#anyway enough bellyaching

[gamebunny-advance]

Huh...

Gloomy Graveyard changed a lot more than I thought it would.

That said, let's go over my checklist to see how right/wrong I was:

Hair/Tail Change: Kinda. It definitely changed, but not in the way I thought it would. It's still very sharp, but we did lose the ahoge, and it's still long and flowing, so I'm more right than wrong on this one.

Horns change: Yep. I wasn't expecting quad horns, but they're cool.

Slight palette swap: Kinda. Again, it did change, but not in the direction I thought it would: I thought it would be more purple, not more teal/cyan. The fur did technically get darker since it's a gradient from light to dark now, but I anticipated that with lighter clothing, so I can only give it a half-pass. I appreciate the new pops of color with the roses though.

Change the flower: Kinda. I did predict a color swapped rose, but it wasn't my first choice.

Change the brooch shape: Nope. It got removed entirely, but the cross motif was kept. Ya know, considering how the game "tries" to be non-secular, I'm surprised that all this cross imagery made it through not only the first design, but it is now more prominent in this second pass. That has some weird implications for the Goatlings lore, I'll just put it that way.

Remove chains: Nope. The chains were kept as a motif, they were just moved to the collar rather than wrapped around the legs.

Change the type of hat: Nope. We completely lost the hat.

"I don't see the outfit changing that much": It changed a lot more than I thought it would. We still technically have a lot of the same pieces: we still have a capelet, torn-up translucent fabric, frills, and it still has vaguely Victorian vibes. However, we lost the "gloves," the bouquet, the pants, and most surprisingly, we lost the shovel.

I really thought that no matter how the design changed, the goat would have still been a gravedigger. I mean, the whole theme around pairing Ribbon Mummy with Gloomy Graveyard was Undertaker vs. the Undead, right? But now we've got the Undead vs…. a Necrophiliac and/or Widower? I'm not against it necessarily, I'm sure it's supposed to have Corpse Bride vibes, but I still think that's a pretty bold move. I guess the graveyard motif was more important than the gravedigger part, and the original rose motif just lent itself to more romantic vibes. I dunno, I can only speculate on the thought process that got us here, but it really wasn't the direction I was expecting.

Total score: 3/8

I got a lot of guesses half right, but I basically got just as many totally wrong, so I got a failing score ;3;

Overall, I really like the new one! r00p always does great work for the site, and like most of their designs, this one is gorgeous, but it undeniably has different vibes from the original. Are they better vibes? Maybe. I dunno how to put this in a non-cringe way, but Groom really has that "gothic sad boi" energy that makes some people go wild. I am not some people, but I appreciate him nonetheless. He's filling a niche that we haven't really had since Melancholy Poet and Memento Mori, and I think a lot of people are really gonna vibe with him than not.

#goatlings #now... i just need to decide if what groom has is gonna mix well enough with ribbon mummy to hunt one down for sumairu #because despite the shakeup i think GG is still gonna win #it's just hard to compete against pretty boy types and now that he's even more *that* I don't think RM stands a chance #i feel like i've lost every other MM #but it's through no fault of my own: i do every single event every year i've competed #so i'm doing my part #all i can do is hope the rest of my team pulls through #but i am not confident this year #anyway enough bellyaching #i've still gotta redo my GG stuff anyway lest i come off as petty #i do wonder if team GG is gonna have to redo any of their stuff if they used the old design in their work #someone was asking in the help boards but i honestly have no idea #it would really suck for them if they did and even i think it's a little unfair to them if they did the work before the event was pulled #but since this was a matter of copyright issues they might have to reject works with the old design to avoid litigation #at least if they used the 'official' art like my stamps did #but this remains to be seen #we haven't been asked to take down works featuring the old art so maybe not?

[serenado-exe]

So anyway -

The point is that Pizza Tower still has a racist, outdated stereotype of Indigenous people in the Oregano Desert level.

It even has a achievement for rain dancing around a totem pole (totem poles are a Pacific Northwest thing, not a Plains Tribe thing). They war cry at you and they throw tomahawks (because it's always tomahawks or spears).

Bellyache about the screencaps being 5 years old if you want, but the stereotype made it into the game, so he hasn't changed that much. He didn't change enough to have a shred of awareness about using a racist stereotype. And before anyone tries: that trope isn't a hallmark of Wario games or 90s animation, it's a hallmark of racism.

Even if he "doesn't" make bigoted jokes anymore (though I would consider the Tribe Cheese one such joke), he made an entire level based around that trope.

And like every other time there's an anti-Indigenous caricature in videogames or popular media, it doesn't get mentioned, or it gets glossed over because the creator went "Oopsie! That was cringe."

The exclusion of the Tribe Cheese from that salvo of screenshots undermines the entirety of it, because it's a solid example of him not having changed enough to be conscious beyond "that was unfunny," and everyone just focuses on what he said and when - without the connection to how that mindset still lingers in the final product of the game.

#mcpig #pizza tower #tribe cheese #indigenous people play games! we exist in modern society! we are not dead! #like not to be the mean indigenous person but i LIKE the game and it felt like shit to get to that level and that #and no i wasn't going to be able to move on until i said something about it #creators make western levels without being fucking racist challenge #also if you are american and played through this game and didn't even blink an eye at that but still went #''hm. gotta be critical of my media.'' like HOW critical are we talking #like you saw cheese indians and said ''yeah that's so normal.''

[drpeppertummy]

alphabet-themed stuffing/tummyache/tiny bit of hunger writing/drawing prompts

Air. Your character swallows too much air while eating, chewing, drinking, what have you, and finds themselves uncomfortably bloated. Maybe they refuse to burp out of politeness, their belly grumbling in protest as they swallow down any air that tries to escape.

Bubbles. Your character overdoes it with fizzy drinks. Maybe it's an exceptionally fizzy one, maybe it was just a little too much. Maybe there were Mentos involved. Either way, their stomach is filled to the brim with liquid and gas.

Cookies. It's the holiday season, and your character either bakes or receives more cookies than they know what to do with. Somebody ought to eat them before they get stale.

Determination. Maybe your character is stubborn. Maybe they've taken on a challenge. Maybe they've got some sort of goal to reach, or maybe they're trying to take care of some food that won't be good much longer. Whatever the reason, your character is hell-bent on finishing their food, even if their tummy is begging them to stop.

Endless. Your character has far too much food on their plate, and no matter how much they eat, it feels like they're not even making a dent. How long can they go on before they have to quit?

Friends. Your character sits down for dinner with some loved ones, but they're worried their pal isn't eating enough and urge them to have more.

Greasy. How much oily fried food can your character's tummy handle before they start feeling sick? Hopefully they're at least in the comfort of their own home and not out at a fair or something, otherwise they might have a hard time soothing their upset belly.

Help. Somebody needs help cleaning their plate. Maybe your character gives that last bite to somebody else, or maybe they're the one taking it. Maybe, if you're feeling scandalous, somebody helps them finish by feeding them that last bite.

Inches. How far can your character's belly expand? Maybe enough to be visible. Or for their shirt to ride up. Or even to pop a button. What does it take for them to swell up so much?

Juicy. It's easy to overdo it on fruit, especially when it's nice and ripe. It's refreshing, it's fun to eat, and it's gonna go bad soon anyway, right? No problems, at least until your character realizes how full they are.

KFC. Does your character have a favorite fast food place? Maybe they eat too much when they go there because it's just that good. Maybe it's a little ways away and they have to make it worth the drive. Maybe they have a new special your character's been dying to try and it's bigger than expected. How does all that cheap greasy food feel sitting in their stomach?

Liquid. Your character has a beverage that's a little too much. Maybe they're already full from eating, maybe it's just a huge drink, but either way, for one reason or another, they're determined to finish it.

Movies. Your character overestimates how much food they need for a movie snack and winds up with far too much. Maybe they're too focused on the movie to realize how full they're getting, or maybe they just eat it all because they don't want to have to put it away.

Nougat. It's Halloween, and your character is surrounded by candy. Maybe they're giving it out, maybe they've been given some, maybe they just bought a bunch because they could. How much can they eat before it gives them a bellyache?

Overestimate. Maybe your character's eyes are bigger than their stomach and they dish themself out more than they can handle, or maybe somebody else overestimates their capacity and gives them too big a serving of food. Will they try to finish all of it even once they're full?

Pizza. How many slices can your character eat? Can they fit more if it's their favorite topping? Perhaps this is the time to find out.

Quit. Your character has had it. Their belly is far too stuffed, and they can't eat another bite. Hopefully they weren't feeling pressured to clean their plate, because it's just not happening.

Rubs. Maybe your character has a tummyache, maybe they're stuffed silly, or maybe they just want to cuddle, but they're dying for a belly rub. Hopefully they're getting one.

Soup. It's the dead of winter, and your character is cold and shivering. They need a big bowl of hot soup to warm them up from the inside.

Tired. Your character comes home starving and utterly exhausted. Will they have the energy to cook something? Maybe they'll eat a bunch of easy snacks instead of putting together a meal, or maybe they'll go to bed hungry. If they're lucky, maybe somebody will make them something.

Underestimate. Your character leaves the table not nearly full enough, and it's not long before their tummy is growling. Do they ignore it? Feed it? Maybe they're so hungry that they eat too much to compensate.

Valentine. Somebody gives your character lots of sweets for being so sweet. Maybe they have a number of admirers who leave them saddled with more chocolate than they can handle, or maybe it's just one person who thinks they're just that adorable. Either way, they eat too much in one sitting and wind up with a belly full of sugar.

Water. After realizing how dehydrated they are, your character chugs far too much water in one sitting and winds up with an uncomfortably distended, sloshy belly.

eXtra. Your character is enjoying food with friends, and they make or order way too much, just to make sure they have enough for everybody. Maybe the whole group winds up stuffed, or maybe one person is tasked with taking care of the extra food.

Yogurt. For one reason or another, your character is trying to eat healthy. It's okay to stuff yourself silly if it's health food, right? Or maybe they finally snap and break their diet, but go a little overboard in their frenzy to eat something satisfying.

Zoo. Your character has been walking around the zoo all day--or maybe a theme park, or a carnival, or whatever the hell you want--and they're tired and hungry. They'd better stop for an overpriced snack break. Hopefully they don't spend the rest of their outing with a bellyache.

#belly kink #tummy kink #stuffing #stuffed belly #stomachache kink #hunger kink #prompts #text

[bellyasks]

Specific Food Stuffing Prompts

🍦 Your character is full after a meal, but their friends want to go out for ice cream. Not wanting to be left out, they come along and get something too. Maybe they order something small and it still winds up being too much, or maybe they give in to temptation and order something huge, but they know they won't be able to save any for later and try to finish the whole thing.

🥞 Your character is enjoying a nice big stack of pancakes. They wildly overestimated how much they could eat--a good-sized stack of pancakes is probably equivalent to, like, half a loaf of bread, after all--but they know the syrup-soaked pancakes won't save well and are determined to finish off as much as they can to avoid wasting their food.

🍞 Your character is making a sandwich. There are only three slices of bread left in the bag, and, knowing they won't use one lonely slice later on, they decide to add an extra layer to their sandwich. Maybe it fills their belly perfectly, or maybe it leaves them feeling a little too full.

🧋 Your character gets a big bubble tea. Between the size of it, all the heavy boba, and the amount of air they're swallowing with the big straw, it's not long before their belly starts feeling a little too snug, but they splurged on that drink and they intend to get their money's worth and finish it.

🫖 Your character is feeling bloated and queasy after a big, heavy meal. Hoping to soothe their aching tummy, they make themselves a nice cup of tea (or get some ginger ale, or whatever beverage they're most likely to turn to). The volume of the liquid winds up being a bit much for their already-stuffed belly, but it is helping their nausea, so they can't help but keep sipping it.

🥫 Your character decides to have a can of soup. It's a big can, and they start out only pouring half into their bowl, but, realizing it doesn't look like very much, they wind up making the whole thing. They were right about it being a lot; while half a can wouldn't have been enough, the whole thing is a little bit too much, and they find themselves struggling to finish.

🍕 Your character is enjoying some hot pizza, either alone or with a friend. They've eaten more than their fill, but only one slice remains. It won't be enough for another meal, and it will never be as good as it is right now, so they decide to go ahead and finish it off.

🍔 Your character gets a big burger. Such a big burger, in fact, that it's threatening to fall apart in their hands, and they can't put it down for fear of it disintegrating entirely. Not wanting to lose control of their unwieldy sandwich, they power through and finish the whole thing without putting it down, even as their stomach begins to strain against the enormous meal.

🍜 Your character is making some instant ramen and decides to jazz it up with some extra ingredients. They're starving while they're making it, and wind up adding way too much extra stuff to their bowl, making for an extremely filling meal.

🌮 Your character goes out for tacos. In their mind, tacos are a pretty light meal, but they wind up being pretty bulky, and between the size of them and any potential sides, your character realizes there's no way the last one is going to fit in their stomach. It won't save well, though, so they boldly decide to try and eat it anyway. Bonus points for a spicy topping that's a little more than your character can handle, potentially giving them hiccups or a bellyache.

#prompts #belly kink #tummy kink #stuffed belly #stuffing #belly #bellyache #my post

[rabbitblackx]

So I’ve been dealing with some anxiety lately that’s been causing stomach aches and I was wondering if you could write some about Bubba, Nubbins, and Brahms comforting their s/o who’s dealing with a lot of anxiety? Thank you as always <3

I can relate with those anxious bellyaches!💞 sorry if this isn’t all that comforting, as yknow… they’re psycho killers. But hope u kinda enjoy anyway🥹💖

Slashers ‘comfort’ Reader that has anxiety

Includes: Nubbins, Bubba and Brahms

Nubbins Sawyer💖

Nubbins had no idea how to comfort someone. Expect no help on his end. In fact, he found your anxiety amusing. He was one sick puppy

Nubbins found you on his bed, hyperventilating from an anxiety attack. He didn’t know what to do. He shuffled over and sat next to you as you cried into your hands. You looked up at him with big teary eyes, expecting some comfort

Nubbins instead imitated your cries, and tried his best to make his eyes look as cute as yours. He thought you were so adorable when you were like this. So helpless! His favourite look

“Nubbins! That’s not helping!” You scolded, whacking him while trying to contain your tears

Nubbins giggled, then continued to mimic your anxious mannerisms. This was as ‘comforting’ he was going to get. His attempts to soothe you seemed a lot more like teasing than anything

At the end of the day, don’t count on Nubbins comforting you. Especially for anxiety. He had never felt such thing before in his entire life

Bubba Sawyer💖

Oh, god. Seeing you all anxious and panicky made Bubba feel all anxious and panicky! He was trying his best, okay?

Bubba tried to comfort you through gentle touches. He shakily stroked your shoulders, his big hands travelling down your arms. He babbled on some concerned gibberish, desperately trying to stop you from crying

Bubba’s helpless attempts of comfort usually worked though, much to his surprise. His incoherent mumbling stopped, as you cuddled up to him and rested your head on his chest. Seeing you calm down, made him calm down as well

After your crying and his panicking simmered, his bedroom grew silent. Bubba found himself absentmindedly stroking your back, resting his chin on the top of your head. Cuddling with him like this, really helped ease your anxiety

“Thank you, Bubba.” You murmured against his chest

Brahms Heelshire💖

At first, Brahms just thought you were shy like him. But when you began to hyperventilate and cry, he had no idea what to think. Brahms watched through the wall as you had an anxiety attack on your bed. You were breathing way too quick, clutching your heart while tears flowed uncontrollably

Brahms did not want to go out there. He did not have enough social skills or maturity to deal with this. Instead of being nice and comforting you, he continued to stare at you as you had an anxious breakdown

Brahms soon felt guilty though, but still didn’t come out and comfort you. Don’t loose hope yet though...

Brahms traveled through the walls to the kitchen, where he opened the fridge and prepared you a meal he knew you liked. He set the food neatly on a plate, and took it upstairs to your room

After your anxiety attack, your eyes were still watery and your stomach sick. You felt sad that Brahms never came to check up on you, as you knew you were crying quite loud

But as you opened your bedroom door, your eyes softened as you spotted the plate of homemade food at your feet

#texas chainsaw massacre #nubbins sawyer #nubbins #nubbins x reader #nubbins sawyer x reader #leatherface x reader #leatherface #bubba sawyer #bubba sawyer x reader #dead by daylight x reader #dead by daylight #brahms x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #brahms heelshire #slasher x reader #slashers x reader #slashers #rab.reads

[oathkeeperoxas]

wip wednesday

getting back into the groove of more icemav now that I'm back from my holiday 😤 anyway here's some icemav skinny dipping together 💖

“Mav,” Ice says, mouth dry.

“It’s a dark night,” Mav says, tilting his head up. “Moon’s not out yet. No one’s going to see.”

It’s true; Ice can barely see Mav, and he’s fifteen paces away and looking for him. His body is a study in shadows, and Mav turns so that Ice can see all of him that’s possible in this light, before he retrieves the bottle of vodka and takes a gulp of it.

“Mav,” Ice says again as he reaches him. Mav holds the bottle out; Ice takes it and has a swig for solidarity.

“You’re wearing your swimmers,” Mav says. “You don’t need to strip. If you don’t want to.”

The water is calm, washing up on the shore slowly. The sand continues here until the water is deep enough that you can’t stand up in it, and Mav wades out fearlessly, unstoppable. Ice takes another drink from the bottle to steady himself, and then follows Mav down to the water, leaving his clothes in a pile next to Mav’s.

