#the creek is right there eh

[iii-days-grace]

just showered, i have to go car shopping in 10 min and I'm still in my underwear, but i needed to get a shower thought out real quick

[ramonathinks]

who’s your god? — geto suguru (oneshot; no part two)

summary: suguru geto is the reincarnation of a powerful god or so he claims, using his abilities to prey on as many weak minded housewives as he can.

warnings: (18+, minors/ageless/blank blogs will be blocked) mention of church/religion, sex, adultery, cult like themes, sacrilege(?), begging, pet names (good girl, slut), corruption, finger sucking, public sex, people are watching, geto refers to himself as god, spanking, manipulation, race isn’t mentioned but i envision all my y/n’s as black so yeah. yes, repostttt

A-are you sure?” You swallow and gulp, staring at the man in front of you. His dark hooded eyes staring back at you.

“I have no reason to lie to you.” He says in a hushed tone as your husband walks up the stairs. With every painful creek of the staircase you can’t help but to wince. “Your purity… is in danger, has been for a long time… many of those in higher powers have spoke to me, they do want to help you to remain pure… to be in a good standing of course. That’s why I’m here.”

“Is there anything I can do?” With pleading eyes and shaky hands you scoot closer to him. You children deserved a pure mother, one to help them cross over when the time approached. You longed to be reunited with your husband when time was right.

“Why, of course.” He did a sly slimy smile. “We’ll sit some time aside and pray on this together at the temple.”

“Thank you. Thank you so much sir– eh, master geto.” You could see his lip curl at the name change and seen his nails dig into him palms. Pulling out a simple cross necklace from the insides of his black robe, he handed it to you, placing it into the center of your palm and closing your hand to form a fist.

“Keep this. Wear it. Don’t take it off until we next meet. It’s vital for the ritual we’ll have to preform.”

So you did. You wore it everywhere and didn’t take it off. Anything to keep your purity safe. You showed with it on, wore it underneath all your shirts and dresses.

“The gods spoke to me,” A phone call on the early morning after three weeks had passed. “It’s time.” It wasn’t even dawn yet, just a little past 3am and you were drowsy. “Wear something light. Very thin.”

You swallowed and looked over yourself, all of the sudden nervous and self conscious. Your body a bit more full and plum since the birth of two babies, everything thin you owned was tight against your body.

But you slipped into a long sleeved dark old dress you owned, that covered your entire body and hugged your figure.

You couldn’t help but feel so out of place and so weird when you walked into the sacred temple. Masked and cloaked individuals stood still, you could barely tell that they were breathing yet alone alive.

Swallowing, you made your way to the center of the temple, where you knew Geto would be waiting.

He stood with great posture and a small cross between his fingers, pressing his lips against it before rubbing his fingers against it, up and down. Your core tingled and you gripped the sides of your dress, feeling too hot to keep walking. Your knees buckled and your hands clutched at the wall by your side.

“Master Geto, he—lp!” You slipped and fell to the floor, landing with a small oof that left your mouth. A buzzing sensation on your clit and even feeling a rough hand on your folds. Massaging and pulling them apart.

“Just let it over take you. Just be glad, I didn’t do this while your husband was around. I’m being mighty merciful to you, my dear.” His voice is a shiver up your spine and his presence overtakes you, you feel him all over and he hasn’t even walked over to you yet.

“Tell me, my dear…” His voice cures your ails, making every moment more breathable again. “If I told you that the only way to keep your purity intact would be the touch of a god, would you still be willing?” His voice is sly and cocky.

You squeeze your eyes tightly, a light relief of touch making you moan heavily before it’s quickly snatched away. “That was just a taste, a small taste of purity that could welcomed back into your little soul.”

Something stirred up inside of your chest and a heavy weight made you groan, making you painfully uncomfortable and aware of just what you were missing.

“I need it.” You voice hoarse and detached, you weren’t sounding like yourself. “I’d do anything for it—!” You voice faded.

You felt several hands on you all at once but nobody was there. Solar bright hotness scarred your chest while the cross marked itself into your skin, the smell of burnt flesh all around you.

As if hours had passed, Geto finally approached you. Putting your head in his lap. He crouched and whispered in your ear, “I’m going to fuck the purity back into you.” Licking the insides of your ear before biting and sucking on the lobe. “You’ll be clean again.” He promised.

Slipping your dress up and removing your dainty underwear. “Already so soaked. You’re already ready for me.” His finger caressed your lips and he kissed you. His tongue licking throughout your mouth and sucking on every inch of your tongue.

Cloaked and masked individuals circled around you both and you clang into his grasp, shivering.

“They have to watch. They have to be here.” He explained calmly. “They’re praying over us, praying for you and your purity… shall I ask again, if you really want this? Remember the feeling that you felt…” That feeling was all you could think about, his touch and his voice amplifying everything.

He knew you wanted it. Hanging it over your head. Watching you pant and groan, your thighs sticky and your head spinning. “Please… you know I need it.”

“What would you husband think of you now…” he twists his fingers in your mouth, drawing them in and out. “Watching you beg like a little slut for me to fuck you… would he like it?”

You couldn’t bare to answer. “Please just fuck me already…” you pleaded with him, your eyes clouded with lust, his filled with sin and all he could do was drink it up.

The dizziness continued as the people watching stepped closer, you gulped and trembled, feeling like you can’t breathe.

“I’m going to give you exactly what you need to be pure again.” He pulls his robe off quickly and your eyes follow. His body sculpted to perfection, lean and a perfect built. Your eyes trailed down to his cock and you tried not to moan aloud.

Long and girthy with a dark pink tip, standing curved and full at your attention. You swallowed hard.

Leaning over you, he rubs himself between your cool wet gooey folds, lining his cock against your entrance. “Ready?” He murmurs and your eyes look between his then to his cock before you look to the lingering eyes around you.

“Yes. I’m ready.” Your voice strong and steady as your hands grab at his shoulders.

He slipped between your thighs and all of the heat and sweat around your body disappeared when a small moan left your lips. His cock completely splitting you open and his fingers digging into your thighs. Your legs spread wide as his hips thrust forward, hard.

Burying his nose into your neck he does a deep laugh. His hips wild with ever thrust, the splashy wetness from your pussy echoing around the temple. Moans bounce around with each time he plunges in and out of you.

Clenching around him, he groans, pulling himself out before quickly tapping his cock against your wet folds that open wide for him. He feeds your deprived insides his merciful cock with a sinister smile before he says:

“Tell me, who’s your fucking god now? Huh? Who do you belong to? Who is fucking you, hm? Who’s fucking this pussy pure?”

Gripping his shoulders harder and meeting his thrust you finally whisper, “You… you are, master Geto.”

His hips stutter when you tighten up on him, “Oh, so tight… so fucking tight.” He squeezed your thighs and ram inside of you, both of your moans loud. “Gonna fucking cum inside this pretty pussy.” He promises, jerking his hips and fucking deeper inside of your core.

Feeling every twitch from you, he uses two fingers to rub at your needy swollen clit. “Oh you like that? You like when I fuck this flower open?”

He plants kisses up and down your throat. “Please just…” you lock your legs around his waist, tightly. Wetness sliding down your thighs.

He shutters and sighs, rocking his hips and thrusting harder inside. His eyes intense as they glare down at you. “Such a good girl,” He says, his voice guff and his cock throbbing hard.

Your nails dig into his skin and your pussy squirts as he works his way in and out of you.“Take it.” He tip kissing your womb ever so gently before he’s pounding inside again, watching your thighs jiggle with every moment.

“Take my cum.” He growls, stilling over you. His body shakes and so goes yours, once his cum is planted inside of you, your body feels cool again.

Panting, you look into his dark eyes. “Am I pure?” Your eyes shining with hope and pleasure.

“Far from it.” He says and your face falls. “Turn around.”

Embarrassed and confused, you turn on your stomach.

You feel his rough hands touching on your ass and squeezing the plushness of it before he does the unexpected. A loud slap rings throughout the temple and you grown in pain. “Count.” He does another one to the opposite cheek.

“O-one…” Your soaked folds growing even wetness. “Two…”

Rubbing his cock between your ass he does another slap. “Three—!”

“I’m going to have my way with you for the rest of the day… until you physically can’t anymore.” He says with a deep chuckle. “Ready?”

[tdinyomomma]

Total Drama Island! x Reader

This is total drama island with you in it! You didn't know that this was a reality tv show when you signed up for it, Your sister had you make an audition tape but thought it was for a movie. Not a lead roll or anything but it was something that sounded fun. Now that you're stuck in this you decide to win it. Will someone ruin that chance? Will that someone be a love interest? Find out on... Total Drama Island!!

[Name] [Last Name]

Age: 16 Pronouns: She/her Clothes: black crop top, midi Jean shorts, black sneakers, and a light pink belt. Body type: yours Hair type: yours Height: (only one that might not be yours) 5'5

This will be off of the Total Drama series I don't not own anything except for the differences I make and even then I don't really own it!

Later down the road I'll decide who you end up with this is kind of looking like a Gwen x reader. But if that gets over ridden I might change it.

I don't really want to do a Duncan x reader though. I love him but eh. I was thinking maybe Courtney, Cody Or Heather.

If you want to request an imagined comment or privately dm!

CHAPTERS RIGHT HERE FOR THE STORY!!!!

1. The Not So Great Outdoors pt. 1

2. The Not So Great Outdoors pt. 2

3. The Big Sleep

4. Dodge Brawl

5. Not Quite Famous

6. The Sucky Outdoors

7. Phobia Factor

8. Up The Creek

9. Paintball Deer Hunter

[shira-cosmic-star]

Little things to love. Jabberwock HC

(This was ordinally supposed to be a different HC. Then I got sidetracked and came up with this one. I promise I'm working on the Wish Me Mell pt 2. It'll be posted some time tomorrow. Thank you kindly for your patience.)

Warning: Nothing but fluffy, GNreader

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

Haru: 

Mc headed over to Jabberwock to assist with the animals. It was a long week and maybe this will cheer them up? They’ve always enjoyed spending time with the boys and Peekaboo.  After making your way through the entrance. MC see a wide grassy field. So far there wasn’t any signs of animals or ghouls nearby. Just a straightforward path to the dorm. As MC walked on the side walk, they looked around deep far into the distance. 

“Gahahha! Watch out!!” MC heard a voice behind them. As soon as they turned around Mc see a goat like anomaly, running towards them. Panic begins to set in. 

‘Oh gosh, oh gosh, oh gosh! What should I do!?’ They sway left and then right. Unsure which direction to go.  

“BAM” 

“Ow” They cried as the goat ran straight into them and slammed its head into theirs. Haru quickly runs over to them and helps Mc up. 

“Gah! Are you okay MC?” He questioned after seeing what the goat did. MC had their hand on their forehead. Once he removed their hand to take a look. There was a knot on their head. 

“Is it bad?” He looks into their eyes. 

“No, no, no! Nothing an ice pack can’t fix!” He stated cheerfully. Haru takes their hand gentle and guide them to the dorm. In the dorm Ren was sitting on the couch watching YouTube. After hearing the door creek open. Ren looks up from his phone. 

“What happened to you?” While he raised one of his brows, he asked. 

Not fully wanting to admit what just happened. MC pouted and removed their hand from their forehead. 

“Eh? Yeesh.” Haru had come back in the room and handed MC an ice pack. Once they have placed it on themselves , he hummed to himself. “MC, why didn’t you move out the way?” His voice carried with concern. 

“I-I was going to, but I panicked and I-I didn’t know where it was heading...” MC explained their thought process. They stumble with their words as they feel the rush of embarrassment forming on her face. He chuckled and patted her back. “Hey it’s all okay. It could’ve been worse.” He explained to MC in a tempt to cheer them up. MC smiled and nodded their head. 

“Yeah! I could have broken a nose or busted my head!” MC spoke with a cheerful voice and good attitude. Haru loved this about MC. He stands up straight with both hands on his hips. “That’s the spirit! Gahahah!!” His laugh rings throughout the dorm and They joined him. 

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

Towa 

Upon, MC’s arrival. They have offered Towa a dandelion. Which to their surprise, Towa eats it before they could say anything. From that day on. He had taken a liking to MC. Though he isn’t much of a talker. He still listens and communicate the best that he can. Towa would nod his head, yes or no while he makes little sounds. Mc is able to tell by the tone of Towa’s hums whether he is saying ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ 

Right now, both of them are sitting on the hill watching the sunset. Mc would do most of the talking. Meanwhile, Towa would listen. He enjoys hearing all of her stories. Rather they were happy, sad, silly, or scary. Though, the one thing he loves the most. Would be how caring and mind she is. She would often stop by with homemade lunches for all of them. Making sure that each of them had at least a healthy full meal. Mc would even take care of peekaboo, while Haru and Towa was out. Often when Mc makes the meals. She would make sure Towa’s was perfect. Favoritism? Probably. She spends a lot of time with him. So why not put a lot of effort into making his meals? Mc had learned which flowers he likes to eat. Some flowers he would eat. While others he likes to smell and admire. 

Towa also loves to cuddle with her. He would sit her, right between his legs and hold her to his chest. Recently, Mc has been with the other ghouls and helping them out. This makes Towa extremely upset, he misses her so much. So, now they are both cuddling was they watch the sunset. When it starts to get dark outside. Towa tells her how much he enjoys being around her. So much that he wishes it never ends. He will always be grateful for the things Mc do. Not only for him, but Haru too. 

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

Ren: 

Ren was working at the Mystery Diner this evening. He had messaged MC about joining him. They were planning on watching horror movies and playing video games together. But unfortunately, MC wasn’t available that night. They were off on another mission with the other ghouls from another dorm. Recently MC has been cancelling the hangouts due to the missions. Ren sighs heavily, he knows deep down they don’t mean to cancel on him. Yet, he couldn’t help, but miss their present.  

Shortly after the mission, MC had gone to the school store to find something that Ren might like. They went from alle to alle. They couldn’t find anything there. Disappointed, they sighed. Then and idea came to mind. They decided to make him a gift. ‘Maybe that will cheer him up? Hopefully this isn’t cheesy or makes things weird...’ Alongside of some snacks he might like. This took them a few days to make his a cute sorry gift. They have messaged him, asking if he was either at the dorm or at the diner. He had clarified that he was at the dorm. Shortly, MC walking into the dorm. Ren wasn’t in the lobby, nor was he in the kitchen. That could only mean one thing. He was in his room.  

‘Knock Knock’ MC hits their knuckle on the door. Ren opens the door to see who it was. They had their hands behind their back. Standing in front of him was MC. Looking guilty like a child who had done something wrong. “Oh hey” He was the first to speak. Ren opens the door wider and lets them in. Mc sits down on the edge of his bed and took a deep breath. 

“Ren, I’m so sorry for cancelling the past few hangouts. To make it up to you. I’ve made you this. They showed him the basket of horror movies, his favorite snacks, and cute little items that reminded MC of him. There was a shark key chain. A small plushie of his favor horror movie character, and a note for him.  

“Don’t read the note yet. I rather you read it when I leave. I’m truly sorry Ren, I hope you can forgive me.”  

Ren’s heart beats faster and louder. His ears red as his cheeks. He was speechless, how on earth is he able to talk now? He can’t even look them in the eyes. His fists balled up from his anxiety. He takes in a deep breath. Looks them in the eyes and spoke. 

“You didn’t need to all this, but thanks.” At the end of his sentence. He looked away extremely bashful. With his hand rubbing the back of his head. MC knew that all was forgiving. Ren have asked them if they wanted to stay and watched the movies with him and share the snacks. Both of them hearts swells with a certain feeling. Who knows where things will lead in the future. 

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

(Edited)

Thank you for reading this feel free to like, comment, and reblog!

