#lax sticks

[ferberus-skull]

pixel cat's end i love you.

flight rising.... you're okay (joking, i love you too)

[projectlax]

The Art and Science Behind Lacrosse Sticks

Lacrosse, a fast-paced and exhilarating sport, relies heavily on the players' equipment, and at the heart of their gear is the lacrosse stick. This essential piece of equipment is not just a simple tool for passing and shooting but a carefully crafted instrument that combines tradition with modern technology.

Evolution of Design: The design of lacrosse sticks has evolved over the years, blending tradition with innovation. Traditional wooden sticks have given way to modern materials like aluminum, titanium, and advanced polymers. The head of the stick, once made solely from wood, is now a complex structure of plastic and mesh, carefully engineered for precision and performance.

Shaft Varieties: Lacrosse sticks come with a variety of shaft options, each catering to the player's preferences and position. Aluminum shafts offer durability and strength, while composite shafts provide a lightweight and flexible alternative. Titanium shafts, on the other hand, strike a balance between strength and weight, appealing to players who seek a combination of both.

Head Design: The head of the lacrosse stick has seen significant innovations in recent years. The introduction of synthetic materials has allowed for more intricate designs, enhancing the player's ability to catch, cradle, and release the ball with precision. The sidewalls and pockets of the head are carefully engineered to optimize ball control and accuracy.

Pocket Types: The pocket, where the ball is cradled, comes in various styles to suit different player preferences. From the high pocket, which offers better ball retention, to the low pocket, providing a quicker release for shooting, players can customize their sticks to match their playing style. Stringing patterns and mesh choices further contribute to the overall feel and performance of the stick.

Regulations and Customization: Lacrosse sticks must adhere to strict regulations regarding length, width, and pocket depth, ensuring fair play and maintaining a level playing field. Despite these regulations, players still have the opportunity to customize their sticks within the boundaries of the rules, allowing for a personal touch that reflects their unique playing style.

Lacrosse sticks are more than just tools for the game; they are a fusion of tradition, craftsmanship, and cutting-edge technology. The careful balance of materials, design, and customization options empowers players to express themselves on the field while meeting the demands of this dynamic and fast-paced sport. As lacrosse continues to grow in popularity, so too will the innovations in stick design, shaping the future of this exciting game.

[capricornsicle]

(Image: Handshake meme template. One arm is "Deucalion in season 5", the other is "Beacon Hills lacrosse refs". Where they're shaking hands is replaced by the "I pretend I do not see it" meme.)

[avidsportsyapper]

please let me have amazing stats this lacrosse season 🙏 please bring my stick back from the shop early so i can tryout for club lacrosse friday 🙏 please let me make the club team if i get to tryout 🙏 please let me be a starter for the varsity team this year 🙏 im going to BURST im so scared for my second season…

[azure-clockwork]

Why you want me on your company dragon boat team (made up of true amateurs, including yours truly):

I have been deeply mediocre at like. Most sports over the course of my life leading to general medium athleticism and transferable passable skills. Specifically, I have done most of the paddling ones (save for formal crew. But I have canoed quite a bit)

I can yell. Really well. Shockingly well. I don’t need a megaphone to count strokes to the whole boat

I am a ‘pro’ musician in the sense that I have made $15 in tips playing at a bar once a month. I am also a rhythm game enjoyer and general music liker. My timing is pretty good

I can count strokes in four languages (English German, Chinese, and Spanish, though counting is the only Spanish I know), five with prep time (Japanese). Is this helpful? No

I can go off about the dead politician/poet guy this whole thing is based on. Oops actually nobody was that interested and they’re now walking away. Alas

Sheer goddamn zest. I’m about to puke from doing cardio while wasting 90% of my oxygen on screaming because heaven knows we’re not keeping time without it and as first seat that’s My Job (no drummer today lol) and I’m dying? So help me God, I *will* stay on time and I *will* keep the count so long as there is air in my fucking lungs and life in my body

[sluttywoozi]

Nothing Better | lch x reader

A day at the pool is the perfect thing to remind you just how hot your boyfriend is (as if you could ever forget).

Rating: M (18+) | WC: ~5.2k | Pairing: lch x reader | Genre: smut

Warnings: oral r and m receiving, face sitting, fingering, multiple orgasms, prone bone, creampie, breeding kink but just the cum part, cockwarming

Reader Notes: wears a one piece, has a vagina, wap, cries a little

You’re starting to wonder if maybe going to the pool wasn’t your best idea. 

It’s not that you don’t like the water - you love to swim - and it’s not that you don’t like the sun (when you have sunscreen on), it’s just that your boyfriend looks a little too good all wet and glistening. You can’t seem to take your gaze off of him, and neither can what feels like half the people here. 

You’d be lying if you said you weren’t feeling at least a little territorial, though you know very well that Chan doesn’t have eyes for anyone but you. It’s obvious in the way he keeps glancing over at you from his floatie, checking to make sure you’re still where he left you and smiling softly when he sees that you are. 

You’re reading on your tablet, having bought a waterproof case just for this weekend trip, your elbows resting on the ledge and your body submerged in the water. He wanted to get some more sun before it set and you’re trying to avoid the very same, so you retreated to the shady end of the pool while he floated out to the sunny side. 

There are children splashing around and shouting but you’ve managed to tune them out, your focus locked on your book as it starts to build up to the climax. You haven’t gotten a lot of reading done so far, not with most of your attention on Chan, but you don’t mind that at all. You like to concentrate on being with him when you’re together, like to stay present and soak in every moment, especially since he started at his new job a few months ago. 

He’s been working so hard, putting in long hours and taking on extra projects in an effort to prove himself, but finally, he took a day off and proposed using the long weekend for a staycation. You’re only about an hour from both of your apartments but the hotel is swanky, the beds are cushy, the pool is warm, and you have Chan to yourself. 

You can tell he needed the break by the lax set of his shoulders and the unburdened curve of his smile, a stark difference to his demeanor just yesterday. His laughter comes easier too, you can hear it from across the pool as he joins a few kids in a diving contest, tossing neon pool toys into the shallow end and clapping for them every time they burst up with their treasure in hand. 

They toss the toys into the deep end and you watch as he cuts through the water, his muscled arms propelling him forward before he dips below the surface. It’s a matter of seconds before he shoots back up, holding four of the neon sticks with one hand and smoothing his soaking hair back with the other. 

You know you’re staring but you can’t help it, he’s just so toned and tanned and luscious looking, drenched with pool water and grinning bright enough to overpower the sun. Fuck, why does your boyfriend have to be so hot…

Not that you’re complaining. Far from it, in fact. You know how lucky you are to have found love in someone who’s as beautiful as they are kind, as sexy as they are smart, as handsome as they are funny. Chan is close to perfect, but that’s not why he’s perfect for you. 

It’s because he’s the kind of person who will cut short their relaxation time to play games with kids they don’t know. Because he’ll listen to and empathize with your problems before offering to help you find a solution and comforting you if there is none. Because he’s taken the time to learn you inside and out, dedicated himself to loving you and only you, made promises to you and actually fought to keep them. 

You trust him with your life, your heart, your body, and you know he feels the same way. 

All of that, unfortunately, just makes him even hotter in your eyes. 

Hot enough that though you’re nearing the most important part of your book, you’re wondering if you can drag him out of the pool and back up to the room. There are things you want to do to him and you can’t do any of them here. 

Thankfully, he’s started to wade over, tugging the floatie behind him and waving at you with an affectionate grin. You set your tablet on the edge of the pool and wave back, beaming as he approaches. 

“Hi baby,” he says happily when he arrives, leaning in to kiss your cheek and not even cringing when his lips meet sunscreen instead of bare skin. 

“Hi Channie, do you wanna head up soon?” You ask, hoping he’ll catch the undertone of desire in your voice. 

He doesn’t. 

“Maybe in like an hour? I want to swim some more, is that okay?” He asks so innocently that you don’t have the heart to tell him you want to swallow his cock then ride him into the sunset. 

“Sure, yeah, that’s fine,” you nod placidly, pasting on a fake smile and praying he’ll take it for a real one. 

He doesn’t. 

“What’s wrong?” His brow furrows in concern, his hand wrapping around your upper arm and his thumb brushing over your skin. 

“I just- I, um…” You lean in close to him and cup your hand around his ear, whispering, “You look so hot and I want your dick in my mouth, to be honest.”

“Oh,” He breathes heatedly, his hand tightening on your arm before he lets it slip down, his fingers tangling with yours. “We should go then. We should go right now.”

You just barely grab your tablet with your free hand before he drags you over to and up the stairs, pulling you behind him but walking carefully so neither of you slip. You gather your things up quickly, drying off as best you can before he takes your hand again and guides you around the pool to the small lobby of elevators. The kids wave at him as he goes and he distractedly waves back, still ushering you forward. 

You think he’d be jogging if the pool rules allowed it. 

The air in the elevator is tense, and if the walls weren’t made of glass, you know you’d be pressed up against one of them with his lips on yours. As it is, you can only squeeze his hand while it’s rising, standing next to him as it shoots up to the fifteenth floor and opens with a ding. 

“Do you have the key?” He asks urgently, watching as you dig through your bag to find the thin plastic card. You pull it free of the inner pocket and hold it to the mechanism, waiting for it to turn green. As soon as you hear the click of the lock, you’re pushing open the door and tugging Chan through, barely waiting for it to shut to turn and pull him into a kiss. 

He tastes like chlorine but you couldn’t care less, all you care about is getting his tongue in your mouth and your hands on his body. His abs tremble under your fingertips with every shaky breath he draws in, and they tense into a six pack when you sink to your knees. 

“Baby, you really want to?” He confirms, knowing that your gag reflex is more than a little bit sensitive and wanting to make sure you’re comfortable. 

“Yes, Chan, I really want to,” you murmur, your eyes already locked on the growing bulge in his swim shorts as you start to pull them down, letting gravity do the rest of the work. His dick bobs free and you catch it with one hand, your fingers wrapping around the base and squeezing tight as you guide it to your open mouth. 

You begin with gentle licks to the head, your tongue dragging over his sensitive skin and lapping at the ridge where it connects to the shaft, your eyes coasting up his body to find his half lidded and already on you. 

Now that you know he’s watching, you start to feed his cock into your mouth, moaning when you finally feel the weight of him on your tongue. He echoes you, groaning softly and gazing at you as he reaches the back of your throat. You can’t take him any further, but you know you don’t have to deepthroat him to make it good, not when you’ve made him cum like this before. 

He takes in a shuddering breath and rests his hand on your head when you start to bob up and down, swearing and fighting to keep his eyes open as you suction your cheeks around him. You fall into an easy rhythm and let your hand follow your mouth, stroking what you can’t swallow with a tight grip. 

You don’t know why you don’t do this more often. Having Chan at your mercy feels almost as good as his cock in your mouth does, and the knowledge that you’re bringing him pleasure is enough to make you feel it too. Your pussy is starting to throb with it, your clit beating in time with your heart as you grip his plush ass with your free hand, pulling him into you and taking him just a bit deeper. 

“Feels so good, baby,” he sighs blissfully, his fingers clenching in your hair when you suck up to the tip and swirl your tongue around the head. You hum in response, the vibrations making him groan and tilt his head back, highlighting the tantalizing arch of his neck and the sharp edge of his jawline. 

He doesn’t keep his eyes off you for long, his chin tucked to his chest as he watches you lap at the precum seeping out. It’s salty and bitter but you don’t mind the taste, knowing it means you’re doing a good job. 

Too good, apparently, because he cups your cheek and murmurs, “Baby, I don’t wanna cum without you.” 

Your knees are starting to ache anyway, so you press one last openmouthed kiss to the head of his cock and release him. He takes your hands and helps pull you up off the floor, leaning in and connecting his lips with yours, uncaring of the fact that his dick was just in your mouth. 

Chan’s a sweetie like that, though his kiss doesn’t stay sweet for long. He lets go of one of your hands and cups your neck, his thumb pressed to your pulse as he sucks your tongue into his mouth and moans around it. 

You’re sure he can feel your heart racing but you’re past being shy about his effect on you, know he loves to feel the physical evidence of your desire for him. He could feel even more if he slipped his other hand into your one piece, but it’s still tangled up with yours and you hate being the one to pull away. 

Chan knows this and gently untwines his fingers to grip your hip and steer you to the bed. You’re about to let him tip you back when you remember the fact that you just came up from the pool, pulling away to say breathlessly, “Chan, we’re still soaking wet, we need to get these suits off and hang them up.”

His mouth quirks in a fond half smile in response, the playful roll of his eyes soft and his hands even softer when he uses them to start pushing you toward the bathroom. He practically frog marches you to the sliding barn door, stopping only to swipe his trunks off the floor and working his fingers under the straps of your bathing suit as soon as you step foot on the tile. 

You hold onto his shoulders for stability as he peels the wet fabric down, sinking your fingers into his still-dripping hair when he kneels and presses his cheek to your stomach. 

“Let’s shower fast, I want you to sit on my face asap,” he sighs contentedly, smooching the soft skin of your belly before rising to his feet with your swimsuit in hand. 

You’re struck silent as heat floods your stomach and your cheeks, and he pinches one gently as he laughs, “What, you can be blunt but I can’t?” 

“You can be as blunt as you want if you keep saying things like that,” you assure him, reaching over to turn the shower on and fighting back the shiver that threatens to roll down your spine. 