It’s cold; he wades up to his knees and then watches Mav fucking around in the water as the waves soak his skin. Mav’s just behind where the waves start rolling in – if he can even call them waves. You’d never surf at this beach – and is splashing, then floating, looking up at the stars. Ice keeps his eyes fixed on him. All of this could almost be routine, except for the fact that he’s here.

Mav rights himself and then comes back to Ice, dripping water. He’s serious, unsmiling, as Ice folds him into his arms despite being wet and cold. Ice isn’t wearing anything; it’s fine.

“Good to be home,” Mav says quietly into his chest. “Good to see Carole and Slider and the kid.”

“And me?” Ice asks, loneliness rising to snap at him.

“And you,” Mav agrees. He slides his arms up around Ice’s neck. Ice leans down to kiss him, and Mav moves their lips against each other slowly, their bodies warming each other where they touch. Mav’s lips are cold. Ice resolves to do something about that.

“How are you?” Ice asks, desperately. “I mean it, Mav.”

Mav sighs. “Happy to be home,” he says again. “It was fine, Ice. I mean, it fucking sucked, but I’m fine. I promise. It didn’t fuck me up. Not like–”

He buries his head in Ice’s shoulder. Ice grips him close, not needing him to finish the sentence.

“And you didn’t get hurt?” Ice asks. 

“No. Worst thing was a bellyache from all their crap food,” Mav says.

Ice swallows. “I want you to tell me all about it.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Mav says, looking resigned. “Not tonight though, yeah?”

“Not tonight,” Ice says. “When you want to.”

“Never, then.”

“Mav…”

Mav huffs. “Okay. Next week or something then, at least.”

“Okay,” Ice agrees. That’s an easy promise to accept.

Mav tugs him out deeper into the water. Ice takes a step and then resists going any further.

“It’s cold, Mav,” he says. 

“I want to go swimming with you,” Mav says. “You know how many times I thought about that?”

And, well. He can’t say no to that.

Ice lets Mav tug him out deeper, until they’re both swimming in the dark. He can feel the warmth of the vodka in his stomach, but it’s hardly enough. He tries for a bit to do some serious swimming just to warm himself up, and finds Mav cutting through the water, chasing after him. They go back and forth for a while, sticking close to the house and not too far from the shore, until Ice gets tired and goes back in until he can stand again in the water. Mav follows without protest, and clings to Ice when he stops.

“We can’t go a little further in?” he complains.

Ice laughs. “Too deep for you?”

“I’m not that much shorter than you are,” Mav groans, but then stops when Ice gathers him in his arms and kisses him. If it weren’t so cold, being pressed naked against Mav would have been the end of him; as it is, he’s clutching Mav close, slotting their mouths together, feeling the imprint of his body where they touch.

“Mav,” Ice whispers, and now it’s Mav groaning against his mouth. 

“Okay, out, out.” 

Ice attempts to shake the sand off, but his efforts are rendered useless when Mav drags him down next to their clothes and the vodka. Ice sighs as they’re both covered, but Mav is laying down and pulling Ice down on top of him, so he stops thinking about that. They’re wet and cold and sandy, and Mav takes another long pull from the bottle, offers it to Ice. Ice is used to drinking vodka straight, but Mav has never really liked it.

“Got a taste for this while you were gone?” he asks, not bothering to cap the bottle again. More interested in licking Mav’s salt covered skin.

“Yeah,” Mav grunts, running his hands up Ice’s back. “Tastes like you.”

Ice has to kiss him again. They’re in their mid thirties, tipsy, naked on the beach, and he doesn’t care. Mav offers him more alcohol between kisses that are turning hot. Ice is warmed up again, even in the cool night, and his legs are splayed wide over Mav’s hips. He can’t hide what he wants, and he doesn’t want to.

“Mav,” Ice grunts. “Mav, let’s go inside.”

Mav laughs. “Still want a bed, Kazansky?”

“I’m not twenty,” he groans as Mav fondles his ass, squeezing firmly to bring them close together, grinding up against each other. “And there’s sand. Everywhere.”

“It’s a bit rough,” Mav agrees. “Okay, okay.”

He takes the bottle, and Ice gathers up their clothes. There’s a bathroom downstairs next to the laundry, put there for occasions exactly like this; coming into the house after swimming in the ocean. Ice puts their clothes in a hamper, Mav abandons the vodka on top of the washing machine, and they go into the shower together.

God, there really is sand everywhere – Ice scrubs it out of every crevice, washing his hair, soaping up a few times for good measure, and yet he’s still sure he’s missed some. It’s better than it was. Mav is utilitarian, gets out first which allows Ice the space to pick sand out from between his toes. Okay. Ice dries himself off in a hurry, but Mav is already gone, headed upstairs, hasn’t put any clothes on. Okay.

Ice follows him, heart in his throat, naked and warm and willing. Mav is standing by the window in their bedroom, looking out over the ocean as the moon starts to rise on the horizon. Ice can only see half his face, and even then it’s cast in shadows. He goes to turn the bedside lamp on, only for Mav to softly whisper, “Don’t.”

“Why?” Ice asks.

“Let’s just hold each other. I want to feel you.”

#icemav #wip wednesday #my writing #they're in love is the thing #this is post bosnia - they're very happy to be together again

[hhawks]

BELLYACHE.

✰ starring: hawks/keigo takami x fem!reader ✰ synopsis: as the number two hero, hawks has the ability to do conceivably anything he wants. spend any amount of money, travel to even the most remote places in the world, and even cover up the string of murders committed by the girl he’s deathly in love with. ✰ content: lovesick-to-the-point-of-crime hawks, serial killer on da loose, mentally-ill-but-also-not-really reader, slight domestic vibes, hawks wants to marry a serial killer <3, bloodlust, mentions of addiction, a liiiittle bit of consumption imagery, medical/anatomical problems because i'm Not a biology student i had to call my stem brother for advice ✰ warnings: descriptive murder, killing, wee bit of gore, clinical insanity tbh, INTENSE daddy kink, overstimulation, face fucking, somnophilia, mild dubcon at the end <3  ✰ word count: 14.1k ✰ a/n: it’s kinda fucked up but also not fucked up enough to warrant like, a psychiatric visit for me. part of my own one with the wind collab for the love of myyy lifeeeeee <3 lowkey self indulgent i just want to murder people

he lifts the police tape up with one hand, a cup of coffee in the other. the morning is gloomy, clouds on the precipice of pouring down tears, the air humid. it's one of those days he wishes he could spend at home, but alas; duty calls.

"what are we lookin' at?" he asks, sipping his latte. it's a little on the bitter side even though he'd asked specifically for extra sugar, but it'll be fine. he winces, swallowing anyway.

"mr hawks," the officer greets him. "good morning. it's another case."

"of?" stupid question. it's too early in the morning for his brain to function at maximum capacity, so it takes him a few seconds before he shakes his head. "oh. forget i asked."

"that's no problem mr. hawks," the officer nods nonchalantly. "the same lookup. drained of blood, needle puncture wounds in the wrists, elbows. sliced open from collarbone to diaphragm." they both look at the body on the ground, a pale girl with blonde hair, dark eyes wide open in a permanent state of shock. hawks almost feels bad for the girl, stripped naked down to her hips, her flesh split. he hopes the incision was made at least after she had died.

"so all the same markings of the crimson reaper then?" he takes another swig of his coffee. the girl definitely put up some kind of fight, with bruises on her arms, hands. but, as always, nothing of the killer is left on her body. not any skin under her nails, not any fingerprints. the crimson reaper knew what they were doing. they always do.

the officer nods, their cap tipped almost over their green eyes, hair tucked neatly into a bun. hawks looks down at them as they look at their notepad. "without a doubt," they say grimly. "that's the fourth case this month."

hawks remembers the day he was assigned to the case of the crimson reaper. he, endeavour, best jeanist; all of the top-ranking pro-heroes were called into the same hero safety public commission conference room on a monday morning, one just like this. gloomy, threatening to rain down judgement on the streets of musutafu. the president ran a hand through her hair, somehow greyer than it had originally been, eyes tired and sunken in. "good morning president," hawks chirped, trying to brighten the mood. "you look chipper as ever."

"thank you, mr. takami," she said, her tone clipped, blunt. "i'm sure all of you know why we've gathered you in here." of course they did. almost all of the pro-heroes were in the know of them, their signature killing style of draining the victim completely of their blood while still alive through various needles in the victim's arms and elbows, before slicing their chest open to leave a single, bright red rose petal.

dubbed the crimson reaper, this killer has ravaged the streets of musutafu, instilling fear within the hearts of the citizens. no one has any idea who it could be; the hero commission have vowed a full investigation into finding them, dead or alive. the crimson reaper doesn't discriminate; there have been no found connections or patterns in the victims that they take; only that they all end up with the same rose petal nestled safely between their lungs.

the problem, though, lay with the fear of the people. "we cannot let the crimson reaper take away the ability of the citizens to feel safe walking along streets, or in their homes," the president briefed. "we need to find this sick, twisted psycho, and bring them to justice."

23 cases in six months. it was beginning to be a persistent worry in the minds of many pro-heroes, but hawks especially. he had a weird, personal affinity to each case, and plus, the hspc president put him on the spot when she asked, "takami, we want you to be the leading agency on this case." and being their number one lackey, he couldn't say no.

so here he is. a small drizzle is breaking out above him now, and he watches the officers scramble to set up the tentage between the two walls of the alleyway, careful not to let rain tamper with the evidence. he looks up, at the crack between rain clouds and how a trickle of sunlight wedges its way between them. a blessed morning, despite everything.

hawks crouches by the body, looking for anything out of the ordinary, different from the previous cases. examines the clean, precise incision along the victim's chest, pink and crimson blending into a strangely beautiful medley of flesh and blood. the flaps of flesh have been stretched, pulled away, the gaping gash of her chest exposing her lungs and her heart, with the crimson reaper's signature left in the very middle; a single rose petal.

"i'm going to look around and see if any of the shops around have cctv," he announces, not taking his eyes off the woman. that poor soul. "finish with the photos, bag anything that could be of use and send the body to the morgue. also, any ID on her?"

"she has a school access card under the cover of her phone," one of the other officers pipes up, pointing at a phone left on the ground, a clear case with a blue and white student card in it. "name's kaida tomita."

"great," hawks gets to his feet, taking another swig of his coffee. "find friends, family, whatever you can. i want to know where she was the night she died, where she lives, everything."

there's a soft chorus of "yes sir!" as he walks off, nodding at them with a charming grin on his face. he tucks his wings closer to his body, careful not to move or touch anything at the scene of the crime. ducking under the yellow and black police tape, the rain greets him once more, small puddles of rain water gathering along the sidewalk. he walks, taking a right out onto the main road, looking for competent shops that may have had some kind of security footage that captures the alleyway.

something catches his eye. something not quite fitting with the colour palette, the doom and gloom of this dingy alleyway with a dead corpse mutilated on the ground. a flash of pink in the peripherals of his vision, laying haphazardly on the ground next to a pair of trashcans. hawks bends down, squinting slightly before sighing. one white glove, a gash tearing through it from the opening down to the base of the index finger. he picks it up and stuffs it in his back pocket, before straightening and continuing his walkaround.

it proves fruitless; the crimson reaper sure knows how to choose their locations. nothing but dilapidated shophouses for several streets, no one frequenting the area enough to be asked if anyone had any idea how this poor university girl ended up in an alleyway, completely drained of blood and her chest ripped open for everyone and their god to see. he commends them, just a little for the amount of thought they must have put into their killings. enough that the entirety of the pro-hero industry has almost been run into the ground with how much havoc they're wreaking.

by the time he returns to the scene of the crime, most of it has been cleaned up, the body transported in a bag to be sent for an autopsy. "shall i compile all the notes and have it sent to your agency?" another officer asks him, a pretty, young girl, and he nods.

"that would be great. thanks, darlin'," he gives her a small smile. "thanks for all your hard work here."

she flushes, a slight rosey tint to her pale cheeks. "it's no problem, mr. hawks," she grins back. "thank you for your service to musutafu."

he just manages a weak smile. seeing case after case like this, it's tiring. it's a shame to tell how used to it he's gotten, but there's no point in denying that he's at that point where waking up to a new pager specifically for this case just filled him with annoyance rather than dread. but he keeps his head up and keeps working. because that's the promise he made as a hero. to serve, and to protect.

"baby, i'm home."

keigo drops his bags by the door, and just like every single day before this, is greeted by approaching footsteps and the smell of apple honey. "daddy!" he hears, and the way his shoulders relax and the apples of his cheeks tip upwards as he sees you.

you, the picture of perfection, your plush legs and arms wrapping around him. "oh my god, i missed you so much today." you breathe into his neck, smelling of sweat and hero work and a long day, and a twinge of his expensive cologne lying under all of that. "it's been so long."

he chuckles, spinning you around. "it's barely been a couple of hours," he chides you playfully. "missed your daddy that much, huh?"

"i miss you all the time," you whine. "you need to quit your job and stay home with me all day."

that earns a hearty laugh out of him, and a warm, wet kiss on your forehead. "tell that to the hero commission, princess. you know how much i'd love to stay in bed with you all day."

you step on his toes, wrapping your arms around him as he waddles the both of you into the kitchen. it's spick and span, always is, with a couple of dishes left of the drying rack and half a ham and cheese sandwich lying on a plate. "were you eating that, princess?"

you shake your head. "ate the other half an' got full," you beam up at him. "left it 'cause i knew you'd want it."

he chuckles. "you know me too well," keigo reaches for it, letting you bridge the gap between it and his outstretched hand, passing the sandwich along. "how was your day? you managed to catch up on your sleep after staying up all night last night?" he pinches your cheek, and you giggle, swatting him away.

"yes! yes, i did, i did," you nuzzle against his neck. "was so boring at home without you though. been thinking about you all day," your words turn breathy, pushing yourself into him more and more and more, as if you were trying to fuse the two of you together. your voice drops low, a murmur barely audible to him. "couldn't wait for you to get home."

keigo smiles. he knows exactly what you mean what you say that, but he wants to hear it from your mouth directly. "is that so, baby girl?" he shifts you, hoists you by your waist up onto the kitchen counter. "couldn't wait for me to get home?"

you whimper, shaking your head, nuh uh. "couldn't," you stutter, spreading your legs just a little bit. "needed— needed to touch."

"touch?" he asks, voice mocking innocence. "touch what, baby?"

you whine, a little embarrassed by his question. "you know what i mean." the tension between you is palpable, and you need him to step in the gap you've made between your legs. "daddy."

"i don't think i do," keigo munches on his half of the sandwich, feigning complete obliviousness to your advances. "think you need to tell me what you mean, darling."

you groan, head tipping back in annoyance as you find his hand in yours and pull him closer to you. "needed you to touch me," you murmur, shy. you guide him up your thigh, his thick fingers, calloused from hero work so rough and skittish against your plush, soft skin. a shudder runs up your spine. "right here."

his hand ends up right between your thighs, your hands, tiny compared to his, holding his wrist in place as his fingers brush up against the thin cotton of your shorts. "ah," he exclaims, a little exaggerated. "my little princess cunt needed some attention from daddy, is that it?"

you nod vehemently, relishing in every purposeful brush of his knuckles against the damp spot right in the middle of your shorts. "mmhm," you hum happily. "missed you so bad today, daddy."

"yeah?" he steps closer to you, pressing his chest to yours, his hand still toying with your cloth-covered cunt. "gorgeous baby. so desperate for cock, aren't you?"

you whine. his words, so crude, so blunt but so true. it makes you flush furiously, shyness creeping up on you slowly, heat pooling between your clenching thighs. "for daddy's cock," you agree, looking up at him with begging eyes. "wan'— wan' daddy's cock so bad."

keigo kisses your forehead. "have you been a good girl for me today?" he asks, slipping your shorts to the side, toying with the slick that coats your pussy, stroking up and down slowly.

it's so sensitive you can barely speak, just the ghostly touch of his fingers, the featherlight intention behind every stroke. you don't want to answer him because, well, you haven't been. you're growing impatient with how he's taking his time with you, stretching out your time with one another. but you've been aching, throbbing for him all fucking day, so you squeeze his wrist harder, forcing him to stay where you want him to.

"baby," he warns. "don't be bad."

you grind helplessly against his hand, relieving all the pent up need and stress as you rut your hips pathetically up and down his fingers. "fuck me," you demand. "i need you to fuck me."

keigo tuts. a soft, yet sharp sound against his tongue. "disobedient slut," he murmurs. watching tears spring into your eyes as you hump his hand, too much to handle but too little to cum. it's the perfect torture for you; to make you desperate for him, and yet never give in to you in his entirety. "fuckin' so eager for me, huh?"

you ignore his punchy words, whimpering against his fingers. your thighs are aching a little from the position, the constant move of your hips against his thick fingers. "fuck me," you demand again. "daddy, daddy," you paw at his trousers, trying to undo his belt.

but you don't get far before he smacks your hands, harshly to make you stop. "stop it," he scolds, a low growl in his voice. "you're being so disobedient right now." he snatches his hand from between your thighs, tuning out your whines of protest and yanks you by the back of your neck. "get up."

you have no choice, the pinch on the back of your neck forcing you to comply. you get up and he pushes you down in front of him, down on your knees putting you in the eyeline of the bulge in his pants. your eyes light up just looking at it, your hands uncontrollable as they come up to paw at his buckle, undoing it. such an easy little thing, keigo thinks. just need some cock in your mouth and you're all good for me.

he helps you get his buckle undone, your soft, trembling fingers pulling down the hem of his trousers. the smell of him is intoxicating, the reeking stench of sweat and work and burnt ashes as you bury your nose in the crevice between his boxers and his thigh. you look at him and he looks at you and your pupils are dilated, almost frenzied. “my little nympho girlfriend,” he chuckles. “you’d die for my cock, wouldn’t you?”

you don’t have to answer. the hitch in your breath does it for you. the way your lip quivers and you can’t seem to find the words to protest. keigo just snickers. just pets your hair, and cradles your cheek against the hard bulge in his boxers. “answer me.”

