#and while she makes regular snide comments

[rachthechaosbi]

counting down the goddamned days until my fucking housemate moves out

[drdemonprince]

in the past year i've pushed myself through increasingly physically extreme acts, kink wise, and that's introduced me to a few sides of me i wasn't conscious of before.

like the bratty me. im not a brat. i dont like being difficult in a scene. i like being a good obedient blanks submissive. but if the Dom is too casual in the dynamic or I doubt his judgement in some way, bratting comes out of me almost involuntarily, as if to fill the space. Either I make little snide comments and jokes (which can establish a rapport and be fun, sometimes), or I push back pretty willfully (but subtly) against what the Dom is doing, which can cause them to either regroup or go off balance.

There's a whole spectrum of sarcastic, snide, flirtatious energy I dispense depending on just how untrusting I feel, and I do so on instinct, so sometimes it goes way too far or emerges at the wrong time and isn't at all what the Dom wanted to see. But I can tell I developed this side to protect me. The bratty me knows how to de-escalate and disempower a powerful person and I've been her(?) throughout my life, anytime that a man has seemed more self-assured than he deserved to be around me, and I felt let down by him. The bratty me knows how to neg and get the upper hand even if the rest of me doesn't want to, basically. Sadly, the first person I had to develop this persona on was my dad. And in a way I'm still trotting out the exact personality that used to get him riled up and allowed me to feel like I was in control of our relationship, spiky and seductive at the same time.

Bratty me exists to prevent emotional pain. It lets me backpedal at giving away power, cast the whole thing as a joke, and reassert myself as the person of superior competence without having to take on the responsibility of leading the show. I have been let down by a lot of Dominant figures in my life over the years and now I find it hard to fully give in to someone the way I was once able to. It gets irritating when bratty me crawls out of my mouth and throws insults at a time where I am safe and I do want to get closer to somebody, but now I can take that as a sign that she (the brat) can feel the risk level mounting and wants to make sure I'm okay. I need to do more intentional IFS type of work on myself and her to let her know we're okay.

There's another side of me that comes out when I'm in actual physical distress during a scene, and that's a feral, fight-or-flight mode self. With emphasis on the fight. I didn't expect this to come out of me during kink, for me to start shoving and spitting and pushing back, but I honestly should have, because every time that I've been groped or followed down the street in real life my instinct has been to become violent. I am filled with barely suppressed anger and always am thrilled to have the excuse to unleash it on somebody. It is so rare to have an acceptable target.

But recently, during a couple of kinky scenes, I've gotten electrocuted too much in the wrong spot or had too big of a toy forcibly inserted far too fast and I've turned into a kicking, screaming, pushing, aggressive mess even when I haven't wanted to. It's the same thing as being unable to relax enough to open your hole up, or breathe through a strike, but it sure looks a lot meaner. I tend to emotionally regress right after being this person, go a bit mute and infantile and be unable to look at anybody for a long while afterward and I usually can't explain what I need.

But again, I'm proud of this side of me for existing. Feral fight mode me is also trying to assert control and protect me, even if he overdoes it. These explosive characters show how much I've had to live through, and all the skills I developed to do so. It's been rewarding to get to know them, even if they can be a real pain to deal with during a scene. I know that these two sides of me are powerful and I can see how much I deploy them (in smaller ways) in my regular interpersonal relationships to prevent intimacy, and I need to work on making these sides of me feel safe so that doesn't happen so much. And that starts with appreciating them for all that they do.

[ameliathornromance]

Today had been a complete mess.

First, you’d dropped a whole basket of freshly caught fish, where they’d splattered all over the ground and got covered in mud from the rain fall earlier.

As you bent down to pick them up, that didn’t stop a few passing Orcs from complaining about your clumsiness.

“Great, now we have to eat dirt.”

“Who let the human carry them anyway?”

Ok, ok, alright. You’ll be eating this food too, you get where the others are coming from and you could have been a little bit more careful.

You gave them all an apologetic smile, turned and approached the Chef at the other end of the camp.

“I’m really sorry about that,” you said to him, handing off the basket. “I’ll try to be more careful in the future.”

Chef – who seemed to have heard the other Orcs snide comments – waved a dismissive hand. “They can be as grumpy as they want, everyones’ got to eat their speck of dirt.” He comforted you with a smile.

Although the sting of the comments didn’t leave, Chef’s words certainly lessened the hurt of them. You returned the his smile, and left to go and carry on with your other duties.

But it seemed as though the world had other plans. Your next task, was to weave fishing nets. The camp was going to be approaching a river soon and salmon would be making their way upstream, so it was imperative that these nets are finished.

The only problem being, that as soon as you were done with knotting one net and prepared to move onto the next one, your freshly finished work would fray.

The other Orc who was weaving with you, examined your work.

She frowned as she examined it. “How’d you manage this?” She asked, tugging at a particularly unkempt section of your work.

And with that, all your hard work came undone, collecting in a pile of rope at the Orcs feet.

Your jaw dropped. Weaving nets was one of the many things you’d gotten good at since you arrived at the camp, it made no sense that your work would decline so suddenly.

“I don’t understand… I did everything right!” You protested.

The Orc frowned, picking up the now unusable rope and narrowed her eyes at it, running her thumb over the frays. She sighed and looked at you. “You’re just having an awful time of it, aren’t you? First it was the fish and now it’s this,” She looked back down at the rope. “We bought this rope from a different merchant, so it might just be shoddy material.” She handed you her unfinished net. “Here, finish this and I’ll make a note of it.”

You set to work again. This time, you made sure your knots for the net were tied twice, pulled extra tight and revisited them to make sure that they hadn’t fallen apart while you were working at the rest of it.

When the Orc came back, you showed her the work you’d done. She scrutinised your work once again and took the net from you.

Only for all the knots you’d double-triple checked to unravel. You stared, dumbfounded at the net.

The Orc sighed, closing her eyes and trying to hide her irritation. “Do you just want to take a minute?” She asked you. “Maybe go and do something else for a little while.”

It wasn’t a suggestion.

You made yourself scarce and found yourself standing alone in the middle of camp. What was going on with you?

Mentally, you ran through your morning: you’d woken up at a regular time, you’d had breakfast like normal, kissed your boyfriend goodbye when he left to go hunting and gotten to work on helping the camp out.

Nothing seemed to be out of order about your morning. Maybe the Weaver was right, perhaps you just needed a break; it’s important to have a healthy work-life balance after all.

So, you returned to your tent. When you stepped into the tent, you frowned at the mess inside it. You were a clean person… your Orc Boyfriend however, was a completely different story.

He always left his clothes strewn about, sharp bladed weapons lying on the ground or propped up against your bed frame. He always told you it wasn’t dangerous to sleep with the pointed tip of a blade beside your pillow; But you found it hard to believe when your Boyfriend had nearly poked his eye out on numerous occasions.

Well, putting things away isn’t a difficult task, is it? And your tent needs to be cleaned before you can relax anyway.

Scooping up any dirty clothes on the ground, you threw them into a basket in the corner, picked up weapons, books lying around, as a strange thing your partner had been building on the table in the corner of your tent.

He wouldn’t tell you what it was, all he said was that it was held together with glue and that it needed time to dry. So, you’d left it alone mostly.

However, you did wish he could be more neat about how he stored all his equipment.

After putting away all the books and putting the weapons away in a safer place, you started to rearrange the small parts of wood and other materials your partner had been using.

The project itself seemed to be a jumble of sticks all pointing out in different directions, completely unidentifiable.

It was all going so well. It was, blissfully fine… until you turned too fast and sent your boyfriends project crashing to the floor.

Everything had gone slow as you fumbled to reach it. You watched in horror as you missed it, and the wooden craft smashed on the ground. All the hard work your boyfriend had put in to it, gone in under a minute.

And to add icing on the cake, your Orc boyfriend opened the tent flaps and saw you, hunched over his work.

The two of you locked eyes, stared at each other in stunned silence.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

Your boyfriend let out a disappointed sigh. “I told you not to touch it, didn’t I?”

At his tone, your eyes began to water, and you burst into tears.

Your boyfriends disappointment vanished and he rushed over to you, “hey, don’t cry love, I wasn’t trying to make you-”

“It’s been like this all day.” You spoke over him, tears running down your cheeks. “Everything I seemed to do, just fell apart or went wrong. I don’t know what’s wrong with me, I’m really sorry I didn’t mean to break it.”

Your Orc placed his hand on your shoulder as he listened to your wracked sobs. His hand rubbed up and down your back, “it’s okay, you’re okay, alright? It was a mistake, you didn’t mean to do it.”

After a few minutes, your sobs quieted, only leaving you sniffling. “I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.” You mumbled.

“You haven’t done anything wrong.” Your boyfriend pulled you into his lap and squeezed you tightly. “It’s just a bad day, okay? Life is just like this sometimes, yeah?”

He planted a kiss on your forehead and gave you a tight squeeze. “Look, why don’t you take the rest of the day off, and I’ll go and do whatever you’re supposed to do, okay?”

You nodded. The two of you stood as your boyfriend picked up the broken project he was working on.

“I’m really sorry.” You said, again.

“Love, it’s fine really. I wasn’t even enjoying it that much anymore.” He gave you a smile, “I felt like I was in too deep to stop it now, so you actually did me a favour.”

You didn’t think he was telling the truth, but you still returned his smile, thankful that he was trying to make you feel better.

Hi! Thank you so much for reading my story! If you like this kind of content, you should check out my Patreon! There, I post stories twice a week and earlier than I post on Tumblr. I also post exclusive stories there too where you won’t be able to find anywhere else.

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@sunndust @greenie-c

[charliegyrth]

Chicken Shack Fatties

My Coworker's Weight Gain Journey

Hi, everybody! I wrote this in response to another anonymous story request. Great idea, my friend. I had a lot of fun writing this one.

***

“Have a wonderful day!” Clive told the customer, giving her that movie-star smile that melted the hearts of anyone who didn’t know him personally. As soon as she was out of earshot, he mumbled, “Bitch.”

I rolled my eyes. I’d been working alongside Clive for three months now, and his definition of a “bitch” was laughably broad.

Someone who asks for extra barbecue sauce? “Bitch.”

Someone who takes their time looking at the menu. “Bitch.”

Someone who doesn’t say hello before they order. “Bitch.”

Pretty much the only customers that Clive didn’t put in the “bitch” category were the fawning college girls and gay men who checked him out and complimented his gorgeous face or bulging pecs.

Clive Durant was the single meanest human being I’d ever met, treating everyone with disdain or annoyance unless he could get something from them. I genuinely hated him. Not because he was rude to me when we were working together (I could handle that), but because he had every reason to be happy and he wasn’t. If I looked like that, I’d wouldn’t be walking around with a massive chip on my muscular shoulder.

Clive nudged me in the side. “Look who’s here. Get the fryers ready.”

I didn’t need to glance at the door to know exactly who he was talking about. Monty was waddling in for his regular order of five boneless combos with Pepsi and extra salt on his fries. Monty came in every day and was nothing but pleasant, even though Clive insulted him to his face every time.

He was wearing a tank top today, so the edges of his moobs were visible. He was one of those obese guys who did nothing to hide his size. I loved that.

As a very short, very skinny twink myself, I really had a thing for people like Monty. He wasn’t just fat; he was proudly fat, and that was a major turn-on for me. Sure, most people would go for a muscle stud like Clive (and I’d be into that too if he weren’t such a toxic person), but my preference was for someone big and soft and (most importantly) happy.

He reached the counter, his belly pressed against the edge. He was sweaty and red-faced from the walk across the parking lot, but he wore a huge smile. I was manning the fryer in anticipation of his order, leaving Clive to talk to him.

“What can I get you, sir?” he asked dismissively. “You know we’ve added salads to the menu.”

That was a lie. Custer’s Chicken Shack would never offer salads. He just wanted to be rude.

“Actually, I’ll just have my usual.”

“Yeah? And what’s that?” Clive asked with a mean, little smile. He’d taken this guy’s order dozens of times before. It never changed.

“Combo C. Five of them. Extra salt on the fries, please.”

Clive types in the order. “Oh. You’re having a party?”

“Nope. All for me,” Monty said, completely ignoring the veiled insult. “Oh, and a vanilla milkshake. Large.”

“You’re adding to your order?” Clive asked. “Don’t you think the combos are enough?”

The fry scooper dropped out of my hands. I couldn’t believe Clive said that. This was even worse than usual. Our boss had chosen to let Clive man the counter while I worked the kitchen because he thought Clive’s good looks would draw in more customers. (And they did.) But if he knew the things Clive said…

If I were a stronger person, I’d go straight to our boss and tell him everything. I wasn’t that kind of person, though. I didn’t make ripples, even if I really should. I always told myself that eventually word would get back to management and Clive would be sacked, but that hadn’t happened yet.

I searched Monty’s face for any signs that he’d been offended, but he was still smiling. I couldn’t tell for sure, but I suspected that Monty was one of those fat guys who got off on humiliation. He might actually like Clive’s snide comments, but that didn’t excuse Clive’s behavior.

“Actually,” the fat man said, “the milkshake is for my boyfriend. I wanna surprise him.”

Clive’s dark eyes widened. “You have a boyfriend?”

“Oh. Right. Actually, I guess I don’t anymore.”

That answer elicited a relieved sigh from Clive, who seemed to take personal offense that someone so fat would have a boyfriend while he was still single.

But then Monty raised his hand and showed off the gold band on his chubby finger. “I shoulda said fiancé.”

That made my heart speed up. Good for him. He deserved it. “Congratulations!” I shouted from the kitchen, revealing that I’d been eavesdropping the whole time.

“Uh, yeah. Congratulations,” Clive mumbled as he printed out the receipt.

Monty sat at a table and waited. With no other customers, Clive was supposed to join me in the kitchen to help finish the order. He didn’t. He charged past me, mumbled something about a “smoke break,” and went through the back door into the parking lot. That wasn’t like him. I’d never seen him this upset.

I fixed up Monty’s order and brought it to his table. He looked up at me, smiling as always. “You, um, gave me an extra milkshake.”

“To congratulate you on the engagement. On the house. Would you like help carrying everything back to your car?” I did that whenever he came here during slow hours.

“Thanks, man.”

He carried the two milkshakes while I carried everything else. As we walked across the parking lot (very slowly), he looked over at me, studying my expression. I think he noticed that I kept glancing at his wobbling gut. “Thanks again. I really hope Jason finishes both the milkshakes.” (Jason must’ve been his fiancé.) “He has a long way to catch up, you know?”

I didn’t know what to say. Monty had just confirmed my suspicions. He definitely was a gainer. And Jason must’ve been, too. Good for them. They seemed like a wonderful couple.

Monty opened the door and I laid out the food and drinks on the empty seat. His minivan was absolutely filled with fast-food trash bags. A lot of them were from Custer’s Chicken, but he also had empty bags from Arby’s and McDonalds and a couple other places.

As I closed the door, I told him, “Listen. I’m sorry about my coworker in there. He’s…”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ve always liked those kinds of comments.” (Another suspicion confirmed.) “Plus, I kinda feel sorry for him. He’s just so unhappy all the time.”

“Yeah.” There was nothing else to say. I waved goodbye and hurried back to the restaurant. It looked like another customer had walked in. Before I entered, I noticed Clive standing by himself next to the dumpsters. He was deep in thought, sucking on his vape. He looked miserable.

***

I served three customers before Clive came back in from his smoke break. He saw me pulling double-duty (running from the register to the kitchen), but he didn’t spring into action. He just stood off to the side and watched me.

“Some help?” I asked him.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” he mumbled before rushing to the assembly counter. That was the first time he’d ever apologized to me.

The rest of our shift was pretty normal. We had slow times and busy times. Pretty basic. The only difference was that Clive stayed weirdly silent for the rest of the day. He didn’t call anyone a “bitch.” He didn’t make any snide comments at all. He just did his job and kept his face blank.

As we were closing up, I asked him directly, “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing.”

I knew I shouldn’t push the issue. Sullen Clive was so much easier to work with than Mean Clive. But I didn’t want anyone to feel sad, not even a dick like Clive. “I can tell something’s wrong. You can talk to me.”

He looked away.

“Listen. You don’t know this, but whenever we work together, I sort of keep a tally of all the times you call someone a ‘bitch’ behind their back. The final number is always in the double-digits. Today, you said it twice. You’ve been acting different since Monty came in.”

“Who?” He looked me in the eyes. Finally. “Oh, the fat guy. Yeah, um, I guess I was just surprised.”

“That he’s engaged?”

“Yeah. I mean, how am I still single while someone like that…?” He didn’t finish his sentence.

“Can I be honest?”

“Please.”

“Monty’s a nice guy. He’s friendly. And you’re…”

“I’m what?”

“You’re a dick. To everyone. You know that, right?”

He didn’t seem offended. He knew how he acted. “Sure, but I’m so hot.”

“I think Monty’s pretty hot,” I admitted. I didn’t tell many people about my attraction to bigger guys, and I never would’ve thought that I’d tell Clive about it. Yet, here we were.

He looked at me like I’d just sprouted a third eye.

In very simple terms, I explained the basics of gainers, encouragers, feederism, all that. (If you’re reading this story, I assume you already know all that stuff.) I even pulled out my Grommr account (mostly inactive lately) and showed him photos of some of my gainer friends who I knew wouldn’t mind being used as examples.

“People like this?” He looked so confused.

“Yeah, but you’re missing the point. People like all different types, but something everyone likes is kindness. Whether you’re super-hot or super-sized, no one’ll want to date you if you’re always so mean all the time. That’s the point.”

He stared at the image on my phone for a long time, sorting through his thoughts. Finally, he said, “You’ve given me a lot to think about. Thanks, man.”

I doubted that I’d said anything to change his ways, but we’ll see. Only time will tell.

***

Two months later.

“Bitches,” Clive muttered as a family of four walked out of the restaurant.

“Seriously?”

He turned to me and smiled, showing off his dimples. I’d never noticed those before. “Couldn’t they see that we’re closing? They could’ve hurried the fuck up.”

We still had five more minutes till closing, but since no other customers were here, I started to clean up. Clive grabbed the last three chicken nuggets from the tray and popped them into his mouth one-by-one. Then he just stood there, watching me do all the work. “So? You haven’t said anything about how much I’ve changed since our little talk.”

Our little talk. I didn’t know what he meant. “You mean about the new milkshake settings?”

He punched me in the shoulder. I hated when he did that. “You don’t remember? Two months ago? After that big fat guy Marty told us he was engaged.”

“You mean Monty,” I said. I hadn’t thought about that conversation in weeks, because it obviously hadn’t affected him. Clive was just as mean as always. He still called everyone a bitch. He still insulted customers to their faces. (Monty had stopped coming about a month ago because he was busy planning for his wedding, but we still had plenty of other regulars for Clive to demean.) At the time, it felt like a genuine heart-to-heart, but as expected, nothing came of it.

He looked into my eyes, waiting for me to say something. “What are you getting at, Clive?”

“I’m still waiting for you to congratulate me!” he said, his deep voice coming out childish and petulant. “Everyone else does.”

“Congratulate you for what?”

“Jesus. For this!” He pulled up his red work shirt, showing me his belly.

I gulped. He had a belly. An actual belly. It wasn’t big, but it was definitely there, bulging out of him and hanging just a tiny bit over his belt. Clive’s perfect body was gone.

“You can’t tell me you haven’t noticed,” he said, acting like he’d gained 100 pounds or something. He let go of his shirt.

“Honestly, I hadn’t.”

In a way, it was shocking that I hadn’t. I loved watching ex-jocks soften up. I loved beginner bellies. And his gain (over 20 pounds, for sure) was definitely noticeable through his shirt. His face looked rounder. His work pants were tighter, too.