“In that case…” He wraps his arms around you and brings you into his chest, warming you with his body heat. “I’ve wanted your thighs wrapped around my head since you climbed into my car in that sundress this morning.”

“Why’d we go straight to the pool, then?” You wonder, mystified. 

“You were so excited about your new waterproof case and getting to relax. I didn’t want to ruin the vibe with my dirty thoughts,” he pouts, reaching around you to feel the water and pushing aside the curtain so you can climb into the tub.

“Babe, I have literally never felt more relaxed than I do when you make me cum,” you admit to him as you step under the flow of the shower, tilting your head back to avoid getting your hair wet. “Your dirty thoughts can only enhance the vibe, not ruin it.”

“You promise?” He asks as he joins you in the tub, shielding you from the water. He pumps some body wash into his palm from the wall dispenser before sudsing his hands up and starting to glide them over your body. 

You hum happily and murmur, “I promise, Chan.”

Your eyes fall shut but you can still sense him smiling as he scrubs your skin free of sunscreen and chlorine. You feel fresh and clean and slightly dazed by the time he nudges you back under the water before stepping around you and beginning to clean himself off. You wake up enough to wash his back for him, spending an inordinate amount of time on his toned shoulders and digging your fingers into the knots that plague him from hours spent hunched in front of a computer. 

He rinses himself quickly and shuts the water off, grabbing a towel from the rack and carefully dabbing you dry before swiping the cotton over his own skin and stepping out of the tub. You know Chan gets out before you so he can catch you if you slip, and you can’t suppress the smile that ticks up the corners of your mouth as you climb over the ledge with his hands holding yours. 

He doesn’t release his hold even when you’ve got two feet on the tile, immediately guiding you back to the bedroom and letting go only to hold your hips as you set a knee on the bed and crawl on. 

“Don’t get too comfy yet,” he reminds you, leaping up and twisting to land onto his back midway up the bed. It would be funny if he weren’t eyeing you so heatedly, if you didn’t know exactly what’s about to happen. 

But with his pretty lips parted and his hands covetous as they reach for you, there’s no mistaking his eagerness for humor. You take in a shaky breath while you shuffle closer, your hands pressed to the mattress as you lift your knee up and settle it on the other side of his neck, leaving you straddling his face. 

“Now you can get comfortable, baby,” he says softly, his breath flowing out over your sensitive folds. His eyes are locked between your legs, and as you start to let yourself relax, he lays his tongue out, humming in satisfaction when your pussy finally makes contact with his taste buds. 

Chan eats you out often but hardly ever like this, mainly because you find it difficult to completely let yourself go and just feel. You’re always worried about smothering him or being too heavy or if he’s really enjoying it, no matter how much he reassures you. 

But there’s something about this time. 

Maybe it’s the way his eyes slipped closed as soon as his tongue touched you, like you’re a delicacy he’s privileged to taste. Maybe it’s how he’s gripping your hips and pulling you down, like he wants you to smother him. Maybe it’s the near constant moan vibrating against you, like there’s nothing he’d rather be doing than this. 

Whatever it is, you think you finally believe him. 

Which is why your thighs untense, letting you rest fully on his face as you bend over and prop yourself up on your elbows, sinking into the feeling. 

He just groans in encouragement and wraps his arms around you, digging his fingertips into your skin and urging you to grind. You roll your hips once, whimpering at the sensation of his nose pressing into your clit as his tongue slides inside of you, and that’s enough to get you going. 

You set a gentle pace, sliding in little movements back and forth, barely even registering the obscene sounds of Chan’s mouth at work between your thighs. They’re muffled by your body and before long, they become background noise to the ringing in your ears and the rush of your blood pumping in your veins as he devours you. 

He doesn’t let up for even a second, shifting his focus instead, his lips wrapping around your clit and sucking in pulses. His tongue taps at the bud incessantly, his moans urgent as if he’s wordlessly begging you to let your release find you. 

It’s slow going but you can feel it creeping up on you, your climax rolling in like fog on a chilly morning as you try to beckon it closer in your mind. It pulls you in instead, its blissful vines coiling around you as he whines and whimpers into your pussy. 

Finally, the pleasure takes root, blooming within you gently at first before unfurling with ardor, stealing the air in your lungs and the thoughts in your head. Your head falls and your eyes flutter shut, and soon enough, all you can do is kneel there and tremble through the barrage of feelings, the softness of his tongue and the heat of his breath and the reverberations of his groans rendering you helpless. 

You’re still shaking by the time you regain the ability for complex thought, and the first thing you do is attempt to climb off of him. 

Except Chan doesn’t let you go, he just shakes his head and wraps one arm tighter around your body, bringing the other behind you to prime two fingers at your entrance. He doesn’t even bother speaking, simply grunting around your clit and starting to sink his fingers inside, the slickness of your cunt enough to let them glide. 

You melt into him with a moan, reaching one hand down to tangle your hand in his hair and pull as your back arches, trying to guide his fingers to that one spot inside as if he doesn’t always find it on his own. 

And find it, he does, his fingertips grazing the erogenous patch and beckoning forth a little burst of arousal that you just know is seeping down his chin. He’ll need another shower after this but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when he immediately starts building you up again with his mouth around your clit and his fingers buried inside of you. 

Your hips respond to his thrusts without your permission, rolling into his every touch, and for the first time, you actually find yourself riding his face. He moves with you, whimpering continuously into your pussy as if he’s feeling your pleasure like it’s his own. 

Your head starts to spin, the blaze of white hot euphoria licking at your spine and heating your skin, making sweat prickle where he grips you like a lifeline as he voluntarily drowns himself in you. 

Everything zeroes down to the point of connection between your body and his, the only thing on your mind being the high that’s just out of your reach. It’s just a matter of time with his fingers grinding into your sweet spot and his lips wrapped around your clit, with his whines vibrating against you and his skin pressed to yours. 

You know he wants you to cum, and that’s part of what’s getting you so close. Chan loves to give you pleasure, views it as both his duty as your boyfriend and his privilege as a man, and he always feels a sense of accomplishment when he can get you there more than once. He’s also just a generous person, a giver, and that doesn’t change when it comes to being with you. 

It’s not that you’re not a giver too, it’s just that you know how to take. 

You know how to take the bliss he insists you feel, how to take his mouth and his fingers and eventually, his cock. You know how to take everything he wants to give you, and that’s why you work so well together. 

It’s like you don’t need words anymore, not when you can read his actions just as well. 

And with his actions, he’s telling you to stop thinking and just feel, just let him guide you over that edge, which is absolutely something you can do. 

It doesn’t take much at all to clear your mind, a curl of his fingers and a pulse of his lips around your clit sweeping your thoughts away, leaving you muddled with sensation. You hiccup in a breath and sigh out a shaky moan, your thighs trembling on either side of his face as you near the drop off once more. 

You let it happen, let him push you off the edge into the deep end and welcome the waves of bliss that wash over you. They’re more powerful than the last, blanking out every word in your brain but his name, all of your focus centered between your legs where he’s still hard at work. 

He pushes you through it, digging his fingers into your sweet spot and groaning around your clit as his hand squeezes at your hip. A hot rush of arousal leaves you, and he’s quick to slide his fingers out and open his mouth to catch it. 

His tongue swipes at your entrance, dipping in and out as he drinks you down, his body shuddering under yours at the feeling of your fluttering pussy. 

By the time it’s over, you can barely hold yourself up. Chan seems to sense this and pulls himself out from under you, gently tugging at your legs until they lay straight with you resting on your stomach. 

You feel his touch on your back, a gentle hand rubbing up and down softly as he comes to rest at your side, nosing at your hairline. 

“So good, baby. Just what I wanted,” he murmurs to you, and you pick your head up and turn it to face him, blinking bleary eyes at his flawless visage. 

“Want your dick in me,” you mumble thickly, watching as his eyebrows furrow contemplatively. 

“You’re not too tired?” He questions, and you try to respond but you can only look at his lips and the sheen of you on them. 

“So what if I am? Maybe I wanna fall asleep on your cock,” you finally say, half playful, half truthful. 

“Like… cockwarming? Would you really wanna do that?” He asks eagerly, and you grin a teasing little grin, happy to have unlocked one of his secret desires. 

“Yeah, Chan, I would really wanna do that,” you confirm. “Maybe even today… after you fuck me?”

“Okay,” he beams, pressing a kiss to your nose before springing up with a shocking amount of energy and climbing atop you. 

He straddles your hips and sets both hands on your ass, pushing the cheeks apart to expose your pussy to his searching eye. He releases one side to grab his cock and line himself up, slowly beginning to push inside and choking out a breath as he feels your warm wetness wrap around him. 

Chan is the perfect size for you, not too big or too thick, but just enough that there’s a slight stretch every single time. You fit him like a glove, like puzzle pieces meant to interlock, and somehow, every time he slides inside of you makes you feel like you’re the home that welcomes him after a long time away. 

He bottoms out and it’s like you can finally breathe, even as he stretches himself out on top of you and tucks your hands under his, weaving your fingers together and holding tight.  

You’re completely surrounded by him and that’s enough to have you relaxing into the bed, the only muscles activated in your body being the ones holding your ass up for him as he rolls his hips back and sends them forward again. 

You love having him this close as he takes you apart, being able to feel his strength in the muscled arms stretched along yours and the toned chest pressed to your back has you wanting him even closer. Given the chance, you just might climb into his rib cage and squeeze right in next to his big, luscious heart. That might be a little much though, so for now you’ll content yourself with being smothered by his perfect body. 

The feeling of his dick pressed against your walls to root deep has you reeling, making you thankful for the grip of his hands over yours, the weight of them serving as a reminder that he’s here and he’s got you.

He sets up a smooth, easy tempo, one that reminds you of ocean waves pushing onto and then receding from the shore, filling you with his cock again and again. You miss him every time he leaves but he returns before the emptiness starts to ache, the ebb and flow of him as constant as the tide. 

“‘s this what you wanted, baby?” He murmurs into your neck, waiting for your nod to continue to speak. “Gonna let me fill you up? Gonna let me stay inside?” 

“Yeah, Channie, want you to fill me up and stay inside me,” you whimper, squeezing your inner muscles around him to emphasize your words, the tight clutch of your cunt making him tremble above you. 

“Fuck,” you hear him bite out just before his hips scoop on the next stroke in, the angle allowing his cock to graze your sweet spot. Pleasure zips up your spine, sharp and electric, making your back arch and your pussy clench. 

He notices the way you push back into it and begins to aim every thrust there, ensuring that he drags against the internal patch of nerves as often as he can. He’s still going slowly, his movements almost sedate though there’s an intensity to them, one that you know will be enough to undo you. 

Chan always gets you there, even on nights where it’s harder to climb that hill, nights where you’re distracted or stressed or anxious. You reach for him on nights like that anyway, knowing that soon enough, he’ll have you so blissed out that you’ll forget what was wrong in the first place. 

Nothing could be wrong today, and that makes everything even better, makes his name on your lips taste sweeter, his body on top of yours feel broader, and his cock inside of you hit deeper. It almost feels like he’s reaching the end of you every time his hips buck into yours, the dull smack barely audible with his gasping breaths and shuddering groans in your ear. 

The medley of it all has you feeling dizzy, rapturous, like pure affection and desire and devotion are welling up inside you. They’re rapidly running out of room, your chest only so big compared to your love-soaked heart, and there’s little you can do to quell the overflow as it streams from your eyes in tender tears. 

You try to swallow down the sob that aches to be let out but your lungs trip on it anyway, and Chan just coos and burrows closer to you with a sweet kiss on the cheek. He knows this means you’re getting close and that he shouldn’t do anything but keep going, though you wonder if he knows that it’s unlikely you’ll cum from just his cock. 

He does, of course he does, extricating one of his hands from yours and sliding it down under your body and between your legs. His fingers gather the arousal he’s pushed out with his dick and smear it up to your clit, beginning to rub slow, gentle circles that match the push and pull of his hips. 

The feeling is instantaneous, a syrupy burning starting up low in your pelvis before gathering in your stomach, your pussy responding to the sensation by fluttering around him and trying to suck him in deeper. 

He doesn’t stop, just maintains his slow and steady pace, patiently working you up to your third orgasm and sucking kisses along the curve of your throat, murmuring to you, “Please cum, baby, please cum for me. It’s gonna feel so good, I know you can do it. When you cum, I’ll cum too, okay? I’ll fill you up with my cum and I’ll stay inside and when we wake up, we’ll do it all over again.”

And what can you do with him begging like that, with his dulcet voice and steadily rolling hips and expert fingers on your clit, except exactly what he wants? 

With a whimper you fall to pieces beneath him, euphoria flowing through your veins and dousing your nerve endings, blanking out everything in your mind but his name. It falls from your lips like a spell, like an incantation urging him to shatter with you, the chant constant even as your lungs plead for air. 

But it works. 

It works and he bursts with a low cry, his cock twitching against your undulating walls, a warmth flooding you deep within as his cum paints your insides white. He trembles above you, the muscles that have been holding him up weakened by pleasure, and soon enough he completely sinks into you, weighing you down to the bed. 

“That was so good, baby… Love you so much… Now let’s sleep,” he slurs quietly, just barely shifting to the side so he’s not suffocating you, though he leaves his still hard, still throbbing, still leaking cock buried inside of you. 