You can also request anything in the "ask me anything" box

𝑆𝑡𝑎𝑦 𝐷𝑎𝑧𝑧𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑦 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑙𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠✮

[applesooyoung]

NSFW! SUB!SKZ headcanons (ooooh she bacc and alive (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و✧)

Genre: Spicy A/N: Applied fem! reader Warnings: Adult and suggestive stuff not gonna list them all cuz we'll take the whole day when I list all bc this is N A S T Y

Now playing: Baby I - Ariana Grande

Bangchan - Don't even get me started you guys- - I hope it's already clear that subby Chan is my fave - This baby boy DEF loves quality time and words of affirmations - He's just the best baby boy hands down - Choke him, spank him, tie him, chain him, blindfold him YOU WOULDN'T HEAR ANY WHINES HE'S OK UNTIL HE PLEASES YOU AND I AM NOT OK - and as a person with size kink, him being canonically smaller than me just makes wanna- - though i feel like he has a few bratty streaks but that only happens once in a blue moon - He likes to go vanilla and half kinky but leaning on the vanilla side more ykwim?? - Like he loves borderline bdsm shit but he gets more turned on w/ vanilla shit idk idk but i hope you peeps get my point - YO ALSO IMAGINE PEGGING HIM IN THE MUSIC STUDIO WHILE HE'S MAKING ONE OF THEIR SONGS - Just loves soft yet passionate sex - oh and his moans too? - He has a mommy kink and I'm right so you may shut up - A mommy's boy omg - IM STOPPING HERE I MIGHT NOT BE ABLE TO STOP MYSELF, YOUR HONOR (plstellmeifyouwantmetomakeapt2idgladlydoso)

Lee Know - sugar and spice and everything nice™ - bratty ≥ sassy - lowkey himbo and trophy bf vibes im sorry - he just reminds me of kento in todome no seppun and it's not funny - my fave manwhore </3 - it's power bottom or nothing - the type to force your hips down in his cock type of guy - demanding 10000 - He's cocky at first but ISTG this mf becomes the most submissive piece of schitt's creek when you fuck this little guy - oh don't get me going with the aftercare - he's just so vulnerable at this point that his once asshole facade fades to that an innocent little kitten - He still might have remnants of the a-hole attitude but he's probably ruined by you so there is a chance that he won't - ngl i kinda feel he a switch- but sub!lee know supremacy

Changbin - hard bot :j - The whiniest award goes to.......... SEO CHANGBIN!! - did i mention his pretty whimpers too?? - LOVES it when you hold his hands while doing it - Sugarbaby changbin ; v ; - maybe it's just he loves plushies and I could just see his s/o buying and spoiling him with a fuck ton of plushies -oof what if he fucks those plushies while your gone wtf - that's kinda cute not gonna lie - also i feel like he loves any type of love language as long as you love him, that's enough for him - OH YEAH UM - Phone sex with changbin- - Subby Gamer changbin while you dom him in a discord call - interesting, eh? - ok i just realized that sounded a bit weird but it's kinda cute if you put it in an ok way yk?? - imagine his baritone-ish voice moaning for you ;[ - looks intimidating at first - BUT TRUST ME, HE'S A BABY - a big, submissive, and cuddly one

Hyunjin - sassy ≥ bratty - pillow princess/passenger princess material tho- - REAALLY whiny too not that it's annoying but rather cute - often mistyped as a power bottom... He is - loves praises - he's a people pleaser so we're not really surprised - "Am I a good kitty, y/n" um yes you are, you sassy mf- - DEF loves dressing up for you - IT'S BECAUSE HE'S AWARE OF HOW HE LOOKS LIKE WHEN YOU FUCK HIM OR IF YOU LIKE WHAT HE LOOKS LIKE OR NOT - it's cute ngl gijrothtlrjbdoijth also imagine sugar baby!Hyunjin? - I'm looking respectfully like- - imagine buying things for him because he's been a good boy these past weeks and he's (surprisingly) not been pissing the shit out of you - like buying him accessories and jewelry and treating him like your very own pretty little princess - lipsticks, new dresses, necklaces etc... he loves those - He really loves it when you gift him stuff, he feels loved and appreciated - spoiled little baby omg - I lowkey think masochist!Hyunjin is a thing too so- - Loves punishments (shockers)

Jisung - ngl I kinda feel like he's a wild card (? ?) - but I feel like he's the literal borderline of bratty and good boy - he's really touchy when horny... cute - also, really needy imo - like think of him being horny and he'd definitely and most likely would hump your pillow bcs it has your scent and he couldn't help it - speaking of humping I'm thinking petplay Han -weird ik but not like the extreme bdsm with those whipping and brat taming stuff that needs cages, bowls, collars, leashes, and stuff... right? - hahahahahahahah right, guys? - r i g h t ? */slowly descends into insanity - All jokes aside, I could actually imagine Jisung being like that tho especially since I already put it out there - he's literally the middle of everything... he's neither kinky nor vanilla, good or bratty, top or bottom. That's why I said he's kind of a wild card - weird thought but I feel like he's the type to cum like fast FAST - he's just maybe sensitive on those parts and shit but u get my point - like you could just jerk him for a while and he'll cum under 5 minutes and it's not funny - he loves it when you're protective but in a good way like how you always take care of him and love him always - he also loves when you spend time with him + doing stuff together even if it's silly like who eats the most chips wins $100 and the loser washes the dishes for a week. - he just loves being close and intimate with you

Felix - ok ok ok omg - ok so first of all, he loves his cuddles - you're working? cuddles, sleeping? cuddles, driving? cuddles, cooking? cuddles. - So I hope you get the clue already, yes, he's clingy and touchy - He's so fucking cute omg - burying his face in your chest or the crook of your neck sexual or nonsexual aspects honestly, he loves it - he's so fragile and soft pls protecc him > ﹏ < - spewing out random words of affection is his favorite hobby - he wants you to ruin him </3 - HE SQUEAKS WHEN HE MOANS - I know y'all are suckers for his deep voice but Felix with a higher-pitched voice >>> - He'll melt when you put your hands on his hips while you fuck him, do it, I dare you - whimpers and everything - a kinky baby tho- he likes being tied up - he kins with changbin and I love it - loves degradation - he gets soooo turned on when you stand as his parental figure of like just being the person that takes care of him - Thigh riding >>>

Seungmin - Step aside ladies and gentlemen, the goodest of the boys is coming thru~ - his favorite petname is pup or puppy and that's canon - He's so cute that everything and I mean EVERYTHING you do turns him the fuck on no shit on that - but be careful, he doesn't really enjoy degradation that much, he's vvv sensitive so please take care of your baby seungmin - but instead, give him words of affirmation. This builds his confidence - he cries when you go rough with him, you're being a meanie >:[ - he's your personal fuck toy but again, please be careful. He's so fragile - but I can actually see him taking care of you instead during aftercare - "I hope I did well for you today, Mommy" hufduighdfiughig hold me back, hold me back- - size kink, def size kink. He loves it when you wear your heels - he likes his look simple, just a plain pair of white thigh highs and that's it! He looks so fucking gorgeous and it's not funny - leashing him while he rides your cock is just- - and also when you hold his hands during missionary? Take my money and go. I'm a slut for that and I'm proud of it - but besides those soft things about him... - I believe he has a breeding kink - those puppy eyes when you fuck him in front of a mirror as you hit it from behind- ugh - overall, seungmin is a cute and soft little babyy

I.N - a BEAM of sunshine!! - so bright, so cute, so eager, so.... fuckable - He's such a good boy too and it hurts - although he sometimes kinda brats you but please he's 3% brat and 97% angel descended from the heavens above - idk if it's just me but it's always the maknaes that radiate the most golden retriever energy? Maybe bcs they're so young but nonetheless, I'm living for it - he always greets you with smile and always hugs you awe ;[ - LOVES IT when you mark him up - It doesn't matter where his neck? go, his thighs? go, his arms? go, his jaw? go! go ahead - + the moans and whimpers he'd make while you mark him up is straight up the epitome of immaculate - he has a heck of a stamina - i mean what do we expect from a goldret energy he radiates - loves your regular quickies - can actually handle a lengthy amount of handjobs, he's so good at keeping edged and overstimulated - buff baby boi - clip on fox ears >>>> - doesn't really like dress ups but on special occasions like your birthday, he'd wear his pretty lingerie set you bought him as a gift. - and ofc we know what happens next ;]]]]]]]]

[hog-farmer]

Build Your Bear *At Home*

Through the dense wilderness a sizable tanker truck carefully winds down a lone road. The crunch of gravel under its tires and its rumbling engine disturb the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. After a while the monotony of trees finally parts to reveal a large lakeside clearing. 

An expensive log cabin house sits at the end of the remote path. Standing one story tall with a wraparound porch that encompasses the main entrance and its waterfront side. The wood of its roof and siding has a reddish hue to it that contrasts against the overwhelming evergreens surrounding it.

The truck slowly rolls to a stop before the cabin, letting out a loud creek along with a puff of air as its engine rests. Moments later its driver door is thrown open as the man behind the wheel emerges. 

Clad in a pair of dark navy coveralls he steps down out of his seat onto the ground below. The only significant detail on his suit is the name embroidered across the left breast pocket, ‘Locke'. Small tufts of bright blonde hair peek out from all sides underneath his cap. A company logo is centered on its front, composed of the letters, ‘BYB'.

Free from his vehicle the man takes a moment to stretch out the stiffness from his muscles. After giving his cap a quick adjustment he begins sauntering towards the cabin. In his brief walk he admires the home's scenery till he comes to a stop at its front door. He gives it a brisk but firm knock before following up by pressing the doorbell off to the side.

After roughly a minute later the door finally opens to reveal a man on the other side. He appears to be middle-aged, most of the color has left his beard and has begun creeping up his sideburns towards his dark hair. The only other thing that might signify his age is his soft rounded middle, giving him a little exaggerated dadbod. Regardless of the extra padding, he's fairly well-built everywhere else. A firm puffy chest, bulky arms, and tanky thighs to round out his figure. He's dressed down in a pair of light gray sweatpants and plain white t-shirt.

“Good afternoon, sir,” the driver greets the man inside with a tip of his hat. “My name is Gordon and I'm here for an at home ‘build your bear’ visit.” 

“Nice to meet ya,” the other man replies with an outstretched hand that Gordon promptly takes. “Name’s Mike, come on in,” he continues with a nod of his head as he turns to head in. Gordon follows along, stepping through the threshold and beginning to survey the home around him.

The aesthetic of the inside definitely matches that of the outside. A warm and cozy cabin vibe throughout every decoration and piece of furniture. It all appears very well kept, not completely immaculate but lived-in.

“Hon? Who's at the door?” Gordon distantly hears being called from somewhere in the house.

“Delivery!~” Mike responds to the voice with a slight teasing tone. 

The muffled pattering of steps follows before another man appears around the corner. He looks older than Mike, short gray hair combed back with a few streaks of white. Laugh-lines frame his eyes while a bushy goatee sits between his bubbly cheeks. Similar to Mike he has a bulkier figure, though visibly softer with his age. His outfit is just as relaxed as Mike's too, with long plaid pants and a dark shirt that his fuzzy chest and belly peek out from.

“I thought that wasn't supposed to be here till next week?” the new man asks, confused but delightfully surprised.

“They called with an opening in their schedule, so I thought ‘eh, why not?’,” Mike recounted as he approached, swinging his arm around the other man's lower back.

“Well consider me excited,” the older man replied with a bright smile as he softly brought their noses together. “Now, care to introduce me?” He cheekily adds with a leading glance over to Gordon.

“Right right right,” Mike quickly mutters with an amused huff. “Gordon, this is my partner Arthur. Arthur, this is Gordon,” he continues as the other men exchange a handshake and their own greetings.

“So, who will I be working with today?” Gordon pointedly asks after a moment, quizzically looking between the two men. 

“Oh, that'd be our boy, Ricky” Mike clarifies while smiling back at Arthur. “We had our five year anniversary with him a few days ago, so this is gonna be his gift.”

“Ah, Alrighty then. Why don’t you show me where I’ll be working, then I can go get my gear and get things started,” Gordon cheerfully suggests.

“Sounds great, let me show you to his room,” Mike agrees with a wave for Gordon to follow after him.

“You boys handle that, I’m gonna head back and finish prepping lunch,” Arthur waves them off as he departs back to the room he came from.

The two men round the corner and make their way down a spacious hallway. Photos and memorabilia are spread throughout its walls. As his eyes drift past them one photo in particular catches Gordon's attention.

It's of Mike and Arthur with a third young man between them that Gordon assumes is the aforementioned Ricky. He looks to be in his early twenties with short, somewhat curly auburn hair and light stubble across face. The three of them smile brightly as they're out at some sort of pride event. They're all shirtless with leather harnesses over their bare chests. Ricky has his arms draped over the older men's shoulders while their hands proudly rest on the budding bear's small starter-belly.

Gordon is brought out of his fixation when he hears soft knocking. At the far right end of the hall Mike stands in front of a bedroom door. His hand is still raised from knocking while the other rests patiently on its handle.

“Ricky~ Baby? You up?” Mike gently calls out. When no response comes through he proceeds to quietly open the door and enter. Gordon hurriedly catches up with him, though the sight past the threshold makes his eyebrows rise in slight surprise.

The young man Gordon caught a glimpse of moments before is now in front of him, nearly taking up the entire width of a queen-sized bed with the sheer size of himself. His legs lay spread out, completely encased in cellulite, especially around his inner thighs. Half of a thin blanket lays over the lower portion of his thighs, the other half is wedged under his expansive stomach. It reaches nearly as far as his hips do, coming short just a few inches. Past his gut are a set of heavy moobs. His reclined position causes them to sag to his sides, emphasizing his side rolls as they spread out as far as the length of his puffy upper arms. As he sleeps his head lays back against a pile of pillows that's propping him up. Other than much rounder cheeks, slightly unkempt hair, and another chin his features are all the same from the photo out in the hall. 

“Hey Ricky~ C’mon bud, wake up,” Mike softly coaxes as he approaches and gives the incredibly fat man’s shoulder a little shake. This seems to be enough to rouse him as he takes in a deep breath, lets out a big yawn and blinks his eyes. He looks around a little disoriented till he notices Mike at his side.

“Mornin’ Daddy~” Ricky yawns as he brings one of his hands up to wipe the sleep from his eye.

“It’s afternoon Baby,” Mike corrects with a chuckle as he combs his fingers through the young man’s hair.

“Oh right,” Ricky mumbles as he recounts having breakfast a couple hours earlier. 

“Guess what buddy? Daddy and Papa got a present for you,” Mike says as he steps back towards the doorway and gestures to Gordon. With that and a confused look from Ricky, Gordon decides to enter and introduce himself.

“Hi there, I’m Gordon. I’m here for an at home ‘build your bear’ visit,” Gordon says as he comes forward to shake Ricky’s hand.

“Hey,” Ricky greets as he reciprocates the gesture. After a momentary pause his stomach lets out a resonating rumble. “Daddy, I'm hungry. Where's lunch?”

“Papa will be here with it in a bit bud, don't worry,” Mike comforts.

“Actually, it might be a bit better if he waits to eat,” Gordon interjects. “It’ll put less pressure on his stomach and let the process act faster.”

“What? But I'm hungry now,” Ricky complains with a distressed whine building in his throat. His pleading eyes stare up at Mike for help.

“You can wait a little bit, bud,” Mike consoles. Not happy with that answer Ricky proceeds to turn away and pout. After a couple minutes of trying to comfort the large young man Mike eventually gives up with a sigh. “Ok, what'll it take to make you agree and wait?”

This finally gets Ricky's attention. He stops his pouting and instead mulls over what he wants in exchange. As he thinks his eyes land on Gordon which causes him to smirk devilishly as he comes up with an idea. He waves for Mike to come closer so he can cup his hand against his ear and whisper his idea to the middle-aged man.

“You want us to do what?” Mike recoils in surprise when Ricky finishes.

“That's what I want,” Ricky finalizes by crossing his arms over his chest as best he can. “Please Daddy?~” he follows with a very pleading expression. 

The older man contemplates for a second before he relents and agrees to Ricky's demands. Having won, the young man giddily wiggles in place, causing his fat to ripple across his body. Mike tousles the young man's hair before proceeding to exit the room with Gordon on his tail.

“So… what did he ask for?” Gordon breaks the silence once they're halfway down the hall.

“He… said he’d wait if he got to watch Arthur and I fatten up afterwards,” Mike shares, amused and a little embarrassed.

“Oh,” is all Gordon can muster, surprised himself, but also intrigued.

“Yeah, honestly it’s not surprising. It’s how we met him in the first place,” Mike comments.

“Really? Then how’d he end up being the spoiled and pampered one?” Gordon prods further.

“Well, we first started chatting with him online. He was some hotheaded cub that was all about being on top and dominating. So we invited him over for some fun and… he ended up being complete putty in our hands,” Mike recounts with a fond expression. “Though that doesn’t stop him from being a total brat when he wants to be.”

“Yeah that makes sense,” Gordon acknowledges with a chuckle.

“So, can ya do it?” Mike questions, referencing Ricky’s demand.

“Adding you two to the mix? Oh yeah, I’m happy to oblige,” Gordon confirms. “I’ll go get my supplies and get things ready for all of ya.”

“Sounds great,” Mike agrees.

From there the two men part in separate directions. Mike heads for the room they’d last seen Arthur enter while Gordon exits through the front door. The blond man makes his way back to his truck and climbs inside. Rummaging through the equipment haphazardly deposited behind his seat Gordon manages to find what he needs. An insanely-long industrial hose, three phallic-shaped nozzles, a bottle of lube, and the remote for the tanker’s pump system.

With his supplies in hand Gordon takes them around to the tanker’s side. Taking one end of the hose he positions it onto the tanker’s release port before locking it in place. With that secured Gordon checks over the tank’s pressure valves and vents to make sure they’re all working properly. Confident that everything is ready he takes the other end of the hose and begins trailing it towards the cabin. Through the entrance, pass the main living area and down the hall till Gordon’s outside Ricky’s room again.

“Just one treat Papa?” Gordon hears Ricky ask as the room’s interior comes into view. Ricky, unsurprisingly, is still firmly planted on his bed, though now the older men flank him on both sides.

“No bud, you promised you’d wait,” Arthur halfheartedly scolds before throwing in a cheeky non-threat. “Or do you not want Daddy and Papa to get fattened up for ya?” 

“You guys ready?” Gordon interrupts as he reenters the room and fixes a nozzle to the end of the hose.

“Yup all set,” Mike replies.

“Okay, now, normally this is the part where I tell the subject to strip, but…” Gordon trails off as he gestures at Ricky’s blatantly naked form. This earns a blush from the young man and a few chuckles from the older ones. “So let's get him propped up, lubed, and ready.”