If he’d been gaining for the last two months, then I should’ve been in a constant state of horniness whenever I was at work. But I wasn’t. I had no idea.

I think that was because I disliked the guy so much. My brain couldn’t register his (very cute) new belly because I didn’t see him as a sexual object. I saw him as a jerk, plain and simple.

“Well?” he asked, still waiting for a compliment. “I did what you suggested. What do you think?”

“That wasn’t my suggestion. My suggestion was for you to start being nicer to people. I was only explaining the gainer culture so you’d understand Monty and stop treating him like a freak who didn’t deserve love.”

“Yeah, whatever,” he said. “I thought about the nice thing, but that seemed like too much work. Then I went on Grommr, like you told me to…” (I didn’t.) “Just to see what would happen. Posted a bunch of shirtless photos showing off my abs, wrote that I was a gainer, and literally hundreds of horny fucks said they were interested. Dry spell over!”

“So are you a gainer?” I asked. “Is that what you’re really into?”

“Sure,” he said. “It’s easier than going to the gym all the time. And this little guy…” He squeezed his belly. “Is a total dick magnet, man.”

This gave me some seriously mixed emotions. It sucked that Clive had misinterpreted my advice so completely, but at the same time, his extra padding was really sexy. I’d love to see him keep going.

“So are you happier now?”

He poured himself a milkshake, even though we were supposed to be emptying the machine. “Hell yeah. I have guys come over all the time.”

“Any boyfriend prospects?” I asked. I thought that he’d wanted an actual relationship. I thought that had been the main source of his frustrations.

“In time,” he said. “I have too many guys to choose from now.”

I closed out the register and started mopping the floor while Clive took his time slurping up his milkshake. He dripped a little onto the floor, then pointed at the milky puddle. “You missed a spot.”

***

Three months later.

I got out of my car and headed toward the restaurant. I didn’t have to come in to work today, but my boss Arvin asked if I could pop in for a one-on-one meeting. I didn’t know if this was a good meeting or a bad meeting. I busted my ass off for the company, but I never seemed to get any recognition for it. I really hoped that things were about to change, but if not, if I was about to get blamed for low sales or something, then I was prepared to quit.

When I reached the back entrance, I saw Clive sitting on the steps, his head in his hands. His gut filled his lap, big and soft and bunched into three rolls. I’d seen him the day before, so I knew how big he’d gotten, but this position really accentuated how soft he was. A few of my gainer friends were about his size (230-ish?), but they were good people, so I found their bellies much sexier.

“You okay?” I asked.

“I just got fired,” he said.

My heart pounded. Did that mean I was getting fired, too? Were they cleaning house?

I sat next to him on the steps, partly to comfort him but mostly to get more information before I met with Arvin. “What happened?”

“I fucked up,” he mumbled through his hands.

Couldn’t argue with that. He’d always been a terrible worker, leaving me to pick up the slack. But with his added weight, he’d gotten even lazier. He barely did anything besides work the register and insult the customers. Worse, he’d started stealing food from the kitchen, a little more each week, to the point where we were constantly running out of fries and milkshake mix.

I didn’t know what to say, so I awkwardly patted his shoulder, acting like we were friends.

“I got away with so much stuff because I was hot,” he said. “But now I’m not, and I…” He started crying. “I never should’ve gotten fat.”

Once again, he needed some straight-talk. “You didn’t get fired because you’re fat. You know that, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Do you like being a gainer?” I asked. I still couldn’t tell.

He looked up at me, his eyes red and wet. “I like the attention. But I still don’t have a boyfriend. I chat with dozens of guys. They come over to fuck me or feed me or whatever, but none of them want a relationship. Just hook-ups. I’m in the exact same situation as when I was hot, except now I can’t coast on my looks at work, and I… I don’t know.”

Once again, he was misinterpreting things. I knew that plenty of guys on Grommr were interested in more than just hook-ups. The problem was Clive. He was the reason guys met him once and then ghosted him. His body had changed so much, but his attitude was still toxic. The only difference between Old Clive and New Clive was his BMI.

He grabbed his belly roll and squeezed it in anger. “I hate this. I never shoulda…” He was focusing his anger on his body, but when that didn’t work, he looked into my eyes and directed his anger at me. “I never shoulda listened to you!”

“Dammit, Clive. Nothing is your fault, huh?” I was done talking to him. I stood up and marched toward the door. I turned to look at him one last time, a fat, sad lump on the steps. “Have a good life, man.”

Then I pushed my way inside.

Arvin was waiting for me in his office. He stood up when I entered (something he’d never done before) and shook my hand.

I made sure to grip his hand tight. When he hired me two years ago, I could tell that he judged me for my overall twinkness, I guess. I was pretty small and my voice was high, and he didn’t really like that. (When he’d hired Clive, also gay but much more masculine, he acted different. He said Clive was “commanding” and had “management potential,” two things that he never said to me.)

So yeah, I gave him the hearty handshake he wanted and I puffed my chest a little as I sat across from him. “You wanted to see me?”

The rest of the meeting went so much better than I expected. Arvin explained how Clive had gotten some complaints (lots of them) and how he’d become aware that I was the one doing all the work. More importantly, I was always kind to the customers.

I felt so damn vindicated.

I knew that if Clive had remained ripped and hot, a lot less people would’ve complained about him. That’s just the way of the world. But since he wasn’t conventionally attractive anymore, people stopped tolerating his terrible attitude. The result was that he was gone and I could finally be acknowledged for my hard work.

Arvin offered me a raise and a promotion, which meant I’d be managing all three Custer’s Chicken locations in the city. I’d even get to hire Clive’s replacement. This was a dream come true for me. I didn’t feel guilty that my success had come at the expense of Clive’s job. Screw that guy. I’d earned this.

“So? Will you accept?”

“Absolutely.”

***

Eighteen months later.

“Have a nice day!” I called to the chubby couple walking out of the restaurant.

They smiled and waved. What a cute couple.

It felt pretty nice to be behind the counter at my old Custer’s Chicken Shack. Since becoming regional manager, I spent a lot more time at my office in our downtown location. I loved my work, but it felt nice to be back where it all started, dealing with customers face-to-face.

Early in the day, I even got to see Monty and his husband again. They looked so happy. Monty had lost a bit of weight, but Jason (his husband) had gained more than enough for both of them. I gave them complementary milkshakes (one of the perks of being manager), and they promised to pay me back with drinks at the next Bear Night at Rammer’s.

I told them I’d see them there. (I was single again and needed to put myself out there more.)

The restaurant was pretty slow for a while, until another customer walked in. I gulped. This was the single, most handsome man I’d ever seen. Hugely overweight, with a thick beard and buzzed hair. His legs were tree trunks, shifting against each other as he waddled toward me. His hanging gut and glorious moobs were in a constant state of movement. Just pure, wonderful softness.

Best of all, he had the biggest smile on his round face. Just one look at him and I knew that this guy was happy with himself and proud of his size.

When he reached me, he had to steady himself against the counter, leaning forward so that his chest flopped onto its surface. “Hey,” he said.

“Hello,” I said back, trying (and failing) to hide my raw attraction. Guys like this were the reason I’d chosen a career in fast food. My God. “What can I get you?”

He looked at me for a while. His smile turned into a smirk. “You don’t recognize me, do you?”

“Sorry,” I muttered. I tried to place his face, flipping through my mental rolodex of regular customers, then bar acquaintences, then online Grommr friends. Nope. I didn’t recognize him.

“Maybe this’ll help,” he said. He forced his expression to harden into a superior, annoyed sneer. That’s when I recognized him.

“Clive?!”

He smiled again. “How’s it going, man? You look exactly the same.”

I did. Still a skinny twink, though my hair was going prematurely gray around the temples, just like my dad. “And you look…”

“Fat?” he asked.

“No. You look nice.”

I know it sounds crazy, but the reason I didn’t recognize him wasn’t because of the hundred-plus pounds that he’d packed onto his body. Plenty of my friends had gone through similar transformations, and I always knew who they were.

No, I didn’t recognize Clive because his whole aura was different. He didn’t look like a jerk anymore. He didn’t act like he was above everyone. He didn’t have that look of constant judgment on his face. He was comfortable with himself, and most of all, he was happy.

And for the first time, I found my former coworker very, very attractive.

“What happened to you?” I asked.

He laughed. “After I got fired, I went on a wellness retreat, planning to lose all the weight. But while I was there, surrounded by other broken people, I realized that my problem was my outlook, not my size. I finally learned the lesson that you’d been trying to teach me all those times. Sorry it didn’t sink in sooner.”

“Good for you,” I said, staring into his warm, friendly eyes.

“I came back here, got an office job, and have been sorting myself out ever since.”

“And actively gaining,” I said. He’d deleted his Grommr account a while back, so he must’ve distanced himself from the social side, but his body was proof that he’d fully and completely embraced his Gainer Brain.

“Not really,” he said with a laugh. “I know, right? Hard to believe. I’ve learned over the last year to like myself at any size. I just eat when I’m happy, and since I’m always happy…” His voice trailed off.

I glanced around the restaurant to make sure no one else was there. Yup. We were alone.

“So. Are you seeing anyone?”

“No,” he said flirtatiously. “I’m really happy to see you, my friend.”

“Yeah? Prove it. Let’s see how much you can order.”

Ten minutes later (and still no other customers), I sat across from Clive with our table overflowing with chicken burgers, fries, nuggets, pretty much everything we had in the kitchen. He smiled at me. I smiled at him.

We talked. He ate. It was wonderful.

“I’m gonna close up soon.”

“I know,” he said through a mouthful of fries and chicken.

“Would you like to come back to my place afterward?”

He smiled, a dribble of grease on his chins. “I thought you’d never ask.”

The End.

Thanks for reading! And thanks for the suggestion!

This story is included in my new ebook collection Three Times as Fat! Check it out.

[yuriosakawa]

Heya, I was reading your lost hunter au and I got curious about how Danny would interact with Jonny, kitty and/or ember if one (or more) of them approached him in a non-hostile setting.

The Ecto Lounge was one of the few places in the world where ghosts and humans could coexist without hostility. Nestled in the heart of a city known for its supernatural activity, it was a neon-lit nightclub owned and operated by none other than Ember McLain.

After retiring from her rockstar gig—and, more importantly, her attempts at world domination—Ember had found a new passion: running an underground club where music, drinks, and secrets flowed freely. It was the kind of place where deals were made, whispers were exchanged, and the lines between the living and the dead blurred under flickering black lights.

And for Danny Fenton—the Lost Hunter—this was the perfect place to gather intel.

Danny didn’t come here for fun—not usually. The Ecto Lounge was one of the best places to pick up rumors, track down ghosts with connections to the underworld, and hear whispers of anything strange happening in the Ghost Zone. Ghosts, criminals, mercenaries—they all talked here. And Danny had learned that if he listened carefully, he could pick up clues about Phantom.

It wasn’t always easy. Some ghosts mocked him, others ignored him, and a few tried to get rid of him when he got too close to something important. But Ember? Ember always welcomed him.

Danny and Ember had never been friends before. She used to be one of his enemies, but time had changed things.

The first time he stepped into her club, she had laughed. “So, the great Danny Phantom is just Danny Fenton now, huh?” she had teased, swirling a ghostly cocktail in her hand. But there was no malice in her voice—just curiosity.

Over time, Danny became a regular. Not in the way the ghosts did—he didn’t drink, didn’t dance, didn’t belong. But Ember never turned him away, even when he showed up at odd hours, looking for information.

“You still on that whole ‘finding Phantom’ thing?” she’d ask, leaning against the bar.

Danny would give the same answer every time, voice unwavering. “Yeah.”

Ember never really got it. She thought Danny was chasing a lost cause, clinging to something that was never coming back. But even if she didn’t understand, she respected his resolve.

So, every time he left, she would flick her wrist, conjuring a small ember of blue fire between her fingers, and say, “Well, good luck, Lost Hunter.”

Danny never said it, but he appreciated it. Because in this world of ghosts and shadows, there weren’t many who wished him well.

———————————————————————————

Johnny 13 and Kitty weren’t exactly Danny’s friends, but they weren’t his enemies either. They existed in that gray space between ally and nuisance, sometimes helping him out, sometimes causing trouble, but always showing up when he least expected it.

Unlike most ghosts, they didn’t mock Danny’s obsession with finding Phantom. They didn’t always get it, but they understood. Because if something ever took one of them away from the other, they’d tear the world apart to get them back.

So while most ghosts laughed at Danny’s so-called hopeless search, Johnny and Kitty just nodded, sharing a quiet, unspoken understanding.

And Danny certainly never expected a gift from Johnny 13, of all people.

He’d spent his 20th birthday alone, just like every birthday before it. It wasn’t a day he celebrated—not anymore. His mind was always on the mission, always on the next lead, always on Phantom.

But when Johnny and Kitty rolled up to one of his safe houses that night, he knew something was off. Johnny wasn’t cracking jokes. Kitty wasn’t making snide comments about how he needed to loosen up. Instead, Johnny tossed him a set of keys with a smirk.

Danny raised a brow. “What’s this?”

Johnny crossed his arms, his signature leather jacket shifting with the movement. “A ride.”

And there it was—a motorcycle, sleek, black with glowing green streaks across the body, humming softly with phantom energy. It looked like something out of a nightmare, a ghostly beast waiting to tear through the streets.

“It’s modified,” Johnny explained, leaning against his own bike. “Runs on ecto-energy. You won’t need gas, and it can phase through obstacles if you push the right button.”

Danny was stunned. He ran a hand over the handlebars, feeling the way the phantom energy pulsed beneath his fingers. “You made this?”

Johnny scoffed. “Nah. Stole it from some collector who didn’t deserve it. Then made it better.”

Kitty grinned, arms wrapped around Johnny’s waist as she leaned into him. “Consider it a birthday present, Hunter.”

Danny swallowed, gripping the keys a little tighter. He didn’t know what to say.

Ghosts didn’t give him gifts. Ghosts didn’t care.

But Johnny and Kitty did. Maybe not in the same way his old friends had, but in their own rough, rebellious way, they were saying We get it. We see you. Keep riding.

Danny swung a leg over the bike, the phantom engine roaring to life beneath him. It felt right—like it belonged to him, like it was an extension of himself. Not quite like Phantom, but very close.

For the first time in years, a small smile tugged at his lips. He revved the engine, testing the feel of it, before looking back at Johnny.

“I owe you one,” Danny said.

Johnny just smirked. “Damn right you do.”

And with that, the Lost Hunter rode into the night—faster, stronger, and one step closer to finding what was his.

[celestialglow24]

••• Sharing the Bed•••

Frank Castle x AFAB Reader

Reader is wondering how things will be with Frank now after asking him to be her fake boyfriend at her sister’s wedding.

3.9k words

Inspired by the faking dating prompts from @thelonelyempath https://www.tumblr.com/thelonelyempath/705043295893618688/fake-dating-prompts?source=share

Using prompt #25 “I kinda liked sharing the bed with you”

I’ve had such a writing bug lately and im taking advantage of it while i’ve got it! Enjoy xxx

You were nervous to see him again.

It had been a couple weeks since you’d convinced Frank to be your fake boyfriend for your sister’s wedding.

You had panicked when your mom called you at work, saying you had pushed it off long enough and she needed an answer right now if you were bringing a plus one or not.

You almost said no, but after she made a snide comment about already knowing the answer—she was just asking as a courtesy to your sister—you cracked and told her you’d been seeing someone for months now.

When she asked who, your eyes had landed on one of the few patrons left at the bar that night.

Frank Castle.

Surprisingly he agreed to go. It was probably the desperation in your voice and the pleading of your eyes—you didn’t have time to think about how pathetic you felt—but you were thankful nonetheless.

It’s been 14 days since you got back and you haven’t seen him since. Not that you were counting the days or anything.

No texts.

No phone calls.

Just silence.

Normally you wouldn’t think much of it. Even though Frank had become a regular at the bar and restaurant you worked at, he’d disappear for days and weeks at a time.

You’d try and make small talk when he came back. Hoping to get any kind of inclination as to what Frank Castle got up to in his spare time.

He was still such a mystery to you. A very attractive mystery at that. One that you were determined to figure out.

However, as much as you tried, you never got the answer you were searching for.

It was always “business” or “nothing you’d find interesting, sweetheart”.

You never really gave it much thought when he offered those responses, you just accepted that Frank was not an open book. He was a locked book. One kept on the highest shelf that you’d probably never be able to reach.

And yet despite knowing all this you couldn’t help but wonder if your time away together had anything to do with his sudden absence.

You worried things would get awkward. Especially after having to share a bed together. He offered to sleep on the floor but you shot that down quick.

Not only would you feel enormously guilty having him sleep on the hardwood floor—he complained about his back a lot—but you were worried someone might walk in and your fake dating charade would unravel.

The silent crush you’d been harboring had only gotten louder after several days with Frank. Having to hold hands, talk sweetly to each other and even slow dance at the wedding had your mind all in a haze.

What was real and what wasn’t?

Did he feel anything? Or was he just a really good actor?

It was driving you crazy.

One thing was for certain, your family adored him. Especially your equally intimidating, hard-to-please father.

In fact, your dad liked him so much he invited him to go hunting in a few months.

It had taken years before he even extended an invite like that to your sister’s now husband.

You had to bite your lip to keep from laughing when you watched the way his eyes had widened and mouth parted when Frank agreed to go—your sister offering a reassuring pat to his arm.

You figured it had something to do with the fact they were both veterans. Your dad took an instant liking to anyone who could relate to the struggle and strength it took to serve in the military.

And your mother. The way she fawned over everything Frank said and did. His manners, how he consistently answered with “yes, ma’am” and “no, ma’am”.

She just about fell over when she came into the kitchen one morning to find he had managed to fix that pesky dishwasher that had been giving her trouble for months.

You smiled at the memory, but it disappeared as quickly as it came. Another thought had overshadowed it. One that caused a sudden pit to form in your stomach. How were you going to break the news to your family that things with Frank weren’t working out?

The plan was to give it a few weeks and then call to let them know you’d decided to take some time apart. You were both realizing you needed different things, but you would remain friends.

It sounded reasonable, but now? You didn’t think you could handle their disappointment.

You’d never seen them so proud of you. So happy for you. Pleasing your parents always felt like an impossible task. The closer you got there was always some dip in the road that caused that approval to move further and further away.

You finally bring someone home that they approved of only to rip the hope away from them. You were sure they’d find some way to blame it all on you.

You were starting to remember what it felt like when you told them you wouldn’t be going to college.

It didn’t matter that you were excellent at your job, managing both the bar and the restaurant on your own. It didn’t matter that you were able to make more than enough money to support yourself. And it certainly didn’t matter that you had helped exceed the profit goals of each quarter since you started.

It didn’t matter that you had been busting your ass to save back money to buy the place for yourself when the owner retired soon.

It only mattered that you didn’t have a “career” or a family to call your own.

Frank had picked up on the tension pretty early on. He did his best to talk you up. You found it sweet. Endearing even.

One night, while the two of you were dancing to some slow, sappy song your sister picked out, Frank called you out on your off demeanor.

You were surprised he noticed, you thought you had mastered the art of appearing fine when deep down you really weren’t.

“What’s on your mind, sweetheart?” he spoke lowly in your ear. One of his hands rested on the small of your back while the other held your hand close to his chest. His thumb ran back and forth along your hand and you tried to ignore the swarm of butterflies wreaking havoc on your stomach.

“I’m wondering how Uncle Steven has managed to go this long without throwing up. I thought for sure the cupid shuffle would’ve done it.”

Frank turned to look in the direction you were staring. Your Uncle Steven was somehow still performing the steps to the dance from 3 songs ago. Frank lightly chuckled as he watched Steven spill some of his beer on the couple next to him.