Normally that would keep you awake, but days at the pool are always draining and you did just cum three times, so you think a little sleep would do you good. 

When Chan’s arms snake around you and tug you tighter into his chest, you giggle weakly and murmur, “Love you, Chan,” before letting your eyes slip closed and following him into slumber. 

AN: Woohoo!! this started as interlude no. 10 a few months ago but i got like 2k in and lost inspo for it. i picked it back up this week and here we are!

thank you for reading, i hope you enjoyed!! i am eager to know your thoughts and feelings 🙏

[hyunsvngs]

i saw seungmin in this shirt and my mind broke down. also yes me and ems wrote fics for the same fanmeet outfits without realising

wc: 1.6k

warnings: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, dirty talk (seungmin is mean), dom seungmin, sub reader, exhibitionism? anyone could walk in, blowjob, boot humping, unprotected sex, creampie

“I don’t- I can’t-”

Seungmin’s lips press to yours again soothingly. He’s still sweaty from the fan meeting, and his lips are a little wet. “It’s okay, calm down.”

You’re backstage and way too worked up. Going to the fan meeting and seeing your boyfriend in all his glory onstage was one thing, but when he walked out in that damn Diesel top? Yeah, you were sure you’d had a heart attack. You jumped his bones as soon as he walked backstage and he’d carted you off to the nearest separate dressing room to ‘calm you down’, much to the jeers of the other boys. 

There’s sweat beading onto your chest by the time you get him to stop kissing you, and you sink to your knees, breathing hot air over the front of Seungmin’s jeans. He peers down at you with a raised eyebrow, hands moving to his belt. 

“Really? Right here?” He asks, and you only nod. “You’re feeling a little filthy today, aren’t you?”

“Don’t tease me,” You huff, nose nudging his growing erection. He wraps his fist around your hair and pulls you backwards, making you look up at him. He looks ever the image of power - the choice of attire accentuates the milky skin of his arms, and his eyes are dark when he tuts at you for ogling him like that. “You look so good.”

“Behave,” He murmurs. You nod again. You can’t do anything else when he’s in a mood like this, only nod and feel the gusset of your panties sticking to your messy folds. He’s feeling strict, but if you keep pouting up at him, eyes glassy, perhaps he’ll let you have it. 

“Please,” You beg, bottom lip quivering. You’re not above crying to suck your boyfriend’s cock, and he knows that - hell, he’s made you cry over it before and probably will again. Tonight, though, it seems he’s feeling a little kinder than normal, because he lets go of your hair and starts to unbuckle his belt. “Oh, oh! Yeah, yeah, gimme, gimme-”

“Shut up,” He admonishes, eyebrows furrowed in contention. He pulls his belt from the waist of his jeans and they drop down to his thighs, stopped by the lean muscle. Only a beat passes before he lets you see it, firstly with the trimmed, pitch-black hair at his base, and then with the whole length of his cock bobbing up against the bottom of his abdomen. He’s still only half hard, a little soft when he polishes his cockhead with his hand, but it only takes a second before he’s standing at full mast. 

You can hear noises from outside the door. It only serves to make you leak more into your underwear, shifting on your knees from where you are in front of him, but you’d never wish to rush Seungmin. He stares at you while you writhe, and then finally, finally, he nods.

You know what that nod means. You’re suckling the tip in seconds. He leaks steadily for you, and you whimper around his length when he moans at your actions. You’re used to sucking him off by now, and so you start to bob your head on as much as you can fit, moving your fist to pump the part of his length that you can’t quite reach. Seungmin’s hips thrust forwards once, twice, and then he gives up, moving his hands to your head.

“I’m gonna fuck your throat,” He murmurs. He gives you enough time to pull away, but you don’t, only moaning and moving your hands to rest on his thighs. “Yeah? You’re gonna let me do that here? That’s so fucking slutty.”

Of course you are. Your jaw goes lax, and Seungmin groans, his eyes rolling back into his head as he starts to thrust. He presses into your throat over and over, making your eyes water as you gaze up at him, but the whole thing’s so hot you can’t protest. Seungmin’s normally iffy about messes but with the way you’re drooling all over his cock, you’re not sure he minds right now.

You can’t help yourself. Your hand dips underneath your skirt and starts to rub circles into your clit, through your panties and Seungmin’s oblivious for a moment. He thrusts into your mouth a few more times and it’s the wet whine you let out that gives you away - Seungmin’s eyes open, peering down at your disshevelled figure on the floor.

“Mm, don’t do all of that,” He murmurs condescendingly. His thrusts stop and he lets his shaft slide out of your mouth, a string of saliva connecting the two of you. You’re allowed to sit there and gasp for air for a moment, but then Seungmin’s boot nudges into your knee.

The position’s a little awkward, but you spread your legs and let him push his boot underneath your skirt for you to hump into. It’s a nice gesture from Seungmin, who’s normally scathing words and even worse spankings, but then he fucks into your throat so hard it makes you gag. 

“Take it,” He huffs, and then he’s doing something ultimately worse. With his fingers intertwined in your hair, he grips your head and starts to bounce it on his cock. You’re whining hard by now, hips kicking up a fuss on your boyfriend’s shoe, and you see his eye twitch when you gag on one pull downwards with a sharp wail.

He pulls out of your mouth with a fuss. He’s quick to yank you up by your hair, pulling you over to the nearest vanity to bend you over. You don’t mind - you’re embarrassingly eager, actually, letting your knees fall apart to show your man the mess you’ve made of yourself. His hand moves to your hair to push your skirt over your ass. The cold air hitting the sodden fabric of your underwear has you keening, pushing your ass backwards. You can’t see yourself from your position, tummy down on the vanity table and face buried in your arms, but you know you must look like a certain debauched type of picture. 

“You wanted me that bad, huh?” He muses, thumb sweeping over your core. You whimper, nodding with a twitch of your leg, and then Seungmin’s yanking your panties to the side. Before you can squeal, to make a noise to acknowledge him, he’s sinking his whole length in you at once. “There you go. You’ve got it now, feel it, whore. Feels good?”

“Feels s’good,” You slur, drool slicking your bottom lip just from the stretch of him. Seungmin’s longer than he is thick but he’s still enough to have your pussy throbbing, clit aching for stimulation from the feeling of him pressing at your walls. “Feels g-good, fuck me, fuck me- please, please, guh- gotta-”

“Yeah, okay,” He sighs, as if he’s annoyed, and then he’s rutting into you so hard you swear your eyes cross. Seungmin groans and grunts with each gush of your pussy around him, and when his hand moves to your hair again, he’s yanking your face out of its safe haven. “Look at yourself. Fucking look at that.”

You have to. Your eyes are glassy with unshed tears, and you’re drooling so hard it’s affected some of your makeup. Your cheeks are flushed, obvious that it spreads down your neck and to your chest, and you’re still fucking your hips backwards to try and get more of him. 

“Please,” You watch yourself say it, lips kiss-bitten and broken. “Please give it to me harder, Seungminnie, I need it.”

“You need it?” He questions, just to watch you nod so hard you look like a dumb little bobblehead. “Okay. Don’t take it back, then.” 

His confidence would be sickening if it isn’t for the way he starts to fuck into you so hard you squeal. His mushroom tip kicks into your cervix with every thrust, and you can see him gritting his teeth with the speed of it all. He’s still holding your hair, and you watch yourself finally begin to cry, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure. 

You whine and writhe, and Seungmin’s other hand goes to your ass to keep you down, laid flat for him. Your nipples are so hard through your shirt that it’s starting to hurt, and when you shift your hips again, he hits a spot so good that you sob wetly.

“There! There, there, there, please don’t- don’t stop, Seungmin, I’ll fucking cum,” You babble, and your eyes finally fall shut. Seungmin doesn’t reprimand you for it, only continuing his pistoning into that same exact spot that has you babbling out profanities and half-spoken words. “Yeah. Yeah! There, there, fucking- I’ll cum so good, I’ll cum so-”

“I know you will, f-fucking whore,” His voice is faltering, and you know he’s getting close. “Cum for me. Shut up and just fucking cum.”

It explodes behind your eyes. Your toes curl with it and you gush and wail on Seungmin’s cock, walls fluttering so deliciously around the slick slide. He helps you ride it out, hand now pulling you backwards with each thrust, and then he’s letting go of your hair so unceremoniously it falls with a thud back to your arms.

You’re just panting now, pussy still clenching down on your boyfriend through the aftershocks of your orgasm, and Seungmin starts to chase his high. It only takes a few ridiculously fast thrusts for him to finish, and he pumps you full of his cum easily with a loud groan. 

He slips out of you and you let out a whimper, causing him to make his own answering, mock-whimper in response. You hear him shuffling about behind you and when you finally open your eyes, tilting your head towards him, he’s looking for tissues with his wet cock in his hand. 

“Seungminnie,” You giggle, kicking your feet. The action only causes his cum to drip out of your pussy and down your thighs, and you groan in disdain, immediately halting his movements. 

Seungmin laughs. “That’s karma for laughing at me when I’m trying to help you.”

[bloodgutsanchocolatecake]

Oh I'm glad I didn't have another square we are to the shitting my guts out portion.

[dandylovesturtles]

So it’s definitely implied, at least at the beginning of the series, that the boys do work to keep their existence secret from humans (even if they get lax about this pretty quickly). Only going out at night, coming up with color stories for their greenness, Leo worried about people opening their blinds, etc. really they only seem to relax once a larger mutant presence is established after the release of Draxum’s oozesquitos, and after they learn of the large NYC yokai community.

But I do like the idea of their local neighborhood, at least, learning of their local cryptid family way earlier, and becoming fond of them.

Like maybe Splinter, with no resources and four little mouths to feed, caves and goes to a soup kitchen. And if his cloak slips and someone notices he looks more like a rat than a person, and that he keeps feeding spoonfuls of broth to the little green faces that keep poking out and cry more like babies than animals, well, they’re gonna mind their own business

Except maybe to mention something to Jen, because she helps organize the supply drive for struggling parents, and maybe she can conveniently mention it to the rat guy and then conveniently stay behind after closing to slip him baby food and other supplies. And if he returns the favor by making sure she isn’t mugged on the way home, that’s just neighborly.

And maybe after they move into the sewers, some maintenance worker’s lunch attracts a curious and hungry toddler. And maybe after that they start bringing food and treats and the hand me downs from their own kids to give to the weird little green boys.

And maybe when a pharmacist sees the security footage of the local sewer rat man swiping kids cold and flu medicine he deletes that before the owner can see, because everyone knows the rat man is nice and he just has four kids to take care of

And maybe when clout chasers like Stockboy and government narcs like Bishop show up, the locals show them right where they can stick it. They may be weird mutants who live in the sewers, but those are their weird mutants who live in the sewers!!

[a-hazbin-reader]

Heave you done hcs with Wifey scratching/touching Alastor’s ears/tail?

I HAVE NOW??

Alastor X Reader Headcanons

✅️Romantic

❌️Platonic

TW: Suggestive

Description: ☝️⬆️

Alastor only trusts his wife to mess with his ears and tail, everyone else would lose a hand if they tried, some people actually have

But with you, it's different, he's comfortable with you and doesn't mind letting you see all his different reactions

Will actually seek you out on certain days, laying himself in your lap and hoping you'll get the hint

You know exactly what he wants but it's more fun if you pretend you don't, patting his head before going back to your book

"Long day, my dear~?"

He let's out a small bleat, his ears twitching upwards in an effort to draw your attention to them

"Better now that I'm with you..."

You don't even glance at his ears, nor do you look at his tail when he suddenly stretches out like a cat and wiggles it

Don't make him say it, it's embarrassing

Alastor let's out another bleat and stares at you pitifully, making you hum and hover your hand over his head

He happily meets it and rubs his head against your hand, letting out a happy sigh as your fingers graze along his ears

You can't help but laugh at him a little, rolling your eyes as you rub and scratch behind his fuzzy ears

"You could've just asked me~"

He's gone lax on top of you, his tail swaying as the rest of him lays in a daze

"Hn... too embarrassing..."

His eyes are closed, head tilting to get you to scratch at a different angle as he practically drools in your lap

Once he's asleep, you lean down to kiss his ears and watch them twitch from the soft touch

He's such a cute man

His tail is a slightly different story, he covers it for a reason and finds the area to be very sensitive

His tail is far more expressive than his ears, and you use it against him whenever you can

So usually, when you're touching it, it's to rile him up or let him know just what he's in for later

He's taken off his jacket and is distracted by whatever he's working on? His tail slowly swaying as he hums to himself with his back turned to you?

How are you not supposed to mess with his tail when he leaves it out like that???

You saddle up next to him, kissing his cheek and neck affectionately as your hand creeps it's way down his back

"Darling, just what has gotten into you~?"

His tone is playful, tilting his head to give you more access as he wraps one arm around you to keep you from pulling away

Your other hand plays with one of his ears, leaning up to kiss the tip of it before whispering in his ear

"Nothing yet~"

Your words paired with the fact that you're twirling his tail in your fingers makes his entire body go hot

His ears stick up straight, and he drops what he's holding, giving you a wobbly smile as he tries to compose himself

"You are an insatiable woman!"

You just smile at him sweetly and keep rubbing his tail, the traitorous thing wagging from the attention as a pleased shudder runs through the rest of his body

It's all he can do to suppress a groan, giving you a dangerous look but not trying to stop you

"Upstairs. Our bedroom. Give me two minutes."

