#look he maintained most of the illusion for it

[bwabbitv3s]

Tucker is working at Wayne Enterprises not too long before clocks them as the civilian identity of Batman and Red Robin. He treats it like how Danny and them did back in high school. No one uninitiated to the club of people I talk about this for the second identity get the low down on it and treat it as two different people, not one shared one. He has done a great job of this and it is not that hard. As they keep the details that would drop the illusion on tight lock down. Really good job guys solid with plenty of plausible deniability.

Normally if this was not so time sensitive he would just drop off the file with their designated police guy Gordan or phone in the bat tip line to get a secure drop location. Only this can't really wait that long so he is going to have to dip behind the curtain to keep the show going. Not much just a tiny bit and he will keep it on the down low to not ruin the illusion for those not in the know.

Tucker rocks into the office a bit early for his shift with the file. He lets one of the secretaries knows he is doing a paperwork run to Tim's office and asks if they have anything to join the stack? A couple more files join his by the time he makes it to the right floor. He drops them off like a normal delivery of more sensitive physical copy files. Well almost normal he also leave an apology Death Wish coffee and breakfast sandwich for him dropping off extra work. Tim barely looks up until the coffee and smell of greasy fried goodness hits. By then Tucker has already left and gone to do his regular start of shift stuff. Not realizing that the file titles Red Robin Only is causing a tiny controlled meltdown before even being opened.

It of course only gets worse when a week later Danny shows up to visit Tucker at work. Cut to Danny floating part way through a wall to hand Tucker the box of fudge he forgot to bring in while in front of Tim. Nothing like apology fudge to help smooth things over. You forgot this this morning after staying up so late making it. Tucker why is one of the bats freaking out? I thought you had the whole sorry for breaking the illusion and dipping into your civilian identity talk already. What do you mean it is an supposed to be an actual secret?!

Tucker gets a job at Wayne Enterprises, and instantly clocks Bruce and Tim and Batman and Red Robin (and thus by extension figures out the rest of the family).

But since he figured it out so easily, he assumes it’s an open secret that everyone knows but keeps on the down-low for privacy and whatnot. After all, that’s what Danny’s identity had been like by the time they all graduated. Basically everyone in town knew unless the feds were asking. Because those white-suited government bastards can Fuck Right Off.

And thus, when he later finds an important potential lead on something, he doesn’t think much of just… handing it off to them to deal with. Yeah, he’s temporarily breaking the illusion, but it’s not that big of a deal.

Needless to say, Tim vehemently disagrees with that assessment, and is now deeply invested in finding out what the hell is up with his employee and his weirdly secretive hometown.

[shadowtraveled]

"mithrun is the only real monsterfucker in dungeon meshi" is objectively the funniest bit you can get out of his everything, but in all seriousness i think his attraction to his love interest is deliberately overstated—and that makes sense, because romantic jealousy is a classic and digestible motive, which is explicitly what kabru was aiming for in condensing mithrun's backstory, and also because until chapter 94, mithrun wasn't willing to admit to the true nature of his desires.

but because romantic envy is both classic and digestible, it probably isn’t a unique enough or complicated enough desire to tempt a demon’s appetite. mithrun’s wish, as far as we can figure from kabru’s reduced retelling, was to have a life in which he had never become one of the canaries, and that carries like 3857 implications and desires within it. that’s delicious. his love interest acts as sort of a red herring to his motivation for making it, though. (side note: i'm saying "love interest" here because, keeping in mind that i barely speak japanese on a good day anymore, "想い人" is something i'd usually take as just kind of an old-fashioned and romantic way to refer to a lover, but in context i wonder if both the connotation of yearning and the vagueness are intentional, and i think this phrasing gets those aspects of it more effectively. anyway.)

mithrun considered his love interest to be untrustworthy. there was a minute where i thought that comment might be about a similar-looking elf (yugin, one of his squad members), but comparing the two…

the "sketchy" arrow is definitely referring to the elf we know as his love interest—the bangs go toward her right, she only has the one forehead ornament, and, most notably, her ears aren't notched.

