#and maybe.. MAYBE it is possible to escape if you have enough willpower

[unsanctitude]

brainstorming loure for vanpire :)

i like the idea that the nightclub itself is his body as much as his actual "body" is. its all one unit. he could make a chair kill you if he thinks your ass doesnt deserve a sexy vampire death. + haunted living buildings are sexy

[harleykeeners]

Caught Red Handed - Buddie

Evan “Buck” Buckley/Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz

Prompt: Oceans 9-1-1 Rewrite. In which Buck and Eddie have been secretly together for months, and are found out in the worst way possible.

Word Count: 3500

Eddie knew his week would be screwed the second the cops stormed into the station and pulled the duffle bags filled with money out of the truck. The way Bobby froze in place and Chim’s jaw fell on the floor told Eddie that they were in big trouble. Immediately, the air tensed and he canceled every plan for the week. Everyone began asking questions no one knew the answers to and they were all frustrated. Bobby called the shift early and sent them all home.

With the stress of the day and the call itself, Eddie swings his arm over Buck’s shoulder, their quiet signal that Eddie is taking him home. Buck relaxes under his touch and lets his head drop onto Eddie’s shoulder. With a holler and a wave, they pile into Eddie’s pick-up. “That did not just happen,” Buck mutters as he drops his head on the dashboard and groans. “How the hell did it even end up there?” Eddie doesn’t answer as he shifts the gear to reverse and begins backing out from the driveway.

The drive is quiet, Buck staring out the window as Eddie places a comforting hand on Buck’s thigh. In moments like this, after a stressful call, they always go home with each other. It takes more willpower than they have to not rush into each other's arms after a frightening save. So, they go home and spend time together in the private of their own homes. Right now, Eddie doesn’t want to stop touching Buck. The heat of his presence is enough to ground him in this situation. With a squeeze of his thigh, Buck moves Eddie’s hand to hold his own, squeezing back letting him know he’s right here.

Silence is often just what they need after a call, and right now they couldn’t be more grateful Chris was at a sleepover. Immediately, Buck chases after Eddie’s touch, tender and searching. Eddie reciprocates, reminding himself that whatever happened today was a mistake, that there is no way any of them are capable of such a plot. Eddie’s fingers find Buck’s hair and he relaxes at the feeling of the blonde locks. “Wanna head to bed?” Eddie whispers. Sometimes, they get lost in each other to escape whatever terror awaits them outside. Right now, that monster is the LAPD and a whole lot of paperwork. “Yeah,” Bucks answers, “I could use some time with you in bed after today.” It isn’t meant to sound crass and Eddie chuckles. With a kiss pressed against his temple, Eddie goes to run a shower while Bucks gets a snack from the kitchen.

In the boiling water, Eddie allows his body to decompress. His anxiety washes away with the shampoo running down his face and he takes a deep breath. He scrubs away the day and allows his mind to wander. All he knows is that his coworkers made it out of the bank safe and that Buck is safe. Which is all he is currently concerned with.

Stepping out of the shower he doesn’t bother getting dressed past his boxers. After the day he’s had, he can’t find the energy. He finds Buck at the counter eating some dry cereal and holds his waist as he rests his head on the crook of his shoulder. “What’s going through your mind?” Eddie waits as the crease in Buck’s brow deepens. “There’s no way it could have been one of us. It just doesn’t make sense. Hen was unconscious the entire time in the vault, Chim can attest as he was watching the cam. We were with the drills, and so was Bobby. Everyone working is our alibi, so how did it end up in the truck?” Buck rants as Eddie massages his hips. He knows Buck tends to overthink, so with a kiss to the nape of his neck, Eddie says, “You think too much. We were set up, and that's for the cops to solve, not us. Let's go to bed.”

Buck lets out a soft laugh, “You’re evil…” Eddie plays innocent, knowing full well that the hands on his hips get Buck feeling a certain way. “No, maybe I’m just trying to get you to go to bed with me.” He doesn’t need to clarify and Buck happily smiles and turns to face him. Sometimes Eddie forgets he can do this, he can have Buck. That within these four walls, they don’t have to put on an act. Eddie doesn’t have to be conscious of his every move, notice where his hands are, or even worry about the pet names that slip from his mouth. At home, he can love Buck freely. No wondering eyes or HR rules are stopping him from consuming the man he’s been infatuated with for years. Maybe they’re more eager since years of yearning finally climaxed a few months ago and now Eddie has the privilege to call Buck his.

Seeing Buck in his bed under his crappy bedroom lighting has soon become Eddie’s favorite sight. So when Buck pulls away from his lips and flashes that smile at him, batting his eyes and pulling his shirt off, Eddie forgets about the call. Instead, he focuses on the man underneath him and chooses to lose himself.

As the door gets slammed, the seconds of silence as Detective Wash and Mercer impatiently await an answer seem to stretch till eternity. They had just returned from Athena’s residency, and while she had been expecting them, she assured them that the others wouldn’t. Currently, they are at the home of Edmundo “Eddie” Diaz. Wash and Mercer had just sent two teams to the Han and Buckley residence, hoping to get to the bottom of this heist quickly.

In a panicked movement, the door opens, and Edmundo awkwardly sticks his head out the door. Wash notices that he looks disheveled and that’s fair, it is 1 A.M., and they probably woke him up. Before he can even open his mouth, Mercer presents the search warrant and the team pushes past him and enters the home. “Hey! What the hell is going on?” Eddie shouts as Wash turns the lights on and directs officers into various rooms. Mercer barks orders, speaking over and ignoring Eddie’s complaint.

“You can’t seriously have enough plausible clause for a warrant?” he shouts. Wash shrugs, “Believe it or not, the court granted it. We’re going to need you to turn in all electronic devices on the premises Mr. Diaz.” It’s the first time Wash truly looks at Eddie and realizes he’s clinging onto a blanket around his torso with his chest bare. Well, it is the middle of the night, he’s caught people in worse situations.

The orders were to be as thorough and quick as possible, regardless of the mess left behind. Wash barks orders to flip every surface and take any electronics they see. Cabinets are pulled open and the clink of plates and cups are heard ringing through the house.

Just as he sees a team go into a hallway, he hears a scream. Ears perk up as every officer drops what they're doing. Wash notices, and he and Mercer dash to the scream, following the noise to a bedroom. Officers follow behind Wash and they enter the open room where other officers are and what they see leaves them surprised. In the bedroom, three officers surround the bed as a man is frantically screaming. “Eddie, what the fuck is going on?” Wesh immediately recognizes the man as another one of their suspects: Evan Buckley. He makes a mental note to check on the officers at the Buckley home since they probably got no answer. Once again, the firefighter is frantically covering himself with the bed sheets, and Wesh isn’t dense. The flashlights pointed at Buckley illuminate the red on his neck.

“They have a warrant,” is all Eddie says as he picks up some sweats and a hoodie the officers have thrown on the floor. He can’t be bothered to care about decency and gets dressed in the room. “They’re going to flip the place inside out, and they’re taking our phones,” Eddie angrily says. Buck is left with a shocked and angry face, but before he can speak Eddie throws him some clothes off the floor. “Get dressed, before they take all our clothes.” Buck laughs, “They wouldn’t.” He’s met with a stone glare as he looks at Mercer and Wesh. They signal to the officers to keep moving. “You can’t be serious,” he huffs as he frantically puts on a shirt and gets out of bed.

“Detective, this can’t be real. You don’t think anyone in our department did this,” Buck says as he rapidly puts on a shirt and some pants and battles the sheets he’s tangled in. “Your team was the one on the call, with the money in the truck, in the safe the diamonds went missing in. Doesn’t seem like an unlikely conclusion does it, Buckley?” Wesh says as he watches the officers pull books off the shelves and flip cushions off the sofa. Cabinets are swung open and Tupperware is thrown all over the floors. Eddie and Buck get the feeling they were told to be as messy as possible. Typical red vs blue behavior.

“You two are coming down to the station with me. We have some questions for you,” Mercer says as she rudely leads the men out of the house and into the squad car. Buck sends a desperate look at Eddie, and he can’t fight the instinct to pull him in his arms. So he doesn’t, and he holds Buck close in the backseat of the squad car, whispering comforting nothing into his ears. He feels Buck’s head fall onto his shoulder. He looks over to see the blonde blinking slowly, the sirens illuminating his face in a soft haze. Buck looks stressed, and knowing him, he’s probably thinking about the others, not even worried about himself. Eddie runs a hand in his hair and presses a soft kiss to his temple with a whisper, “It’ll be okay.”

The station is cold and the lighting is sterile. They are rudely seated and Mercer and Wesh stand menacingly in front of them. Eddie doesn’t let go of Buck, holding him as close as possible to his heart. “Mr. Diaz, I’ll start with you,” Wesh says as she begins to lead him to an interrogation room. Eddie kisses Buck quickly before following Wesh and sees Mercer take Buck to another room. As he sits at the table, he realizes he should have picked better clothes, the station is freezing.

“Mr. Diaz, where were you at the time of the heist?” Mercer asks. She wastes no time and Eddie gets the feeling it will be a long night. “What have you deemed the time of the heist?” he asks. Eddie isn’t willing to give any confusion that could be used against him.

“We’ve deemed the diamonds were stolen at around 22:30 P.M. The money, however, could have been at any time.” Eddie sighs, knowing they have no idea what they are talking about. “At 10, you would have found me giving medical attention to the victims inside the vault.”

“And you sure you weren’t using that time to steal the diamonds?” “Yes, you can ask Hen, she can tell you I was taking her vitals alongside Chimmeny.”

“And who’s to say they wouldn't lie?” Eddie laughs, “The 118 aren’t liars.”

And the air tensed, and Eddie saw a smirk cross her face. “So you and Mr.Buckley over there aren’t lying to them? I mean if you’re willing to lie about a relationship to people you’ve, on the record, called your family, who's to say the rest of them aren't capable of lying.”

“My relationship doesn’t concern this,” he seethes. What he and Buck have is between the two, alone. No one bears the right to know of the secret smiles and glances Eddie steals from Buck and cherishes. No one bears the right to know how Buck lights up when Eddie whispers “Evan” under his breath as he holds him close. No one bears the right to know the special moments Eddie cherishes.

“Oh, but it does Mr. Diaz. When you’re willing to lie to your coworkers about something as trivial as a relationship, who's to say you aren’t willing to lie to law enforcement?”

As Bucks sits at the table, Wesh sizes him up. Buck feels small and is quietly counting down the seconds till this is over. “So, would you like to explain why we found you in Mr. Diaz’s residence?” The question catches Buck off guard, “He’s my friend, after last night I didn’t want to be alone.”

Wesh sighs and looks hard at Buck, “Mr. Buckley, it’s best you not lie to me.” Buck tenses up, “I’m not lying, sir.” With a grunt, Merce asks, “So who gave you those marks on your neck?” Buck brings his hand up to cover the marks, and Wesh realizes he got him.

“You two are more than friends and are already lying for each other. How do I know you two didn’t plot this whole thing together and lie to your team? Clearly, you both already have experience conspiring together and lying to them. This shouldn't have been too hard for you two.”

Maybe it's a choice of word that enrages Buck that he says, “What Eddie and I are doing isn’t conspiring. Our relationship is between us.”

“So you admit you two are in a relationship?” Wesh asks.

“Yeah, so what?” Buck doesn’t see the point of this. He’s tired, he’s angry, and he misses Eddie.

“So you’re both just lying to your coworkers and your departments as you know that not notifying them is a violation of contract.”

Buck freezes, and realizes he messed up. “What does who I’m dating have to do with the diamonds?”

“Shows your character. You’re willing to lie to your coworkers, whom you’ve called family, and your department for something as trivial as a relationship. So lying to law enforcement about stealing $6 million in diamonds with your boyfriend shouldn’t be out of the question.”

Rages flashes before Buck’s eyes and he has to remind himself to take a deep breath. “First of all, what we have isn’t trivial. And second of all, we do plan to tell them, we’re just getting our footing first. Technically, we only need to notify our departments if it gets serious. Which, hopefully, it will but not now. That doesn’t prove that we’d be willing to pull something off like this. Keeping a relationship quiet is much different than stealing millions in diamonds.”

“No, but it shows you two are more than capable. Why wouldn’t you want to steal the diamonds? I know a wedding can be expensive, much more if you two plan to buy a home together in L.A. Some diamonds could really help.” Buck flushes at the implication he and Eddie will get married, while also processing how insulting that statement truly is.

Just like Wesh, Mercer is drilling into Eddie. “You have a son, right?” She asks as Eddie clutches his fists. He’s tired, he’s cold, and he wants to go back to bed. He doesn’t dignify her with a verbal response but just nods. “I know how expensive they can be. Especially with chronic illness. Being a parent isn’t cheap, much less in L.A. Diamonds wouldn’t hurt.”

Eddie is offended she would even insinuate something like that. “Listen, I get by. My retirement from the military helps with my bills and my job gives pretty good benefits. I work full-time and make do.”