Though he couldn’t deny he was also wondering how the old man hadn’t crashed yet, he knew that’s not what you were really thinking about.

You were trying to deflect.

He was starting to learn just how stubborn you could be, but unlucky for you, Frank wasn’t gonna let you off the hook that easily.

“Nah that ain’t it.” he shook his head. “I can tell there’s a lot more going on behind those eyes.”

You were slightly relieved the lights were dim in the reception so he couldn’t see the deep blush heating up your face. You weren’t good at making eye contact with people you were crushing on.

“I think you’re imagining things.” you replied avoiding his gaze. “I’m just tired, I think this week is finally catching up to me.”

“Hm.” Frank hummed.

“What?”

“I think we’re about to have our first fight.”

You scoffed, ”Oh yeah? and what’s this ‘first fight’ gonna be about?”

“How you’re lying to your boyfriend.” he replied, speaking low into your ear again. It shouldn’t have caused the hairs on your neck to stand up but it certainly did.

“Look, you listen to assholes mope and complain all day long about their sad fucked up lives. I think it’s only fair to return the favor.” he shrugged. “So tonight i’ll do your job and you can let it all out right now. Minus the crude comments and shitty tips.”

You were about to laugh and lightly shove Frank for messing with you, but the look on his face made you pause.

He was being serious.

“Is it your folks?” he asked. “I saw your face when your dad gave that speech. That smile you were forcin’, it didn’t reach your eyes.”

You bit your lip and lowered your stare to the dress shirt he was wearing, playing nervously with one of the buttons to avoid looking up at him.

“That obvious huh?” you laughed sadly.

Frank felt bad as he watched the hurt wash over your features. He knew all too well the overwhelming pressure to please one’s family. He grew up with an overbearing father who never thought he’d amount to anything.

He knew how much that disappointment could eat you alive.

“It’s just, no matter what I do. I know my dad will never speak about me the way he does my sister. She’s an ivy league graduate who just got into med school. She’s married now, moving to a new city and probably going to be popping out kids before the end of next year. and me? In his eyes I'm just a bartender in a small town with no ambitious goal in sight.”

Frank nodded in understanding. He could see from the outside how the comparison could make you feel that way.

“Are you happy?”

You thought about it for a second. Even though the job had its ups and downs—managing a restaurant and a busy bar was no easy feat—you could honestly say you enjoyed what you did.

You got to know a lot of the locals well and it always made you feel good to know that you’d helped make their day or night a little better.

You loved the house you recently bought. It was a bit of a fixer upper but it was yours.

You loved how independent you were. How you could come home after a long day and you didn’t have to cook for a litter of kids.

It was just your dog, cat and you.

“Honestly? Yeah, I think I am.”

“Then fuck em.” he shrugged.

“Frank I-”

“Nah, nah.” he cut you off. “I know that’s your family but that don’t mean they’re always right. If you like what you do and you’re happy then who gives a shit what anyone else thinks.”

You processed Frank’s words and while you knew he was probably right, it didn’t mean it was easy to just tune out your parents’ criticism.

Frank seemed to know what you weren’t saying out loud because he followed it up with something that made your heart swell.

“All i’m saying is if they can look at you and what you’re doing and feel anything but proud there’s something wrong with ‘em. Not you.”

You could’ve kissed him right there but the song had ended and couples were clearing the dance floor.

Instead you walked back to the table with Frank, your arm looped through his.

You couldn’t help but think about how this man was screwing with your heart and your head and he didn’t even know it.

That much was still true all these days later. At this point you were dying for him to show up again.

Even if he didn’t talk to you, you’d at least know he wasn’t avoiding this whole place because of you.

The night was winding down, the 2 am crowd had begun to disperse and your eyes were fighting hard to stay awake. You’d chosen to work a double today, one of the other bartenders had a family emergency.

In your 20s you could work shifts like this and bounce right back the next day but now? In your 30s you were lucky if you managed to wake up without an achy back and sore feet.

“Phil, I'm gonna run the last of the trash out and then I'm heading home. I left the keys to lock up in the front drawer.” you shouted to the line cook in the back.

You could see him mopping up the kitchen floor so you knew he wouldn’t be too far behind you.

“You sure you don’t want me to go with ya this time?” he shouted back, “I’d hate for a creepy critter to make you run like you’d seen a ghost again.”

You rolled your eyes as Phil roared with laughter. Referencing the one time a little group of racoons had taken up residence inside the restaurant dumpster and sent you running like Freddy Krueger himself was chasing you.

“I think i’ll manage this time Phil, thanks for looking out.” you replied playfully.

You picked up the large trash bags and backed into the front door to head out. It was really inconvenient but they recently had moved the trash compactor across the street.

Not only was it annoying during the day when the streets were busy but it was extra spooky at night.

Once you were out of the door you turned around only to gasp and drop the trash bags you were holding.

“Jesus, Frank.” you cried, “What the hell were you trying to do, give me a fucking heart attack?”

You were too distracted by the adrenaline coursing through your veins to realize the man you’d been waiting to see for the last two weeks was finally standing in front of you.

“My bad, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that. I tried to go by your place and you weren’t there so I figured you might be here.”

You blew out a puff of hair and a couple pieces of your hair went flying.

“You were looking for me?”

“Yeah, sorry I know it’s late. I wanted to make sure you got this back. Somehow I think it got mixed up in my things.”

Frank pulled out a pink phone charger from his jacket pocket and extended it out to you.

You had a million of these things scattered around your house so you honestly hadn’t noticed it was missing. It was sweet of him to bring it back to you though.

“Oh Frank, you didn’t have to worry about that.” you replied, walking forward to retrieve it. “But thank you”.

You beamed a genuine smile at Frank while holding up the charger in your hand and he thought his heart had grown 2 sizes. Just like the Grinch his kids used to watch.

There was something about your smile that always stopped him in his tracks. He would never get tired of seeing it.

“Nah it’s nothin’.” he shrugged. “May I?”

He gestured toward the garbage bags sitting on the ground and bent over to pick them up.

“You don’t have to!” you tried to stop him, but subconsciously you knew it would be pointless.

Frank was always a gentleman and while he knew you would have no trouble carrying them on your own, he wouldn’t feel right not offering a hand.

“Can I atleast carry one of them?” you asked sweetly.

There was that damn smile again. How could he say no?

The two of you walked in silence for a bit, it wasn’t awkward but it was clear you were both trying to think of what to say next.

How do two people that recently spent a week pretending to be a couple go back to normal?

You decided to break the silence as the two of you walked back toward the bar.

“I, um, never got to properly thank you for helping with my family. I know it was probably a bit weird but it meant more to me than you could ever know. I think my parents would’ve had us get married that same night if it were up to them.” you laughed, playing nervously with your hands.

“Is that right?” Franked looked down at you with an amused expression.

“God, yes. I think you’re probably gonna be the only guy I bring home that they will ever like. I actually feel bad for the next guy that has to live up to the great Frank Castle.” you nudged him as you walked and he let out the most glorious laugh you’d ever heard.

You wanted to hear that more.

“Well if i’m the measuring stick for all the future men in your life then it’s your parents I feel sorry for.”

“Hey!” you exclaimed, playfully swatting his shoulder, “What do you mean by ‘all the future men in your life’? You think I still got a revolving door of men to get through before I finally settle down?”

It was meant to be playful banter, but there was a look that settled in Frank’s eyes and the mood suddenly got a bit more serious.

“I sure hope not.”

You weren’t sure how to take his comment. Maybe you were over analyzing but there was a part of you that was hoping he said that because he wanted you.

Wishful thinking of course.

You cleared your throat to help ease the tension.

“So, you just get back from whatever mystery place you squandered off to?”

“Just taking care of some business, sweetheart.”

That famous phrase again. You simply nodded. Accepting once again that you would probably not get any further information than that.

“But you know it’s funny.” he smiled, shoving his hands in his pockets. “There I was, lying in bed in some run down roach motel off the highway, having a hell of time trying to fall asleep each night.

“It coulda been the state of the motel—that place was a real shitbox—but the more I laid there, the more I realized it felt like I was missing something.”

Frank started fidgeting a bit. Almost like he was nervous or something. It was strange. You didn't think a guy like him got nervous.

“I realized, I kinda liked sharing the bed with you.”

Your heart started hammering away in your chest. Did you hear him right? Frank Castle liked sharing a bed with you? So much so that it was keeping him up at night?

You had to be dreaming.

“Really?”

You tried to act nonchalant but the word came out all high and squeaky. You don’t think Frank noticed though.

“Yeah, believe it or not I’d gotten so used to having no covers at night, I just tossed the damn thing on the ground.”

You gasped and punched his shoulder slightly. “Hey, I warned you I would probably take all the blankets. You coulda pulled them right back.”

Frank laughed again.

“Nah, you were too cute wrapped up like a burrito. Besides, I was more worried if I tried you’d whack my head or kick my nuts. You sure do move around a lot in your sleep.”

You feigned hurt, placing a hand to your chest.

“And just why do you miss sharing a bed with me so much? It doesn't sound so pleasant based on what you’re saying.”

Frank looked off and smiled. “I don’t know.”

A comfortable silence fell between the two of you.

“Look, uh, I’m not really good at this. I’ve been out of the game for a long time so you’ll have to forgive me but-”

“Frank Castle.” you cut him off.

“Yeah?”

“Are you about to ask if you can sleep in my bed tonight?”

Frank’s eyebrows shot up and a panicked sort of look took residence on his face. “Shit, no I didn’t mean it like that. I was just-”

He stopped when he saw you throw your head back in laughter.

“What?” he asked, trying to fight off the smile that was beginning to form on his own face. Your laugh was just too damn contagious.

“I’m sorry,” you said between breaths,”You shoulda seen your face. I was just messing with you Frank.”

“Oh yeah?” he laughed, poking your side. “You think that shit was funny huh?”

Suddenly you felt yourself being lifted off the ground and over Frank’s shoulder. “I can be real fucking hilarious. How about I carry you home just like this?”

“Frank!” you screamed playfully, swatting at his back. “Put me down you asshole!”

“No, I think I like this view better.”

You continued to hit his back and laugh. You were just about to come back with your own smart comment when you heard a car pull up beside you.

“Is everything alright here?”

You turned to look, adjusting your hair so it was out of your face. It was an officer staring at you both with a confused expression.

You could’ve sworn you heard Frank growl a little bit.

“Uh we’re good officer!” you smiled, giving him a thumbs up.

“She had a bit too much to drink tonight. Tried to drive home. Just makin sure she gets home safe. She’s a stubborn thing.” Frank spoke up, making sure to pat your ass for dramatic effect.

The officer seemed to buy this story.

“Well miss, you got a good man there. You should probably listen to him more often.” he replied before rolling up the window.

You gasped and Frank roared with laughter.

“Thanks officer!” he shouted as the man drove away.

You poked his side hard and he finally released you, setting you down in front of him. Your faces were real close together now, and the smiles you both had slowly fell.

There was a quiet moment before you quickly leaned in and kissed Frank. He seemed surprised at first but thankfully responded and pulled you in tighter.

His hands roamed your body while yours held his face.

You pulled away gently, and he rested his forehead on yours.

“You know, I thought you’d been avoiding me.” you said quietly.

“Yeah?” he replied, moving a piece of hair behind your ear.

“I know you disappear sometimes but I thought this time was gonna be different.”

Frank nodded, running his hands down your shoulders before grabbing both of your hands in his own.

“You know, I got a confession.” he said quietly, “I swiped that phone charger before we left.”

You leaned back and looked up at him.

“What?”

He let out a soft chuckle. “I know it’s stupid but I wanted an excuse to see you again. Like I said, it's been a while since I’ve done anything like this and I didn’t think I could just approach you in the bar like before.”

“It’s not stupid.” you smiled, squeezing his hands. “It’s sweet.”

“So i’m sweet now? Just a second ago I was a asshole.”

“Both can be true.” you shrugged.

He scoffed. “Come here.”

Frank pulled you into him and you wrapped your arms around his waist. He placed a kiss on your head and it suddenly felt like it did when you were with your parents.

It just felt natural.

“Let me take you out.” he said, pulling back and tilting your chin up at him. “On a real date.”

You bit your lip and smiled, “I’d like that.”

“Good.” he replied before kissing you again.

“Now let’s go before that cop comes back around and you gotta act drunk for him.”

You rolled your eyes, “Whatever you say, Frank. I gotta listen to you more right?”

“Attagirl.” he smiled, before putting his arm around your shoulder.

[panthrology]

ok first off love the geto fic!!!!! but i was thinking geto checking readers attitude. shes been on one all day and he just is finally over it. (maybe pussy slapping if comfortable with)

hii ‼️ thank you so much, appreciate the love from everyone 🙈☺️ MWAH

context

cw : pussy slapping & brat taming. that's it tbh.

but yeah anon I hear ya. though since suguru's generally on the more chill side, I don't feel like he'd brat tame you in a way that's more hands on..at first.

in fact I think his way of brat taming you is simply doing nothing in your favor until you cave.

I doubt he'd mind at first, simply taking the unnecessary arguments, eyerolls, and snide comments all day. maybe even return your energy back a little.

but as time goes on his patience would thin, and your bad attitude would gradually start to piss him off. love takes patience, he knows that much; but when you bug him about this, or that in an argumentative manner with no valid reason, he finds you difficult to put up with.

especially after that little stunt you pulled last night.

“hey.” suguru interrupts your meaningless rant about him buying almond milk instead of regular milk and blah blah blah. if you really gave a fuck, you would've joined him on the grocery shopping.

“is this what we're doin’ right now?”

the ambiguity of his question makes you falter, meeting his gaze which..seems to be unusually intense.

“what?” your face scrunches up in confusion, “what are you even talkin’ about?”

oh, okay. he tongues the inside of his cheek slightly, it's milk for christ's sake.

“don't be like that. you know damn well that you need to fix that attitude and calm down.”

you scoff, not believing that your attitude is the most irksome.

“yeah, ‘cause my attitude is the biggest problem right now. don't piss me off suguru—you can't avoid and evade with your nonchalance out of this one.”

oh.

okay.

“it's like I gotta discipline you like a little girl, d'you even think about that?”

suguru asks, voice breathless as he watches you from above. arm slung over the back of the couch and you—kneeling between his spread knees and gagging with his cock stretching your mouth. “but I bet you didn't even do that. can't think with dick down your throat, can you?”

he sees the dip in your brow and grins, taking pleasure in the current power imbalance between you both. he could get used to this.

but as you raise your head to argue again, he simply keeps a firm hand atop your head, forcing you to take him down deeper. “..it'd be in your best interest not to argue with me, sweetheart.”

fine, you sharply inhale through your nostrils. if you ignore the sodden panties sticking to your skin—pussy calling for his name in morse code, you think you can soften him up a bit.

you suck him, slowly but surely while your hands stroke where your lips can't reach, your challenging gaze meeting suguru's own.

he keeps his hand firm on your head, lips parted and head tilted back against the sofa, making sure he keeps your mouth fully occupied. his toes curl inwards under his socks when you begin to bob your head, pleasure liquifying his legs.

you make a gargled noise when his bulbous tip nudges the back of your throat, reaching another hand further down—right down to give his balls a gentle squeeze.

“fuuckk—mhmm..you know what I like,” he moans in appreciation before closing his fist around your hair in a makeshift ponytail and yanks you off of him. “alright, enough. get up here.”

that didn't take very long, you think.

wiping your mouth from the spit and his pre, you rise with wobbly knees and plop next to him on the couch. he spreads your thighs in no time at all, kneeling between them. you sigh, sinking into the couch while your lids slip shut. waiting for his touch.

but nothing comes.

when you reopen your eyes, a smug suguru stares back at you and even lets a little chuckle slip. “funny how you just assumed that i’d give you what you want after your poor attitude.” suguru's eyes twinkle with amusement, tracing light touches against the gentle curve of your abdomen. gentle, soft, nowhere near enough.

“god, suguru, please! i said i was sorry.” frustration creeps into your tone, and you toss your head back onto the armrest.

“did you?” that simple question and the look he gives you makes you question yourself, the realisation that you in fact did not hit you like a truck.

shamefully, you avert your gaze. “..sorry.”

yet all you get is a head shake from suguru, lips pursed in a thin line, trace, trace, trace.

“the nerve. all that rudeness ‘n for what? i’m nothing but good to you..”

he trails off, observing the way your skin rises when his feather-like touch grazes your belly button, dipping his fingers lower to tug your underwear all the way down, flicking it off your ankle. “i still don't know where you get the audacity.” he smirks.

your pulse quickens, watching the way his knuckles brush against your inner thigh, going up, up.

you feel it before you hear it—a swift ‘smack!’ against your bare cunt has you whimpering and seizing up. the pain knocks you off your guard, before it bleeds into pleasure, the new feeling making you completely disoriented.

once suguru sees your shocked, wide-eyed gaze, his ego swells and he folds his arms, staring you down as if he were daring you to say anything—to backtalk him again.

beats of silence pass and the weight of what suguru just did barely has time to sink in before he does it again. it's wetter this time and has more momentum. the collision you makes your hips jolt violently, and your legs hike up to your chest as you flinch and cry out his name. hot tears slip from their confines and roll down your cheeks.

suguru, however, is having a time. he brings his hand up to the dim lighting of the room, watching your glistening slick coat his fingertips and palm before he speaks, his tone almost scrutinising.

“of course, you'd get wet from me rightfully putting you in your place. nasty girl,” he purrs before popping two fingers into his mouth, the familiar taste of you flooding his senses.

“sugu—” you choke on a little sob, wiping your tears with the back of your hand. you can still feel the sting right on your clit.

“i'm sorry, i'm so so sorry. won't happen again.”

“yeah, it will. you're not foolin’ anybody here.” suguru rolls his eyes, swiping his forefinger against your swollen nub and your legs jitter at the contact. “y'know this is what happens to brats who can't check themselves, right?” he asks rhetorically.

he meets your gaze. “and I like to think that I have a good girl, who can behave in a way that doesn't have to make me do things like this.”

you nod weakly.

“thats what I know.” he nods once and pulls away. “i'll think about accepting your apology, but that depends on how well you can make me cum.” you hate to hear it. it takes everything in you not to groan or roll your eyes..but your heart jumps at the chance of redemption.

“c'mon then, on your knees pretty.”

© NEPTNSZN 2024 ★ please do NOT copy, repost or modify my pieces, apply credit when necessary.

[numberonetacostan]

It bothers me a little bit when people act like Pickel would be a jerk to Taco because he didn't accept Taco's apology.

Sure they aren't on good terms but he's not an asshole he's basically just a regular guy who got caught up in Taco's act because he was one of the people who wasn't an bitch to her s1 act.

I was reading a fic (for the tacomic because I have brain worms) and Taco hits her head, passes out, Pickle says she deserves it, Mic yells at him and he punches her in the face (also she starts bleeding and he just doesn't care that he made someone unconscious bleed).

I don't mean to rip on that author in paticular, that's just an example but he wouldn't do that, he has the right to reject her apology but he isn't a horrible person who'd leave her if she was seriously injured or genuinely struggling.

Hi there!!!!^^ Welcome, and thank you for submitting an ask!!!! :)

Gah, you're so right. I thoroughly disagree with the notion that Pickle would enjoy seeing Taco hurt or suffering. He would not!!! He wouldn't be mean to her at all!! At most I can see him making a snide comment or two, to himself or maybe Knife, if he's upset at her while she's around. He's been really hurt by her, he doesn't want to forgive her or be friends with her again, but he would never harm her, wish her harm, or enjoy her being harmed, at this point. Intrusive-y, very emotional thoughts at the very beginning when he was at his lowest due to her betrayal, he may have had a stray thought, but that's in a normal person-who-is-deeply-hurt way rather than him actually wanting to go through with it.