every time she’s given a full-body depiction in his dungeon, she’s drawn as a chimera, with the body of a snake from the waist down. (side note: the “what if a dungeon has chimeras before reaching level 4?”/“then the dungeon lord is unstable” exchange just being mithrun grilling his past self alive is so funny. he’s so. but anyway) there are a couple things about this.

first, the snake part of the chimera appears to be modeled after some species of coral snake mimic

which, in the biology-for-fun manga, i… doubt is a coincidence, especially with the added context of the “untrustworthy” comment. the dungeon’s conjured illusion of mithrun’s love interest was a harmless copycat of a venomous original. for whatever reason, he felt this person was a threat and made up a "safe" version of her to be in a relationship with, and while it’s definitely possible to be attracted to or even love someone you find to be toxic and/or intimidating, when you take that into consideration alongside the configuration of her body, you get some interesting implications.

which brings us to our second point: if we assume that mithrun was not in fact fucking a snake, then sexual attraction, at least, was so far removed from his idea of a relationship with this person that he did not even bother to keep her dungeon copy human enough to maintain the illusion of the option of a sexual relationship. this is somewhat echoed in the depictions of their interactions, which also imply a frankly unexpected romantic distance. she kisses his cheek and he doesn't seem to react; she's at the edge of a narrow bed with only one set of pillows, on top of his blankets while he's underneath them.

the kiss is particularly interesting because it seems to contrast the text. kabru's narration tells us this was everything mithrun could have asked for, but mithrun is there looking unreadable to pensive, likely because this is right before the panel that makes it clear things in the dungeon are beginning to go wrong.

walking through this backwards for a minute, we have the physical barrier of his bedding and the spatial separation inherent in a bed made for one person, the emotional barrier of his mounting anxiety getting in the way of his ability to enjoy the affection he sought, and... the snake, which historically carries the connotation of temptation, yes, but also mistrust, barring physical intimacy. okay. ok. if a dungeon reflects the mentality of its lord, all of this might suggest that mithrun was not able to have any real desire for a relationship with this person. his unwillingness to be vulnerable or let another person in was insurmountable. but in that case, why was she such a focal point that she remained to the end, after his dungeon had stopped creating iterations of his friends to come and visit him? why would he get so upset over her meeting with his brother that he became lord of a dungeon about it?

well. mithrun's brother was also interested in her, probably genuinely. and mithrun had to win.

you have an older brother who your parents completely ignore, probably in part because he is chronically ill/disabled and almost definitely in part because he received a ton of recessive traits that resulted in rumors that he was an illegitimate child. you are aware, most likely because those same parents fucking told you, that you actually are an illegitimate child. but they keep you around because you had the good fortune of looking just like your mother. what can that possibly teach you but that you, like your brother, are disposable?

it's utterly unsurprising that mithrun, under these circumstances, developed a pathological need to be better than everyone around him. people don't keep you otherwise. i'd argue this is also why he says he looked down on everyone he knew while milsiril claims his dungeon reeked of feelings of inferiority—he sought out people's worst traits and prioritized them in his mind to protect his already extremely fragile sense of self-worth, and all the while he tried to be as likable and high-performing as he possibly could be. his parents disposed of him anyway, but even then he tried to keep up the performance. he was kind to everyone. he never once lost to a dungeon.

when he saw his "love interest" meeting up with his brother, what he saw was himself being replaced by a person his parents had always treated as worthless, and if that was what they thought of the child they'd kept, what value could anyone possibly see in the bastard they'd given away to die? mithrun and kabru tell the story like he wanted to win this unnamed elf's heart, but it was never about being with her. it was about cementing his worth, proving that he didn't deserve to be thrown away.

and so it's particularly cruel that his demon discarded him, too. but maybe it's also particularly gentle that, in the end, there was someone who refused to even consider giving up on him.

kui laid it out in three panels better than i could hope to.

yeah. it's love. you wanted to be loved, even when the only way you were able to understand it was through the desire to be wanted, and you wanted that so badly that the idea of being consumed felt like the promise of finally mattering to someone.

