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himasgod · 2 months ago

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Can you do 2nd year's where u stop giving them attention? 🩷

SECOND YEARS X READER

Where you suddenly stop giving them attention

FIRST YEARS HERE

How would the second years react if you suddenly stopped pampering them due to lack of sleep because of your studies?

Floyd was addicted to your attention.

Just like that. No sugarcoating.

He loved it when you looked for him, when you hugged him in public, when you called him “my baby” Because only you could do that without making him mad. Only you could calm his tide of emotions with a smile.

"Shriiimpy~ you're super cuddly today, I looove it."

He was happy. So happy he didn’t even try to hide it. He became calmer when you were around, more cheerful, less chaotic.

But when you stop showing up, when the “Floyd, come here” turns into “sorry, I have to go,” Floyd starts acting weird.

At first, he insists.

"Shrimpy! Are you ignoring me? Are you playing hide-and-seek without telling me? So boring!"

But when he realizes it’s not a game, that your eyes look dull, that you don’t even notice you’re pushing him away, something inside him churns. His smile fades. He stops going after you. He just watches you from afar.

And inside, he feels like a forgotten child.

Until one day, he gets fed up.

He corners you against your locker with his arms on either side of your head, his face more serious than ever.

"What’s wrong with you? You don’t love me anymore? You got bored? Did I piss you off?"

You don’t know what to say. You’re so tired you don’t even have the strength to lie. You just lower your head, murmuring a soft “sorry, I’m exhausted.”

And Floyd… goes still.

"You’re sad? You’re tired and didn’t tell me?"

He looks at you in silence for a second. Then wraps his arms around you tightly, hiding his face in your neck.

"I don’t care if you don’t hug me or look for me… but don’t disappear on me like that. Don’t leave me without you, Shrimpy."

And that day, Floyd doesn’t let go of you for a second. He carries you like a blanket and takes you to his room, lets you sleep against his chest like a plushie and sings you a song softly, no teasing, no sarcasm.

"Sleep. I’ll take care of you. Even if you don’t spoil me, I’ll spoil you now."

Jamil wasn't used to being the center of anyone's attention.

His whole life revolved around obeying, caring, and repressing. Emotions were dangerous. Affection… even more so.

So when you started doting on him—for real, without expecting anything in return—he refused to believe it.

Every touch of yours made him tense; every sweet word forced him to look away.

But he got used to it. Or rather, he allowed himself to depend on it a little. On you. On your silent attentions. On how you noticed when he was overwhelmed and simply held his hand without saying anything. On how you reminded him that he was valuable beyond his usefulness.

And then, one day, all of that stopped.

Without an explanation. Without a fight. Without an "I'm tired." Just… absence. Averted glances. "Sorry, I don't have time right now." Entire days without messages. And he, silent, swallowing his doubts.

"Did I dream it? Was it always a lie? Have they had enough of someone like me?"

He doesn't tell you. Jamil would never admit it. But he starts acting drier, more evasive. He avoids you so you don't notice how much it hurts. Until he sees you asleep with your head on your notes, your back hunched, and your breathing heavy with stress.

And in that instant, the anger collapses. All the accumulated venom turns to worry.

He approaches silently. He covers you with his jacket. He sighs deeply, as if crushed by the weight of something he can no longer contain.

"…You're not the only one who's tired of pretending everything is okay."

He wakes you gently, almost fearfully. When you open your eyes, you see something different in his: not anger, not reproach… but contained sadness.

"If you're exhausted, tell me. Don't leave me alone imagining that I no longer mean anything. Because you don't know how much it hurts when the only place where I felt free… disappears too."

That day, Jamil accompanies you to your room. He forces you to eat, to drink water, to sleep well. He doesn't ask you for anything in return.

But as he strokes your hair with trembling fingers, he whispers softly:

"This time, it's my turn to take care of you. But don't go away. Not again."

Kalim adores you. There's no other word. For him, your love is like the sun after a sandstorm, like a laugh in the midst of silence.

He's always been generous, always giving love without asking for it. But when you started pampering him, it was as if for the first time he received without needing to give. Your spontaneous kisses, your texts reminding him to drink water, your way of saying "I miss you" even though you'd only seen him two hours ago…

"It makes me so happy to know you're thinking of me!" he would always tell you, hugging you tightly.

So when that disappears, Kalim doesn't know what to do.

At first, he tries to cheer himself up. "I'm sure they're busy. Everything will be okay."

But as the days pass, uncertainty eats away at his smile.

He starts looking for you more insistently. Laughing louder. Proposing plans.

"Let's go carpet flying! We haven't been out in a long time!"

But you just tell him, “I'm sorry, Kalim, I can't today.”

And that day, when you walk away without looking him in the eye, something in his expression changes. His smile freezes.

He follows you with his eyes until you disappear into the hallways. Then he sits alone, in a corner of the garden, hands clasped together.

“Maybe… I did something wrong. Maybe I was too intense. Maybe… they don't love me like they used to.”

When he finally finds you asleep in the common room, exhausted and murmuring words in your sleep, his heart breaks.

“Oh… that's it. You're tired. You're so tired, and all I thought about was myself.”

He approaches carefully, tucks your hair behind your ear, and in a low voice, with that pure tenderness that characterizes him, he speaks to you even though he knows you're not listening:

“You don't need to be strong for me all the time. It's okay if you can't pamper me. I love you the same. I'll be here the same. Always."

That night, Kalim tucks you into the softest blanket he can find, leaves a cup of tea on the nightstand, and a note written in his big, cheerful handwriting:

“Don't miss me. Don't pressure yourself. Just rest. I'll be here when you wake up. I love you always, even when you can't show it.”

And yes. He keeps his promise. When you open your eyes, he's there, smiling brightly, holding your hand.

“Did you sleep well? It's my turn to take care of you today, okay?”

Riddle was so nervous at the beginning of the relationship that every gesture of affection from you left him silent, blushing, confused. But over time, he began to crave your attention as if it were afternoon tea: part of his routine, a sacred ritual.

You organizing his schedule, reminding him to rest, kissing his forehead when his headache ached—it was your way of caring for him, and he accepted it like a blessing.

But when that disappears, Riddle panics.

He doesn't show it right away, of course. He denies what he feels.

"Theyre probably busy. I shouldn't bother them. I shouldn't show weakness…"

Until anxiety consumes him. Until he accidentally explodes.

"You didn't reply to the text I sent you three days ago! Did I do something wrong?! Why are you ignoring me?!"

And when you turn around, your eyes tired, unable to even stand completely, Riddle feels his heart sink.

"Oh… you're… you're exhausted…"

He sees you trembling. He sees the dark circles under your eyes. He sees you like a castle about to collapse.

Then he takes a step back, swallowing. He lowers his gaze. He approaches calmly and takes your hand, his tone infinitely softer.

"Forgive me. I didn't know how to see it. You don't need to explain anything to me. Just… come with me."

He takes you to his room. He changes his schedule. He suspends his studies. He makes tea. And when he sees you asleep, tangled in his blanket, he closes his eyes with guilt and tenderness.

"You taught me to be loved… now it's my turn to learn to care for you as you deserve."

And that night, Riddle Rosehearts doesn't sleep. He stays by your side, watching over your sleep, like someone tending a beautiful garden that has flourished even in the harshest spring.

Jade is a man of subtleties. Of long silences, gentle smiles, and eyes that observe more than they say. When you started pampering him, at first he thought you were just playing around… but over time, he understood that your attentions were sincere. You made small braids in his hair when he rested with you, brought him new herbal teas to try, told him how much his presence calmed you.

And he, silently, became addicted to it.

Not because he needed it—or so he wanted to believe—but because it made him feel human, and not just another servant of his brother's capricious emotions or a mere executor of orders.

So when that warmth disappears overnight, when you stop texting him, stopping by the lounge, touching his hand for no reason… Jade doesn't say anything. He doesn't pressure you. He just observes.

But behind that apparent serenity, a restlessness begins to grow in his chest.

Until one day, when he notices you in the greenhouse, half asleep, lying on a flowerpot, your face covered in dirt and your hands trembling, he approaches silently. He doesn't say "I missed you," he doesn't complain.

He just crouches down beside you and begins to wipe the mud off your fingers with a white handkerchief.

"I was wondering… if plants also stop blooming if their gardeners forget themselves."

And then, without warning, he looks into your eyes, very close.

"I don't need your touch to be with you. But I can't bear to see you like this… as if you'd vanished without realizing it."

He helps you to your feet. He leads you to his room. He makes lavender tea. And that night, he sits beside you, silent, gently touching your hand, as if afraid of breaking you.

"When you're ready, I will once again receive each of your caresses with gratitude… but for now, allow me to take care of you."

Azul is used to transactions. To giving in order to receive. To measuring affection in terms of utility and results. But you… you broke his logic from day one. You gave him attention and affection, without conditions. You hugged him when he frowned. You defended him when others saw him as just another merchant.

And Azul, for the first time, didn't know what to give in return. He felt awkward. Exposed. But happy.

"Are you sure you don't want anything? Not even a symbolic contract…?"

And yet, every time you looked at him with genuine love, his insecurities faded a little. Your affection transformed him.

So when you stop pursuing him, when your messages dry up and your visits to the Monstro Lounge cease, his first reaction is to panic.

"Did I say something wrong? Is she angry with me? Did she regret it?"

He starts replaying conversations, looking for signs. He locks himself in his office, checks his magic mirror to see you from afar (blame it on jealousy, blame it on anxiety), and what he sees isn't contempt… it's exhaustion.

He watches you drag yourself between classes. Fall asleep over your notes. Walk like a ghost.

And something in him snaps.

The next day, a note arrives, delicately folded.

"Come by the Lounge this afternoon. I've reserved the place just for us. It's not a formal date. I just want to see you."

When you arrive, Azul is waiting for you with a warm cup of your favorite beverage and a blanket draped over the shoulders of the most comfortable chair. He invites you to sit. He doesn't try to talk business, or magic, or anything. He just watches you, with unusual calm.

"I don't need your daily flattery to know you appreciate me. But if you're losing yourself, then I… I can't stay still."

His voice trembles a little. Azul isn't good at showing vulnerability. But he tries.

"You gave me more than I ever expected to receive. Let me give you back at least a part of it."

And that night, there are no contracts. No exchanges. Just Azul holding your hand as you sleep on his couch, a barely audible whisper in the air:

"Please… don't disappear again. You don't know how much I need you."

Ruggie never considered himself someone worthy of much luxury or attention. He comes from what's fair, what's scarce. He’s used to giving more than he receives. But when you came into his life and started spoiling him —with food, sweet words, casual affection— at first, he got defensive.

"What’s up with you? Are you bribing me or what?"

But then… he got used to it. And without realizing it, he became addicted to it. To the way you looked at him like he was special. To how you remembered the things he liked. To how you hugged him for no reason and called him “my boy”

So, when all of that stops suddenly, Ruggie doesn’t take it well. And he doesn’t express it with sadness, but with forced humor.

"Hey, did you replace me or what? 'Cause you don’t even throw a “hi” my way anymore. I feel like a forgotten veggie in the fridge."

He says it with a lopsided smile, like it’s a joke, but his hyena ears are drooping. His laugh sounds weak. He’s hurt, even if he doesn’t want to admit it.

When he finally sees you collapse in the cafeteria, your head buried in your arms, not even touching the food given to you, something changes. He doesn’t joke anymore. He pulls you out of the place without asking, takes you behind the kitchen, puts a bun in your hand, and makes you eat.

"You know I don’t mind if you don’t pay attention to me… but this isn’t okay. You can’t keep going like this. I don’t want to see you falling apart from trying to carry everything alone."

And when you look at him, for the first time in days, with eyes glassy from guilt and exhaustion, he sighs.

"Dummy. You got me used to your affection and now you take it away. That’s not fair, is it?"

But he hugs you, without resentment, with the tenderness he keeps only for you. And that night, without you asking, he cooks your favorite dish and sits down to eat with you, talking nonsense until you laugh.

"Come on, boss. You spoil me, but now it’s my turn to take care of you, okay?"

Silver isn't a demanding person. His calm, almost ethereal nature makes him seem as if he's above common emotional needs. But since you've been with him, there's something that keeps him more awake, more grounded in the world. Your attentions, however small—a hand on his cheek, a loving whisper before he falls asleep, a smile when his eyes close—are what remind him that there's someone who chooses him every day, even when he's lost in his dreams.

That's why, when you start to distance yourself, he notices… even though he doesn't say anything.

At first, he thinks maybe he's imagining it. That he shouldn't be selfish. That you have your own problems too. But the days go by, and your greetings become automatic, your hugs are absent, and you're no longer there to wake him with affection when he falls asleep in the garden. And Silver begins to dream uneasy things. Dreams where he searches for you and can't find you. Where his world is silent and empty.

One afternoon, as you watch him from afar, he pauses, approaches with a serious look—serious, not angry—and offers you his hand.

"Come. I want to show you something."

He takes you to a corner of the forest where the sun's rays filter through the trees and the sound of water gently flows. There he sits with you, and for a moment he says nothing. He just listens. He watches the dark circles under your eyes form. How your shoulders slump with exhaustion.

"You always take care of me. You're always there for me, even when I can't stay awake myself. So now I want you to rest."

He takes off his coat and places it around your shoulders. Then he sits beside you, lets you rest your head on his chest, and closes your eyes.

"I don't need you to pamper me all the time. Just for you to be well. That's all I want."

And when you finally allow yourself to let out the silent cry, he doesn't move. He doesn't speak again. He just holds you. Like you did so many times.

#twisted x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #jade leech x reader #jade x yuu #floyd leech x reader #floyd x yuu #azul ashengrotto x reader #azul x yuu #jamil viper x reader #jamil x yuu #kalim al asim x reader #kalim x yuu #silver vanrouge x reader #silver x yuu #ruggie bucchi x reader #ruggie x yuu #riddle rosehearts x reader #riddle x yuu

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mysticalcrowntyrant · 2 months ago

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Yandere Jester x Reader

The bells are the first thing you hear every morning—soft, chiming, almost birdlike in their laughter. They come before the footsteps of your advisors, before the clanking of platters and wine goblets, even before the rooster crows.

They are his bells.

He arrives with dawn, skipping into the hall like a child and bowing so low his nose brushes the cold stone floor. “Good morrow, Your Majesty,” he says, voice bright and breathless, eyes hidden behind a fan of red and gold silk. “The sun rises late, it seems. I’ve missed your light.”

You allow yourself a small smile, if only because your court expects it. He is your jester—your fool, your clown, your painted shadow—and he is beloved by all, even those who should know better.

Especially you.

He calls himself Jovian, though you suspect that is not his real name. No one knows where he came from. He appeared one storm-soaked night three winters ago. No one summoned him, no scroll bore his seal, and yet he walked through the palace gates as though he'd lived there all his life, trailing puddles and laughter in his wake. The guards said they let him in because of the way he smiled. As though he knew them. As though he owned them.

You’d been colder back then. Harsher. Too young for your crown, yet already dulled by the weight of it. You didn’t laugh easily. You barely smiled. Your court feared you and rightly so. But he laughed. He made you laugh. His first performance was impromptu. A whirling dance of mimicry and mockery, calling out your advisors by name and miming their worst faults with such ruthless precision that you remember the sound of goblets dropping to the floor.

You’d clapped. Once. Slowly.

And that was enough.

From then on, he never left.

He’s always there now. In the corners of your vision. In every reflection. Behind every column. Sometimes it seems even the shadows bend around him, accommodating his whims.

He wears bells on his wrists and ankles, dozens of them, and yet you never hear him when he shouldn’t be there. When he shouldn’t be anywhere near you. When you’re in the bath. Or asleep. Or alone with someone else.

You’ve stopped being alone with anyone else.

And still, your court adores him. They call him harmless. They say his painted smile is just that—paint. His laughter, an illusion. But they don’t see the things you see. They don’t feel his eyes.

You do. You feel them when you dress. When you undress. When you touch the ring he slipped onto your finger “as a joke” during a performance and which now cannot be removed.

This morning, as always, he somersaults to your throne and throws himself at your feet, dramatic and boneless, like a puppet without strings. His laughter echoes off the marble pillars.

“Another day, another chance to make you smile,” he purrs. His voice is sugar and venom, always. “Shall I juggle your secrets, sire? Dance with your demons? Or would you prefer I remove them entirely?”

You glance down. His painted face grins up at you, the red of his mouth smeared just slightly too wide. There’s something red beneath his fingernails.

“Jovian,” you say, your voice carefully neutral. “Did you sleep at all?”

He tilts his head. “Sleep?” he echoes. “Why would I sleep when you might dream of someone else?”

The court titters. They think it’s another of his jokes. You know better.

You haven’t had a restful night in weeks. Not since you complemented the captain of your guard. She vanished the next morning. Her armor was found folded on her cot. Her sword was never recovered.

Your steward once suggested restricting Jovian’s access to your chambers. The steward now speaks in a strange whisper and doesn’t meet your eyes. He says it was an illness.

You know better.

“Tell me a story,” you say. It’s safer, usually. He loves to perform. It distracts him.

He rises with a flourish, sweeping his arm in a theatrical arc. The bells sing.

“A story,” he says, eyes glinting like cut glass. “A tale of love and laughter? Or one of bones and betrayal?” He leans close. Too close.

You do not flinch. Flinching would only amuse him.

“Whichever you prefer,” you say, and your voice, to your credit, remains steady. “But keep it short.”

Jovian’s smile grows until it threatens to tear the painted mask of his face in two. He twirls away from the dais in a single, liquid motion, his bells trilling like birds startled from a tree. His arms rise, fingers splayed, as if he’s about to cast a spell. And in some ways, you think he is.

“Once,” he begins, “in a kingdom not unlike this one, there lived a ruler whose heart beat only for order. They surrounded themself with straight lines and silent halls, with iron laws and colder dreams. Their people whispered that they had ice in their veins, frost in their marrow. They were not cruel, no—they were clean.”

The courtiers laugh again, the low, uncertain ripple of those who know they are part of a performance but aren’t sure whether the joke is at their expense. You watch him move, pirouetting between pillars, his shadow elongating oddly behind him despite the hour.

“One day,” Jovian continues, “a man came to the palace. A stranger with bells on his wrists and madness in his smile. He danced into the throne room and bowed so low that even the spiders looked down on him. And the ruler, who had not laughed in many long years, tilted their head. And then...smiled.”

He stops dancing. Stops everything. The silence that follows is unnatural. The kind that weighs on your ears. It stretches too long.

Jovian stands now in the center of the chamber. He faces you. The fan is gone. His face is fully visible.

No one laughs.

“But the smile,” he says softly, “was not theirs.”

Something shifts in the air. You feel it like a sudden pressure drop before a storm. Your fingers tighten around the armrest of your throne.

Jovian’s eyes—not the bright, painted mockeries from moments ago but something deeper, older, more aware—lock onto yours. The courtiers around you begin to shift uneasily, the illusion fraying at the edges. Perhaps they, too, feel the change, though they’d never admit it.

“They say,” he goes on, his voice honeyed and low, “that when a fool dances too close to the fire, he risks getting burned. But what if the fire... finds him cold? What if it feeds him? What if it makes him real?”

He turns his head slowly, unnaturally, like a marionette guided by invisible strings. “Would you like that, my liege? To be real?”

Your mouth is dry. Your ring—the one he “joked” into placing upon your finger—burns against your skin. You press your palm into your thigh to stop yourself from reaching for it.

“What are you?” you whisper.

He hears. Of course he hears.

He laughs again, but this time there’s no joy in it. It’s empty. Hollow. The sound of dry leaves spinning down a long corridor.

“I am yours,” he says, all false brightness restored in an instant. “Your reflection, your shadow, your secret kept too long. I am the whisper in the mirror when you do not recognize yourself. I am what your court would be if it were honest. I am... love.”

He’s at your feet again. You didn’t see him move.

“I am love,” he repeats, and his voice cracks on the last word like porcelain under pressure.

Then he reaches into his coat and pulls out a feather—white, long, unmistakably from a dove—and places it on your knee.

You stare at it.

You think of your high priest, who hasn’t been seen since last week’s festival. You remember the dove he always kept with him, a symbol of peace, of renewal. You remember how it used to coo from his shoulder even during sermons.

You haven’t heard that cooing since.

“Your story,” Jovian says, rising again, brushing off his sleeves like dusting away ash, “is unfinished. But it’s getting better. Don’t you think?”

You don’t answer.

He leans close, until his lips nearly brush your ear. “I’ve been writing it in your dreams,” he whispers. “Do you like what I’ve done with the ending?”

Your heart thunders in your chest, but you force yourself to remain still, regal. You are a monarch. You are not afraid.

You are terrified.

The bells sound again as he twirls away, laughing once more, but it is an echo of an echo now, like wind whistling through an old crypt.

He performs the rest of the day for your court, delighting them with riddles and songs, with lewd jokes and elaborate impersonations. He flirts with the ladies, mocks the lords, kisses the hem of your robe as though nothing has changed.

But everything has.

That night, as you lie in your bed, the ring still burning on your hand and the feather tucked in a locked drawer, you dream.

And in the dream, Jovian stands at the foot of your bed, his smile stretched wide, his bells silent.

“You found the ending,” he says.

And the room fills with laughter that isn’t yours.

Masterlist

If you are confused

#yandere oc #oc x reader #x reader #male yandere #yandere x reader #yandere #yandere x you #male yandere x reader #yandere fanfiction #yandere imagines #yandere male #yandere jester #gn reader #yandere x gender neutral reader #yandere x gn reader

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thatguywrites · 2 months ago

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I love your disabled reader stories, how would you feel writing a low vision/blind reader. Any driver you want for it, also maybe reader possibly having a guide dog. Keep up your amazing writing and have a lovely day.

Lowkey in the hospital rn (not ER, no worries) so this is a nice distraction :)

Drivers with Visually Impared Reader

Verstappen, Piastri, Tsunoda, Hamilton, Alonso

Max Verstappen

Whenever you and Max run into signs that don't have braille, he tweaks out

Even if you're kinda used to it, Max is always infuriated by the ableism of Europe and the Motorsports community

If you use a white cane he always gives anyone who walks on blind paths the nastiest stimk eye

If you have a guide dog, whenever it's off duty it's just the bestest friend with Max's pets

Racing is actually very hearing oriented, so he is very exited to teach you to sim race

He gets 3d models of the tracks and teaches you how to listen for how fast you're going

He loves being able to share his passions

There is nothing hotter to him than his boyfriend sim racing

Oscar Piastri

When you guys first get together Oscar wants to know what it's like to be blind, so he tries to walk around his apartment blindfolded

He doesn't even make it an hour, and aquires tons of bruises

He doesn't tell you he did that until you'd been dating for over a year, and says it really helped him understand what your life is like

He also learns the importance of dulled furniture

And he makes sure his mom's house is also disabled friendly

Which she does without question of course

Yuki Tsunoda

He puts 亀吉 on your service dog's back all the time

Part time service dog, full time taxi

Japan is actually pretty Blind-friendly, so he really likes taking you there

It makes him happy to see you not be treated like an other, instead just be treated like a person

Whenever you come to the paddock he gets really protective of you

Like he sticks by your side because he knows someone is gonna be rude, but maybe they won't if they know he's about to punch them

Lewis Hamilton

As soon as you decided to move in together Lewis spent an entire day making a 3d model of his apartment for you

It is perfectly to scale

He also makes sure that any corners of his furniture aren't sharp in case you bump into them when you're still getting used to the apartment

Whenever your service dog is off duty he will spend hours playing with it and Roscoe

He gets a customized service dog vest with Ferrari/Mercedes colors for when you're in the paddock

Even if you can't see it, he'll make sure that you still slay

Pierre Gasly

Whenever he's away for races, he record audio books for you

He says that his voice is better that the boring monotone ones

He loves having cuddle piles with Simba, your service dog, and you

All his pretty boys

He's very sweet with you, and loves going on walks with you, but if you run into someone being rude and getting in your way, he'll snap

He's very protective

He knows you can hold your own, but he also wants to take care of you

Taglist: @koalapastries @justaf1girl @spoonfulofmilo @lokisen @op-81-lvr-reblogs

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mariasont · 1 year ago

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hi hi hi!!! i know you’re working on the bau sleepover buttttt i was wondering if you could write a aaron hotchner x reader fic where like what happened to garcia, reader gets shot and she’s in hospital and they don’t know if she gonna be okay and stuff. her and hotch have this mutual pining for each other and when she gets shot he kinda spirals. after being released, hotch takes her to her apartment and stays with her until they catch him and stuff. i know this is really long, thank you!!!