“Oh you don’t have to worry about lube with this one. Trust me, he’s loose enough,” Arthur embarrassingly comments.

“Papa!” Ricky cries as the red of his face flushes an even deeper shade.

“Okay okay, let’s get going” Mike deescalates as he starts removing the pillow propping up Ricky. Arthur joins his efforts by taking the young man’s hand and helping him into a more upright position. While they’re busy with that Gordon comes around with his supplies.

Eventually they get everything ready. The space behind is clear and Ricky is sitting up as best he can, though he’s leaning over his belly a bit. His legs are awkwardly splayed out to the side with his feet just hanging over the edge of the bed. This leaves the big mounds of his ass completely exposed.

“Ready Ricky?” Gordon asks as he leans into the space behind the young man. 

With a firm nod from him Gordon instructs the other two men to start. From both sides they each reach toward the crevice of Ricky’s ass. Once they have a good grip they pull to pry his massive cheeks apart. They make a good effort of it but it's not quite enough to reveal the young man’s hole, so Gordon decides to probe around for it. 

It’s easy enough to slip a couple of fingers into the fleshy divide with how damp it is with sweat. Gordon’s hand is enveloped up to his knuckles before he finally feels where the two mounds meet. He doesn’t feel Ricky’s hole yet so he trails his fingers downward till he does. As soon as his digits brush up against the sensitive ring Gordon feels Ricky’s body give an anticipative shiver. Tentatively, Gordon probes the muscle further, finding it to already be fairly loose like Arthur commented earlier.

Using his thumb and index finger Gordon exposes Ricky’s hole as best he can with one hand. With that ready he takes the hose and brings its slicked nozzle towards the exposed muscle. It’s met with little resistance, only needing a few wiggles to ease the inner muscles and guide it deeper. Ricky lets out a relieved sigh as he feels the invading equipment finally brush past his prostate.

“Okay, that should be deep enough,” Gordon decides once roughly a foot of the phallic-shaped nozzle is planted past the young man’s rim. The other men relax their hold on Ricky’s boulder-like ass, letting the gelatinous flesh envelop the hose further. As the smaller men step back they convene at the front end of Ricky’s bed. Gordon unclasps the tanker’s remote from one of his suits pockets and hands it off to Mike and Arthur. The blond man gives them a short rundown of its control, mainly pointing out the start switch and volume knob.

“You ready for this baby?” Mike tenderly asks the young man as he and Arthur lean in close to his face.

“Yeah, make me huge,” Ricky replies as he gives his belly a quick pat. With that the two men dive in and plant a kiss on each of Ricky’s chubby cheeks.

They step back once more and finally turn on the tanker’s pump, setting the volume flow to about halfway. Nothing happens for roughly a minute till they see the hose begin to twitch along the floor. It steadily pulses as the shadow of the liquid inside inches further up the tube. Soon enough the fluid begins to enter Ricky, snaking its way through his guts before coming to settle in his stomach.

After a minute Ricky begins to feel a cycle of pain and relief as the pressure in his stomach grows and eases. Eventually it all blurs into the background as a general uncomfortableness when he notices his belly subtly creeping further outward. 

“At his size a couple of pounds is like a drop in an ocean, so his growth will be more of a subtle climb than anything drastic,” Gordon explains while everyone is fixated on Ricky’s slow-growing form.

Watching his body slowly expand like dough Ricky idly strokes his hands across his stomach. His flesh gets softer and larger with each pulse in his stomach. Mindlessly, the young man finds himself breathing in sync with the pumping. His hands drift to his chest, squeezing and cupping his nipples to try and completely cover them. In his grasp he feels them grow, their weight increasing around his digits till they’re unmanageable and he lets them flop back down.

After a couple of minutes Ricky’s stomach has swelled large enough to nearly reach the end of his bed. It’s already begun to drool over its sides. Behind him his ass has gone from large mounds to absolute mountains. They’ve reached his headboard at the other end of his bed and are steadily creeping higher up. His legs were useless before, but now they’re far beyond that. They’ve blown past the size of keg barrels, preventing the hope of them ever being able to bend again. Even his feet are turning puffy with fat as the adipose of his ankles threatens to swallow them up. 

His hands and arms are becoming just as encumbered. The excessive fat around his shoulders and elbows have just about locked his limbs in place, forcing them to lay uselessly atop his side rolls. His fingers are almost at their limit to be able to bend with how swollen they’ve become. Around his face another chin has formed under his second one and his bubbly cheeks have started encroaching closer together. They force his mouth into a permanent pout and cause his eyes to squint. 

*Creeeeek* *CRACK*

The bed frame lets out a high pitched whine before quickly giving out. Its legs completely snap under Ricky’s climbing weight, dropping the mattress and boxspring clean to the ground. The one foot drop sends a massive ripple through Ricky’s malleable form. Every fold, roll, and mound of fat doesn’t settle its jiggling for half a minute. It’s at this point that Ricky feels the pressure in his stomach slowly fade away, and the pleasurable growth alongside it.

“Nooo… why’d it stop,” the now immobile man struggles to whine through his puffy cheeks.

“Sorry bud, gonna have to stop ya there,” Arthur consoles as he comes up and places a comforting hand on one of Ricky’s rolls of back fat.

“Besides, don’t you wanna fill that belly with something else?” Mike interjects. This reminds Ricky of the food waiting for him, causing the blobby young man to wiggle his fat as best he can in excitement.

“Okay, I’ll go get his lunch,” Arthur volunteers. “While I do that, why don’t you get yourself ready?” He adds with a cheeky wink as he walks past Mike, giving the man a brief peck on the cheek as he does so.

With his partner now out of the room Mike turns to Gordon, “Welp, you heard the man, let’s get things started.”

“Alrighty, while I get Ricky here unhooked you strip and get comfortable,” Gordon instructs as he steps back around to Ricky’s rear. 

The titanic cheeks have enveloped much more of the hose in their growth, smothering the equipment underneath it. Gordon grabs the hose with one hand and uses his fingers to crawl along its length and reach a point of it further trapped within the doughy flesh. He gets as deep as he can till his arm is up to his shoulder in ass fat. From there Gordon takes a firm grip of the hose and begins to slowly tug backwards. He hears Ricky groan above him as it drags across his insides once again. When the giant man lets out a sigh of relief Gordon guesses the end of the long nozzle finally exited past his rim. He still gently extracts the rest of it till it's completely free from between Ricky’s gigantic cheeks.

While Gordon was busy doing that Mike began removing his clothes. Tossing his t-shirt to a random corner of the room and shamelessly shucking off his sweats and underwear in one swoop. He kicks them to the side and as he waits for Gordon to finish up Arthur returns to the room with a cart of food in tow.

The older man parks the cart right next to the bed and grabs one of the dishes on top of it. He’s about to hand it off to Ricky when he takes a second to realize the young man’s not really able to feed himself anymore. “Well, guess it’ll be hand feedings from here on out, huh boy?” Arthur comments as he leans over the bed and brings himself and the plate close to Ricky’s face. The enormous man doesn’t vocally reply, instead expectantly opening his mouth for the food in hand. Arthur rolls his eyes at Ricky with a fond smile as he feeds the young the first bite of his meal.

“Okay, you all set?” Gordon asks, regaining Mike's attention from the other men in the room. He stands ready as he spreads a generous dose of lube over a new nozzle that's been attached to the hose.

“Yup,” Mike responds before calling over to Ricky. “You ready to see Daddy get stuffed up?” Ricky manages to pull his attention away from the food being fed to him. His eyes now fixate on Mike, though he still opens his mouth and accepts every spoonful Arthur brings to his lips. 

With an amused chuckle Mike gives Gordon the signal to go ahead. Nodding, the blond comes down to one knee behind Mike. Using one hand to part the ample cheeks in front of him Gordon uses the other to tentatively press the nozzle of the hose against the ring of muscle. Gordon hears the man let out a sigh as he relaxes his muscles to let the head of it begin to invade him. Inch after inch slowly slips in with little resistance till roughly a foot of it is firmly planted inside. When Gordon’s done inserting the hose Mike lets out a shaky breath and leans forward with his hands on one of Ricky’s bed posts for support.

“You good?” Gordon gives one last check, wiggling the tank’s remote in his hands to imply the next step. With a nod from the other man Gordon activates the controls and sets the pump into motion.

The liquid hits Mike a lot sooner than he expected, now realizing most of the hose didn’t have to be filled like when they waited for Ricky. He feels the pressure of it start deep before steadily rising up into his stomach. Reaching full capacity causes the upper portion of his belly to bulge a little. After a second the pressure subsides and just before Mike can let out a relieved sigh it rises again. As Mike becomes accustomed to the cycling pressure he looks down to watch his expanding body.

The external bump of his stomach is quickly hidden under the new layers of fat on his swelling belly. It gradually loses its firm round shape, becoming soft and doughy with a divot forming that splits the bottom of it. His chest slowly loses what little definition it had, turning into full moobs that sit heavily over his stomach.

Mike’s upper arms and thighs take on the new fat much faster than the latter portions of his limbs, giving them a slightly unbalanced look. Every so often he has to adjust them, widening his stance and the angle he holds out his arms. Under his beard his neck starts to bulge out into a chunky ring, straining the movement of his head as he tires looking behind himself.

A couple sets of rolls have developed along his hairy back, respectively connecting around to his belly and chest. The largest spectacle behind him though was his ass. Like his thighs much more of his weight has settled into his ass, giving Mike a very over exaggerated pear shape.

“Okay, I think that’s good,” Mike calls over to Gordon. The blond man gives him a thumbs up and proceeds to turn off the pump. After a few seconds Mike feels the pressure finally subside, allowing him to regain his composure and right himself. The new weight throws him off for a moment but he quickly adjusts and becomes accustomed to it. 

“Now don’t you look handsome,” Arthur compliments as he approaches Mike. His hands roam over all the newly softened flesh of his partner. Feeling up his plump arms and thighs, lifting his full chest and heavy belly. Finally Arthur brings their lips together for a passionate kiss as his hands settle over Mike’s overly doughy rear. Fondling, jiggling, and kneading the malleable mounds to his heart’s content.

“Okay, okay, that’s enough ya horndog,” Mike chuckles as he breaks their kiss and playfully bats Arthur’s hands away. He tries reaching around himself to withdraw the hose, but he can’t quite reach it. His back rolls won’t let him turn like he used to, so the farthest he can grab of his sizable rear is the top cleft of his ass cheeks. “Help me with this thing will ya?” he asks with a nod behind himself.

“Sure thing hon,” Arthur replies with one last peck to the other man’s cheek. 

He steps around Mike and reaches for the hose protruding from his ass but pauses as he grabs it. A devious idea just popped into his head, and he immediately follows through with it. He holds Mike’s hip for leverage and slowly starts removing the invading object. Though when it’s roughly halfway out he promptly reverses its direction. This catches Mike by surprise, making the man let out a soft lewd moan at the sensation. Before he has a chance to respond Arthur proceeds further by subtly shaking the hose, causing its nozzle to wiggle around inside of Mike. The larger man’s legs turn weak from the teasing abuse of his prostate, forcing him to lean against Ricky’s bed again for support. After roughly a minute of this Arthur stops toying with Mike and completely removes the hose.

“Fuckin’... bastard…” Mike laughs through labored breaths. He quickly collects himself again and heads to the half emptied cart beside Ricky to finish off his meal. Though as he walks over he keeps his gaze locked on Arthur, plotting ways of getting even with him. 

“Alrighty, my turn,” Arthur declares over to Gordon as he lifts his shirt up over his head. Stripping further, he pulls the waistband of his pants down past his hips and ass, letting them drop the rest of the way on their own. He steps away from the discarded piece of clothing and bends over against the end of Ricky’s bed. His head lays in his arms while his pudgy belly and chest freely hang below him. With spread legs and his plump rump on full display he gives his ample rear a provocative shake, wiggling it back and forth.

“Shameless as ever,” Mike chuckles under his breath, amused with Arthur's little display. Arthur responds with his own chuckle before turning his head back to Gordon and telling him to go ahead.

Hose ready in hand, Gordon approaches and squats down by Arthur’s ass. Once more parting a sizable pair of cheeks for the pink ring hidden beneath. He gently probes the nozzle against it, easing the head of it to slip through. To Gordon’s surprise though once the tip of it has entered the surrounding muscles begin to coax the equipment deeper inside all on their own. Transfixed, the blond watches as inch after inch of the hose is slowly consumed by the insatiable hole. When it's down to the end of the nozzle Gordon gives the hose a cheeky little tug to let the man know to stop. With the hose secured Gordon takes the remote and sets the pump into motion.

“Ooo baby,” Arthur shivers as he lolls his head to the side, feeling the vaguely warm fluid begin to flood him. The sensation slowly climbs upwards till it hits its limit with his stomach at full capacity. Unfazed by the pressure inside himself Arthur lets out a relaxed sigh as the subtleties of growth begin to show.

Like rising dough every inch of Arthur slowly expands, though his position pools most of it downward. His billowing belly hangs lower and lower from his abdomen with each pulse of fattening fluid that enters him. His upper arms mimic its growth with gravity pulling them down as their volume increases. A good portion of the growth deposits itself into his soft chest. Making Arthur a little more top-heavy as they become exceedingly round and voluptuous.

Surprisingly, his plump ass and hips retain most of their shape. Expanding outwards rather than sagging down, though his legs probably assist that a lot. They’ve become massive pillars of support to hold up those monolithic spheres. Down below them his feet have swollen to develop cankles and the flesh of his calves threaten to overlap them.

His back looks like a developing landscape with all the ridges and rolls of fat that’ve grown along it. The hair across his body has started to become a little more sparse with his expanding flesh. His face begins to plump up too, giving him very chubby cheeks and another chin to frame his goatee.

When his breathing starts to turn labored and his legs begin to wobble from effort is when Arthur finally taps out. “Alright, that’s all I can take,” he concedes with a wave over his shoulder to Gordon. The other man promptly follows through with the request, using the remote to turn off the pump. Gordon kneels back down beside Arthur, waiting to see the shadow of the liquid recede down the hose before he begins to remove it. With a couple teasing wiggles the full length of the instrument is quickly extracted.

Now freed, Arthur begins to feel the weight of his newly enlarged body. With some effort he props his body up with his chunky arms. His tits really catch his attention with how prominently they obscure the view of his belly below them. A soft ‘ooo’ breaks his staring though, when Arthur looks up to see Ricky just as transfixed on his chest as he just was.

“See somethin’ ya like bud?” the older man coyly asks, using his hands up to lift and emphasize his breasts. Ricky gives a mindless nod in return with his encumbered hands twitching in a useless attempt to reach out and grab them. Amused, Arthur decides to take pity on him, lifting himself onto the bed right up to the young man. Now face to face with Arthur’s plump rack Ricky lets out a whine for the remaining distance to be closed.

“Please Papa~,” Ricky whines with a pleading glance up to the older man. Arthur laughs and rolls his eyes at the display, but gives into the plea anyway. 

Leaning forward into Ricky’s massive bulk Arthur envelopes Ricky’s head in his chest. The young man eagerly sniggles in, motorboating the two heavy sacks till his tongue comes out to taste the doughy flesh. After a minute, Arthur adjusts his chest so one of his nipples is right in front of Ricky’s mouth, to which the bed-bound man immediately latches onto. His lips work the sensitive skin around it while his tongue goes wild on its tip. 

Eventually Ricky calms down, content to gently suckle the pair of tits at his own leisure. Arthur relaxes into the moment as well. Tenderly combing his fingers through the young man’s hair and letting out the occasional soft moan as his nipples are played with.

While those two are occupied Mike makes his way around to Gordon who’s gathering up his equipment. “Here, let me help walk ya out,” Mike volunteers as he picks up a portion of the hose that’s at the room’s threshold. The pair work to gather its length through the house till they come to a stop at the front door.

“Well, I sure hope you guys enjoyed your delivery today,” Gordon remarks with a hint of sarcasm. 

“Oh we definitely did,” Mike chuckles. “I’m sure we’ll be shut-ins for the next week or two ‘enjoying’ or delivery,” he adds with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows.

“Good to hear. Also, I might recommend browsing our company’s clothing options,” Gordon cheekily responds with an obvious glance down to Mike’s enlarged figure.

“Yeah that might be a good idea,” Mike concedes, thinking how none of their wardrobes will remotely fit them anymore.

“Anyways, thank you for choosing ‘Build Your Bear’ and have a great rest of your day,” Gordon bids farewell with a tip of his cap as he leaves out the front door.

---

Well it's been roughly a year since my first 'Build Your Bear' story, so I thought it'd be right to follow through with the 'at home' services I eluded to back them. It was fun to revisit this world with a new batch of characters, and I'll definitely be back to it again with some new *holiday themed* ideas.

I'm really surprised how fast I wrote this story out, only took roughly a month and a half. Guess I had a good rhythm for it. Though there was a bit of a struggle in the beginning for solidifying a plot. I knew I wanted these characters, it was just deciding who I wanted to be fattened, how much, and their dynamic between each other. Like I thought of the inverse with three bear employees working together to really fatten up one guy. Another idea was the bears giving themselves over to a benefactor to live out a very pampered blobby life.