“‘d die for your cock,” you whisper, daring enough to let your tongue poke out of your mouth, licking up his cock through the fabric. “i’d die for it, wanna ride it.” you pout, looking up at him. a breath leaves him in a shudder.

“go on, then.” he murmurs, cupping the back of your head. “take it out.”

your fingertips, cautious and reluctant, dig into the waistband of his boxers, and your teeth baring to bite the fabric softly. it comes down slowly, stretching over his hips, the apex of his thighs until his cock springs free, and your mouth begins to water. every single time you pull out keigo’s cock it surprises you. and every single time it does, he chuckles at your reaction, your eyes widening, your mouth gaping uncontrollably. it boosts his ego just a little bit, the way you shake quite a little, your fingers trembling with anticipation.

don’t think i’ll ever get tired of this. 

you take your tongue and lick up a fat stripe from the base to the tip of his cock, worshipping his frenulum, sucking the head of his cock. you don’t think you’ll ever stop thinking it’s the most beautiful cock you’ve ever seen in your sorry life. keigo shudders under your touch, the hand cupping the back of your head instinctively pushing towards him, forcing your cheek pressed up against his cock. the course hairs on his pelvis, shimmering and blonde, tickle your skin and you stop to giggle for a second. 

“let me,” you’re insistent, squirming out of his hold and rearing back. “let me,” you repeat, dropping your jaw to fit the thick, mushroom tip of his cock into your mouth. it’s a lot, it always is; sure, keigo wasn’t the tallest guy, but he made up for it in how thick his cock was. in stature, the broadness of his shoulders, the thickness of his waist. even now, it’s a chore to work his cock into your warm, waiting mouth, but he had to control himself, not buck his hips forward and push the seam of your lips apart. you work to get the cock fully in your mouth, suckling and slurping on with, making obscene sounds. they’re music to his ears, he smiles, the sounds of you choking and gagging on his cock as he watches you swallow it down to the hilt. 

“that’s it, good girl. good girl, taking all of daddy’s cock like that. fuck,” he seethes. “daddy’s gonna use your mouth now, okay? just keep your jaw— yeah, just like that. yeah, good fuckin’ girl.” his fingers twist into your hair, his other hand coming down to cup your cheek as he pistons in and out of your mouth. his breathing’s laboured, fucking his pretty girlfriend’s mouth like a pussy. 

you choke back a moan every time the tip of his cock rams into the back of your throat. you’re quite used to this, to be honest; being used as a tool for keigo’s pleasure, but it made you even wetter hearing the whimpers and whines drool out of his mouth like liquid gold, knowing that you’re the reason he’s feeling so good right now. so you relax your jaw and let him use you the way he needs. because you can’t deny the fact that the space between your thighs is growing hot, slick with your own arousal as your lips stretch open with every thrust.

and then keigo’s pulling out of your mouth, tapping your cheek with his cock drenched in your spit. you whine, “you didn’t cum.”

“don’t wanna cum in your mouth today,” he murmurs. “c'mon. up."

he should get you a collar and a leash, he thinks. just so he can yank you along where he wants you, and god knows you'd follow him on all fours. you're pliable today, and thank god for that because he needs to sink his fat cock inside of you before he blows his load on the carpet. keigo tugs you along to the bedroom and shoves you down onto your stomach on the bed, knees hitching up. digs a hand under your hips and raises your ass.

"show me that pretty pussy," he whispers, cheek pressed against the fat of your ass. he can see the outline of your puffy pussy through the thin jersey cotton of your pajama shorts, fat and drooling. his fingers dig into your hips, warm tips slipping under the waistband. "no panties?" he asks, and even with your head in the pillows, back arched for him, you can hear the smug look on his face.

"no panties," you answer, a deep sigh into the pillows. you can't see what he's doing, but you pray to god he'll let you off and just fuck you till you're a sobbing, drooling mess. so it comes unexpected to you, but not unwelcome, when his hand rears back and lands on your ass with a loud smack. you squeal loudly, flinching at the contact but he stops you, wrapping a strong arm around your hips.

"stop running," he says, the low timbre of his voice, nearing a growl, making you stop in your tracks. even you, the biggest brat keigo's ever seen, wouldn't dare disobey him like this. "wanna act like a desperate whore, you get treated like one, yeah?"

the sheets become acquainted with your drool as he continues with you, landing a succession of spanks; one for every time you "disobeyed" him, asked for too much, stepped out of line. this is what he knows you love, being put in your place, him having his way with you. at the back of his mind he'd rather kiss you sweetly, have you on your back facing him, fucking you slow as he watches your eyes roll back with every kiss his cock delivers to your cervix, but this; this is what you need. a rough, harsh fuck, battering your ass and your pussy till you're raw and red and begging him to stop. until you stop being a brat, and you listen to what he has to say.

"fuck me," you cry out, muffled into the pillow. he pauses, smoothing a big palm along the redness of your asscheek. "daddy— please, please."

he leans down, draping himself over your back. "what was that?"

"daddy," you beg, his title so sweet on your tongue. like honey, dripping gold. "please fuck me."

keigo hums. "finally decided you're gonna be good for me, then?" he sits back on his haunches, hands gripping your hips. "finally mellowed down into the good girl i know?" you wish you could shut him up, but with his big, rough hand pinning your neck down there's no way for you to speak, no way for you to glower at him. so you lie there and you take it, take every burning fingerprint he scalds into your skin, the unpleasant sting of the cold air against your abused, reddened skin. he peels down your shorts, watching the way your slicked up pussy drools for him now, strings of arousal latching on to the soaked fabric as he peels it away.

your pussy clenches around nothing, exposed to the cold air. a small whine rips through your throat; wriggling your thighs slightly. "c'mon," you whimper. but keigo stays put. watches the mesmerising slick of your pussy, puffy folds all on display for him to watch. "it's embarrassing!" you protest, trying to get him to do something, anything. but if keigo's good at one thing, it's putting you in your place.

smack. you recoil as another excruciating blow lands on the fat of your ass, right where your thighs meet your cheeks. "behave. you get what i give you, when i give it to you. got it?"

you whimper quietly. keigo doesn't like that. doesn't like when you hide your answers from him. so he grabs you, stuffs two fingers in your mouth and pulls, forcing your head up painfully. "got it?"

"yeth!" you cry, muffled around his fingers. wincing, he lets you down, a rare gentleness in his rough hands. he smoothes a hand down your back, shushing your soft sniffles.

"prettiest fuckin' pussy," he whispers, and you can feel the hot breath against your skin. "gonna fuck you now, okay?"

a thrill skittles down your spine when you hear those words, your back arching, ass humping back. "yes, yes please," you breathe, twisting your neck so you can look back at him, kneeling over you. his boxers are shucked down to his knees, positioning himself at your cunt, and you can feel it; the slow, agonising rub of the tip of his cock against the slit of your pussy, threatening to fuck it open, stretch you out. "daddy— oh, fuck me!"

there's a line between demanding and begging, and you toe it every single day. you better thank you gods that keigo's ears deep in love with you that he overlooks it, that he chuckles to himself as the fat mushroom tip of his cock catches against the slit and pushes in. the both of you hiss, the contact of his cock in your gummy walls so familiar and yet you're completely thrown off by the sheer girth of him stretching your ill-prepared hole. no matter how many times you and keigo fuck, how many times he has you cumming on his cock beforehand, the first breach of his cock in your pussy will always sting. you clutch the bedsheets in your fist, silk bunching up and shielding your palms from the onslaught of your sharp fingernails.

he heaves a breath, leaving his lips with a shudder as his hands grip your flesh. tightening around the fat of your hips, he sinks himself deep into your eager, drooling pussy. "princess," he drapes his body over yours, broad shoulders and thick waist and so big over you. "god, princess, let me in."

it's so much, too much for your tight pussy to handle. "'m trying," you mumble. "s-slow down."

keigo chuckles, mouthing at your shoulder. "not so big and bad anymore, huh? where's my feisty little girl gone?"

it always happens. you just need a little bit of cock in your pussy and you're reduced to a blabbering, slobbering mess on the sheets, your hips mindlessly pushing back onto keigo's cock as you beg him to slow down. he could still himself and just kneel behind you and you'd find a way to fuck yourself to orgasm without him moving an inch. you may be a brat, may disobey him for a second to paw at his cock, but keigo knows all you need is a cock inside you and you're right as rain for him.

today is no different, he thinks as you fuck yourself back on his cock, watching your pussy stretch around him and swallow him down to the hilt. it's mesmerising, borderline insane the way you suck him in, the way you fuck him until you're satisfied and don't stop for a second until you're done. even with your head buried in the pillows you have control, squeezing the length of his dick until he's breathless.

"s-stop that," he stutters, his hand sliding up your back, pinning your neck to the pillows. "you're squeezin' me too tight, birdy."

and you can't answer, hands flailing, fingers flexing with the weight of him mounting you. you can feel him so, so deep inside you, it's like he's in your throat, pushing past your thoughts and residing in the forefront of your mind. "c-can't... 'elp it," you manage, a half hearted sorry dripping from your lips like the drool leaking out the side of your mouth. it's messy, overwhelming, but god if it's the only thing you live for.

keigo ruts into you, one leg planted on the bed by the side of your torso, holding your hips and bouncing you back onto his cock. "is that good?" he grunts, his sweat-slick hair falling into his eyes. "you like that, princess?"

"love it," you slur, dizzy from how deep his cock is pressing inside you. every single thrust feels like it's breaking the wall of your cervix, the slight sting of pain whenever he rams his cock as far as it'll take him. "h-haah," your fists tangle in the sheets before letting go, your right hand drifting down between your body and the sheets to find your clit, the sensitive bud dripping with slick, puffy and neglected. the first fingers make contact with it and your knees almost give out, the sensitivity of your clit sending shocks through your torso, down to your toes and up to your shoulders, a familiar feeling traversing through your veins.

"yeah?" keigo teases, his tongue darting out of his mouth, licking from your shoulder blade to the nape of your neck. "gotta rub your little clit? can't let daddy do all the work now, can you?"

and you whine in response, a pathetic inability to say anything. you can feel him in your throat and you've gone almost brainless with the thickness of him stretching your pretty pussy out. "n-need to," you whisper, shifting your head so you can glance back at him, and when you do, you almost choke.

keigo's the picture of debauchery. his face is tinted pink, ears tipped red and you're sure that if you cradled your palm against his cheek his blood would run so, so warm. he's looking at you with a frenzied look in his eyes, golden melting in his eyes, looking at you wth an intensity that threatens to frighten you. he's looking at you like land to conquer, wings ruffled and spread slightly. you know he loses control of them in times like these, and that they're one of the most sensitive areas of his body, beautiful crimson shielding the two of you like a dome; like he's covering the both of you from the world, and it's just the two of you right now. it is. to you, it is.

your jaw slackens as you rub your clit to the look on his face, the curves of his cheekbones, the angular structure of his jaw, his pink cheeks, the way he's grunting as he sheathes himself inside you again, and again, and again. "k-keigo," you whisper, the circles you draw on your clit getting messier and sloppier as the tightness in your core begins to build. it's excruciating. "daddy."

"i got you, princess," he groans. "you gonna cum?"

you nod, wordlessly. you don't think you could force yourself to say more than that, your heart caught in your throat and his dick in your tummy. you're so distracted that it takes you a couple of seconds to realise that he's snaked his own hand between your thighs, knocking your smaller one out of the way.

"need to feel you cum," you hear him say, strained, like he's speaking with his jaw locked and gnashing teeth. seeing how tense he looks, he probably is. keigo's fingertips are so calloused, so rough from work that it makes you squeal with how ungraceful he's being with your poor, bullied clit. "you're close, aren't you? can feel you— fuck, you're fucking squeezin' me."

"oh my god, oh my god," you cry, palming your stomach as if it'll help alleviate the overwhelming sensation of both your pussy and clit being bullied beyond recognition. "daddy, oh fuck, daddy!"

"i know," he shushes your cries, rubbing his free hand soothingly down your back, and then planting it by the side of your head. "gotta— don't cry, baby, 's just me." keigo sinks a little deeper, rubs your clit a little faster. "you're gonna make a mess on my cock, aren't you?"

you cry out at the crudeness of his words, trying valiantly to shake your head no. but you can't lie; you could feel the pressure in your navel. one small push, one more flick of his fingers against your clit and you're done for.

"come on, princess," he grunts. "need you to cum for daddy, got it? wanna fuckin' see you squirt all over me, come on," and with his renowned intent, keigo's thrusts became impossibly faster, driving impossibly deeper. one clumsy brush of his knuckles against your clit and you're gone, gone, gone, flung headfirst into a crashing orgasm. your eyes roll back and you see white, and you don't realise you're gushing liquid until you hear keigo curse, the lewd squelch of his cock plunging into your leaking pussy filling the room.

"fuck," he spits. "holy fuck, yeah. that's it. that's my fuckin' girl."

"fuck me," you barely manage. "f-fuck me through it."

and he does, never stopping the movement of his hips against yours, his fingers still circling mercilessly against your sloppy clit. you can barely breathe, the force of your orgasm still sending shakes down your legs. they're uncontrollable, too heavy and you have to drop them, your pelvis flat on the sheets. "'m sorry," you babble, "c-can't hold mys-self..."

keigo hushes you. "don't worry princess," he whispers in your ear. "don't need you to work anymore, yeah? just lie there and take daddy's cock now, okay?" he presses kisses down your spine, sweet and sugary compared to his words. "daddy's gonna use you now."

and that he does. keigo has a habit of getting carried away when he's on top, when he has power over you. he pins your hips into the sheets, making sure they don't move as he rears back until only the tip of his cock remains in you, before pushing forward and slamming his fat cock into you, over and over and over. your cum and squirt making for extra lube for him to violate your pussy over and over.

you're powerless to stop him, limp and crosseyed as he uses you to chase his own orgasm. just little whines and whimpers that escape your lips when he pushes particularly deep; but other than that, right now, you're keigo's warm, wet fucktoy with the perfect pussy to cum in.

"'m not gonna last very long," he whines. "where do you want it, princess? where do you want daddy's cum?"

"i'side," you whisper. "ins-side!"

"yeah?" his mouth quirks up, canines flashing. he drapes himself over you again, mouthing at your ear. "want me to cum inside?"

you nod, small uh huh, uh huhs spilling out of your useless mouth.

"want me to knock you up? give you my kids? when was the last time you took your pill, baby?"

"n-not," you barely manage. "not on t-the pill anymore."

"that's what i like to fuckin' hear," he chuckles, brows furrowing just slightly, feeling the tangle in his navel now too. "gonna make you all fat and round with my kids. yeah?" he presses a kiss to your shoulder blade. "maybe if i knock you up you'll finally listen to me."

you squeal as he drives himself into your one more time, tip of his dick nudging against the sweet spot inside you, threatening to push past the tight ring of your cervix. just presses his chest against your back and pushes, grinds the head against your walls. "daddy, too much!" you cry out, arms scrambling for purchase. his thrusts are brutal; you can practically feel the bruises he's pressing into your skin, pretty blue-black marks you know will show up tomorrow morning. 

"shut up." he hisses, taking both your wrists in one of his own, pinning them above your head. "shut the fuck up and take it." keigo shudders, trying his hardest to hold on just a little more, just one more thrust before he's falling apart, a groan clawing through his throat and bubbling out of his mouth as he cums and cums and cums. it's overwhelming, the feeling of him filling you to the brim and more with cum. white hot and thick, dripping out the sides of his cock as he plugs you full.

you hear him sigh, arm collapsing and giving way until he's flopped on top of you, cock softening inside you. you welcome the warm weight of your boyfriend on top of you, hoisting one of his arms in your hands to tuck between you and the sheets, resting your cheek against the toned muscle of his bicep.

"long day?" you ask, finally. the smell of the both of you, your floral sweetness mixing with the sweaty hue of his tired body, drifting through the air. he's so tired, barely moving, but you don't mind the crushing. it was comforting, in its own way.

"the longest," he sighs, nuzzling his face into your neck before he snaps up suddenly. "oh. right," he reaches over to the side of the bed where he'd shucked off his jeans (you don't even remember him doing that, probably in your haze of lust.)

"mm?" you hum, smiling softly at him. he pulls out a white glove, one torn from the base to the index finger, and flicks you in the head with it.

"gotta stop leaving your traces all over the place, baby," he chides you gently. "never know what would've happened if someone found it before i did.”

keigo and you met years ago- at a coffeeshop near your university where you studied forensic psychology and he studied english. you'd spilt your matcha latte all over his shirt and apologised profusely, and he'd laughed it off.