Some Profiler You Are - A.H

a/n: hi hi hi thank you so so sooo much for requesting <3 i kind of took this a more fluffy route and focused more on the recovery so let me know if you like it :)

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!reader

warnings: reader was shot, comfort, angst like a teensy bit, fluff, changing of bandages, kinda shitty ending per usual

wc: 2k

"Do you want to sit down?"

No, you really didn't. After spending the last six hours in a state of near-motionlessness, sprawled across various surfaces, the last thing you wanted was to do was sit down. Your legs had taken on the consistency of overcooked noodles, so you made the grave mistake of misreading the quiet of the house as Hotch's absence, a mistake punctuated by the garage door's sudden rumble.

You should have known better than to assume he would leave you alone for even a second. Now, you were face to face, his scrutinizing eyes boring into yours, arms crossed across his wide chest. He was in a casual zip-up--a rarity that you never imagined him wearing before practically moving in with him. But you really did enjoy this relaxed side of him, he wore it exceptionally well.

Taking work off was a concept you knew was foreign him, yet here he was, not at his desk, hovering over you like a concerned parent. The entire office, yourself included, gaped at him as if he had sprouted a different head when he told them. His next move was even crazier--he insisted you stay with him while you recovered.

You protested. A lot. Shocker. But he wouldn't take no for an answer. Again, Shocker.

You winced as you stepped forward, your hands automatically gravitating to the bandage that spanned around your thigh.

"You can't baby me forever, Hotch," you murmured, though your conviction wavered under the dull throb in your leg.

You braced yourself against the counter, trying to mask the discomfort you were sure was etched all over your face.

Filling the shoes of the communications liaison for the FBI post-JJ's shift to profiling, you signed up for a life of managing the media narrative, being the conduit between local and federal levels, and choosing the cases. You provided assistance in ways that aren't glaringly obvious.

What you didn't sign up for is getting shot.

The movies, the stories, even the firsthand accounts from coworkers--none of it could brace you for the raw, blistering pain of a gunshot wound. It fucking hurt. And the recovery? It was a different kind of torture, and you'd even argue that it was worse.

"It's not babying, it's common sense," Hotch countered.

He was frustrated. You had that effect. He stepped closer, his hand dragging down his face. "You took a bullet. It's still in your leg. It's perfectly rational for me to want to prevent any unnecessary strain on you."

"Feels dramatic," you shrugged, but he was right, like always.

Your grip on the counter tightened, knuckles growing white as you struggled to keep the pain under wraps. His brows lifted in response.

"I'm fine, really, Hotch. I hate this. You're probably dying to get back to work--don't let me be the reason you don't. Despite popular belief, I'm quite capable of fending for myself."

"I'm aware," he said, his attention briefly shifting to your bandaged leg. You were wearing shorts, a choice that felt less than appropriate, but practicality trumped formality under these circumstances. "Work will survive without me. I'm not sure I can say the same about you."

Your laughter was short-lived, swiftly turning into a stifled grimace as your footing slipped. Hotch's reflexes were quick, his hands steadying you--one against your ribs, the other just shy above the hem of your shorts.

"Point in case."

"Poking fun at a wounded woman? Shame on you, Hotch," you chided, your lower lip jutting out in a pout. His eyes darted to it momentarily.

He didn't move, his hands staying put, stirring a gentle, jelly-like feeling inside of you.

This was an odd sort of comfort, the kind you're not supposed to feel with your boss. You shouldn't be talking to him like this, shouldn't be in his kitchen, and certainly, his hands shouldn't be where they were. But the ache in your heart didn't seem to care about shoulds and shouldn'ts.

Hotch's presence was hard to ignore. He was reducing the space with every word.

"You're hardly acting like a wounded woman," he pointed out. "You should be in bed."

You tilted your head, sliding onto the barstool to carve some much-needed space between you. The scent of his cologne was intoxicating, and you needed distance to gather your wits before you did something that HR would definitely not look kindly upon.

The action was a mistake, a fact that became painfully clear as the feeling of something stabbing into your leg took hold. You tried to muster a smile, but you were sure it came across as a snarl. The last thing you wanted was to inflate Hotch's ego by showing that maybe, just maybe, he was right.

"Shit."

You followed his line of sight, landing on the fresh red seeping through the bandage and staining your shorts. Oh. That's not great. Don't think you can fool him with this one.

Hotch didn't hesitate, his response outpacing your own surge of panic, which was incredibly fast, because you were panicking and frankly not that great with blood. His hands were on your skin, easing the hem of your shorts upward to lay bare the wound you had stupidly underestimated.

You're never going on a date again.

I mean, the only reason you even went was to get your boss of your mind. Since the first day, you'd been hopelessly drawn to him--how could you not be?

But there are a couple factors to consider.

Firstly, he was your boss, and the whole notion of a coercive relationship dynamic seemed problematic.

Secondly, there's the age difference; it had never been an issue for you--perhaps a reflection of your daddy issues--but you knew it would raise some eyebrows.

And thirdly, he didn't even like you back. That was, of course, the biggest issue. If not for this, the other concerns could definitely be overlooked.

Before this whole incident, he barely acknowledged you beyond was professionally required of him. You knew you hadn't been part of the team long enough to bond--though you weren't sure Hotch did bond in the usual sense, but the point was made.

You were fairly sure you hadn't made much of an impression on him.

"Hold still." That was a tall order, considering it hurt more than a mother fucker.

You found yourself glaring at him--not that he was to blame, but you needed to anchor your frustration on something, or someone. Unknowingly, your grip had latched on the fabric of his zip-up, but he seemed unfazed. He grabbed a clean cloth from the drawer, pressing it against the wound, only furthering the colorful vocabulary going on in your head.

"Fuck, Hotch."

You didn't make a habit of cursing in front of your superior, but the sharp sting forced tears to the brink, your body going rigid as you snapped your eyes shut.

His other hand found its way to your uninjured thigh, giving it a firm squeeze--a clear attempt to divert your attention. It worked for a second. "I'm sorry, just keep this pressed here, okay?"

He motioned toward the cloth, and you complied, too drained to consider otherwise. Your brows knitted, and you bit into your lip until you tasted something metallicy, your mind desperately racing trying to think of anything other than the blood flowing freely from your thigh.

"Where are you going?" You knew how panicked you sounded as he turned away, stepping towards a cabinet.

He rummaged briefly before holding up a first aid kit. Catching the brief alarm in your face, he quickly returned to your side, his hand finding the crook of your neck as you instinctively clutched at his shirt once again.

"If you dare say I told you so, I swear, Hotch, fists will fly," you ground out through clenched teeth.

He laughed, and now that did distract you, your eyes zeroing in on his perfect teeth. It was a rare display, and it only served to aggravate you further. Of course he had perfect teeth.

"I didn't say anything."

"I could feel you thinking it," you said, your voice rough as you willed the moisture in your eyes not to fall. "Maybe I should be a profiler."

"Definitely."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you." You were lying. Everything suited him. He stepped back, and you reluctantly peered at the wound, only to find a neatly sutured leg. "Where did you learn to do that?"

"In this job, you learn to be handy with more than just a gun.”

You’d love to know what else he’s handy with.

He pulled your leg up to rest on his as he took a seat on the opposite stool.

Your body was buzzing, from the closeness, from his hands on you, and also from the pain, but you were trying to ignore that. He grabs a new bandage from the counter, hands trailing up your thigh so slowly you thought you might pass out. He was so gentle. There was no other word for it.

"How's it feel?"

You paused. Eyes fully locked on his precise movements as he wrapped you up. You were closer than you realized, practically sharing the same breath.

"Fine."

"Yeah?"

You nodded, and he finished up his task, his hand lightly patting your thigh to show he was done. You didn't move your leg from his lap, and he didn't move his hand.

"I couldn't sleep for three days."

"What?" Your brows were furrowed, your focus sharpening on his face as the words left his lips.

"When I found out you had been shot." He cleared his throat, his thumb making gentle rotations on your calf. "I couldn't close my eyes without seeing red for days. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch who did that to you. I almost did."

You weren't sure how to process this information, or why he was telling you. "You and me both."

"I'm serious." And you could tell he was, his eyes narrowing slightly as his hand firmly encircled around your leg. You felt a lump in your throat form as heat rose from your neck to your ears. "Do you know what that was like? I felt like my heart stopped."

"Why?"

"Why?" It was more a scoff than a word. He blew out a breath, his fingers pinching into the space between his eyebrows. "Is it not obvious?"

Your heart was beating a lot faster. You wanted to say something, anything but your throat was dry and every time you opened your mouth you found it snapping shut.

Hotch's expression softened ever so slightly, his voice low and bouncing off the walls as he spoke. "Because I'm in love with you."

Your breath stalled, as if every ounce of oxygen had been vacuumed from your lungs. The air felt heavy, almost tangible.

You stared at him, heart skipping a beat.

"That's not funny," you said. It wasn't. You weren't in the mood for jokes, and your brain couldn't comprehend he might be telling the truth. "You...you don't even notice me."

He shook his head. "I notice everything about you." His thumb stilled on your calf. "I'm your boss," he said, as if that explained everything. "There are rules, protocols. I couldn't...I still shouldn't..."

The confession stripped the room of its warmth, leaving a raw aching silence in its wake. You searched his face.

"When you got shot," he continued, "I realized that if I lost you, I'd regret not telling you how I feel for the rest of my life."

"Hotch, I..."

He leaned closer, causing your words to catch in your throat. His hand moved from your leg to your face. You were speechless, the world narrowing down to the man in front of you, to his eyes, the warmth of his hands.

"Say something."

"Are you kidding me?" Your heart was pounding like it was trying to escape from your chest. "I've been in love with you since I started. How could you not see that?"

He looked taken aback, as if your words were the last thing he expected. "Well—,"

But you didn't let him finish. "Some profiler you are."

You were practically climbing into his lap, hands framing his face, pulling your lips to his.

He chuckled against your lips, the sound vibrating through you. "Easy," he murmured, "don't make me fix that bandage again."

You laugh, the sound muffled by his mouth. He tasted like cinnamon and coffee. "Shut up, Hotch."

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

#aaron hotchner x reader #Aaron hotchner fluff #aaron hotchner x fem reader #Aaron hotchner #Hotch #criminal minds fic #Aaron hotchner fic #criminal minds #Thomas Gibson

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feeder86 · 1 year ago

Text

Tommy's Two Hundred

From the moment Tommy had joined the gay dating app, he’d spotted that the closest person to him geographically was a catfish. It was obvious from the little thumbnail picture that no one with a body that good could live so close by and him not know about it. The picture, showing the massive pecs and toned six pack were guaranteed to have been stolen from some straight bodybuilder somewhere in the world; but definitely not anyone who lived within at least two hundred miles of this backwards town in the middle of nowhere. The guy was probably some lonely, middle aged man seeking some attention that he did not deserve; attention that Tommy had no intention of bestowing upon him.

With his good looks and average height, Tommy soon found himself on a couple of dates with guys from the app. Some a little older; a couple still in college. He always got himself so excited before each one, having enjoyed endless kinky exchanges beforehand, back and forth. He liked it when the guys led the conversation with their horny talk, getting most aroused when they spoke about dominating him and tying him up. He gave these virtual suitors a deep, authorative voice in his head as he read out their messages, imagining the ways they’d seek their pleasure from him. In these fantasies, he built an entire persona for his dates; the way they spoke, the way they acted; the things they would do to him after getting back. He was his own worst enemy. No one could live up to such expectations. Despite being bold and brave behind the keyboard of their cell phones, the guys were never as Tommy pictured them in real life. They were polite and friendly; a little kinky perhaps, but only behind closed doors. It didn’t take more than a few seconds for Tommy’s bubble to burst, leaving him stuck on a dull date with another boring Mr Average.

As Valentine’s Day rolled around once more, Tommy felt the sting of still being single at the age of twenty-four. Friends, who thought they were being helpful, lamented about how difficult it was to understand why a guy so good looking and successful was still on the shelf. Tommy, however, knew that he just wasn’t being plain enough with people about what he was really after. He’d wasted more than a couple of years of his time on guys who were never going to please him in the ways he most wanted. If he was going to find the man of his dreams, he would need to start his dating profile from scratch.

Stripping his shirt and binding his hands with rope, Tommy posed for his new profile picture. He updated his username to include his submissive nature. Then, it was finally time to work on the profile itself. He stripped it bare of the mundane details about his favourite hobbies and movies, his education and aspirations. In their place, he went to town about his kinky interests and desires. He wanted to submit himself to someone entirely, openly and without reservations. Like a form of cosmic ordering, he outlined in great detail the sort of kinky, dominant guy he was on the lookout for, and ended by posting a further picture of his toned, naked body, wrists and ankles bound with handcuffs.

With breathless excitement, Tommy saved his changes and waited with fizzing excitement for his first messages.

Nothing. Sure, his profile had had lots of views, but no one had felt compelled enough by it to reach out.

Days went by. Tommy began to feel that he had made a mistake; that he had exposed himself and his kinks too openly on the app. Perhaps, rather than being turned on by his pictures and words, they were laughing at him instead; his extreme submissive fantasies, too weird and niche for anyone to actually want to meet him. Maybe the man of his horny dreams didn’t actually exist.

By the end of the second week, Tommy had made up his mind to delete the account. He gave his profile one final read, cringing as he tried to imagine it from another person’s perspective, then he stormed onto the app settings and found the exact link he needed to erase it entirely.

Just as he did so, Tommy saw a message pop up on the screen:

‘Nice profile.’

Assuming sarcasm, Tommy skeptically tapped his way into his inbox and rolled his eyes when he saw that the message had actually come from the catfish profile of the guy who supposedly lived right here in town.

‘Thanks,’ he typed back, determined that he would never be rude enough to ignore anyone who messaged him.

‘If you’re really as submissive as you claim, I’d be very interested in meeting you,’ came the next response.

Again, Tommy rolled his eyes at the fake profile picture. However, given that in five minutes time he would be deleting the app for good anyway, why not just click on the profile and take a look?

What Tommy saw next altered his perspective entirely. He didn’t care if the profile picture was a fake; a guy who could write like that, so erotically, about his desires to dominate, could look however they wanted to in real life. Tommy needed to meet them.

What followed over the next couple of hours was a kinky exchange where Tommy literally poured his heart and soul out to the mystery man on the other end. No one had ever shown such an interest in his kinks, nor drawn them out of him with such precision. So, when the offer of a meet at the coffee house in town came up, he didn’t think twice.

Sitting with his back to the door, Tommy waited patiently, but with a realistic mindset that a guy with a fake profile picture was unlikely to ever actually show up. Then, suddenly, he felt a large, warm hand land on his shoulder and a deep, masculine voice rumble into his ear. “Tommy?”

Tommy didn’t turn his head. He wanted to preserve that catfished image of the man he had been messaging for just a few moments longer. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw that very same man appear in the flesh. Tall, strapping, muscular and handsome; it was as if a beautiful, mid-twenties Greek god had just arrived in his hometown; from out of absolutely nowhere.

“I’m Hunter,” the guy smiled, reaching out his large hand to shake.

Tommy couldn’t help admitting to the fact that he hadn’t believed Hunter’s profile pictures to be real, and Hunter nodded, saying that he had been told the same thing many times. He seemed pleased by Tommy’s appearance too, stroking his knee gently under the table as they settled into their first real conversation.

A few moments later, Hunter was up and ordering coffees for them both. Tommy turned to catch the guy from behind as he stood at the counter: so tall, with such perfect glutes and that broad back adorned with muscular shoulders. Was this really Tommy’s lunchtime date?

Hunter soon returned carrying a tray with coffees and, surprisingly, a large slice of triple chocolate cake, which he placed in front of Tommy.

Politely, Tommy thanked him for it, even though he had not asked for something to eat and actually felt a little awkward picking at it when Hunter did not have anything himself.

“I wanted to discuss our sexual interests,” Hunter stated next, steering the conversation when Tommy seemed to be taking it down a more mundane path. “The domination and submission.”

Tommy felt his cheeks getting hot. There were another two couples close by; probably within earshot. But Hunter didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“What do you want to know?” Tommy replied excitedly.

“Actually, I think it's time that you listened to me instead,” Hunter replied sternly, putting Tommy in his place perfectly. “It’s lucky that I saw your profile as I don’t use that app much for meeting guys.”

“Where do you usually meet guys?” Tommy asked, sensing that Hunter had paused for him to ask just such a question.

“A few places,” Hunter shrugged, flicking through his cell phone. “These are some of my previous subs,” he offered, holding up his phone and swiping through pictures of himself next to other guys in various forms of submission to him: on their knees, bound and gagged, you name it. “Do you notice anything in particular about the guys I sleep with?” Hunter asked next. His tone was serious and it was obvious that he wanted Tommy to respond in much the same way.

The answer came to Tommy immediately, but he squirmed as he tried to think of a way to reply to Hunter, without seeming rude. “Well, you’re so…” he mumbled, gesturing towards Hunter’s powerful body and chest. “And yet, these guys here… there’re a bit…”

“They’re fatties,” Hunter stated for him; obviously not one to dress his language up. “I need you to just come out with it in the future when I ask you questions,” he stated frankly. “That’s the way I work. No bullshit.”

Tommy nodded, feeling turned on by how direct Hunter could be. Having discussed in such detail what his dream dominant would be, it was almost as if Hunter was slotting perfectly into place.

“Why fatties?” Tommy asked, hoping that mirroring Hunter’s language would please him.

“Because fatties turn me on,” Hunter replied plainly. “I work hard to build my body up. So when I fuck a sub, I need him to be soft and doughy for me.” He reached over to the plate of half eaten cake in front of Tommy and gave it a gentle nudge.

Tommy’s eyes bulged. Hunter wasn’t kidding when he said he didn’t like to bullshit. His meaning couldn’t have been clearer. “So, you bought me the cake because…” he mumbled. He considered leaving it there and posing it as a question to Hunter, but he got the sense that the dominant hunk in front of him wanted him to just say what he believed to be true. “You bought me the cake to… soften me up.”

Hunter smiled for the first time in a few minutes and he leaned in, putting his giant hand back on Tommy’s knee. “That’s right,” he nodded, seeming to be genuinely delighted that Tommy had been frank with him. “Submission for me, is more than just slipping on a pair of handcuffs during sex. Submission is a lifestyle. It should be your entire body. You should wear it twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

Feeling his heart beating faster and his palms sweating simply from hearing Hunter’s deep voice speaking at such a volume about things, without a care in the world, Tommy nodded. “I agree,” he answered. “Submission should be a lifestyle.”

“I’m glad you said that,” Hunter nodded again, his eyes now fixed on the still half eaten cake.

“Oh,” Tommy shook himself, picking up his fork again and popping the next bit of cake into his mouth. Instinctively, he apologised and Hunter did not correct him for it.

“I’m not going to lie,” Hunter stated, nodding subtly with approval. “I think this could work between us.”

“You do?” Tommy shot back with so much delight that he immediately wanted to punch himself in the face for it. “That’s cool,” he nodded, trying to seem more relaxed.

“We’ll meet at my place next time,” Hunter told him, draining his coffee as if this interview was already over. “I’ll message you on the app.”

“Okay,” Tommy replied, surprised by how fast the date was over with.

Hunter leaned in. “And make sure you finish that cake,” he whispered into his ear. “Every last crumb.”

Having Hunter so close sent exciting electrical pulses through Tommy’s brain: the smell of his delicious aftershave, those perfect lips so near to his face. “I will,” he replied sincerely, turning to look Hunter in the face in the hope that they may end with a kiss.

Hunter held Tommy’s gaze, studying him. But Tommy knew better than to be the one to initiate a kiss. “I know you will,” the hunk replied after a few seconds. “You’ll be a good boy,” he chuckled, then turned and walked away without a second glance.

Tommy raced home feeling more elated after a date than ever before. Finally, he had found someone who seemed to relate to him on a level that no one had before. And, unbelievably, the guy was hotter than anyone else he had ever dared to dream of.

Of course, there was the one part of the date that he was less sure about. He hadn’t come across someone so into domination that they had insisted their date consume cake for them. But just because it was a little different, didn’t mean that he had to view it negatively. After all, he’d got quite a kick out of complying, hadn’t he?

“Come on in,” smiled Hunter a few days later, opening the door to his apartment.

Just as he had stated in his messages, Hunter had not long got in from the gym and still looked a little sweaty, dressed in tight, and particularly short, shorts, together with a well-fitted compression top that showed off every detail of his exquisite body. He was even taller than Tommy realised, making him feel so insignificant standing next to him. He tried not to faint, right there on the spot.

“Rule number one,” Hunter began. “When you come here, you take your clothes off as soon as you get inside.”

Tommy stared up at Hunter, wondering if he was serious. But as the pause continued, Tommy realised that Hunter was waiting for him to comply. He fumbled for a second, then began unbuttoning his shirt, feeling more than a little embarrassed to be doing this straight away. He’d taken so long to pick out his outfit for their second date. What a waste of time that was!

“Come on, quickly!” Hunter prodded him impatiently.

Tommy kicked off his shoes, removing his pants and underwear in one go, knowing that his dick was going to be pathetically hard already. He stood there after awkwardly removing his socks, not knowing whether to cover his hardness, or act like this was normal.

Hunter nodded with approval. He reached down into the pile of discarded clothes and pulled out Tommy’s underwear, holding them up as if for inspection, and gripping the small waist between his fingers. “Cute,” he chuckled to himself, seeming to find them highly amusing.

But Hunter did not throw them back onto the floor. He carried them as he turned into the apartment, clearly expecting the naked Tommy to do the same.

Following the jock inside and admiring those fine, muscular glutes just ahead of him, Tommy had never felt so turned on in his life. It had been immediate, from the moment he stepped inside. He felt, at that moment, that he would have eaten an entire mountain of chocolate cake if Hunter had told him to.

Hunter led him to the kitchen area, where Tommy was surprised to see that the big man was busy preparing a meal for them both, despite not having even showered yet. A good meal was clearly more important to him.

“Smells delicious,” Tommy chirped politely, still unsure whether to cover his boner with his hand as he trotted in.

Hunter raised his eyebrows in recognition of his comment, but did not reply. Instead, he pulled out a chair at his table and pointed for Tommy to sit whilst he went back to stirring and serving it out.

There was something so sexy about a man in the kitchen. There were so many things on the go and yet Hunter did not seem in the least bit flustered. Everything was under complete control. But as Tommy watched, he noticed that it was all being served onto separate, single plates; not distributed between the two of them as he had expected.

At last, Hunter pulled out a chair and positioned it directly in front of Tommy. Then he sat, spreading his strong legs and looking at his guest seriously. “I enjoyed our date, Tommy. I really did. I think you’re a nice guy and I believe that you would make a great sub for me.”

Tommy smiled back, pleased; feeling the need to tuck his hardness between his thighs whilst Hunter was being so friendly.

“But if I’m going to spend some real time with you, I need to know what you can do. I also need you to see the type of man I really am. You may not like any of what I have planned tonight. You may want to leave. And that’s fine. But at least we'll both know where we stand, and neither of us will get our hopes up, thinking that this is more than what it is.”

Tommy looked from the gorgeous man to the piles of steaming food still on the counter. He knew that Hunter would want him to think for himself and be direct. “You want me to eat this for you, don’t you?” he asked, realising that the chocolate cake slice of their first date had just been the start of whatever kinky play Hunter was into.

Hunter simply nodded. “I want to see how far you’re willing to go for me.”

The stud sat back, lifted his arms and removed the tight compression shirt he was wearing, revealing his remarkable torso to Tommy for the first time.

Chuckling slightly at the obviously smitten expression on Tommy’s face, the large guy leaned in and gave him a sweet kiss on the lips. “Are you ready to do this for me?” he whispered into his guest’s ear, before picking Tommy’s small hands up and placing them on his strapping chest.

The hot, sweet breath on Tommy’s neck, combined with the musky scent of the jock’s body, so firm and strong, made him want to climax there and then. “Yes,” he replied obediently.

