#there's probably so much at play that i'm not yet aware of/know little about

[yasmeensh]

Various doodles of my characters from the past couple weeks. Development is reeeeaaaaaaallllyyyyy slow right now. However, I’m getting some ideas from my coursework. Crazy, but this project is making me remember my coursework better. 

(happy!!!)

(annoyed!!!)

kindergarten aged neanderthal

aaand the angsty neanderthal teen.

[iamespecter]

TADC OCs: "The Die Quartet"!

"Oh but Ziku, who are these very handsome die?"

Well I'm glad nobody asked, because that would ruin the joke!

The Die Quartet are OCs of mine that I created for TADC, and for what purpose? Well, they're the minds behind show's music!

Hidden just behind a corner or two, or four, These obliviously mischievous and enthusiastic quartet play whatever music they can, one that certainly matches the current "mood" of what the cast is going through. Meet Cuba, Dodeca, Tetra, and Octa, The Amazing Musical Performers, for The Amazing Digital Circus!

LORE AND BOUNDARIES UNDERNEATH THE CUT!

When the Circus was initially created, it was feeling too barren for a place that's meant to be "lively". And so, Caine went and copy-pasted himself four times, while replacing the heads with some die props he found on the floor, retexturing and adjusting their bodies, to fit their new roles.

A little bit of a code rewrite to make them able of producing any sounds all on their own to be musically intertwined, and the quartet was basically ready to go: but there's only one problem.

Caine completely forgot to remove the admin privileges from their code.

So once the four spawned, they immediately began floating around, dancing and creating the main theme for the circus, and did it all perfectly. So Caine decided that as long as they don't interfere with anything major in the circus and did their job as the musical minds behind the show/game's soundtracks, he doesn't really care about fixing this error and would rather let these four run rampant to create more songs.

Ever since then, the Die Quartet has been messing with every circus members, most of the time playing obnoxious music that fits the "current mood". You'll even see their canes dance to the tempo they've set, like some backup dancers.

Think of it like: You now have x4 Caines with dice heads, flying and snooping around, so that they can "improve the mood" with their music! Ain't that swell??

(But really, all they do is just annoy the Circus members just like Caine does, for the better or the worse. Probably the latter.)

Fun facts about the Die Quartet!

Even though they've all been created at the same time and share the features of a die, they do not consider themselves as "brothers", and only see one another as colleagues instead.

Their names are related to the type of their die: Tetra (yellow), Dodeca (purple), Cuba (red), and Octa (green).

Despite being reused assets of Caine himself, they have distinct personalities that separate them from each other: Tetra is more joyful and playful, Dodeca is a more dramatic/theatric and over the top, Cuba is the natural lead and more stern than anybody, and Octa is the more closed off of the gang but willing to provide his best.

Yet, they all still lack awareness of personal space and boundaries just like Caine, and WILL be intrusive towards anyone they set their sights on, with the intent of predicting their mood and setting the current situation perfectly in musical form. (ex. if a character is sneaking, all four will follow "cautiously" behind while one imitates/pulls out a tiny piano playing to the theme of "tip-toeing". You know, like a cartoon gag.)

Although they can perfectly imitate ANY sound or instrument imaginable, They'll still pull out a "physical" instrument if the gag calls for it.

BOUNDARIES!

You can pretty much draw fanart of them! In fact I would REALLY love to see it and I encourage it! Really, just don't claim them as your own, or steal their designs.

NSFW of them is accepted, but please keep in mind that I have an SFW blog. Which means THERE ARE MINORS. Show them to me privately instead, I'd still love to see it <3

While NSFW is accepted (privately), please make it a morally decent one, because I don't really wanna see some disgusting stuff. This pretty much includes: non-con, scat, etc.

Aside from that though, I hope you all enjoyed these four! I really love how they turned out, and would love to draw them more. I was initially hesitant on showing my TADC OCs because I don't think people would like 'em, but fuck it.

My boys, they deserve to be seen even if just by a few people on the internet.

[zweiginator]

college!patrick corrupting innocent reader……………… gawd

thinking about this but like. him bringing art in. needs his best friend to enjoy this too!!!

oh fuck because i'm thinking that patrick wants to teach you how to give head. the only problem is that he doesn't trust himself. he knows as soon as you're swirling your tongue around his tip and moaning around him with those big watery eyes of yours--he'll start fucking your throat. he can't control it and it makes him want to be the guinea pig so much fucking more. you're such a good little student; he knows you'd take it like a champ. but he'll be good.

you don't realize patrick has an agenda here. that he has strategically thought out everything he wants to teach you and put it in the order that makes most sense. it feels sleazy to him that he hasn't even seen your pussy. hasn't felt that velvety skin against his tongue, your silky wetness coating his fingers or his cock.

but he assures himself that waiting will make it better. and patrick doesn't tell either you nor art what's on his little agenda. he just tells you to come over around seven. shoots art the same text.

so you both wait outside his door. neither of you have knocked yet. you notice how art's cheeks are dewy and pink, a mixture of his proximity to such a beautiful girl, and remnants from the five mile run he just completed.

you introduce yourself.

art wipes his clammy hand on the back of his grey t-shirt and slips his palm into yours

"i'm art. it's nice to meet you." his voice is soft. he's handsome in a way that is different than patrick, but you can't quite put your finger on why that is. maybe a fundamental difference in their first impressions with you.

patrick was unabashed in his actions. aware of his effect on other people. willing and able to use his charisma to get whatever he wants in a way that borders on manipulative but couldn't quite be classified that way.

art has more trepidation. but he still has confidence in the way he carries himself. his shoulders are back, his posture near perfect.

"are you here for patrick?" he asks, breaking the silence.

"yeah," you answer, looking at the time. 6:59. you and art are very timely. "he told me to come over at 7."

art fumbles with his phone, pulling it out of his shorts pocket. it's hard to see with the glare of the late spring sun, but he shows you the text patrick sent him. it's verbatim what was sent to you, and you tell art this.

"weird. are you guys dating or something?"

you shrug. "no, i don't think. just hanging out."

art knows what that means. and he chews on the inside of his cheek. his jaw pops.

"how do you know each other?" it's your turn to ask questions.

"he's my best friend." art knocks on patrick's door for the third time before crossing his arms over his chest. you sense more urgency in the way art is acting. "we grew up together, played tennis all throughout childhood and here we are."

"patrick plays tennis?" you notice art's t-shirt and hat. it's on backwards, but it's embroidered with stark white lettering. stanford tennis. "i didn't know that." you feel small, realizing you don't know a huge part of patrick's life. naive to his hobbies and talents and his best friend. maybe you overestimated your role in his life.

art senses your disappointment in how your voice falters.

"he's not a very open person. hence why we're both here right now. dumbass probably sent me the text by accident." art kicks the door. "pat! open the fucking door, man! it's hot out here!" the veins in his neck tremble as patrick flings the door open.

"come in, come in." he ushers you both inside.

so he really did mean to text art.

he sits between you both on the couch and puts his arms around you and art. spreads his legs wide and lets out a deep sigh.

you and art look at each other, confused. but neither of you speak up just yet; perhaps its a subconscious nod to the fact that patrick is in charge here. a way to foreshadow.

"she's pretty, isn't she artie?" patrick turns to his best friend and you see him flush a deeper shade of pink.

"um, yeah. she is." art responds.

you swallow. both of their legs are spread wide, to the point where you barely have room to fit on the couch. it seems rude, but then again, maybe patrick is doing this on purpose.

"and artie?" he turns to you this time; his broad, strong torso almost obstructs your view of art behind him. "he's handsome. lots of girls think that."

you nod. "yeah, he is handsome." it's innocuous enough. and you wouldn't lie, of course not.

"what's the deal here, pat?" art says it breathily. like he knows patrick has a trick up his sleeve.

"we've been having some lessons." patrick says, only to art, as if you're not there. "i taught her how to kiss."

your breath hitches. is he going to tell?---

"and i taught her how to give a handjob, just last week. her first one ever."

"patrick this isn't my business." art shifts uncomfortably, watching the clock on the wall tick, tick, tick.

"but there's still a lot to learn for her." patrick continues, unfazed by the obvious discomfort in the room, the shifted mood that seemingly affects everyone but him. because again, he's in power. it's his prerogative. and here you both exist, at his mercy.

you're awfully quiet, but you stay that way.

"i want to teach her how to give a blowjob." patrick says it as he picks lint from his shorts, like it means nothing. and it makes you want to do it. to impress him and stay on his radar. not to be a temporary plaything.

so you lean into patrick and press a kiss to his neck, open-mouthed at the part that makes him shudder and melt. but he pulls away from you.

"not on me, sweetheart."

you look at him, bewildered. art shares the same expression, except his jaw is clenched and a pearly bead of sweat trembles over his browbone.

"on him."

art can't pretend he isn't intrigued. maybe he should put a stop to this. put his foot down and say no to patrick. except he wants it. and god, he hopes you want it to.

art looks at you, his lips parted and pink to match the supple skin of his cheeks.

patrick watches you two. has a look on his face that reads well what are you two waiting for?

you crawl over patrick's lap so you're leaning over his body. using him like a bridge. your hands grip onto patrick's thighs until you find balance. art sits up straighter, meets you in the middle so patrick has a perfect view of your profiles.

art cups your cheek and pulls your bottom lip with his teeth before sucking it into his mouth. you feel his jaw move, opening wide so he can envelope you in an open-mouthed kiss that sets your body on fire. patrick watches spit dribble down your chins in a messy meld of kisses, of tongues, of hands all over each other.

patrick grabs your wrist, the one that rested on art's jaw, and plants it square on art's erection.

neither patrick nor you expect the carnal groan that emits from art's throat.

[lady-raziel]

and alright, here's my last (let's hope) and boldest take yet. lots of people have been talking about the level of staff (around 25-ish people) at watcher, and whether downsizing that number could have been a potential avenue of reducing costs before just jumping to a subscription model. at first i was like yeah, i'm not sure that there needs to be 18 people involved in making a lets play. i was in the fucking trenches in the unus annus days and i'm still amazed how markiplier and ethan nestor managed to put out pretty well edited videos every day for a whole year with only a handful of editors and a couple people filming. what unus annus was trying to do and what watcher is trying to do are obviously pretty different, but the point is that you really don't need a whole crew of people to make lots of different types of content and do it well.

i still think there probably doesn't need to be a whole production crew involved with the creation of some of the simpler types of content watcher puts out. however, i don't think the size of the staff is the real problem. in fact, i think the staff of watcher probably should have been larger.

let me explain. if i begrudgingly go to one of my most detested websites (linkedin. *bleeegh*) and look up watcher, i can see that pretty much every person on staff is in a creative role of some sort by their own admission. at first glance, its like, oh, that makes sense. they're making creative products, it's natural that they should all be in creative roles. however, once you think about it for a little longer from a business perspective, that fact is really concerning.

after all, by watcher's own definition, this is a production studio. this is a company. So in this sea of creative roles, who's doing corporate planning? Who's managing finance? Who's doing payroll? Or brand outreach? Or human-freaking-resources??? you can hire outside groups for all this. i'm aware. but those services cost a lot of money to contract too. i'm just finding it concerning that there is pretty much no one on full time staff that is there to at least do some of this stuff. if watcher wants to be a big-boy company, that's fine, but that means you have to pay some people to be part of your company to do the not-fun business stuff like accounting. or resource management.

if they want to be a real company, they should actually have a lot more people on staff to deal with all the non-creative parts of running a company. even if they contract out most of it, you want at least a few people that are your people and don't actually work for someone else. that's how you don't get screwed over or end up in a contract you can't get out of.

which leads me to my last train of thought. like, as i go through the staff of watcher and look at what they do, it really seems like one of the ONLY people who's job it was to look at the business side of things WAS steven lim in his role as CEO. and thinking about that, i'm like god, can you imagine?? here's a guy who just wants to create cool stuff too but as one of the few people who has to think about the realities of Brand and the Business, HE has to be the one to burst the bubble. He as CEO has to say no to people and make decisions to make sure the company survives. In a group of creative people who just want to make things they're interested in, no expense spared, he was probably the guy who had to stay at least a little tethered to reality.

I'm not about to say that steven lim isn't to blame here. everyone involved in making the decisions that have led up to this point is part of this. but shit, it absolutely sucks to have to be the person at the end of the brainstorm session when everyone is coming up with their best ideas and to have to say "guys, i don't think any of these things are possible unless we make some big decisions."

is that what happened at watcher HQ? i don't know. at this point, with radio silence from everyone, speculation is all we've got. but if you follow the thread of a bunch of creatives striking out on their own to make their own business after being burned by their former employer, despite not knowing really how to run a business, and then only hiring fellow creative people and not other people who actually run business things... well, all of this starts to make slightly more sense in WHY none of watcher's actions make sense. everybody wants to stick it to the man and be their own boss with their own business, until it actually comes to the hard parts of doing that. at that point people start to realize, "oh, maybe some of the things that existed at my old job were there for a reason, actually."

all this is why lots of creatives striking out and starting their own businesses don't work in the end. they're thinking about in terms of creative products still, when they really need to be focusing more on the "business" part of the "creative business." it's sad. it sucks. it destroys a lot of good ideas and good people, because one person in every company like that has to be the one who thinks practically. could this have been avoided if watcher had been hiring people all along to manage this business and not just adding people to add to the creative output? maybe. even then it might not have been enough to curb other predictable impulses that led us down this path.

i feel bad for watcher, and i feel bad for the fandom. but i can't help but wonder if this was always the kind of situation we were going to end up in, and we just missed some of the warning signs because ALL of us were thinking, "well, that could never happen to us. we're different. not the Ghoul Boys."

[the-s1lly-corner]

Pocky game w/ various HH characters part 2/3

Idk if it's because I'm kind of.. bluugh.. but I'm craving eggs on toast rn but I cant tell if its because I actually want it or because my body is aware it's a comfort/easy/struggle food idk how body/mental stuff works

Characters: lucifer, adam, lute, emily, velvette, rosie

Notes: reader is gn, bonus hcs of what flavors i think the characters would like except the admin has one tried the og and C&C

CWs: none

LUCIFER

knows about the game vaguely, has never played it but hes very open to it if you offer and the two of you are already an item

though he will reject you if you two arent, even if hes already crushing on you. he DOES want to do it but i do think hes a little wary about anything like that that can lead to anything romantic or otherwise due to him still eating up his feelings over lilith

total sweet tooth just like his daughter, can see him being an almond crunch enjoyer!

when he does agree he does his best to make sure you get just as much of the pocky as him, very careful when kissing you because hes hyperaware of his teeth and the sound of them crunching and totally breaking the pocky has him a little on edge

but asides from that he has a lot of fun with it! too... "shy"(?) to ask to do it again, though

shy is likely not the right word... he wants to do it again but he doesnt want to make you feel obligated and hes still a little weird about asking for affection from you due to other feelings

ADAM

does not know the game but hes on board if you offer it up and explain what it is

not very picky about flavors but i can see him enjoying the original a lot more over the others!

total tease through the whole thing, will try to fully lean into a kiss if you let him

like other characters will probably just give you a short light hearted peck, but adam is very likely to give you something a little more if you let him

god forbid if you get some chocolate or crumbs on your face because he WILL do something

loves it if you get all red and flustered

LUTE

she doesnt really like sweets, but she is open to trying it with you if the two of you are already dating. very unlikely for her to agree if you two arent

does NOT know what to expect so you might have to explain what the game is so she knows what shes agreeing to

very competitive, tears through her half and probably dives into your half before you can realize whats going on

kind of crashes into your mouth a bit because shes so into it, doesnt mean to be so rough with you

pulls away very fast when she realizes what she just did, do not tease her about it because she will think youre genuinely criticizing her

can see her being a cookies n creme enjoyer if she were to ever crave the treat

EMILY

knows what the game is and loooooooves it! she thinks its sweet! pun intended!

agrees instantly if you offer it up, but shes likely to ask to play the game with you if she ever gets her hands on a box of pocky!

very giddy, keeps accidentally breaking the stick because shes just so into it, you guys have to keep starting over

quick little peck at the and and she feels so proud of herself for getting a little kiss from you- dont expect much else, though, the second the kiss happens shes pulling back and letting her energy out.. shes more controlled if you two are well into your relationship

cookies n creme enjoyer but i can see her liking matcha!

VELVETTE

hands down she is a crunchy strawberry enjoyer im sorry i dont make the rules. i think she might the cookies n creme flavor as well!

knows exactly what the game is, she spends a lot of time on the internet monitoring trends that shes seen it

not at all shy about it either, she knows what shes getting into and shes not going to let herself look like some flustered wreck- doesnt matter if you two are dating yet or not, shes going to stride in with pride

will tease you if you get embarrassed, bonus if youre the one who even suggested the game- she does this even if youre dating. actually shes more likely to do it if youre dating

similar to vaggie in the previous part, shes not going to go too fast so she doesnt look too eager... actually i can see her take her time just to toy with you

ROSIE

she may be a cannibal but i can see her having a bit of a sweet tooth! she just doesnt indulge in... actual proper sweets all that much!

not aware of the game but is open after you explain it to her, shes not easy to fluster so shes going to be very composed and collected during the game

if youre the opposite though, its going to encourage her to take the lead

quick and polite kiss, makes sure not to let her teeth cut you up... theres a time and a place for that but this is not the time OR place!

lets you have the rest of the box if you'd like, though she doesnt deny any extra pieces you give to her

teases you for getting so flustered over a game you suggested, but she doesnt mean any harm behind it

strawberry enjoyer but i can see her liking the matcha and the almond crunch

[lorelune]

of carnage

|| blade x reader || E/18+ || shared toxicity, band au || wc: 8.8k  || ao3 ||

You and Blade are mutually assured destruction. You know this, and yet it does not stop you from chasing after him.

minors, antis and ageless blogs dni

notes: well hello :3c this fic is part of a trade i did for some LOVELY selfship art with MOST BELOVED @rabbbitseason!! they asked for toxic bladie and reader and i come to DELIVER 🙏 setting and au are heavily inspired by my time in my local music scene and all of the 💀that came with it. i'm glad it can be all get repurposed into blade smut 🫶 THANK YOU!! to bitti for giving me so many fun wants to craft around!! THANK YOU!!! as well to @ofmermaidstories and @2kmps for beta reading!! now, please mind the tags on this one and enjoy <3

CW: dark content, band au, dubcon, pain during sex, bleeding during sex, toxic relationship between blade and reader, angst, hurt/a little comfort, manipulation, gaslighting by blade and the reader @ themselves, face slapping, spanking, spitting, reader smokes cigarettes, reader drinks, self destructive reader, past blade/dan heng, implied unrequited jing yuan/dan heng, kernels of jing yuan/reader

“Are you going to the gig tonight? Fu Xuan asks as if the answer isn’t obvious already.

You crane your neck back to look at her from your roost in front of your full-length mirror. Your knees dig into the carpet and the tips of your fingers are tinged with black. You’ve spent the better part of the last thirty minutes attempting to perfectly smudge the smoky line of eyeliner on your lower lash line. A tube of dark, red lipstick (his color) and sticky gloss rests on the fluffy carpet beside your folded knees.

“Of course.” You can’t make yourself smile, not when your stomach is in knots. “Are you?”

“I should if you are going,” she huffs, leaning against your doorframe. “You need a chaperone.”

(She’s probably right.)

“Please tell me you’re joking.” You grimace and turn away, unable to meet her gaze. She’s too good at reading you. “I’ll be just fine on my own, thank you very much.”

“... He’s playing, isn’t he?”

“I mean, yeah.” You rub more aggressively at the widening smears around your eyes. “But that’s not the only reason.”

“Sure.”

“It’s not, really.” You meet her gaze with a glance in the mirror. It’s hard to keep, her stare intense and full of judgment— (And worry.) “There’s a bunch of good bands tonight. There’s a touring group— all the way from Pier Point.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You have no faith in me, do you?” You pout, keeping your voice light, and hoping it comes off as a bit of a jest.

When you finally turn to face Fu Xuan fully, she dips to sit beside you, on her own folded knees. She plucks your soon-to-be-worn lipstick off the ground and uncaps it, just long enough to see the color, before sighing and closing it once more with a pop. 

“Not really, no.” Fu Xuan leans against your side, cheeks puffing out. “Not when it comes to him—”

“You can say his name, you know.” You smear chalky highlighter on your cheeks with your fingertips. “It’s not a slur. He’s just some guy.”