“And I’d assume having a partner also helps,” she says as if it’s something Eddie should be ashamed of. “Yes, it does. He helps when I need it and we’re lucky to never be short. We don’t need the diamonds,” Eddie angrily says. He doesn’t understand why he’s still sitting here. “We’re both veterans so our benefits still roll in and the department takes care of its employees.”

“You say you were both on the drills, opening the vault. Did you know that your Captain left to make a phone call? So, who’s to say you two didn’t take advantage of your moment alone to sneak the diamonds?”

Eddie laughs, “I’m flattered you think Buck and I would take advantage of a moment like that. In reality, we didn’t notice and were still working. Had we noticed, then-“

“You two you would have stolen the diamonds,” Mercer rudely cuts him off. “No, we probably would have made out. You see, while I’m flattered, Buck and I aren’t sophisticated enough to pull off something like this.”

“Are you calling your partner stupid?”

“If that proves his innocence then, yes. Yes, Evan Buckley is too stupid for this.”

Buck is so tired he’s struggling to keep his head afloat. “Says here you were in the SEALs.” There’s no question, just a statement. Buck looks wearily at Wesh, a sense of nausea coming up his stomach. Buck only nods.

“So you and your boyfriend are both in the military?”

“Were. We’re retired. Different branches.” Buck already knows what’s coming up. “So two veterans don’t know how to pull off a heist? A SEAL no less?”

He huffs and crosses his arms, “Sorry, but larceny wasn’t exactly what they taught us at basic. Maybe in the Air Force, they’re the intelligent ones. But not in the Army or Navy. For us, it was more like folding your bed a certain way and shooting to kill. Sorry to disappoint,” Buck says and by that question, he’s done.

“Look, if you have nothing of value to ask me, I’d like to go. It’s late, and I wish to be with my partner and sleep this horrible night off. Check the cameras again on the side of the bank, you’ll notice Eddie and I never left our post at the drill. Once it was open, I reloaded the drill and Eddie was providing medical care. Ask anyone who was there, and look at the cameras, they are our alibi. So if you’re just going to keep and ask me pointless questions while making insulting assumptions about my life, then I’d like to go,” Buck takes a deep breath as he gets up.

“You’ve already insulted my relationship, my career, and my character. I don’t know what more you have left,” Buck says as he looks Wesh in the eye, and silently tells the man he is leaving. No debate about it.

As he opens the door in the interrogation room, he can’t help the snarky remark that comes from his throat, “And you’re welcome for all my service.”

The hallway is cold and busy. Several detectives moved bags of evidence that Buck recognizes as Bobby’s phone and Maddie’s laptop. He’s irritated and frankly, the level of insult he’s feeling would be dangerous to vocalize. However, it slightly simmers when he finally sees Eddie walk out.

He sprints to him and wraps his arms around him. For the sake of holding him close and feeling his body heat, Evan melts into Edmundo. They don’t say anything, throats dry from the hour-long interrogations. Instead, Eddie looks into Buck’s eyes and the anger fades away, replaced by a longing. A longing to be safe, to be held, to be home. With a soft kiss to his temple, a phone light illuminates Buck’s face as Eddie dials to call an Uber.

“Do you think they went to your sister’s house?” Buck says as they sit outside the station, watching the few cars drive by. “I hope not,” Eddie answers, grasping at Buck’s hand as they hold each other present. “No reason to go after anyone outside of the department,” Buck mumbles as he rests his head on Eddie’s shoulder. “You think they already brought the others in?” Eddie whispers.

The sound of a car wakes Buck from his nap. As they pile into the Uber, Buck snuggles into Eddie’s side, wanting to hide away from the world. The drive is quiet, it’s nearing 3 A.M. The cops have finally left their house, leaving the street empty and blissful.

Opening the door greets them to the disaster left behind, however the two men are too tired to even care. Awkwardly clearing a path over the books and papers thrown across the floor, they make their way to the bedroom.

Bucks the first to hit the bed as he collapses at the mere sight of it. With a quiet beg and a gesture, Eddie follows suit. Cuddling into his warmth, Buck mumbles, “Do you think any of us really did do it?”

Eddie looks at him, pretends to think for a moment, then says, “No. I don’t think so. But, the cops were right,” This catches Buck’s attention. “For you, I’d lie to the cops if it meant keeping you safe.”

End.

Sorry for the (Ch)Air Force drag but, Go Navy Beat Army.

[archives-of-camelot]

Lap Pillow

Characters: Eli, Evelin (@nimue-hidden-lake)

Series: Evelin Anniversary

The night was long, and the room was filled with the sounds of clicking and typing, occasionally broken by a yawn or two. Eli was hard at work, focused on the task at hand...or at least trying to focus. This project was going on for a long time, and as a freelance video editor, he felt a commitment to deliver as fast as possible...even as he only accepted the job earlier that day.

Off and on his eyes would glaze over, and his eyelids grew heavy, before springing to attention for a moment, only to feel heavier than before. The timeline of his edits were starting to blur together, as he was unable to focus on the timing of the audio, causing it to desync with the visuals. He couldn't even tell what he was listening to anymore, as the commentary and music blended together, causing further desyncing.

One would take this as a sign to step back, and take a break. One might even say sleep, which he was in desperate need of.

'No, I can do this' he thought. 'Just gotta press a little harder, and this'll be done by tonight. Easy'. But with each passing second, that seemed more and more unrealistic.

Tap tap tap

A noise caught his attention. Maybe it was an error in the audio? He rechecked the timeline, despite his inability to tell anyways.

Tap tap tap

No, it couldn't be that. It was getting...louder? He took off his headphones and-

"Eli"

The sudden voice started him into a small jump in his seat.

"Are you still working on that video?" upfront as always.

"Y-Yeah...I almost got it done, I just need a little longer" he said with a weak smile.

"I've seen you work enough times to know that isn't true" she said, looking at his screen. Even someone who wasn't well versed in editing could tell it was a mess.

Eli looked to the side, a little embarrassed. He always preferred when people saw his best. He never did like it when his flaws were out for all to see. Be it in his work, or as a person. Evelin made that impossible though. To her credit, it was for the best. It reminded him that he was only human, and that he could only do so much. He wasn't perfect, no matter how hard he tried.

She was always there to pull him back to reason if he delved too deep into his own expectations for himself.

"You need rest"

"J-Just a little longer. I Promise"

"That wasn't a suggestion"

Evelin sat on the bed and patted her lap. An invitation. One that became more enticing as he considered from his rickety old armchair. It looked comfy. But the stubborn part of him knew that if he laid down, he'd never get up. He needed to get this done! . . . But...did it have to get done tonight...? Surely a well earned break wouldn't hurt...right?

"A-Alright...but just for a few minutes..." he half heartedly stated, knowing he didn't have the willpower to pull through on that.

He stood up, walked a few steps to the bed, and then collapsed into the soft embrace of his girlfriend's thighs.

Immediately he melted into the warmth. Like a cloud, compared to the hours he spent sat in that chair.

"Was that so hard?" she asked rhetorically as she pat his head.

Even while laying down on what he argued were the world's softest pillow, he still tried to stay awake. Just a few minutes, then back to-

"Nya..."

Her voice rang in his ears as she bent over next to them. Repeatedly, only-

"Nya..."

Ever so softly and gently, directly into his ear. In his position he couldn't escape...not that he had the strength to resist in the first place, mental or physical. It worked like a charm, literally. Like some kind of magic spell, compelling him to give in with a simple sound.

"Nya..."

His eyelids hung heavier and heavier with each reciting, gently chanting to his weary mind and body. He should have known this was her plan. This wasn't the first time...nor would it be the last. Time spent together made him weak to her voice. A certain tone, a certain word or phrase, was often all it took. But that was only natural, wasn't it? A common symptom of lovers.

"Nya..."

She continued, not stopping. Who knows how long this went on for? Eli couldn't recount as his muscles and mind were reduced to mush before finally...

" . . . Z Z Z . . . "

He finally fell asleep. Evelin stopped her chanting, but continued to pat her special one's head.

"Sometimes you're such a handful..." she said hushed between pats. "But I wouldn't trade it for anything..." she added with a gentle smile.

Masterlist

[dethharmonic]

Community Gardens

Otto Octavius x Reader; Alternate Universe - Magic Summary:  By happenstance, your attempt at a fresh start leads you to a garden. Attempting to bury your heart within it's warm soil, you hope it takes root. (See also: Closeted magic user becomes apprentice to local pariah who has destroyed half the city in his quest to better mankind. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ ) Chpt 1: poultice

[next]

[click here for the fic on ao3]

_ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _

“Okay, so I’ve definitely heard you shouldn’t touch gardens belonging to witches. Buuuuut that cabbage is huge, and I’d eat like a cabbage based king for like a week. If I’m careful. Do you thi—HEY!!”

You glanced down to the very disinterested toad you’ve been anxiously whispering to, only to see it making its way to a nearby bush. Grabbing it gently before it’s final hop, you place the small (and very confused) animal back on the loosely built stone wall you have been leaning on.

     “Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you! Rude!!”

Its well past sunset, chill setting in the air and the moon reflecting off the fine mist blanketing the masterfully maintained garden laid out before you. Stillness of the night only disturbed by the soft chirping of crickets, an owl in the distance, and your hushed ramblings being carried by the gentle breeze. Now, it is possible the toad wasn’t really helping the indecision you faced in regards to garden looting, but you’ll be damned if you braved the terror of your thought processes alone!

    “Anyways...what do you think?”

Not even a second after the last word had escaped your lips did the toad respond by gracelessly half-hopping off the ledge of the mossy wall and into the lush garden beyond.

     “Hmmm, yep.” A small nod. “Okay.”

With no time for impulse control to kick in, you swiftly hoisted yourself up and over the low wall after the toad.

     “Thanks for your input!” you breathed out as the poor creature finally made its way out of sight.

This was indeed a very stupid idea, by the way. Even if you hadn’t only just moved to the area not two weeks prior, it was still long enough to hear the whispers of the townsfolk to stay far away from this patch of land and the connecting home. In those two weeks you had also not seen a soul in or around this property. While you had only flirted the thought this morning, your willpower had hit its limit on your walk home tonight.

Steadily making your way over to the row of cabbages you reach blindly into the bag slung across your shoulder. Hoping to find the small knife stashed inside, a sudden jolt of pain blooms along your palm. A loud curse hisses past your teeth, less concerned about keeping quiet as you’d unfortunately managed to find the knife blade first. With a huff you move to grasp the handle and pull your hand out to survey the damage. Very intelligent to choose the knife with a flimsy sheath for this little excursion, you bitterly thought.

Somehow the cut ran from the center of your palm to halfway up your index finger, a bright flash of red trickling down your wrist. Glancing away from the slash to ease the sudden wave of dizziness coming on, your eyes happened upon a patch of yarrow in a bed of herbs beside the side door of the sturdy home. First on the agenda is this damned cabbage, and then surely a few leaves of yarrow won’t be missed. Taking care to not coat the plant in blood, you situate the small knife at the base and saw free the prized head. Into the bag goes the stolen veggie and, after throwing the shoddy blade cover back on, the knife follows. Holding your wounded hand away from your clothing, you stand back up with a grunt and turn to the small herb patch.

In the short walk to the second planned theft, you tried to push aside the growing panic and pain of the laceration by noting the makeup of the bed. Aside from a minuscule clump of chives in the corner, it looked like they were all medicinal plants of some sort. Maybe the townsfolk were just being dramatic and overly wary of a herbalist, you pondered while kneeling down to break a stem of yarrow off. It pays to know herbs, a poultice of leaves should do the well to stop the flow of blood marring your palm. Plucking a few leaves from the stem, you grimace and pop them in your mouth (the next best thing to a mortal and pestle, which you shockingly didn’t bring with you).

So distracted by your current plight, a creak of the nearby door almost goes unnoticed. A cold weight of dread at the sound stills your actions and you glance up mid-chew. Above you stands a tower of a man, leaning casually against the solid wooden doorway. Briefly taking him in, deep green and shimmering gold popped from a long flowing robe and curiously tinted glasses. If it wasn’t for the fear, you’d be enraptured by the other-worldly glow dancing off the robe’s delicate embroidery and basking him in a near halo in the moon lit garden.

     “Ah,” he paused, locking eyes with you before continuing. “It seems I have a rabbit infestation…”

There were, at this moment, a few options to consider for a response. A rational person upon seeing would perhaps beg for forgiveness; clearly the owner of this home was indeed a magic user and as such probably doesn’t take kindly to fools digging around his property and helping themselves to what does not belong to them. A second route is to just play dumb, hoping to lead him to think you were so witless you believed this to be some sort of community garden. Evidently you wouldn’t need to pretend very hard because you took door number three!!

BOOK IT.

Mouth full of plant and head full of rocks, you shot up and tried to clumsily zip away. The man simply pursed his lips and let out a disdainful snort in response. About three rows of vegetables later the ground made friends with your face as a warm presence coiled around an ankle. Desperately trying to suck in the air that was knocked out of you, there was barely time to process what had tripped you before being wrenched back.

     “And how did that go for you? Well?” he mockingly crooned, a small smirk appearing.

Shifting on your side to face him, you let out a shaky groan before you promptly spit the makeshift spit poultice onto your wound. You wouldn’t dare to waste it after all that effort if he miraculously decided to spare you.