You can't help but laugh and give him one last kiss before sauntering out of the room, eager to do as Alastor says

You stop at the doorway, looking back to give him a look that would scare most people but instead turns Alastor on

"Don't keep my waiting, Alastor~ Or I'll come back and bite those cute ears of yours~"

His ears and tail both stick up straight, frantically putting away his little project and scrambling after you

Don't threaten him with a good time

I'm a sucker for teasing this man 😭

[cmncisspnandmore]

Dad!Simon is surprisingly lax with the rules he has in place for his teenage daughter.

She’s allowed to date, also long both you and Simon have met the parents of her partner. She can be out until 10pm every night but must have her locations on. She has to keep good grades, and do her chores, but other than that she can do as she pleases.

She’s a good kid.

Always has been.

Since the moment she was born Simon’s entire attitude towards parenting shifted. As he stared down at the pink, sleeping baby in his arms as the doctors finished up with you. He vowed to do whatever he could to make her life as amazing as it could be.

He took her to dance classes as a toddler, even going on stage with her when she got stage fright.

He never denied her the ability to play any sport or instrument she wanted. Even if she didn’t stick with it, he was always happy to support her next hobby.

He would find trinkets to bring her from his missions, his own little way of showing her he never stopped thinking about her. Building her a new shelf to store them on when the previous one was full.

Although Simon wasn’t as strict as people thought he would be with her, he had a good reason.

Simon had trained her well, by the age of 7 she could take down a fully grown man on her own. Simon even remembers the look on Soaps face as the seemingly innocent little girl in her bright pink dress took him to the ground.

By age 10 she could shoot better than some newly joined SAS members. Her shot hitting center almost every time.

Now as Simon sits on the steps of the front porch, he watches as you and your daughter lay in the grass. The stars bright in the dark country sky. You both talk softly, pointing out the different constellations.

Riley, the family German Shepherd, laying by your heads his ears perked as he listens to the world around you.

“Dad!” Your daughter calls, sitting up on her elbows to look back at him. Her brown eyes a mirror image of Simon’s.

“Hmm?” He looks over at her, a small smile on his face.

“Come join us!” She calls, patting the grass next to her. Simon can’t resist, he lets out a breath, pushing himself up from the stairs and walking across the grass. He settles into the space you and your daughter created between your bodies. As he lays down in the grass, your head comes to rest against his chest. His arm instinctively going around your shoulders anchoring you to him.

“Dad…” your daughter whispers into the night sky.

“Yeah Bunny?” Simon mumbles, his hand going to her hair to ruffle it.

“Thank you for being the best Dad a girl could ask for,” she looks over at Simon. Her lips turned up in a smile, as she leans over and presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Love you Bunny,” Simon smiles as she turns her face back up to the sky.

[dadsbongos]

dog and rabbit

9.5 k words / summary - When your party is locked into a stuck trap, you and Laios are the only ones who can bare each other. You both want to be consumed, one literally, and know that only the other can fulfill your desire.