“‘Some guy’,” She groans. “If he’s really just some guy, why don’t we skip the gig tonight and stay home? We can order in some nice food, and I could invite Qingque.”

“... I—”

“You know that going is a bad idea, right?” Fu Xuan sighs. “We’ve gone over this before.”

“I’m aware of that.” You can’t suppress your scowl any longer, turning to face her. “Blade is fine—”

“He treats you like shit.”

“He treats everyone like that.”

“That doesn’t make it better. If anything, that makes it worse. You deserve better.” Fu Xuan sounds genuinely upset. “And you can do better. Easily. With literally anyone else, even if you find them at one of your nasty house shows. Try entertaining the thought?”

“You don’t have to be so—” You turn to her, fist balling up on your knees— “So mean about it.”

“It’s messy.”

“And it’s not your business.”

“It’s not!” Fu Xuan says, exasperated as she rolls her eyes. “I really shouldn’t even be bothering, but you are my friend. And it is painful to watch you chase the tail of a man who will hardly give you the time of day or bare minimum respect. Excuse me for showing concern.”

“Your concern is noted.” As it has been before. “But I’m fine. I wasn’t lying earlier— there’s other groups I want to see tonight. You... don’t have to come along just to babysit. I’ll be alright. I know you hate them.”

“I do.”

Fu Xuan crosses her arms and exhales, something angry and burning. “At least let me drive you. I can pick you up later too. Rather I do than some stranger or him—”

“Blade. His name, Fu Xuan.”

“Blade.”

“God, you do say it like a slur.” You roll your eyes, the pit in your stomach having become larger and darker. You swipe below your eyes and thank an Aeon or two that your eyeliner is waterproof. 

...

The house venue is a bit out of town, in the rural suburbs on a lot that’s big enough to host a crowd and not bother the nearest neighbors. Fields streak by during your journey, humming with junebugs and chirping with late- summer crickets. Low hills roll by as a harvest moon rises, waxing and half-full.

Fu Xuan drops you at the curb and idles as you collect yourself. A crossbody bag carries your essentials (your phone, your sticky lip products, a lighter to go with the pack of cigarettes that you actually don’t smoke, and two condoms shoved against the bottom). You fiddle with the strap against your shoulder.

“Call me when you need me to pick you up, okay?” Fu Xuan taps the steering wheel. “I’ll be awake.”

“Okay, mom.”

“I mean it—”

“I know.”

“Don’t go home with Blade. Or let him drive you home. He handles a car like he’s trying to kill himself.”

It’s a fair assessment but you still shake your head, trying to seem good-natured despite the rot you feel curling in the back of your throat. Bile, rising, before you have a drop of liquor in you. It’s a little pathetic; you’ll really think so in retrospect. For now, you walk toward the venue itching for a drink in your hand or familiar company. Thundering bass and ripping guitar vibrate from the basement windows, shaking the ground beneath your feet.

A crowd clusters at the back of the house. Folks swap cigarettes and clutch cans of cheap beer and flasks decorated with stickers. You quickly survey, looking for, searching for him—

(He’s usually out here before his set, hiding away somewhere with Kafka sharing cigarettes and glaring at anyone dumb enough to make a pass at her.)

A hand grabs you by the shoulder, and you nearly jump out of your skin. “Oh my gosh, you’re here! I didn’t know you’d be coming to the gig!”

It’s March, you know. She is easy to identify with the sweet, candy-like perfume she wears and the slight press of her almond-shaped gel manicure into your shoulder.  March turns you abruptly, throwing her arms around your shoulders and squeezing. Too tightly, knocking the air out of you in an instant. You give her a tentative hug back and pull away quickly. The contact scalds you.

“Have you seen—?”

“Blade?” March pouts and tilts her head. “You know, I feel like you only come to these things to see that guy. He’s nothing special. And I have seen him. He was off sulking a while ago, by the sheds in the back of the lot.”

“... I’ll have to check. Thanks, March.”

She sighs as you walk away from her, before calling out to Stelle (who is always a step or two behind her anyways.) 

You feel— bad about how you treat them. They’re both good people. So is the third in their trio, Dan Heng, a man with a beautiful face and an eerily calm demeanor, especially when compared to his companions. The group of them was introduced to you back when you first started attending these shows, hanging around the scene, and sweating in the basement of mildew-filled houses. They were some of your first friends, and easy to mesh with when you gave yourself the time and space to. Stelle always had a flask with lukewarm vodka or tequila, and March kept a case of seltzers in her trunk. Dan Heng was the ever-reliable sober cab. 

(It was nice back then. Before you had become so entangled with Blade and the subsequent social politics that came with chasing and occasionally fucking the hot, albeit emotionally-unavailable bassist of HUNTERS. It was far easier to hold those friendships than to orbit around a man who you can never tell if he hates you or wants to fuck you in his back seat.)

You find Blade tucked away around the side of the house, cloaked in shadow while taking long drags of a cigarette. The cherry glows in the dim light. From the basement window peeking out from the ground, a red glow pours out, illuminating the well-worn combat boots he wears. They’re crusted in filth, falling apart at the toe. 

(You’d still lick them if he asked you to. Hump them if he asked you twice.)

Another figure stands across from him. Serene, arms crossed, with storm eyes visible even in the poor lighting. Dan Heng keeps a perfectly neutral expression as he speaks, hushed, to Blade who wears a scowl so perfectly that it looks like he’s carved of immovable stone rather than not flesh. 

You’re not quite within earshot. You can’t make out their words, only their tone. It’s an angry exchange, one that’s charged with heat lighting and ire. Blade spits something at Dan Heng, venomous in his tone like he so easily is. Dan Heng replies back something so cooly that it’s like a low-tide wave lapping at your feet.

If you were better, you would turn around and leave. Neither of them know that you’re here, so close. It’s invasive to listen, but you know that there’s... history between Blade and Dan Heng. You’ve always wondered what it is, and considering that Blade has the emotional availability of a rotting vegetable, you won’t be getting those details out of him.

Maybe witnessing their dynamic (yet again) could provide you some clarity—?

(And maybe, if you know why Blade was so, so hurt by Dan Heng, you can do better. You can be the exact thing that Blade wants, and then he will want you, just as much as you want him.)

You listen more keenly:

“I’ve asked you to stop booking shows where the Express is already playing.”

“And I’ve asked you to get off my dick and stop being such a priss, but it doesn’t look like you’ll ever do that.”

“I’m asking you to be reasonable.”

“Sure, because clearly asking me to not play prime gigs is ‘reasonable’. Not to mention you should be taking this up with Kafka or Elio, not me. Did you just want an excuse to talk, Imbibitor Lunae—”

“Don’t call me that.”

“What, have something else you’d prefer to be called? I remember plenty of things you liked hearing. Want me to name a few?”

“Hold your tongue—”

A stick cracks behind you and you nearly jump out of your skin.

“Bladie~” Kafka purrs behind you, hands sliding up over your shoulders, hot breath over the back of your neck. “We’re on soon. Soundcheck in five, Firefly has a vodka shot for you if you want.”

You’re frozen.

Blade grunts from around the house, and as he does, Dan Heng emerges from the shadows quickly, on hastened feet, and nearly stumbles when you see him. Your expression must be— fucking stupid. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed as Kafka runs her nails up and down your neck. 

As Dan Heng practically sprints off, Kafka croons quietly into your ear, “And what are you doing all the way back here? Looking for Bladie again?”

You don’t need to speak for her to know your answer. Blade’s steps thud against the ground over the short, dry grass. 

Part of you knows you should scramble away and pretend you weren’t just lurking like a stray dog begging for kitchen scraps. It’s humiliating to be caught by Kafka (yet again), doing the same shit on a different day. Another part of you, one which is much louder, more persuasive, and saccharine sweet, urges you to face Blade. If you get caught in his maw, good. 

Your hands shake as Blade emerges from the dark.

He looks like death. Ghostly pale skin with deep purple eyebags, like bruises. His eyes are cut carnelian, ethereal and volcanic against his parlor. A cigarette hangs between his plump lips, threatening to burn and melt the pieces of his fringe that hang around his cheeks. Long, wild black hair, tipped in faded crimson, falls down his back in frizzy waves. His arms bulge obscenely in the tight, black shirt he wears. A carved jade pendant hangs off of his belt.

Blade stares you down and his scowl deepens, turning even more sour. He mutters something under his breath, something unintelligible but cruel. It’s not the first time he’s spoken to you that way. He’s done so more loudly and more brutally. 

You—

(Hate it. You love it. Well, maybe not love, but you crave the way that Blade is awful to you. You’re horrible.)

“Better get inside now,” Kafka hands drift to your waist, tugging on the belt loop of your pants. You let out a little yip. “I’m sure the front row is filling up fast. No need to spy on Bladie if you get a prime spot during the actual set, hm?”

She’s right; she usually is.

Kafka leaves you with an elegant twirl, humming one of HUNTERS songs from their new EP under her breath. You know the tune. You’ve been playing it on repeat for the last two months. 

It’s easy to follow the jarring trills of soundcheck as you float inside the home, following the trail of people headed toward the basement. Descending down the rickety, railingless stairs into thick, humid air that reeks of sweat, beer, and fledging mold. Down, down, down you go— maybe to hell, where you perhaps belong.

...

Moon Drinker by HUNTERS

You taught me that the high moon 

Was our lovers’ sigil

How quickly did you throw away our runes

How empty is your cup

Moon Drinker

That you would break mine too

...

The gig is decent. That’s how these shows tend to be and you enjoy them just enough to tolerate the stench and humidity of grungy basements like this one. 

Three bands play, IP3, the Express, and HUNTERS. The interest you expressed to Fu Xuan about Pier Point’s IP3 was a lie, but they’re not bad. The frontman, a blond with eyes like inverted crystals, has a sultry edge to his voice that verges on sexual. It’s a cleaner sound that rips into something dirtier, filthier, as their set goes on. 

The Express follows IP3. You’ve seen them more times than you can count, but the trio is still nice to listen to, even now. March always plays with the crowd in between her harmonies in a way that riles folks up just enough without causing abject chaos. The band plays a new song you don’t know, one that is angry and loud and so unlike their normal sound. Dan Heng is on vocals, rather than solely on guitar, and you’re reminded of how mournful and melodic his voice can be. The exact words of the piece get eaten by the cement foundation of the basement, but you imagine that it’s an elegy.

HUNTERS is last on.

They usually are, as their music is the loudest and gnarliest, and they’re typically the most well-known (even if they have a shit reputation and their crowds leave trashed venues in their wake). You feel— insane when they start playing. You know all of their songs, even if you don’t really like their music. Kafka’s voice is hypnotic in a way that’s disarming, even on a recording. Silver Wolf is too good of a drummer for the caliber of band that they are, and Firefly shreds easily on guitar, trained on strings since childhood, but using her talents in a grunge band rather than on a world stage.

Blade’s bass playing is messy. Though his tempo is sure and unwavering, the actual rhythm drags and punches in intervals that verge on unnerving. You have never been able to place if this is due to whatever rage and poison he carries into music making, or if his fingers are as arthritic as Kafka jokes that they are. 

It doesn’t really matter, in the end. The sound blends together in a cacophony that sounds like the way bursted flesh looks. If you could taste the way their newest EP sounded, it would be the iron tang of blood and the acrid burn of bile. 

You’re fucked for it— for Blade. You’ve been since you first became tangled in this web.

A pit opens in the middle of the crowd, small at first, but rapidly widening, with more and more people throwing themselves into it. They bounce around and bash against the individuals at the sides of the pit, only to be shoved back in a moment later. 

You try to stay away from it. Instead, you watch Blade like a fucking pervert.

The basement has gotten hot. Steamy, if you look hard enough at the air that barely circulates against the low, pipe-ridden ceiling. Blade has thrown his hair up in a high ponytail, wisps of hair still cling to his neck and temples, sweat visibly rolling down his neck. His shirt sticks to his toned chest as the overclocked speakers try to keep up with the HUNTERS most recently released song— ‘MOON DRINKER’.

Blade doesn’t look at you. Not once.

His eyes are fixed elsewhere, deeper in the crowd, beyond the bodies in the pit and those who hang at the outskirts by the house’s ancient boiler. Blade’s attention is fixed on— something (someone. You can assume who.) Not once does his gaze drift down his instrument, and never does he acknowledge the way you stand in the front row, so close, with your attention squarely on him.

(This is normal. So normal, it’s painful.)

The pit expands even further, widening as more gig-goers jump into mosh as one song bleeds into the next. You almost get swirled in yourself as a stranger slams into your side with enough force to nearly knock you to the ground. 

A broad, warm hand catches you by your bicep, hoisting you up before you even have a chance to fall. 

“Be careful now,” It’s Jing Yuan (who is much too powerful and rich to be at a basement show, but yearning pushes you both to do stupid, nonsensical things) who speaks directly into your ear, so you can hear him even as your ears ring muffled. “Are you alright?”

You turn to nod at him, flashing him a thumbs up and nervous smile. The cologne he wears permeates the space around you, overpowering the sweat and mildew with ease. He gives you an easy smile and a squeeze, before letting you. He sidesteps your frame to be closer to the pit, crossing his arms over his chest and shielding you from the worst of the throng. 

You’re grateful for the cover; it would be embarrassing to topple over right in front of Blade.

It takes you a moment to recenter yourself, lost in Jing Yuan’s scent and the roar of Firefly’s final, aching guitar riffs. You look back to HUNTERS once more as they finish out their set in a loud, carnal flourish. The expensive speakers they’ve dragged with them are going to fucking blow out—

Blade is staring at you.

Not into the crowd, toward the placid face and cold heart that so clearly plague him, not to his bandmates or instrument, but looking at you.

In the red-lit basement, his eyes nearly glow, unnatural in their anger as they always are. It seemed more concentrated, feral and crystallized in its intensity. Rage. You want to cower under it while your insides feel hot and frigid all at once. He pierces so easily, so thoughtlessly. As the crowd erupts into cheers and shouts as the set ends, you cannot move. Staked in place. 

Not once does Blade look away from you, and his mouth does not deviate from the twisted frown he wears.

... 

Swordmaker by HUNTERS

If I were forged alongside you, 

Do you think I would forgive you then?

If iron was your skin,

Steel your lungs

and lead your heart,

You would be easier to hold.

Empty are memories

Full is the garden

And bloody is the blade.

…

You should be better than this.

Blade slams you up against the back of the shed, the motion jarring and far too fast to be pleasant. Your head knocks painfully against the wood and peeling paint, and despite how you whimper with the impact, Blade doesn’t react. He doesn’t seem to care. 

(You know he doesn’t.)

He hikes your leg up over his hip and grinds against your core through your pants. The motion is rough, clumsy and far too harsh to be pleasurable. The dry friction through your panties makes you squirm and dig your nails into his shoulders. Blade grunts in your ear. You think he likes the pain.

The gig was only let out half an hour ago, and plenty of people are still milling around. Whispers are circulating about if and where there will be an afterparty. You weren’t paying much attention to them— they’re easy to ignore— especially when Blade had been dragging you by the wrist just far enough away from the main house to fuck without being overtly noticeable. 

(Barely, though. Blade can be loud and you can be loud when you’re with him. You’re tempting fate to be caught, seen with him in this way. It’s an open secret that you’re the scraps that Blade entertains himself with, but you would rather not be caught with your literal pants down.)

Blade smells like cigarettes and sweat. The scent of unclean smoke tangles in his unruly hair as you get a grip on it and tug. The juncture of his neck has the faintest hint of some cologne you’re sure he doesn’t know the name of and stale sweat. You press your lips there and dare to drag your tongue across his skin and taste him. It’s not a good taste, not necessarily, but you love it. Salty and filthy. (It’s disgusting, but familiar and morosely comforting.) You are drunk on it and it makes you feel pathetic at the same time.

A growl sounds in your ear as Blade pins you with his weight to the shed. Dragging you back from his neck, he grabs your jaw, forcing you to look at him fully. 

“Don’t leave marks.” He paralyzes you with his stare and sneer. 

“I’d never.” You try to sound earnest, even if it’s a lie. Because you would— you’d bite and tear at his neck (like he does at yours) until the skin there is black and blue. Happily, you would leave hickies above his collar. Split his lip and bite his jaw hard enough to bleed. You could wear his blood on your teeth and smile for once at these fucking gigs.

Instead, you do not bite him. You just let Blade maul you as he desires.

He grinds against your core. The pressure is unpleasant at this point, too much and too little all at the same time. When you whimper now, he just ignores you and slips his hands under your shirt. He grabs your waist in both hands and squeezes.

“Turn around,” says Blade, already twisting you himself, so your front is pressed against the shed.

“H-Here?” You laugh nervously. Despite your... reputation, something cold, unwelcome and uncomfortable settles in you. “C-Can’t we go to your car? Or inside?”

“Maybe later.”

(It’s awful. It’s sick, the way your heart flutters at the implications of ‘later’. ‘Later’ means more of him. More of Blade’s time, his touch, his hardly-there care. More scraps for you to gorge yourself on, more time to beg for more. It’s sick. It’s sick how fucked you are for him.)

Blade reaches around your front to undo the button at the top of your trousers. In a swift motion, he has them around your thighs. Just enough that he can bend you over and access your cunt with some amount of ease. He keeps your panties on at first (he usually does this. You’re never sure why. You can delude yourself into thinking it’s him taking his time with you, but you know that that is a lie). 

Blade places one of his hands on the back of your neck to flatten you against the shed, while the other must be unbuttoning his own pants to get his cock out, based on the jingling of metal and shred of a zipper. You swallow, your mouth dry. You’re dry, but you know that if you try to touch yourself to prep at this point, Blade will only be meaner.

The most he does is run two fingers over your slit, over your panties. It’s barely enough contact on your clit to be felt, but you gasp and shudder anyway. Canting your hips back, you try to encourage more contact. Anything he’ll give you.

He sighs behind you. Disappointed. Aggravated. It makes you want to cry.

Blade peels down your panties. The cold air shocks you, your core tightening up, but you hardly have time to adjust to the temperature before Blade’s equally cold hands fully part your folds. He sighs again, pulling away only to spit on his fingers, and smear his saliva around your hole. It feels dirty. You feel dirty.

When Blade pulls away, you whine at the loss of contact (at how cold it is, at how the crowd milling around smoking cigarettes and cheap weed is just on the other side of this dilapidated shed crows and laughs into the night). You swear you can recognize March’s giggle above the din of conversation.

You’re brought back to your entanglement with a harsh slap to your ass. Harsh and audible. The sound that escapes your lips is choked and high. 

“Don’t get distracted,” Blade huffs. He spits again, presumably on his dick. 

You nod, latching onto the pain radiating from slap to your ass. As if sensing it, Blade lays down another strike. This one is hotter, harder. He isn’t holding back. It is sure to bruise the tender flesh there. A mark. Something that will tangibly ache, something leftover from your tryst.

You could cry.

The velvety head of Blade’s cock nudges your folds. He brackets you into the wall, arms on either side of you. Heat radiates off his chest and sinks into your spine.

“‘Feels good?” He asks, voice hoarse as he coats himself in your meager slick.

“Y-yeah,” you lie. It’s not enough to feel good. You don’t care.

Blade seems content enough with your answer as he bears down on you. Flattening you to the dirt-covered shed, he hitches his hip down, then up, trying to fit the tip of his cock into your hole. He maneuvers your hips as he pleases, grunting when the tip of him catches on your cunt. When you dare to whine, even the smallest sound, he cracks his hand down on your ass again. Your vision speckles into darkness with the shot of pain and—

(The roar of anxiety and subsequent shame when you realize how much quieter the milling crowd nearby has become.)

“Hold still.” Blade's voice has sunk low, gravely with the cigarettes he’s been smoking all evening. 

The next time his cock touches your opening, he presses in without hesitation.

It’s—

It’s too fucking much.

It is, it always is, every single fucking time he fucks you. Any prep he gives you is perfunctory. Blade will never lavish you with attention, not in the way that you probably need. That you—

(Might even deserve.)

No, the most that Blade will do is fuck you filthy behind a shed, near some of his more well-adjusted peers and probably come inside of you. On past occasions, he has let you suck him off in the backseat of his car. He’s only accidentally (‘accidentally’) came on your face a few times. Less than ten, more than five. Once, he ate you out for a few minutes, but you swear to god he was groaning someone else’s name as he did.