     “Fantastic!” you rasped out.

There was a heavy silence as you squinted up at him, a single raised eyebrow the only indication he heard you. Slow movement tightening the grip on your ankles drew your attention to what had grabbed you. A thick rope of metal snaked its way around you, ending in a claw with a stunning jewel centered like an eye. The metal gave off a soft arcane light with the eye having a brighter concentration and it seemed to shift in color, almost like a rainbow cast off a waterfall. Following the other end to its source, it hugged around the stranger and looked to be connected to his back. With a start you also saw three more of these metal arms situated around him, all peering at you with their shimmering gems.

     "If you want to act like an animal, I can string you up like one." The arms began to lift you up about a foot before suddenly dropping back to the ground.

     "Or…" trailing off, he pushed himself from the door frame; finally discarding his unnervingly relaxed demeanor. With a swift step his boot was planted on your stomach, grinding down to knock the air out of you yet again before he continued speaking.

     "Or you can tell me why exactly you thought my garden was a marketplace. Perhaps a charity would be more apt, as it looks like you had no intentions of paying for anything. I’m not fond of those who take advantage of my hard work."

     “I don’t have any money!” His harsh pressure didn’t allow for much movement but you scrambled up as far as you could to lean on your elbows, setting your panicked eyes upon him once more. Though your throat seemed near closing with terror, you continued.

     “I used the last of what I had to purchase my home! A-and I’ve been working myself to the bone in town just for meals and small supplies. When I saw your garden I thought maybe I could go a few days not worrying about food. Truthfully, I just wanted a moment to myself.” You laid back down, head hitting the ground with a soft thud. Gazing up at the stars, a defeated sigh escaped from you. “I’m so tired.”

Once you stopped talking the arms began to wriggle about, as if agitated. The movement drew your attention back to the man, and it seemed like the gemmed claws were also facing him in their soft thrashing. Tilting his head slightly and frowning he then lightened the pressure on your torso, paused, and removed his foot completely. The arm still wrapped firmly around your leg slowly withdrew. Nervously raising to a sitting position, you winced at the new aches and pains from the night before warily peering upward. You noted his expression appeared to be one of deliberation, lightening after a puff of air left his lips.

     “Maybe we can come to an agreement.” He suggested. Reaching down, he offered his hand to help you to your feet. Without hesitation you accepted, grasping tightly with your uninjured hand.

[whumpitisthen]

Hi, maybe this is a strange request, and I don't know if you take writing requests, but could you write about a whumpee having victory over the whumper. Maybe the whumper already broke them, but then the human instinct to survive takes over. They don't even notice the pain, they just need to escape. They tried to escape, and it looks like they will get caught. It looks like a game, but they make it anyway. They make the impossible possible. I feel kinda hopeless right now and i need some victory

Sure I take requests! Not many people send me any, but even if I don't have the energy to write a whole thing for them, I'm happy to just talk about some prompts too!

And I'm sorry life has been a bitch to you, I hope this can help you feel a bit better. I tried my best not to be a horrible person, but you decide if ive succeeded at that. Good endings aren't really my thing, but technically this is like the happiest ending I've ever written. I'm more of a 'whumpee can have one (1) serotonin and even then only bc whumper felt like it' kinda creature but i hope this will suffice.

[Tiny little (eye) gore and death tw] just to be safe though i feel if you ask me to write something you must expect me to bring forth the horrors

Under the steadily darkening sky, below naked black barked woods, a pair of unsteady, similarly naked feet stomp through the fresh snow. A thin body rushes along a dangerous terrain; sharp rocks and jutting edges hidden under a sheet of white, concealing them from the wide pair of eyes searching for them. In the eerie quiet enhanced by the soft padding of glittering snow, their wheezing panting gets lost between the trees like a whisper in a storm.

Their pale form would give camouflage, if it wasn’t for the streaks of red crossing their skin in seemingly random patterns. Their shivering, weak legs near to giving out, but just before they could collapse in the frigid air, the howls booming from behind them give them renewed energy in similar fashion to how a noose would motivate a dying man. Tears are freezing along their skin, burning them like the fresh scarlet upon their back.

They don’t look back, because they are afraid of catching a glimpse of Death itself coming after them with its cry of hounds and shackles to drag him back to Hell with. Air escapes them in puffs of mist, getting colder and colder the longer they spend fleeing from their inevitable fate. Even now, halfway to their destination, their mind only supplies them with the memorized truths carved into them on repeat; a list of rules they were taught to follow to stay safe and avoid punishment.

A steep hill comes along the way, blocking their path. They climb it less than gracefully halfway collapsed on the ground. Their consciousness almost leaves them when they slip up and tumble down again, but their desperation to get away fuels a fire inside them they just cannot ignore. Upon reaching the top, looking over the edge, they can see lights in the distance. Past the trees, past the unforgiving terrain is a town, with people, and service, and houses. Their destination. Once they get there, they will be safe. They will find someone to protect them, help them, let them explain and escape. They are so close, but their body is already pushed far past its limit, running on not much other than spite.

Despite all their senses burning in the cold, they smile; a hopeless, anguished grin. Just a little more, just a bit farther. They are loosing feeling in their toes and fingers, but they are almost there.

Descending the hill, they land on their knees at the bottom; a shivering, weak, sickly heap of half-spoiled flesh. They barely gain enough willpower to stand once more, only able to stumble along from the dogs surely close behind. Yet still, after all of this, they can’t turn back. Their own brain repeating back their captor’s words at them, constantly telling them that if they turn back now, they might be forgiven, are ignored. The pounding in their ears is ignored. The numbness spreading all throughout their body is ignored. All they can see is those lights getting brighter and brighter, safety coming closer and closer.

A crack in one of their legs brings them to their knees again, suddenly giving up on them. It’s the one that always aches, that makes all those sounds that made them nervous all the time. It can’t give up right now, it can’t, it just can’t!

They bring in every last bit of energy they can to stand, but it’s useless. They can’t walk any longer. Doesn’t mean they can’t crawl any more though.

Starved and abused, down on their hands and knees, they crawl. They keep going for a reason they might not even understand anymore. Their mind becomes blank, their eyes glaze over, and they keep going. Nothing matters — not the incessant wind cutting their face, not the sweat freezing to their skin, not the aching body, not the aching soul, not the maniac hunting them with a pack of wolves. None of it matters. They need to get away. And so, with trembling limbs and blue lips, they crawl.

They don’t notice they have made it out of the forest until they are there. They see a road leading to the little town dressed in christmas lights, a field of ice and snow, a night sky looking down at them and filling them with determination —

And their captor, standing right in-between them and their freedom.

No. No, this, this can’t be it! Not like this, they can’t lose like this!

“You’re very annoying, you know that?” — they ask, not an ounce of annoyance in their voice.

“Shucks,” — they grunt out, a whisper rattling in their throat making them wince. They don’t have the energy to show any emotion besides a muted unease, though they would’ve loved to play up their fluster. Their pursuer nevertheless appreciates their effort it seems, their grin widening. Of course they do; they’re always one to play games. Under the grime and exhaustion, their core shivers in fear.

“And you still find it in yourself to joke around,” — they mutter, a good-natured chuckle accompanying the malicious sparkle in their eyes, — “impressive. And here I thought I was going to receive a frozen corpse out of a dog’s mouth.”

“S-S-Sorry t-” — A violent rush of hacking coughs. — “To disappo-o-oint.”

More laughter. Somehow it’s equal parts gleeful and mocking.

“Just like a cockroach. Impossible to kill, yet nothing but pest.” — Amusement is clear in their tone.

“Fuh-Funny,” — they pant, their trembling legs giving out and laying them down in the snow, — “was g-go-ohna say the same th-thing.”

For a long moment, nothing but the wheezing of the wind was heard, imitating the breaths of their own, scratching up their throat like the wind does crashing into their eardrums. Adrenaline is leaving them quickly through the cold, their arms now barely able to hold their face away from the snow. They wouldn't dare look into their captor's eyes if they had the energy, through the blur that has become their vision as of late. Their brain is telling them to break down right then and there, to start sobbing and begging for mercy, to try to look pathetic enough to be forgiven. They don't really have the energy.

"So, what's the plan?" — their tormentor finally asks, a conversational tone not betraying their true intentions or mood, — "shall we wait to see how many more fingers you will lose to frostbite or are you going to come here and repent?"

They don't know which choice would be stupider. Their mind longs for the safety in familiarity, their heart longs for the safety of getting the hell away from here. Both decisions would require their body to work. Crimson is seeping languidly into the white underneath them.

Desperation shows again, their voice breaking for the first time;

"Please, just l-l-let me go,"

but that was not part of the game. No choice was made.

"Come on now, sweetheart, you know that doesn't work on me. You've had your chance, and you've thrown it away." — Their expression changes to one of faux sympathy. Their head tilts. Their voice melts. — "Come here, sweet thing. It's cold. I don't like watching you shiver like that."

An utter, unbelievable, bold faced lie. They can't even hide their amusement as they say this. Their eyes are flitting all over their destroyed body with interest akin to a cat figuring out where to begin with it's twitching prey, catching on each cut and bruise, fresh or old.

"Let me warm you up."

...Yet, they believe them. In their weakened state, those honey sweet, poisonous words cut straight through the frigid air into their heart, warming them from the inside. Their need for the current torture to stop far outweigh anything else that could be going through their head. A plan to make it better. A clever insult to make it worse. Logic. They are hungry and cold and tired and scared. They hurt.

So they struggle to their hands and knees once more, stumbling forward at a snail's pace, trembling wildly and sniffling. Their composure seems to break down with each push on their body, each freezing breath, and halfway to their owner, they are openly sobbing. They continue on the same path they were taking all this while, nearing the same safe haven they have been dreaming of reaching for months now, only now they know they will never truly reach it. They will always have an uncrossable obstacle in the way, a person who will never let them pass along; never alive.

Finally, they drag themself in front of their captor, giving out. They are caught before they could land in the ice again, hugged close by the very person they have been running from through a snowstorm and a forest, half naked and bleeding. In the end, they are right back where they started. They can't tell if they are laughing or crying anymore.

Amidst the condescending shushes of the other, their eyes grow cold suddenly. Their hand curls around something under the snow.

"You did well, love. You almost did it. But in the end, you will always come right back to me, won't you?"

They feel a jagged edge with their fingertips, something large, something hard.

"The rest of my puppies will be here soon too, I'm sure. I would wait for them, but I'm certain if we spend too long here, you will never be able to walk again. The dogs will find us either way."

They must think their body finally gave out, collapsing against them with weak breaths. They must think this is it.

"And your punishment for losing again still has to be administered. I already have a couple ideas on what it will be. If you can stay awake 'till we get back, I'll let you choose. Doesn't that sound fun?"

Their quaking form is pulled up, leaning against a warm chest. Their hand holds their key out of this hell. They are gripping it so hard it cut into their palm.

"Ready to return home, sweetness?"

There.

In the perfect moment, a swift, unforseen strike aimed right at their left eye.

They do not react when blood sprays out of the ruined orb, they do not react when their tormentor shrieks like a banshee, they just tear the arms wildly tearing at theirs away and aim another swing at the other eye. They both fall to the ground, and with almost inhuman determination and a wild look in their eyes, they climb on top of their screaming captor — the most horrible, disgusting, hellish, irredeemable, psychopathic bastard they have ever had the misfortune of meeting; who will likely never leave their mind again from all the horrifying torture they have put them through, — and smash the rock into their eyes again, and again, and again, yelling like a wild animal at them as they mercilessly ruin them like they were ruined by them.

They do not stop until their hand gives out, until they are sure they will never move again, until their breath runs out. Wheezing, red, blue, and all colours in-between, starved, weak, ruined, but alive. Alive and kicking. Sitting on the corpse of their abuser like it's a throne, out at the edge of the snowy forest, looking out at the view of colourful lights in the distance. They feel emotionally numb, but so alive, more alive than they have felt since before they were taken. They have done it, they really have done it, finally, after so much pain and planning — they are free.

They will take a few minutes before they set off on the rest of their journey to the little town.

They will slip the coat off of the corpse and take it as their own; a trophy, like what they were collecting. Before they died. A deserved, gruesome death.

They will put it on and stumble all the way across the field, leaving the dogs to find the body. The hounds will be fine; they weren't very happy with their owner either.

They will reach a street, with people, with cars, with service. They will be saved by a passerby, or they will ask for a phone and call their family, tell them they are still alive. They will survive, while the corpse will rot away, covered by snow. Maybe eaten by the dogs, or wildlife. They will make it.

But for now, they will lie down for a couple minutes. They will rest, for just a little bit, next to this still warm body, and endure just a little bit longer. Just until their heart slows enough to breathe, just until their muscles stop burning so harshly. They will survive.

They put their head on the chest and control their breathing, taking deliberate sighing breaths in the storm. They still tremble, and their limbs are so numb they don't know if they will be able to walk, but they just laugh. Because it's funny, isn't it? That's exactly what they said would happen.