"no worries, sweetheart," he took your chin in his fingers, a soft smile playing on his lips. "hey— enough apologisin' yeah?" 

and after that, you began bumping into him more and more. it would have been worrying if you weren't so enamoured with his gaze, midas gold and luxurious, yet still held an air of comfort in them. like you could crawl into him and lay yourself to rest in him. you didn't realise the bright crimson feather that stuck itself to the bottom of your tote bag, following you wherever you went. by the first week, he knew your whole schedule. he knew which classes you were in, which dormitory you stayed in, the sound of your roommate's voice.

it wasn't his fault you were so pretty, so delicate, so vulnerable. it wasn't his fault he thought you needed extra protection. you were just so lovely, anyone would be lucky to even be looked at by you. what if you got into trouble? what if you needed help? it was just for safety, he convinced himself.

keigo thought you were stupid. thought you didn't know about the fact that he was tracking you. he convinced himself that, to him, you were another air headed bimbo to fuck and then move on to the next one. of course, he'd never gone to these lengths for any other girl before, but somehow, you were different.

and to you, he was different. your roommate warned you of those golden eyes, that warm smile that seemed a little too friendly. "he's fine," you insisted, looking at yourself in the mirror for the fifth time that night, pulling your skirt down, pulling your dress up as you waited for keigo to text you, to pick you up for your first date. "i'll text you if anything goes wrong, i promise."

and of course, the date went well. he took you to dinner and then to a lovely little park, and then back to his apartment to fuck your brains out. tugging your wrist in his, you remember the way you tripped over each other to get to his bedroom, pulling clothes every which way. it was almost embarrassing how fast the word daddy slipped out of your mouth that night. but how couldn't you, with the way he was prying your legs open, calling you his good baby? with the way he was feeding you his cock, slapping the fat tip of it against your slick folds? it was natural, almost sickeningly so.

you liked him. god, you liked him. an outrageous amount. like you couldn't stand to be without him for more than a day. and strangely enough, he found your neediness endearing. like he wanted to be the centre of your attention all of the time. keigo was so unfamiliar with the concept of actually liking someone that he couldn't tell how he felt about you until that night.

see, the thing with keigo was that even though he was wrapped around your pinky finger, he found it so hard to move on from his... prideful ambitions. and so every time you rounded a corner to see some skank's arm draped around his torso, or some bitch's hand stroking his wings, you broiled in a mixing pot of anger and jealousy. no matter how many times he reassured you, no, sweetheart, i'm not cheating on you and baby, you're the prettiest girl i've ever seen. it wasn't enough for you. not until you had them in front of you, motionless, pale, and drained of blood.

keigo had wondered where you went. you'd left your tote bag in your dorm room so he couldn't track you down. usually he’d leave it, roll his eyes and wait for you to reply but when you let his calls run to voicemail and you left him on read too many times, he decided to go out. tuck some crimson red feathers in the corners of buildings, alleyways just in case you came by. sent other feathers drifting around just in case you decided to stay in one place. and finally, after what felt like hours, he stumbled upon a small alleyway with a figure too closely resembling yours crouching down by the ground.

he listened to the soft choking sounds, the pleas of please, stop, it hurts. stood there and did nothing but watched. not because he was scared, no. but because he was curious. curious who lay in front of you, and why. he let your victim thrash about, writhing in pain before eventually stopping, laying limp in front of you, and when her head hit the ground with a satisfyingly hollow thump, he recognises her as the girl he talked to just earlier this morning.

keigo watches you, ominous fascination coursing through his veins, golden gaze pathetic. he was a hero, groomed and perfected by the safety commission, and he just let a girl die; for what? because he was so enamoured with the girl who killed her? because he was so infatuated with the way you breathed now, your shoulders rolling back like this is your first hit of a joint, relaxing and softening from weeks-long tension?

"impressive," is the only thing he says, and when you whip around, there's some sort of kindling ferocity in your eyes. he holds his hands up in surrender, a sign of innocence. "no, truly."

you have a quirk; when it manifested, your mother had you wear gloves, made you stay away from other kids. because through the sweat glands of your palms, you could drain any living being of blood within minutes. it was scary, naturally, for your mother to find that out. it explained why you always felt faint; that without draining somebody else's blood, you never really had enough on your own. blood didn't clot fast enough to stop you from losing blood rapidly. blood was precious, blood was essential to you. other people's blood.

the pints of blood the hospital supplied you was never enough. the blood donations, transfusions, nothing worked the same way as when you laid a hand, skin to skin on somebody's arm and drained them. that feeling of euphoria, of strength rejuvenating in your bones. it felt like breathing for the first time, a thirst quenched, a hunger quelled.

over the years you'd perfected it; sped it up so you could drained a whole average sized body in seconds, or learn how to tell when a certain amount has been drained. but though you learned to control it, to decide when your glands worked as needles, when your blood becomes too thin, or runs too low it's harder for you to control. harder for you to discern when you should or shouldn't utilise it. your god-given gift.

"like a vampire," keigo joked when you told him this.

"fuck off," you seethed, slapping his bicep. "what are you gonna do now? sell me out to your dumb pro hero agency?"

"it's the hero commission, sweetheart," he started. "and of course not. why would i do that?"

you shrugged. "thought you wanted to be the next big shot pro. can't do that if you're an accessory to a murder."

so you aren't as dumb as you seem. keigo smiles. as much as he loved the way you went dumb on his cock, or dependent hanging off his sleeve begging him to ask the counter for some ketchup, he liked you like this; scheming, plotting, always one step ahead. you were always one step ahead.

this wasn't the first time you'd done this. of course not, he thinks, it can't be. because as you slip a pair of pristine white gloves back over your right hand with a practiced precision, fishing out a rag and wiping down the surface of the skin, it was obvious this was like routine. "diluted bleach," you murmured, explaining the acrid smell. "gets rid of any fingerprints or dna."

he watched you clean any evidence of yourself from the corpse, before getting back up on your feet. "you're not gonna bury it?"

you shrugged. "they're gonna find it either way." you turned to him, a small smile on your lips. he would have thought it adorable if you didn't just drained a girl completely of her blood right before him. "and plus, i forgot my shovel."

keigo couldn't help but chuckle. but pull you into his chest and kiss you, slow and deep. "what a girl," he whispered in your ear. "that's my fuckin' girl."

fucked up couldn't even begin to describe your relationship with keigo after that.

and ears deep in love was an understatement to how keigo felt about you.

he ruined every crime scene, botched every manila file. protected you fiercely in every way he could in his position in the hero commission. never once did he question what he was doing; to him it was you first, everything else came after.

did he get reprimanded for his slowness on the cases? on the mysterious disappearances of forensic evidence? on the fact that no one was any closer to solving the case of the crimson reaper? of course. but he didn't care, because as long as he came home to his sweet girlfriend, your arms wrapping around his neck and peppering his face with kisses like a dutiful wife, he'd abuse any power to keep you safe.

and that included today. "ms president," hawks greets when he walks into the room, the clinical fluorescents washing out any life from the room. it feels sterile; the blank stares, the gloomy, overcast weather that painted the backdrop of the meeting through the large glass windows.

"mr. takami," she smiles, tightlipped. hawks could count the wrinkles that stained her forehead, etched like valleys, fruition of the canyons of burden she shouldered. "so kind of you to join us."

"of course, ms president." his hands, shoved deep into his pants pockets flexed, a small wring of anxiety that plagues him whenever he's called to these meetings. that they'd finally saw through him, and are coming for you right as they speak. "it's always a pleasure to be here."

he was taught since he was a little kid, since he was taken in by the commission; the job he was made for. the purpose he was born to fulfil. to make musutafu a better place, to protect civilians. and he did! he did a damn good job. but right now, more than anything else he'd been taught, there came you, who turned his nights into days and touched fleeting heart and turned it to gold.

"the other ranked heroes should be here soon," she sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. "how's the crimson reaper case? any good news?"

hawks' hands slip out of his pockets, straightening them by his sides and bowing slightly. "i'm sorry, ms. president. i can't say anything's any better than it's been since the last meeting."

her breath hitches, and with a grim expression, turns away from him. "no matter," she starts. "i know we are all working as hard as we can. we will get this killer," there's a certain acid in her tone, corroding and pooling on her tongue. hawks can hear the frown, the anger and the frustration in her tone. "and we will keep musutafu safe."

endeavour is the first one in the room after that, his big, hulking figure looming by the door way. "madam president," he greets, and then turns to hawks. "brat."

hawks scoffs. "rude."

the meeting runs as all the previous did; briefing everybody on the current situation, any updates, any findings, anything new that had come up. hawks explains the newest death; the background, who she was, the places she'd been before. "there's no connection between this victim and the rest," he continues. "which further cements that the reaper doesn't have a pattern. i wouldn't go as far as to say these victims are picked randomly, but that is how it appears."

"then everyone's in danger of being killed," edgeshot pipes up. "there's no way we can predict who'll be next."

there's a grim hum of agreement.

"an equal risk," hawks agrees. "there's no telling who s— they'll go for next."

"and you're sure," ryukyu raises her voice. "that we're nowhere closer to finding anything about them? after, what, 24 deaths? not a single piece of evidence?"

"really makes you wonder how much work you're putting into this," rock lock comments, the snideness in his voice not going unnoticed. "hawks agency not putting in enough hours?"

"why don't you fuckin' try it, wannabe?" mirko glowers at rock lock. “oh, that’s right. you don’t even have your own agency. why don’t you try becoming a ranked hero before you give your opinion?” 

“ms. usagiyama,” the president clips. “mr. takagi. i would rather there be no internal conflict within the pro heroes when there’s a common enemy that deserves our utmost attention.”

neither of them say a word after that. blunt tipped tones and thick tension; it was natural for the frustration to get to them, have them saying things they’d usually be able to contain. hawks smiles weakly, mumbles a small, it’s alright, before continuing. “we do have several leads,” he starts again. “we are investigating especially those with blood-related quirks, since the signature style of the reaper is the victim drained of blood. we have yet to find a reason for this, why the blood is being used.” 

“we had the tests run at all hospitals and donation drives in musutafu,” best jeanist adds. “testing the blood sample from the body to see if any of the blood had been donated. nothing came up. whatever it is, the killer’s using it for themselves.” 

“well maybe we should check neighbouring cities,” kamui woods suggests. “the reaper only comes by once a week at most. they could be from neighbouring towns.”

“you think they’d lug five litres of blood to another town?”

“five litres is nothing. that’s a 5 kilo dumbbell.”

internally, hawks chuckles. he knows the drained blood has led them on a wild goose chase; any blood drained was already in your bloodstream, since the glands drained the blood from their body directly into yours. you’d only started puncturing holes with needles to throw them off; make them think that it was external instruments that aided in the blood collection. in fact, that was his idea, brought up one night at dinner when you were tossing ideas on how to make it more fun for you.

that’s what it was. fun. other than the element of needing blood— you didn’t need nearly as much as you were getting. one body could last you maybe a month or two if you stretched it right— you did this for fun. it's a thrill at this point, doing them closer and closer to the city centre, in places where people could peer into an alleyway and see you crouched by a motionless body. there's a glint in your eye, keigo notices, when you see somebody you want. an interesting quirk, a streak of your favourite colour in their hair; once you set your eyes on someone, you'll never take them off.

they were right, in that one thing about you. it was random. unpredictable. you never let them know what you're about to do next, and you liked it that way.

"we do," endeavour starts, clearing his throat. "have some eyewitness reports from around the area. the killing— this one, most recent one— happened around 3 to 5 in the morning according to forensics, and a, uh, miss miyazaki toi reported seeing a figure in green along the street, leaving the opposite direction from the alleyway at about 4:30."

madam president perks up. "any other indicators? hair colour? height?"

"she, uh, said she was too far away to make out anything of essence."

"gait? posture? anything?"

endeavour shakes his head. "nothing, madam president. i can get in touch with the eyewitness again, but it's not likely she'll have anything new to share."

hawks clears his own throat, thumping his chest once. whoever that miyazuki or whatever saw, that wasn't you. and he knows this because at 4:30 am you were fucked out, your eyes rolling to the back of your head as he fucked you into his mattress. whimpering, drooling, clawing at his skin for him to slow down, his hips slapping against yours as he emptied his balls into your waiting pussy.

and also, you don't wear green. not your colour.

but he knows madam president, knows that she'll exhaust every avenue, every lead until it turns up dead at her doorstep. this eyewitness testimony just bought you a couple more weeks as they chase down whatever poor soul was walking along a street at 4 in the morning.

as the meeting concludes, several pro heroes pat hawks on the back, thanking him for working overtime for this case, taking such a genuinely draining case under his wing. he just smiles, murmuring in acknowledgement. he can see the tight rings of sleeplessness wound under their eye lines, and for a moment, he feels a speck of pity for them. maybe he does feel sympathetic, that a savage killer ravages the streets of his town. but he can't bring himself to condemn your actions. can't find it in himself to look at you with anything but utmost adoration, like a kitten who had brought a chewed up bird to him in its mouth, big doe eyes asking, are you proud of me?

keigo is. always has been proud of you. you made a name for yourself, never left a trace of yourself in your wake. you are such a clever girl, beautiful and kind, and you bring sunshine to your household with the aroma of the cookies you bake every saturday. keigo loves you. endlessly, relentlessly. if he had to jeopardise his career and watch the city of musutafu tremble in the wake of your actions just to see that smile on your face every time he came home, it was done. in a heartbeat, no questions asked.

he flies home that night. picks up a couple of custard tarts for you on the way, from your favourite bakery, and a bubble tea. maybe you'd eat dinner together and he'd sit you on his lap while you watched another shitty romcom that he would deny he loved. maybe he'd wash the dishes while you focused on your assignment, chewing on the back of your apple pencil from a habit you never really grew out of. either way, he's excited to come home, to see you, feel you in his arms again.

the sliding door is ajar when he lands in the balcony, tucking his wings tight behind him as he pulls it a little more open, slipping inside. he's hit with the aroma of curry wafting through the threshold before he spots you, his love and light, his achilles heel standing by the stove in your favourite pink and white apron, stirring a pot. he lights up; it's embarrassing how fast he drops his bags and shuffles over to the kitchen, quietly wrapping his arms around your front as he leans against your back.

"keigo," you murmur softly. "welcome home, baby."

keigo hums. "i missed you."

you giggle softly. "you always say that."

"because it's always true." he raises his head slightly, tucking it into the crook where your neck meets your shoulder and pressing a soft, chaste kiss to your skin. you have a litany of marks, varying in shades, deep blue or a fading red scattered along the plump skin. "i miss you every second i'm not with you."

you twist the knob of the stove off, giving the curry one last customary stir before pushing off the edge of the countertop, twisting around to face your boyfriend. you heave his heavy arms around your torso, under your armpits and slump back into him. "you're such a sap," you whisper, burying your face into his shoulder, tucking your head under his chin. he rubs his nose along your temple, sweet nothings murmured into the space between you.

"did you miss me too, baby?"

there's a flicker of embarrassment that flashes hot in your bloodstream, and you can't seem to brush it off. "yes, daddy," you whisper back, letting out a shaky breath. "missed you, so, so much."

he smiles, brings one hand up to tip your chin upwards before catching your lips in a kiss. a gentle, breathless one, one that has you swaying on your tip toes, clutching on to the collar of his work jacket. "that's my sweet girl," he murmurs. "wanna make you my wife one day."

and you giggle, rolling your eyes. "you're all talk," you chastise him, turning away again to begin plating your dinner. the lid of the rice cooker pops open and you scoop heaps for him, and just as much for you. "how much curry do you want, honey?"

"lots," he hums, wrapping his arms around your waist again, tucking his chin on your shoulder. "chicken?"

"yup," you pat his cheek. "your favourite."

keigo watches as you scoop ladlefuls of curry onto his plate, stewed chicken and vegetables in a rich traditional curry atop a bed of rice. god, his mouth is watering just watching you plate it. he has got to make you his wife.

as he sits next to you at the kitchen island, bowls of curry half eaten he looks over at you, chewing thoughtfully, eyes glimmering, and wonders what good he'd done in his last life to deserve someone like you. as you settle in his lap for your nightly movie, dead poets society playing on the tv, he strokes your hair, runs his fingers down your back. he wants to savour every hour, minute, second he's got with you. fall into a dimension where neither of you are needed anywhere but in each other's arms.

time is a leaking faucet, dripping and draining into the rippling river between the two of you, the rhythmic, drip, drip, drip reminds him that this time is finite, that there is nothing in the world that lasts forever and ever. and as hard as he might try, there will come a day that he will have to part from you.

but that day is not today, he reminds himself as you lean your tired head on his plush chest. you squeak softly when his grip around your waist tightens, and he pulls you closer to him. "i missed you," he whines, high and pitchy and so unlike the outer facade he had put on for his public image. "baby, oh baby, i fuckin' missed you so bad."

you giggle. "you said that already," you loop your arms around his neck. "say something different."

"like what?" he looks at you quizzically. "like, oh, i dreamed about fucking you all day."

"crude!" you slap his bicep. "another one."

he hums, in thought. "i couldn’t stop thinking about you."

"that's so cliche." you laugh. "come on, number two hero, most eligible bachelor in japan. hit me with your best shot."

"marry me." it's out of his mouth before he can stop it, before he can think. what usually was meant to be kept under lock and key, spoken into existence. what plagued his every day, clouded up his mind, finally out there for more than his subconscious to hear.

and the way your face changes, the subtle relaxation of your cheeks and your mouth, he watches all of it with bated breath, with a small glint of hesitation, of regret. he'd never regretted anything he did with you, but there was something to be said about the twist in his heart as he waited for you reply. "are you seriously asking me like this?" you whisper, eyes wide, mouth hanging a little.