Yeah I agree I must say the line. He would not fucking say that. Nor would he do that, I'd agree that's very out of character for him.

Though also yes, no shame to that author!!! Out of character can work for some plots, especially rollercoaster-type emotional ones and in fanfictions! Even if I prefer more in-character things I am not immune to it. Sometimes I think characters should kiss before they would realistically be at that stage in their relationship in the plot, yeah? We all do it, I think.

But I agree with your assessment that Pickle would not actually do such a thing. He may not want to forgive her or want a relationship with her but he would not harm her nor ignore her if she was harmed.

[k1ngdom-of-thieves]

Can I ask for hcs of Jamil, Kalim, and Najma(you don’t have to do Najma if you don’t write for side characters) with a gn! Reader that is like a mix of Aladdin and the Genie? (And if you are writing Najma too can i have a little jasmine and Aladdin moment between the reader and her?)

Thank you! And don’t worry, I write for the side characters too!

Jamil, Kalim, and Najma + Reader with Aladdin/Genie Traits!

Jamil Viper

At first, Jamil didn’t care for you and your antics. As long as you didn’t endanger Kalim or his own sanity, he was fine to just leave you be.

As you two started getting closer though, he found himself laughing at your jokes and snide comments. Sometimes he would even make some himself.

He found himself envying your free spirit. No one could tell you what to do and how to act, you were your own force of nature. A stark contrast to the life he lives.

The two of you talk about places you’d like to travel to. It was both yours and Jamil’s wish to travel the world, maybe even together.

You manage to teach him to loosen up, just a little. If he isn’t watching after Kalim, you might be able to rope him into some stupid shenanigans. As long as the consequences aren’t too severe, he does still have to look good for house Al Asim.

“I had a feeling you were the cause of all this noise. No, I’m not helping you hide from Housewarden Riddle, that’s your fault for trying to pickpocket his watch.”

Kalim Al Asim

Kalim loves the energy that you have! You two are practically always together, making jokes and planning tricks.

You are invited to every party Scarabia hosts; you always end up having the best party tricks. Sometimes people show up just to see what you come up with this time.

Even outside of parties, you guys are inseparable. During classes, you are the professor’s worst migraine but somehow still manage to get your work done before the bell.

He invites you to ride the flying carpet fairly often. You look around the entire dorm while talking about pretty much anything. He trusts you a ton, and tells you everything that’s on his mind.

“Hey! Are you free this Thursday? I’m throwing a party to celebrate the end of midterms. It’d be great if you could swing on by, everyone loved your ‘one person band’ routine.”

Najma Viper

Najma absolutely loves your company. You guys are always doing something stupid, like running from the street vendors, or just mildly bothering Jamil.

Your jokes make her double over in laughter. You know those conversations where everyone keeps adding to the joke until no one can talk with how hard they’re laughing? That’s a regular occurrence with you guys.

She’s amazed when you show off your talents to her. Especially if you manage to swipe her earring without her noticing! Just be sure to give it back.

Even when you guys are being serious, she really appreciates that you’ve always got her back. No matter the circumstance, she knows she can turn to you to lend an ear.

“Hey! Can you do that card trick again? I wanna give my brother a scare before he heads off for the day.”

[improbablescience]

Yes/No/Pumpkin Soup

New Skyward Sword Fic: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65538517

Summary:

Zelda and Link are supposed to go flying after classes are done for the week, but she wakes up sick. Someone on tumblr pointed out that sometimes Link’s Skyward Sword dialog options are like “yes/no/random rude or intrusive thought he just had” so I thought it would be funny to write some dialog choices in a simple story inspired by the way the scenes change tone but move on no matter what you pick in this game.

Excerpt:

Everyone told her that things would change once Link started at the academy, that it was normal for them to not get quite as much time together. But none of those people had ever had a friend like Link. She was convinced they would find a way. He was great at flying, so he wasn’t going to need nearly as much practice as the others and that would leave more time for flying with her just like they always had. Sure, maybe they wouldn’t be able to sit on the tiniest sky islands for hours making up stories about the world below, but surely they’d still be able to play catch and stuff since that was just normal aerial practice. What she hadn’t counted on was that while Link was great at flying, he was not great at the more mundane parts of the academic work. His absent-mindedness resulted in a lot of “stay after class and finish this” and his skill in the air even made things worse because everyone expected him to stay grounded to finish stuff since he didn’t need the extra practice in the air.

She’d tried helping him with schoolwork so they’d get a bit more time together, but people kept insinuating that she was being too bossy and Link needed to step up academically without her help. Without her! How dare they! He was her best friend! And she wasn’t bossy, she was just better at deadlines than Link was so it just made sense. Link himself actually thanked her for her help, but the constant snide comments from the others wore on her, and finally they’d settled on a regular thing where they sat down and just worked in the same room without her actively helping him too much. She’d read or practice music while he did schoolwork. It was better than not seeing him at all, but she was finding herself increasingly grumpy with all the indoors time. And Link, for all that he wasn’t good at schoolwork, was very good at reading her moods.

Link dialog options: [Zzzzz…] [[You need to leave.]] [Are you ok?]

“You need to leave.”

“What? Are you kicking me out of our study session?”

“Zelda, you need to go fly. You’re just not meant to be cooped up in here with me and it’s making you unhappy.”

“But I want to be with you and you’re here.” She responded, trying to make it sound sweet and not like she was being a petulant child.

Link dialog options: [[Go fly.]] [Quit whining.] [Never mind.]

[Read the rest on AO3]

[penny00dreadful]

Part 10

[Part 1] [Part 9] [AO3] [Cover Art] [Eddie&Chrissy Art]

They were nearly there. They had nearly made it. Only a couple more days to go and they would be on the road back to Torthúil. All they needed to do was keep their heads down and exist for the next forty-eight hours and everything would be fine.

Some of their things were already starting to be packed, aside from what they would need for the next two days were being sent away ahead of time.

Chrissy’s rooms were slowly being emptied along with Eddie’s. 

Chrissy had made the decision to send some of her more valuable things ahead, not trusting that if they were still here when she left with them, to be sent off behind them, that they would ever make it to the other kingdom. 

She had also quietly tucked some of Max’s belongings away in her own trunks.

While they weren’t stealing Max from the kingdom, they were not exactly going to be shouting about it either.

Steve got the impression that if Billy knew that Max was planning to leave with them, that he would put a stop to it just to be a petulant shit.

He was no longer attempting to win Steve’s favour. 

Far from it.

Billy’s attitude had shifted after the library confrontation, barely paying Steve any attention, almost in a condescending way, like he was just waiting for Steve to slink over and beg to be looked upon again.

Steve nearly snorted at the thought.

He’d be waiting a long time.

But now, ever since Steve had all but demanded that Eddie would be coming with them, no matter what the Hargroves or even the queen herself had said, Billy’s attitude had turned completely sour.

He glared and snarled whenever he could, his eyes burned into the back of Steve’s head from the end of hallways and across courtyards, he’d made snide comments about how close Steve and Eddie had gotten, attempting to insinuate to everyone that they were sleeping together.

Attempting to insinuate that Steve had taken a lowly commoner into his bed.

Which wasn’t untrue. They were fucking. But Steve wouldn’t have used such cruel words. 

And luckily for them all, the entire court was still convinced that Eddie and Chrissy were warming each other’s bed at night so no one really took Billy seriously.

That would have been a comfort if it didn’t appear to piss him off even more.

Steve just shrugged it off.

He didn’t care what Billy fucking Hargrove thought.

He should have been more concerned.

The air around the stands was electric.

Steve had not realised how much he had missed the horses and the crowds and the energy around an event.

While he wasn’t even in the arena yet, he could feel it buzzing through his bones and even the whispers that had surrounded him as he made his way down to the fair grounds did nothing to dampen his mood.

People were talking about the Flower Prince. 

The soft, delicate, pretty-boy prince who wore florals and lace and always kept his circlet perfectly placed atop his carefully maintained hair thought that he was going to take part in the joust.

They thought it was laughable.

Even Billy himself had snidely wished him luck as he crossed around to the opposite end of the arena, calling him a Flower Prince and looking at Steve’s armour almost with amusement. 

True, his armour wasn’t the standard regular armour but he was also not a standard regular man.

The steel was polished to a shine, gleaming and pristine, delicate metalwork bolted in in the shape of flowers and vines, tree branches and filigree, all with a luxurious green cape settled comfortably over his shoulders. 

His circlet was missing. It would never fit under his helm.

He’d been hovering behind the stands, watching the jousters through the legs of the people sitting above him, not wanting to enter the arena himself before it was his time to go. 

He’d even managed to find a small area he could slip in, unseen and hide underneath, watching almost as if he was amongst the stands himself.

He couldn’t see Robin or Eddie or Chrissy from where he was but he knew they were somewhere nearby, somewhere above where he was currently peeking out through wood and fabric to watch the two Stoirmeach knights on their third round, astride their horses line up at opposite sides of the list, their lances pointed towards the sky.

Once the flag was raised, they kicked off, riding hard towards each other, both bringing their lances down to point forward.

With a twang of steel and the splintering of wood, one of the riders' lances broke off, striking hard against his opponent's arm. 

They continued to ride until they got to their respective sides of the tilt rail and the winner was proclaimed.

Steve could feel anticipation swirling in his gut as the new set of challengers were announced, slipping out from underneath the stands and only getting a passing glance at Billy as he paraded around the arena on his horse, waving out to the crowd, giving a bashful head tilt to the queen, bringing his hand to his chest.

Steve rolled his eyes, pushing himself up onto his own horse and giving him a gentle nudge forward with his heels as his name was announced.

He still had his helm off and he knew he wasn’t the most well loved guy jousting today, but he still received hearty cheers as he made his rounds, spotting Chrissy sitting up in the royal box with Eddie and Robin in the stands just to the side of her.

Even if the royal box hadn’t drawn his attention, Steve didn’t think he could have missed all three of them no matter what.

Chrissy’s bright blonde hair, Eddie’s dark leathers, Robin’s loud clothes. 

They all stuck out.

Steve shot them his most charming smile, slowly pulling his horse around and heading towards them, coming to a stop just in front.

The air smelled of the sea and grass, the sky was grey, the sun was hidden, the crowd was cheering and Eddie was beautiful, looking down on him from his slightly higher vantage point with a light blush over his cheeks.

Steve would have been confused if not for Chrissy, leaning down over the railing to hand him her favour, something that he would wear as he jousted for luck and as a sign of devotion.

But as he raised a gauntleted hand to take it, Chrissy gently passed over a flower, black as night with dark velvety petals, the unusual smell of warm woody spices coming from its pollen.

Eddie’s ears went pink as Steve took it with a grin, bringing it up to his nose to inhale its strange and alluring scent that he was addicted to now, not breaking eye contact with him.

Chrissy glanced back and when she saw the embarrassed state of Eddie’s face, she tried and failed to hide a snort.

From the vantage point of everyone else, it would look like Chrissy had just gifted him her luck and he had taken it with love but those who knew, knew.

Steve brushed the petals along his neck, almost coyly, with a small grin on his face before tucking it safely and securely inside his breastplate, over his heart.

Eddie seemed to be fighting with himself to keep his grin from exploding across his face but it was a losing battle.

Though he could have stayed there all day, watching Eddie get slowly more and more bashful, he had a job to do, a joust to win.

There would be plenty of time to paint a blush over his cheeks later.

They had the rest of their lives for it, after all.

Turning his horse about again, Steve rode back to his own side of the lists, taking his helm from Lucas and cramming it over his head, watching through the slits as Billy got ready on his own side.

The world seemed to slow around him and all that was going through Steve’s mind was Billy’s hands on Eddie, pressing him into the bookshelves, hovering his mouth close with a smile that told them that Eddie wasn’t in a position to say no.

Even aside from that, all of the instances of Billy dismissing Chrissy or Robin or even the insidious hints of cruelty towards Max swirled around him, getting his blood pumping.

Steve wanted to throttle him.

He had four passes to beat him and Steve would beat him. He would have loved to have taken part in the full tournament but no one wanted to take the risk of badly injuring, potentially fatally injuring a prince, if something went catastrophically wrong. 

No one apart from Billy.

The arrogant prick.

With the sound of a trumpet blasting through the air, Steve spurred his horse forward.

Taking off at a gallop, he sped forward, bringing the lance down to point directly at Billy’s shield.

He would have loved to strike him in the head, knock that cocky smile off of his face that Steve could practically feel as they got closer and closer, but that would have been very bad sportsmanship.

He felt the impact before he registered it.

His arm was forced back as his lance shattered against Billy's breastplate and his shoulder was left throbbing at the blow of Billy’s own lance against it, which now lay shattered on the ground. 

It was clear that Billy had no such qualms about aiming for his head. 

But thankfully he had missed and hit him in the shoulder.

They rounded back to their starting points, still with three tilts to go. 

At least Steve was in the lead.

While Billy had only struck his arm, he had struck Billy’s chest and both of their lances had broken, so they were both still in the race.

If a lance remained unbroken, they didn’t land a hit or a rider remained unhorsed, then it was an automatic loss.

Apart from that, they gained points based on where they hit.

Steve was ahead and he would stay ahead if it killed him. He was not going to let Billy win.

While it was nerve wracking and aggravating to go up against him, all of that didn’t tamp down the thrill of competing, the thrill of competing in front of Eddie.

He had to stop himself from getting distracted numerous times, stop himself from glancing over to see through the visor of his helm what Eddie was making of all of this.

He had to stay focused.  

After two more passes, the two of them were evenly drawn and it was Steve’s last chance to win, otherwise they would end in a draw.

They set off again, things moving in slow motion as Steve brought his lance down to point directly at Billy. 

He felt the impact again through his chest where Billy had struck him, but also through his arm as he caught Billy in the stomach.

Billy’s rear left his saddle and as his horse continued to gallop forward, he tipped, falling to the ground with a painful sounding crunch of metal.

Steve couldn’t help the whoop that burst out of him, raising his broken lance up into their air in celebration.

He’d unseated Billy, he’d won.

The crowds around him were cheering, some brave souls were booing, but he didn’t care. As he turned his horse back, he could happily ignore the death glare and almost physical feeling of violence coming from Billy’s eyes, staring him down like he wanted to rip him limb from limb and instead, focus on Robin, Eddie and Chrissy, who had all jumped to their feet and were cheering and waving along with most of the rest of the crowd.

The king and queen had remained seated, the king looking like he was barely even aware of what was going on in front of him, lost in his own world, and the queen, glaring out at Steve in much the same way Billy had been, her mouth turned down almost into a snarl.

Billy was arguing with the judges, shouting and waving his arms around, occasionally pointing over at Steve.

But Steve didn’t care.

They would be out of here soon enough and he just could not find any more fucks to give about what she thought about him.

He’d whisk these people away and they would never ever have to come back and experience this misery ever again if he had anything to say about it.

Steve handed his lance off to Lucas who staggered a little under the weight, but was able to right himself easily.

He handed his helm and the reins off to Hopper and swung himself down from his horse.

It took him nearly twenty minutes to pull himself away from the throng of Torthúil guards surrounding him, clapping him on the back and congratulating him on his win but by the time he had, Eddie had disappeared from the stands.

Chrissy and Robin were still up there, having sat back down, Chrissy watching the ongoing tilt with so much enthusiasm Steve wondered if she had a desire to sit astride a horse herself with a lance in her hand.

He managed to extract himself, still armoured and caped from the throng that had gathered around him, able to direct them to watch the fierce competition going on in front of them, the hoofbeats and clang of wood on metal tempting enough to distract them, allowing him to slip away unseen.

He rounded the back of the stands, intending to tramp up and down over and over again if he had to, to find Eddie but he needn’t have worried.

Eddie had apparently broken away just to wait for him, hovering behind the stands, his face breaking into a wide delighted smile when Steve came into sight.

He looked like he wanted to jump at him, almost stuttering in his movements like he was about to throw his arms around him and it was with a slight bittersweet disappointment that they both held themselves back.

Even back here and even with most people watching the joust in the arena, there would still be too many eyes watching and Steve didn’t want to make things more difficult for Eddie than they needed to be if they got caught in an intimate embrace between a ‘commoner’ and the crown prince of a foreign kingdom.

Still, as Steve took his last few steps forward, he had to get his hands on Eddie, he had to, and he refused to wait until they were home free back in Torthúil. 

He, at the very least, needed to touch him, just once more.

The smell from the nightbloom flower was drifting up from where he had it stashed inside his breastplate, a scent that he had come to associate with Eddie and everything he loved about him and it was almost acting like an intoxicant, fulling Steve’s need to get his mouth on him yesterday.

With an almost impulsive lack of care of those surrounding them, he grabbed at Eddie’s wrist and started to drag him back, towards that gap in the stands that he had discovered earlier on that day.

Eddie made a surprised noise in his throat as Steve all but shoved him against one of the wooden beams and descended on him, adrenaline still high in his blood.

Eddie met him with an equal hunger, grabbing at Steve’s hair and nipping at his lips with sharp teeth, the cacophonous sound of the joust and the crowd above them fading into the background as Steve tried to pour as much of his love and affection and downright horniness into Eddie’s open mouth through his exploring tongue as humanly possible.

“Fuck,” Eddie sighed as Steve moved his attentions down to his neck, using those inked in vines and leaves as a guide for his mouth, something that was quickly becoming his favourite map to follow. “You were so fucking hot down there. I was ready to jump your bones.”

Steve hummed against Eddie’s throat, wondering just how far he could justify going, hidden away as they were.

“I did it for you.”

Eddie blinked at him, his mouth hanging open ever so slightly. “For me?” He asked, confused.

“Mhm.” Steve grinned against his skin. “No one gets to treat you the way he did and get away with it. Not while I’m standing.”

“Oh,” Eddie scoffed a little, almost disbelieving. “All of this for little old me?”

“All of it for you, my love.” Steve rumbled, pulling his head back to look Eddie in the eye. He brought his hand up to cup the side of his face, gently brushing his thumb along his cheekbone as Eddie’s arms migrated down to hold him tight around the waist.

Eddie’s cheek grew warmer underneath Steve’s thumb.

“I would do anything for you.”

Eddie leaned into Steve’s hand, turning to kiss his palm.

“You actually mean that, don’t you?” He muttered, lips brushing against Steve’s skin.

“I do.”

Eddie let out a little high pitched giggle and seemed surprised at himself for doing so, like he hadn’t expected to make a sound like that. It was the cutest thing Steve had ever seen.

“How are you even real?” Eddie whispered to him, leaning forward.

“You keep asking me that.” Steve whispered back, bringing his thumb down to brush at Eddie’s plump bottom lip.

“Because you keep being stupidly perfect.”

“Well,” Steve grinned, moving his hand around to the back of Eddie’s head, burying it into the curls there. “I’ll just have to continue doing that.”

Before Eddie could respond, Steve brought their mouths back together, almost unable to kiss due to the matching deliriously happy smiles they had on their faces.

They were so wrapped up in each other that they were ignorant to the world around them, the sounds of cheering, the smell of sea salt in the air and the pair of piercing blue eyes glaring at them through the slats of the stands.

Steve woke up unusually early the next morning, his body aching from the joust the day before and the side of his bed mournfully but expectedly empty.

Ever since that night that Steve had slept in Eddie’s arms, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it. 

They’d been unable to repeat the experience, mainly because of how it had ended. 

It just wasn’t safe. 

It had been an accident that it had happened in the first place, but Steve kept his hopes up thinking that once they were out of here and back in Torthúil, he would be able to set Eddie up in a room on his corridor. 