The storm calms. The wind slows and the snow disappears, and they sigh a chuckle. They should be thankful, but doesn't mother nature know? She doesn't have to make it any easier. They will survive.

They have been through so much worse.

<3

Masterlist | Ko-Fi

[simping-for-kamski]

12 Steps of Christmas - ch 2

2. Shock

“Today, we welcome a new member and a returning member into our group,” the therapist said. It was another therapist, and another group.

Leo was the returning member, and coming back felt both like an admission of defeat, and a step in the right direction. He knew he had to get through this, do it for himself this time, because he was the last one left alive. Dad wasn’t there anymore. Leo had no one left to please, and it gutted him. All he wanted was love, affection, and now, he was never getting that. All chances were gone, and he felt like it was all his fault too. Absolutely everything he’d done the night Carl died had been a succession of every worst possible choice.

In a way, it was all too surreal, and a part of Leo still thought it might all just be a very long bad trip.

He sat on his chair and blankly looked at the middle-aged man in front of him. Same unkempt silver hair and scruffy beard, sad blue eyes, old leather jacket and funky shirt. Hank had a problem with alcohol.

He didn’t speak much this time. Leo on the other hand talked.

“I stopped coming and… I guess I just didn’t see the point in trying to stay clean anymore. It wasn’t that I lacked the willpower, it’s that… nothing was changing. The stuff that drove me to this. Even when sober, my dad, he never got it—never got me . He did drugs because it was fun and artsy. He thought I was a loser for using Ice as an escape from all the shit I couldn’t deal with. And frankly… I felt like, why bother? If being high is the only way I can get a semblance of function in my life, if being sober doesn’t make me feel better… Why bother? So, yeah, I stopped coming, I relapsed, everything went to shit, I spent all of my money, got back to begging my dad for cash…” He fisted his fingers hard enough that his knuckles whitened. “I just wanted him to give me a reason to care, but…” He bit his lips. “I pushed the provocation, I got fucking mad at him and his fucking android—my own dad! He-!” He exhaled loudly and massaged his temples. His eyes were pricking again but he wasn’t about to cry in front of others. “All he ever cared about was himself, his plastic toy—that fucking machine that doesn’t feel a goddamn thing, and now… Shit.” He took a long inhale, a long exhale. “I’m not sure what even happened. Argument got heated. I fought with the android. Next thing I knew my dad was on the floor, clutching his chest, clutching that fucking android, talking to him to his last fucking breath, like I wasn’t even there, and police was there and they shot the android. I don’t fucking know.”

“Shit, mate…” one of the seniors of the group whispered—Dino. “You mean… your dad passed away?”

Leo merely nodded but held up his hand. “No condolences or sympathies, please, don’t…”

He didn’t deserve any of that.

“Have you come to take the pledge again, Leo?” the therapist asked.

Leo nodded slowly. “He’s the demon that led me into this hell and now he’s dead, so I… I guess I just gotta bury him once and for all, right?” he said and met his peers’ approval.

The session went on but Leo found himself spinning in a haze. He’d give anything for a smoke. His skin itched and he felt sweaty. He was thankful when it all ended. He didn’t feel all too well and rapidly left to join the bathroom. He just had the time to bend over the toilet before it all came down, burning acid through his throat and nose, prickling, scratching. The sounds he made were godawful and reminded him of the reason why he needed to quit the habit.

“Fuck…”

He wiped his face with toilet paper in an attempt to look just a bit representative before leaving the stall, for the sake of the other person who’d entered the room. He flushed, exited the small cabin and dunked his face with tap water by the sinks. His eyes were bloodshot, his face was still red; he looked just great .

“You’ okay?”

Leo turned to look at the guy washing his hands a sink away from him. Hank. He nodded.

“Yeah, yeah… Y’know… or maybe you don’t…”

“I know.” Hank gave him an apologetic smile. “I know what that shit does to your system. Not from personal experience, but…” He shrugged. “Sorry you have to go through this—Leo, right?” he checked the name. “It’s a brave choice you’re making.”

“I dunno nothing about being brave, man.” Leo sighed, dabbing his face with paper towels. “Head’s all a fuzz even when I’m sober. …Do you like art, by the way? Know people who like art?”

“Why you ask?”

“Got a whole museum’s worth of paintings and sculptures I need to get rid of,” Leo said.

“Your old man’s stuff?” Hank guessed. “Do you need money or—?”

“I need to get rid of it all,” Leo stammered. “It’s okay, forget I said anything,” he apologized and moved toward the door.

“Huh, yeah. See you next time,” Hank replied with a short nod.

Leo nodded back, feeling awkward as fuck. “By the way… sorry you got stuck with that plastic thing at work. I mean… Until next time.” And then a second too late: “Hank.”

READ IT ON AO3

[omo-robin]

Character A is an opera singer. Once he has to play the main role in Tchaikovsky's opera "The Queen of Spades". But he has one problem. He really wants to pee. Maybe he drank too much water, maybe the traffic was bad and he barely had time to change, let alone his needs, or maybe it wasn't that bad at first, but their conductor was late and now it's a BIG problem.

Anyway, our character is now walking around the stage in front of a thousand people with a bladder too full to be comfortable. Our A says: "Screw it. I will sing even if this stupid theater falls on my head. And some pee won't stop me. the show must go on tonight!" and he sings Herman's high tenor parts as if nothing had happened. While he trying desperately not to pee in his suit. There's no potty dance, or hands. Only willpower and muscle power.

Bonus points if they use Herman's nervous walking to help them hold on. Still subtle enough that neither the audience nor colleagues understand anything. Maybe other singers will notice that they are more tense than usual, but they will write it off as the forgotten words of the aria.

When things get close to an accident, they simply zip up this long Napoleon-style coat and let it go while praying to all the gods who can hear that the suit will hide their mess.

In musical theater, even the nearest audience sits quite far from the stage, so they can get away with it. Other singers? There's no chance. What will the other characters do? They will break the masquerade and

1) they will laugh

2) they will freeze like deer in the headlights

3) they will loudly ask what the hell is happening here (maybe they wanted to whisper, but forgot the microphone)

or they will not disrupt the masquerade, but will lose their song for a second, and will continue to sing, throwing inquiring or worried looks at A. It is especially amusing to think of Elizabeth's reaction in the cuddle scene at the first act and the reaction of the Countess's ghost in the third act. Probably A's pee will get on them, and the poor ladies will need everything they've got to keep from breaking the masquerade!

Double bonus points if the conductor's tardiness left character B with a ruptured bladder too. A's accident pushes them over the edge. But unlike A, they break the masquerade and run off the stage. Leaving character A, still pissing, and characters C and D to improvise and explain to the viewer B's sudden escape without anyone realizing that it was unplanned.

Thinking of the baritone singing the Count Tomsky's ballad and running off the stage in the middle of the aria. Leaving our poor tenor A, tenor C and bass D to explain to the viewer what's going on. I can imagine how they sing: "how quickly the thunderstorm came, it would be better to be in time home." a few scenes ahead of time without the special effects of a thunderstorm and run in backstage. fun! now characters A and B must go and tell the very disgruntled costumers that they ruined their costumes and find new ones as quickly as possible so as not to disrupt the performance. (do costumers even have something in case of damage to costumes?)

Oh my Lord I should have posted this on my blog instead of asking you. I didn't think this promts would get so big. excuse me.

‎

[captainkurosolaire]

"I believe that the human spirit is indomitable. If you endeavor to achieve, it will happen given enough resolve. It may not be immediate ... The effort you put forth to anything transcends yourself, for there is no futility"-Monty Oum

(YOU AREN'T A FAILURE. Limits aren't shameful. Limits are the rising goals. Take care of yourself and keep going on CKS!)

I am not against the premise of failure. I consider it a companion, a necessary one. I'm a writer the biggest advisory we contest against is giving failure a reality. So despite how hard I am upon myself and limits of barriers, although it may be negative I assure, it's out of positive light. I am motivated by my shortcomings and flaws, they are parts of character. We all handle grief in different ways. Nothing is set to right or required as one-way answer. It depends on how we take grasp of our obstacles and jump over the hurdle. Some people crawl under, some leap over, some shatter, others find a new path. My willpower dictates that I perceive everything as valid. That I attempt to do anything to achieve. Because that quote is ever correct there is never any futility in putting in a effort. We are creatures of persistence. If you're a team or someone who loses often, it can be discouraging to escape out of that, eventually others and yourself will put in a category or label that you're a loser. Most people blame others for that, some blame themselves strictly. But the truth is that -- Expectations, are the monsters we create. We can make it big as possible. Strong and beyond resilient for any realistic measure, imagination is boundless, we like to makes those expectations, unfathomable because our spirit says we can slay it. But sometimes, you're fighting a monster with your bare knuckles, and you are unequipped and prepared. Then against Expectations it's not about just to conqueror that, alone. It's about surviving. We run against it, sometimes for lifetimes, chasing after it with dreams, goals, ambition... We have it for others, many may never slaughter it. But understanding it why it exist is paramount. Because that Expectation is apart of you. It's your drive, the reason you wake up. I don't slay my monster of expectation. For I want to tame it, and know control. As it grows, I will grow. This is endless endeavor. I will make self-unrealistic challenges that shouldn't be possible just to wage it against my one-of-a-kind spirit, my drive of sheer intensity, my conviction of passion!

And even when I am beaten by it and buried under, and collecting flowers of my fellows mourning my inadequacy, that bouquet from the aftermath will rekindle my flame of life, I will reflect upon the impact that I left behind with each petal, it will be a memory of progression. Whether I left just a scratch, or a dent. Is enough to fill more than victorious.

I know limits all too well. But I believe it should know me. I can never lose in creating. You can never lose in love. Sure you can be hurt and traumatized you may never feel the same way formerly as you loved once before. Your heart may become coal and stone, with damage. Attempting to replicate that former shape may go unplanned with desire. But every stone can be sharpened anew, polished, be filled from the cracks and restored. You may learn to love differently and more powerfully for something else that speaks you to meaning. Like a phoenix, I will overcome, again and again for my rebirth for this flame. Maybe when I resurrect, I lose how to fly.

But I will regain it and soar through any dimension. To know creating is endless. And I am a proud creator a warrior marked by the crest of it, I am equally endless. I have too much left in me! To share and expose to this world. I have no shame in being myself. I can never lose that again. I see all the themes and writing on the walls, images, of everything before me and what's left, it's just having the energy to conjure them all. But In Time. My wings will fly it.

[the-stray-storyteller]

Rebel

Since I did not write anything new recently here are some scenes from that WIP I was planning to publish.

(Warning : The last one has mentions of drugs and abuse)

My Name:

Then came the roll call. I never understood why they did that. They had numerous assassins loyal to them and a ninety feet high fence generating enough electricity to kill ten elephants and the force field kept us from escaping.

“May-05!” A gruff voice announced. I raised my hand without a word, making them aware of my presence.

May-05? It’s not my roll number or my rank, it’s my name. May-05. The first thing they do in the Facility is take away your identity, delete any record that has your name on it from birth certificates to your playschool attendance. Then they give you another name or three alphabets, a dash, and two numbers that correspond with your birthday.

Remembering Can Hurt:

“Don’t do this,” I muttered under my breath to myself. 

Fun fact. The reason assassins over here went mental was because they remembered the names and faces of the people they killed. They went mental because they decided to be alone with their thoughts for a minute. They went mental because they tried to treat the weapon made by the Facility as a human. They had tried to forgive themselves for the lives they had taken like a human would forgive themselves if they made a mistake.

“Oh no! I killed someone. But in due time I will forgive myself” 

It doesn’t work like that. It haunts you.

Training the Kid:

“Hold the gun with both hands,” it took all my willpower not to strangle Feb-01. He had been convinced that he could shoot a gun with one hand.

“You do it with one.”

“I have been training and using one since I can remember,” I grabbed his left hand and placed it on the gun. His stance was horrible. I had to fix it for the hundredth time, instructing him to move his arms higher, push his shoulders back and to keep his legs apart.

“Now shoot and remember the target is the giant red dot, right there,” I waved my hand over the target, “and not the grass or the building or the air around us,” my voice was sickly sweet to my own ears, making my mind cringe. I saw the flash before hearing the bang. I could tell the boy missed before the bullet reached its target. 

I moved forward and crouched down in front of the target. Smiled as sweetly and sarcastically as possible.

“This my friend is neither red nor a dot,” I pointed at the blue ring a couple inches away from the red dot, “would you like me to define what red is or maybe you need me to define dot.” “It’s closer than the rest,” he seemed proud of his own work.

“Closer doesn’t mean dead and the Facility wants dead,”

Feb-01 tried to frown but ended up pouting. He turned his head away from me, dropping the gun.

Lesbian Assassins Trying To Flirt:

Mar-15 spoke when it was only the five of us left.

“Overrides were sabotaged so were the shipment of bombs.” I felt calculating blue eyes on me.

“She didn’t know about the overrides until tonight,” Dec-20 took my side, placing a hand on my shoulder.

“What now?” the leader asked, his icy glare still on me.

“The power core, we could take out the core,” Jan-30 suggested. We all looked at our fellow teenager bewildered, his idea was possible but also deranged. I could see everyone’s minds running, calculating the possibilities and outcomes of various situations. Nov-12 was the first one to break.