Maybe I could explore some of those avenues at a later point, but for now I'm happy with how this one turned out. Anyways, thanks for reading and I hope to post again sooner rather than later.

[chericherilvr]

I bring all the drama - M.L.A

Pairing: Marcus Lopez x fem!Reader

Summary: Being in a secret relationship with Marcus was easy, I mean it still is even after I see Maria flirting with him. After all, I thrive for drama

Reader specifics: Said to have hair, reads romance, fem reader cause they call themselves a cool girl, hinted and pretty much told neurodivergent reader (with autistic and adhd in mind)

Warning: this is so fluff I wanna cry, my humor is broken, probably ooc (like all of them), reader talks to themselves, not proof read like at all

2.1k words hehe

a/n: this is for my pookie @lucifertoxics and my pookie only, if you aren't my pookie you can keep reading it who am I to stop you tbh xx-

He grabbed her hands, a tight embrace resembling those of sweet love stories. "I love you," he whispered melting inside her eyes. "I love you," she replied whising to whoever was listening for this moment to never end.

"When are you going to finally find a boyfriend and stop reading those books?" It's in times like this I thank that the school I'm in. He looks so killable, maybe could use him to ace Mr. Denke's class. I nod to myself as I stare at Billy my eyes narrowing, (i) Why do the school rules imply you can't kill any other student? I let myself roll my eyes, he's a lucky bastard. "How about you find yourself one and let me read in peace? Please and thank you" I smile at him turning back to my book. The chair creeks as he sits pointing out just how much care they added into the library. "I mean it," Billy whispers leaning on the table, "I'm not calling you a lonely loser, but that's exactly what I'm calling you" Would I be too mean if I laugh at him? I shrug and let myself snort at his suggestion, Billy grabs my book out of my hands and throws it far on the table, out of my reach. Can't a girl just enjoy their free time for once? I turn to look at him. "Okay, I'm listening" He grins at my words choosing to ignore the annoyed tone that they came out with.

"Just don't want you throwing away your romantic life cause you prefer spending it with people who don't exist" I smirk, if he only knew, my heart beats quick, I try to ignore the burning feeling, we said to keep it secret "They are real" I chuckle at his stare, snickering trying to not burst out laughing I keep talking "they are real to mee" I slap my hand to my mouth if I'm going to laugh at least I will try to not be so loud for the library. "You're helpless" I follow Billy with my eyes trying to calm down from the big laugh, my tingles hurting from laughing too much. "Oh man if he only knew" I wipe a tear shaking my head, and standing up from my chair. Man, I really needed a good laugh. Look around the room, look around the room. I shift around for a bit trying to not act eager, and as a cartoon movie I slowly walk out the library, yes I am skipping so what?

Truth be told, Billy was far from the truth. Don't get me wrong, I love my fictional boyfriends, but I would never choose them over my fluffy ball of chaos and depression, Marcus, my boyfriend. I giggle when I think of him quickly wiping a face in front of my face to turn my expression into a more neutral one. Cool girl y/n, cool girl. Omg I could maybe start a band and get a bike? That's pretty cool girl style, right? I usually tend to get lost in my own thoughts, and I wonder how people saw me, I mean I was litterally just skipping down the hall my eyes unfocoused and looking around the walls, incohearent mumbles bouncing around me. Oh fuck I must look crazy to them. I shrug, eh who cares.

I'm not aware of how long it took me to reach the spot, our spot. Sure it was a big rock laying around but seeing it makes my stomach jumping with butterflies. I would totally twirl my hair and kick my feet with a giggle if it wasn't for what I saw. "What the actual fuck" I blink a couple times, Marcus sitting on our spot with a smiling Maria standing next to him. I mean, it's a public space, it's not like they're together locked up in a room, but why was she raising her hand to brush his hair back. Girl I get it, but his hair wasn't even messed up, why would someone even? Oh. Everything stops, and by everything I mean me, who was still aproaching them. Oh fuck she's flirting with him. I would tell you everything I thought in that moment, but I would be lying if I didn't say my brain was racing so fast not even I caught most of it. Yet I can explain how my body tenses, fingers tapping each other, the sun that suddenly looked brighter, the wind on the grass, the birds chirping, it's too much, their breaths, oh wait no, my breath, the one I can't control right now. I force myself to look at him, and I'm met with silence.

A peaceful silence that wraps around my body massaging the tension out of it. A comfort silence that fills my heart back to life. I've never been so happy to see my boyfriend's face filled with disgust. My boyfriend. As if a button was pressed my human body reacts again, walking back towards them. Towards our spot. It takes all strength within me to not laugh when Marcus pushes Maria's hand when she tries to touch him again. "Hi" They turn to look at my smiling face, and I'm sure I must have also pressed a button in Marcus cause he looks like he's about to call me his saviour. I'll tease him for that later, I could get some extra cuddles. Do I want to be mean? I mean Maria is kind of my friend as well, and my relationship with Marcus has been kept secret since it started. But a bit of teasing can't hurt, can it?

I savour every second every slow milimeter that I move my head to look at Maria as if it was sweet candy. My eyes widden in surprise and I make sure to pull the best smile I could muster. "Omg Maria you're here too!" I cheer giving her a tight hug giggling. "I swear I didn't even saw you, how's everything?" She frowns a bit looking side to side, but there's no camaras filming you, bestie, this is all real. I grab Marcus hand rubbing my thumb along it giving him a quick kiss on his cheek and a lovesick smile before turning back to look at Maria, head tilting as I wait for her answer. Fuck am I a bad person for enjoying her shocked face right now? I mean I'm training to kill people, but that's a whole different story, right? "What the fuck?" I chuckle when she speaks, covering my mouth with my hand. "Fuck did I messed up languages again? It's hard sometimes to realize" And I swear to God, I deserve to get a grammy for the self-pitying face I'm doing right now, I whine a bit selling the act, "I asked how you were doing, we haven't seen each other since thursday back in class" I smile at her leaning a bit closer to Marcus but not really whispering to ask him "That was in english, right?" He nods at me trying to hold his laugh when he sees my worried face, I sigh in relief looking back at Maria.

"I've been good," aaah, the sweet taste of confusion, "sorry it's just," she pauses again proably trying to understand what was going on, I'll give her that, she does look like gears are turning in her head to think right now, "it's just, are you two together?" Maria points at us, I gasp out in pure shock. Damn someone should just cast me already for a telenovela. "Oh my god!" I exclaim dropping Marcus' hand, "fuck babe I'm sorry I forgot we were keeping it a secret" I cover my face and groan, "fuck I'm sorry"

Cheeky bastard decides to finally speak, grabbing my hands out of my face and pulls me to stand in front of him. Fuck you Marcus Lopez Arguello, now I'm going to blush because of you. I melt when he cups my face into his hands and chuckles shifting his mouth into a smirk. "It's okay Love, it was bound to be known someday, it's not your fault" He ruffles my hair and if it weren't cause I'm in my acting era I would have already glared at him for daring to mess with my hairstyle. "I'll get-" Maria doesn't even finish her words before she darts out towards the main building, and I can't help but wonder if she felt bad for flirting with someone taken (which has never stopped her before) or if she was already telling everyone in school (which if I'm honest, it's what I think was happening) I giggle once she's out of sight turning back to face Marcus.

"Don't look at me like that" I allow myself to glare him this time, if I ignore my hear begging to kiss him I can act mad at him right? "Like what?" "With a big smile, it makes you look too cute, not fair, making me want to kiss you and everything. Also how dare you!" I exclaim, I migh not be an actress, but I am dramatic, I try to make my hair look good again, "I come in here, looking cute as fuck, my hair giving everything it needs to give, and you go and ruffle it that's not fair like-" This motherfucker kisses me.

I mean who am I to reject a kiss from him? Specially when he still tastes like today's desert we had for lunch, now I want icecream again. I love when he kisses me, but I hate how he knews how much it affects me. I surrender to him, not being able to pull away, not wanting to pull away. He quiets down my brain, so much it's concerning, each time after my brain powers on post-Marcus effect, I consider calling my psychiatrist to test him, this can't be human, he can't be real, am I going crazy or does he share the same effects my pills do. Don't tell this to my psychiatrist, but his effect works even better, it might not help me concentrate but I love the quiet silence that fills my brain. He pulls away, and I add it to another reason as to why I hate Marcus; He's so perfect, and I'm so desperate for him.

"You're hot when you're jealous" It takes me a couple seconds to react to his words, I was being for real, post-Marcus effect lingers for a bit before I regain control of myself. "I wouldn't call it jealousy" He rolls his eyes smiling, licking the corner of his mouth and I just know it's cause of his ego being filled up, he raises an eyebrow challenging me to explain myself. I start speaking a couple of times trying to defend myself, but pause before a single word can come out. I throw my head back groaning before dropping it on his shoulder, burrying myself in his shirt, relaxing at his sweet smell. "Okay, I was jealous, but I don't think it quite was that" He humms and I giggle when I feel his neck vibrate to produce the sound, "my head was turn between wanting to run away and cry, and the other part was begging me, screaming at me to just punch her away from you" I raise my head just as he rubs my waist up and down, shivering when it got a bit too low, curse the tickles. He looks into my eyes, but doesn't force mines to be on his, he knows I'm listening. "Love, you know how much I love you, right?" His voice is so soft it could put a baby to sleep, I adore it.

"You're amazing, you're sweet," he kisses my forhead, "you're funny" he kisses the tip of my nose, "you're a pure soul trapped in a hellhole" I chuckle even with my eyes slightly watering, he keeps going, "you're so loving, you're so lovable, you're so much that fuck if it wasn't cause I really, really, want to say something else, I could be here all day. You're enough" he kisses my lips, I taste my tears. "how did you know?" I plead him, he ruffles my hair. "that you were feeling insecure? Cause I'm the best boyfriend ever" I can't argue with that, I think to myself as he kisses me again after a soft laugh.

He grabs my hands, a tight embrace resembling those of sweet love stories. "I love you," he whisps melting inside my eyes. "I love you," I reply whising to whoever was listening for this moment to never end.

"YOU FUCKING BITCH HOW DARE YOU NOT TELL ME-?!" Billy shouts.

[gisele0127]

Hi ! Can I request a nagi x reader oneshot in which they’re playing horror games plssss

Notes: Hi yes of course! It’s a little rushed at the end but i hope it’s okay! not proof read sorry :(

Scared to death • nagi x reader

you and nagi are currently playing video games on roblox at his house. reo was there earlier but left because he had to go study for history or something. you weren’t really paying attention because then again you were playing on your phone. nagi loves playing video games together, you even convinced him to play royale high once. you and reo were never really into video games until you both met nagi. but now you and nagi have arcade dates, and even dates on random roblox servers while the two of you facetime. on this particular night you two happen to be playing something scary, since right before you guys were watching a scary movie. so why not continue the horror theme tonight?

ミ★ 1:54am - you both have school in the morning yet here you two are still going at it. nagi is so into the game that when a jumpscare comes on your usually calm and collected boyfriend screams out bloody murder. it snaps you back to reality and here you are about to piss your pants from laughing so hard. nagi just rolls his eyes and pouts saying “this is why you’re supposed to go first not me”. you laugh even more at how nagi is just a big baby. you can’t wait to tell reo later and both tease him about it in the morning. you both get back into the game and you are in front, per nagis request.

ミ★ 3:08am - you and nagi are still playing video games, but you’re terrified. so you finally tell him that you’ve had enough and you’re starting to feel a little tired. “sei im a little tired I think I might go home” nagi looks at you confused and hurt by your confession. “not at this time you’re not. you’re asking to get kidnapped.” you finally look at the time and that’s when you shriek. “It’s 3 in the morning?!” “yup” “and you knew?!” “yup” “we have school in a couple of hours” “yup”. you wanted to slap your boyfriend so hard until you heard a creek come from down the hall of nagis apartment. “sei I thought you lived alone” “I thought so too” gosh sometimes your boyfriend was too annoying. “maybe you should make sure just in case” “hmm no sounds like a hassle” you hear another noise come from the hallway, and that’s it you’re freaked tf out. You run to nagi who’s been laying on his bed and jump on him. he lets out a loud “oof” in response. “hey what was that for!?” “if I’m about to get murdered I want to at least die in your arms so we can stay together forever 😍🤞”. nagi looks at you annoyed, “I’m sure no one is here maybe that game is making you go mental. you know it’s clinically proven that cuddles can cure the insane”. now it’s your turn to look annoyed but that quickly goes away when you see a figure at the entrance of his doorway. you quickly put your head down under the covers and nagi looks at you confused until he sees what you just saw. “WHAT THE FUCK TAKE HER NOT ME” nagi pushes you closer to the intruder until the lights switch on.

Reo.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” you both say in union. “what am I doing here? what are you doing here y/n? do your parents know you’re out here making babies past curfew?” you could pass out from how scared you were until you realize two things. nagi pushed you towards the murderer and your parents are definitely pissed. eh you’ll worry about the second part in the morning. you get off of nagi pissed that your boyfriend could do such a thing. and that’s when nagi asks “what are you doing here at 3 in the morning?” “oh. I wanted to cosplay middle class. I had a nightmare and wanted to experience it first hand”. that’s reo for you.

ミ★ 4:12 am - reos sleeping on the floor while you and nagi are on his bed. you’re still mad from earlier until nagi moves a piece of your hair from your face. “you’re cute when you’re scared.” “yea and you’re cuter when you’re not sacrificing your girlfriend.” nagi rolls his eyes and pulls you closer.

“I’ll make it up to you, love”

[headchefshcs]

BRANCH X READER X CREEK SPITROASTING PLEASE I NEED🙏🙏

Two is better than one // Rock! Branch/Creek/Reader

Creek joins you and gets turned into Branches new pop s1ut

NSFW undercut Minors DNI, They/Them pronouns used

This HC post also references my last HC post

I’ve had these Zombie Rock Brach HC for a bit so I’m gonna use them for this ask :))

There were a few non rock trolls that survived the Rock Apocalypse and hadn’t turned into Rock Zombies, it was common for Rock scouts to find and capture and given to Queen Barb so she could turn them into Rock Zombies. The most recent capture was a pop troll. While this wasn’t out of the ordinary for captured trolls, the troll who was captured was. As he’s brought before Queen Bard there was a small group of Rock Trolls and Zombies watching. Just as Barb was lifting her guitar an voice rang from the side.

“No fucking way is that Creek? Now hold on Bard.” A voice calls from behind Bard. Branch was sitting in a couch off to the side of where Barb was standing, he has his arms lazily draped over the top of the couch with one of his hands clutching a leash, on the other end was you, who was mindless humped his leg too horny to care about the current situation. “Why don’t you give him to he, eh Barb? This Jackass has been nothing but a dick for the longest time and I think he’d be fun to break, plus I could always use another pet.” He says jerking your leash upward, causing you to moan at the unexpected pressure on you neck. “Eh sure why not, it’d be fun to have another pop slut around here” Bard says as she’s handed a collar from another Rock troll. “I’m sure you’ll fit right in…”

It takes about a week for Creeks once smug ass look is wiped off his face as he finally submits to Branch, always begging for him to let him cum and to please him. Both of you begging for your masters cock while he’s just sitting in a chair or something. He’s loves ignoring you both of you and watching you two fight each other over who gets to use his dick first. When your two are both getting along you two sucking and licking Branches dick, all while trying to get yourself off.

Branch absolutely loves how much of a whore creek has become, looks so empty minded and only craving him. He loves teasing him “awww what ever happened to that smug asshole hmmm, oh that’s right I fucked all of that bout of you” “I want everyone to see how much of a fucking slut you’ve become”. He also has a collar that matches yours and if didn’t before tongue and nipple piercings. He’d also make Creek get a womb tattoo despite the fact he doesnt even have one. Which Creek obviously doesn’t mind getting, anything for his master Branch.

Branch loves to make you and Creek fuck each other while he watches, calling you both whores and sluts who are desperate you two are. Usually during these you and Creek fuck like wild animals desperately trying to feel some type of sensation you both get when Branch is fucking your. You two both moan branches name when you guys get each other off with Creek also moaning at the sound of him being called a whore, with every once and a while whimpering “Yes master I’m your lil whore…”

Maybe if there were a few other pop troll survivors you best believe if they were ever caught they would be joining you and Creek with pleasing your master.

//Sorry this is really short, I definitely want to write more but there are a ton of asks and I really wanted to share these hcs I had already made :))

[happilysmythe]

❥ 𝙨𝙝𝙪𝙩 𝙪𝙥 𝙖𝙣𝙙 𝙙𝙧𝙞𝙫𝙚

trent frederic.

word count: 3.6k

warning: explicit content

"got a ride that's smoother than a limousine" — rihanna

A/N: this fic was anonymously requested, but i already knew i was going to write it anyway lol. i hope you all enjoy...happy reading!

- - -

It isn’t every day that you get the privilege of watching your boyfriend win an award in front of a 19,000-person crowd.

So when Trent won NESN’s 7th Player Award, you couldn’t contain your happiness in the small space of your apartment’s living room. You’d tried to reassure him countless times that he’d win, but he was undoubtedly the most self-deprecating person you knew, so it didn’t come to any avail. Now, however, you were proved right, and you wanted to properly congratulate him in the way he liked best.