(You’re fucking pathetic.)

This is always too much. Blade is too big. Too big, even if you were stretched and primed with a few fingers like would be right and proper. As tight and dry as you are, it’s painful. He has to grind into your cunt with rolling little thrust so he can fit himself in at all. Each one shocks a breath out of you, a shattering, fragile sound. 

When Blade bottoms out, he lays flat over your back. The weight of him is suffocating. His corded muscle is all dead weight above you as his cock twitches inside you. You can’t tell if he’s idling to allow you some time to adjust, or purely for his own leisure. You can’t be sure. You don’t want to ask him either.

“You’re tight.” Blade’s voice threatens to break.

(Of course you are. He’s the only person you will let fuck you, and these trysts only occur every few weeks, when there’s a show that you can be cornered at.)

He bucks into you, deeper still. The head of his cock is touching parts of you that shouldn’t be touched.

You whimper, “Blade—”

He growls in response. It’s a raspy and low tone that makes arousal burn in your gut and leak down your thighs. (You hope so anyway— it’s more wet and you don’t think it hurts enough that you’re bleeding.) Blade fucks you in earnest, then. There’s no delay, no waiting, no potential for momentary, perceived niceties. He pulls out of you almost completely, then thrusts back into you in one single motion. The friction burns and your vision wavers. 

(You still moan like a whore.)

You feel— dirty. Disgusting. Pathetic as he fucks you like. You don’t feel like a person as he fucks you; you never do. How could you? The grip he uses on your hips is too bruising and the force and strength he’s using to brutalize your cunt is just too much. He fucks you like he’s taking anger out on a piece of drywall. Blade shares physically with you in the way a dog shreds a chew toy to bits, then leaves it on the ground to fester.

Blade grunts next to your ear, nipping there.

He doesn’t kiss you— well, not often. He can’t with your current position. You wouldn’t expect him to anyway. Sometimes he leaves a ring of dark hickies across your neck, like a collar. You like those, but he always waits an extra long time to see you after he marks you like that.

(You presume to make sure that the bruises have fully yellowed, then faded. A clean canvas.)

Blade’s pace increases, just before he pulls out. His cock rests on the cleft of your ass and he tips his forehead to rest on the shed, just beside yours.

“You’re still dry.”

“Sorry—”

He cuts you off. “It’s fine.”

...

It apparently isn’t fine. 

Blade drags you toward the house. He barks at someone, then Kafka, to find a room. You feel dazed as he does. Out of your body, as you receive a number of knowing and unknowing stares from the lingering show-goers who cluster around a firepit. 

(How many of them heard you just now? How many know the exact sounds you make when in barely-there pleasure? In certainly-there pain? How many of them know the sound of Blade’s too-big cock slapping into your too-dry cunt?)

It makes you feel sick to think about.

A room must be found for the two of you, as Blade drags you up the stairs of the back porch. 

As he does, he hesitates.

(He has so rarely done this.)

His gaze is not on you; it pierces elsewhere in the dark. A floodlight off the back of the house illuminates a section of the yard, and just beyond its reach, nestled somewhere between the dark and light, he fixates. His jaw sets and locks. 

There are figures, you realize.

They’re easy to identify once you actually focus. One is lithe and short-haired, the other broad-shouldered and long-haired.  Dan Heng and Jing Yuan. Speaking on the outskirts. It feels private. Their attention turns from their hushed conversation to the two of you as Blade stares daggers and swords into them. As if he could pierce them with nothing more than his silent rage and angry eyes. 

You freeze.

Their expressions are obscured in the lowlight, but you can almost feel the looks they give you. Like a sickly mucus that gets stuck to you and rolls down your flesh in slow, cold globs. 

Dan Heng (once so dear to you, still probably dear to you—) looks guarded, thought darkened. Contempt twists his expression, anger following just after. You’d ever wager that he’s disgusted, maybe. Probably with you, because he knows you’re better than this. Beside him, Jing Yuan wears an expression of careful passivity, of geniality, as he always does, but it’s tinged with something sad and old. For all parties involved in this silent, momentary exchange.

Jing Yuan regards you directly, slowly blinking at you, as though he was a large house cat intent on making you feel safe, and not a presence that only drives the bubbling anxiety in you higher. 

It’s a seconds-long encounter that stretches for an eternity. You cannot make yourself move. You cannot feel anything other than rotten and small.

Blade lets out a harsh exhale and yanks you away. The scene breaks and you’re dragged inside. He whispers under his breath, vitriol-tinging his tone. Your panties feel sticky and wet as you walk.

Kafka had found a room for you, on the second floor of the house. God knows whose it actually is. You don’t get a good look at the room as Blade pushes you inside.. It’s dim, the only light is licking in from the dirty window, an afterburn from the raging bonfire outside. You hear muffled voices still, leaking in like a draft. 

Blade locks the door and pushes you onto the unmade bed.

It’s a cheap mattress with flannel sheets. It smells like old weed smoke and cheap incense. Fu Xuan would tell you that you deserve better than this. You think you might.

Blade climbs on top of you, jaw still locked, and eyes far away.

(You do wonder what happened between him and Dan Heng. Something did. Something gutting and heartbreaking— you hear it when Blade sings. A betrayal, an intangible knife cut but still so painful. Dan Heng has always spoken about Blade with a type of protective neutrality. He warned you to never get involved with Blade. To stay away, to not get on Blade’s bad side, and if something did entangle you with him, Dan Heng could sort it out. He has always cared so fiercely for those he loves; it’s a shame that you have squandered it.)

(Blade is a sentimentalist. Blade is so held in the past that it chokes him. It always has, during every moment you’ve shared with him. He lingers in the bloody past, he holds it in his hands with a grip that’s meant to snap bird wings and flay flesh. He hates Dan Heng. He still loves him, though. You see it on his face sometimes. You hear it in Blade’s music. The ache, the death, the unending grief and mourning and rage that the man simply won’t let go of.)

(It is obsession.)

It shouldn’t make you bitter to think about. Yet, it does. It’s not your place to hold those types of feelings, let alone express them. For so many reasons, Blade will never see you as anything more than a cheap fuck. You think Dan Heng is the primary one. Over time, you’ve grown bitter. Resentful. 

Blade pulls off your shirt in one swift move. He’s slower than he usually is. More deliberate. His hands are shaking, like how they do just after he finishes a set. It’s… off—

You hate it. You hate that the lingering pain of someone else will effect Blade more than you ever, ever could in the present.

You grab a fistful of his hair and tug. His breath catches as you do.

”What the fuck is your deal?” You sneer at him. There’s a cruel edge in your voice that does not sound like you. Blade brings out the worst in you, and you fall prey to it, so easily. 

Blade glances up at you, eyes sharp like cut gems. He says nothing.

”You and Dan Heng,” you laugh. You don’t mean to— you don’t, you don’t— and you yank Blade’s hair so he has to look at you better. “It’s pathetic, you know. How you look at him like a kicked fucking dog. What happened between the two of you, anyways?”

Blade freezes. So do you.

You’ve misstepped so brutally. So stupidly and tragically and idiotically. You’ve pushed too hard for what—?

Blade is on his haunches in an instance and he slaps you across the face.

Your head follows the force of the impact, forcing your face to the side. Your cheek smarts. It wasn’t— that hard. Blade is strong. He could do worse. Still, it shocks you. The pain is enough to make you gasp and reel.

”What the fuck—“

”Don’t,” Blade grabs your jaw, “open your mouth about things you know nothing about. You should know better.”

You should. You do.

”I could know more, if you ever told me, I don’t know— anything?” You laugh in his face, manic behind your eyes. You’re crushing the delicate nature of your cheap arrangement like how a child would crush a flighty butterfly’s papery wings. 

Blade shakes his head, smothering a laugh. He wrangles you forward, half-off risen from the bed, and parts your lips with his thumb. Before you can react, bite, claw— he is raising himself higher than you, dwarfing you in height, and spitting down into your mouth, onto your tongue.

”You don’t know when to shut up, do you?” He pats the side of your face, over the cheek that he struck. It burns. In another world, this touch would be tender. Here, you can only wince. 

Before you can reply, continue to run your mouth and rile him up further, Blade kisses you.

It shocks you, stuns you. 

He— he hasn’t ever kissed you before. It’s never been an explicit boundary, but never once during these trysts has Blade ever initiated this type of contact. It has felt dangerous to do so yourself. Something that’s too intimate, too personal to share. The core of your entanglement is the way he uses you. It’s impersonal. 

A kiss, you think, implies something more tender.

You gasp into his lips, and he takes the opportunity to all but violate the inside of your mouth. His tongue plunders inside, licking at his own spit that you have yet to swallow. A noise chokes off in the back of your throat. Something desperate and shocked that you hardly recognize. It’s filthy. He nips at your lips and pushes you back down.

Blade devours you. 

It’s too much, really. It’s a gesture of tenderness that has been so thoroughly mutilated, calling it a kiss feels paltry. The way his lips are on your own is much more like an argument and a subsequent conquest. One in which you lose ground. He nips at your lower lip, snags it between his teeth, and tugs it as he pulls away.

You pant, the sound of your own breath roars in your own ears. Your hands are still buried in his hair, grip unyielding, anchoring you.

Blade smiles, something poisonous and satisfied. You are too drunk on the singular kiss he gives you to care that much.

“That’s all it takes, is it?” He laughs, the sound dark and rolling, like the sound of an earthquake cracking the earth. 

He already knows you’ll beg for scraps. God forbid he gives you even a morsel more. 

The bed squeaks as he flips you by your hips so you’re laid flat, belly-down on the dirty sheets. Blade spanks your still-clothed ass for good measure before rustling around behind you. Assumedly to disrobe, just enough to fuck you. Assumedly, to ignore the condoms you brought (knowing he would disregard them—). Assumedly, to fuck you with every inch of your life. 

You want it. You want him so badly it physically hurts.

(Or, maybe you tore while he had you behind the shed. Who is to say?)

Blade clamors behind you, shaking, arthritic hands tugging your pants by the waistband. He doesn’t even bother to unzip them this time. Your panties get pulled down along with them, and they get tossed elsewhere in the barely-lit room. Blade spits behind you, and a sound of too-dry stroking follows. 

“D-do you want me to suck you off?” you ask with a hum. You’d let him fuck your face, if he asked. Or, if he wanted. Blade wouldn’t ask.

“No.”

“Just let me know.”

Blade sighs behind you, but you think little of it.

You brace yourself up on your elbows, lowering your upper half to be flat against the bed, and arching your hips as high as they’ll go. It’s as if to make yourself look appetizing. You hope it entices Blade, even a little.

(Please, you need him to want you. You need him to want you so badly. Please, please, please—)

The head of Blade’s cock rubs as your hole, down to your clit, then back up again a few times. He’s so hot, it’s like he is burning you. Contact that scalds. The contact against your clit is... nice. It’s the most warm up he has graced you with in a while. You could crave more, but settle for this. 

“C’mon Blade,” you whine. Your voice sounds airy. “Fuck me.”

He doesn’t reply, not with his voice. The rocking of his hips becomes more pronounced, and the slide of him against you becomes slicker. Still too big, too hot, but wet at least. Which is a bonus. Pre and blood are probably leaking onto the shaft at least a little bit too.

It makes it easier once he slides home in a single blow. 

It’s too fucking deep— especially with this angle. The head of his cock presses against your deepest parts, bruises them in a place where no one can see or feel but you. Blade is huge, the girth of him stretches you as his hips rest against your ass.

A wretched noise bubbles up past your lips. Something between a cry and a plea, for more, for less— to go home, to be in a warm, clean bed with someone who actually cares— you aren’t sure. Your desires have been twisted up and wrong for so long, you can’t tell what you really want. 

It makes you feel rotten, and then there’s only one thing you want.

(To hurt.)

Blade fucks you, then. Fully in, fully out of. Long and deep thrusts that carve out your insides in a brutal way. It’s violent. He leans over your back, and braces himself over you. You feel small, stupid, and hurt. A horrible swirl of things that make tears spring up at the corners of your eyes. You bury your face in the crusty pillow you’d manage to snag nearby—

And Blade tugs it away immediately. His big, calloused hand curls to hold your jaw up, so every pitiful whine and whimper you let out can’t be muffled. The bed squeaks as his thrusts slow.

“Don’t hide.”

“I-I won’t.”

“You were.”

“I won’t a-again—”

“You want this, don’t you?” Blade growls in your ears, then moves to the most fragile skin of your neck and bites. 

(You do, you do— god you do. You need this.)

You nod, and Blade keeps biting. His jaw nearly locks. You’re sure that you’ll be bruised for a week.

Blade scoffs and rears back, grabs your hips in both hands for leverage. And he fucks you.

That’s all it can be, really. You can’t get a solid hold on anything. The pillow has been thrown off the bed, and you struggle to find purchase on the sheets. All you do is take it. Pleasure, or something like it, builds in your core and goes nowhere. It simmers but never crests anywhere near orgasm. 

You don’t mind. This is enough.

Blade’s pace increases, never frantic. Never with him. Manic maybe, insane, tortured and damaged, but never frantic. Not with you. His rhythm falters as his cock slides in and out of you, slick beginning to stick to the inside of your thighs. 

His hand comes down on his ass. The other cheek, this time. It’s enough force to bruise again. You’ll have trouble sitting for a week.

As Blade nears his peak, his rhythm stutters. His breath grows harsher and more strained. His grip goes from bruising to breaking. You gasp with the pain, but don’t tell him to stop. His cock brushes against your cervix, and never your sweet spot. 

Blade flattens you to bed, prone, and puts his entire weight on top of you as his orgasm hits him. A strangled cry shatters from his lips into your ear as he fucks you too fast and too hard. A gush of warmth fills your insides, spilling to your outsides when there isn’t enough of you to hold all of him.

The bed frame slams into the wall with his final few thrusts. 

You lay there, in the filth, in the pain and the dissatisfaction of the tryst, and rot.

...

Blade leaves you there, at some point.

Not right away, but eventually. He rolls off you at some point, catches his breath for a while, checks his phone, then rises to right himself.

You cannot make yourself move. The only thing you can make yourself do is take slow, measured breaths. Each ache in your body is punctuated, loud and unignorable now that the fizzling pleasure of sex has dissipated. What’s left of it is this: carnage. 

“You have a ride home?” Blade asks. He must be near the door, based on the sound of his voice.

Fu Xuan’s warning words come to mind, and shame fills your belly. 

“Yeah.”

“Good.”

And he leaves.

You rot for a while longer.

This is not the first encounter that has gone this way. Blade fucks you like this and leaves. There’s no reverie or sweetness. There is using and being used, and the conclusion that always follows is this. Cooling, soon-to-be dry cum leaking out of you in thick droplets and a bite mark on your neck you’ll need to conceal for the next two weeks. Blade will ignore you like he doesn’t know you, next time he sees. But still fucks you like a toy.

It’s awful. It’s all you want.

You force yourself up at some point.

You’re surprised to find that your pants and panties are in a heap on the end of the bed. You are sure that they were tossed farther, but perhaps you misremember. Painstakingly, you rerobe yourself. Moving your legs in such ways hurts so bad, you could cry. You probably did cry while Blade fucked you. 

The quick stop in the squalid bathroom confirms this. Mascara smudges around your eyes and down your cheeks. The sticky gloss you were wearing has been smeared away. Not even a stain of the crimson remains. 

You feel hollow as you walk down the stairs, outside, toward the bonfire and its rapidly dwindling flames. A few folks still millaround, people you recognize, just barely, though no one you could call a friend remains around the pit. Stelle, March, and Dan Heng are long gone, probably. You’d feel too ashamed to look them in the eye anyway.

Someone offers you a warm beer and you take it. Your hands shake.

Hollow and wordless, you move around the backyard like a specter. Part of you wishes you were one, just something mostly formless and shapeless. Transparent. No one could see you make a fool of yourself that way. There would be no witnesses to your desperation and perversion.

You swallow back bile when it rises in your throat, and wash it down with a chug from the can.

You’re surprised to find Jing Yuan idling around the corner of the house. He looks up when you near him, and he greets you with the same genial smile he always wears. He nods to the space next him, already plucking a pack of cigarettes from the breast pocket on his shirt. You take one, and he lights it for you in the next instant.

“It looks like you needed that,” he hums. He doesn't take one for himself, only tucking the carton away and out of sight.

“Maybe.” You want to vomit. Or slide down the wall of the house and rot there. 

He laughs then. It’s too... warm of a sound for how you feel. For how dirty these venues are, and for the company that you have come to hold, it feels dissonant. Jing Yuan is too kind, too patient. 

(He cannot be your friend because your ruin would spread to him, maybe.)

“Take as many as you like,” he urges with a hum, and settles next to you.

Silently, you ruminate. Descend into yourself. You suppose, given the events you’ve seen tonight, that you’re both stewing in something akin to yearning. 

(Jing Yuan is better than you for it. He, at least, doesn’t sleep with his unrequited adored in someone else’s bed after a messy house show.)

“Do you have a way home?” asks Jing Yuan, breaking you from your slow-rolling spiral.

You shake your head. It would be rude to call Fu Xuan so late. You— you hadn’t really thought about a ride. Not yet. 

Jing Yuan looks you up and down and his smile looks sadder, “How about a ride home?”

“Sure.” You nod. 

The ride back home in Jing Yuan’s (too nice, too expensive, too decadent) car is quiet. An album from a band you don’t recognize plays at a low volume. Soothing, soft voices, so juxtaposed from the venue you leave behind. Maybe you just can’t recognize the words because you’re decaying. Your phone lays in your lap, over your aching thighs. 

[no new messages]

(Because Blade never messages you after a fuck. You’re not worth that much to him.)

...

Gingerly, you unlock your front door and enter your little apartment. Fu Xuan lays on the couch, on her back, with her phone against her collarbone. Her mouth is parted in peaceful sleep, though her hair is still done up, all of her pins are still in.

(She waited for you, again. And you failed her, again.)

You don’t know how she puts up with you. Or why either.

Some part of you wants to vomit. Wretch, like it’ll purge the awful, disgusting thoughts warming you. They do not serve you. You should just—

(Know better. You gain nothing from entangling yourself from Blade. The sex is... enough. Because Blade doesn’t know his own strength sometimes and makes it hurt, unintentionally toeing the line between too little and too much. It’s still not worth it. It shouldn’t be worth it. You’d be better off never going to any gigs, ever again. You wouldn’t have to disappoint and embarrass yourself to your old friends then. You wouldn’t have to linger in the yearning of others while never having that affection given to you.)

You collapse atop your bed. Your makeup has been roughly scrubbed off with an old towel, and you can feel the crunchy remnants of mascara clinging around your eyes. You can’t make yourself care. Burying your face in your pillow, you burrow into your blankets. You’ll probably be sore and hungover tomorrow... today? The songbirds are just beginning to chirp their morning arias. It makes you sick to your stomach.

As you begin to doze, your phone vibrates. 

[one new message]

blade: did you get home 

Your mouth feels dry and your chest feels so tight you could die. 

you: yeah. jing yuan drove me. 

[seen: 5:11 AM]

You hold your breath as Blade begins to type. Then stops typing. Then begins again. It goes on for several volleys and you really do think you might puke.

blade: get some sleep

You drop your phone somewhere in your sheets. Giddiness fills your chest, despite the exhaustion and ache and bone-rotting fatigue. Elation causes you to smile, something wide and girlish that you have to hide in your pillow, lest it be beared to the world.

(It’s a scrap. It’s nothing. It’s worse than the bare minimum and the bar is already in hell.)

But, it’s something.

A morsel. Something to clutch onto and hold and cherish.

You want to put his words between your teeth and swallow. 

[hoshigray]

So I saw this tweet and thought then and there: Toji's fingers and how deliciously thick they are. Just imagine you always looking at his hands and being in absolute awe every time you look at them...And Toji uses this little infatuation to his advantage, to which you have no complaints.