“We don’t have time for this now, we have got to go,” Nov-12 stressed. He jerked his head towards the exit and started to walk away. Mar-15 and Jan-30 followed. Dec-20 looked at me and smiled.

“I thought and still think your short hair looks cute, almost cut off mine because of that.” My jaw tightened my head not knowing how to respond to a compliment. Of course, there are chances that it wasn’t a compliment.

“It's better longer.” I wasn’t sure if she heard my suggestion since she had already disappeared into the shadows.

Hemophobia (the needle one not the blood):

“I need to speak with May-05,” I turned my head to see Nov-12 standing at the entrance of the gym. I headed towards him warily after a nod of assent from the acrobat.

“They are doing another inoculation for the first batch, room 12-A” 

“What?” I strained to keep my voice neutral but it came out as a gasp. During the first few years in the Facility, they had injected us with serums, drugs, hallucinogens, and a lot of other things. Experiments to see how the HS2 works and how it affects our reaction and also enhancements. I never liked those tests, I hated needles. The thought of something passing through my skin and entering my body and then pushing a liquid into my bloodstream, sent shivers down my spine, bile up my throat and then my stomach would decide to jump into a whirlpool in the middle of a hurricane.

[starzpsychics]

Octopus Spirit Animal Guide

There is always a veil of mystery and secret around these unusual animals inhabiting depths of seas and oceans, it may therefore imply things happening under the surface – in your emotions and/or subconscious.

The octopus spirit animal guide is also known to be symbolic of a keen spiritual psyche and inspires others to channel theirs.

As the octopus dwells close to the sea floor, you too must remain grounded. The message being that - living in an environment where everything is in motion around you just like the waters in an ocean; you should not allow yourself to get carried away (ungrounded). You may need to spend time meditating or have solid down time so that you can rid yourself of any negative energy that you may have picked up during the day. The octopus power totem animal makes you keep your cool and remain fully aware of the circumstances surrounding you.

Octopus is an intelligent and flexible animal, with many naturally impressive characteristics. Perhaps one of the most remarkable is its ability to change the colour of its skin, this can happen instantly and is thought to reflect the Octopus’s mood and emotions. The totem symbol of the octopus therefore asks you to use your knowledge as camouflage to do the same disappearing act.

The totem symbol of the octopus can also imply fitting in, blending in, or adjusting yourself to a new situation. This colour changing ability is also a defence mechanism which helps the Octopus avoid conflict, but when this mechanism fails and the octopus can be seen, it will react quickly by ejecting a cloud of black ink which confuses its enemies. The ultimate message of the power animal octopus is that it is not time to attack your enemies head-on, but rather, to use deceptive tactics.

It is a magical sea creature often feared, admired, and unseen. This expert in disguise and sea legend has a message for us about how we live our lives and the mysteries it holds.

Octopuses are referred to in many coastal beliefs and have a great significance to those who spend most of their lives traveling across unpredictable waters.

The octopus has eight tentacles (arms or legs), beginning at the centre of its body, theoctopus spirit animal guide brings the message of some hidden, strong, and manipulative force of which you are not aware.

It often symbolizes some organization that ‘pulls the strings and rule over people’s lives. It is interpreted as a negative concept of hidden power.

Octopus as a totem animal can represent:

· Flexibility

· Willpower

· Focus on goals.

· Magic and mystery

· Shapeshifting

· Advanced vision

· Deep emotions

· Connection between mental and emotional faculties

· Slyness, or other means other than brute force

· Unpredictability of attack

· Regeneration and evolution

Some of the spiritual traits associated with the octopus power totem animal are focus, intellect, talent, and complexity.

When you have an octopus as your spirit animal guide it gives you the inherent ability to protect and defend yourself in the face of all difficulties.

Octopus is do not have spines, which means they are flexible and can get themselves out of very tight spots. Octopus as a totem animal can therefore represent flexibility teaching you to be flexible enough to get out of tricky situations, and to move away smoothly without disturbing others.

Octopus’s can deliberately detach a part of their body when under attack from a predator, leaving that part behind as a distraction allowing it to escape. This part is regenerated to make the body a whole again. The totem of the octopus therefore reminds you that any emotional parts of your life which you discard can help you change your mental outlook. It also reminds you to use your intelligence and reasoning abilities to find out the best possible solution to all kinds of problems.

Furthermore, this serves as a reminder to cut excess baggage loose. Maybe there is a person in your life that brings you down, but you are too kind or too nervous to send them off.

This also applies to situations and tasks, too, if something is worrying you and not helping you achieve your goals, you must have the strength and will power to let it go. This can be a scary process, especially if you are releasing something that has previously been fundamental to your life.

I hope you have enjoyed this look at the octopus spirit power animal.

If you want to know what your spirit power animal is visit our Etsy shop and order the Spirit Animal Reading: https://starzpsychics.etsy.com

Alternatively chat to one of the professional psychic advisors at Starz Psychics: https://starzpsychics.com

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[eijishimas]

midnight snack.

18+ nsfw content, minors dni. all characters are aged up.

masterlist.

content warnings: oral sex (f!receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex (use protection irl pls!), quirk use (electro stimulation), a hint of overstim, & a sprinkle of degradation. f!reader.

notes: all i could think about while writing this was “and they were roommates! ohmygod they were roommates.” also thank u bria ( @rekiri ) & sun ( @kiridarling ) for keeping me sane while writing this, ily both <3

wc: 3.0k

You rarely got hungry in the middle of the night. You usually went to bed full of food cooked by yourself or ordered takeout by your roommate, Denki. Tonight was different, however. You had been working on a project, one that was taking up far too much of your time due to your incompetent group members causing you to pick up the slack. You had been stressed beyond belief lately because of them. Maybe a small stretch would help clear your mind, you reasoned to yourself internally. While you were at it, a midnight snack wouldn’t be too bad. It would help ease your nerves, even. You stood from your desk, stretching your arms above your head and cracking the joints of your shoulders. Now exiting your room, you threw a glance across the hallway to see the light under your roommate’s door was still on. Of course he was staying up again, when did he not? Probably off playing video games with the guys again.

You yawned, bare feet pattering against the hardwood of your apartment floor on your way to the kitchen. You shivered, wearing only a cropped sweater you had thrifted and a pair of your comfiest shorts. So what if they were a little short on you, they did the job of keeping you comfy while you slept. No one besides Denki saw you in them, mostly because you wore them to bed. Opening the fridge door, you cringed at the harsh lighting hitting you square in the face. You bent over, eyes scanning the bottom shelf for something to pique your interest. Since you figured Denki was in his room, you didn’t bother to bend your knees while you were searching for your snack.

“Uh- I uh, whatcha lookin’ for?” Denki’s voice cracked slightly. What were the odds? Your head whipped up so fast from the fridge, you nearly knocked into the door of it. Your face began to overheat as you saw your roommate standing there in his pyjamas, fighting off his own blush as he looked at you. Had he seen how your shorts rode up your ass, giving the perfect view of the lace black panties you had been wearing that night? Maybe. The answer was most definitely a yes, but he wasn’t going to admit that to you. He really didn’t want to die by your hands.

“I was, well I was grabbing some water,” you fumbled for your words as Denki approached you, moving around the bar counter of your apartment to peer into the fridge himself from behind you. His hair was damp, sticking to his forehead indicating that he had just hopped out of the shower. No kidding, he had used your fruit passion shampoo along with lemon scented body wash again. You felt his hot breath on the back of your neck from how close he was to you, your tongue wetting your lips as you tried to ease your building nerves. You were never so nervous around him, he was your roommate and your best friend. The two of you had always been comfortable around each other.

You stood perfectly still, razor focused on the fruit cup on the top shelf to distract your mind that was buzzing with electricity. He smelled so good. He felt awfully warm. And he was incredibly close to you, so much so that you could hear his own inner monologue if you listened hard enough. You were so caught up in your thoughts that your mind barely registered that his hands were sitting comfortably on your waist. “Hey,” Denki spoke up, “Did you wear that for me?”

Processing his words, there was a tiny heat that began to burn low in your stomach. “I’m sorry?” you squeaked out.

“The black lacy ones. The ones that make me want to eat you out on the counter until you’re screaming. Did you wear those for me?” his voice was low, whispering deliciously into your ear. Sinful thoughts were clouding your mind, your previous intentions of getting a snack now lost to the idea of possibly choking on something else entirely tonight. “Denki—” His hands slipped beneath your shirt, stopping just below your breasts. You were starting to feel something hard poking at the cheek of your ass. Your breath hitched, thighs clenching together in an attempt to tame the growing heat between them. The two of you had been dancing around the notion of having feelings for each other for a long time.

You tried to look the other way every time he would stare at you for just a small bit longer than he should. He pretended to not notice the way you sat so very close to him, despite the entire couch being free. The way your fingertips brushed his thighs when you leaned over him to grab the remote. The way his touch lingered on your hip when he went to pass behind you while you cooked dinner together, his palms warm and jittery. Everything clicked together so perfectly for the two of you, it was beginning to become undeniable and almost comical at this point.

Tonight only made you more desperate for some type of release, since all of the previous tension between the two of you had crescendoed into Denki moulding his lips to your neck and sucking deep purple marks in a lovely pattern against your hot skin. Your legs felt weak, a strained moan escaping you. Between the cool air of the open fridge and his hands exploring your torso, it felt like heaven. His fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples eagerly, his name falling off your tongue as if second nature. You wanted him bad. And he wanted nothing more than to strip you of your clothes and have you right there in the kitchen.

Your legs quivered as he touched you, allowing yourself to lean back against him and succumb to his affection. “I’ve been waiting to do this for so long, baby,” the confidence radiating off the blond was dripping right into his tone. It made more of that liquid heat manifest in your lower half. You were quite certain that those lacy black panties Denki had been talking about now had a wet patch from all of his ministrations. His hands kept massaging at your breasts, small whimpers leaving your lips as you whispered out how you needed more from him. You panted, craning your neck to the side to give him more access to your skin. Your hips seemed to move on their own as you wiggled your ass right up against his prominent hard on. “Fuck,” he swore, fingers dipping into your shorts and past the waistline of your underwear to feel your slick. You were soaking from his touches, thighs shaking and fingers finding purchase in blond locks as his finger pad grazed your aching clit. “More,” you whined with need, “I wanna.. I wanna touch you, please.”

Denki’s mind felt like it was melting. Was this a dream? He never wanted to wake up if that was the case. He inserted a finger into your core, heart fluttering upon hearing you moan out for him again. Your walls hugged his single digit, his dick twitching at the sensation. You were feeling unbearably sensitive for some reason that night, the way his thumb drew circles around your clit paired with his finger reaching within you made your head light. “You’re so greedy, look at you fucking yourself on my fingers. Moaning like that for me. From how much you walk around like a little slut, you had this coming,” Denki nibbled at the lobe of your ear before adding a second digit, curling his fingers and further sending you into your pleasure. “Denki,” you called out again, head tossed against his shoulder, ass rubbing right against his dick in ways that made his head spin. “You’re so wet, do you hear that? Holy fuck, I can’t wait to taste you,” Denki’s words made the coil inside the pit of your stomach snap, your first orgasm of the night finally washing over you as you clenched around his fingers. It took all of Denki’s willpower not to cum in his boxers right then and there. Falling against him for support, your hips lazily rolled against his digits to ride out your high.

“Up on the counter babe, we’re not done yet. I’m still feeling a bit hungry,” he murmured into your ear. The two of you backed away from the fridge, leaving the door open to allow some light in the darkened kitchen. You turned to face him, seeing a bit of a loopy smile on his face despite his lust blown pupils. You wasted no time in connecting your lips, tongue sliding into his mouth with ease. Your body pressed his against the cool granite of the counter, his hands drifting lower down your back to meet the flesh of your ass. He tapped your ass a couple times, his fingers pinching at the fabric of your thin shorts. “You won’t be needing these,” he chuckled deeply against your lips. His drop in octave made you shiver. Your own hands mapped out his body, feeling across his abs that he prided himself on as a pro-hero while your other went right for his cock.

Your excited fingers pulled down his gray sweatpants along with his boxers, his cock springing free from its confines. There was a lovely amount of precum beading atop his reddening head, your thumb swirling the natural lube around his tip. The action elicited a groan from the blond, grabbing a bit harder at your ass. You were gentle, teasing even, your eyes glazed over in lust as your hand pumped his dick at a slow tempo. Denki’s hips began to fuck into your hand, his chest heaving as he took this time to shed himself of his t-shirt. He felt entranced by how your fingers looked so delicate fisting his cock, breath hitching in his throat as your wrist rolled with each stroke of his dick. “Do you know how— fuck — how long I’ve waited for this?” Denki’s words are gentle, his neck craning back down to nip at your exposed skin.

“Too long?”

“Way too long.”

You giggled and he groaned, a low rumble against your soft skin that makes you shiver yet again. You smirked with amusement as you felt him pulse in your hand, yet Denki pulled away from your touch just as you were about to tip him over the line to his own orgasm. “You, you first,” he told you, golden eyes trained on yours, “I like seeing you come undone for me.”