So you hopped up from the sofa and ran to your room, rummaging through the back of your half of the closet until your fingertips came into contact with the familiar fabric of a hockey jersey. You reached for the hanger and yanked the jersey from its confines, allowing the light to shine against it, revealing its black color and sleek, white lettering on the back that read FREDERIC, with the number 11 stitched just below it.

You’d bought it a few weeks prior and had been hiding it in the back of the closet, waiting for the perfect opportunity to reveal it to him. This would be that opportunity, and you knew better than to pass it up.

You rid yourself of the T-shirt and sweatpants you had been wearing, tossing them promptly into the hamper that sat against the wall. Then, you grabbed the jersey and slipped it on, allowing it to fall and stop just in line with your waist, just high enough to reveal the lack of proper clothing below it, but low enough that it grazed the top of your thigh.

You left your hair clipped up and walked back out into the living room, turning off all lights, the only source now being the fireplace as it exerted a warm orange hue into the room. You sat comfortably on the couch scrolling mindlessly through your phone, and that was how you spent the next ten, fifteen, twenty minutes waiting for Trent.

Finally, the familiar creek of the door sounded, diverting your attention from your phone to the entryway. Your head snapped up, eyes immediately trained on the dark green suit he donned after the game as he dropped his bag and locked the door. He turned around, head tilting and a grin shaping his lips as he caught sight of you sitting quietly on the couch before him. You stood slowly, watching him walk toward you, finally opening his mouth to speak softly.

“Been waiting for me, eh?”

A faint bout of laughter escaped your lips as you placed your hands on your hips. “Am I that predictable?”

“A little,” he scrunched his nose. His eyes raked your frame, brows knitting as they finally noticed the jersey. His hand reached up to tug gently at the fabric on your arm. “This new?”

“Maybe.”

You turned your body around, giving him the full view of his name stitched across your back. Large hands wrapped around your arms, the feeling all-too-familiar as his head dipped down, lips brushing the skin of your ear.

“Beautiful,” he rasped quietly, gently pressing his lips to the side of your head. To his dismay, your hand rose, fingers tugging at the beanie covering his head until it no longer did so, then tossed it to the floor.

“Hey,” he pouted, “careful with that.”

You giggled softly as he turned you back around, chests now flush against one another. “Sorry,” you teased, leaning up to kiss the tip of his nose. “I prefer to see the curls that my boyfriend has been so graciously growing out for me,” you winked. 

“And you’re lucky,” he reminded you, hands snaking around to the small of your back. “This is the best you’re gonna get. I’m not having a repeat of a few years ago.”

“Too long,” you joked, then lowered your voice to a near whisper. “This,” you started, fingers twirling around a strand at the back of his head, “is perfect.”

“Good.”

He leaned down and kissed you gently, hands firm on your back as they pulled you closer.

“I’m proud of you,” you hummed against his lips, a smile tugging at yours. “I knew you’d win.”

“I know. You must have told me a thousand times,” he joked, eyes flitting down as they noticed your hand beginning to loosen his tie. “What’re you doing?”

“Celebrating,” you promptly replied before continuing to untie it, the fabric soon becoming loose around his neck.

“Well, then,” he laughed, “don’t let me stop you.”

You grinned and tugged at the fabric gently, pulling him down and forcing his lips to yours. His hands came up and removed yours from the tie, then pulled it off and grabbed the lapels of his suit jacket, yanking it off and tossing it to the side with his hat. He then unclipped your hair, eyes watching as the strands cascaded down your shoulders and stopped just above the stitched letters on your back. 

It wasn’t long before your fingers were working at the buttons on his collared shirt, quickly making their way down as you felt his tongue slip between your parted lips. The shirt fell open as the last button came undone, revealing his figure underneath, along with the chain that he knew drove you positively nuts every time you saw it. Even on game days, he wore it, precisely for that purpose.

And to toy with you.

He finally took a step to the side, pivoting to face his back toward the couch, then removed his hands from your body for just a moment as he sat down. He looked up at you with an expression that silently told you to join him, and you did, leaning down and straddling yourself in his lap.

“Good way to congratulate you?” you teased, a grin stretching across your face.

“Perfect,” he scrunched his nose.

“Can’t tell you I’ll celebrate you properly if you win and then go back on my word, right?”

He leaned up and kissed a path along your jawline, then whispered against your skin, “Right.”

His calloused hands returned to your sides once more, now slipping under the fabric of your jersey and coming into contact with the bare, warm skin on your waist. They lightly ran along the sides of your upper half, and to your surprise found themselves stopped atop the cotton material of your underwear that just so happened to be growing increasingly damp. And though he couldn’t see that, he knew.

“God, I love that color on you,” you groaned, referring to the green of the suit he wore.

“Mm,” he hummed, a cocky expression lining his face. “And you look hot with that jersey on.”

You shifted slightly, now sitting firmly on his thick thigh as your hands moved slowly up his midsection. His shirt remained open, exposing his toned upper half to your hungry, wandering eyes, which were now fixated on the silver of his chain once again. Your hands finally reached his shoulders, one trailing up his neck and back into his curls. Trent lifted his leg, immediately putting pressure against the area you needed him most, knowing that it wouldn’t give you near enough satisfaction that you so desperately craved.

So you carefully moved your hips, trying your best to relieve yourself even just slightly. The ache between your thighs only lessened by a small degree, but it was enough to draw soft whimpers from your parted lips, the noise filling Trent’s ears like a melody tailor-made just for him. And boy, did he love it.

“Trent,” you groaned, lower lip sticking out as he let up the pressure with his leg.

But it didn’t last for long. He loved watching your face contort with pleasure, especially when the only movement he had to make was to push his leg between yours. Even then, you were doing most of the work, and watching you get off on just his thigh scratched an itch deep within his mind.

“You want it back?”

“Yes,” you practically demanded, voice whiny as your eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, Trent, please.”

His lips stretched into a smirk and he pushed his leg back up, putting the pressure back between your legs as you slowly, painfully rode his thigh. A hand slipped out from under the heavy fabric and cupped your cheek, your thumb brushing against the skin as you carefully moved your hips.

“Gonna get my suit all dirty,” he laughed, his leg moving in a steady rhythm with your hips.

“Washing machine,” you muttered, leaning toward him as he pulled you down, pressing his lips to yours. His tongue was in your mouth again, grazing your teeth lightly before tangling with yours.

Before you could second-guess it, you removed a hand from the shoulder it was on and reached down between you, fingers searching for the metal buckle of his belt and carefully working it. Soon, you were pulling it out of the loops on his pants, then discarding it to the floor amongst the others.

He didn’t protest as you began to unzip them; he was too focused on the feeling of your hips still moving on his thigh, your other hand tangled in his hair. Finally, you managed to pull the fabric apart, revealing his boxers underneath. 

He pulled away gently, a grin still shaping his lips as he looked up at you. “Enjoying yourself, mm?”

“I was until you started talking,” you teased with a curt roll of your eyes.

“You have a smart mouth, you know that?” he shook his head, white teeth on display as he chuckled.

“You wanna see what else it can do?” 

He nodded softly, tongue in his cheek as he did so, the smirk still shaping his lips. “You wanna show me?”

Without another word, you swung your leg around, maneuvering yourself between his thighs as you sank down to your knees in front of him. He sat up and tossed away his shirt, then inched closer to the edge of the couch, and by association, you.

The breath he released as your fingers hooked in his waistband likely would’ve been mistaken for a moan. You barely paid it any mind, however, as you pulled the fabric down just slightly, finally releasing him, his pants soon becoming discarded to the floor below you. You were quick to wrap your fingers around the length of his cock, the tips of your fingers just barely brushing against one another as you pumped him slowly.

A trail of spit left your lips and slowly ran down the side, soon spreading over the warm flesh as it served its purpose, lubricating the underside of your hand. Trent groaned deeply at the contact, compressing his lips as he pulled them between his teeth, a sharp breath exiting his nose.

Finally, you lowered your head and pressed a kiss to the tip of his cock, collecting the small amount of precum along your lips, a thin layer glossing them over. You then took the head into your mouth, wrapping your lips around the tense skin and letting your teeth graze it lightly. 

“Fuck,” he rasped, a hand finally snaking into your hair and pulling the strands into a ponytail. 

At this, you took more of him, letting him slowly fill your mouth. You released him for a moment, tongue licking a straight path up the underside before wrapping your lips around him again, taking as much as your mouth would allow until he just barely grazed the back of your throat.

Your hand remained firm around the part you couldn’t fit, continuing to pump it slowly as his hand guided your head up and down. Your name seemed to have left his mouth more times than you’d heard in the last week, his voice a rasp that made you weak every time.

“God, you’re so pretty on your knees,” he finally choked out, the words coming out almost as a whine. The sound of curses leaving his mouth mixed with your name as he repeated it weakly.

There was nothing that he loved more than the feeling of your warm mouth wrapped around him, taking every last inch that you were able, looking up at him through your lashes as you worked his strained cock to its release. His hand forced your head down, fingers growing tight in your hair as he set your pace, and you allowed it, letting him take full control.

You breathed sharply through your nose, your small whimpers humming against his warm flesh and finally, you began to feel him tip over the edge.

You pulled back, releasing him just slightly to allow for more room in your mouth as he came, coating the inside thoroughly with the white liquid. Immediately, his taste was all over, continuing to spill out and down your throat smoothly.

Finally, you slowly slipped him out of your mouth, pressing one final kiss to his tip before rising back up and leveling your face with his. He released your hair, sliding the hand under your chin to inch your face closer. His thumb grazed the outer corner of your mouth, collecting the remainder of himself on it, then pressed itself between your lips. Your tongue slipped out, licking the pad of his thumb clean before he dragged it slowly down your lip.

“Mm,” you softly hummed, a grin shaping your lips. “You taste so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

He softly pressed his lips to yours, then lowered his voice to a near whisper. “Turn around,” he instructed, removing his hands from your body to allow the movement. At his word, you nodded and turned your body around, back facing him as you sat back, sinking into his lap.

A hand slipped under your jersey and flattened its palm against your stomach, fingers pressing into the warm skin as the other moved to the fabric of your underwear. His finger hooked inside the waistband, pulling the fabric down slowly, and you lifted your hips, allowing it to slip off and hit the floor.

The pads of his fingers returned to your skin, pressing gently against the sensitive area. You whimpered softly as they began to skillfully rub circles against your clit, the other hand moving up to your head and gently urging your head back onto his shoulder.

“Fuck, Tr—”

“Shh,” he cooed, slowly slipping two fingers into you, curling them together before pulling them out. He repeated that same process, gradually picking up the pace, thumb still working the area above it as he moved.

Gently, he brushed your hair back with his other hand, then kissed your forehead. Moans spilled from your parted lips, your hips rolling into his hand as they tried to create more friction, to make his fingers hit just the right spot each time they pushed in.

You snaked your arm up and wrapped it around his neck, hand palming the back of his head, his curls between your fingers. Your flattened palm pushed his head toward you, forcing his mouth down to yours. He responded immediately, kissing you fervently as his mouth swallowed your moans.

The noises you continued making were quick to get him going once again, because, if there was one thing that he never failed to get off on, it was the sound of the moans that he caused; that he was able to pry from your throat with just his fingers or his mouth, or even just from his thigh like earlier. And when you pulled away, allowing the weak repetitions of his name to slip through your lips again, he didn’t silence you like before.

His fingers kept relentlessly moving in and out of you, thumb still working your clit as it coaxed more chants of his name from your throat as if it were the only word left in your vocabulary. It was then that he felt you tightening around his fingers, still rolling your hips as the familiar pit he often brought to your stomach returned. You adjusted yourself, sitting up slightly to make him hit the spot you needed them to most, whimpering deeply as he brought you to your release.

You came apart around his fingers, grabbing onto him tightly as you rode the high out, your eyes squeezed tightly shut. His fingers continued to fuck you dumb with pleasure, the added warmth of the fire in front of you causing beads of sweat to form atop your skin. You felt Trent’s hair dampening under your fingers as your damp palm transferred the moisture to his strands.

“That’s it,” he coached, fingers brushing your hair to the side, giving him access to your neck for his lips to plant a kiss atop the skin.

You finally stilled for a moment, breathing deeply as he lifted his fingers to his mouth. You watched him rid them of what you left behind, then smile down at you.

The expression that you gave him as you looked up silently told him that you wanted more, and he sat you up in his lap, his eyes becoming about level with your shoulders. 

His hands slipped under the fabric of your jersey and pulled it over your head, leaving you completely bare and placing it on the other side of the couch. “As much as I love seeing my name on your back,” he started with a rasp, kissing your bare shoulder, “it’s easier this way.”

You nodded in response, stabilizing yourself as his hand reached down and lined himself up, then pushed just the tip inside. You swallowed thickly from the sensation at first, but you quickly adjusted before lowering yourself the rest of the way, fully sinking into his lap. 

His hands returned to your sides and you quickly felt the pads of his fingers digging into your skin. Your own placed themselves atop them, holding his hands in their spots as you began to move your hips, finally starting to get him, and yourself, off. A throaty, low groan exited his lips, his hands kneading your sides as they gave you support.

Your legs had weakened after being spread open for so long, and the feeling of him pushing himself up into you surely didn’t help. Your eyes quickly screwed shut, lips parted as they exhaled heavy breaths while your body adjusted to him for what seemed like the thousandth time, yet you couldn’t get enough of it. The discomfort only lasted for a moment before he felt just as he always did when he was buried inside of you—perfect.

He was big—so big—and you always told him so. How could you not when he filled you so perfectly, his wide cock having reached places no man had ever previously been able? And the payoff was oh, so rewarding every single time you reminded him, without fail. He’d dedicate more attention to every thrust, every touch, every word—each simple movement, making sure you felt every last inch of him.

And you did.

So this time was no different when you muttered subconsciously about his size, practically moaning the words as they slipped past your lips. Large hands roamed your upper half, trailing up to your chest and kneading the sensitive flesh, drawing strained whimpers of his name once again.

Your back arched off of him as you moved your hips in a steady rhythm with his, his palms still cupping your chest before sliding back down. This time one hand slipped past your waist and continued down, using its fingers to rub your clit again.

“Fuck, Trent,” you sighed, brushing your hair back as he leaned up and kissed your bare shoulder, trailing a path up to your neck and back down. You were a mess; because that’s what he made you.

“I wanna see you,” he drawled, bringing his lips closer to your ear. “Turn around.”

At his word, you lifted yourself, his hands falling to his sides momentarily as you turned to face him again. You wasted no time in sinking back down onto him, feeling him fill you up again as you ground into his lap, your hands lowering to his shoulders. He brought his own down to your ass, massaging the flesh as he guided your movements.

Once again, Trent brought you closer to the edge, his eyes fixated on your face as pleasure laced your expression. He slid his hands up and pulled you down, kissing you hungrily, urging you to let go.

So you did, letting out an elongated sigh of his name as you shattered around him again, this time bringing him along with you. Your thighs trembled as you felt him coating your inner stomach with his release, the sight of sweat lining his face and dripping from his curls making you even weaker than you already were.

Finally, your body stilled, relaxing deeply into his. The only noises filling the room were the sound of the crackling fire mixed with the breaths he and you let out, chests rising and falling. Your fingers pressed into the skin on his shoulders, gripping him tightly to grant yourself the much-needed support. He leaned up and pressed a chaste kiss to your lips.

“I’m not moving from here,” he joked, a faint smile shaping his lips.

“Neither am I.”

He helped you lift yourself off of him, then moved his body to lie flat across the couch. You grabbed the blanket nearest to you and laid down next to him, draping it over his and your bodies as you pressed your back to his chest, nuzzling into him. His arm snaked around your waist, his flattened hand finding purchase on your stomach, pulling you into him. The cold metal of his chain, in large contrast to the warmth that still radiated from the fire in front of you, pressed into your back.

You turned your head slightly, just enough to be able to see him looking down at you, then smiled faintly and whispered,

“Congratulations, Trent.”

[fortunesque]

WIP Wednesday- Vector

So, here's a brief bit of the first chapter of Vector. I don't know when I'm going to finish it because the end is just... ugh. I feel like I have to microdose writing this one lol. When I do post it, I think I'll post all 3 parts at once.

I think this will give folks a general idea of what's happening and if they will want to read it when I post it. I totally understand if some folks give this one a skip.

Content warning: violence and animal death

I'll put the snippet under a cut, just in case.

Raditz finally grabbed his attacker and yanked it off of his neck. He held furry creature at arm's length and watched as it snarled and did its damnedest to shred his arms to pieces.

"You are one crazy-ass little dude," he laughed. "Absolutely foaming at the mouth to get at me. Well, you picked on the wrong guy."

Without preamble, he put his hand on the creature's head, earning a few more bites to his hand in the process. He quickly snapped the poor bastard's neck before it had the chance to make him want to be cruel to it. Raditz then examined it more closely.

It was a cute, chubby little thing with a thick pelt of mostly gray fur. There were some black patches around its eyes, on its paws, and a few rings around its bushy tail.

Raditz frowned and looked at the animal's mouth. It was absolutely dripping with saliva. Venom, perhaps?

