of ice, aren’t you, and you can’t even deign a look at the sticky dead weight abandoned at your side. Though out of sight, out of mind is wishful thinking on your part when he’s brandishing your self-infliction before his eyes, almost as if he’s committing those jagged fault lines to memory. Short-term memory, considering it’ll be the final remnants of you.

You think your demise begins with his full-mooned gazing and a flicker of pink across his lip. But. “I’m sorry, really sorry for making you mad—I didn’t mean to, I swear.” In the end, his tail is tucked between his legs, matched only by a desire to endear himself into your good graces in spite of reaping your consequences. While you’re very much out of your mind, losing your sense of self before the rest of you follows, you’ve cobbled enough scraps to appreciate the absurdity of the situation. Him, reveling in desecration like it’s a virtue. “You probably want to scratch and bite me some more, right? I don’t mind, no—” he presents the untouched sweep of his forearm: an offering for your consumption, “I want you to take your anger out on me, to punish me with pain, it’s what I deserve.”

Blanching not from his proximity (you need only part your lips for a mouthful of sinew), and neither from the madness of him in spades (tufts slanted forward amongst a ruby-rich flush), but because he thinks you to be untamed, a rabid thing in a delicate, softly shell.

And he’s right.

Laid bare before him, there’s a sharp prickling in the corners of your eyes, even more so when you’re keen to an itch that sparks from your synapses to the taper in your teeth. This is his fault, all of it: he’s the one eating away at you until you’re raw and deeply unstitched. So when you inevitably bare your fangs back, you, a girl of prey, he’s rightfully deserving of the blame.

At least that’s what reason dictates—and you are far removed from it. Enough that you fall into the embrace of collapse, or what ends up as the cradle of his arms, true to his word of taking your savagery as his own. But for now you know he’s beyond satiated with a misty-eyed you staining the front of his shirt: the cacophony of chest-deep drumming and incessant swish, swishing says so.

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” he tries soothing you in a quieted mantra, petting along the back of your head and exploiting the receptive patch behind your folded flaps; that only draws an unwanted lilt along with a fresh wave of tears.

“You can hurt me as much as you want, as much as you need—I’ll still take care of you, I promise.”

(Perhaps residing in his stomach wouldn’t have been such a bad fate after all.)