A whimper escaped you, his grin hungry with want for you and only you. “Let’s see how good you taste,” he pressed a final kiss to your lips as he eagerly dropped to his knees. With a shy look in your eyes, you allowed your legs to spread, giving Denki a full view of your pretty pussy. He was practically salivating, eyes taking in your wet sex with a strange fire lit behind them. He was eating good tonight. With your fingers threading in his hair and tugging lightly, he took it as his signal to go. You sucked in a gasp of surprise as something cool touched your already slick entrance. Oh, you had forgotten that Denki had a fucking tongue piercing.

Instinctively, your thighs started to close around Denki’s head. He held them open with ease, the metal ball of his piercing following the tip of his tongue as he happily traced your entrance. “Denki,” you huffed, growing frustrated at his languid pace. For a man who seemed rather eager, he was going very slowly. Denki hummed in response, lips now attached to your clit and you felt your body jolt at the feeling. Fuck. Maybe you should have bit your tongue instead. Channeling electricity through his quirk, you felt a shock emitted from the tiny piece of metal in his mouth to your aching clit. “Denki!” you moaned, eyelids fluttering as you struggled to keep your gaze on him. Your hands kept pulling at his semi-damp hair, rutting your hips as best as you could into his face as your heart beat rapidly in your chest. You felt ten times hotter than you did when you first entered the kitchen, your hands expelling your own sleep shirt to the floor as Denki moaned at the sight of your exposed tits. This gave him the opportunity to push his tongue into your pussy, your toes curling at the sensation of his tongue entering your heat. He had his fun, darting his tongue in and out of you as he kept moaning to keep up the tiny vibrations. Moving his bangs away from his eyes, you could only watch as he ate you out with his skilled muscle.

His tongue reached deeper inside of you, his hands holding your thighs apart firmly as they were threatening to clamp around his head with more force. You hadn’t anticipated that Denki would be this fucking good with his mouth. Your inner walls squeezed around him, your moans picking up in volume. Your nipples were peaked, your back arched and your head thrown back as all you could do was continuously grind your hips against his face. This only edged the blond further, his nose stimulating your swollen clit as his tongue delved as far as it could into your dripping cunt. You nearly screamed his name as you were finally tipped over the edge, your chest heaving as Denki suckled at your sensitive lower lips. He drank your essence happily, your body prickling with heat as he drew back to watch in awe at how your pussy fluttered invitingly around nothing. He was drunk on the feeling of you cumming on his mouth. You two were definitely doing that again.

As you steadily regulated your breathing, Denki slowly got up from his position on the floor. Wiping away a bit of your cum from the corner of his mouth, he threw you another grin. You swallowed dryly, “Need you.”

“What was that, baby?”

“Need you, Den. I need you in.. Please.” Your eyes were begging him to give you more. You had seen how much his cock had been leaking onto the kitchen floor, practically throbbing between his legs from not having given release. With a cheeky sort of smile, Denki gave you a kiss to your cheek before settling his lips to the shell of your ear. “Whatever you say, babe.”

In an instant, you were swept off the counter, your body being caged between the closed freezer door and Denki holding you up from beneath your thighs. His cock fell heavy against your stomach, twitching in its desperation for attention. The light emitting from the open door of the fridge illuminated the right half of the electric blond’s face, his expression lustful and giddy in the harsh LED lighting. It made your heart buzz with anticipation, your body tensing as he eased the head of his cock past your folds. Your hands scrambled for his shoulders, fingernails leaving red crescents along his creamy skin. Denki’s eyes were on you, his breathing irregular as you wasted no time in pulling out and thrusting back in with confidence. His lips swallowed your moans, the wet, lewd sounds of your fucking adding more tinder to the heat now coiling in the pit of your stomach for the third time tonight. “Please,” you begged, practically trembling from overstimulation as Denki rocked you into the cool aluminum of the freezer door.

“Please what, baby?” the playfulness in his tone didn’t match the serious manner in which he kept pistoning into you, chasing his own release as your slick from previous orgasms now coated his cock and ran down his thighs. Each time he went in, he angled himself right up to meet that special spot inside you to make you see tiny specks of white dot your vision. “I- I, ah! Denki!” Fingers now grasping at his hair again, you yanked harshly as you came around his pulsing cock for the third and final time, squeezing him snugly as you desperately attempted to catch your breath. There was a tingly sensation running through your legs starting from your thighs, numbing and electric as Denki kept up his quick pace to chase his own release, groaning dirty praises into your ear that made you keen. Your legs wrapped around his waist, urging him to go deeper and finish inside of you. His hips met yours for one last time, stuttering as he pumped his sticky cum into your abused hole. You two stayed there for a moment, you letting out quiet giggles as Denki took his time in getting the air back into his lungs. He let you down steadily from the position you had been in, making sure to hold you up since the feeling was still a bit lost in your legs.

“Wow that was,” Denki paused, struggling to find the right word for the situation you two had caught yourselves in. “Satisfying,” you finished for him, to which he blushed deeply. The smile he flashed you was earnest and relieved, if he was being quite honest. “Ah, nice! Let’s get you something to eat, maybe a cheese string. But definitely water!”

“I’m actually feeling pretty full right now in terms of cheese. Thanks for that, Den.”

“Wait really?” Denki questioned as he swept his boxers along with his shirt off the kitchen floor, his concern showing through his furrowed brow, “Not even for a cheese string?”

A deadpan look crossed your face, sighing as you gave in to your dumbass of a roommate. “One cheese string.”

“Bet!”

Needless to say, post sex activities consisted of a hot shower, the second Shrek movie, and two cheese strings (per Denki’s request). Not a bad way to relieve your stress, you concluded to yourself happily as you snuggled closer to your roommate, fingers intertwined beneath the blanket as you allowed yourself to slip into a comfortable slumber against Denki’s shoulder.

all works © eijishimas 2021. do not reuse, modify, or repost.

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[1kook]

commercial break: eleven

this is a netflix & chill drabble <3

SUMMARY You’re too bright, too… there. His shell is too small.

WARNINGS sadness, vulnerabilities, insecurity, self confidence issues, an idea of “feeling ugly”, tw // mental breakdowns and feelings of regression, crying, jk doesn’t want anyone near, oc tries her best to comfort him

RATING e for everyone

WC 1.2k

NOTES i love the idea of jk being the perfect man, but I also want to show moments where he isn’t so perfect and where he’s not the mature man oc thinks he is… I love my boy so much 😭😭 also it’s 1am helloooooo ALSO it’s formatted ugly bc I’m posting this from my phone 😀 I’ll fix it tmrw promise

Jungkook hates to admit it, but some days are harder than others.

Some days, Jungkook wakes up with an uncomfortably stifling feeling in his chest, one that threatens to wiggle its way into the loneliest parts of his heart and find permanent residency. A drowsy one, makes him linger in bed well past his preferred wake up time, the blackout curtains in his room ensheathing him in a sea of darkness that his heart is adamant on replicating. But it’s worse than drowning, because his lungs are clear; it’s just that he doesn’t have the strength, the willpower to force another breath— he just wants to lay there and do nothing.

“Good morning,” he hears from beside him, and a different weight presses against his side. You’re warm in the morning, soft too. He likes how you feel, he always does. But not today. Today, he doesn’t know how he feels about the overwhelming presence at his side. You’re too bright, too… there. His shell is too small. “You sleep okay?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer. The words don’t catch in his throat, but in the recesses of his mind instead, overlapping and overflowing until it feels like tv static, fuzzy and blurry— confusing. You shift beside him, and his heart kicks up an anxious rhythm. It’s not the normal butterflies that beat their wings against the walls of his rib cage when you smile, nor is it the thundering gallops of a dozen horses when you touch him just so. It’s this nauseating, terrified feeling, one that screams at him to answer lest he upset you with his silence.

There’s a hand on his chest, and he doesn’t like how it feels right now, just another suffocating layer to add on, but even worse he doesn’t know how to tell you that.

Luckily, he doesn’t have to. It slinks away, but that warning bell in his head is going off anyway, makes him look over at you in panic, only to find you propped up on your elbow, inquisitive eyes focused on him. Your features are still soft, and Jungkook is pretty sure there’s traces of last night’s makeup clinging to your lash line. You’re so pretty— you always are. Jungkook can’t handle this right now. You’re too pretty, and Jungkook feels ugly. (Ah, so that was the feeling.) You can’t look at Jungkook when he’s ugly, you won’t want Jungkook when he’s ugly.

“Hey,” you say softly, gently. Jungkook’s heart aches. A pair of fingers brush along his cheekbones, drag through the wetness that escapes the corners of his eyes, trails down toward his ears—when had he started crying?—where you delicately tuck his hair back. “I’m gonna get started on breakfast,” you tell him, voice hushed, whispering. Jungkook is hanging onto every single word, feels like you’ll disintegrate before his very eyes if he isn’t careful. You can probably tell. “You don’t have to eat right now, but it’ll be down there if you want, okay?”

You move to get off the bed, scooting away from him, leaving him behind. He’s fine with it until he isn't, until your hand touches the door knob to his room and a shameful sniffle escapes him. Loud too, loud enough to make you turn back in surprise. And that alarmed look on your face is enough to make Jungkook want to hide, hurriedly rolling over onto his stomach, burying his face into his pillow, arms clutching at the softness as he cries. You hurry back. He doesn’t want you to leave, but he doesn’t want you to see either. He doesn’t know what he wants.

“No,” he begs, turning the other way when your face comes up beside him, kneeling beside his side of the bed. “Don’t look at me— please.”

There’s a hand on his back, and Jungkook hates how much he loves it, hates how much he instinctively yearns to find comfort in you at a time like this. He was getting better, he’s been getting better. He swears he has; he has journals full of feelings to prove it, vulnerable text message threads with Namjoon to prove it.

But he won’t lie. The Valentine’s Day incident had left a bad taste in Jungkook’s mind, and these past few months have been hard. He feels like he’s regressing, like he’s back to being a teenager all over again. By itself, that knowledge sucks. Combined with the warm palm on his back and the loving voice calling his name— combined with the fact you've been watching Jungkook these past few months each and every time he’s woken up like this… it’s humiliating. “Don’t look,” he chokes out, each drag of your fingers through his hair sending a confused pang of emotions straight to his heart.

“Why can’t I look?” you ask quietly, toying with the strands of his hair. He sniffles. “What would I see?”

“Me,” Jungkook sobs, wishing the mattress would just up and swallow him.

You’re silent, a fact that Jungkook wishes he could appreciate had it not made the sounds of his anguish even more obvious. It makes him self-conscious, more than he already is, so he forces himself to quiet down. It doesn’t feel better, but it does let him hear your next words. “I like looking at you,” you tell him, and the bed dips down beside him. After a moment, you speak again. “Do you feel ugly today?”

Careful, calculated. Like he’s a ticking bomb and you don’t want him to blow. Briefly, he had explained it before, skirted around it in embarrassment as he talked about the way he felt. It had been months ago— maybe the weekend after Valentine’s —so he’s surprised you remember. Jungkook nods.

“Then I’ll wait,” you announce, and eventually he feels you settle in beside him. His head is still turned the other way, hiding shamefully, but he can feel your warm breath against his skin when you slowly cuddle in close. An arm wraps itself around his back. He doesn’t mind it this time— he just wants to be held now. “I’ll wait until you feel pretty again.”

Part of Jungkook wants to snap at you; he doesn’t want to feel pretty, he’s never felt pretty. Jungkook felt average at best, and on days where you stroked his ego, maybe even handsome. But pretty? That’s not something that’ll ever happen, and he doesn’t want you to waste your hopes on a possibility that does not exist.

But that’s mean, and he doesn’t want to chase you away, scare you away, even if he doesn’t want you to see him like this. So Jungkook shuts his mouth, stays still, tries to match the soft rise and fall of your chest against his side instead.

Some days he’s fine in a few minutes without a single tear shed. Other days are long. Other days are so painful and uncomfortable, he just wants to hide. He wants to climb into his shell and never come out, hide his ugliness from the world and never have to worry about being seen again.

You don’t lie to him, don’t feed him empty promises while you wait. You just lay silently at his side, pulling him closer when his sniffles get louder. You don’t say anything unnecessary and you never make it about yourself.

Lately his shell has grown bigger, wider, comfier. Big enough for someone else to squeeze in, hold him close when he doesn’t feel like himself.

He doesn’t hate it.

[theramseyloft]

5/1/21 Loft Notes

As of this morning, Passenger is bright and alert.

They seem to have found their food dish and may have taken a sip of water.

Hopefully, they'll take more than that.

They kept their wormer down.

If they don't drink, I may have to subQ some fluid into them.

New places are always scary for ferals.

But they're upright and energetic enough to try to run.

Balance looks a little easier today.

Patron: "I have found that they will drink when I wiggle the water in front of them"

Patron: "Not sure if it scares pigeons, but is there any way to do a slow drip into the water bowl? To simulate movement but allow privacy if needed?"

Unfamiliar places and movement.

I'll try offering the dish closer.