"and if i am?" he asks, and before he has a chance to regret it, you kiss him, quick and fierce and so, so desperate, like you can't stand to be disconnected from him physically for even a second more. he breathes you in, shifting so he's sitting up a little more attentively, holding you down against him. you whimper into the kiss, his bruising grip on your arms returned by the way you dig your fingernails into his skin. like you're marking one another, leaving indents as evidence of your influence over each other's bodies.

your hand finds home on his collarbones, fingers splayed out over the warm flesh. you find his pulse point, pressing your thumb against it. "say it again," you beg, some kind of sick, twisted, desperate need to hear those words drip from keigo's mouth again. "again." you demand, pressing harder.

"marry me." it comes out strained, the pressure of your hands tightening around his neck cutting off blood momentarily. it makes him dizzy, but the figure of you in front of him is still crystal clear. "baby, marry me."

the world burns around the two of you. moves on, runs along, but the two of you are stuck here in this moment, visiting it and revisiting it. you hold him and he holds you, the only person he's ever genuinely cared about, the only person he's loved.

weeks pass, and the crimson reaper is all but gone.

this is the longest time in the last year since that name made the news with the finding of a new body. to be exact, it's been 34 days since the last crimson reaper killing. hawks can see that musutafu has breathed a sigh of relief, and the hero commission has stopped being so anal about daily reporting. patrolling has been a lot less stressful. pro heroes are getting a semblance of control back.

you're fine. hawks knows you are; you're just as chipper, bouncy, and lovely as you've always been. he wondered for a little bit if there was something different in that tomita girl's blood; so much so that you didn't need your regular weekly fix, or even the mandatory monthly one. but you laughed it off, telling him don't worry, baby, and that he'll see soon enough.

you're a smart girl. he trusted you to make good decisions.

after that night, his sudden question and your hand on his throat demanding him to repeat it, you found yourselves in the throes of progression. towards what, from what, you couldn't really tell. all you knew is that there was a softness within keigo that, even with how loving he'd been since you met, you'd never really seen till now. all you knew is that, to him, wife sounded so much better than girlfriend.

he hasn't proposed properly, he reminds you, and that until he can put a ring on your finger, that night was but a promise to greater things to come. but that didn't stop him from calling you his wife every so often, under his breath, over the phone. it was casual, yet subtly intimate. you couldn't help but flush some nights after that when he kissed you everywhere, and the word wife would drip from his mouth if he wasn't careful.

you thought it adorable. you loved— love— it. you tried the word husband on your tongue, once, twice. my husband. i'll have to ask my husband. i'm seeing my husband. it... fit. weirdly. of all the things in your life you would never have thought that you'd come anywhere near calling anyone your husband. but for keigo, it fit.

keigo's asleep when you come home.

it's ticking close to 3 now. all the lights in the apartment are off, save for a lamp in the hallway. keigo always leaves that one specific lamp on for you to come home to, and you always switch it off on your way to your bedroom. and that's what you do, adrenaline still rushing through your veins. you aren’t tired; you never are after a night like this. sometimes you wonder if keigo’s initial assessment of your quirk was right. vampire made so much sense with how much more energetic and powerful you felt after a kill. 

synergy courses through your veins, up your arteries and through your beating heart. the adrenaline, the electricity, the excitement. 

you pad through the living room and the kitchen, stopping to pour yourself a glass of cold water before shuffling softly back to the bedroom. keigo’s left it slightly ajar for you, and you can see, with the small sliver of dim orange glow, the man of your dreams splayed out on your bed, the covers pulled up and rumpled around his torso. keigo sleeps shirtless, always has, and from where you stand you can see a little bit of his golden skin, softened muscle under the covers. 

he’s beautiful, peace and comfort painted across his face, the steady rise and fall of his chest signalling his deep sleep. you pad over softly, placing your water cup by your bedside and leaning over your boyfriend to plant a small kiss on his cheek before walking to the bathroom. 

the water is warm against your back, rivulets of slightly pink-tinted water running down your body. sweat gives way and you start to feel clean, the smell of lavender and mint steaming in the room, fogging up your mirrors. you lean your head back against the cold tile, letting your eyelids flutter shut. it’s been a long day. college in the morning, work in the afternoon, homicide in the evening. really tuckers a bitch out. 

but yet you can’t stop the trail of your fingers, the light, ghostly touch along the front of your torso. it’s been a long day, but you can’t stop yourself from thinking about keigo this morning, waking you up with his tongue on your clit, hands gripping the flesh of your hips so tight. you can’t stop the tingling of your hands, filled with the blood of the last victim you drank. all your energy, circulating to the heat in your core. you stifle a soft moan now, letting your soft fingertips inch down lower, and lower. 

you like that, don’t you? you could hear keigo’s voice in the empty chamber of your mind, a smug smile on his lips peering up at you from between your legs, nosing along the sensitive top of your cunt. like it when daddy wakes you up like this.

you did. you do. you can’t stop thinking of it now, not as your fingers make contact with the swollen nub of your clit. you give it one tentative press and gasp, back arching into your own grip. the water is warm, so warm, beating down on your tired body and you just want to let your brain and all its stupid little thoughts to ooze out of your ears, wash away with the running shower. 

“daddy,” you whimper softly, imagining his big, calloused fingertips instead of yours, his body caging you up against the wall. he’d hold you close to him, so close, chest to chest so that your tits press up against his pecs, his left hand wrapped around your back, his right playing with your sensitive pussy. you whine, just thinking of the way he’d shush your cries, coo at you as you bite down hard on his shoulder. 

your thoughts are a haze as you dip your fingers shallowly into your cunt, sticky and slick with both shower water and your own arousal. the moans you let out are criminal, ripping through your mouth and through your lips before you can stop them. you need to feel him, any part of him now. now.

stumbling out of the bathroom, you dry your feet on the rug, patting yourself half dry before shuffling back to your bedroom, naked and damp. the bed dips where you kneel, sinking slightly and keigo stirs, but doesn’t wake. your hands are trembling, your need and excitement barely contained under a sheen of self control. need it. you need it.

you peel back the covers that obscure him from your preening gaze, miles and miles of tan, smooth golden flesh laying in front of you, sun spots and moles mapping along his torso. he’s so beautiful, it makes you want to devour him whole. he’s wearing a pair of grey boxers, the outline of his cock subtle but still, there. your mouth waters at the sight. 

“daddy,” you whisper again, mesmerised by the way his skin glows in the low lamplight, greeting you as you pull the waistband of his boxers down. “‘m sorry, need it so bad.”

keigo’s still sound asleep, completely oblivious to your mischief. you pull his boxers down, over his hips and down his thighs, and there it is; his cock, already half hard, twitches as you touch it, let your fingertip drift along the underside of it. the patch of blonde curls brushes up against your knuckles as you touch him and it’s so soft. you whimper; you want his cock in your mouth. 

so you bend down, and lick a stripe up from the base to the tip. keigo smells like fabric softener and an undertone of vanilla from your shared body wash, comforting and comfortable. gods, you want him so bad. you fit him into your mouth, and you hear a hitch in his breath, and you feel a spike in your heart rate at the prospect of him waking up to see his cock halfway down your throat, but he doesn’t rouse. just shifts slightly, and you continue.

keigo’s cock is so thick, so long, and whatever you can’t fit comfortably in your mouth you resort to stroking it slowly. your eyes flutter closed, like a baby with a pacifier. you’re quiet, humming and whimpering every so often, content with his cock in your mouth. you wish you could do this to him every night, give him a little surprise when he cums down your throat still asleep. 

you bob your head along the length of him, swallowing as much of him down as you can that you choke, gag a little. the heat in your core is searing, never-ending, building as you moan around his cock, your slobber easing the glide of it down your throat. at this point you’re drooling all over his pretty dick, breath hot and eyes hooded, watching the rapid rise and uneven fall of his chest. he’s close, you can tell by the way his thighs are clenching, balls twitching. he’s fully hard on your tongue, tip flushed red and leaking, and you think it’s a waste to have him cum anywhere but right inside you, nestled right up by your cervix.

so you pull off his dick, smile at the slight huff from him, and climb gracefully atop of him. this is new to you; you’ve only ever sucked keigo off, played with his ass for a little while he was sleeping, but never went as far as to fuck him while he was asleep. it sends an unholy thrill down your spine, and as soon as you feel the blunt tip of his cock nudge along your slit, you’re dumb to the world. 

it’s so exciting, your burning need met with his unconscious body, seating yourself on his cock. you whimper at the stretch of your ill-prepared pussy, unstretched, untouched, stinging with the intrusion of his fat cock. you fall forward, hands clattering to the sides of keigo’s torso, a gasp ripping through your lips as you slip, feel a sharp pop in your cunt before you swallow him down to the hilt. it’s not pain, not anguish that skitters through your veins, his long, thick cock bullying your walls and stretching you out. it’s familiarity. it’s the way your cunt is moulded into the shape of him, gummy walls giving way to him, your pussy spread around him, slick pooling on his navel.

it’s the familiar grumble of his chest, a grunt and a groan caught in his lips. “baby?” he calls for you, left hand reaching out to your side of the bed, as he does every night when you join him, just so he knows that you’re there. but his hands find blank canvas, and he whimpers, before his eyes flutter open just a little. and then the realisation sinks in; his body starts to wake up, synapses rousing from sleep, and he feels, feels your cunt pulse around him.

keigo groans. “baby.”

you giggle. “good morning, daddy.” 

you raise your hips just slightly, moving up along his cock before letting yourself fuck me down against him. he slings an arm over his eyes, wanton moans ripping out of his throat, and his other arm comes around to grip your hips. he guides you up, down, lets you fall against his chest as you fuck yourself violently against his cock. keigo does nothing; lies there and coos at you, “baby, naughty little baby. couldn’t even wait for daddy to wake up to fuck her, huh?”

you whimper. “no, c-couldn’t,” you manage to croak out. it feels like his dick’s in your throat with how deep he is, pushing up against your cervix, bullying your insides. he holds you close, digging his arms under your armpits and holding you, chest flushed to his. “god you— you feel so good.” 

keigo hums. “that’s my girl, that’s my girl. taking it so well,” he breathes, a stuttered gasp. “god, i’m close. did you— naughty fuckin’ girl, yeah— did you suck me off?”

you nod dumbly, panting into his mouth. “i did, daddy, couldn’t help it,” you babble, eyes crossing. “y-you looked so good, needed— ah, needed it!”

“just needed some dick in your mouth,” he hums, chuckling. “desperate little baby.”

you’re drooling on his chest, spit dribbling out of the side of your mouth. “feels— f-feels so good daddy,” you pant, trying to sit back up, planting your hands on his chest. “wanna— ride you properly.”

“go on,” he coaxes you, letting a hand drift down the side of your hip. “show daddy how you ride. make me cum.”

you fall apart, bouncing on his cock, the rough patch of blonde curls brushing up against your clit with every downward stroke. “daddy,” you whimper, head thrown back in ecstasy. “oh— oh!”

keigo grunts, the dim orange light illuminating the bounce of your tits, the vigour of your rhythm leaving both of you drooling, blabbering. “you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, captivated by the swell of your body, the pudge flesh and doughy thighs that encompass him. the tightness in his core begins to build, his balls twitching as he tries to stave off his own orgasm in favour of yours. “are you close?” he whispers, hand coming down to rub at your sensitive clit. “wanna feel you cum.”

“w-want,” you pant. “want you to cum first.” it’s a beg, a plea, a vow. 

he grunts, eyes squeezing. “i’m pretty fuckin’ close, baby,” he whispers, thumb rubbing circles faster onto the swell of your clit. “cum with me, okay? wanna— fuck, wanna feel with milk me when i cum. can you do that?”

you’re brainless, pathetic, but hell if you were going to say no to something your daddy so politely asked. you bite your tongue, nodding slightly, and let your head tilt in pleasure, euphoria rippling through your bloodstream. he’s so deep, so good inside of you it drives you crazy, the bashing feeling of his cockhead against the gummy sweet spot in your pussy. your fists tighten, gripping him harder as you feel pressure build in your navel. “i-i’m close,” you stutter, trying to keep your eyes open. “want you to cum. c-cum for me, daddy, cum inside.”

he almost baulks at your crudeness, but obliges nonetheless. keigo’s given your everything you’ve ever wanted or needed, without so much as a second thought. “yeah? wanna feel daddy’s cum inside you?” he coos in your ear, his hands running up your thighs and settling by your hips. “want daddy to knock you up?”

you nod pathetically, mouthing, yes, yes! as he squeezes your flesh, one of his thick, giant hands pulling away your own on your clit, tinier and smaller, and replacing it with his own. “please, please, daddy—”

that does him in, bursts the tightening of his balls and feels himself empty into your waiting, welcoming cunt. all he can feel are the weak pulses of your gummy walls around him; a weak orgasm milking him for all he’s worth. his touch, grip on your clit doesn't move, just continues to fuck you through your heavy orgasm. you both cum at the same time, the gush of your cum paralleling the thick, white seed that stuffs you so full that you can feel it leak out of you through the sides of his cock. “just like that,” he whispers to you, halfway out of his own orgasm, voice still wavering and thighs shaking. “say thank you, daddy.”

“thank you daddy,” you whine, and despite yourself, you continue dragging yourself up and down his cock. it’s sensitive, painful, but you can’t seem to stop. keigo groans, hands stilling on your hips. 

“slow down, baby,” he chuckles dryly, almost like he’s in pain. “daddy’s still cummin’— ah—”

“wanna make you,” you huff, some sort of twisted energy running through your veins. “make you cum again, daddy.” you usually only had enough in you for one round, especially at a time like this, but you couldn’t stop yourself now. the feeling of his first load of cum dripping down your thighs only served to spur you on, delirious, frozen in a state of abject desire and need. “fuck, daddy!”

he whines again, head tilted back, eyes wincing. “what’s gotten into you, kitten?” keigo trails his fingers along your hips, watching you bounce on his cock, eyes hooded with euphoria. “had a good kill?”

your kill. of course it is. the blood of someone else, someone so powerful, screaming through your ears, pumping like lead in your bloodstream. it’s almost oblong, despite the liquid nature of blood, causes your hands to tremble, fingers to shake. that’s why you feel ike this. that’s why you have so much energy. that’s why you need more. you grin at keigo, and for a moment, he feels fear.

your sharp canines flash in the moonlight, its dusty silver gaze glimmering in your body, in your eyes, in the way your nails dig deeper into his chest. for years, years, keigo has only regarded you with love. with subliminal adoration. with nothing but affection, holding you in his hands. but here, in the middle of the night, he notices a splatter of blood on your collarbone. winces at the sensation of your nails breaking flesh. 

for a moment, he fears you. he fears you’ve truly lost it. 

and to be truthful, you have. you’re delirious with ecstasy, you’re high— you’ve never felt like this before. killing has never come so close to feeding. blood has never come so close to addiction. but right now, you’d do anything for this feeling to last forever. the memory of you striking your victim down, your foot holding down his neck as he thrashed, looked at you with abject horror, shimmering like tears in his green eyes.

you’ve never felt so much fun in a kill. never craved those screaming pleas, those last gasps of breaths. never have you been so excited to roll up somebody’s sleeve and take off your glove, hold them with all five fingers, your full palm against their bare skin. but this man, god, was he tantalising. his deep voice, begging you to stop, begging you to leave him be. any amount of money, he’d promised. anything. just leave me alone.

but no money could give you this feeling. this excitement. you grinned, malice and cruelty trembling on your lips. “i’m so sorry,” you mocked his weeping tones. “i’m so sorry.”

“c-crim— ah— son… reap-per,” he breathed, choking out his words. “t-they’ll—” he coughed, gasping for air. puny, pitchy, desperate gasps for air. 

“t-they,” you mocked again, gripping his arm tighter, feeling the rush of newer, fresher, stronger blood enter your bloodstream. “they’ll catch me? you have so little faith in me,” he winced, and you just laughed, flashing him your canines. 

he turned paler, rosey tinted cheeks turning blue, gaunt. the life in his eyes slowly diminished as you sucked the last remaining litre out of his body. “y-you’ll never…”he trailed off, voice turning to a whisper, then to air. 

you’ll never get away with this. 

but you would. you knew you would. and that’s why you took your own sweet time cleaning the site where your hand just was, pulling your glove back on and fishing out your needles and making four incisions; one on each elbow, and on the back of each palm. just as you always had. you traced your gloved fingers along his jaw, cold and dead, the permanent plea on the tip of his tongue. it was such a pity, that he’d fought till his last breath and still lost. 

it was true whatever they said about you, you thought as you pulled out your scalpel. that no one was safe from you. the only real way to put themselves out of danger was to keep themselves out of sight, out of mind. because once you set your eyes on someone, you didn’t stop chasing them until they were in front of you, your scalpel in their throat, dragging down, down, down. 

the man’s skin split open like rubber, and once you made your initial incision, pinpricks of the little blood he had left rising to the surface, coating your pristinely white gloves, you dived in with greedy hands, like a vulture descending upon its prey. like a predator, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. your fingers, alive with electricity, the static of your feast before you. 

you consumed. you devoured. you lived, fisting handfuls of flesh in each hand and prying it apart, the elasticity of the human skin the only testament to a dead man’s resistance. you uncovered inch by inch of glorious organ, of crimson stained ivory, of burst blood vessel. all pink and red and wet, and you want to make a mess, want to paint yourself in the remnants of this man’s blood and carry it home with you. you swore you have never felt so alive at the side of a dead man’s body.

one singular rose petal, fitted snugly in between the lungs. 

your cheeks tingled, face numb, and walked back home.