He gave the mouth a little sniff and shrugged. Seemed like normal spit to him. He dipped his finger in it and gave it a taste, for extra measure. Raditz had his anti-venom auto-injector in his left flank guard pocket, so it wasn't like it was a huge risk. He just needed to know if he should use it immediately.

Yep. Regular spit, at least, around the taste of his own blood. Sonofabitch really went for him.

Well, he was hungry, and lunch basically dropped out of a tree right onto his face. It bit the shit out of the back of his neck and scratched up his jaw, but Raditz was a Saiyan and made of tough stuff.

It was just a flesh wound.

He finished his goddamn piss, then pressed the comm button on his scouter and went about skinning the ornery critter.

"This crazy little animal just went at me," he chuckled. "The size of my boot, maybe. Cute little mammal; maybe a feral pet. Dropped off a tree right onto my head while I was pissing and scratched and bit me up real good, for a little guy. All over my neck, a little at the jaw. Thankfully, he missed my most beautiful face."

A snort of laughter came through the scouter.

"Sounds like lunch just dropped in on ya," Nappa chuckled.

"Damn right it did," Raditz laughed. "I'll honor his sacrifice and use him to feed this war machine."

"Let me know if it tastes good," Vegeta spat. "These bugs are disgusting."

"Absolutely, Your Highness."

With that, Raditz politely muted his comm to keep the munching noises out of their ears.

He ate the animal raw, as nature intended for a Saiyan to do. He ate all of it but the fur, pretty tail, lungs, paws, and digestive tract. The spine had a nice crunch. The brain was— eh. It was as brains tended to be.

When he was finished, he licked the blood and saliva off of his fingers, then stripped to rinse himself in a nearby creek. The scouter stayed on, though; always did.

Raditz unmuted his comm.

"Just finished," he said. "Was basically a snack. But it tasted fine. Better than a bug. Seemed like it was an omnivore of some sort— had claws and sharp teeth, but its front paws were hand-like. With how green it is around here, I'm shocked that it thought it was a good idea to go for me."

"Probably had pups nearby," Vegeta intoned.

"Good point," Raditz said. "I'll look for those and pop 'em in my mouth real quick."

It would be a mercy killing, really. In all his years destroying planets, he never saw a young mammal pup that wasn't defenseless.

He wandered around the clearing and sniffed everywhere he could think; in the brush, underneath piles of leaves and sticks, in the hollows of trees, and even up in the tree where the thing got the drop on him.

There was not a thing around.

He commed back in.

"Ain't found shit," he said. "Hah! Wouldn't it be funny if the little thing was sent to kill me? Imagine, a planet full of biting, spitty little furballs."

Nappa and Vegeta both laughed on the other end.

"Don't go native, now," Nappa cackled. "Don't need you running around, chasing tail and biting more than you already do."

[theredofoctober]

Shingleback— A Wolf Creek Darkfic

Mick Taylor x Virgin Female Reader

Synopsis: A road trip to visit relatives ends abruptly when Mick Taylor crosses your path

Trigger/Content Warnings: non con, violence, death (not reader)

Read after the cut

-

Smoke in your lungs, your mouth, in the porcelain shard of sky you see through the one eye not shut with blood. The air reeks of engine oil and char, and blackened flesh.

Someone is surely dead in the wreckage of the car, and you are not yet sure that it’s not you.

Footsteps, crunching through glass and stones. A whistle in the quiet.

Someone crouches over you at the side of the road, blinding you in a black trough of shadow.

“Fuck me,” he says. “Still breathin’. Ya got lucky. Your fella’s a goner, sweetheart.”

Fella.

Your father. He had been at the wheel, championing a road trip to visit obscure relatives, whom you’d never met, nor particularly cared to.

The drive had been harsh, all stark light and barren road.

Dread was in the yellow of the horizon. The air had hissed with its song.

“I don’t want to go,” you’d said. “I don’t know these people. It’s not like I’m a kid anymore. It’ll be weird.”

“Ah, it’ll be fine,” your father had replied, falsely jolly, consulting a map. “They’re all solid blokes. What are you worrying for?”

You rested your brow against the windowpane, soothing the beginnings of an ache.

“Just don’t feel like going. Can’t help worrying about Mom.”

The drive had continued in silence, for a time. Neither of you had wanted to reach for the radio.

“Yeah,” you father had said, at last. “Same here. But there’s no point stewing at home waiting for her, eh?”

You’d begun to answer, your words blown away in a gale of events.

Something had taken out a back wheel, then a front one. There had been something up ahead— a sign, you’d thought, and then the vehicle had been through it and over it and on its back, and burning.

You’d come loose from the car like a coin from a threadbare pocket, and now you’re lying in the silhouette of a man that smells like sweat and gunfire.

“Let’s have a look at you, then,” he says.

His voice is rough, friendly, salt of the earth. A working man’s accent. Trustable, if you did not know what he had done.

He brushes your hair back from your forehead, grunting at the cut that splits it like chopped wood.

“You’re gonna have one beauty of a scar if I don’t see to it. Looks like you’re coming home with me, love. I’m Mick, by the way. Mick Taylor. Nice to meet ya.”

You see the gun on his arm, know well that he put out the wheels.

Your lips part with a whispered rejection of his aid.

Mick scowls, his eyes squinting, all narrow malice.

“Eh? Listen, you can lie here like your mate there, or I can stitch you back together and getcha lookin’ decent. Choice is yours.”

The man chortles, a filthy, porcine sound.

“Just jokin’. I’m keeping ya. Know what’ll happen if you lie out here all night? Dingos’ll eat ya. Snakes’ll bite you. Either way, you’ll wind up fuckin’ dead, right. Don’t want that, do ya, Sheila?”

“My Dad,” you whisper—the fire has guttered your throat, leaving you with a geriatric croak. “He needs help.”

The figure leering over you shifts back slightly, and you glimpse his face. Sun-beaten skin, small, malignant eyes. Cleft chin. Hair grown down either side of his jaw like chin straps, bookends for a blunt-toothed grin.

“Your Dad’s fucked, darlin’. Legs burnt off. Probably got one foot in the grave. Or not, eh?”

Another rattling laugh. You try to sit up, going limp under a wash of pain.

“Here ya go,” says Mick, helpfully turning you onto your side. “See for yourself. I pulled him out of the wreck, but he’s barely hangin’ on. Doubt he’ll see tomorrow.”

Your father slumps, a charred half-man, still in the road. All the heat runs out of you through your head, and you sit up as though from a dream.

One of your ears buzzes, an imagined sound. You will never quite unhear it again.

“Dad,” you say— your voice is still barely audible, even to you. “Dad?”

His mouth twitches, and you glance up at Mick, knowing you cannot go to him for help.

“Bugger’s alive, is he?” asks Mick, noticing the stir of movement. “Must be bloody sore. Better put him out of his misery.”

Concussed, you do not understand the statement until Mick strides across to your father’s body and hefts the gun.

Three shots ring out.

The dying man jumps and dances briefly, festooned in a display of blood. Then he falls, faceless, his head dangled on the blown-off reed of his neck, and you look at Mick with a hollow terror that makes you almost calm in its flat emptiness.

“Did you both a favour,” he says, all broad, square teeth. “Wouldn’t want him watchin’ what I’m going to do to you when I get ya back.”

You leave your heart there on the road, another burned, dead thing in the humming afternoon.

*

Mick takes you to the remnants of a mine, carrying you down into the dark across his shoulder, as he might hoist the body of a deer. The stench of rot and ammonia passes over you in an acrid haze. A menagerie smell, of human animals.

There have been others, held here. Others killed in the belly of the ground.

Mick sits you against the bars of an iron cage, pleased by your lack of resistance.

“That’s it,” he says. “Nice and quiet. Wouldn’t want to have to cut your tongue out. Can’t scream me name if ya can’t talk.”

He goes over you with brutish hands, looking for injuries. One wrist violet with bruising, both knees skinned, the slash across your brow: aside from this, and the concussion, you are otherwise unscathed.

“You must be made of rubber,” says Mick, as he cleans your wounds with a bit of murky alcohol on a rag. “One hell of a tumble you took, there.”

Thanks to you, you think, but say nothing, are still an hour back in time, watching your father’s body leap in the force of gunfire.

“So,” says Mick, sitting back to observe his work under the dim light. “What were you and your dear old dad doing here in Australia?”

You do not answer, owe him nothing, this shooter of men.

Mick’s face darkens. Reaching forward, he squeezes your sprained wrist until you cough up bile between your legs, black stars churning in the cell before you.

“Start talkin’,” says Mick. “I’m not pissin’ around.”

“Dad’s from here,” you choke out. “Was. We were going to visit family.”

Your captor grunts in disbelief.

“Doubt it. Ya talk like a Yank.”

The disparagement in his tone is a steel edge you know better than to touch.

“My Mom’s American,” you say. “I grew up there. That’s why I don’t have any accent at all.”

“Hmm.”

To your relief, Mick softens, seeming to regard you with a more favourable look. His eyes are small, light, with a cold friendliness about them that you might have liked, had he not introduced himself in such slaughterous practice.

His tone, too, is conversational, as though he did not wear the shrapnel of blood and bone upon him, still.

“Where’s your Mum, then?” he asks.

You look down at the bile cooling in the dirt, its bitterness another stink in the fetid gloom.

“She ran away.”

Mick’s smile hardens.

“Got sick of your Dad, did she?”

“No. She’s got mental health problems. She stops taking her meds. Runs off. Comes back a month or so later. Nothing we can do.”

It seems a trite conversation to share with a killer, but you will sustain it, if it distracts him from thoughts of harm.

“So your Mum’s left ya,” says Mick, “and your Dad’s dead. Halfway to being an orphan, eh?”

You wipe your face gingerly, appalled by the absence of tears, the correct emotion. Certainly you feel it, somewhere, kept as though beneath an upturned glass. But you cannot express it, though it may buy you favour to cry.

“Dad’s family are gonna worry about me,” you say, softly. “If I don’t turn up.”

Mick’s brow furrows. It is a mistake to threaten him, even so subtly as this.

“They can keep worryin’,” he growls. “Can’t send ya back, now can I? You’d go tellin’ everyone about what I’ve been doing out here. Can’t let ya do that, Sheila.”

You push your hands behind you, clinging to the iron ice of the bars until your palms burn.

“But I don’t know what you’ve been doing,” you say. “I don’t want to know. I’ll say I don’t know who attacked me and my Dad. I didn’t see your face. I don’t know your name.”

Mick moves towards you, and you shift along the side of the cage, your spine ringing across the bars.

“I don’t trust ya,” he says, quite pleasantly. “You seppos can’t keep your mouths shut for one bloody minute. You’d be spillin’ your guts before ya knew you were doin’ it.”

He takes hold of your right leg and hauls you towards him, scraping your back as your t-shirt rides up across the floor. A knife is produced from somewhere, an evil fragment of silver moonlight, and you gasp, rigid in anticipation of it against your throat.

“Don’t piss yourself,” says Mick. “I’m not plannin’ to kill ya after doin’ such a stellar job of cleanin’ your injuries.”

Knotting his fist in your shirt, he cuts it from your body, repeating the action with your ruined jeans. You don’t dare raise a hand to prevent him, seeing the proficiency with which he wields his blade.

“Oh no,” you whisper, pathetic in your dread of what he means to do.

“Figured it out, have ya?” asks Mick, and grins, one crude hand snapping the elastic of your thin undergarments. “What else would I do with ya? Didn’t bring you down here for a chat.”

You close your bandaged knees, but Mick snaps them tersely open, turning the knife under the light again until you slacken to his will.

If your heart beats quickly, you cannot feel it: you are numb from the head down, insensible. Staring through the man before you, seeing the darkness in him waver, a living shadow.

Mick crouches between your legs, his fingers upon you with a hostile agility. He watches your face closely, eating of even the merest gesture of your suffering.

“Fair warning,” he says. “I’m going to hurt ya.”

You’re dry when he enters you, but as his knuckles clench you’re quickly soaked, the sounds of your flesh awakening to him an echo in the mine.

Mick’s eyebrows jump in bald surprise.

“Strewth, you’re a bit of a dark horse, aren’t ya, daddy’s girl? Do ya always get this wet for blokes old enough to be your father, or just your Uncle Mick?”

His thumb roughs the jewel of nerves you’d hoped he’d avoid. You gasp strengthlessly, roll your head on your neck. Stare into the corpse flavoured dark; anywhere but his face, his eyes.

A blow to the face has you jolting back up like a roused snake, blinking, stone drunk with shock.

Mick leers down at you, his thick fingers still hooked through your cunt.

“Make some bloody racket, will you? I ain’t fuckin’ a dead sheila tonight. Would have left you in that burnt-out wreck of a foreign car if I thought you’d give up the fight this quick.”

You try to focus your stare, find the veins of your fear to bleed for him. The impression of Mick’s hand throbs across your eye, swelling the lid.

“Stop,” you rasp. “Stop it.”

Movement in your gut: a maggot of shame.

The old man smirks, and leans over you, his beer-musked breath making darts of the down on your bruised cheek.

“There ya go,” he says. “A bit of protest. I love it.”

He kisses you, forcing his tongue between your chipped teeth, all spit, and cigarettes, and drink. His thumb keeps up its relay across your clitoris, its callous tousling your silk. Cunningly, he hunts your climax, knowing he can turn it out.

Weakly, you scrape backwards on scabbed palms, Mick’s tongue still slid across yours. With a muttered oath, he kneels down on one leg, his weight a hanging rock.

“Keep your arse where it is. You’re comin’ for me, or I’m breakin' your fuckin’ legs, and I won’t be neat and tidy about it. Ya know what a compound fracture is, don’tcha? Bone through the skin, and a bastard to set right. Probably never seen one, a city brat like yourself. But you know what I’m talkin’ about.”

You watch his arm move, tanned tawny gold, bound in tattoos long faded by the sun, can’t look at his face in its ugliness and age, and slavering appetite. Sweat opals your forehead, and fevered shivers rip at you. Your mouth opens; the moan that drips free is someone else’s shame, a weak response to touch.

“You tourists are all the same,” says Mick, equally pleased and repulsed by the noise. “Whinge and whine about me putting me hands on ya, when all ya want under it all is a good root. I can feel you’re on the edge, orphan. Hips movin’. Hole squeezin’ down tight. Mind you don’t take me bloody fingers off, will ya?”

He chuckles, and brings his free hand to your breasts, pawing their flesh in his workman’s fist. The pain, the mockery— a signal crosses some incorrect road in your senses, for as Mick leans down to kiss you again you feel a tug of mad, sudden pleasure, casting itself through your loins and up into your mind like a flare thrown into the night.

His hand fucks you through it, pressing, relentless into your treachery. You break your fingernails on the filth beneath you, feel yourself torn, unwilling, from your distance like a marlin from the deepest sea. You breathe in sickly pants.

Savaged. Wounded.

“You’re a beauty,” says Mick, bringing his wet hand to his face to study its stolen glaze. “Take a look at the mess ya made. You oughta thank me, givin’ you a service like that. Half the time, I don’t bother. Just wanna get me dick in a hole and get to it.”

Sitting back on his haunches, he licks his hand, smacking his lips with a juicy pop. The noise—like gunfire, bullets in a tyre, in your father’s skull—startles you into action. The cage door is partway open; you lurch past Mick on your knees, all instinct, no thought as to what you’ll do beyond the mine.

“And where are you runnin’ off to, eh? Ya silly cunt.”

Mick is on your back in under a second, smacking the cage door shut on one of your outstretched hands. A scream evicts itself from you— parched, almost soundless, knocked back in by the blade Mick shunts beneath your chin.

“Told ya,” he growls, rutting against your hips for emphasis. “Either I fuck ya, or I kill ya, and I didn’t carry you all this way and stitch you up to finish ya quick. It’ll be slow and hard, and it’ll hurt. See how ya scream then, eh?”

“Please,” you say, to the knife as much as the man. “I can’t do what you want me to. I’ve never— I’ve never done that before. I’m scared.”

Mick puts the knife away and draws your head back to look you in the eye. His stare is hunger and dusk. Of hunting things in the desert.

“I know. Could tell you were a fuckin’ virgin. Bled on me hand, didn’tcha? Ain’t gonna stop me fuckin’ ya, though. Means I’ll be keepin’ you down here for a long time. Usin’ ya whenever I feel like it. But first, I have to break ya in.”

“Why?” you ask, as his belt buckle rings at your back, his shooter’s hands arrange you beneath him with the same familiarity with which he’d load his gun. “Why do you hurt people?”

Mick pauses, and when you glance back at him over his shoulder you see a real loathing sheen the vicious glass of his eyes.

“Because it’s what ya deserve. You, and all you cheap, noisy Americans, coming here, soiling my bloody land. Good thing you’ve got some Aussie in you, or I’d have to kill ya on principle. Not enough in you for me to turn ya loose, though.”

His knee opens your thighs, and you hear him clear his throat to spit in his hand, a home-grown lubricant. You stare at the bars of the cage until, in your vision, they smear into one broad stroke of rust. How cold the mine is, around you, in its coffin velvet darkness. All death, all hopeless night.

“Usually have to protect meself when I screw you tourist girls,” says Mick, conversationally. “Tend to be crawling with all sorts of nasties. But you’re clean as a whistle, ain’tcha, with a virgin cunt like yours.”