warnings - reader with she/her pronouns, cannibalism as a metaphor for love/cannibalistic thoughts and imagery, fully romantic but no upfront confession, allusions to spoilers but everyone should be safe to read, reader has ego issues and parental issues, laios and reader are both FREAKS, starvation as a plot device

~~~

pt 1 - dog eat rabbit

Mama’s hands are crusted with drying mud, dirt flakes up her bare arms as she smooths a lumpy plot. She’s knelt down, across from her is Papa, and beside Papa is his dog -- tail wagging and mouth dangling open to pant, pant, pant. Between them all is the small rectangular grave Mama just finished pampering. A thin stick sits up straight from the head of the filled hole. You stand at the other end, staring at Papa’s dog with ambivalence.

You wanted to sanitize her vibrant scratches and swelling bite marks, and you wanted her scrapes to get infected. You hoped she would recover to her yippy self soon, and you prayed the mounting limp from her front right paw was permanent. You’d be devastated if she died of her injuries, and you’d find the death to be just.

She’s terrible.

You mock up a world where she was the one eaten instead.

She’s your sole best friend now.

You hope she’s full, no longer at risk of starving to illness.

“Sit, girl,” Papa beckons, a calloused, wrinkled finger directed towards the gaping spot by your mother’s side, “Be respectful. You wanted this memorial, now be part of it.”

“I didn’t want- !“

As if sensing your following words, Mama hisses a sharp shush, then pats the ground beside her. Papa raises a brow at you, testing. Sunlight burns your back, and you spontaneously decide the shaded spot by your mother is more appealing (entirely unrelated to your parents’ demands).

Now, you are face to face with your new best friend because she is your real best friend’s murderer. You hate her. You love her. You want her to feel every shred and tear and pierce she inflicted upon your bunny.

“Darling,” Mama coos, fingers dancing up your shoulder and through your hair, uncaring for how she ruins the strands, “be realistic. A simple marsh rabbit was never going to survive out here.”

“He followed the river out for a reason,” you murmur, now looking down from the big, remorseful, wet eyes of Papa’s dog, “We were meant to be best friends.”

“You’re not a baby anymore,” Papa snaps, rising onto his feet, he glares at you. He glares at you with deep lines retracing their places in his forehead, and his hands clench so hard they shake, until they suddenly go lax. He waves both hands out, shaking them free of all tension as he sighs and turns and prattles down towards the ocean.

His dog follows, slower than she used to with a pause and caution fresh to her gait, licking his hand as he pulls free his fishing pole from the sand. Mama pats down your back and mutters apologies.

You rise shortly after and whistle the dog back into your small shelter, knowing how her wounds will burn should she follow your father into the lapping sea water. She licks your face and you pet around the open scratches from this morning.

You dream that night of what would happen if you let her wander into the ocean.

You wake up with an incredible sense of guilt.

…

“I’m so tired,” Marcille dregs her weight onto your back, causing you to stumble under the sudden hefty addition, “We should stop soon!”

“Agreed,” Chilchuck huffs, stretching his arms out in front of him.

“How about you?” Laois coils at the waist to glance back at you, brows raised high, “Packs wearing you down?”

“No!” you howl defensively, hands wriggling deeper into the leather of Chilchuck’s waterskin when Marcille moans in protest to your denial, “But! If everyone is tired then we should settle down, probably. I think.”

“I think so, too,” Laios nods, deferring to Senshi -- the pair murmuring about which of the dark archways lining the dungeon hall leads to a safe rest stop.

Your party finally piles into an off-room, Marcille still slouched against your back to send you both careening towards the far left end of the cellar.

“Hmm,” Chilchuck points up towards a series of holes in the cobbled archway, “It looks like this room’s rigged to lock us inside. So be careful to not step on this tile, it’ll activate the- !”

Senshi grunts over the sudden sinking in his left side, foot slid over the edge of the stone Chilchuck’s index finger is aimed at, “Whoops.”

A scream escapes the half-foot, Chilchuck narrowly rolling out of the way of downcoming spears. Pointed ends stab towards the cobblestone floor, tips scraping rock, effectively trapping your lot into the cellar.

“Eek!” you scream, both hands pawing at Laios’ arm, “We’re gonna die in here!”

“Shut up, we’re not gonna die in here,” Chilchuck groaned, rising to his knee to inspect the lock attached to the middlemost bar, “I’ll get it open in the morning. If anything, it might help keep us secured overnight, so I can’t be mad.”

“Are you sure that’s okay?” you ask, Marcille nodding in backup to your question.

“It’s a pretty simple lock, so it shouldn’t cause me too much grief in the morning.”

Laios nods, stepping back carefully to avoid jangling you off his arm as he sets out his sleeping bag. You stand over him now, hands splayed gently across his back as he flattens his mat, “If you’re gonna stay by me, could you help me get my armor off?”

If anyone except Laios were to ask, you’d probably take offense to the wording -- but it was Laios, and you know Laios well enough to know he’d never want to hurt your feelings.

So you nod, despite the fact he cannot see you, “Of course!”

Neither you or Laios is certain when physical contact became so normal between you, only that now it's strange for Laios to remove his heavy plating without you. So he tries to suck up every opportunity he can now, requesting your assistance whenever the party stocks into a room with a door to keep out ambushers.

“Hey,” Marcille beckons from across the room, already having set out both your mats, “I thought you’d be by me tonight.”

“I will be! Just… helping…” you return focus to Laios, giddily undoing the leather straps of your leader’s grieves before rushing off his pauldrons.

“Thanks again,” he works off the clasps on his arms, slinking free from each piece with a noisy series of clunks and thuds.

“I love helping,” you rationalize quickly, face alight with glee as you wait for Laios to set aside his gorget. Once given a go-ahead nod, you eagerly grasp the lip of his cuirass by the waist and tip upwards. While you’re not lying about your natural proclivity to be helpful, you’re also not terribly against feeling the broadness of Laios’ body up close.

You blame it on admiration.

You admire how he can move so smoothly in such heavy pieces. You admire how despite the both of you being tall-men, he’s managed to occupy the stature to a fuller extent than you. He’s not just big because of his race, but he’s got real discipline to continuously train and hone his combat skills. His muscles are as aesthetically pleasing as they are a sign of his dedication.

In a weird way, you think every monster to be eaten by him should be honored.

Ironically, that night you dream of the party’s first encounter with monsters you couldn’t eat: Orcs.

…

“First ones to die are the ones with the weapons!”

“Aah!” you shriek, immediately releasing your daggers so the blades crash by your knees with a faint tink, tink, tink, “I’m unarmed! Please don’t kill me!”

“Have a backbone!” Chilchuck shouts at you, though beads of sweat are pouring down his face as well.

“I don’t wanna die, Chilchuck!” you cry, sniffling.

“I don’t either, you know?” he hisses in your ear.

Your eyes are too clogged by waterworks to make out the following dispute between Senshi and the Orcs. Now hugging a pair of onions to your chest for support rather than your teensy needlepoint daggers.

“Them veggies be something you grew, I guess?” despite the lilt in his tone, you don’t take the Orc Chief’s tone as a question, “We’re on a supply run lookin’ for food. ‘Preciate if you’d share them with us.”

“Sure, be happy to. What you got to trade for them?” Senshi must be crazy to expect a trade with big, hungry Orcs with big, shiny weapons surrounding you all.

“No trade. Tribe’s desperate, we barely got up to this floor alive. You’ve been a good friend and I hate to do this, but… hand over everything you got. Right now.”

You fumble the onions between your arms, then shirking off the carrots tangled in your bag’s side pockets. Senshi glares at you through his peripherals, grumbling quietly for you to pick the crops back up before returning to his parley with the Orcs.

Unfortunately, your obvious compliance earns you no favor compared to your comrades.

“Coward,” Marcille thunks her head against the cabbage in her hands, “Coward!”

“I was scared!” you wish you had your forfeited onions back, even if only to provide something to cling to. The space between your arms feels so glaringly empty it makes your racing heart swerve to overdrive.

“Everyone was!” Chilchuck glares up at you, then toward Senshi, “Except that idiot.”

“Be nice,” you knot your fingers together, only to watch them unravel again as your group is herded towards the Orcs’ makeshift camp. Then, you look to Senshi for backup, “Besides, they were getting thrown out if we couldn’t trade, right? What’s the harm?”

Senshi shakes his head at you disapprovingly, and it oddly cuts deeper than when your father would do the same, “You need to stand your ground, that’s the difference.”

“Don’t antagonize her,” Laios jumps in, voice level in spite of the agitated pinch in his brow, “You all know she hates pain.”

“Who doesn’t, dumbass?!” Chilchuck grits, quickly hushing himself, “None of us want to suffer.”

With admittedly no comeback, even with all your prayers that he’d clunk one together, Laios shrugs, and -- as if sensing your dilemma -- sticks out his bicep for you to hug to your chest.

…

You woke up feeling despondent, gloomily rolling up your area and preparing for the day’s adventure while Senshi made breakfast. And as much as you wish Laios’ curiosity could inspire any excitement within yourself to try the lumpy larvae porridge from cellar-dwelling insects, you’re really not craving any.

“Hey!” but there the blonde is, calling to you and restlessly patting the floor beside him, “Come on, it’s almost ready!”

With weak, frizzly resolve, you conceded in an instant. Just as instantly, you regret it.

Faint, tangy iron clings to the gum of your mouth. A sourness washing over your palette soon after. Your lips press tightly before your tongue lolls out and you’re scraping the harsh edge of your spoon down your flesh, “Blehhh…!”

“Seriously?” Chilchuck sighs, though not withholding his own scrunched face, “You’re acting like a kid.”

“It’s gross!” you whine, bowl clattering between your legs, “It hurts my mouth!”

“Really?” Laios leans in from your left, his chest, while still unguarded, crushes against your shoulder, pointing down into your bowl with his own spoon, “Mind if I have yours?”

“Be my guest,” you slide the bowl his way, then squishing the tip of your tongue into your top gums, “I think it burnt a dent in my mouth.”

Chilchuck groans this time, loud and abrasive, eyes narrowed at you, “It’s not even that bad.”

“You’ve been brainwashed! Monster guts are monster guts, and this time their stomach acid burned my mouth!” you look to your right, at the elf contently munching on Senshi’s cooking, “Right, Marcille?!”

(Senshi’s rebuttal of, “Ain’t no guts in this.” goes unnoticed)

“Hm?” she withers under your pointed stare, shoulders shriveling towards her chest, “I mean, yeah, it is weird…” then she lifts her bowl level to her face, dodging your gaze, “But I don’t think it's burned my mouth.”

“Maybe I’m allergic,” you drivel, focus flitting to Laios’s hands as he grabs your serving to dig in -- even licking the excess off your abandoned utensil, “If I’m allergic I might die…”

“Or you’re just crazy,” Chilchuck intervenes.

“Be nice to me!” you cry, raising a fist as if to strike the man over your fire. You’d never, you don’t have the courage.

Laios nods, “Be nice.”

“You’ll be hungry later,” Senshi chastises, “Eating is the privilege of the living. You’re squanderin’ it.”

“We’ll have lunch later,” you curl your knees to your chest, binding them with both arms tight around your thighs, “I can wait.”

“Who says we’ll find anything worth eating?” you doubt Chilchuck cares about either your stomach or Senshi’s cooking, you instead boldly assume he just wants to keep lecturing you.

“We will!” you lay your head against Laios’ shoulder, peeking up at the man through your lashes, “Right, Laios? We’ll find food again today.”

“I mean, yeah,” he blinks down at you cluelessly, “Deeper we go down, the more we’re bound to find!”

“See! We’ll find food!”

“It’s too early to be fighting…” Marcille frowns, eyes flicking from you to Chilchuck, and back to you.

Chilchuck retires his own bowl and grossly wipes his mouth off with his arm before scooching to the door, waving off whatever retort could follow.

Senshi takes both yours and Laios’ bowls once both are emptied before turning to you, “You may want to dig into the spare snacks in your bag anyway. Ain’t good to start the day on an empty stomach.”

His sudden warmth inspires a molten ooze in your own chest, you shyly nod before muttering, “Sorry for calling your cooking gross… it isn’t, actually. I liked- !”

“Larvae pods can’t be for everyone,” he cuts you off with a speedy recovery, “More for the people that do enjoy it.”

“Thanks for sharing!” Laios claps your back, trying to be friendly and only rattling your balance.

Senshi and Laios begin packing up as you spindle onto your hands and knees to crawl the couple of paces towards your bag. Creeping a hand under the flap to dig for treats, your whole body spiking with goosebumps and raised hairs when you distinctly miss any indentation of rations in your palm. You prattle forward another two knees-worth and unlatch the golden clasp to dig through your bag.

“Oh, no…” you mutter, movements growing more agitated the longer you go without finding food, “No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no…”

“You okay?”

You jump back, clenching both hands over your heart and nodding rapidly, “Yeah, fine! No worries here, Laios!”

“Sounds good!” he backs away to continue assisting Senshi.

“No!” suddenly, Chilchuck’s voice stabs through the room, “No, no, no, no, no!”

“What’s wrong?” Marcille rushes over, clutching Ambrosia between unsteady palms.

Thankfully the party’s attention pivots to the screaming lockpick and you get the grace of pretending there’s absolutely more food left for your group. No problems here!

“It’s jammed!” Chilchuck wrangles the silver bars, then latching onto the boxy lock itself as if to choke all life from the metal, “How am I supposed to pick a lock if the lock isn’t sufficient quality?!”

Or, apparently, you cannot pretend. At least not for long because a problem arose on the opposite side of the cell.

“You can get us out though, right?” Marcille’s grip on Ambrosia loosens, even calm enough to lay the staff against a wall.

“Of course, I can. Who do I look like?” Chilchuck scoffs.

Silently, you beseech Chilchuck’s expertise surpasses this lock’s apparent lack thereof.

“So, how’s the door?”

.

.

.

“Still not open!”

“I thought you were a specialist on these things, Chilchuck.”

All fiddling and knocking ceases in an instant, Chilchuck now staring dead-eyed at Laios for his unwelcomed quip.

“So scary,” Laios whispers beneath his breath, then turning towards you with a subtle downturn of his lips, “What’d I do?”

Hugging yours and Chilchuck’s bags closer to your chest with a stilted shrug, you reply, “I guess he didn’t appreciate the input.”

“I thought- “

Chilchuck’s icy stare kills your leader’s words in his throat.

“Well, we still have leftovers, so we aren’t in trouble of starving for awhile,” you fabricate, digging a hand through your bag to aid your illusion of ease, “When we do run out, I have a plan! So don’t worry about going hungry.”

“Hm?” Laios quirks a brow at your uneven grin.

Before he can prod for more direction, Marcille’s popping back and relieved groan creak through the room. She arches up from her recline on the ground, gold tresses fluttering out around her head. With more huffing and moaning, she flips onto her stomach and stablizing onto her elbows to stare at Chilchuck’s twiddling. Poking and striking various chords and rods within the lock’s bottom hole, you can hear Chilchuck’s frustrated swears in both common and native tongue (though the longer he goes without success, the more obscure and foreign his curses sound).

You’d hate to see Chilchuck face more defeat than he’s already bore. Few hours have passed since waking to find yourselves locked in the dungeon cellar. Chilchuck will soon be considering blood sacrifices made from all four of you, you fear.

“You know, it’s been awhile since I could wash my hair… would be nice if we were out so I could take care of that,” Marcille grins, already knowing the response she’ll pull talking like that.

“Marci, be quiet…!” you whine anxiously, eyes narrowing on Chilchuck’s back.

The man slowly turns his head to narrow his eyes at Marcille, “Huh?” she shrugs coyly, curling a finger into framing strands of her long hair, Chilchuck laughs. Rage thinly veiled by (obviously forced) lightheartedness, “Didn’t quite catch that.”

“Guys!” you wail, “Please!”

Senshi sighs through his nose, murmuring about kids bickering as he polishes the knife you only see used for cooking.

Tense silence descends upon your group once again.

Turning to the blonde at your side, you murmur, “I’m more worried about how to keep from getting bored. I feel like boredom is when everyone starts hating each other…”

Laios straightens up at your concern, twisting noisily through his personal bag to drag out a leather bound journal, “I could show you my notes about monsters! They’re pretty long so it’ll take awhile, perfect way to kill time while Chil’ gets us out!”

Nodding, you lean into his side, watching intently as he recites each tidbit and offbeat scribble as if by heart. You notice that none of the writing is as softened by print or recognizable as what’s scrawled in his guide on edible monsters. You don’t think this book has been exposed to the party yet, and that thought is patently delightful. That you are so dependable to Laios he’s willing to show off something born from his raw passion.

“It was something I teased when I was by myself,” he confesses, cheeks glowing rosy at the vulnerability of it all, “When I started wondering about the integrity of the Gourmet Guide, it inspired me to make a real guide. So, even though I’m sad the author probably never ate the monsters they wrote about, I can still honor the passion it gave me.”

“Wow,” you turn onto your hip and cradle his arm against yours. Perhaps overly casually, you sling a leg over one of his and rest your head against his shoulder, his chill shirt icing the heat on your own cheek (his simmering skin beneath quickly reheats it), “You’re really cool, Laios.”

Marcille’s side-eye goes unacknowledged when you say that.

“Seriously?” you’re easily distracted from everyone else when Laios is grinning so brightly at you, “You think so?”

“Mhm!”

“You’re really cool, too,” he wishes he could say more, but your pretty face so close to his is strangling his bravery.

That night, you have the strangest dream.

…

A lion of gold fur and pearly wings looms over you, globs of His drool hanging and dribbling onto your forehead. Temptation to reach up and comb your fingers through His mane rushes through you -- but you cannot move. Limbs bogged by a weight unseen, and then there is a dog.

Big black eyes pour down on you, front paws plastered at each side of your waist to hold himself up. Pointed teeth peek through its panting snout -- bloodthirsty growls verberating low through its body. You blink and the dog is different. Yipping like a friend, tail wagging at the sight of you, it licks your cheek. You blink and the dog is gone, replaced with a fellow tall-man. Armor removed and shirt hanging low, you can make out his collarbones and the dip down towards his chest -- if you dare to stare straight down then you could make out the handles of his hips.

Blood stains the seams between his teeth, chin glistening with crimson gush. Faintly, you can make out the sensation of lips puckered around your fingers; sucking and nibbling at your nail beds. Chilchuck, Marcille, Senshi. They all seem so at ease, faces completely lax similar to those of nursing kittens.

Laios’ lips press into your neck, hot and cold clashing when he introduces teeth. You can’t even feel the pain as he digs in -- instead, you feel just as calm as your friends look.

You feel serene.

Marcille snaps a finger bone like it's a carrot between her molars. Chilchuck and Senshi lave the spilling blood from her cheeks. They can’t get enough of you. Laios burrows his arms beneath your waist, pressing your body closer into his as he desperately tongues your flesh down his throat.

Hungrily and contently, they swallow you down. Every morsel.

You feel most loved.

…

You woke up feeling grateful.

Chilchuck has not yet gotten your party free. As the day progresses, you feel that gratitude leaking over the floor. It curdles in the open air and soaks into the bottom of Marcille and Laios’ shoes as they ask you to unlock your food pouch.

Cheerful, expectant faces haunt you from above. Marcille, of course, has nothing but patience for you, but the killer is Laios. Obviously. Laios, who so, so fervently and imperatively trusts you so, so wholeheartedly is your biggest problem in this fiasco. He always looks at you like you could never do anything wrong, and you’ve never hated it until now.

Wide, twinkly amber eyes drill into you, “It’s been awhile since we’ve had to dig into the rations, I don’t even remember what’s all in there.”

Marcille nods in agreement, excitement at the prospect of eating obvious in the drool pooling in the corners of her mouth, “Right? It’ll be nice to have something non-monster related, at least.”

“You think so?” Laios pouts, “I thought you were warming up to eating monsters.”

“It's still not my first choice!”

In the midst of their spat, your attention is split between trying to conjure a plausible reason to deny them; and manifesting a destiny where they forgot why they approached you.

By the time Marcille’s tummy croaks through the cramped room, neither has come to fruition. She cups the pouch of her stomach, embarrassed at its echoing rumble.

“Jeez, thought I was hungry…” Chilchuck teases from his post at the door.

“Hey! That was a totally reasonable sound for how long it's been since we ate. And who’s to say that was even me? It could’ve been Laios!”

“It wasn’t,” Senshi adds.

“Definitely wasn’t,” Chilchuck’s sly grin cracks upon the sound of his own gut joining the conversation.

“Ha!” Marcille’s joy is usually able to cleanse your dreary moods, but usually you’re not keeping such a destructive secret.

Usually, you don’t freeze yourself in place like it’ll prevent your party from noticing you’re still alive -- all to avoid them asking the same question from minutes ago,

“So, can you open up the food pack?”

You are not so lucky.

Laios has asked you again.

Rare is it for you to refuse him, because rarer it is for him to ask something outrageous or impossible (or impossibly outrageous) of you. This is the one in a billion chance that you must turn him down. But how can you when he’s looking at you so kindly?

A frazzled, puny No trapped in the back of your desiccate throat when suddenly Senshi says it for you.

“Best to save our rations so we can eat right before we leave.”

Senshi’s trust in you makes you somehow more nauseous. Marcille’s downtrodden agreement makes that stacked nausea triple. Laios curling up beside you to keep you company makes you so electrified you’re certain to be hiccuping bile soon.

(you don’t end up puking, thankfully)

That night, you dreamt of the time you and Laios met.

…

He’s really beautiful, it's the first thing you notice about him. Too beautiful to be a dungeon crawler, Laios’ face is more befitting of royalty. To be praised and swooned over and kissed.

“It’ll be less pay than, well, our swordsman or mage.”

You think his thoughtfulness makes him more beautiful.

Strangely, you feel the need to comfort him. Overcompensate the mediocrity of such a position simply so he doesn’t feel guilty hiring you (because in the back of your head is the fear that if he feels guilty, he simply won’t take you on).

“That’s fine! I don’t mind at all, as long as I get any money I couldn’t care less.”

You just want a house. You just don’t want to suffer.

“Alright, then, looks like we have a carrier,” Laios looked to Falin, the girl nodding with a cheery smile.

You just want to be as close to the beautiful, shining, gnashing sun as possible.

…

You woke up feeling thirsty.

You’d twisted over to dig out your watersack when you found that your entire pack was missing. Ice spilled across your entire body at the sight, a swelling, obnoxious anxiety aching through your nervous system. You could feel your heartbeat in your throat, and you could hear the blood pumping through your ears.

Slowly, your head swivels around the room, until you find your pack in the arms of another -- who is now settled across the room rather than beside you.

Peculiarly close to Senshi’s pseudo-camp, Marcille is scratching your bag tightly to her chest.

“Marci,” you call, dredging the boys’ curiosity towards you. You don’t know if she’s taken the liberty of looking inside, “Give that back…”

She does not, merely hugging the leather tighter. Such desperation clues you that she’s most likely just as oblivious about the bag’s contents as everyone else is. Her stomach rumbles loudly, you swallow dryly and wet your lips to beg.

“Marci, please!”

The elf hisses back, not unlike a pestered kitty, and clutches your pack tighter to her chest. She glares through her lashes, kicking her legs out when Laios reaches to take your bag back.

Senshi shakes his head and rises from his own spot in the corner. Marcille’s gaze hones in on the dwarf instantly, and she whirls around to face the wall -- now caging your bag to her chest.

“Marci,” you retry weakly, “please, hoarding isn’t- !”

She silences you with another shortburst glare over her shoulder, “Who said I was hoarding?” she ‘hmph’s and shakes her head, “How do I know you won’t just eat it all as soon as I’m not looking?! Huh?! You’ve gone the longest without food after all!”

You gasp at the accusation, then sparing a glance up at Laios to see if he’s buying her tale, “How could you say that? I always share! It’s everyone’s food!”

“Marcille,” Senshi commands cooly, standing at your side, “you should know that isn’t like her. We all share our food so nobody goes hungry. To intentionally starve others is just cruel.”

“Exactly!” you plea, shakily reaching out only to yank your hands back to your chest when she snaps at your fingers with full teeth, “Just give it back, please?!”

Laios frowns, visibly uncertain how to bring you and Marcille back to the giddy lounging gals you were mere days ago, “Marcille, you two are friends -- if you know she’s never stolen before, why would she start now?”

Marcille sharply redirects her stare into the corner, shrugging and clutching the pouch tighter.

Chilchuck bangs his forehead into the door, “Children.”