“they’ve done it again.”

the whispers on the street whistle like fallen leaves kicked up in the wind, rustling against the cool asphalt of the road. 

“the crimson reaper’s back.”

keigo barely makes it two seconds into his day before the pager buzzes. 

“did you hear who they killed this time?”

you’re half awake when he asks.

“baby?” 

you hum, softly, knowingly. 

“who did you kill last night?”

you open your eyes, and look at him through hooded lids. he’s pacing your room, golden eyes distraught, and all you do is smile at him.

seems like you already know. 

#keigo x reader #keigo takami x reader #hawks x reader #hawks smut #keigo takami smut #darkhera #tw.killing #tw.murder #tw.gore #tw.blood #tw.somnophilia #tw.daddy kink #hawks baby <3 #hera loves hawks #writing tag #owtw collab #.top

[yourlocallovesickie]

I saw your doc ock post!!! I also just got into him!!! Ummm idk if you’re still writing but really anything regarding him as the recipient of stuffing, farting, diarrhea, and/or constipation would be great!!! Thank you!!!

(sorry that this is so late! hopefully its worth it, ive been very busy but also writing this on and off for a while. Thank you for the request it was a lot of fun :) enjoy!)

BEFORE YOU READ! This story contains lots of scat, stuffing, and m@sturb*tion, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK 18+ i indulged myself a little more than usual lol

Doc rubbed his stomach, or at least tried with that annoying metal band in the way. He'd definitely never really been skinny, and the suit was designed to fit his body, but after the explosion it seemed to have clamped down onto him, and especially now that he was bloated; rolls of his tummy sticking out from the top and bottom of the belt. His poor stomach was pressing so hard on it the metal was bowing ever-so-slightly. The rubbing didn't help the ache, the only response from his gut being a horrible cramp and gurgle, weeks of trapped gas and waste and now what was probably a weeks-worth of cheap snack food swirling around. Being a super-villain you don't really have the best dietary options and can only really eat what you can steal, and primarily from gas stations unless you want to cause a scene over some steak. Another cramp surged through his intestines and he bent over to give room while he flexed his asshole with a grunt, pushing and pushing until his guts felt like they were going to burst. Nothing. Not even a fart. There had to be some way he could get things going, he'd been stuck in his lair barely making any progress on his generator because of this stupid bellyache, and it only seemed to get worse. But it wasn't like he could just stop eating! Then, he got an idea.

One of his four giant metal actuators crept over to the small fridge in the corner of the room; one of the many things he had invented to accomodate his stay in the ruins of his lab. The actuator opened it, and Otto was happy to find a full carton of milk. He'd gotten a little lactose intolerant as the years went by, not bad just enough to give him a solid case of the runs and some gas for a while, which he would gladly take on for relief. Another cramp shot through his gut, sending a gurgle out through his bowels. Excitedly, he bored down with his hands on his knees and pushed. His asshole gaped open, kissing the insides of his underwear, but again nothing. He groaned and opened the carton, ready to just chug it straight out. He didn't have any clean dishes anyway.

With the fullness in his stomach, which seemed already packed to the brim, the milk was not going down easy. Every few gulps he'd have to let off to calm down the nausea starting to build, and let out a few milky burps that only end up making him feel fuller. If before he was bloated, by half the carton was gone he was huge. His stomach gurgled nonstop, and he sat idly on the ground, milk in hand and a pack of crackers to help it wash down as his stomach expanded around the belt, coming over it on the sides with a red, angry hue. The pain was unbearable. Gurgles and groans that sounded sicker and sicker by the minute filled the room, accompanied with his animalistic grunts and curses as he desperately tried to get something out. He could feel the milk begin to seep into everything he had eaten, and then finally! Moving down his intestine. He could feel the burning inside him, and knew that his next load if it ever came was going to be liquid, but he looked forward to it if it meant he could actually poop. He didn't remember the last time he unloaded but it had definitely been over a week, maybe more. And he was usually a pretty consistent guy.

As the hours went by he had finally finished the jug and now sat on the floor, hands desperately kneading into his stomach as he let out dry burps and moaned through cramps. The milk was starting to run through his system, the pressure that once lie under his belt now pressing against some mass behind his asshole. Crawling on the floor, he threw his ass into the air, uncaring that he was still wearing pants and underwear, and pushed with everything he had. The mass moved maybe a centimeter.

"Come on..." he grunted to himself, and pushed again, feeling all of the hot mush in his rectum push against the hard turd. He was sweating now, teeth grit and eyes screwed shut as he lay unabashedly with his legs spread wide. He guessed he couldnt get anymore embarrassed than this, and two of his metal arms flew down to remove his pants. He hooked his naked legs over his arms and scooted down into place, his other arms steadied himself against the wall, holding him up as he shook and strained. Inch by inch, he could feel the hot liquid shit forcing the mass through his bowels, working him so hard he was breaking a bit of a sweat. "Please--" He grunted as hard as he could, flexing his asshole once more and a small pocket of air around the turd squirted out of him, blasting a jet of hot warm stink onto the floor in front of him.

His guts roiled, pushing desperately to get more out. He grunted and groaned, sounding somewhat primal as his eyebrows furrowed and face turned red in concentration. Several short and slightly damp farts shot out, each one carrying the mass a little more until it was finally resting against his asshole. He took a deep breath before giving it one final push, asshole puckering to reveal the large brown lump inside him, which didn't move. His guts groaned and churned around it, pushing the diarrhea that rest snugly behind it forward and compacting it even harder against the clog in his system. Trapped gas squelched and his eyes were starting to grow wet. Along with the strain, the embarrassment of the situation was very very real, even alone having his naked ass exposed like this felt alien.

The pressure in his stomach got worse, and the bottom of his belly and bowels bloated up, the pressure from the belt creating an even worse pain so bad he felt he would pop. He had to do something, and as another unsuccessful push traveled through his guts he grew desperate. His legs hiked up farther, and one arm came down to rest by his ass, hesitating. Was he really about to do this?

Gggrrgllgg... His stomach answered him, twisting in an agonizing affirmation, and his asshole was forced open another time. His fingers ventured inside, the rim wet and soft from forcing out what little gas he could, and lubing itself up to prepare for what was cooking in his guts. His middle finger slipped inside, and the foreign sensation made it feel like he was already messing himself, but he quickly found the log blocking said fate. It was hard and round inside him, stretching past the walls of his colon and stopping him up good. He knew there was no way he would be able to fit his fingers around the turd to pull it out, so instead he resigned to breaking it up. The sensation of having his fingers stuffed in his own ass, literally about to dig the shit out had already given him quite a tall erection, and he used some of the precum beginning to spit out of his cock as lube before venturing back into his hole.

The sensations were incredible; the pressure of his diarrhea crammed up behind the monster of a log he was currently dismantling, the sexuality of his fingers sliding in and out of his own butt, his massive erection steadily pumping thick hot precum out on his thighs... Even the actuators began to purr and click as they held his position on the floor for him. 20-30 minutes passed and the log was finally venturing closer and closer to the exit, now in still very large but easier to push out chunks. Sliding his finger out from his ass one last time, giving his aching belly and encouraging pat, and moaning out an even more encouraging grunt, Otto began pushing again. His asshole bloomed open, sore and irritated, and he could feel several large knobs of solid feces begin sliding out, fast. Wet farts forced themselves out, pushing his turds to go even faster until one exceptionally juicy fart was plugged by a soft, wet 'ppllrrfffbbt' as his asshole stretched around the first turd. His stomach groaned, the belt forcing even more pressure than he was applying as a hard, slippery shit shot from his asshole, letting out a series of wet sharts that stained the dark floor of his lair with a muddy brown. The turd fell on the floor, resting beneath his asscheeks with a soft noise unheard over the crackling of the rest of his load and his grunting. His face was certainly red from the struggle, and sweat rolled down his face as he filled the room with animalistic moans. His hole didn't even have time think about closing to rest before two more turds were forcing their way out, nudging over the first one to make room in their pile on the floor.

The bottom of Otto's asscheeks were smeared a dirty brown, and the whole room smelled of shit, an odd turn-on the physicist found as another hot smelly jet of farts covered the pile. The pressure was slightly better, but his stomach roiled and bowels moaned, and he knew he was nowhere close to finished. The next load that slid out of his hole was significantly softer and more malleable, pockets of chunky brown liquid sliding out the sides of each piece of mushy shit. The release was incredible; more than a weeks worth of waste all forcing its way out of him at once. As his asshole bloomed harder, forcing a small spurt of shit that began a trickling stream of thick diarrhea, he took one hand to his hard cock. Slowly, he began pumping it, and his moans of pain and grunts of relief turned into those of pleasure.

By this time he was having full on diarrhea, the milk having degraded all of the shit in his body to a thick, chunky liquid like a chowder. His legs were raised in the air, asshole on full display as it worked, the lips blooming open to kiss out more disgusting mud. The sounds were much louder and wetter, his farts becoming more frequent and intense, blasting chunk after chunk of poop all over the floor in front of him, going feet past the huge pile he'd created. Each wet noise from his body send a throbbing wave of arousal through his cock and stroked up the base, sending him closer and closer to coming, but he had more to go.

His ass squirted steadily for about 3 or 4 minutes, and by the time it finally tapered down his poor abused hole felt like fire. He actually had to push to get the final chunks out; mostly just degraded sludge and loud, hot farts. His stomach felt empty, a welcome feeling considering the past week and more of pain, and he realized how hungry he actually felt. Looking down at his pile, or more a smear, of poo he thought about how full he'd felt, and how bloated. All of that having been stored up inside him, brewing and going soft in his rectum. The idea sent him over the edge. At the same time the very last slippery turd slid out of his butt into the shitcastle, his cock throbbed and thick, hearty ropes of cum spurted out of it, adding what appeared to be whipped cream to a hot fudge sundae. With one last, airy fart splitting open his asscheeks, he laid down completely on the floor beside his pile, absolutely exhausted. One of his actuators crawled up, almost seeming embarrassed as it presented him a napkin, and upon his go-ahead, slinked around his legs to wipe up his ass. It was beyond disgusting, coated in diarrhea and would definitely smell awful for a while, as would the rest of his lair. He just hoped it wouldn't hinder him too much as so he couldn't focus on his project, now that he could finally get back to it.

#scat tw #coprophilia #my writing #sickfic prompt #bloating #fart kink #farting #eproctophilia #diarrhea #sickfic #fanfic #doc ock #stomach ache #tummy ache #dont let this flop #Please i worked hard #scat writing #coprophilous

[nhaneh]

anyway the reality is that bellyaching about how "likes do nothing" and how people aren't reblogging your posts enough does not actually make people reblog posts more, it just makes them less likely to interact with posts at all.

#honestly I'm amazed that this somehow isn't obvious to people #like if you ask people to treat your posts like chain letters #you shouldn't be surprised if people throw them in the trash

[lokamon]

Wrath

Pairing: Ondolemar (TES:V) x Dragonborn Breton Reader.

A/n: This is a sequel of sorts to this fic that I posted years ago but it can be read alone. I make no excuses, I'm a very slow writer. Also posted on my Ao3 here.

Warnings for: smut(ofc), oral sex (male receiving), Light slapping, religious fetishization, degradation.

"-and of course, Elenwen has no intentions of honoring her word, Ancano could rot in that backwater excuse for a college and she'd be all the happier for it."

You smiled to yourself as you listened to Ondolemar's grumbling from Vlindrell hall’s dining room. He could gossip like an old milkmaid when the mood struck, and only recently had the gossip turned to matters of his own comrades. In ever-growing doses, you were getting deep insights into the very bones of the dominion’s arm in Skyrim. All because your undercover lover liked to bellyache.

"So Ancano is doomed to rot at Winterhold for one slight fifty years ago?" You twirled and inspected yourself in the mirror before pushing your hair aside to fasten the chain around your neck. "I noticed he wasn't at the embassy, I wonder if he even got an invite."

A faint, mirthless chuckle slid into your room from the other side of the doorless archway. "Yes, the Lady Emissary can hold a steel grudge... I wouldn't be surprised if she pretends the poor sod is already dead."

"Wow." You muttered to yourself, only partly at the conversation that you were barely listening to by this point. The mirror was the object of the brunt of your focus, or rather, yourself in it. Gods, this was going to be good if only he reacted as you hoped. Really, you felt sort of kinky as you looked yourself over, not necessarily because you were in a particularly racy outfit, but simply by virtue of the nature of your attire - the meaning. Especially with regard to who was currently in your dining room…

Ondolemar's voice broke you out of your thoughts as he called your name, clearly questioning as to if you were still listening. A giddy feeling bubbled at the eaves of your chest and you bit your lip as you turned from the mirror and stepped into your bedroom doorway.

When Ondolemar looked up from the book he'd nicked off your shelf, he froze.

"What-" he gave a jolty pause, uncharacteristic and cast in hues of similarly foreign confusion, "-are you doing?"

The smile that broke your face was mischievous, a playful wickedness shining in the curve of your lips and spark in your eyes. In the presence of a member of the Thalmor, and one of their most zealous at that, the amulet of Talos hanging around your neck felt nothing less than sinful. From the moment you lifted it off of Ogmund, you knew exactly how you would present it to your pious Altmer lover, potential consequences be damned (though you doubted their integrity where you were concerned, anyway). It was a risk, but one you felt would be well worth it, should the right plays be made and the right pieces be knocked from the board.

Play one had been privacy. The risk of any audience, any witness at all to what was to transpire being blown from the equation, which led the two of you, as always, to your home far away from the keep. An empty house, sans housecarl, where the song of your repercussions could pound carelessly against the stone walls, echoing so deep within the mountain that nosy ears couldn't hear enough for substance.

Ondolemar's scowl from your dining room chair was burning. Almost toeing the line of bona fide anger, but not quite to-temperature. His eyes roved you with a glint of open suspicion, and no attempts were made to hide their stall along the curve of your hips or the low wrap of the fabric of your silk robe. The amulet itself garnered little more than a glance and that was the moment you knew your suspicions about what may lay beneath the veneer of his zeal were almost certainly correct.

"It would be wise of you to remove that at once." He drawled, "need I remind you of the company you keep?"

Twelve paces from your bedroom door, down the couple of steps into your dining room, and you were rounding the table under the heavy pressure of his stare. Slowly, carefully, you drew near, hovering just outside of arm's reach, more to tease than to protect.

"I'm well aware of my company." You felt electric, acting like this, like some tavern girl playing a part for the reward of coin. Every part of your proper Breton upbringing was anathema to it, screaming in your bones to sit down, cross your legs, and let him work for your attentions. But the little wanton within you, the one born and grown in the shadow of your grandmother’s lectures, a legacy to the over-restraint, begged otherwise. It took no effort for it to win out.

"So you're going to have to be more specific..." your fingers traced along the contours of the amulet, down to the collar of your robe where it lay loosely closed along your chest. His eyes followed the trail. "Is it the Talos amulet you want off....or the robe?"

He ignored the question pointedly, but one hand settled on his thigh in a gesture half defiant, half betraying.

"That's the amulet I asked you to retrieve from Ogmund, I hope?" His eyes lingered on it for a beat longer, then fixed onto your face again. He was tense, visibly white-knuckling his resolve, torn at a crossroads where his duty and his passion met, stuck between piety and the sweet sin laid bare before him.

Well, almost bare.

Play two, sweeten the deal.

"Perhaps it is." You toyed with the pendant, "or maybe I'm a dirty heretic, myself."

Ondolemar gave a half-scoff, meant to sound more aloof than it did, but it clipped off abruptly, betraying his non-committance. You hazarded a step closer, watchful of his movements like a hunter approaching a sleeping bear, praying to make the right moves before the beast can have time to react. Then, with a slight of your hand, you let the robe pool by your feet, baring your body to the glow of the flames in the hearth. Ondolemar struggled to keep a measured countenance and prevent his starving eyes from chewing on the divots and peaks of your form.

"A shame, then.” He tried desperately to keep up his defiance. “Heresy is a punishable offense..."

It was a wonderful thing, watching such a superior mer struggle so plainly with his convictions in the face of a naked Breton. Really, he should be loathe to any situation rendering either of you clothless. He was a Thalmor agent, brainwashed his entire life to be repulsed by your woefully unyellow skin and full legs.... he should not find such pleasure in the sight of your bare body. Your shorter frame and wide hips should not have such an affect, but oh how they do.... if the rising peak in his lap was anything to go by, at least.

"Then punish me, commander."

Play three. Indulge the usual script, but turn the context on its head.

Very seldom had you seen your Altmer fumble, unable to get a grip on his wits that were usually so quick and ready, especially in the face of teasing, but he was at a clear loss now. Slowly, you took a seat at the edge of the table behind you, parting your legs and resting one foot on Ondolemar’s chair, squarely between his thighs.

Heavy eyes took your bait and fell enraptured upon your naked cunt.