[feeder86]

Poster Boy

Getting a job at ‘Buzz Cut’ was certainly more lucrative than most people would have expected. After finishing college, Callum had searched, without much success, for something where he could utilise his mediocre degree in Sports Science. Bar work had not been part of the plan. However, the pay and conditions at ‘Buzz Cut’ were a world apart from any entry-level graduate positions out there. As for the bar itself, Callum couldn’t say that he had ever been. He’d seen the promotions online with the enticing, sexy guys who worked behind the bar, always dressed in very little at all. But he’d heard from others how expensive it was to get inside, and the giant mark-up on drinks. With a student’s income, and a mostly-straight friendship circle, Callum had always stuck to the less expensive, generic venues whenever he went out.

Posing for the photoshoot had been new for Callum. It was all part of the job. ‘Buzz Cut’ offered a complete ‘experience’ for its patrons, and that included bar staff they could drool over. Callum found it hard not to laugh as he saw the giant container of baby oil being dragged out, as well as the tiny underwear he was given to wear for it. He stood in front of the screen, flexing and posing, showing off his natural athleticism and good looks. It was the first time he’d met some of the other guys who worked there, as they were brought in a couple of hours early, before their shift, to pose alongside him for more promotional shots. Callum had never seen so many tight abs in one room, but the boys, many of whom were secretly straight, all seemed completely used to posing together like this now. Only Callum’s extreme height made him stand out from all the other toned and chiseled hunks the bar had on offer.

Everything Callum had heard about the bar had been absolutely right. The place was packed from early on each evening, filled with surprisingly youthful patrons who didn’t seem to mind the eye-watering prices of the drinks and snacks on offer. The music was decent and the facilities better than anywhere else in the city. Sure, there was an element of being leered at, but from behind the safety of the bar, it wasn’t as if that was much of a problem, dressed, as Callum often was, in only a pair of very short shorts. 

Callum often thought of Zach, the bar’s owner, just imagining how insane his profits must be each month, owning a place like this. The guy was there quite often, maintaining his original vision for the bar despite handing over the everyday running of things so that he could concentrate on his other business projects in the city. Good-looking, toned and still only in his late thirties, Zach must surely have been one of the city’s most eligible bachelors. Callum’s own interactions with him had been few and brief; maintaining the illusion that this was a professional atmosphere, despite the fact that Callum was little more than naked his entire shift.

Working at ‘Buzz Cut’ was a full time job. Callum could understand why Zach had always refused to hire college boys to work there. Shifts started early, at six in the evening, with promotional work or preparation. Then they would go on until the very small hours, often not getting back home until six in the next morning; especially on Saturdays. Working nights was not something Callum could say he had taken to all that well. He’d experienced the typical difficulties of maintaining his friendships after college, hampered even more by his lack of availability over the weekends. Still, they had more vacation than most at the bar, which Callum had hoarded and stored up so that he could go back home to Kansas for four whole weeks during the holiday period.

“What’s this?” asked Zach upon Callum’s return that January. 

Callum looked down at his middle where Zach was pointing. Dressed as he was, there was no hiding the extra pounds he had gained during his time at home, with his mom feeding him as if he was still that ravenous hungry teenager he had been before he left for college. But combining that with beers and no real workout routine, Callum’s abs had taken quite the beating; his stomach seeming puffy and bloated the entire time. “It’s just a little holiday weight,” he tried to explain, knowing that appearances were everything in this place.

“A little?” Zach blasted back, sweeping around Callum and spotting the slight build up on his sides; the love handles Callum had always gained whenever he bulked, slowly returning.

Callum shrugged. “I’ve just been enjoying my food a little more recently,” he answered. “I’ll soon get it off.”