Hunter sat back again with a smirk, making Tommy’s hands fall back down. He knew exactly the effect he was having upon the boy. He reached down to the guy’s stomach and, with the back of one finger, he stroked across the light six pack that showed there. “Goodbye, little buddy,” he teased wickedly. Then he stood up, seeming to loom larger than ever without his shirt on, and brought the plates and bowls to the table.

Armed with only a fork and a spoon, Tommy was expected to feast on all of it.

Luck was on Tommy’s side; he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. Plus, Hunter was watching him, rubbing his back sweetly and advising him on what to eat next; taking him back and forth from one dish to another. But something seemed to happen about thirty minutes in. Hunter changed slightly. He’d had a laid back attitude the entire time that Tommy had been there, as if he wouldn’t have been bothered if Tommy cancelled the date and took himself home instead. Maybe he was used to that. But now he was actively supporting; up and about, fetching the furthest plates so that Tommy did not need to reach. The man’s breathing had altered as well, with deeper, more rapid intakes of breath as he watched Tommy eat. Then, with a small glance down, Tommy saw that the thickest hardness had swollen down one side of Hunter’s gym shorts. How incredible! Had Tommy really excited the dominant man that much?

“You’re doing well,” Hunter praised him; his voice deeper and more gravely than Tommy had heard it before. “I’m impressed.”

Tommy’s stretched out stomach began to really hurt about forty minutes in, yet he continued to push himself as far as he could. Some plates were clean now, which Hunter got up and replaced with some dessert items. Tommy had always enjoyed switching back and forth between sweet and savory items, so the additions to the table were more of a help than a hindrance.

Eventually, the time came when Tommy knew he would have to stop. His pace had slowed and he started selecting those easier, lighter items to make the remaining plates look at least a little emptier. “That’s it. I’m done!” he whimpered, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his painfully distended stomach.

Despite expecting cries or protests from Hunter ordering him to finish the pathically small amount of pasta he had left, or gulp down the last few melting scoops of ice cream, Hunter simply sat there, surveying the destruction on the table. “Where did you learn to eat like that?” he asked, seemingly flabbergasted.

Tommy quietly dredged up a burp to relieve some of the pressure and shook his head. “Don’t know,” he shrugged. “I’ve always had a pretty good appetite.”

Hunter still seemed unable to comprehend what he had witnessed. “I’ve seen some seriously fucking fat boys eat less than half of what you just put away.”

Tommy burped again and found some pleasant relief; more than he was expecting. He knew how expensive the ice cream that Hunter had served him was, and decided to finish it off after all, not wanting to see it go to waste. He could see Hunter staring at him in amazement. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I’ve always had a very fast metabolism.”

“I can soon destroy that,” Hunter growled, giving away just how horny he was. “Natural greed like this… It's incredible. And very rare!”

“Thanks,” Tommy smiled,unsure what else to say.

“Why don’t you stay here tonight?” Hunter asked next, wrapping a big arm over Tommy’s shoulders, like a snake about to suffocate its prey. “I know you don’t have work in the morning. I can make you breakfast.”

A mixture of relief and arousal swept over Tommy. He’d made such an effort to eat, he’d all but forgotten the fact that he’d need to catch the bus home later.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Hunter teased, as if Tommy needed persuading. He reached for a tiny bottle of lubricant in his shorts and tipped a small amount of it onto his fingertips, before gently massaging the head of Tommy’s hardness.

Tommy gasped and grabbed for the sides of his seat, as if the floor was about to cave in. Hunter was so good at this. All that eating made the oxygen catch in his chest and it took him a few seconds to get his breathing into a rhythmn as Hunter took the reins of pleasuring him. He nodded his head, not wanting to use his voice in that moment for fear of how pathetically weak and needy it might sound.

“Come on Greedy Boy,” Hunter teased him. “Let’s go take a shower together…”

“I can’t come next weekend,” Tommy grinned, addressing his coworkers six weeks later. “I’m away with my boyfriend.”

As predicted, the whistles of delight sounded in the air as they all made a fuss at the news that their colleague was dating at last. Tommy wasted no time in sharing a picture of the two of them together, sitting in his parents’ lounge.

“He’s hot!” blasted one of them straight away.

“He looks like he should be on a catwalk!” squeaked another.

Tommy smirked to himself. He loved the reactions he got to pictures of Hunter. Sure, people might have thought he was punching quite significantly above his weight, but he was still the one who got to be fucked by such a hunk, and not them. However, behind that handsome smile and perfect ‘boy next door’ act Hunter laid on astonishingly thick for all of Tommy’s family and friends, lay the kinkiest, most dominant lover he could have ever wished for. The things they got upto in the bedroom satisfied him completely. After years of dating boring guys, Hunter seemed to swoop in and make Tommy fall hopelessly in love with him in only a matter of days. Tommy was utterly devoted to him. And the best part was, Hunter knew it.

“You haven’t really told me much about these friends of yours we’re going to meet this weekend,” Tommy pondered, sitting in the passenger seat and noting how far out into the country they had gone on his online map.

“Well, why bother? You got along with all my other friends,” Hunter chuckled, obviously keeping something from Tommy about this trip.

Tommy sighed. “Yeah, but they were all co-workers and old school buddies. They don’t know… all the sides of your personality,” he replied diplomatically.

“Well, let’s just say, this weekend will be good for us,” Hunter smiled, leaning back and driving smoothly. “These guys are sexy as fuck, and we all like to play together. I’ve been excited to show you off to them since we first started going out. ”

“Show me off?” Tommy asked. “How so?”

“Just you wait and see,” Hunter laughed, adjusting the developing boner he was getting in his crotch. Something about this was exciting him very much. Then he reached his hand across to stroke Tommy’s thigh and brushed off some of the many wrappers from the drive-thru they had stopped at a good few miles back.

The location, when they finally arrived about two hours later, was nothing short of breathtaking. The house was set in the most charming of spots, overlooking the hills; with eight bedrooms, a pool, and the largest hot tub Tommy had ever seen. They entered, Hunter leading the way, only to see several shirtless men all standing around in the kitchen. They cheered when they saw Hunter and came over to greet him with a hug.

Tommy stood back awkwardly. He’d been so stupid in how he had imagined these men in his head. They were not at all as he had envisioned them; all of them round bellied and at varying levels of obesity; not the types of guys that someone in Hunter’s extreme, peak physical condition would have been expected to associate with. But, then again, Hunter had always said that he preferred fat guys.

“And this is my new boyfriend, Tommy,” Hunter finally stated, pulling Tommy forward to greet them all.

There was a look of surprise on all the guys’ faces. One of them furrowed their eyebrows, as if about to ask whether Hunter was being serious. Then, the first one stepped forward and shook his hand warmly; followed by the rest of them, one by one.

“That was a little weird,” Tommy whispered as the pair of them went up to the bedroom that had been assigned to them: thre master suite no less. “Did they not know that you’re dating?”

“No, they knew,” Hunter smirked, undressing himself and slipping on his tiny swim shorts to head out to the pool. “I date fat guys, remember. I’ve fucked and dominated every one of them in my time,” he continued, checking his perfect hair in the mirror. “So when I told them I was dating the fucking greediest, sexiest guy I’d ever met, they’d probably assumed you were a lot larger.”

“Wait. So do they know that you…” Tommy asked.

“These guys know everything. That’s why I was so excited for this weekend. We can just relax and be ourselves, without having to worry. I can cook mountains of food for you, just like normal, then bring you up here, tie you up and fuck you all night long,” he grinned, striding over to Tommy and kissing him. “Now, get changed,” he ordered, throwing some swim shorts at him.

“Looking good!” growled one of the men as Hunter led the way down the stairs. “I’ve never seen you looking so chiselled.”

Hunter stood and soaked in all of their comments, comically flexing and posing for them all. Then he smirked and tapped one of the guys on his gut. “I could say the same to you, buddy,” he nodded. “This overhang has really gotten a lot bigger since the last time I saw you.”

Tommy inhaled slightly with shock at Hunter’s rudeness. He looked for signs of offense, until he saw that the man instead looked mightily pleased with himself. “Paul has been feeding me a big tub of ice cream before bed every night,” he pointed over at another large bellied guy in the corner, who was obviously his partner.

“Well, it’s really working,” Hunter smiled at him, giving him a deep, horny kiss. “I’m doing the same with this little guy,” he continued, pulling Tommy closer to him. “He was still living with his parents when I met him, but I’ve got him with me most of the time these days. That’s making things easier. Ice cream before bed is one of the things I started him on straight away,” he stated proudly.

The eyes of the men studied Tommy’s body in his swim shorts.

“I’m having to break down his incredibly fast metabolism. It’s not ideal. But if I turn him around, you can see,” Hunter explained, spinning a light and clueless Tommy around and bending him down so that his small butt faced the men instead. “There’s a little more softness forming around his lower back and…” he continued, dropping Tommy’s swim shorts slightly so that his butt cheeks showed, “...his glutes and thighs are filling up a lot more than when I first met him.”

Hunter tapped Tommy’s butt, creating a short ripple.

“Do you see it?” he asked them all.

With his head down, facing away from them, Tommy didn’t know if the guys had nodded in agreement.

“Do you think he’s going to be quite bottom heavy then?” another of the men asked, clearly feeling that Tommy’s butt was wothy of discussion.

“Possibly,” Hunter agreed. “It’s a bit too early to tell. There aren’t many fatties in his family for me to get a good idea of how he might develop. That was one of the first things I checked. But he’s quit the gym to spend more time with me, so that should speed things up a little.”

Tommy felt his swim shorts getting pulled back up and a sweet kiss being placed on his forehead by his boyfriend. Then he was spun back to face the others, just as they all started chuckling with amusement to themselves, noticing the hardness that had developed in Tommy’s crotch during their conversation about him.

Hunter soon noticed as well and joined in the laughing, patting Tommy on his butt proudly. “He’s a kinky little fucker too!” he smirked, repositioning himself behind Tommy, rolling his big strong arms around the smaller guy’s shoulders and gently rubbing his crotch into his lover’s rear.

“I take it he’s a sub?” Paul asked from the corner.

“Of course,” Hunter shot back, gently nibbling Tommy’s ear. “One of the most obedient I’ve ever had,” he whispered. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you Tommy?” he teased, reaching one arm down to stroke the hardness in Tommy’s shorts, even with all the other guys there.

Tommy’s head flopped back against Hunter’s shoulder. In this situation, he felt so crazily out of control, yet it was arousing him in ways he could not explain.

“Anyway, come on, Piggy,” Hunter finally ordered, pulling his large hand out from Tommy’s crotch. “Let’s go try out the pool.” He tapped his lover on his butt, admiring the slight flutter that spread into the guy’s thighs. “But remember, not too much exercise for you. I don’t want you to spoil all the fast food calories I bought you earlier.”

Dinner was served a couple of hours later: a vast spread of multiple dishes, prepared by the varying couples in attendance. They sat in the shade, all of them in their swim shorts, and some of the men spilling out of the tight patio chairs that the rental property had for its guests.

“You finished already, Danny?” Hunter asked the significantly overweight man across the table. “Tommy will be nowhere near finished. He’s got at least another twenty minutes in him,” he boasted.

“It is extraordinary,” one of the others nodded in agreement, seeing how easily Tommy was packing it all in. “Is this how he usually is?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Hunter nodded, reaching over and spooning on another large serving of cheesy pasta, as if he was psychically linked to his boyfriend and knew exactly what he wanted. “He can go like this for every meal: breakfast, lunch, dinner… He’s also a great little snacker as well. I need to eat frequently throughout the day to keep this physique up,” he explained, tensing his large biceps. “So it’s easy to get this one eating with me, and it still never spoils his appetite when dinner time rolls around.”

“How are his family feeling about him dating a feeder?” Danny asked, eyes still on Tommy as he continued to consume.

“It’s still early days,” Hunter replied. “He’s not really started to fatten up properly yet and take shape. Plus, they absolutely love me. I have his mom eating out of the palm of my hand! I’m sure the idea that I’m fattening their son won’t cross their minds for some time yet.”

“What’s his recovery time like?” Danny’s slightly slimmer husband asked next.

“Pretty good,” Hunter nodded again. “After he’s done here, I’ll take him upstairs, jack him off and then let him sleep for a couple of hours. Then he’ll be back up and ready for something else before bed,” he laughed, rubbing his boy’s back sweetly.

Tommy listened to it all as he continued to eat. Below the table, his hardness was weeping into his swim trunks. It wasn’t at all how he anticipated the life of a submissive, but it was still absolutely perfect, hearing Hunter boast about his control over him to all his friends.

“Are you struggling there, Fat Boy?” Hunter grinned as he watched the enormous Jack trying to repack his suitcase in the middle of the lounge that Sunday.

Tommy could tell that Jack was Hunter’s favourite of all the fat guys; most likely because was the softest of them all; partly due to his shorter height, making him rounder and more spherical than the others. Tommy had been with his boyfriend long enough to know when Hunter was getting horny and he sensed the spark of arousal within him each time Jack waddled on by, dressed only in his swim trunks all weekend.

Jack wiped his brow and nodded. “I’m not as sprightly as I used to be.”

Hunter chuckled and nodded in agreement. “Harry has done an awesome job on you. All that fresh fat in that big gut…” He growled in approval, admiring it all. His hardness was getting too much for him and he pulled Tommy gently down into his crotch to pleasure him whilst they spoke.

“I think you’ve got a good one there too,” Jack nodded over at Tommy, sucking away, as ordered.

Hunter sighed with pride and slapped Tommy on his butt, as he crouched across the sofa. “He will be. He just needs time to get into my ways.”

“He looks pretty obedient to me,” Jack chuckled.

“Oh, definitely! Like I said, he’s one of the best subs I’ve ever had. Decent blow job skills too,” he sighed, really starting to feel Tommy’s work now. “I just need to take down this metabolism of his.” He gazed down at the back of Tommy’s head bobbing up and down in his crotch. “I need every part of him to submit to me.”

Jack nodded knowingly, trotting over and rubbing Tommy’s butt as well. “Don’t worry, Hunter. I know you. You’ll have him under control very soon now...”

Over the next few weeks, Tommy felt a creeping tightness in his workpants. He stared in the mirror, hardly believing that the swollen glutes and thicker thighs were actually his. In his constantly bloated state, he hadn’t noticed the disappearance of his light six pack, as a thickening layer of fat began to spread itself around his waist. In fact, it was only as he jumped down from his office chair after finding something on the top shelf of a cupboard, that he noticed the first flutter of that fat, especially in his chest. But after that day, everything seemed to spiral.

“Hunter, I need you to come to my work,” Tommy whispered down the phone.

“Why?” Hunter asked, clearly in the middle of a training session with one of his clients at his gym.

“I bent down to pick up my pen and…”

“You ripped your pants,” Hunter finished for him. “About time. Did anyone see?”

“No,” Tommy replied with relief.

“That’s a shame,” Hunter sighed in disappointment. “And now you want me to drop everything and head over to deliver some larger pants for you?”

“Yes, please!” Tommy begged, knowing that his dominant boyfriend might actually get quite a kick out of leaving him in his ripped pants all day long.

A long, excruciating two hours later, Hunter arrived at the office. Many of the female employees rushed from their desks to greet him, and Hunter flirted sweetly with them, knowing exactly what sort of effect he had on them. It was strangely arousing to see him in action, pretending to take an interest in Melissa’s honeymoon or Fran’s new grandchildren; this charming character that he portrayed with ease.

“Well, I must go, ladies,” he smiled, walking towards Tommy’s office as some of them continued to bleat on. He closed the door behind him and comically put his body against it as if to stop anyone following him in. Then he locked it, just in case. “How do you put up with such boring people?” he sighed, looking straight at Tommy.

“They absolutely adore you,” Tommy reminded him.

“I know. But they’re still fucking boring,” Hunter smirked, checking the blinds were closed properly before striding over to his chubby lover who rose from his chair to greet him with an embrace.

Immediately, Hunter seized the opportunity in those moments of weakness; his strong hands sliding down to the tear in Tommy’s pants, mercilessly ripping them open further.

Tommy’s hands slipped back surveying the damage. Now, even his underwear had been compromised as he felt cool air against his increasingly fleshy glutes. “Please tell me you brought my new pants,” he blasted in panic.

“I did,” Hunter nodded, rifling through his backpack and showing them briefly. “But it’s going to cost you,” he sniggered, now pulling out his hardness from his shorts and nodding for Tommy to lie himself on the table.

“But I’m in work!” Tommy shot back.

“All the more reason for you to stop complaining and get a move on then,” the man laughed back, stroking his thick hardness to warm it up for Tommy’s softening butt.

Tommy lay himself down, realising that one of his most kinky work fantasies was about to come true, despite feeling no less worried that there would be a knock on his door at any moment. He spread his legs, making the tear even more pronounced, then heard the thud of a supermarket cheesecake being dropped by his head and then slid underneath his nose: Hunter’s latest fascination, watching him gorge on something extremely fattening whilst fucking him.

Both of them set to work, Hunter pounding him so forcefully that the cheesecake smeared itself over Tommy’s nose and under his chin as he tried to eat it at the same time. It was clear that he needed to eat fast, save getting it on his white shirt and ending up in exactly the same sartorial predicament again. His tongue came into play, scooping it all up and then pushing whatever didn’t need chewing straight down. Hunter didn’t take long to finish, but the sweat on his brow gave away just how much he had really gone for it. He threw Tommy a pack of cleaning wipes for his face and unfolded the new pants, presenting them like a prize to his lover.

A minute later, Hunter insisted on being walked out of the office; both of them stopped on the way multiple times.

“Yes, we’d love to come over for dinner sometime, Christine,” Hunter smiled politely, both he and Tommy knowing full well that it would never happen. Hunter wouldn’t waste his free time socialising with any of these people, unless there was something in it for him.

“Whart a nice boy he is!” Christine marvelled, standing at the main entrance of the office block, watching Hunter drive off. “So polite and gentle!”

Swishing his tongue around his mouth and still tasting nothing but cheesecake, Tommy nodded in agreement. “He’s the best.”

It felt very festive, turning up at the picturesque rental cottage covered in snow. Unlike last time, Tommy knew exactly what he would be walking into as Hunter’s friends arranged their next meet up. Being from up north, renting these houses was the best way for them to meet up with Hunter, who they all found just as fascinating and intoxicating as Tommy did.

“Someone has been eating well!” the men chuckled, seeing Tommy for the first time in almost six months.

Tommy nodded, taking his big jacket off. In the last couple of months, his cheeks had blown up in a way that was not too dissimilar to a hamster stuffing itself with seeds. Fat had spread under his chin and into his neck, always visible now that Hunter insisted that he stayed clean shaven. Hunter kissed him proudly, always delighted whenever anyone mentioned his boyfriend’s gains.

“I’m guessing you defeated that fast metabolism of his?” Danny laughed, seeing more and more of Tommy’s shape as he removed the layers of winter clothing.

“Did you ever doubt me?” Hunter smirked back, grabbing both of their bags to take them upstairs; never wanting Tommy to burn any calories unnecessarily.

“What do you weigh now?” Paul jumped in after Tommy and Hunter came back downstairs after settling into their room.

Tommy looked to Hunter, knowing that he would want to be the one to tell them all.

“We’re up 70lbs since you last saw him,” Hunter beamed, draping his big arm over Tommy’s shoulders. “I bet you can hardly recognise him with these chubby cheeks, huh boys?”

“I suppose the sweatpants come in handy these days?” Eddie asked, nodding at Tommy’s casual attire as he stood beside his muscular boyfriend.

“Um, I guess so,” Hunter pondered. “To be honest, I don’t let him wear clothes when he’s at home. Do I?” he asked Tommy in an attempt to include him, even a little, in this discussion about him.

Tommy shook his head.

“As you can probably see, his tits are starting to come in real nicely,” Hunter continued, lifting Tommy’s shirt for the boys to see. “Lovehandles are fully in shape now, and the back fat,” he rambled on, spinning Tommy around for their viewing pleasure. “I’ve had to rescue him twice in work now after he’s split his pants,” he laughed, rolling the sweatpants down so that the guys could see the transformation that had taken place in Tommy’s glutes. “And, best of all…” he went on, rapidly spinning Tommy like a ragdoll again to face them once more, “Check this out…”

The boys marvelled in unison as Hunter grabbed a thick wedge of fat that had amassed at the top of Tommy’s groin.

“It’s hard to believe how much fat there is here, considering he’s only 220lbs at the moment,” Hunter grinned. “It’s incredible!”

“Well, we can help add to that this weekend,” Danny smiled. “It’s your first holiday season as a fatty,” he nodded at Tommy. “That’s got to be quite exciting?”

“It’s also our first one together,” Tommy replied, falling back into Hunter’s large chest.

“What are you guys doing for the big day?” Eddie asked next.

“Well, we told Tommy’s parents that we were going to my family. And then we said the exact opposite to my parents. So, basically…” Hunter smirked, pulling his lover into a cute sideways cuddle, “...this little piggy is going to be spending the day sitting on my cock whilst I feed him absolutely everything I’ve been preparing for him for the last month.”

The guys all looked at each other, clearly astounded and secretly aroused by the idea.

“Have you had much backlash from Tommy’s family now he’s getting so overweight?” Danny questioned them later, sitting at the table, waiting for Tommy to finish his meal.

“Not so much,” Hunter replied. “Now his face has started to balloon, people are certainly a lot more aware of it. But his parents aren’t as switched on as mine. My dad pulled me to the side a couple of weeks ago and told me to start going easy on Tommy.” He straightened up, about to do an impression of his father and put on a dull, stuck-up voice. “Your mother and I know exactly what you’re doing,” he began at a fast pace, poking his finger out like a school teacher. “You’ve always been forceful about getting your own way; always the bully we used to get complaints about when you were in high school. But Tommy is a nice boy; the nicest you’ve ever brought home, and you’ve got to start getting your kicks some other way. One that doesn’t involve him getting so out of shape!”

The men all laughed in unison.

“I just tell them I’m going to set up a diet plan for Tommy in the New Year,” he chuckled; setting the rest of them off.

“Well, I can imagine exactly what sort of ‘diet plan’ you’ll have for him,” Danny smirked, knowing his friend all too well.

Hunter nodded and laughed along with them. “Yeah, this fat boy is so fucking screwed!”

Their conversation rolled on. All the while, Tommy continued to eat.

“Good boy!” Hunter sang moments later as Tommy finally put his knife and fork down; his plate cleared. “Was that tasty? That lamb dish is one of Eddie’s most fattening recipes. I should know. I taught him how to make it.”

Tommy nodded his head; utterly stuffed.

“Do you want me to take you upstairs for your pleasure time?” he asked the blubbery boy. “It’s part of his routine,” he explained to the guys. “Or would you rather have it here, so that the other fat boys can see you?”

Tommy looked around at the faces staring at him. All of the men were shirtless and some of them, like him, had come to the table wearing nothing at all. His initial thought was to go back upstairs. However, that seemed like such an effort in his stuffed state. He looked over at a cosy chair by the fireplace and nodded; “Over there.”

Initially, the other kinky guys had pretended to busy themselves whilst Hunter took Tommy over to the chair and began to rub his hardness up and down. However, their curiosity and arousal was soon gettng the better of them, one-by-one, coming to sit on the other chairs or stand nearby watching Hunter controlling his sub.

“Are you a good piggy for me?” Hunter whispered into his ear, making Tommy moan and nod. “You’ve put on so much fat for me this year. Did you see how shocked the guys were earlier? They’re all looking at you now.”

Tommy opened his eyes and looked around. What would he have said a year ago, had he imagined a scenario that was anything like this?

A curious and horny Eddie licked his thumb and began rubbing it over Tommy’s pointed nipple.

Hunter looked across with approval. “Piggy loves that now his tits have come in. He can’t get over how sensitive they are.

Danny licked his thumb and began playing with the other nipple, before Paul came along and grabbed a wedge of Tommy’s stomach fat, as if hardly believing how quickly it had developed.

“You see, you’re the star of the show, Piggy!” Hunter whispered into his lover’s ear.

Tommy’s breathing became a lot heavier as he felt his climax building.

“It’s alright, Piggy,” Hunter continued. “Don’t hold back. You can show them what I taught you to do when you climax.”