Tentatively, a hand slid up your calf, in more of a suggestion of touch rather than a bonafide connection, so light against your skin that it seemed to speak to a deeply held fear on his part. Whether for his own actions, yours, or both and what meaning lay beneath, you would likely never truly know. His motivations, inspirations, and secrets were his own but the naked want on his face was all yours. With no small bit of hesitancy, the hand made a blazing path along your skin, but escalated in pressure until he gripped the meat of your inner thigh just so and a heat spilled immediately into your gut. Slowly, Ondolemar stood and loomed above you, pushing aside your leg and pinning you between his broad frame and the edge of the table. He slid the same hand into a loose loop over your collar bone, thumb teasing the face of the amulet between your breasts.

Then, you watched as he chose his path and barreled through the trees, leaving duty behind him.

“I’m sure we can find some way to absolve you of your transgressions,” he told you, pressed so close that you could feel his anticipation, hard beneath his robes. “But what to do with you, hm?

“Punish me, Ondolemar.” You couldn’t stifle the begging whisper. “I came to you wearing an amulet of Talos and I think that deserves something…”

“Oh it does.” He nodded. “Indeed, given the circumstance, being that you so filthily presented yourself as such to a commanding officer of the Aldmeri dominion, I think a whore shall get what a whore deserves.”

You gasped as a rough grip suddenly pinched your jaw, his face coming within inches of yours.

“Shall I fuck the heresy out of you, whore?” He gritted.

“You can certainly try.”

A shadow of something wild flashed in the lineaments of his face before he jostled you roughly.

“I’m going to. Thoroughly.” His promise was cut with a softer look, “But should you want to stop, you are to tell me so. Simply say the word and it will be over. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir.” You grinned, both appreciative of his consideration, even in this predicament you’d sprung on him, and anticipating the best bedding you’d had in ages.

“Good girl.” He revitalized his grip on your jaw, the strength of it just on the right side of bearable as he plucked you off the table and then let go.

“On your knees, filth.”

Immediately, you sank down, your face coming level with the tent in his clothes. Obediently, you sat and waited with your palms on your thighs.

“Take my cock out.”

Nimble fingers pulled up the fine tunic he wore beneath his robes and tucked the hem behind his belt then made quick work of his trousers. His length sprang free, bobbing in front of your face, already weeping at the tip.

You dare not voice the thought that his arousal brought forth, that he was certainly enjoying this much more than a thalmor official strictly should.

“Come now, girl, don’t play coy. A heretical whore certainly knows how to work a cock.” His biting voice cut through the silence, over the crackle of the hearth. Hazarding a grin, you took him into your hand and gave him a few languid strokes.

He grunted, closing his eyes against the sensation, spreading his stance wider over the stone pressing hard against your knees. “Yes, that’s right. Spit on your hand for me, girl, make it slick.”

You obeyed and it earned you a deep groan. He gripped the back of your head with one hand and looked down at you, his eyes momentarily flitting to your neck.

“I can think of a much better use for your mouth than praising a false god, can’t you, girl?”

You gave him a biddable look, nodding quietly, knowing better than to speak unless told to. He smiled gently, but you had no way of telling if it was a piece of him showing through or a warning for what was to come.

“Open.” He commanded and as soon as your lips parted, his tip slipped between them.

Slowly, his entire length invaded your mouth until you gagged around him and he pulled away.

He held you back by your hair in his fist, the tension making you wince. Derision burned in his tone as hotly as it had the first time he ever spoke to you. “None of that now, whore, we both know you’re not that useless. You can take a cock down your throat.”

He sneered when you didn’t react.

“Say ‘yes, sir’ when I’m right.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl.”

Immediately, he pulled you onto his cock again, shoving himself down your throat, ignoring the small gag you couldn’t stifle at the sudden intrusion. He fucked your face ruthlessly, slamming his hips against you until tears pricked at your eyes and you tapped his arm for air. He gave you a chance to breathe, gasping himself in the wake of his exertion.

When you opened your mouth in offering again, he plunged back in.

“Oh, gods.” He rasped as he thrusted into your face, “yes, you fil- filthy bitch. Suck harder.”

You hollowed out your cheeks more and did as he bid, ripping a deep groan from his throat. He pumped your head onto his length a few more times, groaning and pulling at your hair so hard it stung but you couldn't be bothered to care, the pain of it and the physical discomfort of being used in such a lewd way stirred your appetitive hindbrain into a frenzy, watering the buds of your nascent pleasure, preparing for the bloom of it you knew lay between you and whenever he considered you well and thoroughly fucked.

His breath caught, mid-stroke and you could tell by the way he ripped you off of him that he was reigning himself in, denying himself an early end down your throat. When his head rolled to look down at you, he looked wrought with pleasure. Eyes lidded, brow puckered, lips parted around the ghost of his groaning.

“You’re a heretical little whore, aren’t you.” He gritted his teeth and growled down at your tear-smeared face, your head yanked back to look directly up at him. His free hand slapped against your cheek, not enough to hurt but plenty to arouse. In the months of your entanglement, slapping had been a topic you broached for your own pleasure, something he only took to with some encouragement. You were pleased he pulled that ace from his sleeve now. “Speak, whore.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You think you can put that amulet on and get off easy? No, I think not.” He’s practically spitting at you now, years and years of some untapped religious hang-up bursting forth as if it lay there beneath his skin all along and your actions tonight had been the one thing to tap the well.

“I’ll show you exactly what happens to heretical whores like yourself. Get up.”

You stood and he pulled you into a kiss, licking into your mouth with his tongue. You met him head on as he backed you against the table again, his hands squeezing at your curves as you struggled to keep up with his relentless advances on your mouth and body.

"The Thalmor know how to deal with Talos worshippers." He broke the kiss to hiss against your lips, his greedy hands staking claims on your ass.

"You will not," his teeth nipped the flesh of your earlobe, gusting humid breaths down your neck, "find my reproach..." lips bumped the ridge of your clavicle as he gathered you up against the table, slotting himself between the spread of your soft thighs as he sat you on its edge.

"Lacking." He finished as he bent into your chest and licked a thick stripe over one nipple before pulling it between his lips.

"You will not persuade me to blaspheme my god, Justic-oh-" your train of thought broke around the teeth that bit into your nipple.

"Own it." He raised his head to growl against your cheek, "hail your god aloud if you're so proud to worship his falsehood."

"Hail Tal-" you attempted to whisper, but a broad hand clamped onto your jaw, wiring it shut.

"Say it like you mean it." Ondolemar gritted, and released you with a rough jostle. You felt him push against your cunt, his cock sliding over your folds, the tip pressing into your clit with every stroke.

You took a stabling breath.

"Hail-" the catch of him at your entrance caught you off guard as he lined himself up for the plunge.

"Talos." You breathed, lashes fluttering against your cheeks. He sank in steadily on the last syllable, inch by inch stealing your breath with wild eyes and hands gripping down on your pelvic bone at either hip.

He set a brutal pace. His hips slammed against you, cock deep in your heat with every connection, driving any thought but the sensation of how he filled you out of your head. Your spine tingled, low between your hips where he ended and you began, as he punched into something wonderful, something other lovers had rarely succeeded in finding.

"Say it again." Ondolemar panted, fully given to the unexpected pleasure. You gave a gasp, unable to fill your lungs adequately under the driving force of such vigorous pounding.

Summoning what effort you could, the words come out weak but they come all the same. "Hail Talos."

"Again." It sounded suspiciously close to a plea.

"Hail Talos."

He gave a near feral grunt, "again. Louder," he ordered, a slender thumb venturing down to stroke at your clit as he thrusted.

"Hail Talos." You managed to whine, so loud it filled the air in Vlindrell hall, almost sounding like an honest prayer

"You filthy fucking heretic!" He hissed.

Ondolemar’s free hand slid up your front, hooking into the chain of the Talos amulet for leverage. You fully expected the links to give beneath the force of his grip but the necklace was sturdy and withstood every thrust he pulled against it.

You had read stories, filthy candlelight novellas written by faceless pen names, with motifs homogeneous to tales like the Lusty Argonian Maid, in which people fucked with “wild abandon”. And you were no prude yourself, despite your grandmother's best efforts. You’d sat upon a cock or two in your time, had been fucked with what you would previously have called “wild abandon”, but that was nothing compared to the way Ondolemar wrecked you upon your dining room table. He truly was wild and he truly did abandon anything tethering him to any kind of compunction. Gone were any scruples of the noises being made or whether anyone could hear them. Similarly gone was his usual hesitation to mark you, if his bruising grip on your hip was any tell. And completely gone was his pious dedication to repulsion at anything dealing in the ninth God of the Nords, as he fucked the fabricated heresy out of you, leaving you screaming to the nine and to Talos himself beneath him.

His fingers on your clit rubbed violently, the pleasure peaking and scrubbing your mind clean of any thought but that of your burgeoning release. You tensed and your body fluttered around him, ripping a breathy growl from his mouth and only serving to heighten his urgency.

Ondolemar announced his orgasm in barely enough time to pull out of you and release in sticky ropes across your stomach. He panted and gasped as his hips still thrust into the open hair, the shaft of his cock grazing lightly against your pubic bone as it throbbed.

“Auri-el’s mercy, what have you done?”

It wasn’t a question, not really, but a statement of disbelief as he panted and regarded you with wide, conflicted eyes. He leaned on the table to regain himself, pining you where you lay, covered in the evidence of his base indulgence. His sin.

“Commander, I think you may have a kink.” You accused slyly, fingers reaching up to toy with the straps across his mantle. He didn’t react at first but just as a hesitancy was beginning to take hold (had you overstepped?), his mouth pulled into a soft, conceding smile.

“Not another word.” He groused playfully.

Mood light, body already feeling the first signs of soreness, you pulled the amulet chain around so that you could take it off and set the thing aside, ready to be collected as evidence and taken back to the keep. As your fingers found the clasp though, Ondolemar’s hand took your wrist, and when your eyes met his, the look there gave you immediate pause.

“Leave it,” he ordered, tone tipping back towards that of the wrathful commander once again. “I’m not even close to finished with you yet.”

A fresh bolt of arousal poured down your spine and he followed it with his trailing lips as he set to work pulling as much blasphemy from you as he could with your knees thrown over his shoulders.

#ondolemar skyrim #ondolemar x reader #skyrim smut

[lumine-no-hikari]

Dear Sephiroth: (a letter to a fictional character, because why not) #90

I'm not really sure what to write to you about today. I think I might have overextended myself in recent days, and once more I'm finding that my brain feels like soup. The sense of not really belonging in this place is hitting me kinda hard today, I guess. Suppose you would know a lot about what that's like.

Truth is, I struggle often enough with the way I perceive the world around me. I do it weirdly (much like how I do literally everything else... sigh...). I'm not gonna bother to articulate how, though; I doubt you'd be interested anyway. Fact remains that there ain't a whole lot of folks I can talk to about it; even if I could, most wouldn't understand, so why bother. Suppose it is what it is though; no sense in bellyaching. I just wish that it was a thing that could be measured, recorded, corroborated. Something that could be rationalized, explained, made logical. My mind tends to despise uncertainties; it likes everything to be concretized and nailed down.

…Ah well.

Like yesterday, today was busy, and also painful, thanks to Physical Therapy. There's weird stuff going on with the right side of my jaw, and the muscles holding it together needed to be mashed up with metal implements. I guess I'm gonna need braces sooner rather than later, because I really needed braces as a kid, but I didn't get 'em, and now my bite is all messed up, which means now my jaw is all messed up, and having the jaw messed up pulls on the neck, which then pulls on the ribs, and my ribs being weird is why I've been dealing with limited ability to use my right arm for the last almost two years to begin with, but I hesitate to get it fixed because braces cost a LOT of money, and I think most insurances won't cover the cost of it this late in life, so… it's a mess.

My whole existence is kind of a mess in a variety of respects, and… ya know. Sometimes I'm not sure why I bother persisting when all of it seems kind of like a farce; I live in a defective body on a dying planet where everyone is so traumatized that lots of 'em believe that killing each other is the answer to all their problems. Sometimes I just... don't wanna. Waking up in the morning in a world where there is no ethical way to maintain the integrity of my physical vessel seems like a chore.

…But then I remember that there are people who like having me around, even if I can't understand why most of the time. So I gotta believe that something good might come of my derping around on this mossy wet rock hurtling through space, even if I don't yet know what it is.

You ever get the feeling like there's something you're supposed to be doing, but you have no idea what it is, and you're running out of time? Feels like that almost constantly for me. If you know what that's like and know how to deal with it, lemme know, willya? I could use some pointers.

In the meantime… there's some stuff I've been meaning to learn how to do. I'm not gonna tell you what it is just yet, because it would ruin the surprise. But I hope the results will be good, if I can stop being intimidated long enough to get the gumption.

Anyway… Sephiroth. My brain continues to be soup. I think if I keep going, I'm just gonna keep rambling. I'm tired, but… I wanted to write anyway, because you're worth others' effort, even when they're feeling weird. But it's time to stop for today, because I'm having trouble staying on topic and stringing cohesive ideas together.

Please stay safe out there, okay? I don't wanna endure your absence, just like the folks who love me don't wanna endure mine. So let's both keep trying our best to keep our chins up and our eyes on the horizon, okay?

I'll leave you with this today:

I know you're not a little girl, so maybe you can think "little one" instead. Please take the overall message to heart. Please do your best to remain kind and gentle, no matter what tries to come along and break you.

I'll write again soon.

Your friend, Lumine

#sephiroth #ThankYouFFVIIDevs #ThankYouFF7Devs #ThankYouSephiroth #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #ff7 #ffvii #final fantasy vii crisis core #final fantasy 7 crisis core #final fantasy crisis core #ffvii crisis core #ff7 crisis core #crisis core #ff7r #final fantasy vii remake #final fantasy 7 remake #ffvii remake #ff7 remake #final fantasy vii rebirth #final fantasy 7 rebirth #ffvii rebirth #ff7 rebirth #final fantasy 7 ever crisis #ffvii ever crisis #ff7 ever crisis #ffvii first soldier #exhausted ramblings #being alive is weird #wholesome

[broflovski-brah]

For the ask game: Butters! I can't decide on which questions so... all of them! (Or how ever many you feel like answering.)

oh this should be fun-

My first interpretation of them

Honestly I just felt bad for him. I basically knew him as the kid who got grounded all the time and he seemed sweet enough, he was actually one of my faves from the beginning haha

2. When I think I started to truly like him

Honestly the Fun With Veal episode. And in the Butters’ Bottom Bitch episode where he just kept going ‘do you know what I am saying?’ I just thought it was funny lol

3. A song that reminds me of them

(Kinda a joint one) but You and Me (But Mostly Me) from Book of Mormon is SO Butters and Cartman. Also The Weight of Us by Sanders Bohlke.

4. How many people I ship them with

I don’t really do ships lol, I liked him and Charlotte tho, they seemed cute.

5. My favorite ship of them

Probably him and Charlotte

6. My least favorite ship of them

Him and Cartman. Absolutely him and Cartman.

7. A quote of them I remember

“I’d rather be a crying little pussy than a faggy goth kid anyway.”

8, My favorite outfit on them

Professor Chaos or his Stick of Truth costume

9. My least favorite outfit on them

The bear suit Paris Hilton made him wear in Stupid Spoiled Whore Video Playset. I felt awful for him

10. Describe the character in one sentence

Sunshine boy with horrible family members

11. What’s the first thing I think fo when I think of this character?

His accent. I dunno, I just have a knack for remembering stuff like that lol-I could honestly just listen to his voice all day, it’s soothing for me

12. Sexuality hdc!

I’m torn between him being pan and being straight lol, but I do think he’s on the ace spectrum.

13. My favorite friendship they have

Him and Kenny. Definitely

14. Best storyline they had

Butters’ Very Own Episode. I felt bad for him but it’s one of my favorite episodes

15. Worst storyline they had

Probably in the earlier seasons when he was just used as Kenny’s counterpart for the shows punching bag. Idk, it just felt like he didn’t really have any character or personality back then

16. A childhood headcanon

He lived on a farm for a little bit when he was a baby. They moved from Hawaii to say Oklahoma, then to South Park when he was three. Hence the accent. He also had a pet chick up until he was 7 or so named Toast. His parents made him give the chick away tho

17. What do you think their first word was?

Probably just mama or something. I do have a headcanon he still calls his mom (or his unofficial mother figure) mama sometimes.

18. How do I think he was as a kid?

He was probably really hyper. He subdued when he got older tho because his parents kept grounding him for accidentally breaking stuff when he would run around

19. The most random ship I’ve seen with this character

Butters x Craig. Like ???? They never interacted in the show lol-

20. A weird headcanon

Butters has a huge sweet tooth and if there’s candy or sweets in his vicinity he’ll devour it in an instant and likely suffer from a bellyache later

21. When do I think they were at his happiest?

Probably when he moved out and went to college tbh. He was just happy to get away from his toxic ass family. Or when his grandma finally dies.

22. When do I think he was at his lowest?

I do headcanon that when he’s in middle school he finally snaps. He becomes angry and kinda becomes a bully because he doesn’t feel like he has anyone who cares about him, it’s probably only for a few days at most but he just snaps at everyone, makes fun of everything everyone does, but after a few days Kenny (and maybe Cartman or Kyle) kinda confronts him and he ends up apologizing and trying to find someone to talk to.