A/n: Now I know it seems like I'm stalling my make-up sex Toji fic, but please accept this as a gift from my procrastinating ass (I swear idk what's wrong with me, I'm recently getting back into drawing and trying to relearn everything waaaaaahhh)!! I saw the new trailer and squealed seeing Toji (nothing new, lol), but then that tweet popped up right after, and I noticed how thick they animated his fingers!! So I just ran to my keyboard, and boom! Here we are!! Also, tysm for 400+ followers like???!!! Y'all are far too sweet and kind, ya know that!? Tysm~~~

Cw: dom! Toji x fem! reader - fingering (obvi) - fingers in your mouth - Daddy kink - breast fondling - finger sucking - praise - pet names (angel, baby, darlin', good girl, kiddo, sweetie, sweetheart) - clitoral play (pushed down by finger)- mention of violence (reason for Toji's scars) - ends with overstimulation (fem! receiving).

Wc: 1.5k

There is no doubt that you love Toji unconditionally and blatantly. That is the truth. There's no denying he isn't an ideal man; both of you understand that. He has many flaws that you're perfectly aware of. Yet despite said imperfections, you choose to stick beside and love him as if he's worthy (which baffles the older, tall man).

There are many things you love about Toji. But if you could pick one thing you loved about Toji, it would be his hands. When he holds them, your hand is dwarfed by his big palm. When he pulls you close to him by the waist when you two are in a crowded area. Or when he cups your face and kisses you before leaving for hitman work.

Palms are rugged and large that effortlessly warm you up. Fingers calloused and decorated with faded scars that each hold a story. Veins that stem from the bulky arms contour all the way down to the back of his palms.

His hands. His big, rough, warm, and scarred hands. You love them so much. And you're not the only one who knows this.

Toji is no fool. He can sense your eyes observing him from across the room as he's washing the dishes from the kitchen. He doesn't have to lift his head to see you on the living room couch where you're supposedly reading something on your phone. But it was apparent your attention wasn't on the small screen in your hands.

"Whatcha lookin' at me for?" Again, not looking at you and finishing the dishes. His scarred lip twists into a smile when you cough nervously before responding.

"Oh, you know. Just looking at my man being so handsome washing those plates." You internally sigh in relief, saving yourself with a quick excuse.

Now Toji looks and grins at you, placing the last plate into the dish rack and drying his hands before walking up to the couch to sit comfortably beside you. His left arm is positioned behind your shoulders, bringing you closer to him. Your heart skips a beat.

Toji grabs the TV remote to change the channel to something interesting, probably sports or some sitcom. Not that you care, because you just watch his fingers press on the channel buttons and place the remote back onto the coffee table. His right hand then moves to his chin to scratch the slight stubble, and your orbs trace the outlines of the tiny scars that harbor on Toji's knuckles. He never entirely told you how those faded tissues came to be, but he'd say that he came out way better than the guy on the other side of his fists ("Fucker had it comin', sweetie. Shouldn't bring a knife to a fist fight.")

Despite coming from such rough events, you don't mind the scars on his fingers. If anything, they make his hands even more attractive to look at.

"Somethin' wrong with my hand, kiddo?"

Uh oh. Your eyes drift to Toji's face, sharp green eyes leer at you, and a smirk is plastered with a mischievous expression. I got caught!

"No, nothing's wrong with them." You place your phone on the coffee table, and your hands move up to grab hold of Toji's hand resting on his chin. "They're...I just like looking at them."

Toji lifts a brow as he hums, removing his hand from your grasp and placing it on your cheek. A big thumb lays on top of your plump lips. "Is that right, darlin'? Ya like my fingers, yeah?"

You nod sheepishly while turning into putty when his fingers squeeze your cheeks with affectionate warmth. The left hand that once rested on your shoulder snakes down to your chest, and small gasp results from the sudden grasp on your soft mound.

"You want Daddy's fingers, baby?" He asks while massaging your breast, lowering his head to your ear so his gruff voice makes you shudder. You answer him with hooded eyes and a wistful nod, his eyes narrowing slightly at the blissful sight. "Lay down fr' me then."

You follow his instructions as he spreads his legs, your upper body resting on his right thigh while the other stations your ass for him. He whistles before rubbing and kneading your ass, while your breathing becomes irregular when he removes your leggings, revealing your panties.

The position limits your view, so you use your senses to feel his fingers teasing from your spine down to the wet spot on your underwear. Your shivers aren't missed by Toji. He laughs. "Gonna be a good girl and let me use my fingers on ya, right, angel?"

"Yes, Daddy." Toji sneers at the title and slides your panties down, your pretty pussy glistening for him to see. Your breath hitches when you feel his left ring finger nestle between your folds. The thick digit slowly but surely makes its way inside you, and a short squeal leaves you when it's entirely within. "Relax, princess. Bein' so good fr' me right now." The older man coaxes you as your cunt adjusts to the finger, his right hand caressing your cheeks for comfort. He pushes the finger further when your breathing returns to a steady rhythm.

Even with the sound from the television present, Toji only listens to the mewls you let out every time he pushes and pulls his thick digit inside you, rubbing on the walls of your tight slit. He enjoys the view of your bare ass and cunt for him to see and toy with, silently humming to himself when listening to your cries of pleasure.

When he feels as though you've adjusted to his ring finger, his middle finger brushes between the lips of your pussy, prompting you to clench hard on him. He laughs at your reaction, "Easy, sweetheart. I know you can take more of me." Toji sneaks his middle between your wet cunt, and a giant gasp quits your body as your hands grip his grey sweatpants. The soft pants from your open mouth fill the room, only for Toji to insert another pair of fingers into your mouth. "It's okay, cry on these hands you love s' much."

And that's all you could do as you let the man bully your poor pussy, your mouth sucking on his right fingers in your mouth while his left-hand abrade your insides. Thick digits stretch your aroused hole, causing your heart to race and your skin to heat up.

"Mmmm, Mmmph!" Words are muffled, and a scream is prevented when you can feel the digits make a 'come hither' motion. The tips of his fingers scrape your velvety walls, your brain turning fuzzy while tears and drool render your face from the stimulating abuse you're going through.

His fingers slide in and out of your slick-covered pussy faster, and you accidentally bite on the digits in your mouth. But Toji doesn't mind, for he knows he's making you feel so fucking good. "Yer grippin' on me so hard, sweetie." His fingers switch to a slow pace, making sure the pads of his two fingers tantalizingly graze your hypersensitive sex. "Gonna come on Daddy's fingers?"

Finally, Toji frees your mouth. Heavy pants exit your lips pooled with drool, saliva from your mouth coats his right middle and forefinger that retreat to holding your face once more. "Yesss, Daddy. Haaaah, I wanna come on y— Aaahh!! F-fingers..."

How can he deny you when your tearful eyes beg for release? His emerald orbs go dark in hunger, and his grin widens with his teeth emerging from under his scar.

The rough digits in your cunt quicken in reckless haste, forcing out moans to fill the room yet again. The middle and ring fingers assault the gushy walls deep inside your squelching cunt, the noises on par with the thrilled whimpers that exit your mouth.

And Toji uses this to distract you from his forefinger aligning with your clit. When the index finger comes down and swipes around the tender bud, your moans turn into electrified screams, hands gripping the man's leg holding you up. With the erratic pace of the two fingers deeply scraping your pussy, along with the forefinger pressing down on your clitoris, your orgasm hits you with no warning.

You chase out your climax with a euphoric sob, walls fluttering around the fingers responsible for your hips stuttering. After a few moments, your body relaxes onto Toji's legs which keep you still. His right-hand rubs circles on your back.

"Did so good, darlin'." He praises you, and it ends with you blissfully dozing off on his lap.

...Or so you thought.

Because it hasn't been a full minute before he starts moving his fingers in your wet vulva yet again, the abrupt movement pushing out choked cries from your throat. You send Toji a confused look which is answered with his childish smirk.

"Oh, sorry, sweetheart," No, you're not! He's absolutely not. The speed of his fingers getting faster proves it, your sensitive clit getting overstimulated by his forefinger brushing against it. "But don't think I'd let you come just one time. Make a mess on my fingers, baby. Make 'em real dirty like you."

[catmiemy]

Another Chance to Live Part 1 (Ana Maria Crnogorčević x Reader)

Summary: Ana and you are both struggling with unwanted transfers, but maybe you can at least find happiness off the pitch.

A/N: This is the first part of a story I've been working on for a while. I guess my way of processing my emotions about Ana's transfer. I've been in the denial stage for a long time 😅

The next two chapters are already written (just need to edit them) and so far it's a total of about 13k words. I'm now at a crossroad which will decide how long the story becomes. So I thought I'd publish the first part and see how much interest there is in a story like this to help me decide.

It felt like a cruel joke of the universe that now, now when you had been forced to leave, the woman you’ve had a crush on for years, joined your team, or well your former team. Words that made your heart crack a little more every time you thought them. Never in a billion years had you expected your team to become your former team.

Ever since you had first laid eyes on Ana you had been dazzled by her, not necessarily only by her looks, although you definitely enjoyed them, but also by her personality and her aura. She always radiated so much kindness and positive energy. It was impossible not to be drawn to her.

Sadly your paths didn’t cross all too often and when they did, Ana was always somewhere in the heart of whatever group you were part of, while you were lingering on the edges, looking in. So the Swiss woman was probably only vaguely aware of your existence, while you soaked up every detail you could find about Ana. The more you learnt, the more you liked her.

 And yes, sometimes when you lay in bed at night you made up little scenarios how the two of you would meet. One of your favorite ones was Ana coming to Atleti, not really knowing her way around Madrid yet, so you take her under your wing and show her everything. And of course she starts falling for you as you spend so much time together. It was your imagination after all, so you could day dream all you wanted.

Now part of this little fantasy was actually coming true, Ana really was joining Atlético, and it frustrated you to no end that now that she came, you were gone.  Although perhaps it wasn’t the universe being cruel towards you, maybe it was protecting you because even if you played for the same team there was no way the Swiss woman would ever go for someone like you.

Still, you spent a good amount of time fuming about it in your apartment. Possibly also because it was easier to focus on that rather than on the fact that your childhood club had just dropped you like you meant nothing.  Every time you remembered the conversation with the club’s managers you felt like throwing up, hiding under the covers for the rest of your life, and ripping off your ears so you didn’t have to listen to one more word from them. So yeah, it was comforting in a weird way to think about your missed chance with Ana, especially since it never had been much of a chance anyway.

It was harder to hold on to that strange comfort when training actually started and you had to go to Real Madrid’s training center every day. Most days were spent attempting to do your best and keep your negative emotions in check, while thinking nonstop about how much you hated this, how much you wanted to return to Atelti, how much you wanted to leave Madrid altogether.

So all in all you weren’t having the best time, barely getting by was actually a more accurate way to describe it. Then a few weeks after the season started you got a call from Lola.

“Sooo I heard you’re doing a lot of moping these days,” she teased you.

However there was an underlying note of worry in her voice. You had done your best to pretend as if Atleti’s decision hadn’t hurt you, that these things happen in football, and you were completely fine with it, but Lola had seen right through it.

“I’m not moping, I’m just quiet and focused like usual,” you quickly defended yourself. It was only partially true, you hated every single second you spent at the training center of Real Madrid.

“That’s not what I’ve heard, but how about you convince me over a cup of coffee. Maybe tomorrow afternoon?”

You didn’t even question how Lola knew that you had the day off tomorrow, apparently she had some spies at Real. As much as you didn’t want to continue talking about the misery that was your new club, you did want to see your friend, so you agreed.

“I might ask some other people if they want to tag along. Everyone misses you,” Lola continued, making you happy and sad at the same time. It was nice to be missed, but you wished you weren’t in a position where you could be missed.

Before you could hang up, Lola told you to bring “your moping buddy Misa”, then she ended the call with a cackle, not giving you any chance to retaliate. In all honesty there was some truth to it, both you and Misa were unhappy at Real, so it wasn’t surprising that she was the only person you had really bonded with so far.

Going by Lola’s words you expected a big group the next day when you entered the café you had agreed upon. What you found however were merely three people, Lola, Misa and no one other than Ana.

Suddenly your stomach was filled with butterflies flapping their wings wildly, making you somewhat nauseous as a result. You hadn’t expected this and you weren’t prepared for it at all. If it wouldn’t have been incredibly rude you would have walked right back out of the café.

Instead you walked over to the small group, doing your best impression of a friendly smile. You could have sworn you saw a knowing glint in both Misa’s and Lola’s eyes. There was no way they knew about your crush though, right?

Lola jumped up when she saw you, hugging you tightly. “It’s good to see you, chica, I’ve missed you,” she told you.

You had to blink a couple of times to chase away the tears burning in your eyes. There was no denying that you had missed her too, all of your former teammates really. You longed to be back at Atlético, and not only because Ana was there.

Right, Ana.

You extracted yourself from your friend and smiled at the blonde. Should you hug her as well? Or greet her with kisses on the cheeks? That’s exactly why you should have been informed that Ana would be there, so that you could think this over beforehand. Or, well, over think it.

Unlike you Ana knew exactly what to do; she got up, greeted you kindly and gave you a quick hug. “It’s nice to see you again, Y/N. We’ve never had much of a chance to talk, so I’m glad we get one now.”

For a few seconds too long you started at her. You were torn between awe, and a little bit of envy, at how easily the Swiss woman had navigated this greeting, and shock. She remembered you? She was happy to see you? Once your heart slowed down from a wild canter to a moderate gallop and your brain was working more clearly again, you realized that this was probably just something Ana had said to make the situation less awkward, not something she truly meant.

“So, do you want to sit down?” Lola suggested with a smirk on her face. Thankfully she left it at that though and you quickly sank down into a chair. You felt too embarrassed to look at Ana, so you completely missed the reassuring smile she sent your way.

After that things went much more smoothly, mostly because Lola and Ana carried the conversation, allowing you and Misa to remain in your preferred role, attentive listener. Your former teammate as well as your crush tried valiantly to draw you out of your shell, but out of fear of saying something stupid, you kept your answers as short as possible without being weird or unfriendly. If only you could think of something witty to say!

On the bright side your relative quietness gave you a good opportunity to study Ana. She was stunning as always, but you could easily spot the signs of the toll this move to the Atlético had taken on her; her smile wasn’t quite as wide as usual and didn’t reach her eyes, her voice was a little duller, there were badly covered up dark bags underneath her eyes and she was a bit more subdued than normal  in general. Man, you really had spent way too long looking at any video of her you could find to notice things like that!

Then all of the sudden Misa let out a gasp. “I completely forgot I promised my neighbor I’d let in her daughter today. I need to leave right now to make it.”

You frowned at your teammate; it wasn’t like her to forget something as important as that. Was something more than her unhappiness with being stuck at Real bothering her? You made a mental note to ask Misa about it the next day, remind her that you were always there if she needed someone.

Misa’s departure didn’t really change anything in the dynamic, she hadn’t contributed much just like you. But then Lola got a phone call from her girlfriend who apparently needed your former teammate urgently. She looked at the two of you apologetically, however you could swear that there was some glee shimmering behind her regretful front.

“You girls should stay here and enjoy the rest of the afternoon. Really I’m so sorry about this, don’t let it ruin your day,” Lola babbled, pressing a kiss to both your and Ana’s cheek before dashing out of the café.

You looked after her with confusion. The confusion however was short-lived, quickly drowned out by panic once you realized that you were now left alone with Ana. No more hiding behind other people, no more safety net. You weren’t ready. However leaving also wasn’t an option, there was no way you could do so without offending Ana, so you had to pull yourself together.

“I’m sorry about that,” Ana apologized, bringing your confusion back. As far as you were aware the Swiss woman had absolutely nothing to apologize for.

“They probably planned this because they think I need to be more social again. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jenni put them up to it, she’s been pretty worried,” the Swiss woman specified, leaving you reeling because you didn’t know how to deal with that much honesty.

“Oh,” you replied, praying that some more words would enter your brain. “Maybe they also did it for me. They think I’m pretty antisocial in general,” you finished, kicking yourself for making yourself look even more pathetic than you already did.

To your surprise Ana didn’t seem put off; on the contrary she chuckled and said, “Well we can be antisocial together then.”

The Swiss woman using the word ‘together’ in reference to the both of you made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside, you could definitely get used to that.

In an attempt to take control of the situation and not end up blurting out something stupid if Ana asked you a question, you inquired how she was liking Madrid so far. It seemed like a normal thing to ask someone that had just moved to a new place.

However the Swiss woman didn’t answer right away, which was atypical for her who always seemed to have a reply ready. That combined with the guarded look in her eyes made you realize that this wasn’t a safe and easy topic for her. In your rush to make sure nothing that would be complicated for you came up, you had totally forgotten that Ana’s own move to Madrid had been anything but a happy occurence. Way to be selfish!

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry. Forget I said anything, that was such a stupid thing to say,” you apologized frantically

“No, don’t worry, it’s fine,” Ana quickly reassured you. “I just don’t really know what to say. Obviously I didn’t want to come here, I miss Barcelona. Both the city and the team. So I’m not having the best time to be completely honest. Then again I also haven’t given Madrid much of a chance yet. So…”

The Swiss woman’s openness left you stunned once again. This could never be you, sharing your thoughts and feelings so freely. At the same time you noticed with a surge of excitement and dread that Ana’s explanation gave you a good opening, not unlike your daydreams in fact.

Your fear of being annoying and overstepping was battling hard against your longing to get to spend more time with the blonde in the future. In the end you decided to go for it, maybe Ana would appreciate it and if she didn’t want to hang out again, she could just say so. Of course there was still the fear of rejection holding you back, but you shoved that to the back of your mind. If you didn’t ask the answer would always be no, right?

“If you want to I could show you around Madrid sometime. I’ve lived here all my life so I know the place like the back of my hand and know some nice places. Totally fine if you don’t of course, I’m sure there are many other people that could show you around.”

You spoke in record speed, making it hard for Ana to follow, which was why it took her a moment to answer. These few seconds were some of the most horrible ones in your life. If she said no now all your hopes would be shattered once and for all. Everyone always said it was important to know so you could move on, but honestly if the Swiss woman didn’t want to spend any time with you, you didn’t want to know.

“That sounds great, I’d love to,” Ana replied once she had enough time to process your jumble of words.

“Really?” You double checked, the words out of your mouth before you could stop yourself.

“Yeah, definitely,” the Swiss woman confirmed with a gentle smile. A smile that you returned happily. You hadn’t felt this excited in a while, it was a nice change from the bleakness that had become your constant companion.

The rest of your time together was spent chatting easily. You weren’t a great conversationalist, however with Ana it came much more natural. The blonde definitely did the heavy lifting, but you were happy with your own contributions. You even made her laugh a few times!

Later that day when you were back in your apartment you were much more critical, taking apart every single thing that you had said and coming to the conclusion that you must be the stupidest person on the planet. Thankfully you were going to get another chance in a few days and this time you would be better prepared. You would say interesting things and you would make sure Ana had a great time. The blonde deserved some joy and happiness and you would do your best to give her that.

Before your next meeting with Ana you actually made a plan; you would make a list of her interests and think of possible questions, some jokes and interesting facts you could mention. You spent one evening on it, working furiously and then you realized what you were doing, feeling very foolish all of the sudden. You scrunched up the piece of paper and threw it into the trash with some force.

This was pointless and unnecessary and totally embarrassing! Maybe you weren’t the best at coming up with things to say on the spot, but rehearsing everything like this was a role in a play was stupid. The urge to do absolutely everything to get Ana to like you was huge, however is she only liked this carefully crafted version of you that wasn’t any better than her not liking you at all.

Also, you shouldn’t even attempt to get the Swiss woman to like you. Just like you should keep your own crush in check. Ana’s life was complicated enough at the moment, you didn’t need to add your infatuation into the mix.

Unfortunately your noble plan to ignore your crush failed miserably. Whenever you spent time with Ana you fell a little more for her. It was simply impossible not to when she was the kindest, funniest, most interesting and on top of that most beautiful person in the world.

Like when you were out and about on one of your strolls to the city and a young couple approached you, asking if you could take a picture of them. As was typical for you, you hesitated for a moment; not necessarily because you didn’t want to, but because your mind was already working in overdrive, supplying you with every possible negative outcome.

Ana on the other hand smiled at them. “Of course! Where do you want to take it?”

And then she proceeded to take several pictures of the two, showing them to the couple, and when they weren’t completely satisfied yet, she even offered her own suggestions on how they might turn out even better.

All the way you were just watching them, well mostly Ana, with a goofy smile. You loved how much she cared, how much effort she put into random people she didn’t even know. No wait, you didn’t love that, you liked that, admired it.