Tommy looked into Hunter’s eyes. Was it really okay to let himself go like this? But the orgasm was coming so fast and the urge to do it was becoming too much for him to resist. He gasped, letting go of his inhibition, then snorted, loud and clear, just like a pig, mimicking the tones that Hunter had taught him exactly. Jets flowed across the coffee table in the middle of the room and Tommy shut his eyes, calm at last..

As the New Year came and went, Tommy realised that his weight had spiked at an alarmingly fast rate over the holidays. Hunter had declared, looking at the vast new size of Tommy’s glutes, that it had been the best gift he had ever received. The gains did eventually slow down, but never stagnated. And so, by their first anniversary of getting together, Tommy stood next to his gorgeous boyfriend with over one hundred and ten pounds of added fat on him.

Hunter was more pleased with his own body than ever before as well. He’d spent the last few months bulking his shoulders and glutes, so that even he was outgrowing his clothes. Seeing Tommy swell so fast had given him the motivation he needed to make a real push with his weight training, and he spent much of that summer without a shirt on, both inside and outside of the apartment. He’d inherited a decent amount of money from a great uncle he had never even met, spending most of it on a new convertible and a designer watch that helped to inflate his ego even further. Their kitchen had been the epicentre of it all, with Hunter cooking himself up vast amounts of high protein meals, whilst simultaneously pouring in the butter, oils and grease into everything he made for Tommy.

Hunter’s bulking had also created the perfect excuse for Tommy’s ever swelling stomach. Hunter made no secret of how much he had to consume in order to keep up the strapping muscle on his body. “Most evenings, I’m cooking up food and portioning it out for myself for the next day,” he explained to Tommy’s aunt during their next visit. “But I think the smell of it makes Tommy hungry, and when I go to bed, I hear him rummaging around in the kitchen for hours.”

“Oh, Tommy!” his aunt tutted with disappointment. “No wonder you’ve gained so much weight then. You need to exercise some self control.”

Hunter nodded in agreement, rubbing Tommy’s back supportively; as if this was all one great big intervention, aimed at helping him. The lies just rolled off the hunk’s tongue with such ease and he’d soon be laughing in the car at how easily they all swallowed them. “Come on, Fatty,” he whispered whilst still smiling and waving at Tommy’s extended family as they reversed off the driveway. “Look at their faces,” he laughed. “They really think you’re going to turn things around this time.”

“My aunt spoke to me a minute ago, before we left,” Tommy explained from the passenger seat. “She told me that you’re the fitness expert and that I just need to do whatever you say.”

Hunter laughed victoriously. “Good old Auntie Paula!” he roared, waving one final time to her in particular. “In that case, your fitness expert is taking you home to sit my dick while I feed you your disgustingly oversized dinner. I heard that chair squeaking when you sat on it earlier. Next time we go to see them, I’m going to make sure your fat ass destroys it!”

The summer was coming to an end, but not before the pair of them drove up in Hunter’s new car to yet another rental place for a weekend with the boys.

“I’ve got a surprise for everyone later,” Hunter joked, shirtless and with a strong arm draped over his flabby, newly 300lb boyfriend.”

“Another one?” the boys joked, having just spoken at length about their shock at seeing the swell of Tommy’s chest and underarm fat in particular.

Hunter kept them all waiting keenly. They ate their dinner, recharged and then settled down to some beers in the large lounge. “Want to see something super cute?” he finally asked them, grinning with excitement.

“Is this our surprise?” Jack immediately replied, ready to be entertained.

Hunter nodded. “Look at these!” he cooed, suddenly holding up a tiny pair of underwear he’d been hiding behind a cushion.

The boys laughed. “Awh!” they all sang back. In their world, no one wore underwear that small; even Hunter with his giant glutes and muscular thighs needed a large, or even an extra-large in many cases.

“These belonged to Tommy when he came over to my apartment for the first time,” Hunter laughed wickedly, spinning them around and holding them by the very ends of his fingertips as if to further emphasise how petite they were. “I’ve not even washed them since.”

At this, all the guys began laughing in much the same way. They passed them around, each of them marvelling at their tiny size.

“Your butt used to be so small!” Paul bellowed, draping the underwear over his large gut to show how minute they were in comparison.

Tommy stared at them, suddenly remembering how Hunter had walked off with his underwear on that first date at their now shared apartment. His perspective really had been skewed, hardly believing now that he ever wore clothes that small.

“That was only seventeen months ago, boys!” Hunter shouted, raising his arms up in the air for the admiration he was owed. “That’s how it’s done, my friends! That’s how a real feeder takes control and fattens his piggy!”

The boys all cheered in complete agreement. The transformation, the sheer speed of it all; it was breathtaking.

“He’d never get them on these days,” Eddie laughed. “Not with the amount of fat he carries on his thighs, and that huge butt of his.”

Hunter pretended to ponder the idea; theatrically raising his thumb to his chin and rubbing. “Hmm, do you really think so?” he asked, barely holding back his laughter. “I think we may need to test that hypothesis, don’t you, boys?” he called out, rousing the crowd of fat men into a chorus of cheers.

Within seconds, Hunter had stood up and moved clear so that the other men could move in and do his bidding. Tommy was being lifed and forced out of his current underwear, feeling delighted pats of approval from some of the guys as his big, fat, doughy glutes came on show. The coffee table had been removed from the room, the music turned way down, and he was pushed into the middle of a now cleared space, with all the large, occupied chairs and sofas imprisoning it.

Suddenly, the mood changed. Unlike the others, Hunter was standing, blocking the only path out of the room; his giant arms folded intimidatingly across his immensely powerful, shirtless chest; an inpenetrable wall; a ringleader, ready to entertain.

Even before he started, Tommy could hear little hoots of laughter all around him. He looked up at Hunter’s stern expression and his hardness throbbed uncontrollably.

“As you all remember,” Hunter began, “a short while ago, I started dating a very handsome, a very athletic, and in fact, a very pretty-looking guy…”

His tone was so playful and full of mockery; making the other guys laugh; every single one of them. Then he reached out and took the tiny underwear from the person who had them. Although only a few feet away from him, Tommy looked up at his lover as if the giant man was standing high upon a towering pedestal. The way those cold eyes stared down at him aroused him more than anything else.

“The pride and joy of his parents…” Hunter sang, holding Tommy’s old underwear for them all to see again, “...college graduate, all round nice guy. He told me that he wanted to meet me. Practically begged me!”

Again, the other guys all laughed at that. Tommy’s first foolish mistake.

“He told me that I was the sexiest guy he had ever seen in his life,” Hunter smirked, emphasising the language and slipping a finger up into the crotch of the old unerwear, showing where Tommy’s little erection would have once pushed against them. That got him one of the biggest laughs. “And he promised me one thing…” Hunter went on. “...That he would do absolutely anything that I wanted him to.”

The guys all turned from looking at Hunter, to gazing with awe at Tommy’s fattened body: the rolls and blubber, stretch marks and sag. His complete submission was right there, before their very eyes. Hunter’s will, made flesh.

“What you’re about to see, boys, is my now disgustingly gluttonous, obese boyfriend, trying to put on a pair of underwear that he last wore the second time he met me,” Hunter declared, throwing the tiny material down at Tommy’s feet, filling his large chest with air and folding those enormous arms once more.

Again, the fat men all laughed to themselves, some reaching in again to poke Tommy’s fleshy stomach, or tap his naked, under-exercised butt.

“Taking them off was one of his first acts of submission to me. And now,” Hunter continued, “this greedy, fat hog is about to try and put them back on for us.” He stared hard at Tommy, making him hornier still.

Tommy nodded slowly, hardly believing that this was all happening so fast. Two minutes ago, he had been snuggled into Hunter on the couch, oblivious that any of this was coming.

“Are you ready, boys?” Hunter roared at them all; rousing another cheer of excitement. He was made for this. Showmanship was in his blood. “Count the fat fucker into it for me…” he shouted at an alarming volume.

Tommy glanced at the ridiculously small underwear; his heart beating at quite the pace. He could feel the huge ring of fat under his chin as he looked down and tried to envision how best to do it.

“Three…two… ONE!” the boys all sang with the boisterous Hunter; lifting their bottles of beer up high; eyes wide and excited to see how this would all go down.

With a slight grunt from all that he had eaten earlier, Tommy bent down to pick up the underwear. There were cheers of amusement as his butt crack opened to those standing behind him. Then, turning the underwear in his hands, he lifted one leg to begin to put them on. He stumbled, feeling the fat in his butt and love handles quiver with the force he had to throw his foot down, just to keep his balance.

“Take your time, Piggy. Get it right,” Hunter reminded him in his stern tone. This show was important. These were his friends, and he had brought Tommy here to entertain them.

Tommy nodded. He started again, slipping one foot into the tiny hole and raised the material to his ankles. Now came the trickier part. He grunted, raising his other leg and miraculously slipped that inside as well. The big moment had arrived.

Grabbing onto the tiny waistband, Tommy sucked in his stomach and heaved them up. They began soaring up his legs and then slowed dramatically. just above his knees. They were so narrow, he felt like he needed to spread his legs more to get them up; but there was no room. He pulled at them again, hearing howls of laughter all around him. The effort was almost unbelievable, and yet the underwear raised barely more than a couple of inches. Never mind his giant butt, it was his blubbery thighs that were the problem.

On he struggled, feeling the waistband at last touching the lower part of his doughy rear. He lifted the front part easier, just managing to squish a little of his excited erection inside and then he looked up at Hunter. Had he done enough?

Hunter simply raised an eyebrow and smirked, the guys’ laughter suddenly becoming too infectious for even him to ignore. His smile spread and he laughed too, throwing his arms out and then pumping his muscular chest. Some of the men reached their congratulatory hands out to the feeder for him to shake as he walked around the space where Tommy stood. His victory lap.

“Thank you. You’re right,” he replied to their comments. “Twenty five years old, and look at it now!”

Finally, he came to stand in front of Tommy again, suddenly becoming falsely affectionate and stroking his submissive’s large, chubby cheek. “I’m so glad I met you,” he told Tommy, speaking as much to the other men who were listening in.

“I’m glad I met you too,” Tommy replied, full of love and arousal for his dominant lover.

The men all laughed at Tommy’s words and Hunter looked around at them with devilment dancing in his eyes. His perfect white teeth glistened as the widest smile grew on his face. He knew exactly what they were all thinking. Obesity was beginning to take a vice-like grip on Tommy’s body, and yet the twenty-five year old was still hopelessly under the spell of his wicked boyfriend.

“Good. I’m very glad,” Hunter nodded, lovingly tucking Tommy’s overgrown, sweaty hair behind his ears. He could never resist stroking the extensive chin fat with the back of his finger at the same time; the broad, fat face, freshly shaven as Hunter always insisted upon. “You realise that you’re going to be fatter than everybody here soon, don’t you?” he continued, explaining it to the fat boy like it was an exciting adventure they were embarking upon.

Tommy nodded.

“And that’s okay is it, Piggy?” Hunter asked, playing up to the crowds.

“Yes,” Tommy nodded again. Compliance was so easy.; submission so arousing. And this situation he was in now, so exhilarating and undenyably thrilling. Everything he never knew he needed.

Delving further into the three hundred pound zone was every bit as strange and transformative as the guys had warned Tommy as he left that weekend. Everything jiggled. Everything made him sweat. He had to accept how severely overweight he was now. It was the first thing people noticed when they met him and it was the one factor that influenced how people treated him most. He noted their tones of disapproval and impatience; their blunt answers to his questions and their indignation whenever they saw the gorgeous Hunter kissing him. He stared at pictures of the two of them at his sister’s wedding: his large, bulbous, doughy belly spreading out of his jacket and barely contained within his enormous shirt. He looked at the beautiful Hunter standing behind him, grinning proudly; no one there realising that he was laughing at them all, showing off what he had done to one of their own.

“I think it’s time you considered a new job. One where you can work from home,” Hunter declared, getting up after having fucked one of his new favourite places on his lover’s evolving body: the fat roll encompassing Tommy’s deep belly button.

Tommy nodded. “That would certainly save me a lot of time,” he agreed.

“It would also save you a lot of calories,” Hunter sighed impatiently. “I get so frustrated thinking of you burning off all my delicious breakfasts, trotting that giant ass of your back and forth to the photocopier.”

“But the girls in my office would miss seeing you though,” Tommy joked.

Hunter rolled his eyes. “Another good reason to quit,” he grumbled, chugging down one of his protein shakes and drying off his sweaty body with the towel they left under the bed.

“They actually asked me to apply for a job at another one of our branches the other day,” Tommy considered, remembering how little he had considered it at the time. “Two days in the office, three at home.”

“Where?” Hunter asked with surprising interest.

“North. We’d have to move. At least we’d be closer to Paul, Eddie, and the other guys. But then, it means uprooting your life as well.”

Hunter furrowed his eyebrows in disagreement. “Look at me!” he cried. “I could get a job at any fitness place I wanted. A move away is exactly the sort of thing that we need.”

“It is?” Tommy asked, having never heard Hunter even consider the idea of moving before.

Hunter came over to Tommy, who was still sticky and sprawled out on the bed. The guy’s immense, muscular body made the bed sink slightly as Hunter sat next to him, making the fat in Tommy’s tummy jiggle and lean towards the powerful lover, as if attracted by him. “Listen. You’re now a very fat man. By this time next week, I’ll have you at over 350lbs,” Hunter explained. “But people around here don't see that. All they see is that skinny little dweeb they used to know. That handsome guy with a six pack and no ass, who couldn’t admit that being dominated would make him so fucking horny.”

Tommy chuckled. Hunter’s descriptions were blunt, but always very accurate.

“It’s time we went somewhere new. Where people don’t know about how slim you used to be. Where they will see you the way that I do: just another fat, disgustingly overfed piggy.”

Tommy exhaled deeply, feeling himself getting aroused hearing Hunter using so many of the trigger words that he usually deployed when he was getting pleasured. He nodded. Perhaps Hunter was right. Maybe it was time for a change.

“You make sure that you look after him, won’t you?” Tommy’s mother sobbed, speaking to Hunter as the pair of them stopped to pick up the last of their things and load them into the truck.

“Don’t worry, Angela. He’s in good hands with me,” Hunter smiled back. Now that Tommy had grown wide enough, the big muscular man could rub his boyfriend’s disgustingly overgrown glutes the entire time he spoke to the guy’s mother, without anyone even noticing. “Your boy will be well taken care of.”

They all hugged, with Tommy’s parents telling him how proud they were about his big promotion, as well as how much they would miss him.

“Do you think they know? Even on some level?” Hunter asked as the pair of them got back into the truck. “They have to, surely? No one is that fucking stupid, watching their son get into a relationship and suddenly gaining over two hundred pounds in just over two years!” he sniggered, surprised that no one had mentioned Tommy’s weight today; even with the daringly tight t-shirt he had made him wear.

“Perhaps, on some level,” Tommy considered. At barely average height, his 370lbs was sitting more and more on his stomach these days. Only a few moments ago, Hunter had needed to push against his wide, overgrown butt, in full view of his parents, in order to get him back into the high removal truck they had hired for the journey. “But, if I’m honest, I don’t think they really know what’s going on.”

“So fucking stupid! It’s unbelieveable!” Hunter sighed, turning the volume way up on the stereo and pulling off his shirt as the air conditioning blasted into life. As much as he enjoyed playing the innocent boyfriend, Hunter also longed for recognition, in whatever form it came.

“Goodbye,” Tommy waved to his parents as they started pulling away. He knew they couldn’t hear him. The music was far too loud.

“Goodbye,” Hunter joined in bitterly as he started to steer. “I’ll look after your son. I’m turning him into a big fat pig, y’know!” he shouted loud and clear, although he would never be heard. “I’ll have the fat fucker at 400lbs by the time you see him this Christmas! Goodbye, idiots!”

Hunter laughed with delight at himself as they rolled down the street. He slipped on his sunglasses and opened his window, just a crack, to let in a bit of fresh air.

“Still think this is the right thing?” Hunter asked moments later, reaching for Tommy’s chubby little fingers and holding them sweetly. His question was so ambiguous, with so many different possible meanings, and an infinite amount of responses. Not that any of that mattered to Tommy. For him, there was only one possible answer to any of those questions.

“Yes,” he smiled with certainty. “Two hundred percent, yes!”

#gainer fiction #gay feedee #gainerstory #gayfeeder #gainer story #gainerstories #gayfeedee #gainer stories #gainerfic #gainer fic

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rothpie · 8 months ago

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❝FIDELITY❞ |part5

MASTERLIST -`✮´- Rafe Cameron x Kook!Reader x JJ Maybank

Summary: Kook!Reader’s world is upended by betrayal, and her only way forward might lie with the most unlikely person—JJ Maybank. But as they build a new life together, old flames and past mistakes refuse to stay buried.

Warnings: sadnesses.

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He’d never thought of himself as someone who could be in a serious relationship. He never thought he could be devoted enough, or love someone that deeply. For Rafe, it was beyond impossible. Fleeting interests had always come first in his life.

It’s not that he found it difficult to connect or share feelings with someone; he just never wanted to. He’d always seen it as a waste of time.

Whether love even existed was something he still wasn’t sure of, because he didn’t believe in it.

But he was sure the feelings he had for you were real. He couldn’t say it was love—he wasn’t even sure love existed in that way. But the affection he felt for you was beyond words.

Yes, he was rich—rich enough to support his family for three generations. But he quickly realized that the bond he had with you was his real wealth.

He’d never thought of you as different from anyone else. To him, you were a typical Kook: rich, aware of your own beauty. To overlook that beauty, he would have to be blind.

Yes, he’d liked girls before. He liked spending time with them, preferring quick, physical flings over emotional entanglements. He was the kind of guy who enjoyed one-night stands.

Until he met you.

You’d met in a completely ordinary way. You already knew of each other; you both came from the island’s wealthiest families. It was impossible not to know one another.

When you ended up side by side at one of those dull Kook events, neither of you thought you'd hit it off. You weren't much of a drinker, usually preferring lighter, non-alcoholic cocktails. But that event was so painfully boring that you thought you couldn’t get through it without a drink in hand.

You hadn’t expected him to be there. You hadn’t expected him to want to escape the event, just like you did. And you certainly hadn’t expected that, while grabbing different drinks, the two of you would start talking.

You ended up spending the whole night together, maybe just to pass the time, maybe because you actually enjoyed the conversation—you couldn’t really tell.

But after that night, neither of you could stop thinking about the other.

Surprisingly— you were the first girl to linger in Rafe’s mind without him sleeping with her. He couldn’t get the length of the conversation, or your laugh, out of his head.

From then on, things began to change. At every party, his eyes searched for you. At every Kook event, he hoped to find you alone—watching for those rare moments when you weren’t with your family. He didn’t see you as some object of desire; he saw you for who you were.

He didn’t just want to have sex with you; he wanted to spend time with you.

At parties, the second he saw you, he unconsciously pushed away any girl sitting next to him. He wanted you to see him differently, even though you already knew his reputation.

When he realized you were starting to show up at every party, he started distancing himself from other girls. Not only did he push them aside, but he wouldn’t even let them come close to him. He acted without thinking, because if he had thought it through, he would have found a way to stop himself.

He didn’t want you to see him as a playboy. He wasn’t sure how he wanted you to see him; he just wanted you to see him as… a good person. Even he couldn’t believe he was trying to change himself, but he couldn’t help it.

Rafe looked at you with the same awe an eight-year-old might have if they saw Spider-Man in person.

He couldn’t help but want you. But it wasn’t just desire—he was crazy about you.

Every time you talked, he wanted more. For you, he’d probably break down the atom just so you two could talk about it for hours.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to share a bed. But for the first time, Rafe didn’t feel fixated on that. He didn’t just have sex with you; he made love to you. Every kiss ignited a warmth in his chest. Every time you moaned his name, his heart pounded for you. Every time you held hands, he couldn’t help but kiss your hand.

He’d never felt this way for anyone. No one else was like you. You were the only woman who made him feel like he even had a heart—aside from his mom.

And it went on like that. Rafe stayed loyal to you. Even when you weren’t officially together, when you were just flirting and spending nights together, he never looked at another girl.

At parties, he couldn’t keep his hands off you. Whether it was your hand, your arm, or your waist… he always stayed close. He liked acting as if you two were in a real relationship.

Rafe thought he was just feeling things more intensely than usual. He’d never felt this way about relationships before. You were the woman who’d stayed in his life the longest.

When you two finally got together, it felt like a fairy tale. Everything was perfect, and it stayed that way. Every time he saw you, his heart warmed. Every touch, every time you called him “my love,” it erased the world around him. There was only you. His whole world revolved around you.

Everything was perfect.

Rafe’s life had been nothing but a sea of gray. But the moment you entered his life, all the colors returned.

During the year and a half of your relationship, Rafe felt like he was lying on a beach, listening to the ocean waves. Every moment with you brought a peace to his life like birdsong.

Yes, there were arguments. But you two always found a way through. It was surprising, but he couldn’t stay away from you; he couldn’t stand being apart. You two never even talked about breaking up.

Not until now.

Neither of you had the strength for a breakup conversation. To do that would mean it was truly over. That the beautiful year and a half was done. Rafe had never wanted that. But somehow, he knew his reactions—the way things had spiraled—had led to this moment, and it scared him.

A few weeks back, you’d sent a message saying you were keeping the baby. He hadn’t known what to say. He was afraid, afraid things would stay just like this. And a message saying you were keeping the baby definitely felt like a breakup message in your language. He was sure of that. His heart and mind were at war.

Every moment with you had made his heart race with love and excitement; he’d never felt this kind of weight—especially from you.

“Earth to Rafe! Get it together, dude.” Kelce’s voice snapped him out of it, and Rafe looked up from his drink to find Kelce looking ready to shake him. He hadn’t even realized how lost in thought he was. His day-to-day was becoming affected.

He was lovesick, but he was the one who’d pushed you away.

Rafe dropped his hand from his chin and ran his fingers through his hair. He hated looking weak. He’d worked so hard to prove that he wasn’t. He wanted to show everyone a breakup wouldn’t break him. His eyes, lips, and face might lie, but his mind was consumed with thoughts of you. “I’m fine,” he replied, his voice firm. He felt like he was losing his mind when he wasn’t with you, but he wasn’t ready to accept what came with you.

He liked risk, loved adrenaline. He enjoyed going full throttle, ignoring the dangers.

And you were pregnant. With Rafe’s baby.

There were so many times he wanted to erase that thought from his mind. He wanted to pretend it didn’t exist. He loved you like crazy, but this wasn’t the life he wanted or was ready for.

He didn’t feel good enough to be a father. He wasn’t at an age to start a family. He had a whole life to live. He could spend years with you, but he wasn’t ready to start a family. All he wanted was you. Just you, without all that extra.

Rafe rubbed his eyes, feeling suffocated by his thoughts, glancing around. He was sick of this stupid place. Golfing, hanging out at the country club—it all felt so fake. He felt like he couldn’t breathe, as if he was suffocating even though they were outside.

It was like the sunny sky suddenly turned to pouring rain in front of his eyes.

“This place is boring as fuck. I’m out.” He raised a hand to call for the check, noticing the questioning looks from Topper and Kelce. He didn’t owe them any explanation. Who were they to him anyway?

As if they were so important…

“I swear, serious relationships are a disease. If it’s gotten even to Rafe Cameron…” Rafe exhaled heavily, watching the waiter approach as Topper’s mocking laughter echoed. Even his friends talking like that was getting to him.

He’d already gotten into a fight with Kelce over you weeks ago. Even if things were over between you, he wasn’t going to forgive Kelce, not after he’d slut-shamed you. Topper clearly wanted things to cool down, hoping his two closest friends would both be at his upcoming birthday.

"It's like he's had a serious relationship before and found someone to actually date," Topper snickered, while Kelce nudged him under the table. Kelce looked ready to lunge at him, clearly annoyed, and Topper seemed just as irritated. Bringing up your situation, knowing it would rile Rafe, made him look like he was out for a fight. If they weren’t at the golf club, Rafe was sure Kelce would be on him in a heartbeat.

"Talk like your dating history’s any better, it’s hilarious. First, there's Ruthie—total bitch nightmare. Then there's Sarah Cameron, your best friend’s sister. Clean up your act first, creep."

Rafe could hardly stand it anymore. If he heard Kelce mention one more name from his life, he was going to knock him out. He’d rather throw himself off a cliff than lose more brain cells listening to these two idiots. When their chatter finally died down, Rafe took a deep breath. He hated this.