“Marcille…” you whimper, hot in the face and barely believing you’re even telling the truth right now. You’re delirious with dehydration and hunger and skepticism that you’re being honest, making it hard to see straight. Elf and tall-man faces blur together, Senshi is blotted out by the black dots in the corners of your vision, and Chilchuck is a mere speck. Far, far away. You feel far, far away. Like you could die, like you’re dreaming, and oh as the words come out of your mouth you’re actually hoping that you are dreaming, “it’s empty.”

Every head snaps to you. All dizziness snaps into hyperawareness. At minimum it's two degrees colder than it used to be, you can hear the sound of your own breathing, and the smell of mold rots away every other scent in the room.

You shrink into yourself and barely scrounge the courage to keep from curling into a rocking ball of apologies. Your disbelief doubles when you realize you’re still looking Marcille in the face -- eye to devastated eye.

“It’s empty?”

“It’s empty…”

Senshi steps back from your side, you want to dig your nails into his ankles and drag him back. You don’t. Laios retreats as well and you selfishly wish he’d just pierce you with his sword, if only to end this humiliation and regret. Now that everyone’s staring at you, you realize you probably should’ve said something from the start.

“I thought maybe Chilchuck would’ve gotten us out by now… I didn’t think we’d still be here…” you try to reason.

The harsh clatter and clang of Chilchuck’s picks against the ground draws your attention, he’s got both hands knotted into fists. His face drawn in a slant, as if he’s silently asking you to repeat yourself. As if he didn’t quite catch that.

“Then it's my fault?” he swiftly dodges the arm Senshi puts out as a blockade, now in your face and far more threatening than usual, “You’re saying it’s my fault your pack is empty?”

“No! Just- !”

“So why even mention that?!” he huffs, “Why even say my name?”

“I just thought that once we were out we’d find more food and then it wouldn’t be a problem!”

“So you still wanted to lie to us?”

“I never said that! You’re putting words in my mouth! Stop putting words in my mouth!”

“Your plan was to intentionally hide the truth -- that’s lying!”

“No! It’s just hiding!”

Chilchuck screams, raw with frustration and unbridled by cumbersome words. He covers his face with both hands as if he’s in pain just to look upon you.

“I’m sorry!” you plea, now turning to Laios with weak sobs bubbling right beneath your skin. Your face feels as though it's been scorched with dragon’s fire, though your eyes are flooded wet, “I just didn’t want everyone to be scared. I would’ve told you once we were out! Promise!”

Laios always liked being close to you the best, including Falin. In the wake of her disappearance, his inclination towards your presence has only magnified. You engage his interest in monsters, you’re forward and blatant with your compassion, and your skin on his is always so soothing. Laios doesn’t guess if you’re genuine, he knows you are. He imagines that’s why when you touch him it’s so warm and calming whereas others’ makes him itch.

Your soul itself must be as sweet as the bottom innard of an ivy tentacle.

“I know,” Laios nods, smiling thinly, “I know you would’ve.”

If you say you thought it was for the best, then you really must have, and he can’t berate you for having a heart.

You return his grin threefold, overtly thrilled he’s believed in you, yet again.

“You’re kidding!” Chilchuck shouts, now tugging sharply at his hair in frustration, his face red, “Laios, how can you let her get away with this?!”

Marcille shoves your pack into your face, standing over your toppled form. She looks like she hates you.

Now you’re the one cradling a food-barren bag to your chest. Laios assists you to your feet, prying your bag from your arms with gentle fingers to settle it along the wall. It sags, giving way to its empty stomach and collapsing over itself, folding into halves.

Marcille inhales deeply, mouth popping open to speak, but it's your resident half-foot’s voice that cuts through the air.

“Why are you here?” Chilchuck grumbles, glaring up at you.

His sudden venom stuns you into silence. Chilchuck’s face round with a specifically unfamiliar malice. Through his wired irritation at mimics and tentacles, he has never looked so particularly irked. So vexed. He looks like he detests your very face.

“I need money…” you murmur, curling into yourself the longer his terrible stare goes, “Just like you…”

“No. You’re not just like me, we’re not alike,” he’s unnecessarily defensive at your claim, “I’m useful. I work. You don’t do anything. Why are you here?” he lowers his voice, but you can’t mistake the change for any sense of relief, “There’s lots of things you could do for money.”

“Chilchuck!” Marcille wails, eyes wide -- snapped from their previous disdain and now fraught with shock and dread, her hands hover at her chest as if she could physically slice, rearrange, and mend the tension, “Don’t say that!”

“Be nice,” you wring your hands, “Be nice to me,” you frown, “I didn’t want to work a hard job, and being a carrier pays well enough. Then, uh, then I thought maybe I could be useful if I died… I could be like a meat shield, and then when I die you could eat me. You know, if you ever got stuck down here… like now.”

Chilchuck guffaws, jaw dropping and brows furrowing in distraught, “Eat you?! You thought we would eat you?!”

“I wouldn’t be offended,” shrugging, you crane your head down before subtly ticking sideways towards Laios, “You’ve never eaten human, right? I’m sure it’d be interesting.”

“How could you say that?!” Marcille buds in, once again on the offense. Senshi lingers in the back of your party, beneath the shaded hood of his helmet his gaze is steely. Determinately opposed to your very ideals. He’s eerily quiet, as if complying with Chilchuck and Marcille’s side will mistakenly motivate your own. That, or he’s so horrified none of his nerve endings will respond to his brain.

Laios does not refute your claim.

He swallows roughly, eyes darting to the floor.

“Everyone,” still staring at the ground, Laios steps between your group’s semi-circle, “Enough fighting,” his voice is quiet, too, but not calm. Ragged and soft, exasperated, “Please, stop fighting.”

A sturdy markdown of your offer never escapes his lips, though.

You nod slowly, “I’m sorry for being so useless. I thought I was doing something good…”

“You do,” Laios takes you by the shoulder, spinning you the other way towards your lone mat. His voice grows quieter, by the echo you can tell he’s talking to the others now, “Don’t antagonize her.”

Your sleeping bag is cold, it ruffles stiffly everytime you move. The fluffed material beneath your head fares no better, frost biting your cheek and lapping your splayed, exposed eyeballs. Tears prick as both eyes crisp dry -- cooled droplets dripping across your cheeks. Sorrow mixes with the salt, you thought you were doing good.

Perhaps by volunteering yourself to be used to the very last shred of meat, you could be more treasured. Cowardice outweighed by willingly absorbing the worst of your party’s instincts. By this method, you are more desired.

So you thought, but you’ve been rejected.

Squealing with protest, your sleeping bag retches around shivery shoulders as you smush your quivering lips into the material of your mat.

“These past couple of days have been hard on you, huh?” Laios unrolls his own sleeping bag beside yours. You flinch at the unwelcomed rumble of his voice, unfortunately he continues, “I get it. Everyone’s on-edge,” his comforting words fail to reach you, he slips into his bag, staring at you, “I hope you’re not sleeping yet… That’d make this kind of pointless…”

“Laios.”

“There you are,” he sighs, relieved, and you cannot imagine why. You don’t think there’s anything to be relieved about as long as you’re around, sucking up space and precious resources.

“Laios,” you call, “We should just do it. Right here.”

“Huh?”

You twist your head to peek over your shoulder, chilled tears drying tracks into your cheeks, confirming each of your friends is tucked and slumbering on the other side of the room. Surely, none of them would hear so long as you didn’t fight back; and you’re certain you won’t. Laios isn’t the type to make you suffer. He knows you hate suffering. He isn’t sadistic, after all, the only pleasure he takes in killing is the follow-up: eating.

“You want to, right?” you usually wouldn’t be so daring as to make the suggestion on your own, but food supply has dwindled too drastically by now. Everyone else can maintain their delusion all they want, but you know Laios is not one to deny himself, “Laios, you want to?”

He inhales sharply, molten amber eyes blazing through your face -- faint candlelight shines against his irises and bounces back the lump of your silhouette. Stubbornly, he says nothing -- neither nodding or shaking his head. Instead, he lies still, as if bitten by a Cockatrice.

“We can do it right now. They’re all asleep.”

Laios sneaks a hand through the neckhole of his sleeping bag, arm slithering out to soothe the pad of his thumb over your cheek. Silently, he appreciates the roundness of your face, the slope of your neck.

He does want to sink his teeth in, but this feels stranger than consuming monsters. It stretches far past the walking mushrooms or slimes on the top level; the problematic nature of your proposal even surpasses Chilchuck’s humanoid debate. You’re not a mere humanoid -- you’re human. Another tall-man. Your muscle composition is just the same as his -- your skeletons indecipherable from one another.

It shouldn’t be difficult to decide, Laios knows that much. He shouldn’t have to think about it. He shouldn’t shut down every time you mention it.

Despite that, he does -- he considers how the flesh of another tall-man would roll between his molars. Would the meat be salty? Or savory? How much fat should he trim -- or should he boil it all down just to save?

But aside from that, the reason he wants to mark your neck is not those taboo urges. Completely unrelated, in fact.

Laios’ fingers trail from your pulse point, curving along your exposed shoulder and dipping beneath your bag to dig blunt nails into your arm.

“No,” he squeezes your shoulder in what he hopes is a reassuring gesture, “Not you,” his hand retracts, coiling back to his chest, “I don’t want to eat you.”

“We’ll all die…” you frown, eyes of an iridescent sunshine sheen maintain their hold on you, “It’s better for one to go rather than the rest of the party, right? I can be useful like that…”

“I don’t want to eat you.”

“Oh…”

“Yeah,” his eyes flutter shut, brows pinching towards the middle of his face. And he cares not for what that may say about him as a leader. He’d giddily offer up the entire party to be found by corpse retrievers before gobbling you down.

“But then why keep me around? I don’t do anything special like Chilchuck or Marcille. I can’t cook or fight like Senshi. And I’m nothing like you.”

“You don’t have to be,” he tucks his chin by his chest, still avoiding your stare, “I prefer you as you. I’m glad we know each other, I don’t care if you feel useless because you’re not. Just having you around makes me feel more alive. More excited to explore the dungeon, even before Falin got taken. I feel like I need you around more than before. Since Shuro said he hated me… I guess it’s been tougher to trust that I’m not annoying everyone. With you, though, I don’t even have to question it. Outside the dungeon, too, when we’re in town. It’s nice to be around you the most.”

His eyes are clenched tighter and tighter the longer his spiel goes on -- he cannot bear to look you in the eyes while guts and bile spew from his lips. His cheeks are red, raw from self-imposed exposure.

“Do you mean that?” you ask quietly, eyes so wide in shock he’s forced to meet them as he opens his own, “Am I useful to you, just because I’m me?”

He hums, nodding softly. Crude emotion overwhelms you at the admission; confusion and disbelief and desire tangle in your stomach, loose tendrils flapping up into your gullet and knotting around your uvula until you spit up a meek,

“Can I sleep with you?” as if he would refuse you, you tack on, “I don’t want to be alone.”

Wordlessly, Laios unzips his sleeping bag -- you crawl out from your own to invade his space. His body is soft yet firm against your back, and he makes a clear effort in keeping his breaths shallow. You can see the worsening red tint of his cheeks, even in the wavering candlelight.

Laios’ body goes limp once you’re settled beside him. Selfishly, you press into his lax form -- exhaustion and hunger making your head light. You’re not concretely sure you’re conscious right now. Maybe this is your final dream before you are culled by starvation.

Your stomach grumbles, and Laios pouts at the sound. Bringing one hand over his own abdomen, Laios edges his fingers around his ribcage. He can feel the bone’s impression. He hasn’t been able to feel the protrusion since splitting from the traveling caravan with Falin. He’s unaccustomed to starving himself, he’s unsure how much longer he can hold himself together. You, however, pay no mind to the sound.

You don’t so much as crimp into yourself.

“It’s kinda weird,” you muse suddenly, turning in Laios’ bag so your chest is pressed to his. Oddly, for all its intimate implications, the contact feels natural, “I hate suffering more than anything else, but I can’t bring myself to regret giving you my breakfast a couple days ago. Even though the suffering that nasty junk gave me was a lot better than how I feel right now.”

“You shouldn’t say things like that,” Laios’ arms wrap around you, tucking you even closer to him and forcing your legs to mingle with his, “Eating is the best thing you could do for your body.”

“I’m happier you got to eat than I would’ve been after eating it. Besides,” you cant your head up, chin digging into the center of his thick chest -- looking up at Laios, “I prefer sleeping to nourish my body.”

“As soon as we’re out, you’ll have the most delicious meal we can make in the dungeon.”

He hugs you tighter.

You don’t dream that night. But Laios does.

pt 2 - rabbit eat dog

Laios’ cheeks sting in the frosty air, forearms and knees stubbornly tingling through the puffer of his red long-sleeve. Attempting to make out the space even five inches before his face is impossible through the thick, icy fog, but he knows the way. His feet pivot in perfect tune to each divot and roll of the plains.

He’s grown up here. Ran over these lands since he could lift one leg over the other, though now he is alone. Wandering with only the intent to find, and even then he is alone. Laios never feels more alone than when he is in a room full of people, at least in solitude he cannot be ridiculed or judged. Cowardly as it may seem to run from his problems, Laios chases relief -- where exactly that is, he’s unsure. His relief comes in forms that move, much more inconvenient than ale or tobacco but also much more divine. Moving sister, moving moon, moving monsters.

A cursory, confirming glance up gives sight to the real moon hanging above Laios -- a pale face beaming down to give light, only to be choked out by this unabating fog. Fond for night, Laios feels eased by the celestial. Nighttime, childishly, is something he’s always associated with terrible creatures in the bowls of dungeons. Besides that, is how quiet the house becomes past sundown, when the only conscious soul is his. Sometimes his sister stood up with him, too, and that was nice.

Nice, still, is the other moon’s presence. One less large and pale. One that walked at his side.

A soft glow scourges through the plumes of gray, encouraging Laios to quicken his pace. Warmth blooms across his frosted extremities, thawing stiff joints until suddenly he’s too hot beneath his puffer. Stripping the material, he’s left to sweat in a simple pullover shirt as he begins stumbling towards the glow.

Fog clears, drifting apart seamlessly.

Laios trips abruptly, seemingly over his own footing, before tumbling to his knees, hands scraping on hidden rocks and dirt clots. His eyes water from the intense sear of light painting the ground.

“Hey.”

Laios, against better intuition, feels a bizarre sense of calm wash over him at the voice’s intrusion. Perhaps specifically because of whose voice calls to him.

You loom over his huddled frame, just as bright and welcoming as the moon, and just as pretty too. Prettier, he corrects.

“Hi,” he returns your greeting lamely, rising slowly to a stand.

“You look hungry.”

Recently, Laios has discovered that even after a hearty meal his appetite is not quite satiated. During the brief moments where his mind can wander, he spends it contemplating what he could be eating in that moment. Well, that when he’s not thinking about you. While his stomach is not a bottomless pit ever unfilled, more often than not he’s adopting the attitude of well, i could eat. Not quite greed, not quite temperance. He’ll take what is offered and be gracious.

So, yes, in short, Laios supposes he is always hungry. Admitting that to you is particularly embarrassing, however, because you never seem hungry. Even when your stomach sings with starvation, your discomfort is completely invisible.

He used to assume it was your resilience -- a sign of your courage, to continue adventuring regardless of your terror.

(now, he’s starting to think differently, with your fresh disposition of raw nerves and desperation to be enjoyed)

“You’re hungrier, right?”

“Not really.”

“Oh…” he’s unsure how to respond. Trapped to stare at you while you stare back.

These parts of the fields are entirely unfamiliar to Laios.

“You should be hungry,” he tries to reason.

“Why?”

“Don’t know. Just a feeling, really.”

“What should I eat?” you frown, inching closer.

“Whatever you want,” he answers honestly. Laios believes in free will, but in some strange, completely unintelligible way, he thinks you deserve the most free will. He thinks you should do whatever you want, whenever you want, and he’s left confused how you don’t feel the same.

(feasibly in light of the night’s cannibal-themed fight) You suddenly suggest, “What about you?”

Laios freezes at that, all fire radiating from you icing over in an instant. Gaze sinking to his feet. Could he realistically agree to that? End his life to feed you? Does his devotion stretch so far?

Laios would hate to (permanently) die… but he would hate more for you to (permanently) die before him.

He dodges your question with one of his own, “Would you still like me if I was a monster?”

When he’s feeling distinctly indulgent, Laios flashes into long past fantasies of becoming a tri-headed beast.

And if he were to become one, would you gaze upon him just as kindly? Would Laios still be Laios to you?

His eyes follow each twinge in your face as you think, brows scrunching and bottom lip sucked between your teeth. Eventually you nod, slow and measured, “Yes. I would.”

Laios believes that, honestly. You would have to. You’re just that amazing. So, he should be amazing in equal measure -- or more, he should aim to impress you with his greatness.

So, yes. If you really wanted to. He could feed you with himself.

…

You wake up feeling unrefreshed.

Senshi, Marcille, and Chilchuck continue to bar themselves across the room from you. Laios freely travels from one end to the other despite your party’s annoyance with him. Grumbling stomachs echo from each person in the group now, and you wonder if maybe you should circumvent Laios’ rejection to feed your friends anyway. To make up for your various mistakes and blunders. It's only right.

You stare at Chilchuck’s back -- his arms no longer flailing with movement, hands instead paused around the box lock itself. He’s glaring at the mechanism, you think he’s hoping nobody notices his lack of effort. Marcille and Senshi are murmuring amongst themselves, casting wry glances your way every other sentence. Perhaps they’re discussing potential ways to make you suffer when they finally gut you.

You wouldn’t fight back, you know you wouldn’t. For the good of the pack’s survival, you’ll let them feast upon you.

(it does not once cross your mind that they could be talking about how to best convince you you’re wrong for writing your own consumption off so easily)

Laios sits at your back. Not moving. Not touching. Watching.

Your eyes drift from Chilchuck’s petrified frame to the floor, then to one cobbled block slightly lower than the others. About an inch below level, but not sunken in completely: the stone Senshi stepped on.

“Senshi?” you call.

No response.

“Hey, Senshi?”

He’s staring at you, but his eyes are hard to make out beneath his helmet. You shift upon your knees despite Laios’ soft bleat of disapproval. Marcille now stares as well, eyes much easier to spot when they’re wide with worry.

“I think this stone is…” you shove the step with your meager might and it budges a mere centimeter.

Laios’ hand overlaps yours, pushing down as well. The stone thuds loudly, and Chilchuck suddenly jumps back as the spears clink and shoot into the holed ground. He rockets back up to fuddle the lock, this time it clicks and pops open first try.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” Chilchuck kicks up at the retreating bars in vain. He whirls around to see you and Laios hunched over the stone and sighs, silently passing you both to collect his bags and exit.

Senshi and Marcille follow example.

Laios unlatches from your back, and you miss his warmth more immediately than you thought you would.

“I think I should leave the party.”

“Why?” he frowns so genuinely, you’d be unable to buy his cluelessness if you hadn’t known him for so long.

“They don’t like me anymore,” you settle both hands in your lap, plucking at the skin around your nails, “They know I’m useless.”

“So?” his tone is soft, so opposite to his callous start, “I want you here more than anybody. I’m happy to have people I trust and who are good at their work, but I think if you didn’t come with us back into the dungeon, it’d be another thing I’m always thinking of instead of what’s in front of me. And nobody gets my fascination with monsters like you do.”

“Senshi does…”

“I like you more than I like Senshi.”

“Why?”

Laios opens his mouth, teeth white and glistening in the soft flicker glow of dancing orange candle flame. You await his bite. He closes his mouth. You wish you were so confident to pry it wide and press yourself into his cheeks. You wish he’d just eat you whole. Spare no mind to how the others thought of it. If they won’t accept you bones and all, then you’ll continue to long for Laios. You can do that easily. You’ve been an expert in the matter since you joined his group.

“Nobody else will take me, Laios,” you greedily grasp him by the shoulder, “I’m being so selfish, but I need you to- !”

He slaps your hand away, reaching over your offending hands to snag you by your own shoulders, “I don’t want to hear that, you shouldn’t talk like that! You deserve to live, and eat, just like everyone else! We’re friends as much as we are party members, right? They wouldn’t stick around if they weren’t. Your friends wouldn’t want you to be eaten either.”

You glance at the archway, none of the three others are visible, “Is that why they were mad?”

“I can’t speak for them, but you should be up front about how you feel. Talk to them before leaving,” he lowers his head, “If you’re planning to leave still, anyway. Though, I really hope you stay.”

Laios is too afraid to say he’ll beg, if it would enrich the offer. The mere idea of your face twisting angrily or an annoyed rejection slipping past your lips kills him. With both you and Falin gone, Laios would feel a sense of estrangement he hasn’t since his army days. Loneliness amplifying until it's unable to be ignored. The grief and confusion of your loss would muddy the remaining friendly faces in his party -- the taste of monsters would even be dulled. Humiliation would rattle his sense of self everytime he remembered that you’re not even dead, just drifted away.

He’d never survive without you, but he refuses to steal your entire life that mercilessly so he pretends he could.

“If we all just talk to each other, then nobody has to get hurt,” Laios’ hands lower to yours, he squeezes gently while avoiding your eyes, choosing to study the way you lean into his touch, “I don’t want you to go. And I don’t want them to be hurt.”

“Okay,” you rise onto unsteady feet.

Laios separates from you to begin stowing away both your belongings while you squirm into the hallway in front of your party. They shuffle awkwardly, with only Senshi capable of meeting your eyes. Yet he stands the furthest from you.

“I- “ the words dance over your tongue, you thought you were prepared to say them. You’ll leave. You’ll leave. You’ll leave. But you can’t. The words trip and fall and tumble back into your throat before you surrender, “I don’t want to leave the party, but I am sorry for lying. I know I don’t do much, but I love adventuring with everyone. Really, I only- !”

“We were stressed,” Marcille steps forward, releasing one hand from Ambrosia to lay on your hand, “I don’t think it’d be easy on anyone to say the leftovers were actually gone. Especially when you knew that’s what we were relying on to not starve.”

Senshi nods slowly, “We weren’t expectin’ you to run off as apology. You’re young, you make mistakes.”

Marcille elbows your party’s half-foot.

Chilchuck sighs, shaking his hands out at his sides in the way your father used to, “I’m sorry. For calling you useless. I get why you lied, I probably would’ve done the same thing in your position to keep the party from freaking out. But, please,” his usually (deceptively) friendly and pleasant face has morphed into one of weary, a grown man concerned for a child, “Never say anything like that again. We don’t want you dead, let alone to eat your body. You have to plan to stay alive with everyone else, otherwise what’s the point of even joining the party?”

“Right. Sorry,” you blurt, increasingly ashamed of your suggestion earlier.

Their rejection stems not from disgust, then, but love.

They don’t want to eat you because to them you shouldn’t even die.

What a strange conclusion to now be forced to draw. You’re not sure how to swallow it, every time you try it rushes back up. Your friends’ concerned faces give you the determination to keep trying, though.

Laios barrels through the doorway -- redressed in his armor with the remaining bags slung over his shoulders, grinning broadly, “Looks like we can start walking again.”

Much to everyone’s chagrin, the trek towards the next floor begins on an empty stomach. When you reach up for the packs you usually carry, Laios jerks them from your grasp, you whine quietly, “Hey, that’s my job!”

“I know,” he shrugs the bags around his broad frame to fit them more comfortably, “but you haven’t eaten longer than me, and you didn’t sleep very well last night. So let me.”

His strides quicken until he’s by Senshi, you watch him point towards you and Senshi hums thoughtfully.

Your stomach rolls with hunger, and the sting makes you reach out for Laios. You slip your arms around one of his and cradle his elbow into your gut, reducing the ache with a different digging sensation. Laios leans towards you to make the work easier, all while continuing his conversation with Senshi about what the most delicious dungeon meal they could make you would be.