Or when Ana convinced you to go into a tiny café. A place you would have never frequented on your own because the intimacy of it freaked you out. Not the blonde though. Within seconds she began chatting with the owner, a middle-aged woman who was thrilled someone showed so much interest in her small establishment.

The cake you got was very tasty as was the coffee and the homemade ice tea. You were quick to admit that Ana had made a good decision by forcing you to go there.

However what really pulled at your heartstring was that the Swiss woman went up to the owner afterwards and asked if it was okay to post about this place on Instagram. The poor woman almost started crying out of happiness and thanked Ana profusely, while the blonde kept insisting that this was nothing and really it should be her thanking the owner.

So it was safe to say that you fell deeper and harder every time you saw Ana. But it was okay, you had a foolproof way to make sure that the blonde didn’t figure it out and therefore her life didn’t get disrupted because of you. Whenever you echoed a statement Ana had made about how much she liked hanging out with you or that she thought you were a great person, you always added ‘friend’ into the mix; “I enjoy hanging out with you too, you’re such a great friend.” and “Aw thank you. You’re one of the best people and friends I know too!”

Sometimes when you were feeling particularly hopeful you wondered if the lack of specification on Ana’s part meant that she liked you as more than a friend. You always discarded the idea quickly though. It was much more likely that the thought of being more than friends was so ludicrous to the blonde, something that had probbly never even grazed her mind, that she didn’t feel the need to explicitly state it.

Despite having to resign yourself to the fact that Ana didn’t like you like that, it still made you happy that she was usually in a good mood when you were hanging out. Something you were secretly very proud of. Still every once in a while her sadness shined through, for example when she heard someone speak Catalan or when she saw something that reminded her of Barcelona.

One time a group of fans came up to her. They were friendly and excited and the Swiss woman matched their energy effortlessly. But then one of them mentioned how sad they were that Ana wasn’t playing for Barça anymore. You were forced to watch the blonde deflate slightly after that thoughtless statement. She was good at pretending though, so the fans were none the wiser.

When they were gone you gathered all of your courage. Up until now you had stayed in the shallows of easy conversation so this was a first and once again you worried about overstepping. But when you saw Ana’s sad eyes and the forcefully pulled up corners of her mouth, you couldn’t stay silent.

“Do you want to talk about it? I mean your transfer from Barça? I know we haven’t really talked about that or othe serious things yet, but I’m always happy to listen. I’m actually pretty good at that.”

The Swiss woman sighed, rubbing a hand over her face.

“That’s very sweet but honestly I’ve been talking so much about it lately. Sometimes it feels like it’s the only thing anyone wants to talk about anymore. So if it’s okay with you could we just continue like before? The distraction has been helping a lot.”

You had been helping! Happiness flowed through you and your smile was maybe a bit bigger than was warranted for a situation like this. However unless Ana was studying you as intently as you always studied her, you doubted that the blonde would notice.

“Yeah, of course. I’m happy to help in anyway.”

Ana and you kept seeing each other regularly and it was the undisputed highlight of your current life. Honestly it was a little worrying how few other things brought you any joy, but you didn’t allow yourself to dwell on that.

So when you were put into a situation where you had to cancel on Ana you were devastated. It wasn’t an appropriate reaction to something so small, but you had a ten minute crying session until you could even begin to function properly again. Calling the Swiss woman was out of the question though, you were still chocked up and sniffling.

Instead you texted her, apologizing multiple times and explaining that you were roped into doing all sorts of things last minute for your father’s birthday tomorrow. You could have slapped yourself for not seeing this coming. Sure, your parents had assured you time and time again that everything was taken care of, but you should have known better. Then you could have done it before today and weren’t forced to cancel on Ana.

Only minutes after you had sent the text your phone started ringing with a call from the Swiss woman. With wide, panicked eyes you stared at the screen. In the end your desire to at least hear Ana’s voice if you couldn’t see her won out. Hopefully she wouldn’t notice anything.

 „Hey I just saw your text and wanted to ask if I can help out with anything.”

You smiled at your phone, your heart warmed by Ana’s kindness. There was no doubt in your mind that she would actually follow through on your offer. Not that you would ever take it.

“Aw thank you so much, Ana! But it’s okay really. Most things I have to do at my parents place anyway. You know help them clean and decorate. So I’ll be out most of the day, and then in the evening I’ll have to bake the cake. Who knows how that’s going to go.”

You chuckled, even if you were feeling slightly panicked at the idea of baking. Normally your mother was in charge of that, but she had broken her arm a few weeks ago, so that was out of the question. Moments like this made you wish that you had some siblings or some cousins for that matter, just anyone to help you out.

“Not to brag, but I’m actually a great baker. So if you want some help, I’m happy to come over in the evening and help,” the blonde offered.

It would be nice to have some help, and you always wanted to see Ana. Plus she had brought up the idea of her own accord, so surely it was okay, right?

“That would be great actually. Thank you so much,” you replied, not giving your mind any more opportunity to drive yourself crazy.

Ana and you quickly planned everything out before you hung up and left to do everything else. With the prospect of seeing the Swiss woman later today you were a lot more cheerful than before.

“What’s got you so happy?” Your mother asked you while she supervised the decorating process.

It was incredibly frustrating since she kept criticizing everything you did. Every few minutes you had to step away for a moment, take some deep breaths and visualize how your evening with Ana would be, full of laughter and fun conversation.

“Not this, that’s for sure,” you muttered, low enough so that your mothers whose hearing wasn’t the best anymore, couldn’t here you.

“What?”

“Nothing,” you said louder, “I’m just in a good mood, I guess.”

There was no point in bringing up Ana. Nothing would ever happen between the two of you and even after knowing about it for almost ten years your parents still struggled with your sexuality. To avoid unnecessary conflict and awkwardness you never spoke about women you liked unless it was something serious. So never.

“You should focus on decorating and not smile so much. Maybe then we would get somewhere.”

You rolled your eyes, but kept your mouth shut. No point in pointing out that most parents would be happy if their child was happy. And it wasn’t like your mother wasn’t happy about it, she just wasn’t good at being pleasant around you. Somehow she always felt the need to criticize you.

Hours later you got into your car, quickly drove away and as soon as you were a decent distance from your parents’ house you let out a loud scream, releasing all of the built up frustration. Then you set your focus on the near future, on the fact that you would be meeting Ana in half an hour at your apartment. Baking wasn’t really your thing, but baking with the Swiss sounded like a lot of fun. Anything was fun with her really; just being around her made you so happy.

When you got to your apartment Ana was already waiting for you, leaning against her car. A big smile appeared on the blonde’s face when she saw you and she waved at you happily. It warmed your insides, swept away any remnant of frustration from the long day with your parents, seeing how excited Ana was to see you.

You got set up quickly, putting out all the ingredients and opening up the recipe you had settled on. Then you turned to the Swiss woman expectantly.

“So any baking pro tips from you before we start?” You asked teasingly.

Ana looked at you sheepishly.

“To be completely honest I don’t really know that much about baking. I usually only bake once a year to make some Christmas cookie,” the blonde admitted, scratching her nose.

You frowned at her in confusion. This didn’t really make any sense to you, but you didn’t want to make Ana feel bad about it.

“So why did you say you did?” You asked carefully. „I mean only if you want to tell me, it’s totally fine if you don’t. I’m sure you had your reasons.”

The Swiss woman blushed a little as she explained herself, “I really just wanted to spend some time with you today.”

Your heart started racing at this confession, your hopes going through the roof.  It didn’t take long for the logical part of your brain to bring you back to earth though. Surely this didn’t mean what you wanted it to mean. Most likely Ana was just struggling today and didn’t want to be alone.

“Oh I’m sorry you’re having a hard time today. You know you can always tell me that and if it’s possible at all I’ll always make time for you. You don’t have to make up reasons to hang out.”

Ana stared at you with a pained expression. It hurt your heart to see her in pain and it made you wonder if something had happened today, perhaps something that reminded her of Barcelona?

“Do you want to talk about it?” You asked when the blonde stayed quiet, but then you thought better of it. “Wait no I’m sorry, you already said that you’re tired of talking about it before and that you prefer a distraction. So let’s bake!”

You put some extra excitement into your voice and made sure to keep up a stream of easy chatter as you got to work. For a while Ana remained a bit distant and quiet, but before too long her smile returned and she began talking and joking.

When the blonde laughed loudly at a joke you had made you felt very proud of yourself for giving Ana what she needed, a distraction. If you continued to be helpful she would keep wanting to hang out with you and that was also very much in your interest. Even if the knowledge that it meant something else to you hurt somewhat every time you thought of it.

However it was all worth it to get to spend time with Ana. Everything was worth that.

[shinesurge]

Another much much bigger creator got an ask a while ago that I can't find now that was the fairly common "How do I become Friends with you" and their answer was very good imo, it basically boiled down to "if I make friends online it's usually with other creators, because we like each others' work" but also gently pointed out how uncomfortable that is to ask someone in general. I've sort of had this problem my whole life for complicated reasons even outside the context of my work but IN that context it's pretty straightforward at least. Probably a good time to remind everybody that the version of someone you're getting through their work (or social media) is always an incomplete picture, even if the part you're seeing is genuine, and also that even then the playing field is wildly unbalanced.

I basically go to work every day and display all my organs on the outside; it is carefully curated but still very vulnerable and Exposed. I'm okay with that, I signed up for this, and I'm very happy when people show up and appreciate the thing. But showing up to this event for a few minutes, guts still safely zipped up, and thinking we are on level footing to form a healthy relationship is incorrect. I also can't stress enough that the answer is not to spill YOUR organs all over the display, this would just make a mess and will not, in fact, bring us closer.

I know people mean well, and I've probably brought this on myself by interacting with my audience so much (which I'm still going to do, things aren't that dire yet lmao) but the vibe is starting to shift for whatever reason and I just wanted to talk about it a little I guess. It's certainly not impossible to make friends with random folks on social media, I do it all the time when things line up, but please try to practice some awareness of the imbalance going on when you're interacting with a creator based on assumptions you got from their work. I think it's cool you like what you see, I made it hoping that would be the case! And, in the channels I've laid out with boundaries for my own well-being, I am usually happy to interact in kind with the folks who make an effort to show up. But please don't forget there are a lot more of you than me, you know a LOT more about me than I do you, and even that picture is incomplete; almost definitely some of the gaps have been filled in incorrectly. I'm here to bring y'all my work, and outside of very specific situations that is the context I like to keep things in. Please don't follow me to my car after the exhibit is done.

[noowayybroo]

Give the dog a bone (Part 2) (NSFW)

Characters: Dogman!Leon Kennedy, F!Reader (Part 1 is SFW GN! Reader)

PLEASE READ THE WARNINGS: Smut and NSFW, Young people DNI. Dogman Leon. Dead dove IG?? p in v. Porn with some plot. Reader is female (sorry) breeding, pregnancy mention, (these tags might be all wrong I havent started writing yet) Leon and reader are initially friends / colleagues. Set after RE4. Lazy writing because I'm too busy and hate writing no cap. dogman anatomy. Hunnigan exists but is irrelevant. Nipple/ breast play / suckling. F Receiving oral. this fic is really slow and boring, shower, Leon washes, you, then you guys fuck. It's like slowburn but like it's not a burn just a bemusing fizzle. ..... knotting. LEON GETS A BIT MEAN AT THE END BUT HES STILL KINDA GENTLE AND ITS NOT EXACTLY CONSENT BUT I THINK IF READER SAID NO HE WOULD STOP LMAO YOU FEEL??? some name calling like "slut" toward the end, mention of puppies and brain numbing and stuff.

SORRY GUYS ITS A LONG ONE I DIDNT KNOW WHAT TO WRITE SO IT JUST GOT LIKE LONGER N LONGER AS I PANICKED.

I feel so gross for writing this. I'm so happy you don't know who I am.

Rushing under the shelter of your roof, you fumble with your keys in the lock so you can move to make room for Leon on the doorstep. Leon hadn't had an umbrella this time, and the both of you were sopping wet, not able to run home fast enough.

Panting, you finally stumble through your own front-door, Leon crowding onto the doorstep behind you to cower from the rain. You turn back to face him, and your eyes are snagged by his own piercing ones as they gaze attentively at you. Cold rain soaks and matts the short fur on his ears, and drips down his dark fringe onto his face as his wide eyes only leave you to search your hallway.

Recently, Leon had taken to breathing heavily through his mouth when physically exerted. His jaw lazily hung open, revealing unusually sharp teeth and what seemed to be a much longer tongue as he panted. Occasionally, it would flick up to lick at his lips or fangs, but he was bashful about the matter. Catching your gaze, he slams his mouth shut and seems to bully himself into breathing through his nose.

He looks away, too, glancing past you into your home, desperately avoiding contact with your possibly judging eyes. His lids hang low as he adjusts to the bright light you flick on and his ears sit low to his head. Now you're aware of his tail, you can see it straight though his sweat-pants, though he may try hide it. The thick, bushy, and perhaps a little damp appendage clings to his leg in silent apology as he awkwardly glances between you and the interior of your home.

He eyes the space in which your hallway becomes a room; a place he'd never before set foot. There's a subtle hint in his eyes. They're almost pleading, puppy dog eyes as he gazes at this uncharted territory, but he refuses to look you in the eyes, as if he wouldn't dare ask you to allow him into your space. Rain hammering just centimetres behind him, still splashing at his back, you decide it'd be rude to just send him on his way now. Besides, you could do with some company. He wasn't just man's best friend now, he was yours.

laugh rn

"Leon, I don't want you getting sick." His ears perk up, head tilting to the side again and mouth slightly ajar. With the warm light from your home flooding past you, you probably did appear slightly angelic to him in this moment. His mouth opens, just as he's about to protest to save face, but you cut him off. "You don't have an umbrella, and we don't have work tomorrow. Why don't you come in and dry off?" His alert expression eases a little and he gives you a sheepish smile, bowing his head a little.

"You sure? It's fine, I really can just go-"

"Leon, come here." you giggle, stepping further into your home after you've kicked off your shoes and hung up your coat. Your words his command, Leon eagerly follows you, but makes sure not to move far from the door until he's removed his shoes and hoodie, placing them respectfully. Shy and gentle in his actions, his posture is bowed again, watching you nervously for any signs of discomfort. He was aware of the position he was putting you in. He knew he could scare, or even worse, hurt you, and he was very careful to prevent it.

You'd seen, over the last few weeks, Leon's tail slowly become more long and bushy. You'd watched the ears on his head darken a little in colour, and you'd noticed his nails and hands appearing a little larger and stronger over time. Whilst there were some changes in mannerisms and his personality you could pick on, there were things you simply did not know:

As he sat with you, Leon could smell you. He could identify your emotions and even that you were about to get ill before it hit you. He could hear your heart quicken and slow in different situations. He felt so connected to you now, he felt so nosey, because he could sense things he wasn't meant to be able to pick up on. He knew things he wouldn't dream of asking you. Leon swallows thickly as he watches you. His newfound primal senses kept him on his toes. He began to see you more of a partner, though he tried to fight it. Whilst his change kept him fearing virginity, a gnawing part of him identified you as the one for him.

You were the one he wanted. He wanted to test his new senses on you. He wanted to display his newfound strength to you, to impress and protect you. He wanted to be close to you. He wanted to use his newfound lust to please you. Woah, woah stop there. He shakes his head and looks away from you, face blank. He wasn't going to just take you. Sure, he wanted you, but he was no monster. All you had to do was say no, and he'd leave, tail tucked between his legs. Just the thought had him cowering in the corner.

Lost in his thoughts, in your scent, in your home, Leon realises how wrong all of this is now.. He can't have these thoughts about you, his friend. His best friend. This must be such a betrayal to you. It would terrify you, wouldn't it? You'd hate him. He should leave now and never let you find out how he feels.

Despite his hesitance and nerves, something within Leon rips his thoughts away from rationality as the scent and warmth of your home bombards him. Door now closed behind him, you surround, and he can't help but sniff the air. Addicted to the information that flowed into him. He could tell what your last few meals had been. He knew where your bedroom was, he could smell your exhaustion, and he could sense your confusion as you watched him stand, pressed against the door, turning eagerly, looking around, and consuming the smell of you. Then, his brows furrow as he notices your glare and he freezes.

Eventually, you get him to follow you into your home. You lay some warm blankets down on the couch and get things ready for a comfy night in as Leon explores your home. Before you can finish, though, you decide you have to make him more comfortable. With some encouragement, he removes his sweatpants and shirt and you replace them with the largest set of pyjamas you have. He's grateful, his fluffy tail wagging and standing to attention as you tend to him and dry it off.

Just as you're patting Leon's face dry, something comes over him, and he shakes his head hard, flinging water all over you and nearby parts of your home. He goes still, eyes wide, realising his mistake.

"Y/N, fuck, I am so sorry-" he stammers, reaching out to place his hands on your shoulders to ground one of the two of you. His hands are wet too and further soak you, and upon realising this he jumps away, tail cemented to his legs as he backs away, eventually calming down to the sound of your soft giggles and insistence that it is in fact alright.

You leave Leon on the couch with some snacks as you'd both eaten at work, and after popping to your room to freshen up and get dressed yourself, you return to him. His eyes never leave you from the second you leave your room to that when you sit next to him on the couch, just touching. His gaze was so prompt, so intense that you wondered if he'd somehow been watching you while you were in your room.

Hours pass of you watching your favourite films, as Leon had insisted he wouldn't have it another way, and the both of you have drifted significantly closer to each other over time. The sky was pitch black outside, and, whilst it had stopped raining, there was no way you'd send him home now. No, you were going to be a little selfish, you thought to yourself as Leon leaned up against you, snuggled into your side, nose buried in one of the blankets from your bed as he held it to his face.

His tail had been non-stop wagging for hours, eyes wide as he watched the screen, occasionally glancing back at you, checking up on your expression. His ears sat flat to his head, content, and he only freed his face to give a gentle yawn. You'd never been this close to Leon before, but even now, you thought something else had changed about him. Maybe it was the soft whimpers and whines he very quietly gave off or the way he juddered and shook with excitement beside you. Perhaps it was his smell... It definitely was strong, but not unpleasant.

Perhaps it was the way he lifted his head as you thought, ears perked up and turned to you, as if he could sense you thinking about him. He watches you, face only inches from yours as he sniffs the air softly. This time, he doesn't glance back at the screen, he just watched you, eyes locked onto yours until you duck away bashfully.

"S-sorry..." he mumbles, realising his mistake before leaning his head down on your shoulder like your very own pet dog might do. His face is almost touching your cheek, his breath hot on your neck as his gentle huffs turn into intrigued sniffs. He proceeds to investigate you further, squirming a little to get closer to you, one arm holding you close as he more-or-less lays on you.

You certainly notice the change, his warm front pressed up against you, pinning you down slightly. Yet, glancing down at his face makes you feel as though it's all unintentional. He seems so content and happy, in a world of his own, gazing up at you as if you'd just given him a home. "L-leon.... are you alright?" you whisper softly, watching as, again, his ears stand to attention.

"I'm... I'm uhhh..." he mumbles, lost in his thoughts, or lack thereof, as he almost purrs deep in his throat. He's half way through yet another greedy, deep breath of your scent when he realises that maybe you're not enjoying this as much as he is. His eyes shoot open and he scrambles to use his arms to relieve some of the weight on you "I-I'm sorry... Are you alright?" "I'm fine" you whisper, gently cupping his face, trying, and succeeding, to soothe him "just tell me how you feel, please?"

He pauses for a moment, eyes fluttering shut either to allow him to think, or in response to your touch. He nuzzles into your hand for a while before humming "I think I'm really hyper..."

Before now, throughout the night, you and Leon had been talking about his changes. He'd opened up to you a little about how worried he was. Before Leon went to Spain, you'd spoken to him about his issues with dating.

He told you that, to his dismay, many of the women who approached him were either spies or simply deterred by how busy and dangerous his work was. He had confided in you that now, now he was somewhat freakish, now he had the mind of a dog, and the partial anatomy of one, nobody would approach him.

You could do nothing but simply assure him that that was not the case. You told him he was wonderful, you reminded him that he was a hero, and you assured him that anybody who got to know him would swoon in an instant. And then, the conversation died there.

Until now.

There was a short silence once Leon, with your guidance, had slowly relaxed back against you. "Y/N?" He sighs softly against you.

"....Yeah?"