Maybe he could even have Eddie move into Robin’s room right next to his. Surely Robin would be more than happy to move into the room next to Chrissy’s but he wouldn’t do anything without talking to her first.

His room was almost empty, most of his stuff being packed away already, only leaving him with the bare necessities he’d need. 

They were due to leave tomorrow and Steve couldn’t wait.

He thought to himself that he might as well spend an extra long time in bed today, after all, he felt like he deserved it.

But there was something brewing in his blood, some kind of anticipation or restlessness, forcing him up and leaving him buzzing as he dressed himself.

Storm clouds were brewing outside, dark, low hanging clouds blocking out the early morning sun and rumbling occasionally far off in the distance.

Steve pouted to himself, leaning against the windowsill and wondering if it was somehow poetic that he’d experience one last storm before he left.

There was movement on the stony beach below, movement that immediately caught his eye and set his teeth on edge because for the last month, that beach had stayed empty. 

As far as he had known, he was the only person who had ever gone down there, it seemed all but forgotten by everyone in the castle.

No one had noticed that he had been down there alone that morning, no one would have probably come looking for him there for a long long time. 

It was practically invisible.

But now there were people down there.

Two people to be exact.

They weren’t walking, they weren’t running.

It looked like some kind of fight.

Did two people really go down to an abandoned part of the castle just to swing fists?

But as Steve looked on, panic began to crest over him as he recognised that it wasn’t just a fight.

One of them was trying to fight the other off.

Someone with dark brown curls and dark leathers was desperately trying to fight off a man with blonde curls and glinting jewellery who was slowly dragging him down the beach towards the rickety dock that had once saved Steve’s life. 

Steve took off like a shot before he could even think, his whole body a shaking mess of adrenaline and panic.

He slammed his bedroom door open and tore down the hallway, nearly sending both himself and Robin into a crashing heap when she appeared around the corner.

He managed to pivot at the last second, only sideswiping her shoulder and his wild panic must have been evident because instead of the anger that should have probably been directed his way, there was just his own panic reflected back at him.

“Wha-”

“Go get Hopper! Now!” He practically screamed at her, not hesitating a second longer than he needed to, tearing down the narrow staircase leading to the beach before he had even fully gotten the words out.

He could hear her shouting his name but he didn’t turn back to explain, he didn’t have time.

He nearly slipped more than once on the hard stone steps but when he finally jumped the last few feet down onto the stony beach, barely giving himself a chance to find his balance before he took off again.

He could hear the shouting between Eddie and Billy, could see Billy’s hand fisted in the collar of Eddie’s shirt, Eddie’s ring free hands scrabbling at his wrist, clinging on tight as he was tilted backwards, balancing on the balls of his feet over the edge of the dock.

Eddie’s eyes were wide and full of fear as the grey cold water sloshed below.

Steve was running, racing his way across the beach.

He had just taken his first step onto the slimy wooden dock, Eddie taking his eyes off of Billy’s face, finally noticing Steve over his shoulder when there was a push.

Billy sent Eddie flying backwards, all at once letting go of his shirt and ripping his hand out of Eddie’s grip.

Eddie was there one second and gone the next, not even able to scream before he hit the water.

And not once did Steve stop running.

His legs carried him as fast as they could towards where Eddie disappeared.

Billy turned at the sound of his footfalls and only had a moment for his eyes to widen in surprise before Steve shoved him out of the way, his momentum and all encompassing panic doing the work for him, sending Billy toppling back into the water at the side of the dock and Steve dove.

The icy cold waves hit him like a smack to the face, his whole body seizing up in shock but he refused to let it win, all he kept thinking about was Eddie, Eddie, Eddie as he forced his arms and legs to kick against the current, pushing himself downwards. 

He squinted his eyes open, surprised that the saltwater wasn’t stinging like he thought it would and tried to look around in the darkness for any sign of him.

But he couldn’t see anything.

His dark hair, his dark leathers must have been camouflaging him.

Steve was running out of breath but he’d be damned if he gave up that easily.

His heart was pounding in his chest, his lungs were starting to scream at him to breathe again, but he couldn’t stop.

Something milky white floated a little bit further below and Steve dove for it, ignoring everything in his body telling him to surface.

Eddie’s pale lily white hand floated towards him, familiar green and blue vines inked into the skin telling him that it was him.

Steve grabbed at him, taking Eddie’s wrist in such a tight iron grip he’d be amazed if he didn’t break a bone but a broken wrist was better than death by drowning, death by one of Eddie’s biggest fears.

Eddie wasn’t kicking or struggling or panicking, trying to use Steve as a climbing pole to get back to the surface like someone in a panic would have been expected to do.

He was limp dead weight, floating aimlessly as Steve gripped him tight around the middle.

Steve’s lungs were spasming as he kicked as hard as he could to get them both back up to the surface, his head pounding and black spots starting to appear behind his eyes, in his brain, making his fingers go numb.

He broke the surface and was only able to take a short inhale of breath before a wave crashed over him, sending him below again.

But a breath was a breath and he pushed himself and Eddie to the surface again, making sure to drag Eddie up so his head was above water too.

They were closer to the shore than Steve thought they would be and he didn’t stop to think of anything else as he kicked out, the muscles in his legs, his arms, his entire being on fire as he relentlessly pushed the two of them back to shore.

Just like it had a few weeks ago, the feeling of stones under his feet filled him with relief but with the extra weight of the water and Eddie’s still limp body in his arms, Steve had only managed to take a step out of the water before he collapsed to the ground, his muscles finally giving out.

He was able to hold himself up on shaking arms as Eddie landed on his back underneath him, face tipped to the side, hair plastered over his cheek, eyes closed and chest still and unmoving.

“Eddie.” Steve coughed out, still feeling like he couldn’t get a full breath in, tilting Eddie’s face towards him with gentle fingers. “Eddie. Love. Wake up. Please, my darling, come on.”

Steve ducked his head down, using one hand to tip Eddie’s chin up, the other clamped down over Eddie’s nose and he sealed their mouths together, breathing into him, watching as Eddie’s chest rose and fell with it.

He repeated the motions, desperation clawing at him, wondering if he would even have the strength to pump at Eddie’s chest and probably snap his ribs. His arms were already burning and he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep it up for long, but he refused to let Eddie go so easily.

Everything in his body unwound when there was a cough and a splutter beneath him and Steve immediately shoved Eddie onto his side as his body convulsed, spasming as he threw up a truly horrifying amount of sea water, gasping in desperate gulps of breath in between and his entire body shaking.

He was alive.

And that was the only thing Steve cared about at that moment. 

“Eddie.” Steve wrapped Eddie up in his arms as much as he could, pulling him into his lap and almost falling back with the effort, managing to stay sitting on his heels. 

Eddie looked up at him, weary and exhausted but alive.

His mouth formed around the word ‘Stevie’ but no sound came out, his throat and chest probably too worn to do anything apart from breathe.

There was the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps and a cry of his name that he barely heard, unable to tear his attention away from Eddie until someone dropped heavily to their knees next to them and another set of hands threw his elaborately embroidered cloak around his shoulders.

“Steve, what the fuck happened?”

He looked up to find Hopper kneeling in front of him, felt the familiar presence of Robin at his side, her hands on his shoulders, Chrissy, with her skirts fisted in her hands up around her knees as she ran towards them and what must have been almost half of the Torthúil household guard surrounding them.

Steve’s brain was whirring, trying to figure out what to focus on first but as Eddie continued to shake in his arms and let out another series of convulsing coughs, spitting up a little bit more water with it, he made his decision.

With one hand, he pulled his cloak from around his shoulders and wrapped it tight around Eddie, bundling him up as much as he could before looking up at Hopper again.

“Two of your most trusted soldiers. Now.”

“Powell, Callahan.” Hopper called over his shoulder and the two of them stepped forward.

Steve was finally able to drag his eyes away from Eddie, curled into a tight ball and shivering in his lap, up to the two soldiers.

“Eddie is not to leave your sight until you make it past the border into Torthúil, and even then maybe until you get back to the castle.” Steve tried to push himself to his feet, but the weight of everything and the exhaustion in his legs kept him kneeling.

Powell and Callahan stepped forward regardless and between the three of them, they were able to get Steve standing again. Eddie was upright, but barely under his own power, being bolstered by Steve and Powell on either side of him, head tipped, exhausted into Steve’s neck.

“Take him back to my bedroom, get him warm, get him clothed. Then you’re going to take four of our horses and leave here as soon as possible.” Steve commanded. “I want Eddie over the border and back into our kingdom as soon as you can get him there. Before anyone even knows he’s gone.” Steve looked up into the eyes of the two guards, trying to impart to them just how serious he was. “Do you understand what I am saying?”

Chrissy had come to a stop at the edge of the circle, her wide blue eyes wet and terrified, eyes only on Eddie, taking his hand in hers, clutching on tight like she could tether him to the earth forever with her grip alone.

With a nod in their direction, Steve tipped Eddie over to Powell and Callahan’s arms, giving him one last squeeze before sending them off, Chrissy immediately turning to follow, not bothering to look back and see if Steve would have granted her permission to go, like she had the first time they had met, only focused on her best friend, as it should have been.

Robin had pulled her own cloak from her back and threw it over Steve’s shoulders, running her hand up and down his back.

“You think it’s as serious as that?” She muttered to him.

“Billy just tried to kill him, yes I think it’s as serious as that.”

“Billy?!”

Hopper was watching all of this transpire with a stony face, no doubt planning six steps ahead and thinking of every possible outcome of this and how to avoid the worst ones.

But the only thing he said in response to it all was;

“Four horses? Steve, if you leave with them, our whole retinue will need to leave at the same time and that will take hours to organise.”

“I understand that. I won’t be travelling with them, I’ll leave at the scheduled time tomorrow.”

“Then who else are you planning on going with them?”

Steve bit his lip and turned his eyes over to Robin.

She blinked at him. “Me?”

“He’ll need someone he knows and trusts to be there with him. It’ll take you a couple of days to get past the border. I can’t leave before I’m scheduled to and neither can Chrissy.”

“But will you be okay here on your own?”

Steve had honestly expected some more pushback from her than that, about how she didn’t want to leave Chrissy or didn’t want to ride hard and fast for upwards of twelve hours a day for the next couple of days to make it past the border.

But that wasn’t her concern and Steve loved her so much for it.

“I’ll be fine. I’ll have Chrissy. I’ll take care of her.”

“You better. And she’ll take care of you.”

Steve grinned at her, wanting to pull her into a hug but knowing time was of the essence.

She seemed to sense it as well and with a short brush of her thumb over his cheek she turned and shot off in the direction of the stairs.

“What the hell have you gotten yourself into, kid?” Hopper muttered to him, rubbing his hands up and down Steve’s arms, trying to work some warmth back in. “And where’s that Billy asshole gone?”

For the first time since all of this went down, Steve remembered that he had shoved Billy out of the way before he dove into the water and that there was a splash.

Shit.

Had he left Billy to drown in the water?

Looking back over at the dock, Steve saw puddles of water sitting on the wood, leading back towards the stairs.

So no, it seemed like he had not left Billy to drown.

But Billy had certainly left them to drown.

Hopper followed his gaze and though without the context he probably couldn’t figure out exactly what Steve was seeing, he was able to figure out enough. 

“Okay, come on kid. Let’s get you warm.”

[Part 1] [Part 9] [AO3] [Cover Art] [Eddie&Chrissy Art]

As always, major thanks and much love to @hbyrde36 for the magnificent beta work, @arelliann for their beautiful artwork, dividers and header, and to all my cheerleaders helping to keep me motivated. 🥰

[cilil]

Headcanons: The Day of Love

I felt spontaneously inspired to write down my headcanons (yes, I've thought of this before a few times) for Valentine's Day in Valinor, or, as it's known there, the Day of Love, featuring both Ainur and Elves. Enjoy!

♡ The establishment of a dedicated holiday to celebrate couples and other forms of love and companionship was, as certain people (*cough* Melkor) would snidely remark in later ages, most likely inevitable due to Manwë being a hopeless romantic and Irmo's penchant for playing matchmaker (and subsequently winning bets he made with his wife and siblings).

♡ After Tulkas and Nessa were wed - within the circles of Arda, unlike the other Valar who espoused their partners earlier - Manwë was inspired to take action and create this holiday, as everyone had greatly enjoyed the festivities and many wished to have the opportunity to express their affection for their loved ones in a similar manner, without the pomp of a wedding.

♡ It was decided that the Day of Love would be in spring, as per Vána's suggestion. To this day, there's still some debate among the inhabitants of Valinor whether she simply thought the season was appropriate or whether she was making a thinly veiled mating season joke; the Ever-young, however, has declined to comment on this. It takes place in the month of Súlimë (March), much to the delight of Manwë, usually within the third week since this is (roughly) the beginning of the season, as determined by Yavanna and Vána.

♡ Over the ages, various traditions evolved. Among the first and most notable to this day is Manwë's poetry soirée, where everyone is invited to share their romantic poems and other writings - a special iteration of his regular writing group get-togethers that strives to be as inclusive and affirming as possible. Ever since the first Day of Love was celebrated, Manwë has written a new poem for his beloved queen every single year, and Varda shows her appreciation with breath-taking meteor showers. The event has naturally become important to the Vanyar in particular, especially those who are regulars among Manwë's fellow poetry enjoyers.

♡ Irmo and Estë take great pleasure in hosting a "casual tea time feast" (as described by the Lord of Lórien himself) that welcomes not only couples or friend groups, but also explicitly those who feel lonely on such a day and would like some easy company. While Estë and her Maiar serve herbal teas for health and good spirits and bake lots of delicious cakes and other treats, Irmo prepares his (in)famous punch which so far has never failed to get a party going and distributes special "love candy" that has also come under scrutiny a few times, but is still consumed with great delight by those who dare.

♡ Aside from (more or less) innocent tea party shenanigans, Irmo is wide awake on the Day of Love for different reasons as well, mutating into the kind of entity we know as Cupid. The use of arrows has been forbidden, but that does little to stop the Lord of Dreams and Desire from making his OTPs come true by providing a little bit of "assistance". He gleefully plants courage and inspiration into the hearts and minds of Ainur and Elves alike, so that they may finally confess those feelings they have been carrying around for too long. It has been alleged that he has attempted to play bingo with his brother in regards to these things coming to pass, yet nothing could be proven and Námo, as usual, was silent.

♡ Oromë, being in good spirits as hunting season is drawing near, likes to host a special hunting events where couples (and throuples and so on, naturally) can either compete against each other or team up to hunt and see if their love is strong enough to catch even the greatest prey. While it's all in good fun and the competitive side isn't taken seriously, Oromë and his people do hold the belief that the ability to work together and cooperate, as well as engaging in friendly, playful competitions without hostility or ill will, are important parts of a relationship of any kind and thus can be a good test for couples looking to get married in particular. It is also worth noting that the hunting duels of Aredhel and Celegorm have become particularly infamous and are to this day lauded as a great example.

♡ Tulkas, as always, is looking for a fun little fight and a good laugh, and those sharing his passion are welcome in his mansion for a special kind of celebration. Many Elves and Ainur alike seek to prove themselves in battle against their peers to win the affection and admiration of whoever they wish to court, as well as engage in friendly duels with their friends and loved ones. Making sure that everything is as fair as it can be, Tulkas presides over these fights with glowing pride and invites all participants to attend a great feast after.

♡ Said feast is usually coupled with a special performance by Nessa and her Maiar, as well as others who wish to join them, and afterwards everyone is invited to dance with their partners. It is not unusual for non-martially-inclined couples to spend their day elsewhere but attend Nessa's dance party in the evening, and oftentimes the lord and lady can also be seen on the dance floor together.

♡ For Yavanna and Vána, the Day of Love is yet another instance of their boundless generosity. The two Valier share their gifts and boons freely, providing flowers, fruits and materials for the crafting of presents; sometimes even advice to those who seek it. Year after year, their husbands show their gratitude - as well as vicariously for the rest of Valinor - by crafting and hunting special gifts for them, and it is said that the trees and flowers bloom even more beautifully on that day to celebrate their ladies' joy.

♡ Among the Elves, traditions are varied as well. Particularly famous is the pearl-diving of the Teleri, a test of both courage and skill where young and old lovers alike venture out into the sea and seek to find the most beautiful pearls to bring home to their partners. Ulmo gives his blessings freely to all who attempt such a feat and, together with his Maiar, makes sure that everyone returns home safely; over the years, many a daring Elf had to be fished out of more perilous waters. These pearls - and other treasures that were found - are particularly precious to the Teleri and objects crafted from or with them may even become family heirlooms.

♡ The Noldor, together with Aulë, Vairë and their Maiar, spend a lot of time before the Day of Love crafting wonderful gifts for their loved ones. These creations are a matter of great pride and may hold a lot of different, intricate meanings, often being a key component in courtship. Aside from all sorts of trinkets, couples are often seen exchanging promise jewelry. A particularly noteworthy occurrence over the years was the unveiling of a great Fëanor statue, made by none other than Nerdanel during their courtship, and to this day spectators claim that they have never seen Fëanor this speechless before or after.

♡ The Vanyar, aside from attending the festivities in Ilmarin, are also fond of music and love to sing or otherwise perform for their loved ones. Such performances are often done with special costumes and instruments, and the gifting of instruments is regarded as something especially intimate and meaningful. Those among the Maiar of Manwë and Varda who are not too fond of poetry like to join the Vanyar instead, offering their own songs and arts as entertainment. Eönwë and other avian Ainur are regularly asked for their feathers and even grow special plumage to accommodate these requests.

Thanks for reading! Feel free to take inspiration from these (though as always a little shout-out is appreciated if you create your own stuff based on this post ♡).

[nonobadcat]

For @oklolnoty

With special thanks to @krystalwithakay for writing an entire, working Javascript program just to make a joke in a fanfiction. May 2D murderers ever throw themselves at your illustrious feet.

Down the Rabbit Hole - Five Chapters - 20k words - Yandere Shigaraki Tomura x Rabbit Quirk Female Reader

Chapter Navigation: 1|2|3|4|5 🐇 Ao3 Mirror

Rating: 18+ readers only - Minors DNI

Final Chapter : Accessory - 6.1k words

TW: Noncon, yandere with kidnapping, canon typical threats of violence (reader directed), canon typical death (nonreader directed), oral (receive), PnV (doggie), breeding, and expensive designer clothing everywhere.

“Honey-chan! Come here! Come here!”

From the far side of the bar, Nyanko waved you over. Pochi and Nyanko sat scattered between a group of three middle-aged men and one woman. The short, squat one on the right had to be the Kiba, if the amorous attention he lavished on Pochi was anything to go by. You knew he’d been the one to introduce Oshida to the club, but the rest of the party didn’t look much like heroes or marketing managers. Beside Kiba, a tall, chiseled man with rumpled salt and pepper hair wore hideous seafoam green scrubs. Next to him, a thick necked work-out-aholic still had his hospital badge on his pocket clip. The only woman was a few years older than Mama-san with a small, oval face, Cupid’s bow lips and glossy chestnut hair. While she easily could have passed for a former hostess, the long, white lab coat draped over her seat revealed her real profession.

You pushed away an exhausted frown and very bitter “I haven’t even put down my bag, ho!” in favor of a cheery grin and bouncy step. Sliding onto the couch next to them, you clicked your tongue.

“Meh, what’s up, Docs?”

Green scrubs belted out a hearty laugh. “You were right, Nyanko-chan, she is very witty.”

Nyanko scratched the air. “Remember your paw-mise, Yamamoto-sensei. You’re nya-t allowed to fall for anyone but me-ow-kay?

“O-okay,” he murmured, pushing up his glasses.

Nyanko giggled.