There is force at your sphere of heat, massive, bracing in the shoving pain that follows, the dirty grunts and curses blown against your ear like wind from some wretched sun-scoured isle. You dry heave across the dirt floor, spittle falling from the tip of your tongue in an unholy christening.

Surely you are baptised, now, by the way of brutality, a shingleback forced to mate, to exist beyond this point of anguish.

Mick’s hands punish your hips, their grip testing the joints. How comical he must look, plaid shirt pulled taut over his belly, the old hat still looming over his brow, with his untidy thrusts and growling breath. You know, as if by telepathy, how he savours the assault, how he sees himself the hunter, sinking his teeth into the meat of his quarry.

His cock beats a note of pain so close to pleasure that your nerves cannot mark the difference.

Perhaps it is easier, to take something from this agony, to find something amidst the fog. But then, perhaps you would rather it only hurt, a violence upon you, no different from the twisting of a spear up into your abdomen.

You’re wet as he fucks you, loudly so, the slick of it the music of the mine.

“Never had a girl drip on me cock like you, Sheila,” says Mick, slapping your flank heartily as he withdraws. “Let’s getcha on your back so I can have a look at ya.”

He turns you with a careless shove, snorting as you cover your eyes like a child afraid of the beast under its bed.

“Christ,” says Mick. “Can’t stomach seein’ an old bloke like me makin’ ya come? Probably finger yourself thinkin’ about some soft bloody film star. Well, you can get over it. You’re mine now, darlin’. Never lettin’ you go.”

He drags you to him by the hips, bending your legs back at such an angle you sense, with certainty, that he means to fill you to your greatest depth. You tense, try, with feeble hands, to push at his chest as he bears down on you again.

“Please,” you say. “Please, no more, please, please...”

Terror strikes through you in a fork of black lightning as Mick leans down, his eyes narrowed, hateful.

“Shut up,” he sneers. “Look down, ya uptight bloody American princess. You’re gonna watch me fuck ya.”

With a terse jolt he moves your head downwards. You see his cock in one tanned hand, pushing back into your ravaged entrance in one slow, mean thrust. Unnatural, the size of him, a surrealist nightmare depiction of male aggression.

The tempo of it drawing in and out of you may as well be the digging of a grave in all its dark purpose. Your breasts rise and fall with its movement, your skin awash in the hideous light shone down from the naked bulb overhead, the yellow of a cartoon sun.

You hear your own voice, disembodied, the chatter of a ventriloquist’s doll.

“Mick. Mick, it hurts.”

“Should bloody hope so,” he sneers, and he hits you; the rusty pain in that same abused cheek runs down your neck into your loins, and you are afraid of yourself as much as this monster, in your weakness.

You cling to Mick’s arms suddenly, which are firm from his grisly work, and he snickers.

“Like that, do ya? Never would have guessed it, to look at ya.”

He palms your chest, yellowed teeth bared as he rolls upon you, chafing your spine against the floor. His ugliness is your greatest shame, every line in his weathered face mocking you with its affront.

You cannot wrench your eyes away, staring up at him even as you wish only to turn to the dark. Ghosts seem to whisper to you from the corners, holding you accountable for the plaits of ecstasy that wind your cunt tight around your attacker.

You throb with the need of release, with its inevitable approach, uninvited.

He killed your father. He has raped and killed and rode his ruthless path through the Outback for decades, and you are going to come with him within you. Come from the chemical bewilderment of fear, and grief, and the force of him in the new wound of taken virginity.

If you survive him, it will be as a ghoul, undead, unfeeling. You yearn for him to return to the knife and end you, but you know from the glee in his eyes that he means to have you live as long as your flesh can withstand his horror.

“You’re a looker, y’know,” breathes Mick, putting a hand behind your head in a rancid performance of romance. “Scars and all. Give me a kiss, eh?”

He runs his tongue through your lips, and you gasp as a vent of andesite heat bisects you in your climax. Your enemy gives a throaty laugh, fucking you through each layer of orgasm until all that is left is the pain, and the width of him within you.

“Bet you’ve never come like that before, have ya?” he gloats. “Look scared to death. Jesus. I could fuck ya for days.”

But you feel his strokes taking an erratic quality, hear the shortening of his breath. He’s close, and you doubt he means to save you the dread of him finishing in your satin warmth.

Still, you beseech, feel at the very least that your begging will end this.

“Don’t... I mean, inside me, I...”

Mick smirks, gripping you by the chin to bring you eye to eye.

“Darlin’,” he croons. “I’m gonna be blowin’ me load in ya cunt until the day I kill ya.”

He licks your face of sweat and blood, and grips you to him as he reaches his bellowing crisis. You feel him pulse, the overflow of his spend trailing your inner thigh in its salt moisture, and close your eyes, stepping in to embrace your defeat.

Mick stands up, buckling his trousers, whistling a jolly, off-key tune. You lie as he left you, thinking of nothing, your mind and senses ground out into ash. Day in, day out, this is to be your life, whore to the devil of the land.

It seems that you died in the car, after all.

By God, you wish that you had.

---

Chapter Two is now here

[dulltoned]

Trickee is loving the sunny days. It's been pretty stormy this last month and while he enjoyed cozying down just as much as the next troll he really missed his morning walks through the village. He didn't really do rain so he's been stuck inside for the past few weeks. However, the sun always shines brightest after the darkest days and Trickee was basking in it. He's up earlier than a lot of the village, most trolls are still tuckered from their individual parties and get-togethers, and he's enjoying the quiet of the sunrise. The first few rays of sun are making the morning dew sparkle and he swears he can catch a few rainbows scattered about the market when he looks at just the right angle. This was worth going a little stir-crazy for.

He decides that he's going to take a few laps around the village before everyone else starts to filter out to begin their day. He doesn't really have much to do today so he has plenty of time to spare and it's really nice out. Maybe afterward he can go pick up something to eat when the stores start opening. Content with his plan Trickee allows himself to focus solely on his stroll, shoving his paws deep into his pants pockets and tilting his head up into the light of the rising sun. It's a bit cold out with the dawn's breeze but that only highlights the warmth of the sun's light and, wow, he's really missed this.

It doesn't take long for his peace to be interrupted though. It's maybe just a few minutes tops before he hears a round of laughter somewhere to his left. Only when he looks he doesn't see anyone. He frowns and glances around. Oh, they must be somewhere around the corner. He didn't think anyone else was out and about but now that his curiosity's been piqued he has to see who else could be awake at this hour. He takes a small detour to check behind the Cupcake Cafe, the nearest shop the noise could have possibly come from, and spots a small group of trolls a few yards away. He doesn't immediately recognize any of them but he can pick out a distinct purple hue amongst the group of three trolls. They're still laughing but now that Trickee is closer he can recognize that it's not a particularly kind sound.

"You should really be more careful, eh?" One of the trolls chuckles. It makes Trickee's stomach swoop uncomfortably but he can't quite place why. He's coming quickly to the realization that none of this is really settling right. "You've gone and made a mess of yourself, mate." The tone is sickly sweet and dripping with condescension that sends a shock of ice through Trickee's veins. The trolls with him snicker along so maybe it's some sort of inside joke between them and Trickee is just making a mountain out of a caterbus hill. He's content to turn away and make his leave but then someone scoffs and Trickee notices he can actually see a few splotches of gray between their legs. There were four trolls, not three.

"Classy, Creek," The troll on the ground sighs and Trickee steps further behind the cafe to get a better look. The fourth troll is splayed out on the ground, grimacing as he pushes himself up into a sitting position. There are shards of glass caught in the front of his leafy vest and globs of purple jam coating his chest and trousers. He tries to wipe it off and grimaces when he only succeeds in smearing the goo around. "Don't you have anything better to be doing right now?" He glares up at the purple troll and, from this, angle Trickee can see the satisfied grin on the purple troll's face. Creek, he presumes.

"Why, of course not," Creek coos like the gray troll is a child. "What better way to spend my time than helping out the village recluse, hm? Poppy would be overjoyed to hear you've made a friend." The words themselves are innocent enough, maybe a bit presumptuous, but it's the way that Creek says them that makes Trickee's skin crawl. He'd never heard a troll be so intentionally malicious before, not even when his aunt and uncle got into one of their tiffs and those had a tendency to get mean quick. Creek twists the words until they sound like insults, backhanded compliments crafted perfectly to tear at open wounds. If that's how it sounded to him? Trickee can't imagine how the gray troll feels.

"I don't have friends," The gray troll snarls, sneering up at Creek and flashing his sharp canines in a clear warning, but Creek only tisks mockingly at the obvious threat. "And I don't want them." The gray troll picks himself up off the floor and tries to shake the glass out of his vest with varying levels of success.

"Shame that," Creek tisks again, looking the gray troll over with blatant disdain. "Truly, we're all missing out." Creek reaches out and pats the gray troll's shoulder and, somehow, he manages to make it come across heavily patronizing. Trickee wonders with an ugly bitterness bubbling up in his chest if Creek knows how to move with any sort of sincerity. The gray troll smacks Creek's hand away with a growl but Creek just saunters away with his little followers scampering after him. It's disgusting and it makes Trickee's blood boil. Who the hell does that guy think he is? Who goes around harassing people just for the fun of it?

The gray troll lets out a dejected sigh and looks down at the remnants of whatever jar had shattered, running a stressed hand through his hair. All the fight looks like it's drained out of him the second that Creek guy disappeared. "Are you just gonna stand there or do you wanna take a shot too?" The gray troll huffs, dull eyes flicking up to look at Trickee. He doesn't know why it shocks him so much to be called out. It wasn't like he was hidden but Creek and his entourage hadn't even spared him a glance so the sudden acknowledgment startles him.

"Woah, no way, man," Trickee raises his hands, unable to keep the flash of annoyance from creeping into his voice. He wasn't just some asshole, he wasn't the kind of guy to just beat on someone for shits and giggles. Now that the gray troll's spoken to him though Trickee takes that as his sign to move forward, shooting a glare off in the direction Creek slithered away, "What's that guy's problem?"

The gray troll scoffs and rolls his eyes, shrugging off his vest and crouching down to start gently plucking the shards out of the grass. He lays his vest over one hand and carefully places the shards onto the cloth, very meticulously placing each piece to avoid hurting the clothing. He doesn't respond but Trickee still joins him on the ground to help him clean up the mess.

Those dull eyes glance up at him again and they're swimming with unrestrained suspicion. It makes Trickee's stomach churn to see such raw distrust on someone's face. "What're you doing?"

Trickee's brows furrow, "Helping?" Obviously. He wasn't just gonna leave this poor guy after everything he just saw and awkwardly standing over him wasn't an option.

The gray troll huffs, "Why?" He presses, even going as far as to pull his paws closer to himself in an attempt to keep Trickee from placing the shards held in his fingers gently alongside the other pieces.

"You look like you could use it." Trickee tries to sound gentle, keeping his expression soft, but his tone comes off more abrasive than he intended and the gray troll recoils defensively.

"Yeah, like you care about helping," The gray troll snaps, turning his attention back to the few pieces remaining on the ground and picking up the pace. His face is twisted in an angry scowl but Trickee doesn't know what he did wrong to put it there.

"I'm trying to help you now!" Trickee defends. He stands as the gray troll picks up the last few bits of glass and tries not to look too upset. He doesn't know if he's succeeding but even if the other troll was being a bit rude Trickee thinks he has every right to be wary after what Creek just did.

"You just watched," The gray troll hisses as he rises up to his full height. He wraps his vest up in a small bundle around the glass so he can safely carry it to wherever he was trying to go and aims a righteous glare in Trickee's direction. Trickee freezes, staring wide-eyed back at the troll across from him. "You aren't helping me. You feel bad for me but you didn't help." The gray troll grimaces and for a brief moment he looks more sad than angry. "Now leave me alone." He murmurs, sagging in defeat, and shoulders past Trickee.

Trickee just watches as he leaves and is only shaken from his shocked stupor when the gray troll disappears around a corner into the empty market. He blinks a few times, arms hanging lost at his sides, and a pinprick of guilt spawns heavy and cold beneath his ribs. He wants to disagree, wants to call after the troll and say it wasn't like that, but he realizes belatedly that he had just stood and watched while Creek very intentionally made that troll feel like he was lesser.

The morning suddenly didn't feel so beautiful.

Trickee really wishes he had any idea how to find that troll. He feels like it should be common knowledge where the only gray troll in the village lives just because it was such a rare trait but Trickee's spent the last three days trying to catch a glimpse of him and he's only found disappointment. He tried to ask around once, on the day after he caught Creek harassing the poor guy. The woman he questioned had looked at him like he'd grown a second head, murmuring a soft "Why would you want to find him?" She'd left quickly after that, going about her merry way like she didn't just say something horrible.

The guilt from that day has only grown and festered until a constant pit rested uneasily in his stomach. He felt dreadful and he at very least wanted to apologize. He could admit that he messed up, he hadn't even thought then to step in and stop what Creek was doing. He knows he couldn't fix that. Trickee's search for the gray troll was proving that the village didn't care for him. Some people at least seemed sympathetic but didn't give the guy much thought besides that. It felt needlessly cruel but Trickee was being forced to learn that maybe trolls weren't as inherently kind as he was raised to believe. Trickee wouldn't give up, though. They lived in the same village after all, he'd have to stumble across him in the market or something again at some point.

It's only because he's looking that he finds him.

Trickee's walking across the market late in the day, hunched over dejectedly with his hands shoved deep into his vest pockets. The sunset is painting the sky in hues of vibrant orange, pink, and violet and the strings of paper lanterns scattered about the marketplace are colorful spots around the stalls and in the tree tops. Usually Trickee would appreciate the beautiful moment but he's too upset to really soak it all in. He's starting to think that maybe he won't ever get the chance to right his wrong and it makes the guilt in his chest weigh harshly against his lungs.

It's while he's on his way out of the market, slipping past the busiest stalls and heading off towards his pod, that he spots something. Maybe it's because he's been so focused on gray, gray, gray that he sees it. Maybe it's because he's forced himself to be so hyperaware these past few days in his desperation to make amends. Maybe it was just plain ol' dumb luck. Either way, Trickee will always look back on this moment and be grateful.

It's a flash of something dull and a unique shade of green that he catches in the corner of his eye while he's passing a narrow alley between two stores. That alone is enough to stop him in his tracks. He backtracks quickly, grin splitting his face when he thinks that finally he's found him. He slips into the alleyway with a bounce in his step but stumbles to a stop when he fully comprehends the scene in front of him.

He's found the troll alright, but once again it's a sight that makes his stomach drop. The gray troll is splayed across the floor, awkwardly collapsed against one of the walls with a paw clasped over his nose. There's red smeared between his fingers and dripping steadily down onto his chest and stomach. Standing proudly in front of him is Creek. It's clear that Creek's never thrown a punch before, he's still shaking out his paw with a wince twisting his features while the gray troll is staring up at him in frozen surprise. Creek doesn't seem to mind the pain much if the satisfied glint in his eyes is any indicator.

"Ah, look what you've made me do," Creek sighs like he's disappointed and that same fury from a few days ago starts to burn wild in Trickee's veins. It's a disgusting parallel to what Trickee had walked in on before but unlike last time he's not going to stand by and do nothing.

"Hey!" He yells, stomping forward and pushing Creek away with all his might before the slimy bastard even has the chance to fully turn around. The gray troll's wide eyes turn to Trickee and somehow seem to widen just a fraction more when he recognizes him. Trickee offers him a confident grin, standing tall, before turning to Creek with a scowl. "What the hell is your problem?" He demands, stepping between the gray troll and Creek.

Creek, unfortunately, caught himself on the other wall and pushed himself up with ease. He brushes imaginary dust from his shoulders and turns to Trickee with an unimpressed expression, "What's wrong with me? You're the one going around pushing people, mate." Creek scoffs. It's like he can't see the evidence of his own violence crumpled on the floor behind Trickee.

"Ah, cut it with the good guy shit will you?" Trickee sniffs, tilting his head up to look down his nose at Creek and crossing his arms tightly over his chest. Maybe he could give Creek a taste of his own medicine. Trickee won't be talked down to, not by anyone but certainly not by this bastard. Creek looks briefly startled, all his better-than-you bullshit dropping for just a few moments when Trickee brushes away his attempts at schmoozing. It fills Trickee up with a sick satisfaction and if the amused huff from behind him is anything to go by the gray troll feels it too.

"I really don't think this is any of your business." Creek switches tactics swiftly. The transition is smooth and practiced and it makes Trickee's skin itch just hearing it. He wonders if anyone really falls for this or if he's the only one immune. "This is between me and him, yeah? Why don't you go about your day and leave us to it." The worst part is that Creek manages to make it sound reasonable. He doesn't raise his voice or even sound so much as irritated by Trickee's intervention. He's calm, collected, and has a soft smile on his face that implies nothing was going on besides maybe a private chat between two friends.