Patron: "I'm so happy to hear they're trying so hard still"

Same!  As thin as they are, I was genuinely worried they wouldn't still be with us when I woke up.

Patron: "Oh that's how I felt when I took them in, it's why I didn't name them"

Patron: "You know how to subQ on a pigeon? That’s really impressive"

Patron: "subQ is so tricky for me in general, and birds have such thin skin ..."

Yeah.

I learned with Mourning doves when I volunteered for the local wildlife rehab.

If they are bad off enough they won't drink, using an insulin needle to give them a water pocket under their skin can save their life.

Passenger has recovered enough energy to be more freaked out by my hand than interested in the water and trying to offer directly is just scaring them.

They can see Vito across the room from them

Patron: "Hmm, would covering the cage help if Vito is spooking them?"

Oh, no, I need them to see Vito.

Pigeons are social learners.

Passenger can see him eat and drink and work out where everything is without me in there scaring years off their life.

Patron: "Ohhh okay. I thought maybe Vito was scaring them cause Vito doesn’t look like a “normal” pigeon, I was remembering what happened in your loft with Speedy"

Patron: "Yeah when I first picked up Passenger and there was 0 food in their crop I was like "there's no bird in this bird""

Speedy is the Pigeon equivalent of the Frankenstein Monster.  Vito just has a weird hardo.

Everything imaginable was wrong with Speedy, and he was still the most structurally sound American Fantail I've ever seen.

Vito is the bird equivalent of that guy on the history channel that thinks everything was aliens because indigenous humans couldn't possibly have been that smart.

Bird-Bird brought out her kitten bell.

Welp, I can never move again.

Chiffon on my shoulder, Couture on my arm, and Blue on my knee, all on my left side, loafed, and napping.

This is my life now.

Some one send help!

I don't have the willpower to leave.

Patron: "I'm not sure I'd have the willpower to disturb them"

"Been nice knowing ya, Dani"

Right?!

I escaped!

Today is the 21st anniversary of my husband asking me to be his girlfriend.

We've been away from home celebrating most of the day.

On our return home, Passenger was next to the water dish sipping a sip.

Got this message a few minutes ago:  

"I found something wild on reddit https://www.reddit.com/r/CuratedTumblr/comments/n2ilnk/the_great_pigeon_relay/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=sharereddit r/CuratedTumblr - The Great Pigeon Relay 585 votes and 19 comments so far on Reddit   I think this is you???"

There will be video of them up later, but it will not be exciting video.

They were NOT interested in moving.

Patron: "i can imagine, poor little thing. i hope they can feel just a bit of how many people are cheering for them"

I hope so.

Patron: "The pigeon relay post doubled it's notes on tumblr while I was sleeping"

Patron: "oh so that's the whole pigeon relay was about"

I do think people's good will makes a HUGE difference.

Y'all, I have so many new followers that tumblr mistook me for a bot trying to follow them all back.

It just blocked me from following any more back for now.

Patron: "i'm honestly so damn happy it got so popular, spread the love of pigeons all over the place, maybe one more person is going to look at some pigeons and think of this post and decide to be nice to them."

I'll just resume tomorrow and so on until I catch up. XD

Patron: "i was gonna ask if the wobbling was from PMV / paratyphoid fever but i actually read and seems it was just that close to death from starvation + parasites huh.."

Patron: "also possibly head trauma?"

"well, there is head trauma, but that is also maybe because of it, i think. (i missed the livestream last night despite my best efforts)"

Head trauma and weakness.

The wing seems the oldest injury. Then the head trauma.  

The crop wound is the newest. 

Patron: "Are those new feathers growing in over Passenger's injury?"

No. No new pins have formed. This is what's under the clump that stick out in their profile photo.

That's how I can say this is the freshest of their wounds.

By the scabbing, he received it maaaybe a day, day and a half at most, before he found his way into your hands.

The emaciation seems a combination of the wing wound grounding them, the head injury with vision loss in one eye, exacerbated by the worms.

They found food last night and ate again this morning.

This afternoon, they found and drank water.

We received a $50 tip from a follower

Bringing our PayPal Balance to $234.20

[atlas-of-a-human-soul]

Draw your swords, pt. 10

Summary: Haunted by her own mind, Y/N isn’t sure what to do with the information she uncovered. On the other hand, the Darkling felt a growing distance between them, allowing himself to admit something he never thought he’d say.

Warnings: angst, swearing, fluff, sexual innuendos 

Part one // Part two // Part three // Part four // Part five // Part six // Part seven // Part eight // Part nine   

=================================

A long time ago lived a young boy with the power of saints. He held the darkness at the tip of his fingers, capable of forcing the day into an eternal night. Back then, he made all the wrong choices for all the right reasons. To protect the ones he loves, he allowed the shadows to consume him. Cursed with immortality, he walked the earth ever since. Forever alone, hurt and betrayed, the Darkling's heart no longer beat as it turned to stone. No longer did he suffer, no longer did he feel pain or anything at all.

Until now.

There was no escape from emotions when he looked at her. Even in the darkness, she had the ability to set his world on fire.

A single badly made decision in a moment where everything feels more important than love can make your entire life feel like a failure. He would never make the same mistake again. 

This lifetime he gives to her – wholeheartedly.

When they stopped for the night, he had felt uneasy as Y/N conversed freely with everyone but him. It seemed like she’s on edge and not knowing why gnawed at him. Once night came and they settled in their tent, the Darkling couldn’t contain himself.

"I sense some...hostility."

Scoffing, she rolled her eyes, "Oh, how observant of you."

"What happened?” He asked, “Did someone at the Palace do something to you? Was it Genya?"

"And what if she did?” Tilting her head ever so slightly, she neared him. “What would you do?"

Without thinking, he answered, "I'd protect you."

Inhaling sharply, she raised an eyebrow. "And what if it was you?"

Pausing, his eyebrows furrowed as he unclenched his jaw. "Is it me?"

"If it was you who upset me, would that bother you?" Y/N pushed further, genuinely wondering if he cares for her as much as she thinks. After all, who’d believe the Darkling has a heart? She was still trying to convince herself it’s real when he kisses her temple when he thinks she’s fast asleep.

"Immensely."

With her hands on her hips, she narrowed her eyes at him. "So, how would you protect me from yourself?"

Letting out a heavy sigh, Aleksander ran his hand through his hair. "I'd let you decide."

Closing her eyes in frustration, her lower lip curled inwards as her front teeth sunk into the flesh. A part of her wanted to ask him about being the creator of the fold, but it was an advantage that would be unwise to let go of. 

"Why are you being so agreeable? Is it because I spread my legs for you now?"

"I've never known you to be so crude." The muscles in his jaw tighten as he squints at her and it’s taking everything in her not to smile because she absolutely loved when he’d look at her like that. It felt more natural than the soft, wistful looks he’d send her way.

"And I never realized you could be so easily tamed”, she remarks, her voice louder than before.

Chuckling in disbelief, the Darkling shrugs off his kefta without breaking eye contact. "You believe that you've tamed me?"

Pinching the bridge of her nose, she shut her eyes. Her face is flushed, her head spinning and she has nothing concrete to tell him. She can’t make sense of anything anymore, the image of him in her head changing with every passing minute.

"I don't know what to believe anymore."

In two strides, Aleksander found himself before her. Cupping her cheeks, he tilts her head up to face him and when she opens her eyes, she’s lost in the universe that’s captured in his eyes. She loved the night sky littered with stars, but she never truly knew what it means to stargaze until she met him.

“I’ve discovered I love you.”

Raising her eyebrows, her jaw slacked. “When have you discovered that?” Her voice is high, tone defensive, but his smile grows because it wouldn’t be her if she didn’t fight him even when he’s trying to admit to something he long forgot exists.

“When all my decisions started to revolve around keeping you safe.”

Shaking, her eyes widened. “That’s impossible! You hate me!”

Placing a hand over her mouth, he used his other to press his index finger to his lips. “Shh”, he chuckles, “You’ll wake the others.”

Rolling her eyes, she licked his hand.

“Really? I’ve touched you in a way that made you scream long into the night”, he deadpans, “Your tongue can’t possibly disgust me.” Smirking, he leans in, “On the contrary.”

Slapping his hand away, she turned away from him. Grabbing her head, she sat down with her thoughts running so fast, too fast for her to pick one out to decide what she thinks, feels, wants.

Wrapping his arms around her, he pulled her back flush against his chest. “I know you hate me now, but I’m a patient man. I won’t give up on you.”

He held her for a while, too long for either of them to realize the night had slowly trickled away from them and given way to dawn. Their journey wasn’t quite as long anymore. Soon enough, they’ll be at the fold and Y/N didn’t know what to do.

Should she tell him? Ask him for an explanation?

Would he kill her even if he said he loves her?

She still felt his kisses as he laid her down beside him. For the first time since they made love, they didn’t initiate any physical intimacy. Instead, they simply stared at one another.

She’s not for feeble minded people, there’s no doubt about it in his mind and if anything, Aleksander was more determined to love her because of it. She tested him in every way possible and while she was incredibly frustrating to argue with, Aleksander refused to give up on her. She’s difficult to understand to ordinary minds, but he isn’t ordinary.

His love will conquer in the end, he truly believed that. He could have continued on like nothing changed between them, but he could not be silent any longer. After all the time he’s spent in vein, all the years he wasted and lives he’s lived, Aleksander never found someone who gave him a reason to believe. Not until he met Y/N.

While she remained silent, stunned by his admission, he spoke of the day he first met Ivan and Fedyor. He spoke of their adventures, of their silly mistakes and she found herself smiling at first. Soon, she was laughing with him, and though she had no courage to admit it yet, she fell asleep thinking about him. Their knees were touching and her heart was racing, but the world never felt so right as it did when she was next to him.

Once on the road, she took the reins once again.

Kirigan ignored the whispers about her riding his horse, choosing to glare them into silence. No one dared to speak of it after.

Stopping a few miles short of their destination, Y/N drew a shuddered breath. The sight is hauntingly beautiful, a nightmare come alive. Swallowing thickly, a faint line formed between her eyebrows as they furrowed.

How could Aleksander be the Black Heretic? How is it possible for him to live so long?

“I’m here”, he whispers in her ear.

Goosebumps rise across the back of her neck as his warm breath dances across her skin. And there he is again, with her when she’s looking for solitude, offering his hand to hold and shoulder to lean on even when she least expects it. The worst thing is that she’s actually becoming dependent on his help and that scares her most of all, because what is she supposed to do when he decides he never did love her and all of it was simply an obsession fueled by her rejection. 

She’s still a novelty to him, that will wear off eventually.

“I’m not afraid”, she remarks, “I’m-“, she pauses in an attempt to find a better word, “Admiring it.”

“Admiring”, he repeats in surprise. “Most people find it absolutely terrifying.” 

She wondered if it frightened him. What would happen if he went in?

Turning her head to the side, she caught a glimpse of his parted lips. She felt ashamed how it caused her heartbeat to quicken, how it ached for a taste.

“I’m not most people”, she reminded him. And he knew that well. The Darkling would never fall for an ordinary woman.

“What I want to know is what went through his mind”, she grips the reigns tighter.

“Of the black heretic?”

Feeling his hands tighten around her waist, she nods. “I wish I knew what led to the creation of the fold. Why did he do it?”

“Maybe he just couldn’t help himself”, Aleksander’s voice is strained, “Maybe he’s just pure evil.”

Leaning the back of her head on his shoulder, she looked up at him. She longed for him, for an earnest conversation with their souls laid bare, but would she live long if she unveiled what her mind’s been tormented by?

“I don’t believe that”, she says softly.

Their eyes meet in an instant, the closeness forcing them both to hold their breath and look at each other silently. Looking at her, he touched her cheek gently with the back of his hand.

“Why give him the benefit of doubt?”

Aleksander’s free hand gently moves along her arm, finding its rightful place at the side of her neck, touching her skin so tenderly she felt blissful and it reminded her of that night where he unraveled her, made her scream in pleasure she never found before.

There was no denying it, Y/N had a weakness for his hand on her neck and his words in her heart, neither of which she had any willpower to refuse, especially not when she couldn’t breathe when he looked at her with such longing, shameful lust and indisputable passion and understanding.

It took everything in her to find the strength to speak again without her voice cracking under the pressure of her own emotions. 

“Because darkness doesn’t equate evil, just as light doesn’t equate good.”

Without a warning, he kissed her fiercely, violently, leaving her raw. She didn’t move away, she didn’t make a sound. All she did was close her eyes and part her lips and in that fraction of a second, she allowed herself to get lost in the beauty of a lover’s touch for when his lips claimed hers, nothing mattered anymore.  

When he broke away, she was breathless and undeniably his.

“What was that for?” She raised an eyebrow, a shadow of a smile forming on her bruised lips.

She shuddered, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip ruthlessly as Aleksander’s breath caressed her skin. It felt so right, too right to resist his advances. She lived for those long nights in their bed, those thick with lust and romance and naked kisses.

Aleksander shrugs, “I wanted to.”

Lips parted, she didn’t know what to do with that. He told her he loves her, that he’d wait for her to love him back and most women would fall at his feet. Something inside her refused to do so. To admit her feelings out loud would be the end of her. 