“Honey Bunny, this is Kiba-san from the Buster Hero Agency,” Pochi explained, gesturing to each guest in order. “Yamamoto-sensei, Hora-san and Sawa-sensei all work in the Pediatric Trauma Unit at Metropolitan Hospital. Hora-san is the director. Yamamoto-sensei and Sawa-sensei are his top surgeons.”

“Oh wow! How amazing!” you gushed. “So when kids get injured in a villain attack, you’re the people that save them?”

“Yes. They’re the real heroes,” Kiba proclaimed proudly, sloshing his Old Fashioned.

“We’re negotiating a collaboration with the Buster agency,” Hora explained. “We’re going to feature them in our literature and they’ll be doing daily hospital appearances for the kids.”

“Now, now—” Kiba wagged his finger “—I never promised daily visits. Our heroes are very busy and I need to be respectful of their time.”

Hora slapped him on the back with a loud laugh. “If you can still say that, I need to buy you another drink, my friend.”

“Careful what you offer.” Pochi’s fanged grin pricked her rosy lips as she draped herself around her prey’s arm. “My Kiba can really hold his liquor. You better watch yourself, Hora-san.”

Kiba roared with laughter. “You tell them Pochi-chan!”

You giggled into your palm to hide the snide smirk. Billed for her mature sensuality and elegance, Pochi was Animal Instinct's number one Hostess for a reason. Notorious for her ability to smooth over even the most heated contract negotiations with her wit and grace, her clients included some of the largest corporate big wigs in the city. Drinking with her would do to your budget what trying to put out a fire with gasoline would, but if you could bankroll her tastes, her companionship paid literal dividends. 

The only question was, which party suggested the hostess club for negotiations?

You studied the faces of each guest in turn. Kiba, being the regular, seemed like the likely candidate, but Hora’s comment about the drinks implied he was footing the bill. Nyanko’s “here, kitty, kitty” act left Yamamoto too spellbound. While he would probably be back again, this was clearly his first run in with her cattitude. When your eyes rolled to the last person at the table, you caught a calculating grin on a botoxed smile. 

Like a boss, Sawa-sensei. Like a boss.

“Oh! I almost forgot!” Nyanko gasped. “Honey-chan, show Sawa-sensei your new purse, paw-eeze?”

Sawa-sensei’s gaze drifted to the crook of your elbow where the bag hung like the white elephant in the room. You hoisted it up, setting it on the table for her inspection. Tiny palladium feet clinked on the glass top.

“Well now,” she turned it this way and that. “I think I still like the Retoupe better than the Sellier, but the size looks perfect and that color is so...”

“It goes with everything, right?” Nyanko agreed.

Sawa-sensei nodded. “Everybody gushes over the bubblegum pink but I think the Etain/Etoupe color lines are the perfect neutral.” She passed the bag back to you. “Very classic. Do you shop at Hermés often?”

“Oh! No, no!” you explained, with a cheery laugh. “A client bought it for me a few days ago.”

Sawa raised a painted brow. “She must be well connected.” 

“He,” Nyanko corrected. “His son comes in to learn how to talk to women. Of all of us, Honey-chan was the first to really bring him out of his shell.”

You cringed, glancing at Kiba. Hopefully that little comment didn’t make it back to Oshida. Logically, the man had to know you had other clients, but when it came to you, he could be more territorial than a bull elephant seal. Still, it made for good tips and a girl had to eat.

Thumbing her chin, she studied your purse like a general analyzing enemy troop movements. “Your sponsor seems to understand women well and have exquisite taste.” She winked at you. “Lucky girl.”

“Huh.” Hora inspected the bag. “That looks like a nice laptop bag. Maybe I should get one for my wife.”

“I’m sure she’d like it,” Sawa replied coolly, sipping her martini. “That’s the 35 cm. They start at about 2 million yen.”  

His face paled. 

“Of course, that doesn’t include the money you have to spend to even be offered the chance to buy,” she continued. “Hermés boutiques only get a limited delivery twice a year and only their top clients are considered. I think I owned fifteen of their scarves, two pairs of shoes, and the entire collection of their perfumes before I got the option. Even then, it was mostly because my mother buys their saddles for her Gypsy Vanners.”

WHAT THE HECK HIGH SPEC FAMILY DID THIS WOMAN COME FROM?!

“Their scarves are so lovely,” Pochi cooed. “Kiba got me the Grise Nacré colorway of Chorus Stellarum last week. It’s a must have for any pastel goth.”

“How much did that set you back?” Hora asked.

Kiba coughed into his glass. “56,000.”

“He’s a doll, right?” Pochi gushed, patting him on the cheek.

Considering Pochi had to talk him out of buying his wife an unsolicited vacuum cleaner for her birthday, you really wondered about that. 

“Maybe a scarf then,” Hora agreed, scratching the back of his neck. 

“Oh,” Pochi turned to Kiba. “What about little scarves or bandanas as favors for the kids? They wouldn’t be too expensive to print if you outsource and they’d look like little capes! Super on brand, right?”

“Pochi-chan! You’re a genius!” 

Her tail wagged so hard the seat swayed. “Oh, Kiba-san. Stop it! ”

Sawa-sensei smirked at the exchange and elbowed Hora. He nodded at her before turning to you. “Could you get us some champagne, Honey-chan?”

With a sparkling grin and an under the table fist pump, you replied: “Of course!”

“Pochi-sama!” Nyanko whined, her flushed face buried in the other Hostess’s arm. “I bow before you and beg for your continued protection.”

You clapped your hands together like a woman in prayer. “High holy Pochi-sama, Goddess of the Golden Tip. We offer you our eternal devotion.”

Pochi twirled her hair and loosed a cartoon villainess’s laugh. “Fear not, my darlings. True believers shall always receive my blessing.”

“We are unworthy,” the two of you repeated in synchrony.

“Thank you, thank yo—oooop!

Nyanko’s drunken cackles rang into the night as Pochi tripped into the back alley. “So graceful!”

“Elegance in her every step,” you agreed.

“Silence, mortals,” Pochi commanded, steadying herself on the dumpster. She thumbed her chest. “I have the skills that pay the -hic- bills.”

You giggled.

“Hey, Honey-chan?”

“Hmmm?”

Nyanko pointed to your empty arms. “Forgetting something?”

You slapped your forehead. “Oh. Duh. It’s still on the table.” Black heels wedged themselves into the self-locking fire door before it snapped shut. “Last train leaves soon. You guys go ahead without me.”

“You sure?”

Pochi swallowed, clapping a hand over her mouth.

“I’m fine!” you insisted, shooing them off. “Get her holiness back to the temple before she has to worship the porcelain god.”

“Whoops! No worries, Pochi-sama! I got your back!” Nyanko replied, wiping out a scrunchie. She scooped up Pochi’s dangling ears and tied them in a bow. Then, your friend turned back to you. “Careful going home with all that cash, kay, bunny girl?”

You nodded. “Thanks, Nyanko. You’re a queen.”

She purred before wrapping Pochi’s arm over one shoulder. Swaying together, they stumbled out onto the main drag before making a right towards the station.

Finding the bag took no time at all. You checked your wallet, only to see a fat stack of untouched 5000 yen notes. Basking in the glory of financial security, you whistled the item get theme from Legend of Zelda before strutting back to the door. The 1812 Overture blared from Mama-san’s office, drowning out the world. You bowed to her. Waving like an empress greeting the great unwashed, she returned to tallying the daily total.

Snickering, you ducked out the exit. 

When the fire door clanged shut, your hackles stood on end. The smell of sweat and woody citrus wafted on the breeze. A tall silhouette blocked the entrance to the alley. Panting like a dog, Oshida, clad in his spandex leotard, leaned against the brickwork. Dark shadows from his furrowed brow turned his brown eyes a bottomless jet black.

“O-Oshida-san?” you stammered, taking one step back. “What are you doing here?!”

“Nice bag.” He stalked down the alleyway, his hard stare never leaving the offending object. “Some other guy bought that for you, huh?”

You swallowed, unsure what to say to the hard bite in his tone.

He drew up in front of you, rolling his broad shoulders back to accentuate his full height. Wordlessly, he snatched up your wrist and inspected the leather craftsmanship. “Grey?” he scoffed. “How generic. That moron doesn’t know you at all does he?”

Out of seemingly nowhere, he produced a small, black leather box with a push button latch. Lowering himself to one knee, he snapped open the lid. A gaudy round-cut diamond, solitaire set in a rose gold band with pink sapphire trimmings, stared up at you like the eye of some great beast. Even in the dim, orange glow of hazy streetlamps, all three carats sparkled with near flawless clarity.

“Baby pink suits my baby girl much better then some ugly grey purse,” he cooed, slipping the ring onto your left hand.

Frozen in shock, you gapped at the garish, glittering stones.

Oh…

Oh no.

Oh no no no no no no no no no no no no!

“So… will you tell me your name now?”

Rigid tension shook your entire body. Sharp nails curled into tightly balled fists. “Oshida-san…”

He cupped your hand, stroking his thumb up and down yours. “Call me Hideki,” he purred.

Your head snapped up, wide eyes bulging. “Oshida-san, this is very sudden.”

He laughed. “Well, when Kiba told me everything that happened, I figured there was no time like the present.”

Heavy stones left the loose band sagging on your finger. Your heart sank along with it. Alarm bells blared as every part of your brain scrambled for an excuse that wouldn’t cost you a meal ticket. They clawed their way through pliant pacifications, tossing out line after line.

“But marrying a hostess would be terrible for your reputation. What would the press say?”

“Kiba will handle it.” A paparazzi worthy smile twinkled at you. “He’s great at his job.”

Screaming internally, you toed the ground and looked away. “Your parents would never approve. I don’t want to be the person who comes between a man and his family.”

He squeezed your hand. “Once they see how sweet you are, they’ll fall as deeply in love with you as I have.”

“I-I’m no good at anything housey though! I burn everything I cook, I always mix up the white and the colors, and I’m awful at cleaning!” You sniffled, pretending to cry into your hands. “You’d be so ashamed of a wife like me.”

“So I’ll hire a maid and a chef.” He chuckled, patting your hand. “Don’t worry your pretty little head over it, Princess. There are all kinds of wifely duties you can do for me.”

Oh my gosh. You were going to barf.

“Can you just not, you chauvinistic troglodyte?”

“What?”

Um... Girl. You just said the quiet part out loud.

You blinked. “What?”

Oshida blankly stared at you. “What did you just call me?”

Welp… guess the bunny was out of the burrow now. Better just roll with it.

Yanking off the ring, you ripped open his hand and dropped it into his palm. “I have precious little interest in marrying a callow narcissist who thinks I can be bought by the highest bidder, so you should march yourself on over to the first fangirl with a nice rack and toss your baggage her way.”

He stared at you. “Huh?”

“Are you for real?!” You threw your hands into the air. “No, you boorish sac of sexual harassment!” A manicured finger stabbed at the end of the alleyway. “I’m not the brainless bunny bimbo you think I am, so take a hint and take a hike!”

Slowly, the well rusted gears in Oshida-san’s head began to grind through your words. Head low, he rose to his feet and hovered in silence like a spandex coated scarecrow. As the blood in your ears slipped from a violent roar to a muted rumble, the man before you lifted his chin. Dark, bottomless eyes and a hard snarl were your only warning. Thick fingers clamped down on your wrist with bruising force.

“I ASKED YOU WHAT YOU JUST CALLED ME YOU LITTLE SLUT!” he roared.

A sallow hand shot out, grabbing Oshida's head with four fingers.

“Come on now, it’s not her fault that you can’t take a hint,” a grating voice rasped in your ear.

“W-wait!” Oshida’s face turned snow white. “Aren’t you—?”

Croaking laughter filled the alley. “I mean seriously, she had to spam the Clue-by-Four just to get it through your thick skull.” Tomura’s eerie smile seemed to glow in the dark. “Tell me hero, how do you live with yourself when you’re that stupid?”

Your heart stopped as his pointer pressed against Oshida’s cheek. Crumbling grey ash scattered in the breeze.

Tomura sneered. “Guess you don’t have to now.”

Shaking hands clutched your face. “T-Tomura, what have you done?” you whispered.

“Rekt the n00b?”

“You just killed a hero, Tomura!” you yelled. “What the heck were you thinking?!”

Cocking his head, he stared at you. “Why are you upset? Do I need to save scum or something?”

“You can’t save scum IRL!”

Tomura scratched his neck. “Reality is lame.”

You crumpled to the ground. Terrified words tumbled from your lips. “Now I’m out a client and an accessory to murder!”

“So… I picked the wrong option?”

You glared up at him with bloodshot, watery eyes. “I’m a pro-hostess! Handling angry drunks and sexual harassment is my rice and miso!” you snarled. 

Tomura puzzled over your words, weighing your complaints carefully. After a few, slow blinks he smacked his fist into his palm. “Oh. You think I was trying to be heroic like that bad choice in your game, don’t you?”

“Yeah, good on you for remembering now.” You moaned, burying your face in your hands. “Screwed! I'm so screwed!”

A firm, four fingered grip dragged you to your feet. You fell flat against a lean chest.

“Come on then, let’s go,” he stated, tugging you toward the end of the alley.

“Oh no. No. Absolutely not! I’m not a princess and I don’t need to be saved!” you insisted, pulling hard against his hold. “My fluffy butt is gonna stay right here, remain silent, and Google a good defense attorney.”

A cold chuckle set your hair on end. You looked up, only to see red eyes bulging out of his skull. Primordial terror sent your heart flailing against your ribs.

“You don’t understand, do you?”

A hard arm caught you in the stomach. You gasped. The world spun. Peeling lips curled in delight as Tomura swept you over his boney shoulder. 

“I’m no hero,” he rasped. “I’m the villain and I just didn’t want some moron touching what’s mine.”

You thrashed against him, hammering his black hoodie with your fists. “TOMURA! PUT ME DOWN!”

Cold fingers dug into your bare, inner thigh. “I don’t have an amputee fetish but I wouldn’t find you less attractive without your legs.”

You froze solid.

“Smart move.” The hold on your thigh receded. He reached into his hoodie pocket and extracted his phone. “By the way, settle a bet.” Painfully bright blue light spilled into the dark alley as he swiped through the contact list. “I know you were lying about the lemon sours and champagne. Tell me your real favorite.”

Your eyes darted this way and that looking for a weapon. There was nothing within reach. Looks like you’d only survive by your wits alone which, given being witty put you in this position, didn’t seem all that promising. 

“S-sake bomb,” you stammered out.

“What are you, a salaryman or something?” he teased.

Your face burned hot. “Shut up, Orange Cassis!”

He lifted the microphone to smirking lips. “Hey, Kurogiri. I’m bringing my girlfriend back. Do we have the stuff for sake bombs?”

Girlfriend?! 

When a low voice burbled through the line, you snapped back to reality.

“Oh. Yeah. Hold on.” Tomura’s gaze swept the alley until he spotted the bag, lying forgotten on the pavement. “My hands are full. Grab it for me when you open the portal. It’s by my left shoe.”

“Portal? What are you—?”

Before you could finish, purple smoke engulfed the alley, swallowing your startled scream.

When the thick smoke cleared, you found yourself in a dank, beige room. The only light came from the hazy glow of dual OLED monitors atop a minimalist brown desk. Above this, tacked to the wall with enough dossiers to please even the most obsessive conspiracy theorist, was a well worn world map pockmarked with pin holes. Overcrowded shelves, packed with precariously leaning books and muscle-bound action figures hung above a squat, overflowing garbage can. To your right, a thin, stained carpet and well scratched chabudai sat on the floor. Ripe with the smell of stale cup ramen and sweaty bed sheets, the room howled “man child”.

Tomura kicked off his red sneakers, letting them thunk against one of the many overstuffed trash bags. It flopped to its side, knocking over empty two liters like a line of bowling pins. He shuffled past the clutter and set you on a rumpled pile of bedsheets. The mattress groaned. He crossed his arms.

“Don’t whine about the mess. That hero idiot forced me to speed run. I didn’t exactly have time to clean up.”

You stared at him. “Speed run?”

Ratty nails raked his neck. “I was going to follow you for a while. You know. Get a feel for what you liked before I brought you home.” He pointed to a shopping bag laying near the bed. “That was all I managed.”

“It’s… for me?”

The scratching intensified. “No, I just like cross dressing,” he snapped, jabbing his hand at the package again. “Yes, they’re for you. I had to talk Sensei out of some expensive silk crap, so be grateful.”

Holding your breath, you tore the plastic open and upended the contents into your lap. Crafted from super soft, fluffy polyester, a fuzzy pajama set spilled into your lap. The V neck crop tank and high waisted shorts looked like something an e-girl would use to cosplay a kawaii teddy bear. A matching thigh-length robe, complete with oversized hood and baggy sleeves, took the look from “my furry fantasy” to “comfy cozy”.

…this actually looked like something you would wear.

You held the tank against your chest. The fit was alarmingly correct. When you glanced up, Tomura’s excited smile wrinkled his nose.

“You casual-up cute.”

Steam poured from your ears

He leaned forward, reaching for the zipper of your dress. You scooted back, colliding with the wall. With an eye roll, Tomura kneeled on the bed, crawling toward you. One hand caught your shoulder. The other grabbed for the tab.

“So you can touch me but not the other way around? Did you honestly expect me to be okay with that?”

“That’s normal for a hostess and client!” you protested.

He sneered, his husky voice rasping in your ear. “You went pretty far out of your way to lose me as a client, remember ?”

Tooth by tooth, the zipper crawled down to your hemline. Tomura peeled open the slinky outfit. Red eyes roamed over your flesh toned satin bra and simple, smooth seamed panties. He sniggered, his fingers trailing down your waist.

“Wow… talk about low effort.”

You glared at him.

“Oh come on. I’m not mad or anything. Pretty obvious you never meant for any of those guys to see these. Makes me feel pretty special.” He hooked his thumbs under the waistline of your panties and began to shuffle them down. “Besides, it’s not like you’ll be needing them anyways.”

A shaking hand caught his shoulder. "W-what are you doing?!"

He glared at you. “I want to see,” he demanded, yanking harder.

"Then look at hentai or something!”

“You got to see mine,” he deadpanned.

“You got a blow job out of it!”

Tomura clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes. “...and you left me with blue balls.”

“You got more than I did!”

He broke into an eerie grin. “Oh? Did you want more?”

You froze.

Five fingers clamped down on the stretchy fabric. Powder ash tickled across your thighs.

Shadows filled his wrinkled smile. “I can do that," he declared, pointing to his nose.

"Hey! Hold on!" You shoved his shoulder. It was like pushing on a brick wall.

Tomura leaned in, reaching for your bra. Your leg jerked. He bucked up and caught your knee just below his crotch. He growled, squeezing hard in the divots on both sides of the joint.

"Did you forget what happens if you jump around too much?"

Panicked eyes flashed to long, calloused fingers before jumping to his face. The predatory, blood red stare pinned you like a bear trap. Burning breath caught in your chest. Numb lips opened, closed and opened again. With no air to carry the words, you squeezed your eyes shut. Tears welled in your lashes.

“Hey… come on now.” His thumb hooked under your chin, lifting your head. “I wouldn’t make you my girlfriend if I wanted to kill you.” He patted your cheek. “You can move all you want in a minute. Just let me check something first.”

“Check what?” you whispered.

He snorted. “You’re the one that told me to Google it.”

Grabbing your other knee, Tomura pried your legs centimeter by centimeter. Scratchy hands scraped down your bare, inner thighs. Goosebumps prickled across your arms. By the time he’d butterflied you open to his hungry gaze, you felt the tickle and torn nails on sensitive skin. With a crooked finger on either side, he parted your lower lips, staring deep inside. He paused, shifting his body until the pale light of the dual monitors drove away the shadows. You stiffened when one pointer tapped the tacky tissue.