"Hey Sofia, you look as… Pogue as ever. You guys just love that, don’t you?" Topper grinned, watching the waitress as she met his gaze with a blank look, as if his very presence annoyed her. She quickly shifted her attention back to Rafe. Watching the exchange, Topper nudged Kelce, amused by the interest sparking in Sofia's eyes. He couldn’t help but find it funny.

As Rafe took out his wallet, he listened to his friends’ ongoing conversation. "I can't be alone here with you in this dumb place. I can’t stand you and your girlfriend. It’s like the two of you found your perfect match.” Instead of responding, Topper rolled his eyes and ignored Kelce as he took out his wallet.

Topper, like Kelce and Rafe, took out his wallet, muttering, "Right, says the guy with so many partners he’s practically a walking biohazard."

Kelce's eyes widened as he insisted that wasn’t true, making Topper chuckle. He loved stretching the truth for a laugh. Kelce rolled his eyes, quickly handing his card to the waitress, while Rafe’s gaze drifted to his open wallet. He couldn’t help but notice the photo tucked inside—a picture of you and him.

Was this how you’d keep showing up in his life?

Would you just appear, throwing yourself in his face whenever he least expected it?

He hadn’t seen you in weeks. Rafe wasn’t sure if you were avoiding him or if you were holed up somewhere, in your own world. He sighed as he looked at the photo, memories washing over him. He missed the old days, and the weight of this picture hit him so hard he felt disoriented. Your cheeks pressed together in the photo, with Rafe's arms wrapped around your waist while you snapped the shot. That smile on your face—it was so beautiful he couldn’t look away. He could’ve stared at you for hours, just watching. He had watched you sleep so many times. Somehow, you only grew more beautiful each time he saw you.

His love for you was a flame that refused to die, and it didn’t take a genius to see it. He loved you.

Though he couldn’t admit it, he was scared. It shouldn’t have ended like this, but he didn’t know what to do.

Rafe wasn’t one for big moments. He wasn’t known for making the best decisions. He’d usually take his time, mulling things over until he was sure they were right. But in quick decisions, he tended to mess up and stumble.

Hearing about your pregnancy face-to-face had sent a wave of panic crashing through him. Even though he had no idea what to do, he tried to keep his composure. He couldn’t forget the moment you’d tearfully said the two of you were a mistake. He wasn’t used to seeing you cry. Those red eyes of yours were burned into his memory.

He didn’t want regrets. He didn’t want to wish he’d done things differently.

But the thought of a happy ending with you? That had never even crossed his mind.

As he kept looking at the photo, a faint smile tugged at his lips. He couldn’t help but remember that day. Time with you had been so perfect, filling him with warmth every time he thought of it.

He remembered it so clearly. It was your third month together, seven months since everything between you had started. You’d shared countless special moments. Every experience with you was a first for him. Whatever you two did, he felt like a clueless schoolboy with a crush—and he meant that.

Who had he ever woken up with, wrapped in his arms? Who else’s hair had he smelled as he fell asleep? Who else’s eyes had he gazed into, getting lost? Who else had made his heart race like this?

No one. In some ways, Rafe Cameron was a total virgin Mary.

For the first time in ages, your family had to go overseas, leaving you home alone—for a week. Being with you felt like a vacation to him. You swam, you cooked, he tried to make you breakfast, you showered together, you slept…

That week was so perfect he felt like he was filled with peace. He’d replay it in his mind over and over again. You and those memories were always there. Always would be.

This photo was taken just after you’d both showered, right before cooking a meal together for the first time. You both made dinner that evening. It wasn’t the best, but because you’d done it together, no amount of money could buy a meal that meaningful.

It was honestly an achievement for you both. You went into the kitchen at six and finally finished cooking by nine. At one point, you even considered ordering pizza but convinced each other you were close to done. And then you spent another two hours in the kitchen—guess it wasn’t so “close” after all.

It was such a beautiful day.

After dinner, you’d made sex.

As he felt his smile widen at the memory, a sudden jab to his leg snapped his attention back. His smile faded instantly, replaced by his usual hard look. Trying to figure out what had happened, he noticed the waitress waiting for him. Frustration bubbled up in him for interrupting his happy thoughts of you. He looked away from the photo, quickly pulling out his card without making eye contact. He knew that if he looked at you, he wouldn’t be able to look away.

"Sofia’s waiting. Just give her what she wants," Topper teased, a smirk on his face, as Rafe sighed and tapped his card.

If he gave attention to every girl who showed interest, like he used to, he’d never be able to keep a serious relationship. Not that he was sure your relationship was even still… ongoing.

But he was certain he’d be off the market for a while. Touching someone else after you didn’t feel right. Embarrassingly enough, he doubted he’d even, well, respond to anyone else.

He stood up, grabbing his keys as he hurried past the waitress without a second glance. As crazy as it might make him to be alone, he couldn’t handle his friends’ stupid conversations any longer.

Even if it drove him mad, he couldn’t stay by Topper or Kelce’s side for another second.

As soon as he got in his car, his phone rang, and he let out a long sigh. Not a single moment of peace today. His thin veneer of calm was barely hanging on, and it felt like the day was determined to shatter it. Starting the car, he glanced at the number on the screen before it even connected.

Wheezie Cameron.

What on earth could she want?

Honestly, if Wheezie was calling him, it’d better be because she was in actual danger or Rose had finally stormed out of the house for good.

He was really hoping for the second one. He didn’t have a penny to spare right now.

“What?” he answered, not hiding his irritation. All he wanted was to get out of this trashy place and be stretched out at home with the ocean in view. No Wheezie, no Rose, and definitely no Ward. In fact, he’d had it with all of them. He was so done with seeing the same faces every day.

All he wanted was silence.

“Hello to you too, Rafe.” Rafe couldn’t help but roll his eyes at her tone. It drove him crazy. He wanted to chuck his phone out the window. Whatever Wheezie needed, she’d better spit it out so he could say no, hang up, and blast Kendrick Lamar.

“Just tell me, Wheezie. I’m not in the mood.” Wheezie was still young, and Rafe tried—halfheartedly—to keep from cursing around her. Ward and Rose had chewed him out about his language, and sure, they had a point. But it was annoying. He was the big brother—though honestly, he’d have preferred being an only child.

“Nope,” she said smugly. Rafe tightened his grip on the wheel, jaw clenched. Why did both his sisters have to be such idiots? It was like God deliberately made both his sisters total morons. “I’m not telling you a thing until you say hello properly.”

Rafe slammed his hand against the steering wheel, fighting the urge to yell. He forced himself to keep his eyes open. He was driving, after all, and the last thing he wanted was a crash. But if Wheezie kept this up, he’d be losing control of the wheel voluntarily.

“Hello! Hello, Wheezie! Now, spill it!” The words came out as a shout before he could stop himself. Immediate regret hit him. His temper was awful lately. You were gone. In short, he was a mess.

When he heard her give a dramatic sigh, he pinched the bridge of his nose. She wasn’t fazed, of course. She was used to this, barely fazed by him anymore. Classic Rafe, right? “So, I was out today. Shopping with Rose—”

Rafe knew how his sister worked—unfortunately. She wasn’t excitable, but she loved to narrate. Whatever the hell had happened, she was going to start from the million hours leading up to it. With a deep breath, he braced himself for the full play-by-play, including the time of day and every store clerk’s name. God help him if she started counting her steps…

The Kendrick Lamar dream was officially dead.

He had zero interest in listening to a full breakdown of her day with Rose, but if he hung up, Wheezie would go ballistic. She’d tell their dad, and Ward would chew him out for that, too. That he couldn’t deal with. Right now, he just wanted a bit of time to himself. Just some peace. Just him, alone.

“Then, I saw this blue dress—”

Rafe wanted to drive the car straight off a cliff. He couldn’t handle this. This was killing him. Every pointless detail Wheezie added wrecked his efforts to calm down.

“...and then we left, and we ran into Sarah. She asked about you. Can you believe it? Then she said she wanted to meet up— Family reunion!”

What the—what is even happening?

Even when you were holding your baby in your mind, all you could think about was ice cream. The cravings were off the charts. Sometimes, you wanted something so badly it felt like the world might end if you didn’t get it. Lately, strawberries were your biggest craving. You couldn’t stop. If your hands weren’t stained red from eating so many, you felt like you’d explode.

But right now, your mind had drifted back to ice cream. You wanted vanilla ice cream so much you could’ve dived into a whole tub of it.

You wanted someone with you when the cravings hit. Someone who’d put up with your fussing—like Rafe.

Just thinking about him made you tense, which was happening way too often these days. Especially now, carrying his baby, it was almost always on your mind, making you anxious.

Being alone was really hard. You’d never felt alone in a crowd—until now.

You waited.

You really waited. When you told him you were keeping the baby, you’d waited for some kind of response. You’d waited for him to call, to come over, to tell you he’d be there. But he never showed.

He didn’t text, didn’t call, didn’t make an effort. He left you to handle this alone.

To be honest, you hadn’t been sure you’d even keep the baby when you first told him. You were just so angry, you’d wanted him to think you would. But even so, your mind never actually veered toward an abortion, though you had the right. There was nothing wrong with choosing an abortion—but you’d decided you wanted this baby.

The idea of a man controlling a woman’s choices was sickening. Having an abortion was a right, just like having a child was.

When you went for your first appointment and saw the baby for the first time, your heart raced. They asked if the father would be coming, and you didn’t want to answer, but a quick “No” slipped out. Your mind wanted him nowhere near this, but your heart couldn’t quite let go.

Luckily, you’d always been someone who chose her head over her heart.

An “almost-man” who’d abandoned you with his child—he wasn’t worth it. He wasn’t even a man at all; he was just a boy.

Taking responsibility was part of it. You’d respected his boundaries. He’d made it clear he didn’t want this, so you’d made your choice to raise the baby on your own.

Single motherhood would be hard, but you wanted this child.

And you’d do what Rafe wanted. He didn’t want the baby, so you’d make sure he’d never see it. You’d make sure he’d never touch, never meet this child.

When you were on that exam table, he should have been the one holding your hand.

But he wasn’t.

The support came from where you hadn’t expected it.

Your mom.

She was still upset you were keeping the baby, but it didn’t take her long to understand this was your life. The day you’d left home in anger had seemed to shock her into a full 180.

You knew your dad didn’t approve, either, but they’d never once turned their backs on you. Maybe they were scared you’d leave and never come back. Who knows?

When you learned the baby was healthy, you felt a deep calm settle over you. The doctor told you it was too early to know the gender, but you could wait. That was okay.

You were two months and three weeks along.

Despite everything, all the heartache, when you listened to the baby’s heartbeat, it was like none of it had ever happened. When your mom saw your eyes welling up, she quickly looked down, but she squeezed your hand and smiled.

From the woman who’d once shouted for you to get an abortion, to the one tearing up over her grandchild…

It was strange.

The baby was healthy. There was no sign of any issues. And soon enough, in just a few weeks, you’d know the gender. That made you happy.

Your hands were shaking when they gave you the ultrasound photo. You didn’t feel shy about asking for a few extras—you wanted to put them everywhere. The reality of it struck you all over again. You were going to have a baby, to be a mother, and there were only months left to go.

You’d be a mom, and you’d do whatever it took to give this child a good life.

You

Are you still working at the ice cream shop?

JJ Maybank

Nah, got fired.

Why?

You

Shit. I really need some ice cream.

JJ Maybank

Ok.

Vanilla or chocolate?

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clairewritesfanfics · 2 months ago

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Villain Creation System Chapter 3

Pairing/s: Invincible x Reader x Invincible Variants

CHAPTER 2: Tutorial Mission START Series Masterlist <<read the synopsis and trigger warnings first>>

For a fake world, the chemistry lecture here was as dull as the real one’s.

After Mark disappeared to who knows where, you resumed life as a college student and went to class. Biochemistry, a fascinating subject, but the teacher had a voice that could put dragons to sleep. Compared to your philosophy professor, the man detailing the steps to the citric acid cycle spoke without a change in his inflection and was less “discussing” and “more reading from his powerpoint.”

It was a good thing you–this version of you–took up philosophy. The so-called “hard sciences” are fun, but being human means having limited time, and when buttloads of information is crammed into you without time for processing and then quizzed, the fun tends to diminish.

The bell rang.

“I will upload the modules for the next session by tonight, and don’t forget to answer the formative quiz for today’s lecture. Have a good day, everyone.”

You opened your planner. This was the last class for today, and there didn’t seem to be anything else written here, only this semester’s schedule.

Huh.

[Accurate to the real thing, I’d say.]

“If that is a jab at me then you’re wasting your breath, or whatever energy you use to talk.” You didn’t like social engagements. It would seem this version of you was the same. Good. At least you didn’t have to worry about making small talk with strangers. You had this body’s memories, but they were limited, imperfect.

“What should we do now?” You asked, walking out of the auditorium.

[That is up to the Host. ]

[Your will is my will.]

“Is that your way of telling me you’re not gonna help me?”

[ ˶ˆ꒳ˆ˵ ]

You rolled your eyes and opened your phone. The list of contacts you had were straightforward; parents, several family members, some old classmates and friends. Vague figures in the back of this brain’s memory. The system told you not to bother contacting any of them. [It would be pointless] was its reply when you inquired why.

You checked the apps. Facebook was a thing here but Twitter was replaced by “Z” and Youtube was “WeTV.” A lot of the creators “you” followed were news outlets.

You clicked a WeTV link to a livestream report of a monster attack in Australia, then another in Brazil, and one in the Philippines.

“Geez.” You were never going to complain about being bored again. “Those poor people.”

[Look on the bright side, Host, here the destruction of nations can be blamed on an external threat rather than the political leaders. In your reality, you humans have no one else to blame but yourselves.]

Spoken in a robotic voice with a cheery lilt. It seemed genuine in its attempt to comfort you, so you bit your tongue and continued scrolling.

Monsters, villains, more monsters, more villains. Hundreds of people injured, dozens dead.

Just then, a light bulb went off in your head. “I think I know what I’m supposed to do now.”

The dorm was too far so you went to the campus library. You found a vacant computer near the wall, far from prying eyes.

[Resorting to cyberstalking, I see.]

“Before I can make him snap, I need to figure out what makes him tick.”

Judging from his socials, Mark’s popular, not just as Invincible, but as Mark Grayson. He was on the debate team back in high school, played bass at a band called Indigo Muse, and, if the many, many, many posts about him were anything to go by, he was well-loved by the ladies.

When you couldn’t find any family pictures, you decided to study his superhero identity.

This world’s Invincible wore a black suit with blue accents. Most pictures of him were blurred, which was either on purpose or incredibly fortunate, because he didn’t wear a mask or cowl.

UNKNOWN SUPER SAVES BUS OF TEENS

NEW SUPERHERO RISES THE RANKS

INVINCIBLE HELPS OLD LADY DOWN THE STREET

Going by the news articles, he’s been a hero for a mere four months. “No wonder the corruption meter is mostly empty.” You’ve seen this play out before, not in Invincible , but in various coming of age stories. This Mark was a fledgling. His morals were still intact, but judging from that 3%, he’s starting to see that the world of superheroes isn’t squeaky clean.

You pushed down the pity in your chest and continued with your research.

From what you can tell, the professional supes were employed by the Global Defense Agency aka the GDA. The veteran heroes were known as the Guardians of the Globe, and there was the Teen Team, composed of younger heroes. Invincible wasn’t part of either. He assisted both groups in the past, usually to evacuate civilians.

No interviews, no press conferences.

He was surprisingly mysterious. With how much of a flirt he was, you thought for sure he would be the showboating type, but judging from the poorly recorded videos of him zooming around, he did his job quickly and left before news reporters could hound him.

There were only so many news articles and blog posts about him before you realized there was nothing else to study.

You opened your notebook and made a summary of everything you knew so far:

Womanizer

Doesn’t remember me from childhood

English major *shares same philosophy class

Bass player

Debuted as a hero four months ago

Not part of a team

Popular as civilian and hero

Home life?

You circled the last item on your list several times. Try as you might, Mark’s parents were mysteries to you. Omni-Man disappeared ten years ago and you had nothing on Debbie Grayson. Her son didn’t have her as a friend on Facebook and he had zero pictures of him and parents.

“Not even a hint?” You asked the system.

System: (づ_ど)

Giving up, you decide to switch topics and begin digitizing your lecture notes.

[You’re actually studying?]

“Not like I have anything better to do. I can’t exactly hack into the Pentagon’s database and my head hurts from all that research, and since someone refuses to be useful, I’m stuck on what to do now.”

[...]

The system fell quiet and let you be.

The minutes flew by as you typed.

“Excuse me.” A feminine voice whispered and your knee jerked against the table.

You gasped in pain, earning a few looks from the neighboring students.

“Sorry,” the snooper said.

[Ding. The character known as Amber Bennett has made contact.]

No kidding! Couldn’t you have warned me that she was here!?

[Host looked so deeply invested in studying that this system did not wish to disturb you.]

[Fufufu.]

Rubbing your knee, you met Amber’s apologetic eyes. “I didn’t mean to spook you, but uh, your typing’s… a little loud.”

Ah. That would explain the hard glares from some of the people here. “Sorry, I got too excited I guess. I’ll keep it down.”

“Thanks.” She glanced at your desk. “By the way, I can’t help but notice, you're in Professor Gonzales’ class, right?”

When she saw your brows crease in confusion, she added, “Biochemistry?”

“Oh, yeah.”

“We share the same class then, I’m Amber Bennett.”

“I know.”

She blinked, wide-eyed.

You quickly added, “You’re one of the scholarship students. I saw the university page congratulating you.”

“Yeah, um, about that…” She turned to your monitor. “Your notes are easy to follow. Especially compared to the professor’s powerpoint.”

“I try.”

She grabbed her shoulder. “This is gonna sound weird but are you available for tutoring?”

“Tutoring?”

There was a collective “shhh” from all directions and Amber ducked her head.

“See, I’ve been struggling with chemistry since the first day and I’ve never failed before, but–”

“Okay.”

“Really?”

You nodded.

She beamed. “That’s great! I think we’re already in the same group chat for the freshmen course but just in case–” She pulled out a pen and you pushed a blank page towards her. She scribbled her number.

“I’ll pay you, of course.”

“Sure, we can talk about details some other time.”

“I really appreciate this–”

You gave her your name and her smile brightened. “You’re a lifesaver! I should go now before the rest of the library decides to crucify us both.”

You raised your hand in goodbye and then picked up your notebook.

No, Amber, you’re the lifesaver here.

***

That evening, Amber asked to meet with you at the campus coffee shop.

The Coffee Mug, more colloquially known as The Mug, was three storeys high and looked far more interesting than any Starbucks you’ve been to. Cubist and art deco paintings lined the bare brick walls, contrasting the wood and iron furniture. Bossa nova jazz played from the ceiling speakers.

“I gotta hand it to the author, or whoever, whatever made this place, they know how to design a good-looking cafe.”

You almost didn’t mind that the person who asked for your help was already eight minutes late.

You were getting impatient, mostly because it was seven o’clock and you still haven’t had dinner. You had a black coffee to stave off the hunger pangs, but the scent of toasted savory pastries and the sight of cake called out to you like a siren.

[Just order, Host, don’t tell me you’re waiting for Amber so she could pay.]

“What do you take me for?” You harrumphed. “I’d love to, but it would be rude to start eating without her.”

[!!]

[Really? How so?]

You shrugged.

“But drinking is okay?”

“Yes.”

[You humans sure do like making things harder for yourselves.]

“Tell me about it.”

God, where the Hell is she?

As you started debating whether manners were truly necessary, your phone pinged. It was Amber.

Hey, are u at the cafe?

Im so sorry, my group meeting decided to have overtime.

I wired u some money, dinner’s on me. sorry again!

Well, damn. Guess God does listen.

Spirits lifted, you got up and practically skipped towards the menu. This place might’ve been called a coffee shop, it had a big menu not unlike a diner’s, and the food selection was listed with colorful chalk on giant blackboards hanging behind the counter.

You’ve been thinking about what to eat even while you were at the table. But even now you weren’t sure what to get. A sandwich and salad combo? The lasagna? Maybe something from their all-day breakfast?

[Ding.]

“I recommend their three-cheese omelette.”

You barely had to turn your head to find Mark’s chin hovering over your shoulder. Soft dark bangs tickled your cheek.

“Mark.”

“Gorgeous.” He winked and then approached the counter.

The girl handling the cashier noticed him and her surprise turned to coyness as she pushed back a pink strand of hair behind her ear and smiled. “Hey, Mark.” If this were a cartoon you’d imagine her eyes would be in the shape of hearts right now.

You couldn’t blame her. Looking around the floor, a mix of subtle and unsubtle staring were aimed at Mark. You understood. Six feet, jet black hair, strong biceps, a pretty waist that led to the most callipygous butt you’ve ever seen.

That being said, you’d rather not get into the habit of ogling at rear ends without permission, so you walked closer and stood beside him.

Mark leaned onto the counter, flashing a flirtatious smile. “Hey, Kelsey. Can I get my usual, for dine-in, and an om–”

“I’ll get the large grilled chicken salad with honey mustard and one medium choco mint frappe.”

Mark snorted, but didn’t say anything else as he handed her a few dollars.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t be like that, consider this my olive branch.”

“For what?”

“For cutting our date short and not walking you home.”

“First of all, that wasn’t a date, because if it was, then your standards need quality control. Secondly, it wasn’t like I needed to come home. I still had classes.”

Not wanting to third-wheel, Kelsey put Mark’s change on the small metal plate beside the register and hurried off to prepare the orders.

Without skipping a beat, Mark put the change in the tip box. “Then what is your ideal date?”

You tilted your head.

“You said my standards need to improve, but how do I know yours is any good?”

“I guess you don’t.” You crossed your arms.

His grin turned mischievous. “Let me guess, you want a fancy dinner? No, you don’t seem like the type who dresses up frequently. I know, is it this cafe? Are coffee shops your thing? Bookish girls like these kinds of places.”

You turned on your heels. “I’m ignoring you now.”

Folding his hands behind him, he trailed after you, remaining two steps behind, pretending like he couldn’t outpace you with those long legs of his.

“Wait, is that why you’re here? You’re waiting for a date?” He watched you take a seat. “That can’t be it though, who orders before their date?”

Refusing to look at him, you opened your phone as you expressed your gratitude, “Thank you for paying, now would you kindly get lost?”

[Host, what are you doing? This is the perfect time to seduce him.]

Yeah, not happening. I need to be five kinds of drunk before I even consider– “What are you doing?”

He slid into the seat across from yours. “Hey, I’m hungry too.”

“There are other tables, y’know.”

He cocked his eyebrow and you briefly scanned the room. Right. This was a university cafe. Dammit. He did pay for your food, and he wasn’t totally obnoxious to warrant a kick out.

With a sigh, you opted to just ignore him and kept refreshing your phone.

“So, are you going to study here?”

“...”

“The music’s pretty nice, if a little basic.”

“...”

“I can’t really stand music when I’m studying, or the sound of people talking. When I’m reading, I’m reading. When I’m listening to music, that’s all I’m going to do. I guess I’m not a multitasker, I like to think of myself as–”

You slammed twenty-five dollars on the table. “Please take this and leave.”

He put his elbows on the table and leaned closer. “Nah.”

Ugh.

“What do you want from me?”

He flexed his arm and leaned his chin on the palm of his hand. “Tell me why else you’re here.”

“To eat dinner.”

“And?”

“To study.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“It’s none of your business.”

“You want me to leave, don’t you?”

“...I have an appointment.”

“Is the appointment romantic in nature?”

“Not even a little bit. It’s purely academic, and I’d like to keep it confidential, so could you–”

Kelsey arrived holding two trays. “One large grilled chicken salad with one medium choco mint frappe, and one freshly toasted cheese and sausage eggdesal[1] with a cup of black coffee.”

“Thanks, Kels, but you didn’t have to bring it here, I would’ve gotten it.” Mark said.

She giggled, “Nah, it’s the least I could do. It’s not everyday you stay here to eat.”

“Well, I still feel bad since the place is packed.”

“It’s my pleasure. We’re not super busy right now since most of the students here just buy one drink for their whole stay.”

“You’re a doll.”

“Enjoy your meal.” She smiled at both of you and returned to her station.