23. Future headcanon

I wanna imagine that he lives on a farm, he has a bunch of chickens and goats (his favs) and some cows, pigs, even ducks. He gets a pet dog (a Border Collie) named Waffles. He kinda owns a petting zoo of sorts where younger kids just stop by and he educated them about animals and stuff. He also owns a bakery. He names it ‘Buttery Bliss’ or something

24. What do you think i’d a secret they’ve never told anyone?

Probably the thing with his sphincter and how he has to wear diapers in school sometimes. He probably only told AWESOM-O because he thought it was just a robot. But after that he didn’t tell anyone because he would definitely get made fun of :(

25. When do I think he’s acted the most ooc

Probably in The Worldwide Privacy Tour. Kyle even said ‘this is really out of character for you, Butters.’ so probably that lol, or in Going Native. I mean he literally wanted to kill a bunch of innocent people

26. When do I think they were being “themselves” the most?

Honestly? Probably when he was singing the Loo Loo Loo song, it kinda just showed his cuter side. Or in Cartman Sucks when his parents sent him to the Pray teh Gay Away camp because he was just so oblivious to where he was but still stood up for himself and his friends in the end

27. If they could meet a certain character from a different show/movie/book, who would be the most fun for them to meet?

Hello kitty. This kid would be in HEAVEN if Hello kitty was real. Either Hello kitty or Tails the Fox. Him and Tails are pretty similar. Plus fluffy fox meets sunshine boy, they’d get along-or just him in the pokémon world. Yes.

28. The most unnecessary thing they ever did?

Probably when he was trying to get the Hawaiian tourists killed in war

29. How do I think they’d be as a parent?

Honestly? He spoils the shit out of his kids. He’s a huge pushover, but not to the point where his kids become spoiled brats. He probably exposes them to animals early so he could get them to know what’s good and what isn’t when on the farm. He supports his children, but he’s probably a very sheltering parent if that makes sense. Has no idea what he’s doing at first but eventually gets the hang of it. He loves playing make believe with them, would totally play dress up and such.

30. The funniest scene they ever had?

When he’s Professor Chaos and trying to be all menacing and Dougie has to keep telling him the Simpsons already did his idea and he’s just like ‘aw hamburgers :(‘

Hope this is good!

#south park #butters stotch #leopold ‘butters’ stotch #butters leopold stotch #butters stotch headcanons #south park headcanons #character ask game #skipper speaks #headcanons

[wmucody]

@wmublaine

GLEE POST 001: AUDITION FOR NEW DIRECTIONS

"Uh, hi".

The bright floodlights of the stage made it difficult for Cody to see if there was even anyone watching him. This environment was new to him. Sure, he stood on stage before but that was one time for a high school talent show. And it was vastly different from the well-equipped platform he found himself on at this moment in time.

"I'm Cody, which you know, and I'll be auditioning for the role of Cody within the New Directions," he joked, hiding his slight nerves with his humour. "I think I'll be a good fit as a little birdie named Rachel urged me to try out, plus this other vertically challenged preppy guy has been pushing for this for what seems like forever. Think his name was.. Blair. You might know him," Cody pointed towards Blaine, knowing that they have a solid friendship enough for him to slightly bully him.

Clasping his hands behind his back, Cody stood fiercely and confidently. "Yeah, I think I'd be a good fit for New Directions for many reasons. I am talented, good-looking, and I hold a certain type of ambitious energy that would massively benefit not only myself but everyone within this team. I'm progressing my piano skills, my guitar skills are shit hot which you will see in just a minute".

Clearing his throat Cody bent down, un-clicking the case for his guitar before throwing the strap over his head. The guitar was his grandfather's before he sadly passed away when he was a younger boy. It was crazy, he thought, that his own father and mother were so against musical careers when they, themselves, were brought up by 'could-have-been' musicians. His musical talents were suffocated until they slowly disappeared in his household. His family had no time for 'creative' careers. It was finance and business, or finance and business. So to be stood in front of others singing, on a stage, with a potential to be entering into a club where he could be exposed to a life of performing. The feeling was almost overwhelming.

"Anyway, here's Bellyache".

#new directions: audition

[drpeppertummy]

tiny little leon thing you can totally tell i forgot it was supposed to be about his tummy hurting

[tummyache, emotional anguish, tummy rubs]

Leon laid his head against the back of the couch and closed his eyes. He felt awful. He'd just finished off a cup of hot chocolate that had been a bit too much and a bit too rich, and the jalapeño cheese-stuffed pretzel he'd decided to pair it with probably hadn't helped any. His tummy bulged under his loose pajama shirt, occasionally letting out a soft gurgle. He forced up a tiny burp, but it didn't help much.

In retrospect, he should've known this would happen. Hot chocolate, despite none of its individual ingredients ever causing problems for him, always gave Leon a bellyache. It didn't seem to matter what was in it; it always left him feeling bloated and queasy. And in retrospect, he should've known the greasy cheesy pretzel wasn't going to do anything to soothe his already doomed stomach. Still, he'd gone and had them anyway, and now he was paying the price. He sighed miserably, and a pitiful little moan came out with it.

As he sat there, feeling awful, Leon found himself desperately wishing he had somebody to comfort him. For a split, foolish second, he almost longed for his ex-husband's arms. No, not almost--he did long for him. He quickly shook that thought out of his head; Bill wouldn't have cared about his poor upset tummy. He'd have been more likely to call him a fat pig and leave him to suffer on his own. Still, Leon ached to be held. Feeling cold and alone, he cautiously laid himself down on the beaten old couch and curled up, hugging a pillow against his chest. His eyes dampened, and he buried his face in the pillow. His soft sniffling and the occasional gurgle of his queasy stomach were the only sounds accompanying him as he lay there in miserable silence.

Leon was startled by a knock at the front door, followed by the sound of it opening. If he hadn't already known it was Shel--nobody else walked into his home unannounced--the familiar click of his cane would've given him away. Leon heard him pause, presumably wondering where his friend was, and remained silent. He was ashamed of himself, of his stupid eating habits and his pathetic crying and his failure to do anything right. He didn't want Shel to see him like this. He heard him move again, this time approaching the couch, and a shadow fell across him as Shel peered over the back.

"Leon!" Shel came around to the front of the couch, concerned. "Hey, what's the matter?" Leon shrugged, not making eye contact, and Shel sat down beside him. He placed a gentle hand on Leon's shoulder.

"You don't have to tell me if you don't want," Shel said gently. "I'm staying with you, though. No sense in suffering alone."

"You don't have to," Leon mumbled.

"I want to," said Shel. Leon looked up, his eyes still wet.

"You're a good friend, Shelly." His voice cracked as he spoke, and his breath hitched in his throat.

"Come here," said Shel, opening his arms, and Leon pushed himself upright and fell into his embrace. He blinked back tears for a moment, then, unable to help himself, he sobbed against Shel's shoulder. Shel hugged him tightly, gently stroking his hair.

"I know, baby, I know," Shel said softly, rubbing Leon's back. "It's okay."

"I'm sorry," Leon hiccupped, wiping his eyes. As if to give him away, his stomach let out a sickly gurgle, drawing Shel's attention to it. Despite his loose clothing, his belly was bloated enough to notice.

"Hey, your stomach sounds pretty upset," said Shel, placing a hand on Leon's tummy. "Are you feeling alright?" Leon shook his head.

"Dinner isn't sitting right," he mumbled, laying his head against Shel's shoulder.

"What'd you have?" Shel gently rubbed his belly, and he hesitated for a moment, not wanting to answer.

"Hot chocolate and a stuffed pretzel," he admitted quietly.

"Oh, Leon," groaned Shel. Leon let his gaze fall to the floor, and his stomach answered with a miserable gurgle. Still rubbing his belly, Shel kept his other arm around Leon and gave him a gentle squeeze. He didn't ask if that was what he was so upset about; he supposed he could put together the gist of it. Leon was terribly lonely. He hadn't been in a relationship since before his transition began, and that had been at least a decade ago. He'd confided in Shel that he was too afraid to try again, and Shel knew it ate at him, particularly during those lonely moments when he longed for comfort. It made his own heart ache to know Leon was so miserable.

The two friends sat together in each other's arms, Shel softly rubbing Leon's upset belly, Leon curled up against Shel's chest, listening to his heartbeat. They were quiet, not needing to speak, until Leon broke the silence.

"You don't have to stay, Shelly," he said quietly, not looking up. Shel looked down at him sympathetically and gave his shoulder a reassurring squeeze.

"I want to."

#writing #belly kink #tummy kink #xleonx #xshelx

[laslow]

Get In Loser We're Going Shopping | Team Verdane

A drabble in which we earn a little bit more than we bargained for

The realization that things did not go to plan was of little surprise.

Honestly, he'd be surprised if things did go smoothly for once. All things considered, a shipwreck blowing them off course was nothing. A mere inconvenience!

Less so was the fact they lost some allies while gaining others. Laslow prays those swept away by the currents are faring safely wherever they washed up. It'll surely make for a grand story once they've all endured this latest adventure.

He sets his worries aside for now; there are more pressing matters at hand, like scrounging up a weapon or two. Utterly embarrassing, to lose his equipment. But perhaps a kind lady might take pity on him--a poor young man floundering ashore without a sword to protect himself! Yes, he can see it now, the compassion in a lovely pair of eyes, the tugging of the heartstrings--

Someone jostles his shoulder and ruins the illusion. There's a muttered sorry before they're swallowed up by the crowd. Laslow adjusts his jacket. For the best he doesn't get too lost in his head anyway. The bazaar is teeming with people, from sellers peddling their wares seated on colorful rugs to shoppers of all ages going about their day.

"Stay close," Laslow warns both Corrin and Hilda. They push through well enough, only slowing when they all notice an incredibly busy stall with a brightly dressed man at the center. He looks like he wants to stand out, despite the tinted glasses hiding half his expression. Bottles and vases containing suspicious liquids are arranged in haphazard order, and Laslow thinks it's a miracle no one has accidentally broken one.

Eventually, he catches the seller's attention.

"afternoon! could you direct me to the vulneraries, please?" The merchant smiles wide at Laslow's approach, and immediately begins bowing and gesturing and rubbing his hands together when he seems interested in what he has for sale. "Vulneraries? For what ailment? My child, you'll have to be more specific. I've a number of remedies -- warts, sunburn, bellyache, hair loss, sore feet... name your illness and I'll fix it, good as new! What shall it be?" laslow blinks a moment. the one for sore feet actually doesn't sounds too bad.... "oh, for general health! my friends and i just escaped a shipwreck, you see. it was all rather harrowing." it’s now that corrin pipes up, smiling despite the… strange energy of the man. “we were planning to travel towards…” a moment’s pause to pray she correctly remembered the name of their original destination, “grannvale, and we’re just looking to stock up for the journey.”

"A shipwreck? Oh! Yes, I did hear news of a bunch of foreigners coming ashore this morning." His smile seems to curl. "Now, I have just the thing for you. Those waves can be mighty rough." Nimble fingers pick through a sectioned box as he nods along to Corrin's request, lifting one thin vial of multi-colored liquid after another until finally finding one - a vibrant green - and plucks it from the batch. "Grannvale's quite a distance from here. Seven days might get you to the border, if you're on horseback. If you plan to walk, well..." He holds out the vial, his other hand poised under it palm-up like a stage. "This little concoction will melt away all of those pesky aches, and you won't feel any new ones for half a day at least. A must-have for any long journey. You'll feel like you're enveloped in a cloud!" “oh! how convenient.” damn. they’re going to be here a while. corrin leans closer, peering at the little vial for a moment. her expression is considerably less suspicious than it should be, probably. “i’ve never heard of anything like it. you must be quite skilled at your craft,” her head tilts, “how much would that run us, do you think?” news indeed travels fast. laslow isn't thrilled about the idea of riding horses for a week straight, but if it gets them to their destination faster, he'll deal with it. as nice as that green potion sounds, he can't help but wonder what else it may do. delay reaction times, slow down thought processes,... eyes flit to corrin. she really is too trusting. "you seem a knowledgeable man. do you know where we might find a map as well?" "Thirteen hundred for the vial. Good for one person." The merchant glances back to Laslow. "I don't sell maps, I'm afraid, but for a small fee, I can draw you one." "how much for the map?" laslow asks, doing his best to keep his suprise at bay. To this, the merchant thinks for a moment, a finger to his chin. Then he holds up two fingers. "Two hundred, and my handicraft will be yours."

As the merchant names his price, Hilda turns to him with her most disarming smile. “Wow! Your stock is so impressive.” She gestures to the array before laying a friendly hand on his arm. “But we lost so much in the storm…” Her expression falls to one more dejected as she turned to her allies. “I guess we’re out of luck if we want something of such high quality…”

The merchant is taken in by Hilda's wily charms and honeyed words. "Now, you must understand that I run a business, so I cannot simply part with my wares for free. However, I will extend to you a fraction of Nahan's generosity. If you purchase this vial, I will give you a discount. One thousand for it, and I will draw you a map to Grannvale for free." He then reaches over the table and grabs a heftier, long-necked bottle of what looks to be tarnished silver, but you know it couldn't possibly be made of material that precious. He sets it down in front of you beside the bright green vial. "And a sample of a special hair oil, just for you." His words bring a smile back to her face, her expression lighting up. “You mean it? Thank you! That’s such a generous offer.” She bats her eyelashes at him before turning back to the others. “But my friends here hold the coin purse. What do you think?” the most fortunate one here, corrin makes something of a show of fishing around in her pocket as if to further prove that she definitely did not have enough money for the previous price. it’s only a moment before she produces the proper sum, offering it forward with a grateful nod. “we cannot thank you enough, really.”The apothecary takes the money with a grateful bow. "My pleasure. I do hope you'll remember to stop by again before you embark for Grannvale."

Unknown concoction in hand, Laslow leads their little group to a weapons stall. Metal of all shapes and sizes gleams in neat rows. He itches to reach for a sword, excuses of "just testing it out!" poised on his lips when he catches sight of the woman clearly in charge.

Ruffles his hair just so before approaching “Hel-lo there! I couldn’t help but notice these lovely swords being sold by an even lovelier woman.” It's a blur after that--all the trepidation melts from her gaze, interest sparking instead. He recalls the phrases "eye candy" and "nice older lady" being used, but his mind is far too busy catching up with the fact she didn't threaten him with the very sharp weapon at arm's length the moment he opened his mouth. none of this is how he expects it to go. He turns red to the tips of his ears, barely managing not to look at corrin out of sheer embarrassment. (Learned the lesson a long time ago that some women don’t like it when you look at another girl while talking to girl #1) He stutters out a response. “Um. Uh. Well, thank you, my darling, for such a kind offer. I truly do need a weapon—how else can I fend off all the boys vying for your hand?” He throws in a wink for good measure. “Alas, I lost my own trusted blade in a shipwreck.” A dramatic sigh for effect "Well, we can't have that now can we?" She picks up the Slim Sword from her collection. "I've had trouble selling this one. There's nothing wrong with it, but most mercenaries and other battle-types who come through these streets are often looking for something far more valuable than what I have the supplies for. I've give it to you for an eighty-percent discount. 520." She glances up at him with a smile. "You'd look dashing with it, I think." Laslow nods. “I do happen to like my face where it is.” Returns her smile. “You’re far too sweet to be dealing with the likes of those ruffians, buttercup! Aww, you truly think so? May I try it on?” He also gestures to corrin, beckoning her closer. “My friend holds all the coins—she doesn’t trust me not to spend it all in one place.” He totally 100% “””accidentally””” lets their fingers brush Tests the balance/etc “It’s perfect! Thank you, darling. Say, can you tell me a little more about this town? We were headed for Grannvale when we were waylaid by a nasty storm.” "About Nahan? Not much to say. This village has always earned its keep from the sea. Been brought very nearly to ruin a couple times, but we've fared better than other parts of the country. You've come at a good time. It's the best it's ever been in these parts." “I’m included to agree, since I met you,” he says, fixing the sword to his belt. “Any word on that church? Sailors, of course, are full of superstitions, but one can never be to careful these days, eh?” At mention of the Church of Loptous, the woman's demeanor suddenly changes. She retracts from from Laslow with a mixture of fear and surprise. "Why are you asking about them?" She shakes her head. "No. No. Nothing. And that's the way it should stay, here." He holds his hands up in retreat “I’m so sorry, my darling. It was all the talk of the sailors. Thank you ever so kindly for all your help. Perhaps we should go out for tea some time, yeah?” She still seems visibly fluster, but the offer of tea seems to smooth things over a little. She laughs and calls him sweet, but ultimately declines because she does in fact have a husband. But Laslow is quite the handsome young thing.

The sword is a familiar weight at his hip on the walk back. He's still blushing by the time they all meet up in their room again.

#toasabbamvitatham2023 #SVVerdane2023 #drabble #i used to have a tag for drabbles oops #SORRY FOR THE LONG ASS POST SOME OF THIS DIALOGUE NEEDED TO BE IMMORTALIZED #some of the formatting got janky but yknow what #cannot deal with tungle this 11pm tuesday night

[rainbowrae14]

I just want to fade

Slowly wither into nothingness

Be absorbed by the bed

Eaten by the earth

I just want silence

A complete absence of noise

No one to call my name

Peaceful, temporary bliss

I just want to place down my life

Leave my worries behind me

Run away into the wilderness

No stress, no deadline, no more

No bellyache for days

That I can never explain

No more obsession

Cracked skin, bleeding lips

I bite when I'm worried

And I worry a lot

I just want to fade

Dissolve, disperse

No more hard questions

Or harder choices

I've had enough, reached my fill

My cup runs over

And I do not want to drink it down

I'm tired of responsibility

I never liked it much anyway

So I'd rather fade

Into the emptiness I desire.

#poetry #sad poem #depressing shit #female #feminist #adhd #adhd feels #depressing poem #sorry for being depressing