“Should have known,” he muttered, sitting back on his haunches. “The color isn’t right and you’re not wet.”

Your face caught fire. “You actually Googled the receptive period signs?! Seriously?!”

Shigaraki ran his hand through his hair and shook his head. “Guess it was too much to ask for a high spec target like you to give me beginner mode, huh?”

High spec, huh? Okay.... Bonus points for that, crusty boy.

“Beginner… mode?” You puzzled over the word for a moment before a startling conclusion slammed into your brain. Sweat beaded down your neck. Your words stumbled out. “Wait… I knew you were bad with girls but… are you… are you really a…?”

Tomura scowled at you, scratching his neck. “So what? You gonna look down on me or something?”

Oh… so… you let touch starved, crazy, virgin stick his dick in you? Your mind whirled, quickly calculating what fresh hell you had brought upon yourself.

public static void calculateChanceOfEscape(int levelOfCrazy, boolean isFirstLove, int qualityOfPreviousBlowjob){int abilityToEscape =0;  if (isFirstLove==true){  int touchStarvedFactor = qualityOfPreviousBlowjob*2; abilityToEscape= levelOfCrazy*touchStarvedFactor; }  Else{ abilityToEscape = levelOfCrazy*10;  } int chanceOfEscape = 100 - abilityToEscape;  System.out.println("Your chance of escape is "+chanceOfEscape+ "%");  }  public static void main(String[] args) { calculateChanceOfEscape(10, true, 10); } CalculateChanceOfEscape(levelOfCrazy 10, isFirstLove: true, qualityOfPreviousBlowjob 10);

…

…

…

Output - Chance Of Escape = -100%

Sweat beaded down your brow. Slowly, softly, you started to speak. “Hey… Tomura. I swear, I didn’t mean to—”

A hard hand slammed into the wall beside you. Crumbling paint dusted your shoulder. Bulging, bloodshot eyes stared into your soul. “Didn’t mean to what ?!”

Craaaaaaaappppppppppppp!

As you whimpered, his dead stare softened to a confused head tilt. “Oh. Wait. Of course you didn’t. It’s not like you can control what time of the month it is.” He broke into an eerie grin. “Ah… so that’s why you put me through that tutorial, right?”

…tutorial? What was he—?

“If I just do the things you had the player do in game, you should be able to warm up without any problems.” He cackled, ruffling your hair. “Geeze. Next time, just say something if you need me to grind first.”

In one sweep, Tomura slammed you down onto the mattress. Old springs squealed in protest as grey swirls over took your vision. Fighting through the ringing in your ears, you squinted up at him.

“Ooops. I’m used to going PvP with Tanks, but your build is more of a Glass Cannon, huh?” [8]

You groped for a hold on old, pilling sheets. Tomura shuffled between your legs. Five fingers plucked your bra strap. Warm breath fanned across your ribs. Dust tumbled from your body.

“You’re lucky I read a lot of walk-throughs.”

Pinky up, Tomura grabbed your breasts with both hands, squeezing the soft tissue with excessive force. When you whined, he lifted his head and raised an eyebrow.

“Still too hard, huh?” he muttered, shifting himself against your bare core. “Right. I’ll lower the input then.”

Loosing his boney grip, he rolled his hands over your breast before raising them a few milliliters. Back and forth, his palm tickled across your skin. As your nipples began to harden, well chewed thumbs circled their tips. Pinching the nub between thumb and forefinger, he teased both sides of you into puckered peaks. 

Electric pleasure clamped tight into already tense muscles. Your back arched. An airy gasp escaped.

“Oh? Like that, huh?”

Waves of pale blue tickled your skin. Sour breath wrinkled your nose. You tried to scoot out of his grasp. It was no use. One hand pulled away from your chest before clamping on your thigh.

“Kinda hot when you squirm for me,” he groaned. “Just no sudden movements, all right?”

Before you could reply, Tomura’s mouth engulfed the tip of your breast. Slow suction teased raw skin between his teeth. As sharp teeth trapped the taunt nipple, nimble fingers continued their relentless assault on the other side. 

“Tomura—!” you yelped. “Time out! Time out!”

The man above you shivered. “You really expect me to stop when you say my name like that?”

“Seriously Tomu-AH!” 

Frantic protests melted into an embarrassing moan when a moist tongue flicked over hot flesh. Your hands balled into the sheets. His head bobbed with each erotic suckle, leaving you writhing into musky bedding. His flat pillow felt crusty under your cheek. Like he was trying to eat you alive, Tomura nipped a bruising trail down your body. 

“Tomura. Please,” you begged. “Please listen to me.”

He paused, resting his cheek against your inner thigh. Scratchy hairs from his five o’clock shadow scraped delicate skin. You shuddered. Whiney words slipped from dry lips as you stared up at him through tear -eyes. 

“Not like this. This is too fast.”

Tomura scowled. “You need me to slow it down more?” He grumbled to himself, hitching your hips higher. “Fine. I guess you did it for me after all.”

His slick tongue dove between your lower lips. A needy gasp torn from your throat. Your hips bucked. Pinkies still raised, Tomura clamped down on your body, leaving deep dents in your thighs. His wide, flat tongue stroked from bottom to top in languid laps. When he reached the tender nub at the top, you jolted again. He paused and swirled over the area a second time. One whimper from you and a naughty grin slipped onto his face.

“Well, that wasn’t that hard to find.”

Electric pleasure shot up your nerves as cracking lips encircled your swollen clit. Every wet suck dragged the air from your lungs. Trembling legs clenched around his shoulders, burning him in a vice grip of quivering thighs. A moment's reprieve gave you just enough time to watch him flatten his tongue before redoubling his efforts. Time blurred. Errant thoughts caught in a cloud of lewd indulgence. By the time he pulled away, your drool stained his pillow.

Slowly staggering from the fog, your hazy focus drifted down to the man between your legs. Stray curses accompanied violent efforts to shed skin tight jeans. A vicious tug tore the tab off his zipper. With a feral snarl he slapped a hand to his newfound enemy, decaying the denim into a pile of ash. Ratty cotton briefs landed in a pile on the floor. 

Tomura’s swollen cock bobbed against your mound, leaving a pool of sticky precum on your skin. He pumped himself twice, licking his dry lips. As the slick tip prodded your twitching entrance, a wave of panic slammed you back to reality.

“NO!”

Tomura caught your wrists. You clawed the air mere centimeters from his face.

“Condom!” you demanded breathlessly. “You have to use a condom!”

“Huh?” He wrinkled his nose. “Why?”

“Rabbits are induced ovulators, remember?” you stressed, pulling against him. “It’s the act that causes the egg to drop, not the time of the month!”

Tomura froze. Red eyes stared through you. “You… don’t… have safe days?”

“Yes! Exactly!” You sighed with relief, flopping back into the mattress. “Geeze. Don’t scare me like that. I thought I’d never get through to you.”

Wait. Why did your hands feel numb?

All at once, a bone chilling cold blanketed your body. You turned your head. Tomura’s fingers dug hard into your wrists. You tried to wiggle your fingers. The bones creaked against his ruthless grip. As you strained against him, his body started to tremble.

“Hey… Tomura? A-are you okay?” you whispered. 

Glowing red eyes locked onto yours. Horrified, you watched as a hideous grin split his face from ear to ear. With a savage yank, he dragged your mouth to his. The ravenous kiss split your lip. You yelped. He lapped at the blood with a low moan. More biting than caressing, his embrace left your skin burning. Panting, he finally pulled away. Hot, sour breath fanned your cheek. 

In an instant, the world turned upside down. Forced face first into crusty cotton, his filthy sheets stifled your startled squeak. You climbed to your elbows, only to be yanked backwards into his boney lap. Tomura hurriedly shoved his shabby pillow underneath your body. As soon as you were properly propped, he grabbed your hips with bruising force. He leaned over your body, pinning you with his weight.

“So,” he rasped in your ear. “If I knock you up, you’d have to stay with me right?”

Your heart screeched to a halt. 

“Wait. No.” Dark chuckles poured from his chest. “You’d want to stay with me, so I can take care of you.” He buried his head against your spine, grinning madly into your back. “I don’t dislike that idea.”

“Wait a second! That’s not what I—”

His moist cock prodded your entrance. “Doesn’t matter what you meant. You put the idea in my head.” Sinister giggling shook both of you. “You better take responsibi~lity. ❤”

With a hiss, Tomura sunk himself inside you. Traitorous folds, soft and pliable from his earlier attentions, parted easily with each stilted thrust. Terrified to struggle one finger too far, you went limp in his hold. It did you little good. Clamped down tight on the wings of your hips, Tomura dragged your listless body further and further along his shaft. Slimy drool spilled from cracking lips, weaving a cold, tickling trail down the side of your ribs.

“You feel so good,” he moaned.

Cheek pressed into the mattress, every pop of your spine left you gritting your teeth. His blankets balled in your fists. Tender nipples grazed the bedding, back and forth until the unmistakable tingle of pleasure rippled across your skin. The coarse cotton cover of his musty pillow clipped your clit. Raw friction burned your nerves.

When Tomura rutted against your deepest wall, you barely muffled your breathy shriek.

He reached down, turning your jaw. “Oh come on. Don’t be like that.” With a husky purr, he untagged the stray strands caught in the corner of your mouth. “I wanna hear them. The little noises you make just for me.”

You whimpered, twisting into the mattress.

With a snarl, he wrapped his arms around your chest and dragged you up onto your elbows.

“I said, I want to hear you,” he growled, grinding into your body.

You gasped.

“See? Not so hard, was it?”

Tomura slowed himself, taking long drags instead of bouncing beats. He pulled out to the tip. A crooked finger stretched your entrance open. His spongey head circled for a second, painting your skin with the mix of your fluids. The cold air battered your exposed core, sending shivers up your spine. He paused, trailing the digit down your cunt like an artist, admiring his work. Then, he plunged back in, stretching you over his length.

Slow thrusts pushed you back into the scraggly pillow. Tears rolled down your cheeks. With each deep dive, your aching clit grated against scratchy fabric. Crawling need clawed its way up your body, merging with the tingling at your breasts. Tense teeth parted as a strained whine slipped from your lips.

“Oh?”

He shifted forward, pressing you harder against the bedding. The next plunge strained against your walls, leaving you trapped between twin pleasures. Shaking knees buckled into the foam. Back arching, your cunt clenched tight around him.

Tomura sneered, bringing his full weight to bare on your back. “That’s it. Don’t think. Just focus on how good it feels to be full of my cock.”

Tangled in his vice grip, there was nothing you could do but accept his pace. Languid teasing turned into firm friction. Tomura groped for your breast. Boney fingers rubbed hard circles into your sensitive nub. Wet, erotic clicks from between your legs laid the backbeat of a blissful melody. The world slipped away until only desperate need filled your every thought. 

“T-Tomura.” You squirmed under him, toes curled in the air. “Ah— So close... I…”

“Do it. Come on my cock.” He panted in your ear. Teeth gnashing, he clutched you tight.  “Wanna feel you milking me. Hah… Taking my cum so deep.”

Ice flooded your veins. “Stop!” you begged, shoving against him with all your strength. “Please, stop!”

He grunted, his movements speeding inside you. “Couldn’t—ha! Even if I w-wanted to.”

“No! ” you shrieked, clawing at the blankets. “Pull out! Take it out, Tomura!”

Locking himself cheek to cheek, he canted his pelvis to a steeper angle. Shallow, sharp pulses reverberated through your body, sending shockwaves of pleasure twitching through your flesh. His swollen head bore down on your front wall, dragging your puffy clit against his pillow. Swirling vision speckled as tipped over the edge.

“Ah… Gonna breed you.” He pounded into your hips. “Fill your cunt with my cum.”

With one last groan, Tomura’s cock pulsed, painting your insides with his release.

Quivering in his arms, salty tears dribbled down your jaw. You buried your face in the blankets. Wretched sobbing shook your frame.

“Hey now,” he purred, petting your rumpled hair. “It’s okay.” He rolled onto his side, yanking you into his chest. He squeezed you once before letting his hand wander to your belly. “I told you I’d take care of you and I meant it.” 

You sniffled and loosed a bitter whine.

“It’ll be fine.” He shushed you like a child, tracing delicate circles across your belly. “We'll raise the kid, and then we can raze this whole society, together. After all, I want to give my girlfriend what she really wants.”

You stiffened in his grasp.

He pressed a scratchy kiss to your raw cheek before muttering: “Way more you than some tacky pink rock.”

🐇 ~Fin~ 🐇

Need more dark romance with hot yandere villains? Check out my original reader insert novel:

Maid For Your Master by Afipia Felis

Available world wide in paperback and ebook.

CW available here

Reviews from readers like you:

"...The fantasy world is lush and the descriptions feel very historically real... This is a story written [with] the kind of dark heroes who feel real, and who don't immediately reform when the heroine batts her eyes at them..." - (Amazon)

"...It also has a lovely dark plot that really gives off the best historical tropes in a really well thought out world :)..." - (Amazon Kindle)

"Delightfully Devious! One thing I also particularly enjoyed about this book was the POV. Its very seldom that you find well written novels written this way. This was a very thrilling book and I can't wait to read more!" - (Goodreads.com)

Read the first three chapters for free on Amazon and Google Play.

Artwork:

Chapter Seven Excerpt By NoNoBadCat

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[virtualcarrot]

[KKIR] Pen on paper - part 7

[Ao3] [Part 6 on tumblr]

Over the last month of the course, a bout of profound homesickness strikes Iruka again. He’s tired of the constant mist seeping through his clothes. He's tired of the verticality, tired of the blocked horizon. He's even tired of the sea salt in the air. He yearns for the smell of bark and leaves and sun-warmed grass.

He hasn't gotten a reply to his most recent letters to Kakashi and Naruto, either. Kaya keeps giving him increasingly amused looks whenever he drops by for news only to slump away in disappointment.

“What's eating you?” Nobuko asks, sidling to his side.

He holds back for all of two seconds, and short-lived ones at that.

“I miss home.”

“Home, hm?”

“Don't start.”

She cups a hand against the wind and snaps her lighter. Her cigarette doesn’t keep her from giving a soft scoff.

They’re nearing the peak of Spring here, which would make for a lovely spectacle if not for the fact Kiri’s vegetation is mostly moss. It’s a stark contrast to the height of Konoha’s bloom, whose many flowers should soon start to shrivel in announcement of the nearing summer. In this season, the slightest breeze will cast dried up petals around the village over there. Back when he was a teacher, Iruka used to sweep a full dustpan of them every early morning that he aired out the classroom.

It’s been a while since he’s spent May away from his parents’ grave.

He shakes his head and forces a smile. “I’m distracted. Sorry.”

Nobuko flicks away a clump of ash.

“For what? Don’t take everything so seriously. Anyway, what’s your preferred flavor of cake?”

“Excuse me?” he asks, pricked with suspicion.

She sucks in smoke like her lungs can’t go without. “Made you think of something else, didn’t it?” It leaves her mouth in billowy threads while she speaks. “So. What is it?”

He narrows his eyes at her. She doesn’t provide any more insight.

“I don’t know, strawberry?”

“Uh,” is all she says in response.

Iruka spends the following weeks in a state of high alert but the days come and go without any ambush and he settles down.

In truth, he has better things to worry about. Masato has eased up on the snide little comments but he’s also increased the feedback. It’s not nice, it’s never kind, but it’s exacting and pertinent and has tripled Iruka’s workload. Brushing up on his theory the night before the VP exam two years ago doesn’t compare; he hasn’t crammed this much since he first prepared for the teaching exam at the Academy ages ago. Even Ryo’s eyes have started going crossed from their sessions in the library, where Toru and Nobuko now claim old age and leave them to their late devices.

Mariko, the librarian, has pityingly granted them an exception to the ban on drinks on site, provided their desk’s not carrying any of the books under her care. They make an unconscionable use of it.

She kicks them out at closing time.

*

On the last week-end of May, Iruka goes on a hunt for his last missing souvenirs. He’s already gone through a few places over his stay but there are still a few people left to check off his list that he'd like to get done with.

The apothecary greets him with now familiar curtness, although this time it’s followed by mild disappointment to learn of the soon-to-be departure of a regular client.

“Got what you came for, I suppose,” he mutters, whole face scrunched up as he gathers Iruka’s purchases.

As an olive branch, Iruka offers the account of his hurdle with the chakra-numbing balm, which seems to fully break the ice. The old man lets out a delighted cackle and proceeds to ring up the sale through a long string of chuckles. By the time he’s done, he’s still hiccuping. He walks Iruka to the exit with a hand to his back and an additional assortment of incense sticks. On the house.

He’s alright, Iruka thinks, a bit wistful to realize it's the last time he'll experience this particular brand of surliness.

Akitaro and a few others find him in the streets just as he’s about to make his way back. Somehow, Iruka fails to argue his way out and gets dragged away on a few more errands. He’s rarely been this aggressively socialized with.

When they finally make their way back to the hostel at the end of the afternoon, their wallets are much lighter. Iruka’s already planning the seal he’ll have to use to pack. Summoning spaces are not his specialty but he should be able to manage.

They step into the hostel to the sight of a single crooked Happy Birthday banner. Kyoko tries to walk right out but Akitaro blocks the way, while Kousuke looks cautiously hopeful he might be included in the lot.

“Gemini season,” Nobuko mutters to Iruka.

“Right. Thanks for the heads up,” he whispers back, dry as the desert.

She snorts. “I gave you one. Learn to read between the lines.”

Kaya jumps out from behind the counter before Iruka figures out a retort. “Thank the gods that you guys are back! I didn’t know what to do about the cakes!”

Sure enough, as they relocate to the common room, they find that the heat has started softening the abundant buttercream on display on the central table. A bunch of lumpy birthday candles are lit and blown somewhat perfunctorily, then slices are cut to be passed around on the hostel’s bland tableware.

As far as red berries cakes go, this one is both lacking in fruit and cloyingly sweet. It’s also such a kind gesture that Iruka can’t find it in himself to mind. Going by Kousuke’s delight, Iruka assumes this one was picked according to both their tastes. Kyoko has been sticking to the dark chocolate alternative. Iruka considers having a taste of it too, out of curiosity. There’s more than enough to go around.

“Here,” Kaya says, dropping a parcel right by his elbow. It reads: ‘please, do not deliver until the 26th’. “Do you know how hard it was to wait for today to give it to you?”

“My birthday’s tomorrow,” Iruka says inanely.

“Keep it for tomorrow, then,” she retorts, already moving on to Kyoko and Kousuke.

While Kousuke hoots in greeting, Kyoko sinks in her seat like she’s attempting to melt away from the whole fuss. Both of them open their mail right then and there, though, so Iruka does too.

He finds letters, cards, birthday wishes from all over Konoha, from Teuchi and Ayame, to Kotetsu and Izumo, to Konohamaru, Udon and Moegi, and Hiroaki and the teachers at the Academy. Even his colleagues from the mission and report desks sent word. Naruto’s enclosed a new drawing from Boruto, along with a family picture. Hinata’s belly has grown noticeably in Iruka’s absence, an observation that brings a tight pang to his chest. His eyes threaten to blur on their greetings and well-wishes.

There’s a package at the bottom of the parcel.

The gift wrap gives easily, revealing a seamless wooden case. It opens on a pillow of silk and a gorgeous calligraphy set, the likes of which Iruka’s only ever seen under glass display. Even without touching it, he can hear the gentle, barely there whisper of passive chakra from the inkstick.

He finds Kakashi’s message folded on the bright-dark inkstone.