"If you think anyone is just gonna stand around and let you hit someone you wouldn't be standing in some dark alley," Trickee hisses, his rage boiling beneath the surface. The gray trolls shuffles a bit behind him and Trickee shoots a glance over his shoulder to make sure that he's okay. The guy has shifted from where he haphazardly fell and was instead kneeling tense on the grassy floor. The blood is smeared around from where it clearly pooled on his navel and he's carefully removed his vest to keep it clean, hand still pressed to his face in an attempt to staunch the flow. It doesn't seem too excessive, a bit gruesome, but it couldn't be more than a broken nose at least. He's looking between Trickee and Creek warily, not an ounce of trust or gratitude in his eyes, and Trickee feels sick seeing it. He'd wonder just who it was that hurt him so badly to strip him of any speck of optimism but one of the culprits is standing directly across from him. Trickee had already let it happen once. He didn't deserve the gray troll's trust but he would be damned if he couldn't earn it.

He turns back to Creek and finds that his easy-going expression has finally fallen away. Creek glares at Trickee with furious eyes swimming with irritation and Trickee sees then and there just who the real Creek is. "Listen, mate, no one's gonna mind if the colorless hermit gets banged up a bit. You don't even know his name so don't go around pretending like you care." Creek reaches out and forcefully pushes Trickee aside, not even sparing him a glance as he stumbles over his own feet. Trickee throws out his arms on instinct, wincing when the rough stone of the wall scratches at his skin and scraps away some of his fur, but his eyes don't leave Creek for even a second. Creek takes a step towards the gray troll huddled on the floor and Trickee watches in what feels like slow motion as the poor troll flinches, a sneer pulling at his lips and showing off blood-stained teeth like it would do anything to protect him from whatever blow Creek was aiming to throw this time.

Trickee swears his vision goes red and he shoves himself away from the wall with all his strength, using the momentum to add power to his swing. Creek may not know how to throw a punch but Trickee does. His fist connects with Creek's face and even though his knuckles smart at the contact he revels in it. Creek cries out, falling back and splaying out similarly to how the gray troll had initially been, a paw reaching up instinctively to hold his cheek. Creek gazes up at Trickee like he was the one in the wrong and Trickee glares back with a fiery anger that leaves his chest heaving. "This is over." He snaps, barely resisting the urge to growl like some wild animal. "I don't need to know his name to know that he doesn't deserve this and if you want to see how hard I can really hit you can go ahead and try to lay another finger on him."

Creek is speechless, anger and surprise battling for dominance on his face, and Trickee would find it funny if the mere sight of Creek didn't fill him with an unholy fury. "Go on," Trickee clenches his fists at his sides and grits his teeth, once again sliding between the gray troll and Creek, "Try it." Creek glares back, orange clashing with indigo. They're locked in a silent staring match for a few long moments but Creek inevitably glaces away first with a scoff. It was the smart choice, evidently Trickee would knock Creek flat on his ass if the purple troll tried to double down.

"Pathetic," Trickee sniffs, turning his back to Creek now that the bastard wasn't a threat. He crouches down in front of the gray troll and scans him over once again, feeling all the anger drain out of him at the sight of the poor guy. The troll looks at Trickee with such a confused expression as if it were a mystery why anyone would ever stand up for him. It makes him look young and Trickee comes to the startling realization that maybe he is. He had to be at least a year or two younger than Trickee now that he's really looking and Trickee himself was only fifteen. "Come on." Trickee stands and offers a hand. The troll doesn’t grab it and Trickee tries not to take it personally. Instead, the guy climbs to his feet, using the wall for support, and sends one last undecipherable look Creek's way before heading towards the alley's exit. Trickee sighs, tilting his head back and looking up at the sky. There was still a lingering guilt stirring up in him but he feels satisfied knowing that he didn't just watch. There's a pride that comes with doing what's right and taking action and even if the gray troll still wanted nothing to do with him he can at least bask in that.

Someone clears their throat and Trickee looks over to see the troll still standing in the alley looking back at him awkwardly. "Are you coming?" He asks, hand muffling the question. Trickee absolutely beams and hurries to catch up.

They leave through the back of the alley and head away from the crowds still cluttered around the marketplace. Trickee is happy to follow along, feeling a warmth bloom deep within him. The guilt is unraveling, dissipating in the rising joy. "I'm sorry about the other day," He says, keeping pace beside the gray troll and trying to figure out where they're going. They're getting further and further from anywhere in the village that Trickee recognizes but he's not afraid.

The troll shrugs, "Whatever," he finally pries his paw away from his face and Trickee winces at the sight. The whole lower half of his face is smeared in blood and his palm is completely coated. It all looks like it's already congealing, though, so at least it's stopped bleeding. The troll huffs a soft laugh and glances at Trickee with a barely there smile, "That bad, huh?"

Trickee smiles back hesitantly, "It's not great." He admits. He shakes his head and adverts his eyes, rolling back to the topic at hand. "Still, though, I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let him mess with you like that." He's a bit ashamed that it hadn't even occurred to him to step in the first time around.

The other troll just shrugs again, clutching his vest tightly in his clean hand and resolutely keeping his eyes trained ahead of him, "You made up for it." He assures stiffly but not unkindly.

Trickee sighs, "Yeah, I guess." He turns his arms over, inspecting the little scratches running up along his forearms as they walk. There are a few specks of dirt caught in the wounds that he knows he should clean out. "Where are we going?" He asks as he looks around their surroundings, letting his arms drop back down to his sides. They've left the village now, leaving its borders behind them and stepping out into the lush foliage of the forest. It's beautiful, especially in the last remaining rays of the colorful sunset, but Trickee is pretty sure that there's nothing out here.

"My bunker." The troll replies, "I have a lot of supplies there." He looks pointedly down at Trickee's arms and the warmth burrowed in his lungs bursts. The gray troll was obviously distrusting and standoffish but his kindness lay in his actions.

Trickee's face melts and a soft smile slides easily across his face, "Thanks, man."

"Branch," The gray troll replies and Trickee immediately ducks out of habit. Except there's no branch there, in fact, they've reached a clearing with only a few scatterings of bushes and a large boulder pushes off to the side. Trickee stops in his tracks, brows furrowing as he watches the troll walk toward the rock without missing a beat. The troll crouches down by the rock and pulls back a hatch in the floor, looking up at Trickee with uncertain eyes. "My name is Branch."

Oh. Trickee didn't think he could feel so content, so honored, by the words and tentative trust of a stranger. "Cool," he laughs, rushing forward to meet Branch at his bunker door. He smiles as he crouches down and peeks in, turning to meet Branch's eyes, "Trickee." He introduces and holds out his paw.

[desire-mona]

TAG DIRECTORY

[YOUR NEW CYBER GIRLFRIEND IS INSTALLED AND READY TO CHAT]

click below to get started or click here for public chat!

> chatroom is open

> desire-mona is online

ALSO KNOWN AS: @nuthin-but-nette

3:39 am, Mar. 5

haii :3c

my name is mona, but u can call me mo, mj, ramona, momo, etc. if any name starting with m calls to you theres a good chance i'll let you call me that.

some basic stuff, im 19, audhdmaxxing, genderfluid maybe???, and use they/them pronouns, and im bi for the sake of a label but my sexuality is pretty enigmatic. i guess queer fits better but eh. thats neither here nor there it changes with the moon

ive got a special in interest internet history so theres a good chance i will make posts about random dead memes or youtube videos or whatever else

my hyperfixations vary VASTLY so i see no point in listing what i fluctuate between, but right now the move is middle aged celebrities who are a little weird

robert sean leonard, chris thile, and danny pudi specifically, but you could squeeze a conversation about david tennant or chris fleming outta me

some media based things i enjoy include: nickel creek / chris thile related things, dead poets society, house md, in the gloaming, community, memento, station eleven, fleabag, spiderverse, saiki k, bistro huddy, rhett and link, and a plethora of different analog horror adjacent videos

so if u have like any of these things in common with me then u can follow me if u want, odds r i will follow u back and think ur awesome and wanna be ur best friend forever and ever and ever and ever and ever

oh and id prefer u were 16+ before following but im pretty lax so dont lose sleep over it

think thats it, baiiii

> chatroom is closed

> desire-mona is offline

blinkies by me!!!!!!!!!!!

[thesconesyard]

Squeaking in under the wire tonight! (Didn’t help my phone died ten minutes ago lol!

Underneath the Western Sky

2. Greener Pastures

Montgomery Scott was happier than he had been in years.

Even if his brother had moved away from the ranch and into town, he was still closer than all the years they had spent apart when Scotty had left Scotland. He could saddle up a horse and go see Robbie in less than an hour. It had been hard to leave Scotland and Robbie behind, but he had done it to protect his brother’s life.

What Leonard had done, secretly writing to Robbie, and bringing the brothers back together, Scotty wasn’t sure he could ever fully thank him.

And wasn’t that just part of his happiness as well; a partner who treated him so well and loved him so deeply.

He whistled as he crossed the yard from the barn. Keenser had asked for help in the garden that morning. Some of the plants needed thinning and others were ready to pick. With his bad leg Keenser couldn’t do as many of the ground level tasks.

“Hello Keens!” Scotty called as he entered the garden.

The shorter man looked up and nodded. He wasn’t much of a talker, but Scotty never saw that as an issue. He knew Keenser enjoyed his chatter and he enjoyed Keenser’s quietness in turn.

“Where are we starting?” Scotty asked as he stopped next to him.

“Peas.”

“I’ll go high, ye’ll go low?” Scotty chuckled.

Keenser smiled and pointed at a basket nearby. Scotty grabbed it up and set it between them.

“Doing alright?” Keenser asked as they worked.

“Yes,” Scotty nodded emphatically. “Knowing Robbie is right there, where I can go see him when I want to…” He let out a content sigh. “It’s like a whole new world again.”

Keenser nodded as he dropped peas into the basket. Scotty dropped in a few as well, then stopped to open a pod.

“We taking some into the lasses?” he asked, popping one of the peas in his mouth.

“Yep.”

“Ooo, they’re just right,” Scotty said after he finished chewing. “Did ye try one?”

“Nope.”

Scotty laughed. “Want to get them picked, not eat them all, eh?”

Keenser grinned at him, then turned back to picking.

The afternoon passed pleasantly as they filled the basket with peas, then moved on to the carrots. Keenser’s birds roamed around them as they worked. Scotty was amused as the birds passed Keenser and all seemed to bump his good leg in greeting. One small bird in particular, Keenser picked up and let sit on his shoulder for a few minutes.

“You fellas got some greens ready for us?” Christine came into the garden behind them.

“Aye, we do,” Scotty answered with a smile. “Would ye like a hand carrying them in?”

“Oh I’ve got it Scotty, thank you.”

“Cooking them?” Keenser asked, looking over at Christine.

“Some of them,” she replied. “But I’ll leave some uncooked the way you like.”

Keenser smiled and nodded his thanks. Christine hefted the basket onto her hip and disappeared towards the house.

“Think we deserve a break,” Scotty told Keenser.

“Yep.”

Scotty gathered their few tools and Keenser led the way towards the front of the house. They’d clean up and sit on the porch until dinner. The shade would be cool and Scotty knew the others would slowly join them to get out of the heat.

And after dinner, as the sunset and the temperature cooled he and Leonard could go walk up along the creek and enjoy each other’s company. Yes, life was turning out pretty well for Montgomery Scott.

[cirilla-fiona-riannon]

Before You Become My Beloved

These translations are not intended as a replacement for the game. Please support cybird by buying their stories. JP SPOILERS under the cut. Expect mistakes.

Vlad: “There it is! The language of its flowers is...”

His eyes widened as he followed the letters.

The next day, at the same time, he sneaked out of his room and headed for the woods, lightly jumping over the creek and running across the grass to see him sitting on a stump.

Vlad: "Hello."

Gardener: "-----!"

Vlad: "You know, yesterday, I was doing some research on snake berries."

Gardener: "I'm sorry, Lord Vlad!"

He suddenly bowed his head as he stood up from the stump.

Gardener: "I apologize for not recognizing that you belonged to the Draculesti family yesterday."

Gardener: "Please forgive me."

Vlad: "Eh? I just..."

When Vlad stepped forward, the gardener's expression hardened, and he backed away, his face contorted in fright.

He said he was the gardener of the mansion, so if he was employed by the Draculesti family, he'd certainly know not to be close to him.

But that wasn’t the only reason for the frightened look in his eyes.

(Because I'm a vampire.)

「Humans sometimes fear vampires, but our family dares to reveal themselves and rule over them.」

「Among them are you, Vlad. A special pureblood and a godlike being who can even rule the world.」

The voices of everyone in his family echoed in the back of his ears.

(No. What everyone is saying doesn't sound right to me.)

(Vampires and humans are...)

Vlad: "Don't be scared. I just came here to talk to you."

(I'm sure we'll get along.)

Keeping his hands clasped tightly in front of his chest, he stepped forward and called out to him.

Vlad: "I just want to be friends with you."

Gardener: "Friends?"

Gardener: "What are you talking about?"

Gardener: "Because you..."

He swallowed the words that were about to come out, and his gaze swung from side to side as if he were confused.

Gardener: "A-Anyway, I can't be your friend."

Gardener: "Excuse me."

He tried to leave without making eye contact.

(Oh...)

Vlad: "Wait! It's called the devil's charm!"

Wanting him to stay, he spoke those words as quickly as he could.

Vlad: "The language of the snakeberry flower. I looked it up in a book yesterday."

Vlad: "Did you know?"

Gardener: "No."

He replied, with his back to him.

Vlad: "Then did you know that the flower of the raspberry is yellow?"

Gardener: "I know that."

Slowly, his gaze turned back.

Gardener: "I'm not an expert in the language of flowers, but I'm a gardener, so I know most plants."

Vlad: "Then teach me about plants, and I'll teach you the language of flowers in return."

Gardener: "No, that's... I'm sorry, excuse me."

After bowing his head again, he ran away, and there was nothing he could do to stop him anymore.

Vlad: "I believe that vampires and humans can understand each other."

From that day on, they began a strange game of cat and mouse.

Vlad: "Hello!"

Gardener: "I'm working. Please leave me alone, Lord Vlad."

Gardener: "There are knives here, so it's dangerous."

Vlad: "Hey, what are those flowers called?"

He glanced up, unable to ignore him.

Gardener: "It's Dimorphotheca."

Vlad: "Wow! You're really cool."

Vlad: "I'll look up its language tomorrow and let you know."

Gardener: "No need. Please don't come here again."

Not discouraged by his curt attitude, he tried to get his attention when he went to the forest the next day.

Vlad: "I wonder what snake berries taste like."

A greenish bitterness hit his tongue as soon as he bit into the red berry.

Vlad: “Ugh.”

Gardener: “What are you doing!? Please spit it out!”

Vlad: “Don’t worry. You told me it’s not poisonous.”

Vlad: “But it really tastes terrible. Ugh.”

Frowning, the gardener scratches his head in annoyance.

Gardener: “You’re being too naughty.”

Then one day

Gardener: “Lord Vlad, you’re here again?”

Vlad: “Yup!”

Seeing his nonchalant smile, the gardener chuckled half-heartedly.

Recently, he had lost his patience, and no longer avoided him as he used to.

Vlad: “Don’t mind me, just eat that delicious-looking lunch.”

Gardener: “That being said, I wouldn’t feel comfortable eating alone.”

He picked up a basket that was placed beside him.

Gardener: “Would you like some?”

When he removed the cloth, Vlad saw red-colored fruits.

Vlad: “What are these?”

Gardener: “These are strawberries.”

Vlad: “Hmm, so these are strawberries. They look a little different from snake berries, even though they have a similar color.”

Gardener: “Is this the first time you’ve seen strawberries?”

Vlad: “Yes, I only eat what is brought to me except for rouge.”

Gardener: “Rouge?”

Vlad: “Strawberries smell much sweeter than snake berries. I wonder what they taste like.”

He looked at him, but suddenly furrowed his eyebrows in pity.

Gardener: “Maybe you’re just like all the other kids.”

Vlad: “What?”

He turned around and held out the basket before him.

Gardener: “Here you go. They taste much better than snake berries.”

He naturally reached for it, tickled by the sweet aroma.

Vlad: “Thank you. Bon appétit!”

He ate the large, glossy red berries.

(Wow!)

Instantly, a sweet and sour flavor filled his mouth.

(It tastes so tender. It’s like...)

------------Flashback------------

Vlad: “Why are you patting my head?”

Gardener: “It doesn’t mean anything, but if I had to answer, I suppose it’s because all children are God-given lovely beings.”

---------Flashback Ends---------

(It tastes warm and fuzzy, just like that time.)

Vlad: “Strawberries are so delicious. This is the best thing I’ve ever eaten!”

Gardener: “I see. You can eat as many as you like.”

His eyes were gently shimmering, just like the day they first met, and he felt a connection that only lasted for a moment.

Vlad: “Huh?”

(It’s usually his break time.)

It was silent except for the bird’s chirp and the stream’s murmur. There was no sign of anyone except for the stump where the gardener always sat.

He waited for a while, but he never showed up that day.

He returned to his room before teatime, and while he was reading a book, a maid suddenly knocked on the door, and he stopped her after setting up the tea.

Vlad: “Hey, I need some potted plants for my room. Can you call the gardener?”

He asked about him, giving a plausible reason so she wouldn’t notice.

(Maybe he’s sick. If so, I’ll give him something next time I see him as a thank you for the strawberries he gave me the other day.)

But what he heard was something unexpected.

Maid: “I heard the gardener quit his job here yesterday.”

(What?)

Part 1 || Part 2 || Premium || Epilogue