He took a sip of the coffee. “Sweet girl, that one. You know, she’s a physics major–”

“How do you do that?”

His lashes flickered over the rim of the cup.

“How can you… charm people so effortlessly?”

Foamy coffee squirted through his mouth and nose and onto his sandwich. Luckily for you, you reflexively pulled your plate back just in time.

You pulled out the pack of tissue you kept in your backpack and slid it towards him.

He patted his chest and coughed into the tissues.

You folded your hands over the table and waited patiently for him to regain his bearings. Once his coughing calmed down, you asked, “Well?”

“Wow. You…wow.”

“It’s a genuine question, I think I deserve a genuine answer.” If it weren’t for your unique circumstance, you would have folded like a cheap hooker if Mark Grayson approached you the way he did after the philosophy lecture. The rest of your brain would’ve had no chances in overriding your hypothalamus. Or your loins.

“I don’t know where to begin, I–”

“Mark?”

Amber was here.

“Wow,” he breathed, attention switching from Amber to you. “You really did have a meeting.”

She looked baffled but there was no trace of anger or anything. “Why’re you here, Mark? You hate eating here.”

“I was just about to leave.” He picked up his sandwich. “See ya, girls.” And with that, he departed, leaving you alone with Amber, who was–according to past posts–his ex-girlfriend.

Amber laid her bag on the now empty chair. “Sorry for being late, I didn’t expect us to take two hours deciding on how to divide a simple report on childhood obesity.”

“It’s okay, ‘cause of you I just found my second favorite place.” The first will always be your bedroom.

Amber twiddled with her fingers as you poured the honey mustard over the salad.

“Mark didn’t, I mean, he–”

“I didn’t tell him about the tutoring,” you reassured her. “I didn’t know if you wanted people to know, I just told him it was for school.”

“Really? Thank you! But that’s not what I was going to say.” She cleared her throat. “How do you know Mark?”

“We attend the same philosophy class.”

She looked everywhere except your gaze. “This probably isn’t any of my business, but you seem like a nice person so you should know that Mark doesn’t do the girlfriend thing.”

You used your fork to toss your salad. “I see.”

“Don’t get me wrong, he isn’t evil or anything. He’s a sweet guy, it’s just that, he isn’t boyfriend material.”

You nodded. “Thanks for telling me.”

She let out a sigh of relief. “Good, good. Listen, if you do want to hook up with him, that’s totally your call, I just thought I should tell you.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll be too busy for a boyfriend, anyway. Thanks, I really do appreciate it.”

Mark Grayson? Please. Not even in a hundred lifetimes.

[ Ding. ]

You dropped your fork.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah… yeah, my hand slipped,” you muttered, trying not to gawk at the system’s holographic screen.

[Affection: 12%. Darkening: 3%.]

Glossary: [1] eggdesal: an egg sandwich that uses pandesal, a sweet and salty bread roll. It can be served plain with just the egg (either with scrambled or over easy), or with other fillings like bacon, sausages, and/or cheese.

@weponxwrites @ratkidcalledallie @qxuanii @lilacoaks

CHAPTER 4: Just Cut Their Red Thread of Fate Series Masterlist

MASTERLIST | request rules | ask box

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otkuhotgirl · 9 months ago

Text

─── 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐓 .

# with donquixote doflamingo.

the man who conquered it all could not have predicted the boredom that came with settledness. yet, fucking you with an audience was entertaining enough.

⎰ & KINKTOBER, day thirteen. smut (mdni!). dacryphilia. humiliation kink. voyeurism. slapping. drugging. afab!reader. no y/n used.

WC: 2.5k

don quixote doflamingo was an untouchable man, for neither the government nor a commoner had enough power and influence to rival one beyond a celestial — a king. that who would grow into the commander of all, rather than the mere master of a meaningless kingdom; that whose future was trailed to conquest. comfort had been the most prominent gift offered by power, yet with it came boredom. those who dared defy him could not match the strength of the weakest members of his family, let alone a single one from his elite officers. arrogance could lead him so far before the settling of inevitable dullness. a warlord; a king; a dragon. despite the revolt born from the reminiscence of his past, being honest with himself, the age of pirate life, dangerous-filled, at least had a tinge of excitement to it. the settling down that came with the successful crafting of an empire was a disappointment that, although predicted, remained frustrating.

doflamingo was unused to the process of yearning, for his seizing of what was wanted was immediate. he had been a child famished for prestige and vengeance; a teen striving for riches; an adult who at last conquered it all, yet it was far from enough. not a thing in the world could quite affect him; how one could bother the man who had whatever his heart desired? he pondered on the perspective of conforming to the scenario at hand — until you showed up.

he claimed you as he did most things throughout his life — coercion with threatening innuendos and promises of violence. you were neither given a choice nor an escape route; he craved you, therefore he would have you. the fact that you were so willing to submit was but a treacherous, laid-out trap. you behaved as though an innocent rose — innocent, willing, made to be ravaged — and once doflamingo grew used to your presence, adoration overcoming lust; having you as the favorite doll on his shelf; you surprised him with the serpent hidden underneath the petals.

the carnal endeavors were not exclusive. doflamingo made it clear that he could have you and countless others, daring to command you to remain by the pool while he had women piled on his lap. you were unfazed — ever his obedient pet — until his passion bloomed, meaning you were no longer expendable: you were his lover; a member of his family. once you realized that, said viper fangs dug through flesh and injected its poison into his bloodline. so long as you existed, doflamingo could be affected; the downfall of a god. and you were far from unaware of that privilege — especially once he ditched other women, for they were not you.

the first time you had pulled that move was during a warlord reunion — boring, catastrophic. doflamingo had brought you along for the merest sake of flexing his lover, yet the brief lack of explicit affection altered the function of your character to those who observed without context.

to them, you were but a supposed crewmate; a subordinate meant to aid were things to go sour. as a consequence, within the merest blink of an eye, you were found not by his side — but rather entertaining crocodile’s advances. doflamingo was well-aware of the distaste the fellow warlord felt for him, and enough a smart individual not to underestimate said man’s intelligence. the crystalline flirting had been a mute, mutual decision to vex him; to force him into discomfort.

doflamingo half-expected the rage to consume every nerve at the sight of another’s hand on your body; to have a languid tongue of fire teasing the flesh of his heart. yet that had not been the case. the man was surprised at the realization of his own amusement at the sight, the treacherous trail of his thoughts, treading on the image of crocodile’s fingers on your flesh; fragments of sand blooming goosebumps on your arm. crocodile would never steal what was his; doflamingo would wrap strings around that neck without second-thought was he to dare claim you. a full-blown fight would be interesting, although with predictable results — doflamingo would emerge victorious, as per usual.

the man untouchable granted a weakness of ridiculous character. at the end of such a reunion, doflamingo ravished you on the ship throughout the entire return to dressrosa — and that had been the most exhilarating experience he had in ages.

doflamingo had no need to express said desire. you noted it through the manner with which his touch shifted — the applied pressure, the rough, erratic pace of his cock pistoling itself inside. you were given mute, explicit permission to misbehave, doflamingo wanted you to flirt and lure others into his web; drew pleasure from the desperation in their eyes upon the realization of who was the man you belonged to. whenever you were to leave, doflamingo had the servants paint your skin with black-ink in swirling patterns. he’d accompany you; hidden, amused. observing as those men’s fingers stained the texture of your flesh, digits indicating where you were touched. doflamingo did not care about those men whatsoever, murdering them as soon as they dared cross a line.

rather than wiping the ink, he’d throw your back against the pool of blood and claim you then and there — forcefully mingling black and red into your flesh, adding the white of his cum thereafter. oftentimes he’d have the men alive, forced to watch his cock entering your cunt; to hear your delicious moans. his strings would wrap itselves around their throats; slice their flesh. and then — only then — would doflamingo tear your clothes off, expose your nipples to his eyes. it was better when said individuals were commoners; low-lifers. self-proclaimed important men were arrogant enough to withstand the weight of his presence; stupid enough to dare touch covered inches of flesh where the ink had not reached. his excitement would be maculated by the rage, born from said display of impertinence, and if one was to be fair the enticement lost its appeal when he was forced to face such smugness. allowing you to participate in the diplomatic dinner with the marine forces had been an error, for vice-admirals were not quite as often moral as those who occupied a higher position in the hierarchy. the man was strong — drunk, too — and you had him wrapped around your finger, serving him wine; trailing your index down his chest. the man was served the most delicious meals; offered the most matured alcoholic beverages. and, unbeknownst to him, had the king of dressrosa’s lover in his lap.

doflamingo clutched his bottle, erection enclosed by the fabric of his underwear. the vice-admiral nudged your neck with his nose, and doflamingo smirked when your eyes trailed to his own, angling your head in order to give the officer a better access to your skin. he could not kill that man — too important; too risky — a fact you were well-aware of, forcing his hand without second thought, daring him to persevere. he clicked his tongue, spreading his legs under the table and not minding enough to suppress his delighted grunt when the tip of your heel reached his shaft. in order to do so, you moved your ass where you sat on the vice-admiral’s lap, and when his eyes filled with lust, doflamingo’s fingers twitched, a single string teasing your neck. he could not touch that man, but you — you belonged to him. doflamingo was allowed to treat you as he pleased.

he tied the string around your chest, forcing your cleavage to spill out. the vice-admiral’s eyes glued to it, whereas doflamingo’s glance tethered itself to your face. you grinned in pure delight, grinding against the drunk man’s cock on purpose — in such a bliss that he remained unaware of the cat-and-mouse game happening in front of him. he tightened the grip on your throat, drawing pleasure from your hooded eyes. doflamingo tugged at the string ever-so-slightly, forcing your chest forward into the table, aware that the vice-admiral’s tip would poke at your ass. he grunted at the thought, feeling the first drops of his pre-cum that all but stained the fabric of his underwear.

“how do you like the wine?” he inquired, drowning his throat with it, observing the vice-admiral’s vicious glance.

the man seemed to have been reminded of the character of his visit — to form a deal between the warlord and the government; not to get a hand wrapped around his cock. yet, he struggled to remain composed; to focus where it mattered.

“it’s delicious,” he answered, though his eyes were glued to your figure.

doflamingo snapped his fingers, calling a servant in. the woman brought yet another bottle, and with the vice-admiral’s attention elsewhere, it was easy to pour droplets of a strong somniferous into the wine. a flick of his fingers had the bottle sliding through the table into your seat, and you raised an eyebrow.

“doffy,” you complained. “we were having fun.”

“pour it,” doflamingo demanded, and you all but scoffed — an attitude he’d correct later-on.

rather than doing it so, you parted his lips open with your thumb, convincing him to open his mouth. you poured the beverage inside, forcing him to swallow. doflamingo’s cock twitched as a string of red wine dripped down the vice-admiral’s chin, and he all but relaxed, though quite awake still, as if stuck into a particularly odd dream. the second the other’s grip on you loosened, doflamingo tapped on the table’s surface, and you knelt upon it, driving yourself towards him as though a mischievous cat. he licked his lips, well-aware of the vice-admiral’s state of dazed consciousness. he kicked the table’s leg, forcing you to fall face-straight into his chest.

“fun,” he echoed, gripping your nape and thighs. “i doubt a marine would know the meaning of fun, little bird.”

you hummed, burying your nose in his neck. “should we teach him, doffy?”

doflamingo laughed, angling his chair in order to give the drugged vice-admiral the full sight of what was about to happen. he would not dare remove your shirt, for not another deserved to have your breasts etched into memory; more importantly, you hadn’t worked enough for your nipples to be worth the attention of his tongue. instead, he raised the hem of your dress and tugged at the waistband of your underwear, unable to contain the excitement.

“tear it off,” he teased, brushing his erection against your covered cunt. you mewled, starting to move as if to remove your panties. “stupid, little bird. i told you to tear it.”

his hand forced your chest to meet his, and his long tongue darted out from his mouth to lick your cheeks. doflamingo’s grip was but a cage, and your fingers struggled to rip those panties — an order he would have no problem in accomplishing were the roles reversed.

“can’t handle it yourself, little bird?” he teased, rutting his hips in order to tease your entrance. you whined, meeting his pace; grinding against his cock.

“doffy,” you mewled, ceasing the movement of your fingers for the sake of your brief pleasure.

“what, you think shoving those panties aside would be enough?” he mocked, resting his back on the chair. “i’m an important man.”

the glance you sent his way was anger-filled; frustrated. he ignored it, grunting at the sight of your struggling figure, all but laughing throughout the time demanded for your underwear to be ripped in half. doflamingo smirked, satisfied with your desperation. he refused to offer any sort of aid, comfortably resting while you were forced to remove the lower-half of his clothes — managing to lower it down only enough to free his cock from its confines.

“pathetic,” he spat, gripping your throat; forcing your glance to meet his. “that’s why you resort to low-lifers, is it not? you’re a whore at your core, little bird, unworthy of a king.”

his palm met your face; a powerful slap that had your head angled to the side with sudden violence. you moaned, leaning into his touch regardless of the strength dwelled upon it.

“were you turned on?” doflamingo inquired, gripping your chin. “when his cock poked at your entrance, were you dripping wet?”

“no, doffy,” you stated, tearing up due to the aggressiveness poured into the touch.

he laughed, moving his head with certain disappointment. doflamingo snapped his hips, forcing his erection to settle amidst your folds, the wetness that enveloped the sensitive flesh of his tip causing him to grunt with sheer desire, increasing the pressure applied on your chin.

“lying slut,” he accused, gripping your hips to guide the grinding of his cock. “look at how wet you are.”

“only because you were staring at me,” you countered through a shrieking shout. he laughed, despite the painful state of his erection.

“is that so?” doflamingo taunted. “a pathetic excuse of a creature aching for a god’s cock. how egotistical.”

“doffy—”.

“beg for it,” he snapped, teasing your lips open with the tip of his tongue.

“please, doffy,” you pleaded, rolling your hips with a moan and an arch of your back, failing to please yourself without further aid. “i need you, i need your cock.”

“to do what?”

“to fuck me! please, make me cum, doffy. only you can.”

“pitiful,” he continued, raising your hip ever-so-slightly to shove his cock inside. you gripped his shoulders, searching for equilibrium, and shouting as his girth split you open.

doflamingo was a man whose height surpassed that of the common average — as a consequence, the same could be applied to the length and width of his shaft. in order not to cause greater pain to his lover, certain particularities needed to be considered. a proper teasing beforehand to guarantee natural lubrication; gradual insertion to avoid sudden stretching. yet, he did not care about that in such an instance whatsoever, merely licking the tears that traveled through your cheeks, bruising your cervix with his tip.

without further ado, doflamingo forced you to move; to bounce on his cock. he raised your figure to pistol his erection from the base to the tip, tearing your walls; demolishing from the inside-out. you moaned, and doflamingo angled his head to meet the unfocused glance of the vice-admiral, grinning as the room filled with the sound of his balls meeting your ass. the increase of your pace; the way your fingers dug into the flesh of his shoulders. you were nearing your release, and doflamingo settled back, no longer thrusting into you.

“doffy!” you shouted, and he didn’t hesitate to slap your face as a reprimand.

“who do you think you are, whore?” doflamingo snapped. “if you want to cum, work for it.”

your legs trembled; constricted. his back met the chair, hands above his nape. your breasts matched the pace of your bouncing, restless and without proper rhythm. sweat emerged on your temples, leisure movements that did nothing to soothe the tide of crippling desire that had your essence coating his monstrous size. doflamingo clicked his tongue with nitid disappointment, gripping your throat. his erection retrieved from your walls the second he forced your back against the table, only to be yet again shoved inside without ceremonies, causing you to shout due to both pain and pleasure.

“how useless,” he noted, licking his lips at the sight of his cock, the poking tip ever-so-visible through your stomach. “can’t even get yourself off.”

“i am,” you sobbed, legs spreading open as your walls clenched around his erection. “need you, please, young master!”

doflamingo grunted, tilting your head up; angling your sight of vision to have you facing the vice-admiral. “if you dare stop to look at him once, you won’t get to cum.”

you moaned and nodded your head, tethering your glance to the man in question. doflamingo’s pace had the table scratching against the ground, your back arching once his thumb applied pressure on your clit. at each given thrust, he bruised your insides further; walls swallowing him whole; g-spot finding no reprieve whatsoever. doflamingo kept his eyes tethered to your face, grunting, for your attention was offered to another. his cock twitched; his expression contorted into one of sadistic pleasure. he did not bother to warn you of his nearing bliss, instead allowing his cum to smear your insides, thrusting himself with regained ruthlessness as he rode the epiphany of his orgasm.

once he was done, doflamingo sat back yet again, removing his shaft from your cunt without further thought. you gasped due to the extreme revolt, supporting your weight on your elbows.

“you told me i’d get to cum,” you complained, and doflamingo wrapped a string around your thighs, tugging you closer.

“if you worked for it,” he pointed out, grinning. “and you haven’t; not yet. what will you do, little bird?”

#kinktober 2024 #one piece #op x reader #op #one piece x reader #one piece x you #op x you #one piece smut #op x y/n #doflamingo smut #doflamingo x reader #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo one piece #op doflamingo #doflamingo x you #doflamingo x y/n

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lizzyiii · 9 months ago

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just wondering 👉🏼👈🏼 when the next update of his lady love will be? i’m just so excited for the next chapter im OBSESSED with the story 👻

I'm so sorry I took this long, I've been having a mental block with this

His Lady Love (9)

pairing | aemond targaryen x vampire!mikaelson!reader

taglist | to be added to the taglist just add your username to this DOC

word count | 3,8k words

summary | finally you make your return back to king's landing and reunite with aemond

tags | hurt/comfort,

note | I'm so sorry I took so long

likes, comments, reblogs are much appreciated ✨

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞�� - 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 - 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

The storm had raged for a week, battering the old farmstead with rain and howling winds. Inside, the small prince had finally begun to show signs of recovery. Jaehaerys, once pale and on the verge of death, now had the flush of life back in his cheeks, thanks to the small doses of your ancient vampire blood. His eyes, once glazed and distant, now held a quiet strength. Despite his reserved nature, the boy had grown fond of you in his own way, calling you “munās”

The crumbling farm had served its purpose. Though it was no Red Keep, the rations you had scavenged from Tym’s meager cupboards had been enough to sustain the both of you. Tym, the unfortunate soul whose blood had been your own sustenance, now lay rotting in a closet—his death no more significant than a footnote in a much larger story. The smell of his decaying body was thick in the air, but it hardly bothered you. In your long life, you had smelled far worse.

Outside, the rain had finally ceased. The journey back to King’s Landing would be dangerous, but necessary. You could already envision the uproar awaiting your and Jaehaerys’ return. Let them fret; it was no concern of yours.

You gathered what little provisions were left and tucked them into a satchel, slinging it over your shoulder. The food wasn’t for you, of course, but for the prince. He would need his strength if he was to survive the coming days. As you approached Jaehaerys, he looked up at you with a small, fleeting smile—a gesture that melted your dead heart. Without a word, you draped a thick cloak over his shoulders, pulling the hood low to hide his silver Targaryen hair. The last thing you needed was to draw unwanted attention on the road.

The air was damp and heavy as you stepped outside, the smell of wet earth mingling with the distant scent of the ocean. You hoisted the boy onto your horse, his small frame easily fitting in front of you. The skies were still dark, but the rain had stopped for now. With a flick of the reins, the horse began its slow trot down the muddy path.

As you approached the towering walls of King’s Landing, the familiar stench of sweat and desperation thickened in the air. Your grip on Jaehaerys tightened, pulling him closer to you as your sharp senses took in the chaotic scene ahead. The streets swarmed with restless peasants, their voices a cacophony of rage and despair, echoing through the narrow alleyways that led to the Red Keep.

You focused, your hearing tuning into the mob’s cries. They were angry, starved. "Food! Bread!" they screamed, their desperation palpable. The realization struck you almost immediately—Rhaenyra must have sealed off the city. No traders, no merchants, no supplies flowing in. It was a power play, of course. She sought to starve out the opposition within her rightful walls, but it was the smallfolk who suffered most. Typical.

But it was what you saw next that made even your blood freeze.

Through the throngs of people, a procession of white cloaks—Kingsguard—marched proudly through the streets, their armor gleaming in the dimming light of dusk. In their hands, they bore a horrifying trophy: the severed head of a red dragon. Melys, you thought, the Red Queen, her crimson scales dulling in death.

The thought of Daemon’s dragon, Caraxes, crossed your mind briefly, but you dismissed it just as quickly. Daemon was not so easily felled. He was a force of chaos, relentless and unyielding. But Rhaenys... She had fought valiantly for her kin. It had to be her. Aegon had slain her and had the audacity to parade her dragon’s head as if it were some twisted victory.

The crowd grew louder, their protests turning to angry shouts as they watched the grotesque display. You could feel the fear rising among them, but it was overshadowed by the hunger—both for food and for rebellion. The city was on the brink, and Aegon was playing with fire.

Jaehaerys stirred slightly in your arms, oblivious to the grim spectacle unfolding before you. He was innocent in all this, yet he would soon be thrust into the heart of this brutal war. With a final glance at the dragon’s severed head, you urged your horse forward, pulling the hood of Jaehaerys’ cloak lower to shield his Targaryen features. The mob surged around you, but you moved through it like a shadow, unseen and unstoppable.

As you slipped through the shadowed alleys and hidden paths of King’s Landing, the weight of Jaehaerys in your arms was a reminder of just how fragile human life could be. The streets were filled with chaos, but to you, it was nothing. In six hundred years, you had perfected the art of moving unseen, a phantom in the night.

It wasn’t hard to imagine how those men, Daemon had sent, had managed to infiltrate these halls. It was almost laughably easy for you to slip past the guards. They were easily distracted, and you had no trouble avoiding detection.

Your thoughts kept drifting to Aemond, his sharp, striking features, the single violet eye that gleamed with intelligence and ruthlessness. You yearned for him in a way that surprised even you. In all your centuries of existence, through the rise and fall of empires, you had never felt this way about anyone. Aemond had a way of stirring something deep within you—a hunger, not for blood, but for him.

It was strange to admit, even to yourself, but you loved him. In your immortal life, you had seen love twisted and turned into something vile, something manipulative and fleeting. But with Aemond, it was different. His ambition, his fire, even his darkness—those were things you understood, things you were drawn to.

Still, love would have to wait. For now, your priority was Jaehaerys, the boy asleep in your arms, his silver hair tucked away beneath the hood you had wrapped around him. You glided through the hidden corridors of the Red Keep with ease, your steps silent, your presence undetected.

Helaena’s chambers were quiet when you arrived, the door slightly ajar as if awaiting your return. You pushed it open gently, stepping inside to the dimly lit room. Helaena was sitting by the window, her eyes distant and unfocused, lost in her thoughts.

You frowned noticing the dark circles beneath her eyes as the frown that tugged on her lips. “Helaena,” you whispered softly, moving toward her.

Her gaze shifted slowly, her violet eyes blinking as if pulling her from a dream. When she saw Jaehaerys in your arms, her expression changed—a flicker of recognition, of hope. Her lips parted, a gasp escaping her as she stood from her chair.

Helaena breathed out your name softly, her voice fragile, as if uttering it too loudly might cause you to vanish. She rose from her chair, her steps tentative, as if unsure whether you were real or some apparition conjured by her grief. Her eyes glistened with tears, her hands trembling as she reached for you.

You gently placed Jaehaerys in her arms, watching as she clung to him with a desperation that broke your heart. Her tears flowed freely as she kissed his sleeping face, her maternal love rekindled in the boy’s presence. For a moment, the weight of the world lifted from her, her sorrow held at bay by the soft rise and fall of her son’s breathing.

"I knew you weren't dead," she whispered, her voice hoarse but filled with conviction.

A frown creased your brow, confusion settling over you like a fog. "Why would you think that, Helaena?" you asked softly, your concern growing as you saw the pain etched into her delicate features.

Helaena’s gaze dropped to Jaehaerys as she gently rocked him in her arms, her sorrow palpable in the silence that followed. "Three dead Kingsguard, your carriage burnt to ash... what were we to think?" Her voice cracked as she spoke, the words heavy with the weight of grief she had been carrying.

The shock hit you like a dagger to the chest. Your eyes widened in disbelief. "My carriage... burnt?" The last time you had seen it, it had been intact. And worse, Aemond—he must have thought you perished in the flames.