~~~

i like relationships where they dont understand each other but want to try anyway :3

i also love writing readers that are insane and fundamentally insufferable, but still loved

[yanderenightmare]

TW: nsfw, noncon/dubcon, pet play, collaring, degradation, Daddy kink, hints of abuse

gn reader

Thinking about being an older guy’s pleasure pet… 

He sits down with a labored huff, manspreading widely with his cock hanging freely between his thick thighs. It’s too heavy to stand on its own – chubby and veined from hilt to bulbous tip, dripping white coins on the floor.

He pets the bed next to him, curling his finger at you, beckoning you to crawl over with a gentle smile as he tells you it’s time for your midnight feeding.

You obey, coming to kneel before him, letting his large hand cup your whole face in a warm and calloused hand. 

“Open up, baby.” He hums, and you drop your jaw to receive the slow drop of spit he lets go into your mouth – it’s thick on your tongue, sliding slowly down your throat with a taste of scotch and tobacco.

It takes everything in you not to gag – but you know a slap from his hand is enough to pop your lip and make your jaw feel broken – so you swallow with a happy sigh as if it were delicious. 

“Good baby~” He praises, pinching your cheek softly while picking up your leash in the other hand – tugging it just a bit to pull you closer until you’re smothered in his fat manhood.

His strong thighs are spread just wide enough to allow you to fit between them and just close enough to still hug and nestle your head snugly. He lays the length of his cock on top of you, awing at the sight while measuring it with your sweet face.

“Begin.” He’ll say – his lazy gaze heavy with heat, hooded and soaked with enjoyment as he watches you wet your lips before kissing his weighty set of balls, his precum sticking to you in pretty pearl necklaces.

He’ll groan loudly, keeping his eyes on yours and how big and pretty they are, looking up at him so submissively while he tangles his hand in your hair – promptly angling your pretty face up and down his shaft.