If she allows herself to love him fully, how could she possibly be the cause of his downfall? 

What would be left of her if she took his love and used it against him in the most cruel way possible?

She’s losing who she is around him, but it hurt so much more to reject his love. Hating him, pretending her heart isn’t a feeble muscle where he resides is exhausting.

Truth is, he doesn't make her feel safe or comfortable as she once believed a man should. He makes her feel like she's teetering at the edge of a cliff and she's getting addicted to that feeling. She’s getting addicted to him – his scent, his touch, his handsome smile and devilish smirk and most of all to the way his darkness drives away her demons.

Love has to come at once, with thunder and lightning like a hurricane that wreaks havoc on your life, to shake you up and break the heart like leaves off trees, to drag it into the abyss - abyss he created. 

She used to fear the dark, but now she found herself running into it.

In that moment, she smiled. 

Perhaps the darkness is not so bad if he’ll be there, holding her hand.

=============================

A/N - So, I literally wrote this in about two hours and I’m about to pass out. I wanna thank you for Eid Mubarak responses and especially for the feedback, I was just reading through them and they made my day so much better. I’m seeing some interesting theories too, some paragraphs you loved or just thoughts about the characters and IT GIVES ME LIFE. I’m so, so grateful for it all.

Tags: @bruxa0007 @rangotangomango @kaitlyn2907 @thestoryofmylife9 @shelivesindaydreamswme @hxrgreeves @safetyhtom @kaqua @savannah-elliott @all-art-is-quite-useless  @azure23x @girlmadeofavocados @ashdab2611 @acciorudolphx @ladyblablabla @wckedheart @xceafh @sanna2020 @tarkanelima-blog @takethee @mellifluous-cosmos @marvel-ousnesss @tea-effect @starlightofsolaria @p3nny4urth0ught5 @blackbirddaredevil23 @sarcastic-and-cool @slytherinsbiggestproblem @within-thehollowcrown @notthatchhavi @musicconversedance @freakytillthemoon  @lgkoval @honeyofthegods @queenmalhinewahine @misselsbells06  @whatthefluffrichard @aami98 @britriestbr @itsfangirlmendes @padme-parker @readingsssssssss @runawayolives @thehighladyofasgard @emlynblack @keithseabrook27 @dailydoseofchoices @deceivedeer @olympiacosplay @pansysgirlfriend @extrakyloren  @daybleedsintonightfa11 @thoughts-and-funnies @weirdowithnobeardo @folkloresworld @remugoodgirl​ 

PART 11

[whumpitisthen]

Tiny Whump Time

Masterlist

God I love tiny whumpees so much and it's honestly a crime how little there is of it (((i also dont write it enough so it is partially my fault but that's irrelevant)))

So this is everyone's cue to write some terrified little things running from cats and being threatened to be eaten (((Me included, i may not have the willpower for a whole drabble right now but i can write down some ideas!!)))

Have a whumper play hide and seek with Whumpee in their own home. By their own home I mean either Whumper's (Whumpee having to crawl under inconceivably huge furniture, between books on a bookshelf, behind a vase on a table high up enough that they cannot possibly get off it) or Whumpee's (a little hole in the ground they dug up that has been discovered, inside a wall that is being smashed down, a tree that is being chopped, a little crate in Whumper's shed tucked away out of sight that is suddenly needed). Whumpee's surroundings being casually destroyed or moved out of the way, nowhere is safe from the large hands grabbing for them, the steps that shake the ground, the booming voice calling out to them and telling them that they know they are in there somewhere, and the sharp deadly eyes that freeze them right down to their core when they find them. So many possibilities, and yet I can never get enough of it.

(Pretend) Cook your whumpee. Throw Whumpee in a pan. Put the lid on, or shove them in the oven, or the microwave, throw some oil and seasonings on them, and watch them panic. If you really want to fuck with them, tie them up too. Have them roll around in a steadily heating environment, screaming for mercy, losing their mind. And then take them back out and into safety. They will not find it as funny as Whumper probably does, but they also won't dare tell them to stop laughing, either because of shock, or in case they think it might just change their mind about keeping them uncooked. Whumper could also skewer them and put them over a campfire, like they do in cartoons. Have them be rotated over the flames and watch them die slowly, or threaten to keep doing it until their little intestines are all cooked through and edible.

Have a tiny whumpee running around your table while you work. It does wonders for one's mood, but might distract them. After all, it is quite hard to concentrate on writing, when it would be so easy to push the tip of that pencil you just sharpened right through the poor thing's belly. Or maybe see if their little arm fits into the hole of your sharpener. Trap them in a ring made of your arms, blocking all escape, and watch them press up against the furthest point from your face. Place your chin on the desk, open your mouth and start pushing them forward. So many things you could be doing instead of slaving away at your desk!

Squeeze a tiny whumpee. Just do it. No reason not to. Not too much, of course, they're delicate little things. But maybe just enough for them to start squirming. Maybe a little more and they're having trouble breathing. Maybe their shoulder will threaten to pop put of its socket if it keeps going. Maybe their entire body will be covered in a big bruise, painting them in colours that make them cry when they see their reflection. Or just hold them. Gently, but firm. Keep them in place, show them how easy it is. Maybe force them against a surface, face down, and touch their back. Slide a nail over their spine and terrify them. If they have wings, play with them. Indulge yourself in the privilege of touching such delicate, intimate, important parts of someone, for as long and as much as you desire with no consequences. What're they gonna do, bite you? You won't even feel it. They are so powerless, and they should know it.

Pin a whumpee up against a wall. Good advice in general, but even better for tiny whumpees. As I mean it literally. You know those collections of butterflies, all pinned cruelly up next to eachother, wings on full display? Have your whumpee pinned up there too. Or even better (and safer), show them their place on the wall. Show the empty spot in the middle of this wall of corpses, waiting to be occupied. Maybe pin them there by hand and draw around them, making it even more imposing and real.

Treat them like a toy. Keep them in a tiny box, no light, no fresh air, barely enough space to move around. Their own little portable cell that only opens when they are needed. When the owner of the toy is bored, and would like some entertainment. Maybe they're used multiple times a day, maybe they are forgotten about for weeks on end. They will tie their own self worth to how fun they are to play with, because how could they not when their dinner depends wholly on if they are remembered still a few hours down the line.

Write more tiny whump please i am starving these little people can fit so much terror in them i want to see more it

[britt-writes]

Lucas and cockwarming maybe................?????😳

I was originally going to do headcanons, but I ended up getting inspired for a drabble. I've never written anything centered around cockwarming, so I hope this is adequate!

Warning: NSFW content below the cut. 🔞

CW: Cockwarming, dirty talk, afab!reader

Drabble title: Sit Tight

Prompt: Cockwarming

Word count: 1,304

This was just about the ultimate test of your patience, though that patience was quickly running thin; you'd be edged into a near breakdown if this went on any longer. The torture was real, but you had a feeling that it was exactly what Lucas wanted.

As you kept seated upon Lucas' lap while he busied himself on his computer, you had to focus on anything, anything but Lucas' hard cock seethed deep inside your pussy. But who the fuck were you kidding? With your mind so hazy and going dumb from the sheer need you felt, there was nothing that could distract you.

Lucas pulled a sharp gasp from you when he gave a single, deep thrust. It almost gave you hope that he'd finally cave and fuck your greedy little pussy, but that hope quickly vanished, the most pitiful whine you've ever heard sounding from you as he stilled once more inside of you.

You wished that he hadn't done that; it was a cruel move on his part that left you unsatisfied and craving his cock even more. And Lucas knew what he was doing to you— enjoyed it, even. You couldn't see him, but you knew damn well that the bastard's lips had curled into a satisfied smirk upon hearing your pathetic whining.

"You feelin' alright there, darlin'?" Lucas cooed, though you could hear the slight mockery in his tone. "What's it like jus' sittin' on mah dick like that? Hm? Comfy?"

You didn't want to give Lucas the satisfaction of being so fucking sexually frustrated, but the hot arousal seeping from you, and your deep and laboured breaths gave you away.

Desperation soon overwhelmed you, causing you to slowly writhe your hips in an attempt to get even the slightest amount of friction. You hoped to be subtle in your actions, not wanting Lucas to take notice.

"Tsk. Did I say anythin' about movin'? Don't think yer bein' subtle there, babygirl," Lucas said, gripping at your hips to firmly hold you in place.

"Lucas, please. I just— fuck. I need you so bad," you begged, voice cracking.

Your pleas fell on deaf ears. "No can do, darlin'. S'nice an' warm in there. I'm fuckin' comfortable, so hold still."

"Lucas…"

"C'mon, purrty thing," he whispered in your ear. "You can do that fer me. Jus' do what I say, and I'll give it to ya real good when I feel that you deserve it."

"W-When's that gonna be?" You asked.

He snickered, finding your desperate state amusing. "Aw, look at ya! It ain't like ya to be impatient like this. The more ya squirm, the longer you'll wait."

You groaned, finding it nearly impossible to resist the temptation of moving; you were just dying to have that deliciously large cock split you apart. How Lucas of all people was able to keep his shit together during this entire ordeal was beyond you; he was the last person you'd think to be able to resist pounding into you.

"Shit, babygirl," he groaned. "That is one sloppy cunt y'ave got there. Yer leakin' all over me."

Lucas bucked his hips once more, earning a strained moan from you. Tingles ran down your spine as the aching in your core became insufferable.

"Lucas! S-Stop doing that," you said.

"Oops," Lucas mocked, loving how much he was breaking you.

You weren't sure if your ears had deceived you, but you swore you heard Lucas' voice shake, as if he too was on the brink of letting his arousal take over. Perhaps, if you begged for more in that broken, needy tone of yours he loved so much, he'd finally fill you up with some cum.

"Please, babe, I'm so fucking horny for you. I need that fat cock to fuck me," you pleaded. "I know you want it too."

"Tryin' to sweet talk me into movin'?" Lucas chuckled. "Nice try, but it ain't happenin' yet."

You stayed silent, trying your best to stay as still as possible and hoping to God Lucas would come around sooner or later. Your core was fucking stirring from the sensation of Lucas' dick remaining firmly plugged deep inside of you, not providing any relief but instead serving as a way to tease you, taunt you and remind you that he was in control.

Your breaths grew increasingly hot and heavy as Lucas' cock pulsed up and down inside of you, just barely tickling your most sensitive area. Judging by the laughter coming from your lover, he was doing this intentionally.

"You're fucking cruel," you whined. Your throat was dry, and you sounded dehydrated.

"I'm just havin' some fun withcha," he said.

Chapped lips pressed against your neck, gently sucking at the overly sensitive flesh. A mixture between a whine and a moan escaped you when you felt Lucas' tongue trail along your pulse.

Your skin was hot; you felt like it was on fire. Minimal movements of his tongue and lips were enough to have you shivering and whimpering, only intensifying the difficulty of remaining still.

You couldn't help yourself when you moved your hands to your pussy, pressing your fingers against your clit. The slight touch was enough to send a multitude of shockwaves throughout your body. It almost felt too sensitive; all of your senses were going haywire.

No matter how stupid the thought was, you hoped Lucas wouldn't take notice of the way your fingers rubbed your swollen nub. Subtlety was going out the door as you picked up the pace, moaning and desperate for an orgasm, though your wrists were soon seized by Lucas, gripping them tightly as he placed your hands on his desk.

Lucas clicked his tongue. "Keep bein' like that, and I'll fuckin' tie you up an' leave ya hangin'. S'that whatcha want, darlin'?"

When you didn't answer him, Lucas wrapped a large hand around your neck. Although not restricting airflow, he made sure to assert his dominance over you.

"Is it?" He pressed.

"No…"

"That's what I thought," he said, removing his hand from your throat. "Now, you're gonna keep your hands on the desk. Think you can hold fer another five minutes?"

"I don't know… maybe?" You said.

"Don't touch yourself, and don't try to ride mah dick. If you can hold still fer another five minutes, I'll give you what you want," Lucas said, thrusting into you for emphasis. "Think you can handle that?"

You nodded, humming since you didn't trust your voice for the moment. You were torn between crying in desperation at the thought of having to wait any longer, and crying for joy because it was just five minutes. You could handle that, right?

But Lucas wasn't making it easy for you to sit still. He whispered absolute filth to you, making sure you felt his warm breath on your ear as he told you what he'd do to you, how he'd break you and make you scream with pleasure.

His fingers dug into your thighs, thumbs ghosting over your puffy lips and giving your clit some very soft flicks that left you dying for more touch. His hands would slither up your body to grip at your breasts, making sure to take your nipples between his fingers.

Everything he said and did made it a challenge for you to keep nesting his cock. How the hell could you stay calm with Lucas pushing your limits like he was?

Through sheer willpower, you survived the five minutes; the reward at the end of those five minutes motivated you to play along Lucas' little game.

"Atta girl," Lucas cooed.

He pushed you up as he stood from his chair as well, keeping you bent over his desk. One hand gripped at your hips while the other was pressed between your shoulder blades.

'Finally,' was all you could think.