You could feel the fear rising in you, not for yourself, but for him. What had Aemond been thinking all this time? The very thought of him mourning you sent a pang of sadness through your heart.

You swallowed the rising tide of emotion, forcing a smile to reassure Helaena, though it felt strained and unnatural. Your hand rested gently atop hers, offering comfort the way you always had, with a tender touch and a steady heart. "I am fine, my Queen," you said, your voice soft but firm, hoping your words could ease some of the burden that weighed on her. "Jaehaerys is fine. We are both safe, and that is all that matters now."

Helaena looked up at you, her eyes swimming with unshed tears, and for a moment, she seemed to believe you. But you could see the remnants of her anguish still clinging to her, a shadow she could not shake.

Seeing Helaena in such a state—it wounded you, though you could never let it show. You had centuries of practice hiding your own grief, your own longing. But now, with Aemond believing you dead, you felt the familiar weight of sorrow creeping back in.

You had to find him. He needed to know you were alive.

"I have to find Aemond," you murmured, the urgency in your voice betraying the calm you had tried to maintain.

Helaena’s eyes snapped to you, her sorrow deepening as she spoke softly, "He’s changed."

Your brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Helaena hesitated for a moment, as if weighing her words. "The battle at Rook’s Rest," she began, her voice barely above a whisper. "He brought down both Rhaenys and Aegon."

You flinched, a ripple of shock running through you. "He killed Aegon?" Your voice trembled slightly as you spoke. Despite Aegon’s many flaws, despite his cruelty, he was still Aemond's brother. How could Aemond have done such a thing?

Helaena shook her head, her expression mournful, weighed down by grief. "No. He didn’t kill him, but he might as well have. Aegon is burnt beyond recognition... A shadow of himself now."

The words hung heavy in the air, and you struggled to grasp them. "Why?" you whispered, more to yourself than to Helaena. How could Aemond, the man you loved, have let things go so far?

Helaena’s gaze softened, and she pressed another kiss to Jaehaerys' forehead, her voice filled with a melancholy acceptance. "Aegon’s taunts… his cruel words… Perhaps he had enough of being belittled, of being treated as lesser, when in truth, he has always been the stronger of the two."

You could see the weariness in Helaena’s eyes, the understanding of how deep the rift had grown between her brothers. But what you couldn’t understand was how much Aemond had changed in just a week. The man you knew, the one you loved, was fierce and proud, yes, but he had always been measured, calculating. To hear that he had snapped so violently, even against his own kin—it worried you.

But you had to see him. You couldn’t wait any longer.

Without another word, you turned toward the door, your mind already racing with thoughts of Aemond—of the man he had been, and the man he might be now.

Aemond was riding a dangerous high, the taste of victory bitter on his tongue. He had dealt with Aegon—though not as thoroughly as he would have preferred. Aegon still lived, if one could call it living. Burnt beyond recognition, a husk of his former self, barely clinging to life. But it didn’t matter. Aegon was no longer a threat to him, and now, Aemond stood as Prince Regent. His mother’s protests were of no consequence to him anymore. She had forsaken him, after all. Turned her back on him, chosen Aegon despite everything. Well, now he would forsake her.

He clenched his fists tightly as he forced his thoughts away from her disappointment, her judgment. It wasn’t Alicent's rebuke that tormented him now. No, when he allowed his mind to drift, when the battlefield fell quiet and the bloodlust faded, his thoughts always, always came back to you.

And that was a pain he could not bear. The sharp sting in his chest that came whenever he remembered your face, your voice, the way your eyes looked at him with a softness no one else could offer. That softness had been his anchor in a world of chaos, and now it was gone. You were gone. Aemond clenched his jaw, forcing the memories back down, but they refused to be silenced.

You haunted him.

So he clung to the one thing that had never failed him: anger. The rage burned hotter and clearer than any sorrow ever could. Vengeance had always been his closest companion, and now it was the only thing he had left to keep him standing. It was easier to drown in that fire, to let the heat scorch away the grief, than to face the aching emptiness your death had left behind.

Because to truly feel the weight of his heartache—to allow himself to grieve—would be a descent into madness. It would be a slow, deliberate suicide. And Aemond Targaryen would not be destroyed by sorrow. He had survived too much for that.

His face was a mask of cold determination, but inside, the wound you left was bleeding still. Anger was a salve, not a cure, but it was the only thing keeping him alive.

As long as he was angry, he couldn’t be sad. And as long as he avoided sadness, he wouldn’t have to confront the truth: that without you, something in him had already died.

Aemond made his way to his chambers, eager to escape the oppressive weight of the castle and the relentless thoughts swirling in his mind. His steps were heavy, and though he had embraced the cold edge of his anger, exhaustion tugged at the edges of his resolve. He needed a moment, just a fleeting break from the burdens of regency and family strife.

But as he pushed open the door, his breath caught in his throat. Standing in the center of his room, with their back turned, was a figure he knew too well. His entire body froze, heart pounding so violently it hurt. His mind, sharp and disciplined, rebelled against the sight before him. It couldn't be real. It shouldn't be real.

Aemond's throat tightened, and he rubbed his eye, the patch over the other itching against his skin as if willing this cruel vision away. His breaths became shallow, harsh gasps escaping him as the figure turned.

And there you were.

The eyes he had dreamt of, that he had mourned for, were looking back at him, alive with warmth and familiarity. "Aemond," you murmured softly, your voice like a balm to his tormented soul.

He stumbled back, his chest heaving with the effort to contain the surge of emotion ripping through him. You moved toward him, your hands reaching out as if to soothe, but he flinched. The pain in your eyes mirrored his own, though he couldn't understand why. He had believed you dead, and now you stood before him. But his mind, ever cautious, doubted the reality before him.

"You're not real," he choked out, the words leaving his lips like a prayer, desperate and broken.

You faltered for a moment, your face contorting with an expression of pain. But it wasn’t for you—it was for him. "I am real, Aemond," you said firmly, your voice unwavering even as his trembled. Then, softer, you added, "As real as the sun and stars, my love."

Tentatively, he reached out, his hand shaking as he brushed your cheek. The soft warmth of your skin against his palm sent a shock through him. His lone eye stung with tears as he leaned closer, feeling the truth of your presence in the softness of your flesh. And when you leaned into his touch, his entire world seemed to shift.

The sob broke from his chest, raw and aching, as he pulled you into his arms with a fierce desperation. He crushed you against his chest, his face buried in your hair, inhaling the scent he had feared he would never experience again. It was real. You were real. His hands trembled as they tightened around you, holding you as if you might slip away once more.

"You're real," he whispered, the words tumbling from his lips in a reverent chant, as if saying it enough times would make it an undeniable truth. "You're alive."

Tears streamed freely down his face as he clung to you, the walls he had built around his heart crumbling in your presence. You had returned to him, and in this moment, the weight of the world, the rage, the grief—it all faded away in the warmth of your embrace. He whispered your name like a prayer, his chest shaking with the sobs he could no longer control.

The two of you had eventually found your way onto Aemond's bed, his arms wrapped tightly around you, as if afraid you might vanish if he loosened his grip. The moonlight spilled softly through the window, casting a gentle glow over the room, but all that mattered in this moment was the warmth of his body beneath yours. You lay on top of him, your noses touching, your breaths mingling in the quiet stillness of the night.

And yet, he only stared at you, his eye searching your face as if trying to memorize every inch, every detail. It felt like an eternity before he finally spoke.

"I don’t understand how," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the confusion and longing in his eye clear as he tried to reconcile your presence with the grief he had been drowning in.

You lifted your head slightly, his gaze following your every movement. Gently, you brought a finger to trail down his scar, your touch soft and comforting. His eye fluttered shut at the sensation, as if the weight of the world lifted momentarily under your fingertips.

"Helaena told me what was believed," you began, your voice steady as you prepared to weave the lie once more. "But the truth is, our carriage was ambushed. The Kingsguard were killed." You paused, then continued with conviction, "I escaped with Jaehaerys. My intent was to return."

His eye opened slowly, a flicker of something vulnerable passing through his gaze as he asked in a voice that was unusually soft, "Why did it take so long?"

"The prince fell ill on the journey. My only priority was his health, not how quickly we could return," you explained, your lips pressing together in a thin line. "I'm sorry it took so long," you added, guilt weighing your words, though the truth of your ordeal remained hidden beneath layers of carefully constructed deception.

Aemond's expression softened as you rested your head back against him, in the crook of his neck where you could hear his heartbeat, steady and strong. "You're here now," he whispered, his voice filled with relief. It seemed as if that was all that mattered to him in this moment.

The silence between you lingered, a peaceful reprieve from the chaos that awaited outside these walls. But after a while, he spoke again, his voice barely breaking the quiet. "I'm Prince Regent now."

You already knew, of course. Helaena had told you, but you wanted to hear it from him. "Helaena told me what happened to Aegon," you said slowly, choosing your words carefully. You had to know the truth, not from Helaena’s recounting but from Aemond himself. You needed to understand what had happened, why he had done what he did.

There was a pause, a silence that stretched on too long before he finally spoke. "He was not supposed to be there. At Rook’s Rest," he said, his voice low and distant, as if recounting a memory he wanted to forget.

Your hand rested on his chest, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat grounding you. "What happened, Aemond?" you asked, your tone soft but insistent, though part of you dreaded hearing the answer.

Aemond’s face hardened, his eye staring up at the ceiling, his jaw clenched. "Aegon got what he deserved," he said flatly, his tone almost indifferent. "He was unfit to rule. Unworthy to sit the throne."

His words hit you like a stone sinking into a well, and though you had expected them, it still hurt. Aegon was not a good man. He was cruel, selfish, and unfit to lead, but knowing that Aemond had taken such drastic action—it was a bitter pill to swallow. The world was better without Aegon’s reign, and yet the weight of Aemond’s decision loomed over you.

You studied his face, searching for any hint of remorse, of conflict. "Was it worth it?" you asked quietly, though you weren’t sure you wanted the answer.

Aemond didn’t respond. He simply stared at the ceiling, his silence speaking louder than any words could. And you didn’t push him. You knew Aemond better than anyone; his guilt, his anger, and his desire for power all warred within him.

So you lay there, your hand on his chest, letting the silence stretch on, knowing that in time, perhaps, the answers would come. But for now, you were content to simply be there with him.

@esposadomd @sara-grimes-yess @littybeech @gyneve @https-kokomi @yariany02 @baby-w3-ar3-infinite @baby-i-can-see-your-reylo @niktwazny303 @missyviolet123 @caribbeangal @ggukiespace @levimaids @lokisgoddesofpower @anakilusmos @spacexdrago @strawberymilktea @snowtargaryen @fiction-fanfic-reader

Names that are in bold are ones that couldn't be added :(

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#aemond targaryen x reader #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #aemond x reader #hotd aemond #aemond one eye #aemond x you #hotd fanfic #mikaelson #hotd #the originals #hotd x reader

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lanalace · 10 months ago

Text

Gifts Given [Yandere Merman x FemReader]

Chapter 2 Chapter 3

Word count: 2,328

Summary: Nero Sol Nifan has waited for a mate for years while suffering from the madness that came as a side effect of the power he was bestowed. One day, he met you. His salvation. The only obstacle is that you were human. However, that was only an obstacle for you because he doesn’t plan to let you go.

Chapter 1 - Lost and Found

Life was a routine. Wake up, hunt, sleep and repeat. Occasionally the merman would share in song with the rest of his kind but that was it. He hated it. He was forever bored and life just felt mundane. Nero Sol Nifan was a 250 years old merman. He had reached maturity at 200 and had expected to find his mate within the first decade but no such luck. For a being so highly valued, it crushed his spirits.

Most merfolk found their mates within the first decade of reaching reproductive age, so why hadn’t he? Every decade after that was just an insult to injury. It was an open wound that grew larger with each year that passed without finding his mate and he was becoming desperate, though he would never show it on the outside.

He was told by an elder that most unmated males felt this way at his age and that this was quite normal to feel anxious and desperate. But being unmated for years would start to dull the outlook on life and not a single female that has sought him out was his fated one. None so much as interests him. Every mermaid had a destined match, however that never stopped them from copulating until the day they found their mate. He had both females and males fawn over him, within and outside of the mating cycles. But he rejected every single one of them. ‘If swimming to warmer waters was not ingrained in my biology, I would avoid it all together.’ Merfolk could enjoy each other's bodies whenever they pleased but only during mating cycles could offspring be produced and that's usually when most of his kind met their fated partner.

He still held hope that he would be able to find his mate despite his age. So he made sure to always carry the betroval item in a white satchel around his hip, inside was a bracelet of brilliant large baroque pearls and shiny yellow gold spacers. It was of the highest quality and extremely rare/hard to acquire which is why he was the only merman to have such jewels grace his body and soon so would his person who he’d live out his days with. For now, having to watch the rest of his kind find their pair and their release in each other every year while he could not just enraged him. He was almost tempted to kill some of those pretentious merfolk. He could do so very easily but he decided against it. He could do it so very easily.

Nero Sol Nifan was the strongest, priding himself on becoming most desirable for when he found his future mate. Due to him not finding his mate for many cycles, he focused on honing his skill, reaching new heights that others previously could not. Now he was almost twice the size of a normal mermen, more muscular than the rest of his kind which would usually put him at a disadvantage for being so dense. It did mark him slower, however, that didn’t last long, he had trained his body night and day to be the fastest. Not only that, due to his intense training, he developed a power, a gift believed to be given from the great goddess of the sea. He had gained the ability to not only communicate telepathically with all sea life but he could also manipulate them freely to do his bidding. This made the fear, envy and love of him grow. He was like a God among his people.

Though his people viewed it as a gift, he couldn’t completely see it as such. Telepathy was a very useful skill to have but it was not within his control. It doesn’t turn off and more often than not, it was absolutely maddening. He was subjected to countless screams of pain, secrets he didn’t care to know, hatred, envy, unwanted depraved desires from unworthy mermaids. All of it was simply too much. As a result, he quickly began isolating himself, moving farther and further away from merfolk and into less populated waters. He was hoping distance might somehow help with the constant radio noise in his head. But he found it within an underwater cave, instead.

There cave was huge. It looked like an enclosed beach. There were bioluminescent fungi scattered along the ceiling and walls, giving the cave an almost magical feel. He looked at the beautiful glow of the cave, watching the pool leading to the ocean reflect off of the jagged walls.

“Magnificent.” He said under his breath. He had never seen such a wondrous sight this deep under water.

Nero Sol Nifan beached himself on the sandy floor of the cave, slipping his massive silver-white tail out of the water and curling it by his side. The moment he did that the noise in his head quieted down just a bit. It was still ever so present but it took the edge off.

“Why is it that I was cursed by you, my goddess?” He spoke to the pool of water before him. He was expecting a response of some kind but was met with silence, the surface only reflecting his beautiful, milky face back at him. How he wished that he could go back to the time where he thought life was mundane.

He sighed and laid himself down on a nearby rock that could pass as somewhat of a diving board. He was angry with the goddess, he cursed her name in his head and his hatred built for this deceitful deity who had taken his sanity. But he needed to rest.

50 years later~

Nero Sol Nifan woke up to the sound of fish screaming in his head. He never got use to this day in and day out chaotic noise. He looked a little worse for wear since the days before his life became his own personal hell. His eyes looked dull, dark circles have taken up permanent residence under his eyes, tinged with red from the endless stress. His handsome face looked a bit haggard but that was not enough to take away much from his beauty.

He dragged himself out of his cave and into the water. He hadn’t eaten in a few days, wishing to just parish within the walls of his cave. But today, something told him to go out. He didn’t understand the urgency amidst the buzzing chatter in his mind but he followed his instincts.

The white tailed merman swam out into the open ocean in search of his next meal. He felt uneasy today but brushed it off. It happened to be a rather dreary day, the waters were turbulent and a bit colder than normal while the world above was crying heavily. He knew that he could simply manipulate any fish to come to him and have an easy meal but he enjoyed hunting. It gave him a chance to release a small bit of the madness that he lives with daily on his prey.

That’s when he spotted a school of red snapper fish. The bright color caught his sharp lilac eyes in an instant and he was off. Speeding quickly in their direction, with his large tail pistoling him forward. The smaller prey was easily more elusive than a larger catch but he made quick work of them. Keeping up with the fast changing paths of the snappers, he allowed the chase to go on a tad bit longer than necessary before slicing through the school with his massive claws, skewering 8 of them onto his claws. That was enough for a meal so he indulged right then and there as the rest of the school swam off.

He was pleased, this meal would sustain him for the next two days. With a full stomach, the handsome merman lazily began his journey back to his cave. Had the water been steady today he would have basked in the rays of the sun instead.

“Unfortunate.” He grimaced to himself.

He didn’t get more than a few feet away from his original position when he heard and unusual crash behind him. The white hair merman turned tin the direction of the sound and what he saw confused him

“A human?”

‘What was a human doing so far away from land?’ He thought to himself. There were no ships in the water, he would have seen it. Heck, he would have heard all the fish nearby chattering about it. His tired eyes landed on the sinking figure and his heart tightened. He felt something akin to panic start to take over him. It had been so long since he had felt anything outside of rage or pity for himself. He had the human in his arms before he even realized that he moved to catch her.And just like that, his world grew quiet. Nero Sol Nifan’s face grew into an incredulous look and his body trembled.

“I can’t hear anything anymore.” His eye expanded in shock as he slowly looked down at the human in his arms and his grip tightened around the creature’s body.

With a clear mind for the first time in ages, the merman blew a large bubble around the girl, encasing her within the translucent orb. He swam full speed to his cave, reaching there in record time. He pushed the bubble to the surface of the pool and burst it, catching the being and resting her on the crystal like sand. He brought his head to her face and listened carefully but no sound escaped those lips.

“No!” He cried out. ‘I will not lose my salvation the moment I finally have it.’

He gripped the creature's shoulder and shook hard a few times, noting how small and fragile you felt in his hands. Unfortunately, that did not work either. His panic rose because he thought that the human might have died so he placed his hand on its head.

“Still warm.” He whispered and that knowledge calmed him. Thinking quickly, he performed the maneuver that he had witnessed sailors use on their own kind on several occasions by pressing his palm on breast bone and applying pressure repeatedly. He was careful of his strength, knowing he could break such weak bones easily. It took about 30 seconds before the human's eyes flew open and it sat up, coughing up water.

‘It actually worked. Thank goodness that I was able to preserve this human life.’ He sighed with relief. The merman eye the frail thing as it continued coughing and sucking in air, he could only see the back of its head from where he sat. ‘It looks so weak compared to the ship dwellers.’ His thoughts stopped there because that object of his quiet thoughts turned to face him and met his inquisitive gaze.

The moment their eyes met, his cold heart froze. It was as if time stopped in that moment as he looked upon the tiny human. She was female, with thick, long h/c hair clinging to her face and back. Her dazzling e/c eyes sparkled like jewels with the tears she had yet to fully shed and a small coral pink lips that attracted he wished to touch. His heart started back up and it throbbed in his chest. He never thought his cold heart would beat for a human. His body felt so hot from the top of his cheeks to the base of his tail.

‘What is this? My body feels so hot. Almost like it is mating season yet different. I feel drawn to this creature. Could this be my mate? Is this what all my suffering was for? To make sure that I was kept pure for this little human?’ It was uncomfortable but strangely pleasant. It was like nothing he had ever felt before but he decided he liked the feeling. It was exciting. ‘So this is my mate. I have cursed the goddess of the sea everyday for the past five decades because of this damned curse but she not only bestowed me with power, she also has gifted me this precious female. I am terribly sorry goddess I have wronged you and been ungrateful and undeserving. I will never look down on the blessing you have provided me again. I will never question you again.’

He was so caught up in his own inner thoughts that hadn’t even realized how terrified his tiny mate-to-be looked. She eyed him with fascination and great fear while she inched away from him. He didn’t like that one bit, narrowing his eyes, he yelled at her.

“Stay!”

But the little female squealed in response, throwing her small hands out in front of her in defense. Her little scream sounded melodic to his ears. He found himself wanting to hear her talk to him so he spoke again, this time gentler.

“Female, you are safe. I have saved your life. I will not harm you.” He reached a webbed hand out to her slowly, intending to wipe away the tears on her cheeks. But the girl flinched away and started speaking in a rushed manner.

“Please don’t eat me. Please don’t eat me. I promise I don’t taste good. Even sharks don’t like people meat. So please just stay where you are.”

He retracted his arm and gave a small smile endearingly. Due to all the excitement, he had completely forgotten the language barrier. He did not understand her at all but her voice was so pretty and soft that he instantly liked it. It suited her feminine appearance well. If she had had a tail, he wouldn’t even blink twice and acknowledge her as a beautiful mermaid just based on her appearance and voice.

Fast as lightning, he snatched the human's outstretched wrist and pulled her to him. Before she could so much as scream, the merman pressed his lips to her.

[Chapter 2 is out!]

#Yandere Merman #Yandere Siren #Merman #Siren #Merman x reader #Siren x reader #Possessive behavior #Obsessive behavior #mermaid #Dark #obsessive love #dark romance

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delusionalwritingsofagay · 4 months ago

Text

Home coming

Pairing :Alpha Daemon Targaryen x Omega Targaryen Male reader Tags: Omega verse, Targcest Word count :1516

Daemon had seen many strange things in his long and bloody life, but the news from King’s Landing felt the strangest by far. Viserys, that soft, ineffectual fool, had somehow managed to sire an Omega son. An Omega Targaryen. A gift from the gods, a whisper in the blood that echoed of old Valyria.

The very notion had tugged at something primal within him. Alphas, especially those with dragon blood like himself, were drawn to Omegas in a way that transcended mere desire. It was a claim, a need, etched into their very being. And a pure-blooded Targaryen Omega? Unheard of for generations.

He’d left Essos the moment the raven arrived, leaving behind bored courtesans and half-finished battles. Let them squabble. He had an Omega to claim.

Now, standing within the familiar, yet stiflingly dull, halls of the Red Keep, Daemon felt a familiar impatience prick at him. Viserys, bless his easily-pleased heart, had thrown a feast in his honor. How typical. All pomp and circumstance, and not enough fire.

But within the sea of faces, one stood out. A figure, slightly shorter than most men his age, with the unmistakable silver-gold hair of their house.Ten and Six, according to the whispers he had bothered to listen to.(Insert Name) .

He watched (Insert Name) from across the hall, his eyes narrowed, assessing. The boy was pale, almost ethereally so, and moved with a quiet grace that belied the strength of his blood.He seemed almost out of place amidst the boisterous revelry, his gaze darting nervously around the room. He spoke politely to those who approached him, but his smiles didn’t quite reach his eyes. Daemon could scent the Omega anxiety rolling off of him and he couldn't help but feel possessive of the nervous prince.

Daemon observed the young prince at the long table beside his father. All of the lords were loud and crass, a bunch of Alphas already vying for positions in the kingdom. But not (Insert Name), he wasn't roaring for attention, he was silent, and in Daemon's expert eye, afraid. Of course he would be, A newly presented Omega forced to be around hoards of Alpha’s.

The feast droned on, filled with endless courses and tedious toasts. Daemon forced himself to endure it, his gaze rarely straying far from (Insert Name).He noticed the way Viserys dismissed his son causing an eyebrow raise. But Daemon also saw the subtle tension in (Insert Name)’s shoulders, the almost imperceptible flinch whenever someone touched him without warning. He wanted nothing more than to tear the boy away from this suffocating court, to spirit him away to Dragonstone where they could finally breathe, and where he could finally scent him.

And then, as the musicians struck up a particularly grating tune, (Insert Name) slipped away.

Daemon watched him go, melting into the shadows that clung to the edges of the hall. He made his excuses to Viserys, something about needing fresh air, and followed.

He found (Insert Name) in the gardens, a small, secluded courtyard bathed in the pale glow of the moon. He seemed lost in thought, oblivious to the world around him.

Daemon approached slowly, his footsteps muffled by the soft earth, and took a deep breath of the night air, letting the scent of flowers and damp earth mingle with the uniquely intoxicating aroma that clung to (Insert Name).It was a subtle, sweet scent, laced with a hint of something wild and untamed, a promise of vulnerability and strength. It stirred something deep within Daemon, a fierce protective instinct he hadn’t known he possessed.