“I want your tongue, baby.” He might say if you waste his time. Giving your collar a lax pull and your scalp an eager tug, prompting you to finally taste that thick heated mess you’ve made – pilling from his dickhole – shuddering with his head thrown back as you clean it with a sweet kitten lick. “Yesss, baby- drink Daddy’s milk~”

He’ll lock his hairy thighs around your face – keep you there – wearing your throat like a sleeve with your nose buried in his belly chub – with no air – just the intimacy of his heavy leer, endeared by the sight of your pretty eyes welling with tears as you try your best to please him – sucking and hallowing your cheeks, moaning to show him how much you enjoy it. 

When he finally cums, his broad chest heaving in an arch and a loud moan of your name, he’ll tug his cock against your face, with his leaky tip slapping your tongue and his balls swinging against your chin before spurting his batter right into your gaping mouth. Shuddering from the bliss of it when painting your face in the white thickness.

When finished, he’ll sigh happily – his head lolling back, slanted to the side while looking down at you with a peaceful smile on his lips. “Thank you, Baby~ I needed that. My balls were so full I thought they’d explode. But you drank it all like a good cum-junkie should, didn’t you?” He coos proudly, petting your hair slowly – still with his softening cock resting on your face – looking so cute, all dewy with sweat and cum – his thick thighs cradling you just lax enough to allow you to pant for air again. “For your reward, I’ll let you pick which hole I stuff first in the morning~” 

He enjoys the sweet curl his promise elicits between your brows. Makes him want to sit on top of you and fuck the pretty expression for another hour.

But it’s getting late.

“For now- clean me up so we can go to bed, baby~”

BNHA – Enji, Aizawa, Bakugou, Deku, Kirishima

JJK – Nanami, Geto, Toji, Kenjaku

AOT – Erwin, Zeke

[captainfern]

Fernieeeee... I miss dbf!price fucking the holy shit out of us, can't you bring him back to us? Pleasepleasepleaseeerere I'm on MY KNEES I SWEARRRRR

sigh… if you insist 😒 (i wanted to write this because i luv dbf!price)

dbf!price looks like this don’t argue with me

18+ (piv, oral, overall slutivities), fem!reader

dad’s best friend price who…

likes to lounge on his couch with you spread across his lap, thighs either side of his. his hands run up and down the length of your upper legs and hips, revelling in the softness of your body against his. he pushes and pulls at you gently, grinding your clothed cunt against the seam of his jeans, watching as your mouth parts and pretty little whimpers fall from it

enjoys feeding his thick cock into your mouth, inch by inch, watching your beautiful eyes flutter when the leaking tip of him knocks up against the back of your throat, threatening a gag from you. he coos at you quietly, placing a large hand atop your head and petting you, soothing you with bits of whispered praise

has made a habit of sticking a couple of fingers into your mouth and letting you suck whilst the two of you relax on the couch, or cuddled up in bed. thick digits press down flat on your tongue, drawing saliva to the forefront of your mouth, pooling and eventually dripping out and around his fingers

is obsessed with eating you out and will put you in any position to do so. he settles you on his face as he lays out across your bed, his big hands kneading the fat of your arse while you rock against him. his moustache and nose send you over the edge, but he doesn’t stop until all he can taste and smell is your pretty, wet pussy

loves to bend you over and rut into you like a man starved. maybe the arm of the couch, or the kitchen counter, or the bathroom sink, or the edge of the bed, or even the hood of his car. he bends you over so lovingly, kissing your spine with fingers dipping into your underwear. his thrusts are brutal, though, and knock the wind out of you, the angle drawing obscene noises from your cunt. you come three times before price glues the front of his body to the back of yours and comes inside of you

tips you on your side in the early hours of the morning, the both of you lax with sleep, and slips his achingly hard cock into the tight warmth of your cunt. rocks against you lazily, barely moving, yet his cock somehow hits the best spot inside you, and you’re coming with his face buried into the crook of your neck and his broad chest pressed to your back

bends you with unsurprising strength, tucks your legs as close to your ears as possible and drills into you with deep, guttural grunts. he gets this haze in his eyes when he fucks you like this, the desire to breed you potent in his blood, his hips slamming into yours roughly. will often come before you, filling the clutch of your cunt with his seed. he’ll play with your puffy clit until you come around his softening cock

gets you to ride him while he finishes his cigar, propped up by pillows so he can watch as you bounce up and down, your tits and tummy rippling with the effort. he doesn’t blow the smoke into your face unless you ask him, or will lean forward with a mouth full of smoke and kiss you, then pushing the smoke into your eager mouth

talks about making you his, whether it be marriage or putting a maybe into you, while balls deep inside. he runs tight circles on your swollen clit, his cock jutting up against the base of your cervix, his eyes on you the entire time he whispers about making you truly his

calls you his good girl, his pretty girl, sweetheart, pet. depending on the circumstances, and the mood, his praise will be laced with the endearing nicknames, which contribute to you coming quicker around the thick girth of his cock

makes a habit of sneaking into your room when he visits, and fucks you in the middle of the night, a hand over your mouth and his clothes still on. his cock hangs from his trousers before he’s moving into you, fucking you deep into the mattress and uttering things about keeping quiet and being a good girl for him

sabotages any possibly romantic or sexual interactions with guys your age, putting himself between you and a pursuer, or slipping an arm around your waist, or placing a hand on your arse. he’s protective and possessive

takes photos of you in various states and jerks off to them when away from you. he hasn’t felt like this since he was young, but he loves nothing more than to pull up a sexy photo of you and come loudly in the dark, quietness of his bedroom

fucks the attitude out of you, rendering you a blabbering mess that could no longer attempt to throw snide remarks at him. he will toss you over his knee and spank you if he has too, but usually he’s able to salve your qualms or anger with a couple of orgasms around his cock

dbf!price who never saw the appeal of being involved with a younger woman until you came along, and you make him feel so much younger again <3

[thevoidstaredback]

Barry knew something was wrong when he woke up that morning, but he couldn't place what. There was nothing wrong in the house, nor with his family. His team were as normal as they could be, and none of his rogues had gotten out, nor was anyone causing any trouble in Central City. Then, just as he'd gotten off work at the police station, an emergency meeting for the Justice League was called. Ugh, David's gonna be pissed that he has to call out!

The Watchtower, when he got there, was a mess. Heroes were obviously panicking, and there must be magic users on board because there were things flying every which way. The meeting room, however, was somehow worse.

"What the hell is going on?" The Flash demanded after ducking behind a chair.

"Constantine and Deadman are on a warpath!" Aquaman helpfully supplied from where he was hidden behind his own chair.

"I gathered that much," Flash shouted over the noise of a chair being shattered against the wall behind him.

Aquaman scowled at him. "The hell do you want me to say? I don't know what's got them so upset!

The door opened again, announcing Batman's presence. He cleared his throat and the room instantly fell silent. Things kept flying around, but they were much more lax than they had been. Cautiously, the gathered heroes emerged from their makeshift hiding places to sit in their chairs.

"What's this about, Constantine?" the Dark Knight asked once everyone was seated.

Instead of the Brit, the ghost beside him was the one to answer. "You idiots-" he growled, "-have really fucked up this time!" he shouted.

Flash idly noticed that only the heroes operating in America were present. Huh. He had a dream just like this last night!

"Slow down," Wonder Woman tried to placate, "What's going on?"

Now it was Constantine's turn to talk. "The US Government are more aware of magic then any of us-" He clearly meant the JLD. "-are comfortable with. The fact that they somehow hid it until now is baffling."

Since when is the US Gov. aware of anything? Flash quietly wondered.

Deadman, visible to everyone and slightly calmer than before, said, "It's been brought to my attention that your government as been targeting my people." He held up his hand and raised his voice to stop anyone from interrupting him before they could. "They've taken a child."

This time, both the ghost and the occultist allowed the noise to overtake the room. Superman was the one to put a stop to it by directly asking the two, "What do you mean they've taken a child?"

Zatanna, fashionably late, entered the room and clicked on the projector like this entrance had been practiced. If Flash didn't know any better, he would've thought she had practiced it. As the screen lit up, she took place beside her two teammates. "Phantom is a small time hero in a nowhere town in Illinois - at least, it usually sticks to Illinois - called Amity Park. We've been keeping tabs on the place, though Deadman here is the only one to have ever had repeated contact."

On the projector screen was the picture of a child near or in his mid-teens. He wore a black HAZMAT suit with white accents, white knee high boots, and white elbow gloves. His hair was white and his eyes the colour of cartoon radioactivity. He was snarling in the photo, obviously having been taken during a fight, if the ready stance was anything to go by.

When Zatanna moved to the next slide, it was an overshot of a place that was somewhere between being a town and a city. It was big enough that not everyone could possibly hope to know everyone, but small enough that everyone knew someone who knew someone. Based on the experience of several heroes, as well as several different statistics, it didn't look like the kind of place that would have a lot of police needed crime, let alone a dedicated hero.

"Several World Ending events were started and stopped here." Constantine continued, "Remember six months ago, when natural disasters erupted all over the planet? We tracked the epicenter to here. Same as four months ago when three quarters of the planet's population took an impromptu nap."

The slide was changed to show an empty field. "Two months ago," Deadman picked up, "The entire town and everyone in it disappeared off the face of this planet." Again, he waited out the uproar from the Justice League, continuing as though uninterrupted after they'd quieted down. "Three days later, it all reappeared," The picture was replaced by another overshot of the town, but there was a green tint to it. "A week later, I was called back to my home in the I̷͈̋̿̀̚n̶͙̙̲͇̤̪̅͋͘f̶̟̰̬̤̀̉̕i̵͕̫͖͔̟͝n̸̮͙̋̎̆̈́̂̈i̷̬̫̤̱̱̒͌͌t̷͉̪̐̂̿͝è̴̙̊ ̴̪̠͍̞͆̌̀R̵̻͙̺̯͌e̸̫͉̖̙̖͐͆͊͠ȧ̵̭̻̩̙͇̔͜l̴͔̝͒m̸͖̦̟̠̭̥̄̇͆̀s̶̢͉̳̪̦̹̑͠. That is where I offically met young Phantom."

"Why is it green?" Aquaman wondered.

"Were you keeping tabs on the place before or after this all happened?" Batman asked over him.

"Before," Zatanna answered, "An interdimensional rift opened up in the town eleven months and five days ago. A second one opened up in the same town ten months and two days ago."

"Why didn't we know about it?" Flash asked, nothing else joining the pure curiosity in his voice. "This kinda seems like something all of use should've been told about."

The magician shook her head. "Because this is our area of expertise, not yours. None of you could've done anything except make things worse if you knew."

The speedster nodded, accepting the answer easily. He didn't like working with magic. He didn't understand it, and it took way too long to actually start believing in the stuff, but he knew there was no way he'd be useful in situations that relied on magic. Best leave that to the professionals.

"I went to the town to scope things out and met Phantom," Constantine said, the slide changing to show another picture of the young hero. He was hiding in an alley, staring at his hands with something akin to fear in his eyes. "He let me take a look at the rift, explained a few things to me, and then we set up a means of contact, though he only ever talks to Deadman."

"Wait," Robin spoke up from where he was beside Batman, "I know that place!" Batman didn't show any reaction other than turning to look at his protege. Robin, for his part, glided smoothly past the look from his mentor. "Me and the rest of my team passed through there about three months ago. We met the town hero, but it wasn't Phantom."

"What do you mean?" Wonder Woman asked.

"The town's hero is called Red Huntress. She's helped out the Young Justice a few times in the past few months with some supernatural issues. She deals mostly with ghosts, though."

Deadman bristled, obviously not liking something that the boy had said.

"Oh?" Superman asked, "What did she tell you guys?"

"That Phantom's one of her rogues." Robin said, "Apparently, he causes a lot of property damage and doesn't stick around to help with relief efforts. She told us that he also kidnapped the mayor, and has attacked the local high school too many times to count."

"That's a load of shit," Constantine muttered under his breath. Louder, he said, "Phantom has only ever worked to protect his town. Red Huntress didn't show up until two months after he started his work!"

"We wait to act until we have more information," Batman, the paranoid bastard, ordered, "As soon as we know exactly who we can trust and what we're going into, we'll stick to recon."

Deadman slammed his hands on the table. "You're government took a child! This is not the time for recon! This is time to act!"

"Recon." Batman stood. "Robin, I want a report from you about your team's interactions with Red Huntress, as well as a report from herself. Constantine and Zatanna, I want a full report on everything you know about Amity Park and whatever's going on there. Dismissed." Then, he walked out of the room, Robin trailing closely after him.

"Um, Bat?" Fash stood, stopping Batman and Robin in the doorway, they both turned to face him, "Maybe we should hear them out? This sounds serious."

Batman stared at Flash for a moment longer before walking back into the room. He gestured for the three present members of the Justice League Dark to continue.

Deadman had a small look of relief flash over his face. "Your government's been sending ghost hunters to Amity Park for the better part of a year now. They were dead set on catching Phantom, and now they have. We don't know-" He cut himself off. After a few seconds, he disappeared completely. Constantine's and Zatanna's phones both went off. Nearly an entire minute after Deadman disappeared, the alarms in the Watchtower went off.

"Fuck," Flash swore.

Part 2 Part 4

[arthropoid]

i wasn't vaping in the school bathroom for the fix. i was vaping so i could shit in a timely manner