Impatiently, Zach shouted over to Martine, the manager. “Stick this one on midweek shifts. He’s not to work the weekends until he’s lost this extra weight,” he declared, strolling off and shaking his head in disappointment.

Had Callum really heard that right? He was off weekends? Was that really his punishment? Only guys who had worked here for years were granted the significantly quieter weekday shifts instead. He found it hard not to smirk as he collected his things and headed home early, messaging some of the boys from his old football team to tell them he could come out for beers that night after all. 

Callum checked his contract through carefully. There were watertight clauses to stop him from messing around with patrons at the bar, very detailed outlines of what he would be required to wear and surprisingly few controls over what the club could do with the images they took of him for their promotional material. However, in no place did it mention the expectation for him to maintain his physique. An employee literally could not be fired, no matter how much weight they might gain. It was the perfect loophole, he realised, knowing that he would be in no rush to drop the extra pounds now that his job had become so much easier and less intrusive on his social life.

“Dude! You are so in for it if they find out what you’re up to,” Danny laughed, seeing Callum strutting out in his tight shorts at the start of the Tuesday night shift.

Callum chuckled and rubbed awkwardly at the swollen middle on himself. He looked as large as he ever had in his bulking phases, inadvertently gaining more weight as he attempted to prevent himself losing it. “I’m telling you, buddy,” he smiled back confidently. “They can’t fire us for gaining a few pounds.”

“If you say so!” Danny laughed, patting Callum on his slightly wider rear as he went to collect ice. “An extra five pounds is a little different to an additional thirty though, don’t you think?”

Callum rolled his eyes. He hadn’t gained that much. At least, he certainly doubted it was that much. Martine seemed to know the score and let him be about his weight the moment Callum made reference to the clauses in their contracts. He was completely in the clear.

“What the hell?” blasted Zach as he popped in one evening before the doors officially opened. “What’s THIS?” he pointed once again at Callum’s middle. “I thought you were going to sort it out and get back in shape? Not gain even more!” He stood there expectantly, waiting for Callum to answer him. Somehow, it didn’t seem like the usual excuses would fly with Zach.

“I’ve just had a busy few months,” Callum began, knowing that it would get a sigh of skepticism from Zach. 

“Told you…” Danny smirked as Zach had stormed off. “You’re in for it now!”

Callum felt uneasy and oddly conscious of his body as he bent down and felt the thickness around his waist creasing. Perhaps he had taken this a little far. He really did need to keep this job as long as possible. His rent alone was enough to cripple him financially.

“There!” Zach growled, throwing a paper bag towards Callum about twenty minutes after they had opened.

Callum opened it up and found four identical sleeveless shirts inside. He looked up, puzzled.

“Wear those when you’re working behind the bar,” Zach ordered. “The crowd in here come to see some abs. They don’t want to see that little belly of yours!”

Callum nodded obediently and slipped the first one on after pulling off the tags. It fitted perfectly. “No problem,” he agreed.

Once again, Zach charged off, leaving Danny and Callum to work the relatively quiet bar. Danny was shaking his head. “So now you don’t even have to take your shirt off anymore?” he grumbled. “How the hell is that fair?”

Callum simply grinned, despite the telling off he’d just had. He’d already been relieved of most of the promotional work for the club since his weight gain and now he wasn’t even required to dress like everyone else either. What he had essentially acquired was a normal bar job at an incredibly inflated salary. He sighed at his own good fortune and patted his little stomach as if it was an asset, rather than a hindrance. “Who needs abs when you’ve got a baby face like mine,” he teased.

It struck Callum how much weight his older brothers had gained when he next saw them that summer. Like him, they had all been college athletes and the Prom King of their day. Now though, their fast metabolisms had seemingly abandoned them and the firm-looking paunches they had been amassing, relatively unnoticed by Calllum, now seemed to stand out like never before. Scott, the eldest, who had only married his long term girlfriend last year, seemed to have sprouted a fully fledged gut, with the other brother not far behind. It seemed to be true throughout the family, with their older cousins and uncles having gone much the same way. Despite the accolades and sporting successes amongst them all, they were essentially quite the overweight family once real adulthood took over. 