He stopped a few feet away, close enough to be heard, but far enough not to startle him. “A beautiful night for a walk, wouldn’t you agree, nephew?”

(Insert Name) jumped, turning to face him, his eyes wide with surprise. Daemon saw a flash of fear in them, quickly masked by a polite, if somewhat hesitant, smile.

“Uncle Daemon,” he said, his voice soft. “I… I didn’t see you there.”

“Clearly,” Daemon said with a wry smile. He gestured to a small package he held in his hand, wrapped in dark velvet. “I brought you a gift. From Essos.”

He stepped closer, offering the package to (Insert Name).The boy hesitated, his eyes darting from the gift to Daemon’s face, clearly unsure. “I… I couldn’t possibly,” he stammered.

“Nonsense,” Daemon said, his voice softening. “Consider it a welcome home gift. Or perhaps… a Presenting gift.”

He placed the package in (Insert Name)’s hands. The boy’s fingers brushed against his, and Daemon felt a jolt of electricity shoot through him. He suppressed a growl, forcing himself to maintain a neutral expression.

(Insert Name) looked down at the package, his fingers tracing the soft velvet. He seemed hesitant, almost afraid to open it. “What is it?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Open it and see,” Daemon said, his eyes fixed on the boy’s face, watching for any sign of discomfort or distress.

With a deep breath, (Insert Name) carefully unwrapped the package. Inside, nestled on a bed of silk, was a delicate silver Necklace, polished to a high sheen. It shimmered in the moonlight, reflecting the silver light.

(Insert Name)’s breath hitched, his eyes widening in awe. He lifted the necklace from its bed of silk, holding it up to the moonlight. “It’s… beautiful,” he breathed.

“It is Valyrian steel, The very same that forged Dark sister,” Daemon said, watching the boy carefully. “I thought it… suited you.”

He stepped closer, his hand reaching out, almost involuntarily, to touch the boy’s cheek. (Insert Name) flinched, but didn’t pull away. Daemon let his fingers linger for a moment, feeling the soft, delicate skin beneath his touch.

“You are a rare and precious thing, (Insert Name),” he murmured, his voice low and husky. “Don’t let anyone ever tell you otherwise.”

(Insert Name)’s. He lowered the necklace, his gaze fixed on Daemon, his eyes wide and uncertain. He was clearly caught between a desire to trust and a deep-seated fear. Daemon could practically taste the omega's anxiety. He had to tread carefully.

“I... I don’t understand,”(Insert Name) stammered, his voice barely audible. "Why would you bring me this?"

Daemon stepped back, giving the boy some much-needed space. Too much pressure too soon would only frighten him. He needed to build trust, to show him that he wasn't some monster looking to take advantage. Though Daemon knew, the desire to claim him was building rapidly and it was becoming harder to control.

"Because, (Insert Name), you are family," Daemon said, injecting a touch of warmth into his voice. A lie, but a necessary one. "And because The world is a dangerous place, especially for one such as you." He let the words hang in the air, allowing the implication to sink in.

(Insert Name) swallowed visibly, his fingers tightening around the necklace. He knew exactly what Daemon meant. His presentation as an Omega had made him a target, a prize to be won or a weakness to be exploited. The looks he got from the Alpha lords at court were enough to make his skin crawl.

"The court... they don't understand," (Insert Name) whispered, his voice laced with a quiet despair. "They see an Omega and they assume... they assume..." He trailed off, unable to articulate the crude assumptions that dogged his every step.

Daemon's jaw tightened. He could imagine the leering gazes, the whispered offers. It made his blood boil. This boy, this jewel of their house, deserved respect, protection, and a love that transcended the base desires of lesser men.

"Then let us not concern ourselves with the court," Daemon said, his voice firm. "Let them wallow in their ignorance. What matters is what you know to be true."

(Insert Name) looked down at the Necklace, his fingers tracing its smooth surface. He seemed to absorb Daemon's words, drawing strength from them. A flicker of hope ignited in his eyes.

"What... what should I do?" he asked, his voice regaining a measure of confidence.

Daemon smiled, a genuine, reassuring smile that rarely graced his features. "That,(Insert Name), is entirely up to you. But know this, I am here. And I will do everything in my power to ensure your safety"

He paused, choosing his next words carefully. "Perhaps... perhaps we could meet again? Tomorrow, in the gardens? We could talk, away from the prying eyes and poisonous tongues of the court."

(Insert Name)hesitated for a moment, then nodded slowly. "Yes," he said, a small smile playing on his lips. "I would like that very much." The scent of the omega was calmer with his agreement, not so heavy with anxiety and more sweet. The alpha in Daemon wanted to stay and relish in the moment.

Daemon inclined his head, a silent promise passing between them. "Good," he said. "Until tomorrow, then, nephew."

He turned and walked away, leaving (Insert Name) alone in the moonlight, cradling the necklace. As he disappeared into the shadows, Daemon allowed himself a small, satisfied smile.

#x male reader #daemon targeryen x reader #prince daemon targaryen #daemon x reader #hotd daemon #daemon targeryan #daemon targaryen #house of dragon x male reader #house targaryen #omegaverse

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kalaidekalou · 6 months ago

Text

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"It's about bloody time, darling."

This went through a lot of iterations and tbh I’m not even sure if it’s exactly what I wanted but I’m content to post.

This is a companion piece for a fic I wrote for PhantomStutter for a Secret Santa on the Bloodweave Inn server.

Snippet and link to the complete fic:

The ticking clock was the worst part. The room itself wasn’t so bad—an expansive, endless stretch of soft gray light that shifted and flickered like twilight caught between clouds. It wasn’t oppressive, but it wasn’t particularly welcoming either. It simply was as though it had existed for eternity and would continue to exist until the end of all things. And somehow he knew this despite only being a resident of the place for the last… Well, how much time did pass? The ticking, though. That grated on Astarion’s nerves. He lounged in one of the high-backed armchairs that dotted the space like forgotten furniture of a long-abandoned parlor, his legs draped elegantly over one armrest. The large grandfather clock stood like a monolith at the center of the space. Ticking. Every now and then, Astarion would fling a pillow at it, or even a smaller chair. But the damned thing remained unscathed, undisturbed, ticking on with smug indifference. It’s not that he hated the place. Not exactly. It’s not like he was spending an eternity in Avernus or any of the other Nine Hells for his misdeeds. But it wasn’t heaven , either—not the warm embrace of Elysium or the radiant afterlife he might have hoped for before his undead passing. The irony not lost on him. He hadn’t been so naive as to think himself immune to death—immortality or not, adventuring came with its risks—but it was the how of it that gnawed at him. The chaos of that final moment, hearing Gale’s panicked cry, the sharp flash of a silver blade—it still stung. He reached for his phantom wound at the memory. His end had been messy, sudden, unceremonious. And deeply and maddeningly unsatisfying. So... anticlimactic. Limbo was dull, though not unbearable. He had, after all, survived far worse. And it wasn’t without its entertainments. One of the so-called perks of his limbo—if one could call it that—was the occasional opportunity to slip into the living world. At first, Astarion had eagerly roamed the streets of Baldur’s Gate, unseen and untouchable, drifting through the familiar alleys and squares he’d once haunted in life, trying to figure out why he could visit. He’d sometimes catch a startled scream or gasp when someone glimpsed the faint shimmer of his misted form, and—on maybe more than one occasion—he may have indulged in a jump scare or two, just to keep things interesting. It was hardly his fault if the living lacked composure. He’d even lingered near comforting faces, friends who he cared for dearly—Karlach growing old alongside Wyll, the two of them eventually settling into lives of guiding young adventurers rather than diving into the fray themselves. When their time came, Astarion had hoped, foolishly perhaps, that one or the other might stop by this dreary limbo. Even a brief visit, a simple "Hello, we missed you, and life was dreadfully boring without you," would have sufficed. But no, of course not. Their good-natured heroism and selflessness had likely earned them a direct passage to some well-deserved paradise, leaving no reason to fester in a place as unfinished as this. Lae’zel, who had fought valiantly until her very last breath, had certainly earned her place in the afterlife of her people—though Astarion wouldn’t be surprised if she’d ended up in the arms of Selûne instead, given that Shadowheart had remained steadfastly by her side until the end. Once, he could have sworn he saw Halsin’s figure in the distance of this unending place, just out of reach, but all too soon it disappeared after stepping through the clock's veil that marked some unseen boundary. At least that moment gave him some comfort—proof that all this waiting served some purpose. One by one, they all passed on, leaving Toril behind for whatever lay beyond. All except Gale. The person he had hoped would be the first to join him.

link to the full fic

#baldur's gate 3 #astarion #gale dekarios #bg3 #bloodweave #gale of waterdeep #gale x astarion #astarion x gale #bloodweave fic #bg3 gale #galestarion #bg3 fanart #astarion ancunin #baldurs gate 3 #gale bg3 #baldurs gate gale #kalaide

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cutelittlechiroptera · 5 months ago

Note

yandere Reiji Sakamaki x reader please! 💙💙

Beneath the Vessel

Yandere Sakamaki Reiji x reader

This is definitely one of my favourite works I’ve ever written. I hope you enjoy this as much as I did!🤍

Synopsis: Obsession is brimming underneath the perfectly polished surface of the spectacled vampire.

Masterlist

Warnings: yandere, obsession

The table was set with the finest silverware and with elegant plates with dark blue flowers painted on with perfect precision. Lit candles were thoughtfully placed across the table. The room was dimly lit, with only the lamps that hung on the walls. The large curtains were open, giving the outside world a clear look inside the carefully crafted façade. The sky was moonless and the stars seemed dull, even so you couldn’t help but long for them in a way child would long for their mother.

At the head of the table sat the dark haired vampire. His attire was elegant and without even the tiniest specks of dust. His white dress shirt was almost fully buttoned up, save for the two upper buttons. His dark red waistcoat had an old watch hung from its pocket in an old fashioned way. Silver glasses were resting on his nose as his deep magenta eyes bored into your doe-like eyes.

Yet again he was able to read you like an open book. He pried you open and peered inside you as much as he liked, because there was nothing you could keep a secret from him. You were a vulnerable thing and he cherished that dearly.

Reiji lifted his wineglass without leaving your eyes and took a sip. The bloody colour of the wine a reminder of who was sitting to your left. He swirled the wine and let the liquid swish like the unruly tides of the Japanese coast. You could picture yourself onboard a boat inside the red ocean. Struggling against the waves, trying to hold onto your life lest it would fall out of your control.

Your fingers found the stem of your wineglass and you clutched it. Your eyes didn’t leave his and you imagined what would happen if you broke the fragile glass. He would be sure to make your life hell on earth.

“Did you seriously think I wouldn’t find out?” his dark voice oozing of authority. It was like lightning, crashing down into a fragile dying tree. Its branches breaking as a result of its strength and brutality. “Do you take me for a fool? Is that it? Have I not been perfectly clear?”

You swallowed and looked down, because you did not dare to face the wrath lurking within his beautiful magenta eyes that glared at you through silver spectacles. Your chest heaved irregularly as the sound of his cutlery stilled.

A storm was brewing, and you were in the midst of it with no escape.

“I told you specifically to not converse with a man without my presence. What if-” Reiji cut himself off, but his words hung in the air. What if the man had hurt you? Was the words the vampire had been meaning to say.

His anger was visible as you finally found the courage to look at him. Veins were popping out of his forehead and his neck. A furious redness had overtaken his usually pale skin and his eyes were small and laced with fear and fury.

You watched silently as he struggled with his conflicted emotions. He was a very, afraid and ashamed. He had no control over his feelings and that scared him. Greatly. You carefully reached out and touched his hand that was buried in his dark locks. You stroke his skin with a soothing circular motion. You watched as he gasped for air. It was the first time you had touched him gently willingly.

His eyes shot to yours as he gaped at you like a fish washed up ashore. Finally you had found foothold in the storm.

You leaned forward and whispered with a hushed tone “I’m alright, Reiji. It was just a polite conversation. You have nothing to worry about”.

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed harshly. His breathing was quick as he started at you. His mouth opened and closed as if he was unsure of what to say. Soft fingers brushed over his cheekbone.

You had finally gotten hold of the helm. The waves calmed, but the waters were still not clear of any dangers. Beneath your feet stirred a dark monster. It’s tentacles wrapped around the vessel, but still letting it sail. At least for now.

#diabolik lovers #diaboys #dialovers #diabolik lovers x reader #reiji sakamaki #reiji x reader #yandere dialovers x reader #yandere dialovers #yandere diabolik lovers x reader #yandere diabolik lovers #yandere reiji #yandere reiji x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #male yandere x reader #yandere male #male yandere #yandere otome #yandere vn

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mim16s · 2 months ago

Text

Dangerous woman

Bruce Wayne x Singer!Reader

Bruce Wayne hated being there. An upscale bar, dull conversation, and sycophantic partners — all part of the PR package he loathed. But then she stepped onto the stage. Hypnotic, confident, with a voice that felt more like a spell. He didn’t know her, but the moment their eyes met, he knew he couldn’t leave without truly getting to know her.

I was thinking about making this story a trilogy, since I have some cool ideas for it. Let’s see how it performs, if you guys like it, I will continue!

English isn't my first language, so there might be some spelling mistakes.

He hated being there. Damn it, he had practically been forced to join that thing under the excuse that it was "good for business." They said the closer he was to the partners, the better it would be for Wayne Enterprises. So, they arranged to meet at an expensive Gotham bar — the kind of place only the elite frequented. But everything was so unbearably boring that he genuinely considered leaving and to hell with business.

–Have you guys seen who’s performing tonight? – one of them asked, twirling a ridiculously expensive drink in his hand with a crooked smile.

–Y/N– He added, his grin widening in a lewd way.

–Dude, she’s hot. They say her voice is like a siren’s.

— I’ve seen her sing, I can confirm. She’s hypnotizing- said another.– I got hard just watching her — the voice, the body, the face... she’s a goddess. I’d pay a fortune for one night with her.

Bruce paid more attention now, despite hating the way they spoke about her like she was an object. Still, he was curious

–And you, Mr. Wayne, have you ever seen her? – one of the partners asked.

–No – he answered dryly.

– Well, tonight you’re about to find out what paradise is like.

Bruce shrugged, detached from the disgusting conversation still going on around him. He simply sipped his drink, silently wishing time would speed up and bring the socially acceptable moment for him to get up and disappear through the door.

That was when the sound of a microphone being turned on caught his attention. Some people stood and excitedly moved closer to the stage.

–Good evening, everyone, our star of the night is ready for another show- someone announced enthusiastically.

Applause and whistles echoed through the room, and then she appeared. Bruce saw her step out from behind the curtain with a captivating smile and elegant waves. For a moment, time seemed to stop.

He had never seen someone so mesmerizing. Her curls fell over her shoulders, framing her face like something hand-drawn. Her makeup highlighted each feature perfectly, and the red lipstick made her lips look like a forbidden invitation. The dress hugged her curves precisely, and the heels added a touch of sensuality to each step. It was impossible to look at you and not think: how could a woman be this divine?

–Hello, everyone. I hope you're excited for the show.– Your voice filled the room, sweet and firm, prompting more applause and cheers.

Bruce’s heart picked up speed.

–What do you say we sing together?– you asked, smiling as you held the mic tighter.

The instrumental began, and the moment your voice filled the air, Bruce was certain: he could spend the rest of his life listening to you sing and never get tired.

Don’t need permission

Made my decision to test my limits

Cause it’s my business

God as my witness, start what I finished

Don’t need no hold up

You sang, and everyone’s attention was on you, but it didn’t seem to faze you. Your voice flowed sweet and powerful. The stage felt like your home — you moved and interacted with the crowd and the band with such ease. He couldn’t help but admire it — your confidence, his eyes locked on you.

Taking control of this kind of moment

I’m locked and loaded

Completely focused, my mind is open

Bruce felt his heart race. Your voice... it was a spell he didn’t want to resist. He practically wished to fall under your enchantment.

All that you got, skin to skin

Oh, my God, don’t you stop, boy

Without realizing, his feet moved, ignoring the men calling after him asking where he was going. He headed for the bar closest to the stage. The music flowed like it was part of you, and every note sent into the air seemed to pull him closer.

Something ‘bout you

Makes me feel like a dangerous woman

Your eyes scanned the crowd, recognizing the familiar faces of regulars, and the strangers who looked just as entranced. But one in particular caught your attention — eyes staring at you with intensity. It was different from the hungry, filthy looks you’d gotten used to ignoring. That man wasn’t devouring you. He was watching you with admiration — curious, enchanted.

You smiled back at him, returning his gaze, feeling butterflies in your stomach from the intensity before you turned toward the other side of the stage.

Something ‘bout you

Makes me wanna do things that I shouldn’t

You kept singing, but your eyes drifted back to that handsome man from time to time. He looked at you with such admiration that you couldn’t help yourself — it was like you were singing just for him.

Bruce felt the impact of your gaze straight in his chest. That wasn’t fleeting attraction; it was unlike anything he’d ever felt. It wasn’t about the dress, or your body, or the lipstick. It was the way you owned the space effortlessly, how your voice carried emotion in every syllable, how your eyes seemed to read his across the crowd.

You sang a few more songs before the final chord rang out. Applause filled the venue as you thanked the audience with a smile and left the stage to head backstage. Bruce followed you with his eyes until the last possible second, and then, the silence that came after your absence was deafening.

He ran a hand over his face, trying to collect himself. He, Bruce Wayne, shaken like that by someone he barely knew? That was far from normal.

But then again, you weren’t.

He couldn’t resist.

He needed to understand what was happening. He stood and walked toward the backstage area. Of course, being Bruce Wayne made things easier — just one word and the security guard let him through as if he owned the place.

You were seated in front of the vanity, a glass of water in your hand, shoulders slightly damp from the effort. Still smiling, wrapped in the good energy from another show. This was what you loved.

But the soft footsteps behind you made you turn... and there he was.

Taller than you expected. And even more handsome up close than in any photo.

–You sing like an angel – he said, his voice deep and husky, hitting you hard.

You smiled, and he faltered for a second. He looked like a teenager completely smitten.

–Thank you, Mr. Wayne–you replied, standing and walking over to him. The height difference was staggering, and you had to tilt your head up to meet his eyes. God, he must be close to two meters tall.

–You know who I am?– he asked, half-teasing.

–Hard not to. You’re on every channel in Gotham- you said with a sharp smile.–What brings the famous Bruce Wayne here tonight?

–A business meeting Informal.- he replied with a light grimace. – I hated every second. But now... I’m glad I didn’t leave earlier. I would’ve missed the chance to hear you sing.

–I’m flattered to hear that.

–Now even to your dressing room, the desire to know you more deeply

You blushed slightly but quickly composed yourself.

–Would you join me for a drink?- he asked, no pretense. Almost desperate for a few more minutes with you.

–And your partners? Won’t they mind you disappearing?

–They’ll deal with it. I only care about the fact that you’re still here –he said, eyes locked on yours.

You let out a soft laugh, a bit shy, but charmed.

–Sure... why would I turn down an invitation like that?

He smiled, and in a natural gesture, held out his hand. You took it — and let him lead you toward the bar, where the night, apparently, was just beginning.

The bar wasn’t as full as before; it had thinned out after your performance, the buzz quieter now, but the soft lighting and background music created an almost intimate atmosphere.

Bruce chose a corner table, away from curious eyes.

He pulled out a chair for you, which you thanked him for and sat down.

–So...– he began, as the waiter brought the drinks. – How long have you been singing?

–Since i was a kid, I think. Before I even understood what a musical note was, I was turning my house into a stage and making my mom watch, – you replied with a nostalgic smile. – But it’s only in the last few years that I’ve made a living from it. Gotham is tough on many people, including artists. It wasn’t easy getting to sing in a bar like this.

— They recognized your talent. Your voice is far too enchanting to stay hidden — he said, without taking his eyes off you.

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, but kept your composure. You weren’t easily intimidated, but that gaze... it was as if he could see beyond what you showed.

— And you? — you asked, playfully. — Have you always been the mysterious, charming billionaire in the tabloids?

— Charming? — he raised an eyebrow, slightly amused. — That’s a new one.

— Hard to believe no one’s told you that before.

— Maybe... but it’s never sounded as good as it does now. — he replied, his deep voice making the words feel more intimate than they should.

— Can I ask you something? — he said, more serious now.

— Sure.

— When you were singing... it felt like you were looking right at me. Was that just my imagination?

You hesitated for a second. But decided not to lie.

— It wasn’t. You had this... intense look. It caught my attention.

Bruce gave a slight, satisfied smile.

— Good to know the feeling was mutual. Now I just want to find out everything I can about you... if you’ll let me.

His gaze was intense, and you wanted to savor every second. The conversation between you flowed like you’d known each other forever, so effortless and captivating that you barely noticed time passing. The bar, once crowded and noisy, was now nearly empty — it was practically just the two of you and the distant sound of ambient music.

— I should go... — you murmured, glancing around. — This late, getting a cab is going to be nearly impossible.

— I can take you home. — he offered, without hesitation.

— I don’t want to be a bother...

— What kind of man would let you walk out alone at this hour in a city like Gotham? — he raised an eyebrow, a faint smile on his lips. — And honestly, I’d love a few more minutes with you.

The way he said it made your heart race. You smiled, finally giving in.

With your bag in hand, you followed him to the car — and almost sighed at the sight of the luxurious model parked there. Not even in your wildest dreams did you imagine stepping into a car like that. Bruce opened the door for you, his hand warm and firm as it lightly touched your back to help you in. It was a simple gesture, but so intimate it made you hold your breath for a second.

The ride was peaceful. The city passed by outside, but inside the car, the world felt quiet and calm. The conversation remained light, full of smiles and lingering looks that lasted a beat longer than necessary. It was like there was a bubble around the two of you — and for some reason, it felt like the only place you were meant to be.

When you arrived, Bruce was quick to get out and open the door for you like a gentleman. Your home was simple, but cozy. He looked around for a moment, curious, before turning his gaze back to you.

— Thank you for bringing me home. — you said, a genuine smile on your lips.

— Thank you for letting me. — he replied, eyes locked on yours.

For a moment, silence fell between you again. But this time, it was full of possibilities.

His eyes were fixed on you, and there was something in them… like he was memorizing you from the inside out.

— Are you always this much of a gentleman, or are you just trying to impress me? — you asked, tilting your head slightly, arms crossed in a casual gesture, but with a teasing smile on your lips.

He smirked before replying provocatively:

— Only when it's worth impressing.

— Oh... so I’m special? — you raised an eyebrow. — And here I thought Bruce Wayne didn’t get shaken.

— I don’t. Usually. — he said. — But you... you’re not exactly easy to ignore.

You took a step closer, locking eyes with him. Your gaze danced between his eyes and mouth, teasing.

— You sure you don’t say that to everyone you meet?

— Only to one in particular. — He moved in closer, now so near you could feel the warmth of his body. — And even then, I still feel like I’m not saying enough.

— Hmm... — you lightly bit your lip, then smiled mischievously. — Maybe you’ll need to do more to convince me.

— Oh, yeah? — he smiled, now even closer — close enough that one more step and you’d be pressed against him. — And what should I do about that?

You looked at him with a sweet, wicked glint in your eyes, rising up on your toes to whisper in his ear:

— Surprise me.

He felt the hairs on his body stand on end, and didn’t hesitate before closing the gap, pulling you by the waist. You instinctively rose on your toes again as he leaned in and met your soft lips. When it happened, it felt like everything fell into place — it felt right, the two of you, as if the universe had held its breath waiting for this exact moment.

The kiss was intense. His hands gripped you firmly, and yours found their place on his neck and face, almost trying to pull him even closer, even though you were practically already fused together. It was insane how much you wanted him, and he felt the same, just as intensely.

Every second of that kiss screamed that you were made for each other, like the rest of the world simply faded away for a moment. Time stopped, and all that remained was the heat, the touch, and the desire.

It was something he had never felt before. The kiss lasted until you both had to break away for air — but you didn’t pull apart. His arms were still wrapped tightly and possessively around you.

— So, did I manage to convince you?

You laughed, touching his chest with a single finger, light and teasing.

— You’re doing pretty well… but I have a feeling you can do better.

He chuckled low, shaking his head.

— This is a dangerous game.

— I like to think I’m a dangerous woman... remember? — you winked.

And that’s when Bruce Wayne knew he was completely lost and that he needed you.

Part 2???

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