"W..." there's a silence again, but you know not to push him. Instead, you gently pat his shoulder, soothing him into visibly easing up. His muscles relax over you and eventually, he speaks again "Would you...?" he whimpers, burying his face in your side to hide his pretty eyes from you.

"...Would you... like me?" he whispers, hands instinctively cupping you as he wraps you into a firm hug "Would you... mind me?" Taken aback, you pause for a moment.

Was he asking if you'd date him, despite his condition, hypothetically? Sure you would, he was your best mate, and you kinda liked him. You didn't believe he had a bad bone in his body. So, you decide to be honest, thinking nothing more will come of it. You gently continue to pat his head.

"Yeah, Leon, of course, you're the best" you hum absent-mindedly. Again, it's not like you were lying, but you didn't really expect him to go for you. You just stayed honest with the hopes of making him feel a little better about himself. And... perhaps it worked, because suddenly, he shuffles further up you, tail thumping loudly against the couch as he begins to nose into your neck shyly. He nuzzles into you, sniffing softly, thrilled, tickling your neck and making you giggle.

"h-hey!" You exclaim shyly, "quit that!" you try and pat him to encourage him to leave off, but he only gets more insistent and playful.

"Y-you mean it?" he chuffs into you ""You like me?" his words are a muffled mess, disappearing into your jaw as he noses further along it. Once you give in, confirming with a gentle nod and a breathy 'yes', it's all over. He's on his knees above you, pinning you down chest-to-chest. Occasionally, his tongue darts out slightly, puppy-lapping at your skin, soon becoming a trail of hungry, loving kisses as he approaches your ear.

He moved so quickly, nipping your lobe softly, playfully before burying his head into you bashfully. He snuggled close, happy, soon becoming restless again and leaning away to gaze in awe at you. The black of his pupil devours all that innocent blue you're so used to seeing stare back at you so often, and the red flush in his cheeks is oh-so-pretty.

You feel strange. Guilty, almost. You knew something was affecting him but it's not like he was drunk or anything. This change of heart was permanent, it'd live with him forever, and so, probably, he wouldn't try and take it back in a hurry. Just to stop him doing so even if he tried, you grin mischievously "Yes, Leon. I like you." you laugh.

He dives into you, kissing your lips with soft insistence until you let him in, at which point, the taste of you drives him crazy. Greedily, he licks into your mouth, repeatedly alternating again and again between sweet kisses and hot, needy groans as he devours you. He rests his weight on his knees as he leans over you, hands caressing your sides lovingly, softly squeezing and feeling whatever he can reach, loving the sensation of you.

You thought it'd be absolutely gross to have a grown man lick you. All of your instincts, and probably all of your friends, would tell you that is NOT how you kiss, and that this man has no skill. However, this man was Leon Kennedy, and... something about it in this scenario just felt right. (He was a dogman now LMAO)

You sigh, in much more of a cuddly, wholesome mood than his energetic, frisky one. Wrapping your arms around him, you pull him close. He groans softly again as you begin to kiss him back, massaging his back and scalp with your hands and writhing your body into him.

More desperate, whining a little, he cuddles into you, gyrating hips moulding with yours in desperate search of friction. Leon moves on instinct above you, gentle but persistent as he unknowingly moves to feel as much of you as possible.

Large and strong hands roam your smaller form beneath him, one gently kneading the soft flesh of your breast through any clothing that remained, whilst the other cupped your face with intimacy. He couldn't take it anymore, being nestled in your warm neck where he couldn't see you. Sitting back on his haunches, his weight on your hips, Leon admired the sight of you below him, still unable to tear his hands from your soft breasts.

Realisation hits him eventually, and his heavy lids and blissed-out expression suddenly fade a little.

"Oh my God, Y/N" He whines, throwing his head back, sighing as he looks back down at you again. "I'm so sorry, you're just so-" Despite his words, he can't seem to break away from you, one hand still kneading at your flesh, teasing at your nipple, the location of which he's deduced from your breaths and sighs. He takes one of your hands in his and holds it close to himself, treasuring your touch. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't ask you-" he blabbers out, clearly feeling guilty.

His insistent squeezing stops for once as he waits for a reply, pleading eyes watching you with bated breath. He fell still, heavy breaths parting his lips, thick tail stilled and resting on your leg. You knew Leon would take 'no', for an answer, at least you really hoped he would, but really, you just wanted to see how far he'd go.

All it took was your soft smile and another nod, before his face lit up, eyes wide, ears perked and tail beating at your legs. He buries his face back into your neck, softly kissing and nibbling and licking at any exposed flesh. His body-weight cages you once more. Smothering warmth. An arm reaches down to position your legs, encouraging you to wrap them around him as he presses his core into yours greedily.

Throwing a blanket over the both of you to keep you warm, Leon proceeds to work his way gradually down towards your breasts, leaving goose bumps and saliva in his wake. Initially, he tries to nuzzle at your garments, absent-mindedly willing himself beneath them, but when that doesn't work, he has to tug them down, pouting and grumbling until he finally removes them in order to proceed. Despite his desperation, the movement is smooth and caring, and he further tugs the blanket over you to keep you warm.

The further Leon lowers himself across your body, the more needy and whiny he becomes, drunk on you. His face never leaves your hot skin, breath and lashes tickling you as he glances lovingly between your body and face. Once Leon reaches your breasts, deft and large hands finally reach them once more. He traces the edges of them before kneading them together, toying with them, admiring their unique shape and softness. He gropes and admires them before longing kisses become needy suckling.

He groans deep in his throat, body collapsing onto yours as his lips latch onto one nipple, tongue tracing over the sensitive bud. Eyes fluttered shut, Leon hums and whines as he kneads your flesh absent-mindedly, only responding to you. Depending on your precious sounds and expressions, he either works harder on you, slows down, or switches nipples entirely until you're sighing and writhing deliciously below him.

Leon seemed like a master to you. He knew exactly how to make you feel good, and whilst slightly rough, did not hurt you at all. He was loving, and you believed just how much he wanted you with every desperate grind of his hips against you. He was perfect and sweet, even when desperately horny.

In his head, however, he was a nervous wreck. He loved this, he loved you, you enthralled you, just by laying there, and each time he glanced up at you, his body shivered with excitement. You were perfect, and whilst his usual introverted self would like to observe you from a safe distance, afraid of upsetting or hurting you, his mind had become more feral, more primal. He wanted to please you, to impress you, all because he loved you. Undeterred by his painfully hard cock, he continued to worship you, part of him afraid you'd never let him do it again.

You squirm against his hips, just getting comfortable, but it reminds Leon that much, much more interesting parts of you exist. With some soft, parting kisses to your breasts and a breathy "Fuck, you're so perfect" he moves down, gently kissing and gripping at your stomach, until he's on his knees at the far end of the couch, a little further from your spread legs. Carefully, he removes your underwear, sliding it from each leg respectfully, and after gently nudging your legs to allow him access to your core... nothing happens.

Curious, you lift the blanket a little to peak at Leon. His face is blank, jaw ajar as he stares longingly at your pussy. A long tongue hangs from his startled face as he takes deep huffs of your scent. Transfixed, he doesn't seem to have noticed you watching him, nor does he register the thick glob of drool that's made contact with your couch.

He's well aware that he never asked you for your permission. He never asked how far this could go, however, something within him drew him to you. You smelled so good, you looked so good, and, he wouldn't admit it but you were the first pussy he'd eaten (he worried you'd probably decipher this instantly through his lack of skill.) To you, though, it seemed as though Leon might not want to do this afterall. Concerned, you gently reach to pat his head, hoping to focus his gaze back on you, but instead, he takes this as confirmation.

Like a salivating dog being told 'Eat', he buries his face into your pussy, ravenous. His thick tongue licking an apprehensive stripe from top to bottom, and instantly, his eyes light up. Leon screws his eyes tight, returning to eagerly lick at you, each breath a moan as he shoves his face as far as he can into you. He doesn't seem to care about the mess he's making of himself, or about you, lost in a world of his own as he begins to devour you.

Leon snuggles close, tail thumping hard against the couch as his ears stand to attention, absorbing any sounds you make. Licking into you now, he eagerly slurps up your juices, alternating between lapping at your folds, slick with his saliva, and giving gentle kisses and nudges to your clit (which he's just remembered was a thing.)

You can't help but release breathy moans as Leon consumes you, his hands now softly grabbing and kneading at your soft thighs, sometimes pulling away to kiss and nibble at them. Your sounds and small movements, grinding shyly against his face, only egg him on, and before long, a calloused thumb finds your clit, resting there for a while before rubbing small, fast circles, sending you reeling into his touch. You can feel Leon breathe a smirk onto you as he continues to lap and suck, swiftly building a pleasurable warmth within your belly.

Peering up at you, Leon senses your release and begins to work harder, the couch beginning to sway a little as he grinds and humps down into it desperately. His groans and whines vibrate deep within you, working with each hot and heavy breath to please you.

Eventually, that tightness into your core becomes intense enough to have your back arching, and in response, Leon's hand leaves your thigh to softly caress your stomach, soothing you. Seemingly a master of multi-tasking, he continues his skilful ministrations on you until your release. A hot buzz of pleasure rushes through you, eyes screwed shut as you shake and moan beneath him. Leon, panting heavily, slows his movement, still lovingly sucking and licking at your pussy, occasionally toying with your clit, until you come down, stilling in his hold.

You feel warm and sweaty, gross. You know the couch is probably coated in slick, and if not, definitely in his saliva. Expecting Leon to desperately come up for air, or part with you, you're surprised to feel him rest his warm face on your stomach, gazing up at you lovingly as his tail brushes over your legs repeatedly. He rocks the sofa with his excited, playful shivers as you smile down at him, a little nervous.

He licks his lips, entirely black eyes staring back at you. You feel a little guilty, seeing how coated he is in you, and not even his new long tongue can seem to clean up the mess you made. Leon doesn't seem to mind.

"How do you taste so good?", he rasps, large hand lifting your blanket nonchalantly so he can get a good look at you. His question has you squirming awkwardly, trying to close your legs, but finding them innocently pinned down by his weight. Absent-mindedly, the dogman pins his head up on one arm to gaze at you lovingly, whilst, his other hand mindlessly toys with your clit once you take hold of the blanket for him.

Shocked, you let out a small squeal and tell him to leave off, which, eventually he does. Apologetic eyes turn to dumbfounded ones as you suggest maybe helping him out. He stutters a little before finally finding his words. He seems surprised you'd even mention performing any sexual act on him.

"Y-Y/N -", he breathes, shocked, "You don't have to do that... it's fine. I-"

"Leon, it's alright. You helped me so maybe I can-"

"I already came...."

"...Are you sure? I want to-"

"Twice..." he groans, letting his head fall against your belly in shame, hot breath fanning you again as he lets out a long, miserable sigh. Lost for words and surprised, all you can do is gently pat his head as he lays there, motionless, seemingly mulling things over. You feel the need to reassure him. I mean, honestly, you were more than flattered.

"Is it normally that easy for you?" You choke out. Okay, that was NOT what you were meant to ask. Leon raises his head, eyes meeting yours, defeated. "I mean- wait look, Leon, I'm flattered" you chuckle "There's nothing wrong with it... Let's chill for a bit and then we can get cleaned up..." You soothe him, gently rubbing his ears, running your free hand through his hair.

In all honesty, you were spent, more than satisfied. You wouldn't mind chilling with him for a few hours, maybe sleeping together. Leon seemed utterly defeated too, the second you started toying with him, his head fell back onto your belly, resigning there, basking in your warmth and touch. A few minutes later, he lets out a wide-mouthed puppy yawn, exposing his sharp teeth, and that devilish tongue to you once more. Maybe you should both go for a wash now, he seemed tired.

"...Could go again..." a lazy, sultry mumble makes its way to your ears.

"...again?", you cock an eyebrow down at him, somewhat impressed by his stamina. "W-wait... eat me out again?" You don't know if you're ready for that-

He looks up at you, tilting his head as if debating what to say next. His face scrunches up and he almost cringes at himself before whining, "Gotta come again..." there's a short silence "I-if that's okay with you-" And then he shuffles backward and nuzzles his face into your cunt again, surprising you.

"Woah, woah, no no it's okay!" you shuffle away, breaking free of his weak hold and lifting his head to look at you "Let me help you this time, Leon." In response to your words, his eyes drift away, avoiding contact with yours. His face becomes a little more red, and his voice a little shaky.

"I don't think it's a good idea, actually.... M-maybe we should get you washed first..." Leon was acting a little strangely now, clinging to you needily, but refusing to look at you, just like a dog who'd done something wrong. This was the first time he'd taken his eyes off of you, but he was still fidgeting. He shook slightly, as if overcome by some great surge of adrenaline. He continued to sniff the air every now and then, looking away shyly. He knew you knew he could smell you. He was ashamed to be obsessed with you.

He kneels before you, ready to get up to give you space. "I don't understand why, Leon. Why are you so nervous about it?" You ask softly and his whole posture falls. His shoulders go limp as he looks back at you, crushed. After a moment of stillness, he stands up properly, ensuring he doesn't disturb the blanket atop you, keeping you warm.

"Look... I'm not a human anymore" He warns, gruffly. His gait becomes serious as he peers down at you. "It might not be safe." Suddenly, Leon's gone from loving, pussy drunk puppy to safety obsessed, matter-of-fact guard dog. His tail is still behind him, but authoritative in its stance, and his ears are stuck up and guarding. Half way between the two, your eyes glue themselves to the mess he's made on his shirt, almost entirely soaked through with your essence. And he doesn't seem to care at all.

"We can try-" you sit up eagerly, only to be met with Leon pinching the bridge of his nose, looking away and sighing.

"You don't get it. I've changed. E-even eating you out made me feel... strange. A-and my cock, it's-" you cut off his rambling by standing before him, naked. It's clear he wants it. You can tell by the freakishly large bulge and wet patch in his pants. You can tell by the way his eyes soften and his lids droop as they settle on your form. What a pervert.

His stammering is cut short as you approach him, and, once you reach him, you tell him sternly, "I don't care what's changed about you, Leon, I love you. So now, we're going to go and have a shower. And then, we're probably gonna fuck." Mouth hanging open, Leon can only blink at you. He swallows hard once you reach him, wrapping your arms around his neck and staring up at him oh-so-enticingly. He can't help himself. Cheeks burning, he leans down and gives you a soft, hungry kiss.

Strong biceps envelop you, and without warning, he lifts you into them. Once you're secure, he peppers your neck with kisses, hands roaming you as his legs auto-pilot him towards the direction you'd glanced in before. If he was lucky, he'd find your bathroom. If he were really lucky, he'd find your bedroom. Leon groans into your neck as he carries you, wrapped up in your senses again. Something about you bossing him around really did something for him, and he jostles you a little higher in desperate hopes of you not feeling just how solid he is.

Soon, Leon's letting you down on your bathroom floor, gazing down at you as if you're the most beautiful, elegant flower he's ever-

No time for that, you tug his shirt off, muscular arms lazily lifting themselves to allow you to manhandle him. That is, until, he has to crouch down as you're too short to remove his clothes all the way. You both giggle, joy easing the nerves somewhat. Leon's body tenses as he strips his own pants off, chucking them to the floor. His face apologetic as he scans yours for your reaction to his... development.

You never thought cocks actually sprung free from clothing in real life. You'd certainly never seen it before outside of fanfiction or animated porn, and you were astounded when it did just that. Not only that, but his cock was huge. Much more red than normal, it was certainly beautiful to look at. The shape was almost perfect, with a noticeable girth the closer it got to his body. It seemed to stare back at you with just as much lust as you it as it stood to attention, dribbling precum slowly, some of which had been flung to the floor.

Eventually tearing your eyes away from your new challenger, you notice that Leon had, again, torn his from you a while ago. He stood staring at the wall just past you, shyly facing your inspection of him. So... whatever he had contracted... had done THAT to his cock? It must have been at least two or three inches larger than you'd expected and whilst yes, it was intimidating, it was a challenge you would not shy away from accepting.

The only problem now was, you think to yourself as you turn to run the shower, there was no way you'd be able to give him head and call it payback. You definitely were going to fuck. "It's amazing" you breathe, looking up at Leon and then down at his cock, twitching in response to your words. His tail starts to slowly sway back and forth.

"You're just saying that-" he flushes, cock bouncing again as he finally looks you up and down again. His ears stand alert, and as steam slowly fills the room, he begins to pant. Following you into the shower, Leon waits for you to hand him some shampoo and soaps to use before cleaning himself down as you do. To no surprise, Leon's finished long before you are.

This becomes apparent when two large hands gently nudge yours aside, massaging your shampoo into your scalp for you. A soft, commanding grip on your chin guides you to look up as he wipes any remaining suds from your forehead before getting to work. Each of his fingers draw smooth, deep circles into you. His touch is like magic and has you completely unwinding.

Just as you reach the false illusion that he can't get better, he moves to a spot of your head that neither of you had yet and you stumble back into his toned form. His hands reach out to gently grasp you, holding you securely until you find your legs, and then he continues to clean you.

As he massages your back, you feel him pressed up against you. His excitement evident in the way his cock kicks against your ass. As he tends to you, you can't help but relax and soften, feeling so warm and secure, both inside and out. He's so sweet, and kind.

Once Leon finishes, he pulls away to allow you to rinse off, and, as you turn to face him, he tenderly looks down at you. His fringe is soaked, messily clinging to his face, partly obstructing his eyes. Ears and tail a damp, matted mess, he grins nervously back at you, seeking your approval as they perk up questioningly. Despite his cute act, you can tell that he is utterly downbad for you!!

Leaning in softly and pecking the gentle giant on the lips, you butter him up before leading him by the hand from the shower. Obediently, he follows you, armed with a towel each, to your bedroom. You dry yourselves off half-heartedly as he chases you along the corridor. Reaching your room, Leon follows shyly, closing the door carefully between the two of you.

Turning to face him, you notice how it takes him a while to register your gaze, forcing him to tear his eyes from where your butt was only seconds ago. He seems transfixed, mouth slightly ajar before he wakes himself up with a violent head-shake, flinging water everywhere. He smiles goofily at you. Almost distracting enough for you to forget about his angry red cock and the way it bobs and twitches, almost begging for your touch.

You weren't really sure what to do for Leon, so, you wanted to encourage him to do as he pleased. You hang your towel over your chair, prompting Leon to copy, and by the time he's turned back to face you, you're lying back in the middle of your bed, legs spread, holding your arms out to him. From 0 to 100 in seconds, his tail begins to wag. Eyes light up as your friend's ears stand to alert, and slowly, he approaches.

Waiting with baited breath, you're startled to see the man slowly stalk towards you. He's enamoured with you, eyes trained on your body, flickering between your breasts, your thighs, your face... Heck -every part of you. Meanwhile, legs on autopilot towards you. He still wears a small smile, despite his loose jaw, and as he reaches the edge of the bed, he pauses. He seems nervous, unsure of how to proceed.

Leon bites his lip, taking a deep breath. His eyes meet yours, begging for permission before his knee sinks into the bed. The bed shifts below you as he gently crawls up you, head hung low, eyes worshipping you from below once more. He seemed to enjoy that, being below you, or perhaps it was his new way of showing care and respect.

Anticipation grows within you. Sure, he hadn't exactly given you a strip-tease earlier, but now, with how slow his movements were (and how slowly i'm writing this fic), you spent far too long wondering how things would actually feel. You didn't miss the way his nostrils flared subtly as his face brushes past your abdomen, leaving small kisses along your delicate skin. Nor did you miss the way he gently suckled on one of your nipples, peppering the area in small kisses.

He didn't want to make either of you wait any longer, and so, kept things a little shorter than he'd liked. As his lips landed on yours, he promised himself that he would eat your pussy again, one day. A strong arm props him up as one of his hands gently cups your face, mindlessly gripping your jaw as he greedily swallows down any breaths and sounds you make. Groaning into you, he pulls away. His eyes instantly find yours.

"Are you sure?" He warns, voice hoarse and husky, eyes crafted with concern. When he sees the way your eyebrow raises, his ears quickly droop as he ducks down a little. "o-okay fine, but don't say I didn't warn you, okay?" his words are soft, the end of his sentence lost in your mouth as he kisses you hard. With one last shuffle and dip of the bed, Leon's hips are pressed up against yours. His cock fits perfectly within your folds as he bucks up into you slowly. At first, he simply wants to coat himself in you. And then, it starts to feel a little too good.