Dear Iruka-sensei,

I understand you’re too modest to indulge but I’m differently inclined. If you must really look for a reason to accept this gift, take it as an investment in the future of Konoha. But also know that it’s deserved. Happy birthday.

I hope to hear from you in person soon,

Kakashi.

Ryo picks that moment to set a pristinely wrapped furoshiki on the table and Iruka has to lay his forearm across his eyes to hide. Somebody cheers--he thinks it’s Akitaro--starting a chain of other cheers and awws. 

He grins between the tears.

*

For their last day, Masato gives them free rein to create and test their seals. They spend the morning designing concepts and shouting ideas over the tables. Masato even deigns to walk around the room and share pertinent advice.

Somewhere around mid afternoon, he makes them retreat to the furthest desks. He disengages the most reactive defenses of the room, pushes his desk to clear space on the dais, and starts calling them up one by one to take up the stage.

Akitaro locks a tiny paper crane in a summoning space. It takes him a few tries before he gets it back, along with a little tweak to the left leg of a kanji, but the fact he successfully set up a pocket dimension with a simple three-nodes earns him a grunt of approval.

Kyoko summons an unimpressive puddle with a very impressive use of a notebook-torn sheet and a commonplace pen.

The sight of Kousuke’s final seal has Masato rolling his eyes and grabbing a fresh brush of chakra ink. He still gives the go ahead. Sure enough, Kousuke brings forth such an unstable cloud of sandstorm that Masato has to disrupt the seal with the slash of a line before it swallows the whole room. Far from contrite, Kousuke looks smug for the next hour or so.

All of their teeth crunch on grains of sand for the next hour or so.

After him, Yumi, Shigeyasu, Tetsu, Yoko and Hiromi all present their work with varying degrees of success until, finally, they reach Iruka's group.

They all turn to Ryo.

“Well, go on,” Nobuko says.

Ryo sets nir jaw and climbs onstage.

The seal ne lays down is a variation on nir miserable attempt from weeks before, this time drawn on strong chakra paper and with the appropriate ink. It's been edited with additional factors and improved following Masato's begrudging feedback and nir own research. This time again, ne pricks nir finger on a kunai.

An ice phoenix soars over them, gleaming and majestic, to the slow, otherworldly beat of crystal wings. Its multifaceted feathers shine like diamonds catching light. The beak opens on a silent eagle cry.

It goes as far as the first row of tables before it starts suddenly melting. Masato dispels it so it doesn't drench the room.

“Impressive,” he says with no inflection. “You used Tora to give it life, correct?”

“I… Yes. And, uh, a lightning trigger.”

Masato swats the air. “Irrelevant. The problem is in the wording. Your Tiger is too strong, it takes over Bird and Dog. Next time, empower them. And leash the Tiger. Next!”

Next is Iruka's seal, which makes Masato scoff.

“I'm not testing that. Any volunteers?”

Unexpectedly, there is. Toru gets up with a placid smile and joins them on the dais, considering the scroll Iruka’s placed between them on the floor.

“Do I stand in the middle?”

The middle is the culminating intersection of a wide amount of nodal links, each sewing in and out of the eight Yin releases arranged on a circle around it. Three successive curves of text enclose the result, adding a Konohan flourish to the Kiri style seal.

“No need,” Iruka replies off-handedly, making the hand signs for a fire release.

The chains of the binding seal jump to Toru, loop around his ankles and drag him right over the scroll and to the center of it.

“Uh,” Toru says, unperturbed through sheer intellectual curiosity.

He tries to move and finds that the trap will only allow a vague shift of his feet. He looks at the seal under him and inspects it more closely, turning awkwardly to get a better look at the writing behind.

Iruka and Masato approach.

“Is it holding?” Iruka asks, frowning in concern.

“It'd seem so,” Toru replies.

“If you'll allow me,” Masato starts saying, before turning his brush around and pushing Toru with the tip of the handle. Toru’s feet don't budge. “Hm.”

Together, Masato and Iruka circle the seal, looking for a weakness.

“What about here?” Masato asks, pointing the handle at a space in the links of two Ying seals to the Northwest. He draws a path in the air until the first line of text, weaving between the characters until he reaches the second, and then third line, all the way out of the labyrinth of ideograms. “Try it.”

The seal casts discontent ripples at the prod of Toru’s chakra. Iruka feels the heaving of disturbed power, then it stops. Much worse, what follows is the subtle, methodical levering of a layer of chakra, and then another, until Toru shifts like he’s slipping through the cracks in a rock. He shuffles sideways in tiny, unhurried steps, not even breathing hard by the time he gets all the way out.

Masato purses his lips and darts a dismissive look at the Konohan lines of sealing.

“Interesting. But you rely too much on failsafes.” He gestures to the central circle of Yin release nodes. “You need to build up your core. The links are unstable. Next!”

Before anyone else can stand, Toru draws a scroll out of his pocket and summons a smokescreen to hide behind. It's nothing showy, nothing impressive, but unlike a common hand jutsu it's self-sustained until the ink runs out of power. Nifty.

Masato seems to agree because he gives a little nod. Toru dissipates the smoke and, when Nobuko doesn’t show any interest in moving from her seat, another student takes her slot.

Back at the table, Iruka gives her a curious look.

She shrugs. “Not one for showmanship, me.”

Ryo stares up at her with wide, shiny eyes. “Come on, show us.”

“You think I don't know what you're doing, there?” she says with a sniff, but when the last student’s done with their demonstration she stomps up to the dais with her bag.

She pulls three blank sheets of chakra paper and two small hourglasses that she sets on Masato's desk, and holds out a hand for his brush. He gives it up with a surprising lack of argument.

With it, she traces the sign of a Tora release that she ties up on itself with a single thread. The process gets repeated on each sheet until she's left with three seemingly identical seals.

She slaps them side by side on the floor and points at each in succession, staring at the audience. “Instant, thirty, sixty. Can you get the hourglasses?”

Masato moves to the desk, hands at the ready over them. She triggers the seals.

The first pops in a flash of short-lived fire. They wait. Right around the last grains of sand of the smallest hourglass, the second seal bursts into similar flames. Thirty seconds later, so does the third.

“How did she time these, they were the same seals, weren't they the same seals?” Ryo whispers while Iruka nods quickly in agreement.

Nobuko finishes the demonstration with an ironic little bow, picks up her things and moves back to her seat.

“That was so cool,” Ryo tells her in all earnestness.

Nobuko gives a one-shouldered shrug. Underneath her pout, though, Iruka catches the spark of self-conscious self-satisfaction. That makes him smile.

At the end of the session, Eri walks in. She gives a short speech about nurturing inter-village community ties and common history, that she wraps up with thanks for their presence. Masato follows that with a similar sentiment. He doesn't even sound as insincere as Iruka would have thought, especially for a man seemingly holding a grudge over the defection of Iruka’s ancestors.

Eri then announces a farewell party at the hostel, where they all flock together the moment they’re done packing their brushes and papers.

Kaya’s only just finished setting up the dining room when they arrive, platters of catering food overflowing with fried shrimp, crab claws, marinated fish filets and grilled cuttlefish. Side dishes are on offer too, filled with wakame and rice and potato salad and a lighter broth to cleanse the palate. Further down, golden dorayaki, thin slices of fresh mangos and purin are already on display for dessert. Iruka knows for a fact that the hostel hasn’t seen food this enticing in at least three months.

In spite of all that, the main aftertaste of the evening remains bittersweet.

*

They part in small groups over the following days. Akitaro gives every single one of them a wide-encompassing hug with the full range of his considerable frame. Much more reserved, Kyoko sticks to curt nods and handshakes of acknowledgement. Ryo cries nir little heart out in a way such that Nobuko has to avert her eyes before she gets started too. Even Kaya looks glum to see them go.

Iruka doesn’t bother hiding his own grief, just accepts the touches and pats with wet cheeks and a grin until he feels his smile crack under the focus of Toru’s gaze. Then Toru gives him a gentle, grandfatherly hug, and Iruka holds him back like he wishes he could still hold his father, his mother and Hiruzen, tight and close and so terribly fond, because he misses them all so much and he already misses Toru and Ryo and Nobuko.

He apologizes sheepishly afterwards and Nobuko sends him one of those scathing, terrifyingly pointed little jabs of hers over it. In for a penny, in for a pound: he hugs her too, just for that.

“Send me any of your fancy new jutsu formulae, alright? So I can sell them in my shop,” she tells them once he releases her.

They promise to stay in touch.

Yumi announces she’s staying longer to make use of Kiri’s library, so Iruka leaves without her. He and some of the students going the same direction join a caravan, that swells and thins over the stopovers.

At the crossroads between Konoha and Iwa, Iruka's the one who breaks away. This time, Ryo manages to contain nir tears, but only barely. Iruka ruffles nir hair as goodbye and shoulders his bag.

He finishes the trip alone.

*

It's the early afternoon when Iruka reaches Konoha. Summer’s just around the corner and the air’s warm and humid. At this time of day, the gates sit wide open in welcome, with only a few sentries to watch over them. They stand a bored, sluggish vigil, slumped against the wall.

One of the guards perks up at Iruka's approach.

“Is that--Oi, Iruka-sensei! Welcome back!” he shouts, waving his arms in wide arches over his head to draw Iruka's attention.

Iruka recognizes him as one of his former students, from Konohamaru's year.

He breaks into a smile. “Ah, Takehiko! It's good to see you!”

The other guard gives Iruka a simpler nod in greeting, which he answers with one of his own.

Invigorated by the new arrival, Takehiko all but hops in place until Iruka gets within talking distance, at which point he lets loose a barrage of questions about the trip. Iruka answers a few, if only for the sake of dispelling the worst of the misconceptions Takehiko’s operating under--not everybody in Kirigakure has shark teeth, for starters, no, Iruka wasn't made to eat live octopi, and the mist isn't, in fact, stained blood-red.

But he's tired, sweaty and sticky and bug-bitten, and his feet hurt and his back aches for a proper mattress, so he excuses himself with promises to share more at a later date and doesn't linger.

The streets of Konoha feel familiar in a distant way, a layer of nostalgia blurring the lines of his recollection. He hasn't even been gone for four months, but enough details have changed, little things he wouldn't have thought twice had he been present for the fact, that his mind does double takes as he walks by. The unsteady balcony on Mill Street has gotten some repairs. The fishmonger’s front got a fresh new coat of paint. A block from there, the thrift shop Iruka used to get clothes from as a teen stands closed for renovations.

Familiar faces greet him, which he greets back.

The key to his apartment slots in like he was never gone. The door unlocks like an old friend. And then he's home.

Someone must have aired it before his arrival because there's almost no must in the air, just the familiar scent, as unique as a person's, that marks a place. It's the smell of the walls, of the varnished floorboards, the angle at which the sun hits the shutters, and, still lingering, of traces of his own, in this place that hasn't seen enough others to erase it.

In the kitchen, he finds an assortment of freshly bought cans of yakitori, oden and curry--Izumo--and a cheap pack of various instant noodles--Kotetsu. Iruka’s not hungry yet, but he can just imagine the argument that took place between the two over the selection. It makes him smile.

He freshens up in the shower, enjoys the luxury of slipping into clean clothes straight from his dresser.

Somewhere past four in the afternoon, he finally crashes in his own bed.

[crookshanksagentofowca]

Fetching

@microficmay Day 28

“You cannot actually expect me to sit around and do nothing for nine months!” Bellatrix complained, glaring at Voldemort with her hands on her hips. “You’re not doing nothing. You are growing a new person inside of you, which can’t be easy.” “I’m tough; I can multitask. You should have seen the things my Aunt Walburga got up to while she was pregnant, and she didn’t have anywhere near my level of training. I can probably keep doing missions until right up before the baby is born.”

Voldemort gave her a frustrated look. “You really want to continue with your regular work while pregnant?” “Of course! We’re in the middle of a war and I don’t intend to just sit it out!” “Fine. I’ll give you a mission right now.” Bellatrix perked up, then quickly deflated as he continued, “You know that book on Ancient Egyptian curses I was reading? I think I left it in the sitting room. Why don’t you go get it for me?” “I meant real missions,” she groaned. “Not just fetching things for you.” He cocked his head.

“Are you disobeying a direct order? When you became a Death Eater, you swore to do whatever I asked.” “Because I thought you would actually ask me to do things; not just sit around and look pretty like my family and the Lestranges expected! I can’t believe you, of all people, are treating me like some fragile piece of china!” “You weren’t pregnant before! You’ve never been pregnant before! I know you’re strong, but we are in uncharted waters and you haven’t made a horcrux yet so if anything goes wrong—” Voldemort’s voice was rising. He ran his hands over his head, then gripped her shoulders and said, “I can’t lose you. You…you do remember my mother died giving birth to me?” Bellatrix’s face softened slightly.

“I do. And I don’t want to worry you. But the thought of just sitting back and watching everyone else win the war for you…Snape’s already making snide comments about how much more useful not going to Azkaban has made him….” “Bella. You are far more important to me than Snape or any other Death Eater or anything that could be gained from you continuing to go on missions. Please, I am actually begging you to be careful during this time. Once the baby’s born and you’ve recovered, you can make a horcrux and after that you can do whatever you want but until then, please take it easy. For me.” She scowled. “Promise this won’t affect my ranking as a Death Eater?” “Of course not. As far as the others know, you’ll be away on a top-secret mission that is of great importance to me. Which is basically the truth, come to think of it. And it’s not as though you’ll play no part in the war effort. I’ll still need you to go through intelligence reports and strategize with me. You’re the only one with a mind to match my own.” Bellatrix sighed, still clearly unhappy with the situation. “Fine. But only because I love you.”

“Thank you.” He kissed her on the forehead. “And I feel the same way about you, which is why we can’t afford to take risks. I realize I’m probably being overcautious but it’s worth it to ensure your safety.”

On ao3:

[msommers]

4, 16, 18 for maeve, meredith and jorina!

ok listen do NOT look @ me for this taking so long i WASN'T absorbed in laying in bed, staring @ the ceiling, constantly thinking thoughts but never writing them down. that's crazy talk. anyway thank u ily <333 // oc asks: childhood edition // placing the read more higher up than usual bc shocking nobody, i don't know how to keep answers short and i wanna save everyone's dashboards from this

4) How was your muse's relationship with their childhood guardians? Has it changed over time, and if so, how? Do they keep in touch?

so check it out. i read this question an entirely different way the first time i saw it and had different answers, doubted them for like 15 minutes straight, then redid it all upon realization. so now here we are

MAEVE — bad! not good!! never improved!!! i wouldn't even call Maeve's parents her guardians in any capacity because they were so horrible at that job. they started lowkey coercing her into developing her charm when she first caught a man's attention for being pretty because they wanted to get stuff out of it, emotionally neglected her the entire time she lived with them, made her feel guilty about the most ridiculous things on a regular basis, literally sold her to Carden the same day he voiced his interest in taking her away, etc etc add a dozen other offenses here. what changed over time would be Maeve having the distance and years to process how they treated her (mother straight up abusive, father on a lower level and mostly through his inaction), accepting it, and working on the struggles/damage they saddled her with. no contact at all, even if i did entertain the age old concept of her discovering where they moved to during her travels with a witcher or two, she wants nothing to do with them.

MEREDITH — so close to both parents, her father maybe a little more so due to extra time together but that didn't lessen the bond between her and her mother. Meredith and Bryce spent a great deal of time together as she was interested in following in his footsteps, and eventually being heir of the teyrnir, which required a ridiculous amount of educating (required is a strong term, but they both agreed it was excellent to have and she loved her lessons) and additional hands-on experience being at his side while he attended his duties. they knew how to make each other laugh, his hugs were her favorite thing in all of Thedas, and she was all but his official right-hand lady by the time origins came around tbh. Sometimes she'll make a snide comment that she knew he would have laughed at and it causes a physical ache how terribly she misses the sound. Eleanor was the one to initiate Meredith's rogue training to further her capability, and that's something she'll always be grateful for. Her mother taught her how to read maps, calculate numbers in a battle, properly host visitors, she was also the one to give her lessons in Alamarri to help preserve the language. They could soothe each other's nerves or irritation simply by being at one another's side, and held entire conversations through glances and expressions alone. Her mother's smile always filled her with warmth and she spends the rest of her life wishing she could see it just one more time.

JORINA — so much love was present, even in the times of trying to figure her out. she and her father were happy in their quiet art activities together, but she shied away from his affection when it became too overwhelming. her mother supported Jorina's fierce independence without question, but couldn't understand the introvert’s need to recharge and on occasion pushed her a little too far outside of her boundaries. they were most likely at the stage of classic moody arguments between a mom and teen before Wenna’s death and Jorina regrets that to no end. Renehn fell into a severe depression after Wenna was gone (plus some other events of the blight but who has the time to list) and it irrevocably altered he and Jorina's relationship as she was forced to step up in her mid-teens to provide for the family, but fortunately they get the time to heal from individual wounds and come together down the line to slowly rebuild their relationship with great patience and new understandings of each other. Jorina finding her own love helped an immeasurable amount with her coming to understand what her father went through because she doesn't know what the fuck she'd do with herself if anything happened to Aleksi. they kept in contact through Jorina's letters sent back home while she worked for the Inquisition (her siblings would read them to him until he was able to do so himself), and through the occasional visit when time was free for it. level of contact after events of trespasser depends on what happened there i guess lmao

16) If your muse could say one thing to their childhood self, what would they say? Would your muse want to meet their childhood self in the first place?

MAEVE — she would jump at the chance to meet her childhood self because the girl desperately needed love and attention that she’d be all too happy to provide, no matter how short their time together would be. trouble is!! this would likely be one of the rare scenarios where she’d struggle to find the right words, because her list of potentials would be so goddamn long she wouldn’t know where to start. she’d likely end up giving her a much-needed hug, a kiss to the top of the head, and telling her smth like “you are stronger than any deterrent that this world may try to put in your path, love. never doubt that.” bc y’know. soft girl gonna soft and not recognize the strength needed to endure all the shit she suffers to reach her happiness lmfao

MEREDITH — “never doubt your instincts. not even for a moment.” it was the doubt that Rendon could be up to anything truly horrible That EveningTM which led to Meredith holding her tongue, perhaps a gentle (or rather: intense as hell, calm down she's just a kid, mere-) nudge could alter that. could change everything, could change absolutely nothing at all, worth the shot tho.

JORINA — she wouldn’t want to meet her childhood self one bit, she'd get so depressed lol. even when she was young, Jorina was always trying to act older than she was and missed out on a lot of the youthful joy and activities she should’ve had because of that. she’d want to tell her to go play with the other kids, put down the chores for a few hours and just have fun, but i don’t think she’d be able to do it. she’d be too upset about the reminder incarnate of how she wasted her happy, full family years batting her mother’s helping hands away and insisting she could handle big girl things on her own.

18) What's one thing that instantly transports your muse back to their childhood? Why?

MAEVE — hearing a child being snapped at in a particular tone (most often by parents in the upper echelons of society) will, sadly, always send her back to being a little girl getting scolded by her mother. she can recognize later in life that she was being chastised for simply acting as an excitable child should, but falling back into those memories brings the shame of "disappointing" and "embarrassing" her mother back to the surface. 

MEREDITH — sometimes chatting with Delilah brings her back to their early teenage years, where they would trade gossip through whispers and giggle as they linked arms before gliding off to find a new source of information, or perhaps a private space to more openly discuss their findings. smth smth prime example of girlhood and she misses that innocent fun, wishes that it hadn't been taken by forces outside of her control. 

JORINA — counting her coin. whether it be checking what's on her person or what she'd been paid for recent scouting work, she'll sometimes flash back to the numerous nights she spent counting and recounting her limited household funds as if some extra money would magically appear and she'd be able to comfortably feed the family for the rest of the week.