He almost loses himself already, groaning loudly into your mouth as his hips rut up against you, kissing you sloppily, eyes screwed shut. Meanwhile, you're shivering. Everything about him: His sounds, his smell, his huge cock, it's all intoxicating. His cock teases at your entrance and clit at the same time, having you rocking into him. You were almost hoping it'd accidentally slide in, but part of you was more than worried about whether he'd fit.

"Okay- I'm gonna...." Leon hisses, sitting back on his haunches as he watches himself gently guide his cock towards your hole. His pupils are wide, staring on as you feel the stretch just his tip provides. About an inch or two in, Leon stops. He sees the look on your face, and promptly licks a puddle of drool into his hand before dousing it on his cock. Then, eyes back on you, he slowly slides in some more.

It doesn't hurt. His precum and drool do a good job of helping you slide open on his cock as he inches deeper. Satisfied by your lack of discomfort, Leon leans in, kissing you once more as he bottoms out inside of you. The stretch is insane. You feel so full, and yet it isn't necessarily uncomfortable. You never thought he would fit, letting your head roll back with the satisfying sensation of him deep in your guts. You feel lucky that Leon is so kind and considerate, and despite his hips rolling into you soft and slow, he hasn't properly started to move yet.

After trailing soft, loving kisses up your chest and neck towards your face, and murmuring sweet nothings about how hot you are, how cute, how much you turn him on and how good you feel, he begins to slowly move. He pulls out about half way before gently pushing back in. Eyes trained on you, he repeats his motions, hips becoming a little more confident, grinding and rolling into you with each thrust. Already, you begin to feel all fuzzy inside. As he picks up the pace, Leon gently places his hands either side of your waist, kneading and gripping the flesh there as softly as he can as he fucks into you.

Within seconds, you're lost in the heat of the moment, literally. Body tingling all over wherever his meets yours. Your room no longer silent and peaceful, now orchestrated by lewd sounds of skin-on-on skin, soft whimpers and pornographic moans. Before long, the sound of a creaking bed joins the mix as Leon loses himself further in you. Groaning loudly, he throws his head back as his hips piston into you. Still doing his best to please you, there's an element of playful roll and dance in his movements, but it's clear Leon is chasing his own forsaken pleasure as he pummels deeper and deeper into you.

Unable to help himself, he begins to whine: "Oh fuck, you're so perfect"

"You're so hot, you're so cute."

Choking out a particularly violent moan, Leon wrangles his head back down to stare at you. He's a mess, hair clinging to his forehead, ears flopping comically as he fucks you deep. His eyes are dark with desire, flickering again from your breasts to your face, prompting him to lean down to kiss you once more. It's messy and breathy, mainly consisting of Leon moaning and licking into your mouth, his tongue wrestling yours for dominance as his hands move elsewhere. Fondling your breast in one hand, the rough digits of his other land on your clit, drawing small, fine circles with an almost practiced ease.

"Ohh god you're so tight", he sobs.

You whine and quiver, bucking into him, and whilst he doesn't seem to mind, his hips only pound you harder back into the bed. Back beneath him, where you belong. Breath heavy and rugged, he sounds exhausted, but his hips never slow or threaten to stop. Whatever affected him must have given him an insane, inhuman drive, you reckon, as he continues to hammer into you with each long, drawn out thrust. Each slap of his hips sees him pulling out at least a good 5 inches before sliding right back in as if it were where he too belonged.

"Is it good?? You like it??", he whimpers, voice strained between thrusts. His throat was thick, breath echoing desire.

Eventually, you can feel it coming: release. And you can tell by the way Leon's moans grow in volume that he is too. Eyes screwed shut, his head falls back again as this time, he grips you by your thighs. He marvels at the way you dimple between his fingers, drool falling from his chin onto your abdomen as he props your legs high, over his shoulder, so he can hit so much deeper into you. Your moans and whines only egg him on, his thrusts becoming faster, deeper and more aggressive as he almost snarls, burying his face as close to your neck as possible given the position.

Leon begins to groan softly as he feels you tightening around him. You know he might cum soon, and so, you begin to toy with your clit (or don't, its fine) as you reach up to cup his burning face in yours. The second you touch his face, his snaps and growls turn into desperate, whimpering moans as he pulls back to look into your eyes. He begins to shiver, yelping into your ear, trying to warn you. The stutter of his hips tells you exactly what he wants you to know, that he's close. Your touch on his face seems to have reminded him just who he was fucking, and that really, he should have warned you.

"I-I'm gonna cum" he whines in your ear "I'm s- I'm gonna-" he chokes out between moans and sighs. He was about to tell you he was sorry. He was about to pull out. But something inside told him he shouldn't. No, something told him he couldn't. It was in this moment that Leon decided he had to cum in you. Everything was so perfect right now, his cock buried in your hot cunt. The sounds of his skin slapping yours, the sounds of his dick ploughing through your wet folds. He needed it. He needed to be with you, to feel this all the time. He had to cum inside. He had to claim you.

"G-go on Leon..." you moan softly. Leon wanted badly to do exactly as you said. Mind swiftly fleeing him, Leon feels his body go shiver and shake, hips only now losing their rhythm slightly. His vision is clouded with images of you, overlapping the only real sight of you below him. Zoning in on your sounds, your blissed out face. Addicted to your soft skin and warmth, he reaches the his limit. With a guttural moan, Leon commits to a series of short, deep thrusts, snapping his hips into yours seemingly in rhythm with his cock as it spurts thick ropes into you. He closes his eyes, collapsing onto your chest now, moaning and whimpering into your breasts as his hips continue to gyre into you.

You were fortunate that Leon, despite his braindead state, possessed the primal urge to continue fucking his load into you, because as he did so, combined with the violent kicking and throbbing of his cock, he continued to edge you closer and closer to your own orgasm as you harshly rub your clit, desperate to give in before his hips do. Glancing down, you note his blissed out expression. Happy face, red cheeks, tightly shut eyes. He looks as though he could sleep any second, drooling over your breasts as his large, flat tongue laps up the mess, licking messily at your nearest tit.

You begin to notice his thrusts becoming extremely short now, not caring to pull out at all before grinding against you. And all of the above combined with his incessant grinding on your clit brings you over the edge, joining him.. Spasming a little, you clamp down on his cock, back arching into him and shaking. Leon's ears perk up and he quickly rises to attention again, sensing your change in pulse. He begins to lick and groom you all over, softly lapping at your throat and collarbones. He tastes your skin and your sweat and nibbles at your pulse points, as, shaking, you come down from your high slowly.

"Fuck... you're so tight... squeezing me so good" he whines, eyes shutting again as if you've sapped every ounce of his energy. "I had no idea ladies... came like that" he sighs against you, nibbling your ear passionately now, slowly starting to still his hips inside you. He was right... You were so tight against him. It felt as though he was getting bigger. Maybe it was just the stretch of his cum? You try and reason with yourself.

Glancing down at Leon, you realise he, too, is confused. He groans against you, now laying above you, his tail wags hard behind him as his hips autopilot themselves deeper suddenly. You start to panic a little. What's going on? "L-leon" you whimper, feeling yourself stretch even more, eyes squinting as you realise that he probably hasn't pulled out because he can't "'s too big... what's happening?" you groan, throwing your head back. In response, Leon is silent for a while. He's gone back to nibbling at your pressure points, hands greedily kneading the flesh of your breasts before he reaches down and, to your surprise, toys with your clit again.

"Leon... what-"

Cutting you off, suddenly, Leon rolls onto his back, bringing you with him. He stares up at you tenderly as he kisses into your mouth again before replacing his tongue with two of his fingers. They rest on your tongue, pinning it down, silencing you. His actions are dominant and unexpected, but not too rough as his hips continue to lazily roll into yours. Combined with the stretch and his ministrations on your clit, you almost feel like you could cum again like this, being used to nurse his cock.

Then, he leans down to whisper in your ear "Please, babe, don't be scared. Just stay nice and pretty for me, okay? Gotta knot you and pump you full so it takes, okay?" You whine around his fingers, not in protest, but in reaction to his words, which only has him pressing his fingers down a little harder onto your tongue, threatening to slip them down your throat. "Shhhh" he soothes, his voice a little more rough and less playful "Gotta make sure I fill you with lots of pretty puppies, okay?"

Dumb, all you can do is nod. You wouldn't want it another way. You'd never wanted kids before, but something about having your entire body spent, laying on his chizelled tone as he holds you close, rubbing into you sends you reeling. Before long, Leon's ministrations on your clit and tits have you grinding against him, whimpering softly until you release once more. To your excitement, the contractions of your spent pussy have Leon's dick throbbing once more, painting more of your womb. Only some of your combined juices manage to escape past his knot. The rest serving to swell your abdomen.

With excitement, he occasionally prods at your belly,, humming in delight as he kisses and licks you all night, obsessed with you. Only a small portion of you brain is even functioning now. And it's going over the amount of times you dismissed Leon's worry about intimacy. He seemed to have this very correct hunch that something would go... wrong. Or that you might be displeased.

Was him passively forcing you to serve his cock, stuffing you full of cum and barely allowing you to make a sound wrong? You couldn't tell. All you could tell was how good it felt to be ontop of him, to have his huge cock inside you. To get knocked up with his seed.

All you could tell was how good it felt to cum for him many more times that night. How good it felt to hear his gentle words and praise about how good you felt, how hot you'd be once you take, and how much of a dirty little breeding slut you were, just for him, until you both dozed off to sleep, shrouded in eachother's warmth.

Hi guys I didn't really write about the reader's reaction and stuff because A) I found it hard and B) I can't like say how you react??? like I always find it sad when fics are like "you're so wet" "your nipples are hard" etc because like I cant relate n then I feel dysfunctional??? Anyway. Thanks for reading I hate this fic sorry it took 2k years I love you guys thanks for being here and reading this.

also WOAH THAT TOOK A TURN FOR THE HORNY GODDAMN. sorry anout that idk what happened LOL and sorry the fic is so shit n slow I hope u enjoyed it ilysm

Sorry, I gave up on like... bold and italics half way through. And this isn't proof read lol. Thanks for the support guys. Don't worry about reposting and folllowing, especially following, cuz I'm a ghost on here tbh so there's no point. Any comment,s likes etc are much appreciated. Huge ego boost i love you all

stay horny

[bedoballoons]

I can wait until you finish all your previous request before mine.

Maybe if you have time and motivation after finishing all that request.

May I request;

Modern Au! Where Sumeru Boys tells their s/o if they ever miss them just give them a called. Just one step out of the house and closing the door, his phone start ringing only for his s/o calling him and being dramatic saying stuff "COME BACK!!!" "I MISSS YOU<3" and they probably just sweatdrop at this because they were just planning to go out just for a while

Thank you for being so patient and don't worry, this idea gave me a ton of motivation, because.. OH MY GOSH THATS SO FREAKING CUTE!!<3

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿─

{༻~Miss you already~༺}

CW: Fluffy!! Modern AU! Kaveh calls the reader honey! Reader is tilted so no one gets who's talking confused!

(Includes: Alhaitham, Tighnari, Kaveh, Wanderer, and Cyno!)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Alhaitham:

When Alhaitham suggested you called or messaged him whenever you were missing him greatly, he hadn't expected to see your number show up after only being gone two minutes... certainly you couldn't be that lonely already... right? He sighed, answering with a quiet, "Hello?" It was like he could hear the smile that played on your lips when he actually picked up and the happy tone of your voice actually did make him feel a little homesick, "Alhaitham you should come back, I miss you!"

"I haven't even been gone 3 minutes..."

"You say that like you think 3 minutes isn't forever!"

"I'll be back soon, I'm just going to the store."

"Well let's talk on your way there then, I miss you being with me in person, but hearing you talk can quench my addiction for the time being!" He chuckled slightly at your words as if they were silly, but ended up going along with your plan anyway, chatting with you the entire walk to the store, even during shopping and the walk back, until he was home with you once again, holding you in his arms while you told him over and over how much you missed him.

𑁍༄Tighnari:

Tighnari pulled his phone out of his pocket, aware it had buzzed three times now with new messages and he hadn't even made it a quarter of the way to his destination, had he forgotten something? As far as he could tell he wasn't missing anything, he typed his pin and your messages became visible...leaving him shaking his head with a flustered smile.

You: Come back!

You: I miss you to much already!

You: Pleaaase!! I'll make you cookies!

He was seconds away from typing his response when you started calling, leaving him no choice but to answer with a slightly sarcastic chuckle, "You couldn't even last 2 minutes could you? I'm starting to worry you're obsessed with me." He could hear your laughter on the other end and it made his heart skip a beat, maybe he was just as obsessed with you as you were of him.

"You're only now starting to worry about that!? You should come back home and we can talk all about your worries!"

"I'm just returning my book, I'll be back soon."

"I wasn't lying about making cookies..."

He paused mid step thinking about making the warm desserts with you...technically the book wasn't overdue, he could turn it in tomorrow and then he'd still get cookies...

"I know your considering it! Come back! I'll give you extra kisses too!"

The fox sighed in defeat...extra kisses winning him over as turned around.

𑁍༄Kaveh:

Kaveh smiled at the screen, his favourite picture of you displayed alongside your number as the phone rang, he hadn't even made it out of the driveway yet and he could still see you through the window, but he'd made a promise to answer no matter what, after all, he never wanted you to be lonely, "Hi honey..."

"You kept your promise!"

"Of course I did! I do have to get to work though and you know I can't call and drive."

"I know...but I just, missed you already! And knowing you're going to be gone for work all day...I'm going to miss you so much!"

He glanced at you through the window again, noticing the genuine sadness flick across your features at the thought of him being gone all day and he had to admit, it made him want to stay, "I'll call you when I get to work and then you can message me all you like, I'll answer the second I can."

"Promise?"

"I promise...I love you honey."

"I love you too!"

𑁍༄Wanderer:

Wanderer knew this was going to happen, he regretted his words the second they left his lips and as he stared at your number, the annoying song you'd chose for your ringtone playing loudly for everyone to hear, he wondered what had ever made him think this was a good idea in the first place, still he knew if didn't answer he you'd just keep calling, so begrudgingly he picked up, "...hello?"

"Whatcha doin..."

"You know full well I'm walking to the laundromat to pick up our laundry."

He listened as you giggled in the background and for a split second his annoyance ceased to exist,...you really had such a effect on him, stupid human, "How about...you come back and we get the laundry together! I can help carry!"

"I don't need help."

"...just come back so we can walk together. I miss you."

He rolled his eyes at your neediness, despite also finding it kinda cute, "I'm not walking back just cause you have separation anxiety."

"Finnnnne but you better answer all my messages then!"

"...just so you don't miss me to much."

"Yay!!"

𑁍༄Cyno:

Cyno had just barely shut the door behind him when his phone started ringing, he didn't even make it one step and you had already tested his suggestion?, "Is everything alright?"

"Yep! I just missed you!"

"I haven't even left our doorstep yet..."

"Annnd?"

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

His cheeks blushed slightly as he glanced through the window in the door, smiling at you while you waved at him, "You're right I have no argument, seems I'm at a loss for words. You could even say I've lost my window of opportunity to come up with some."

You rolled your eyes at his pun and yet still ended up giggling for some reason, "Yeah well then... you could say I'm waving my flag of victory! My reward...one more kiss?"

Cynos eyes met yours and he nodded in response, "One more kiss.."

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚Have a nice day*⁠.⁠✧

[cuubism]

I'd love something about Dream who's very aware that he's way too intense romantically while also being not intense enough sexually because he's ace. His partners usually prefer it the other way around. If that's something you'd be willing to write (if not that's okay too)

hmm yes, we can always do ace dream. though we didn't quite reach 'aware' 😂 human uni au is what popped to my mind

--

When Hob gets back from class, Dream is lying facedown on the couch, one long arm trailing morosely down to the floor, face smashed so deeply into a pillow that Hob can only see the tufts of his hair. He seems to have been there for some time, and doesn't move when Hob comes in.

"Horrors insurmountable today?" Hob asks as he puts down his bag and heads to the adjoining kitchen to grab a snack. He'll probably need to grab one for Dream, too, now that he thinks about it. Doubtful he's eaten.

Dream just makes an mmph sound against his pillow. Then, once Hob's returned to the living room with a plate of apple slices, Dream pops his head up, lines all over his cheek from the pillow, fluffy hair going every which way, and says, "How much do you care about sex?"

Hob nearly trips and flings his apple slices everywhere. "What?"

"In general," Dream persists, heedless of Hob's shock. "Do you subscribe to the belief that individuals past puberty, particularly men, think about sex constantly, or is that an exaggeration? Which do you think is more important in a partnership: compatible personalities, or compatible sex drives? And why?"

"What is this, a sociology assignment?"

"Answer, please," Dream insists.

Hob sighs and gives in to the mad questioning. Joke's on him for having an insane roommate. "I thought about sex all the time when I was thirteen, maybe. Right now I'm just thinking about how I haven't eaten since breakfast and I'm fucking starving but we're playing Twenty Questions instead of eating. And as to the second one, I don't know, Dream, I think both are probably important."

"So you think about sex an amount you would consider 'frequent'," Dream presses.

Hob's cheeks heat. Sex is not really a topic he wants to discuss with Dream of all people. Those two thoughts don't meld together into anything good for polite company. "I don't know, I guess!? Doesn't everyone?"

Dream lets out a despairing wail and thumps his head back into his pillow. "I am outnumbered."

Hob still has no idea what the hell he's on about. He finally gives up and just starts eating the apple slices. He offers one to Dream, holding it by the corner of his eye until he finally sees it and takes it, turns his head to the side just enough to start nibbling on it.

"You'll choke if you eat that lying down," Hob warns.

Dream begrudgingly pushes himself up, collapsing against the back of the couch, and goes back to nibbling on his apple slice.

"So," Hob continues, awkwardly, when Dream doesn't say anything else, "sex life not going so well, then?"

Dream glares at him, though it's not very intimidating considering the apple halfway into his mouth. "Too well, by most standards," he finally sniffs, and eats the rest of the slice.

"Oh, yeah?" Dream having sex is another thing Hob doesn't really like to think about. Why'd he bring that up again?

"Indeed. I have suitors falling over each other to bed me," Dream says.

Do all classic literature students talk the way Dream does? Hob doesn't know. It's been two years that they've lived together and he's still yet to definitively figure out if it's an affectation or just the way Dream is. He's leaning towards the latter.

Unfortunately, he can believe Dream's statement. Dream is a snitty little prick most of the time, but he's also unbearably beautiful.

"So what's the problem, then?" he asks.

"I don't want them to bed me," Dream says.

Hob's not following. "Say no, then?"

Dream rolls his eyes. "I don't want them to bed me, I want them to want me." His voice loses some of its determination halfway through the sentence, and he looks away.

Ouch. "Sounds like they do want you?"

Dream snorts. "Only so long as it suits them. Only so long as I fit their parameters. Today I spoke to Cori--"

Ah, yes, Cori, Dream's most recent ex-boyfriend. Dream's had a lot of ex-boyfriends, but Cori really tops the list, and not in a good way.

Now that Hob thinks about it, all of Dream's relationships kind of go the same way. Dream comes home after the first date bouncing off the walls with stars in his eyes insisting this person's the one, and within two months the thing's somehow torpedoed into the Underworld and Hob's scraping Dream up off the bathroom floor.

He's starting to see where the initial line of questioning might have come from.

"--and he, at last, was straightforward with me when no one else has bothered to be all this time. I demanded to know, truthfully, why he ended things, and he told me that I 'care too much, but won't put out'--"

Hob winces.

"--which does not make sense, as we had sex frequently? I do not know what else I am meant to be 'putting' and where. I said as much, and he laughed, and said--" he imitates Cori's voice with a surprisingly passable American accent-- "'It only counts if you at least pretend you want to be there, doll. Next time try initiating occasionally.' He left before I could question him further."

Hob doesn't like the picture this is painting. And Dream is looking at him beseechingly, like Hob might be able to explain the bizarre encounter. "So... now you're trying to figure out if your understanding of sex is wrong or something?"

"I felt that, as a neutral observer to the situation, you would be appropriate to survey," Dream says.

(Neutral is a stretch, Hob thinks.)

"So I ask you, Hob Gadling, as a man demonstrably unbothered by 'hookup culture'--"

"Are you calling me a slut?"

"--what do you think is the correct amount that one should care about sex? Because I--" he breaks off, twisting his fingers in his hair, suddenly anxious-- "I do not know what I am doing wrong."

Hob moves to sit beside him, lays a hand lightly on his arm. He's about to say, you're not doing anything wrong, except... that may not precisely be true. At least in terms of how Dream is actually handling it with his partners.

"How much do you care about sex?" he asks.

"Not as much as I am supposed to, evidently," Dream says. Hob just waits for him to elaborate. "Not very much. I prefer not to think about it." He looks at Hob, weary. "Now you will tell me that this is abnormal."

"I don't know what's 'normal'," Hob says. "But it does sound different from how Cori felt about it."

"I suppose," Dream says, sadly.

Hob doesn't particularly like where the intersection of 'I don't care about sex' and 'we had sex all the time' lands him. "If you don't care that much, why keep doing it?"

"It is what is done, is it not?" says Dream. "Besides. I do not mind so much. But even when I do participate, it is still not good enough. Or so it seems."

It's because they're picking up on the fact that you're not really enjoying it, Hob thinks. No one wants a partner who's not engaging. Least not anyone decent. But not saying anything and then just dipping out suddenly is kind of a dickish move, in his opinion.

"Do you want to participate?" he asks.

This seems to give Dream pause. "Mostly I would prefer to do other things. Like. Dates. Only that does not seem much appreciated either." He twists his hands together. "Perhaps Cori is right. I. Care too much."

"No." Hob takes Dream's hands and untwists them. "Cori's a dickhead. You just need to find someone who's on the same page as you, that's all."

"But it seems that book is rather empty," Dream says. He hasn't taken his hands back from Hob.

"Well, was there anyone that you did like having sex with? Or has it always just been--" he can't help but cringe-- "you just putting up with it because you thought you were supposed to?"

"Calliope," Dream says instantly, and Hob lets out a relieved breath. At least it's not all bad. "Because, no matter that it ended poorly... I felt that she truly liked me. And not. Just sex."

"Okay, see?" he says. "You just have to find someone like that."

It... hurts, to try to push Dream into someone else's path. But Hob's long accepted that Dream doesn't feel that way about him. Dream rarely seems hesitant about trying to date anyone he is interested in. Surely if he felt that way about Hob, he would have made it clear by now.

"Someone," Dream echoes, looking down at their joined hands.

"Just because what you want isn't common doesn't mean it's not out there," Hob says, trying to be encouraging. "And hey, if you know now, you can avoid the whole 'not on the same page' rigamarole, hm?"

"Yes," Dream says. "I suppose so." Finally he takes back his hands, instead taking another apple slice from the plate Hob's left on the coffee table and chewing on it slowly.

I would love you right, Hob thinks, unwanted, unbidden. It's not a productive thought, and it's a painful one, too.

"Perhaps I will take a break," Dream decides, though doesn't sound entirely happy about it.

"Could be good," Hob says. "Get your head on right."

"Yes," Dream agrees. "This has been. Illuminating. I thank you for your counsel. I suppose I will have to also thank Cori, 'dickhead' though he may be."

And with that he retreats to his room, still seeming a little off-kilter. And Hob can't help but feel like he's gone wrong somewhere, said something wrong, though he doesn't know where, or what.

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

Bandmates Wanted

Day #2 - Prompt: In the Beginning | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | POV: Jeff | Pairing: None | Tags: Forming Corroded Coffin, Meeting Each Other, Shoutout to Mr. Clarke For Supporting Kids and Their Dreams

It's probably overkill, but Jeff sticks another piece of tape on the flyer, making sure it'll stay put in the school hallway. When he's done, he takes a step back and looks at his handiwork. 

It's a little crooked. Damn.

Oh well, it still gets the point across, he supposes. 

He's not sure how this will go. There might not be any bites, and if there are, they might all suck. Mr. Clarke said he'd supervise the auditions, even if they fell out of his purview, whatever that is. Jeff's glad. He's nervous, and having someone else there, looking like they're in charge, might help. 

The AV room is small, but Jeff isn't expecting much of a turn out, but he'll just have to wait and see what Friday brings.

"Is this Jeff?" the voice on the phone asks, a woman.

"Yes?"

"Hi, Jeff. I'm Carolyn Jones. I'm calling about your band auditions."

"Oh, um. They're really only for kids," he says, unsure.

She laughs, "Yes, I'm aware. I'm calling for my son. He was interested, and I just wanted to know more, before I gave him the okay."

What kind of sissy baby needs his mommy to call for him? Probably nobody that belongs in a heavy metal band, that's for sure. But Jeff's mom would kill him if he isn't polite, especially to another adult, so he bites his tongue. He definitely doesn't have to let the kid in the band, though, that's for dang sure.

"Um, okay, what questions do you have?" he asks, kind of regretting that he ever put his number on the flyer. 

"Well, I'm not really sure," she says with a laugh, and it's warm, kind. He doesn't feel like she's judging him, somehow.

"Okay. Um, I'm Jeff. Williams. I'm in the seventh grade. I play the guitar, and sing a little bit. But if someone better comes along, I'm totally fine with giving that up."

"Well, Gareth doesn't sing, I don't think. He plays the drums, and is a year younger than you."

"Does he have drums?" Jeff asks.

"He does."

"Is he good?" Jeff asks, and she laughs.

"Well, I'm his mother, so I'm a little biased. But I think so."

Jeff laughs, "Have him come to Mr. Clarke's room on Friday. He doesn't need to bring his own drums. Mr. Clarke is borrowing a kit from the band room."

She asks a few more questions, and then finally hangs up.

Jeff goes and digs out his sister's yearbook from last year, so he can see what this kid looks like. 

And there he is, a tiny twerp with a mop of messy curls. Jeff sure hopes he's grown since then. Or, maybe Jeff will have other options, better options, and won't have to let this little kid in his band. 

Come Friday, Jeff's nervous. Really nervous. Only one slip has been taken from the flyer, and he suspects that went home with Gareth to his mommy.

It's five after six, and nobody showed up.

"It's okay, Jeffery. It's still early, don't worry yet," Mr. Clarke says, and Jeff nods. He hopes that's true. 

Then they both hear a commotion, and a cymbal crashing against the tile floor in the hallway.

Jeff jumps up, and Mr. Clarke follows, where they find a little kid, Gareth, trying to drag his own drums into the school, even after Jeff said that he didn't need to do that. Dummy.

The boy's mom is with him, bringing up the rear. Of course she is.

"Whoa, hey, you didn't need to bring those," Jeff says, looking over the huge handful of equipment both are trying to carry, and not very well.

"I told him you said that, dear, but he was adamant that he play his own drums," his mom says, and Jeff nods, because they're here now, and at least somebody showed up. And Jeff gets that. He'd want to play his own guitar, too.

"Okay, let us help then," Jeff says as he reaches for a piece, and Mr. Clarke does the same. 

Then Jeff sees Goodie Goodwin, the snarky, dry-witted kid from his homeroom carrying in a bass. He didn't even know Goodie played the bass. They aren't friends, not really, but they are friendly enough that Jeff would have asked him, if he'd known.

"Hey, we're right in there," Jeff tells him.

And Goodie just looks at him as he walks by, "Yeah, I know where Mr. Clarke's room is."

Well, fair enough, Jeff supposes.

They get everything set up, and then just all three look at each other, like, well, what do we do now? Pick a song, Jeff supposes, but after some back-and-forth, they settle and get started. It's rough, but it's not bad. It could be way, way worse.

And so they play, until they've broken a sweat and Mr. Clarke has put big, heavy earphones over his head, probably tired of the racket.

"I need a drink," Jeff says, "gimme a sec."

He's headed for the water fountain, when Jeff sees Eddie Munson lurking at the edge of the hallway, the new transfer student with a buzz cut, bad attitude and reputation, a guitar case over his shoulder. 

"Are you here for…?" Jeff trails off. Eddie just kind of nods, so Jeff walks towards him, "Why didn't you come in?" 

"You weren't asking for a guitar player," Eddie answers, "but I do like metal. And I play."

"Well, maybe we could have two guitar players," Jeff offers, "that's pretty normal, I think."

Eddie smiles, just barely, but it is a smile.

"Did you have a big turnout?" Eddie asks, and Jeff shakes his head no, being honest. He didn't. Not at all.

"No. One drummer, one bass player, and you, if you want to come play with us. We're not half bad."

Eddie nods, running his hand over his buzzed head like he's nervous, but he finally agrees with a soft, "Okay."

Okay, Jeff thinks, let's do this.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

[hikarry]

As immortal beings, by definition, Crowley and Aziraphale don't have to worry much with mortality.

Sure, they are surrounded by it constantly. After all, they live amongst humans, and they watch the few friends or acquaintance they make through the ages come and go systematically. They are aware of mortality, of death, they just don't think much about it in regards to themselves

To them mortality is not scary. It's just another step in the humans' lives when their eternal house is decided. It's something natural and unavoidable. Hell, I wouldn't be surprised if Aziraphale has helped some humans cross to the other side more peacefully.

My point is: As immortals, they are aware of mortality. But they don't think much about their own unless they are thinking about being caught by Heaven and Hell, but that's just a what if. An hypothetical. A real one at that, yes, but not reality yet.

Now, the bookshop fire.

In this moment, Crowley is punched in the face by the mortality of immortals.

Something he doesn't think that much about just falls into his lap by the hand of no other but Aziraphale.

Suddenly he is faced with utter loneliness. The ending of a life that, technically, should be eternal. A life he took for granted for more or less 6000 years.

In theory, he has always known both him Aziraphale could die. By their bosses' hands. By the end of the world itself. But it's very different to think about it in theory and living it.

Crowley wasn't prepared. This happened suddenly.

He was on his way to find Aziraphale, possibly to apologize again over the stupid shit he said and talk about the whereabouts of the Anti Christ, and suddenly a day that was actually not going that bad anymore (aka escaping Ligur and Hastur with little to no collateral damage) turns into his worst nightmare.

For 6000 years he has had the theory, and suddenly he his gifted with reality.

And the last thing he had said to Aziraphale's face was that he wouldn't even think about him when he left. You bet those last words started playing in his head as soon as he saw the fire.

And there's a whole hidden layer there: it wasn't just his best friend that went up in flames, which in on itself is already painful as fuck. No. The man he has loved for 6000 years also was destroyed.

Coming to terms with your own mortality as a supernatural being and the destruction of your companion since Eden would drive anyone into shock. Would be ingrained in their brains like a new trauma. The new notion of how actually fragile life is gifting you a whole new perspective.

No surprise Crowley probably has PTSD with fires. Or that he has nightmares about that day often. Or that he forbade Aziraphale from having anything fire related in the bookshop and convinced him to buy electric candles and a shit tone of fire extinguishers. Or that his mind went into "Fuck this, let the Apocalypse come. I'm too tired to deal with this anymore". OR that his first instinct was hidding in a random bar and getting sloshed out of his own mind to try and put the pieces all together. (Like, cmon, my man was about to open his third bottle)

The actual relief he must have felt when he found out Aziraphale was only discorporated must have been fucking abysmal! Like taking a cold shower after a fever! But you bet his encounter with mortality has changed him. You can't go through something like that and remain the same. And he didn't.

Imagine how he must have felt when Beelzebub told him about the Book of Life. The fucking flashbacks he must have had. No surprise the first thing he did was drive to Aziraphale, apologize and agree to his dumb plan of helping Gabriel. Anything to keep him under his eyes. At least if they go down then, they will go down together.

Or so he thought, innit? We know how this story ended.

[hotdaemondtargaryen]

TOM GLYNN-CARNEY INTERVIEWED BY HOLLYWOOD REPORTER MAGAZINE.

WHAT WAS YOUR REACTION TO READING THIS GRUESOME TURN OF EVENTS WHEN YOU FIRST LEARNED ABOUT IT?

"I knew it was coming."

"When it was coming, I wasn’t aware."

"But my immediate reaction was about how it came together by our amazing writers with this sort of amazing, theatrical, rousing, terrifying, unpredictable craftsmanship that I was very happy to be on the receiving end of."

FIRST LOOKING BACK ON EPISODE FOUR, WHILE IT SEEMED PRETTY OBVIOUS TO THE VIEWER, I'M WONDERING WHAT DO YOU THINK WAS GOING THROUGH AEGON'S MIND WHEN HE GOT ON SUNFYRE AND WENT CHARGING INTO THE BATTLE?

"He’d been a bit backed into a corner by all the things that have accumulated over time with being king, where his worst fears and insecurities were coming into plain sight and becoming true."

"He felt weak, and he was seen as weak, and kind of useless — with what Alicent (Olivia Cooke) had said to him (“Do nothing”) in his chamber, that was the straw that broke the camel’s back."

And he was just resigned: “I don’t have any option, I’ve got to prove myself in some way.”

"But you know, being the way he is, and not being an actual warrior with that sort of fearless courage that other people have, he had to numb himself and so he got blind drunk and jumped on a dragon."

HOW DO YOU THINK HE FELT ABOUT AEMOND'S BETRAYAL? IT SEEMED LIKE IT WAS CLEAR? I DID WONDER IF AEGON WAS TRULY SURPRISED...

"I think the moment of recognition was the fact that the fireball was coming at it."

"I don’t think he had time to think that he’s done this on purpose."

"If those thoughts are to come off, they will probably come later."

"As a viewer, I’m still unsure."

"I want people to make up their own minds."

THERE'S AN ARGUMENT TO BE MADE THAT SINCE THE BATTLE, AS DISASTROUS AS IT WAS, WAS EVENTUALLY WON, THAT HE SAVED THE DAY? AEGON THE HERO? OR NO.

"You’ve got to take them where you can get them."

"Yeah, he’s a hero."

WHAT'S THE PROSTHETIC PROCESS LIKE FOR YOU MOVING FORWARD?

"Long."

"Very detailed."

"I got to know my amazing hair and makeup team very well."

"I also got to know myself very well."

HOW DO YOU MEAN?

"The amount of time I was spending in that chair with those people in my own thoughts…. But yeah, [the prosthetics] really influences and informs my performance."

"It sort of instructs me how to move now."

"How you breathe, how you speak changes."

"I have a piece inside my mouth that I asked for to sort of distort my speech."

"So all this is great because it makes me feel like we’ve made a shift."

"Aegon has to have changed after this."

"We’re going to find a difference in him and and allow that to continue and [impact] his decisions and have a new approach to life."

YOU'VE MENTIONED CHANGING HOW HE MOVES. IN A PREVIOUS INTERVIEW YOU MENTIONED HOW AEGON USED TO MOVE DIFFERENTLY THAN YOU DO. WHAT WAS THAT DIFFERENCE?

"He’s a little bit more hunched."

"He is a bit narrower."

"I feel it’s a bit weak and more weaselly."

IS IT WEIRDLY MORE FUN TO PLAY HIM AS NOW? BECAUSE THIS IS GOING TO BE SO MUCH MORE THEATRICAL, IN A WAY.

"Yeah! It feels like we’ve transitioned from Richard II to Richard III, if that makes any sense to you."

"Almost like a level up — though on paper, obviously, it’s a level down."

"I think what he loses physically he gains emotionally and mentally."

"I’m trying to see it like that."

THERE'S OBVIOUSLY A PARALLEL THERE TO HOW VISERYS WAS AT THE END, INFIRM AND GHOULISH. DID THAT INFORM YOUR PROCESS AT ALL?

"I mean, it’s just fraught with danger, isn’t it?"

"Having a crown on your head."

"Something nasty is going to happen to you at some point."

"Isn’t it being not having my crown on yet?"

"There’s definitely a Viserys comparison, especially toward his final days and in bed."

"No quality of life whatsoever."

"It was only weeks, months before his dad was in that same position and in that same bed."

LET'S SAY HIS FATE WASN'T LITERALLY WRITTEN. WHAT, IDEALLY, WOULD YOU WANT FOR YOUR AEGON'S FATE?

"I want it to be, in an ideal world, for there to be an opportunity to prove himself and make decisions that he has made — not somebody else who thinks they know better."

"To carve out his own path as king."

"And then just see if he fucks it up as much as people think he might."

"I’d like to give him the space and the time to work it out."

"It’s a dangerous request because they could go horribly wrong."

"I think people underestimate him."

I FOUND IT INTERESTING THAT NOT ONE PERSON SAT BY HIS BEDSIDE OR HELD HIS HAND OR TRIED TO COMFORT HIM IN ANY WAY — AT LEAST NOT IN THIS EPISODE. SEEMS PRETTY HARSH.

"It’s desperately, desperately sad."

"Aegon is a boy in a man’s body and all he’s ever wanted is to be shown love and made to feel seen or not judged."

"All these things that he’s done in the past that have given him a reputation, I believe he’s felt that any attention is good attention."

"Unfortunately, he’s made a name for himself now — people kind of want to keep their distance and they see him as a poisoned chalice."

"At the end of the day, he’s a product of his history."

"He hasn’t had the emotional intelligence to be able to deal with that in a healthy way and move forward from it."

"Back then, therapy wasn’t really a thing, was it?"

"He’s been left to his own devices."

[captaindysdexic]

My problem with Twisted Wonderland

As someone who used to consistently play every single day for months, I've got a lot of issues. Let me preface this by saying I know nothing I'm saying will change the game and how it runs, I just want to come here and rant about the game I used to love.

Rant below the cut

My biggest problem is how grindy the game is, especially as a strict f2p player.

As someone who's never spent money on the game, it is so easy to tell how much of a cash grab the game is. The people that work on the game care about it I'm sure, but it is so hard to do anything in this game.

It's hard to get SSR cards, not only because the Gacha system is hella fucked up, but because it's hard to get enough gems to get pulls. Yeah we've got weekly and the logins, but that's so not enough unless you save for a card months in advance.

When you're a new player they give you some leeway, lots of free stuff because all the easy missions are meant for that, but as you get further and further into the game it's extremely hard to get even a 10 pull unless you're on the game basically 24/7.

As someone who is rank 72- and again, played almost religiously for months- it's hard to enjoy the game.

And I know as the story goes on it's meant to be harder, but because of how little they give you it's hard to get past the story as it goes on. It's hard leveling cards up, especially the spells.

It would be nicer if they gave you more materials or gems, that would make all the grind worth it, but that's not how it is. Hell, even events barely give you any pulls and yet they expect you to spend hours doing lessons to unlock the chapters and leveling up the free cards. Someone who's f2p (in my and my friends experience) will find it hard to get motivation to continue playing.

I want to continue playing, I love the characters and the story, but it's so hard to level up cards, or get pulls, that it breaks my heart and makes me want to not continue because I know I won't ever get that card I want, that I won't be able to get past this chapter, that I won't be able to finish an event fully because of the system.

It's so obvious they don't care about f2p's because reruns and even some event banners are strictly p2p things. Rerun banners require special keys that are pay-walled, event banners like the anime expo ones or special non-event related ones are pay-walled, THEY'RE ALL PAY-WALLED.

To me it is extremely frustrating to know that the developers don't seem to care about the fan base at all.

I mentioned earlier about the Gacha system, which I find really, REALLY dumb. 100 pulls for a guaranteed SSR? 200 needed for the event SSR? That's so dumb! Even if you were p2p you'd have to have some extreme luck to get an event card before at least 70 (which it's hard to get if you're far in game and f2p). In my experience, all the event cards I have that are SSR's (WHICH IS 2 BTW, ive been playing since idia's groom event and only have TWO EVENT CARDS EVEN WITH CONSTANT GRIND) I had to do over 70-80 pulls for and spent weeks grinding for. Not to mention pity doesn't carry over to other banners.

Speaking of events, I swear to god the events are getting shorter and shorter every time. The Stitch event that just passed? I swear it only lasted 3-4 weeks, banners ended way too quickly for any f2p that wasn't saving to pull without extreme luck to get any SSR card, got forbid the event exclusive ones. I got like 25 pulls during that event and 10 of those were because it was Kalim's birthday. It's extremely dumb and next thing you know it events will be lasting only a week or two and you're probably fucked over.

Anyways, that's basically all I have to say. There are a lot of things that frustrate me, like how they do events and some characters stuff, but I can't bother to put it here because I'm not as pressed about that stuff as I am about the stuff I did talk about.

I'm aware that people probably won't read this, but it's nice to get off my chest y'know? I'm going to continue to play the game, but I'll never play as constantly as I did when I first started because it's so hard to play and find motivation for it anymore.