Callum had started to try and control his intake, finding he couldn’t cut quite as easily as he used to. Now it seemed he only had to look at a cream cake and he’d be up a few pounds on the scale. But perhaps that wasn’t his fault. Maybe this was just the way the men in his family were built?

Callum started to feel his paunch pressing outwards from his torso and a cool breeze on the underside of his stomach as those work shirts got tighter and tighter. It was just over eighteen months since he’d started at the bar and now, with an additional fifty pounds on his body, he was no longer quite the man he had been when they hired him.

“I’m taking you off the rota,” Zach declared, commandeering Martine’s office for this chat that had been a long time coming. “This isn’t working, is it?”

“You can’t fire me for gaining weight. It’s in my contract!” Callum shot back. “It’s the Italian blood in me. It’s not my fault!” he lied, suddenly desperate.

Zach chuckled. “Let’s not bullshit each other, shall we?” he replied calmly. “We both know I’d have no problem finding an excuse to fire you.”

Callum swallowed hard.

“Look,” Zach sighed, as if about to make the death blow. “You’re a good-looking boy. The regulars like you and you’ve got a good build. I just can’t market you like I can the other guys.”

“I’ll lose it!” Callum promised. “I’ll do one of those supplement diets.”

“No you won’t,” Zach responded wearily. “Otherwise you would have done it all the other times I’ve spoken to you in recent months. I don’t have a place for you here anymore. But that doesn’t mean I won’t have a place for you elsewhere; other opportunities.”

“So… I’m not fired?” Callum asked hopefully.

“No, you’re absolutely fired,” Zach replied harshly. “But there are alternatives, if you’re interested?” He scratched his head. “How do you feel about fetish work?”

“Fetish?” Callum asked.

Zach nodded. “The ‘Bear Night’ each third Monday of the month,” Zach began. “It’s a little more kink-oriented than the name suggests.

Callum considered for a second. None of the regular crew had ever worked the ‘Bear Nights.’ It was invite-only and Zach had always brought in entirely different staff to work the bar. “What would I have to do?” he asked cautiously.

Zach leaned forward and spun the computer screen around so that Callum could see. “These are photos from when you first started,” he began, allowing Callum to view shot after shot of his lean, athletic body as it had been eighteen months earlier. “What I want to do is another photoshoot with you as you are now. I want to set up a few comparison shots for promotions.”

“But I don’t look like that anymore,” Callum pointed at the screen.

“Exactly!” Zach nodded. “You’ve gained a lot of weight. That’s very alluring to some guys.” His tone seemed lighter now; more playful. “I’d pay you what you earn now. You’d come in for a few photoshoots and work the bar each third Monday, and the rest of your time is your own.”

Callum tried to take it all in. Was he really being offered the same income for so little work? “What’s the catch?” he asked cautiously.

“No catch,” Zach responded breezily. “All I ask is that you try to limit the cardio at the gym and you don’t lose too much weight.”

“So now you don’t want me to lose weight?” Callum questioned, feeling like he could hardly keep up.

“No,” Zach replied, shaking his head. “That little belly of yours could be very marketable for me indeed.”

Once again, Callum couldn’t quite believe his luck. He had so much free time on his hands now that he didn’t have to work at the bar, and yet, just as promised, in came the paycheck on the same day that month, just as Zach had said it would. He’d been summoned to the bar early one afternoon, before any of the staff would have arrived, so that he could meet Zach and get a better understanding of the promotional work he would have to do.

“Ah! Callum!” smiled Zach, standing in the little photoshoot room they used on the third floor. The photographer he’d hired was different to the usual lady; a large, heavy set man with a thick beard. He shook Callum’s hand firmly, already eyeing up his body and seemingly thinking about how best to capture it on camera. He had a stout, similarly hairy assistant alongside him, and over in the other corner stood an almost naked model, toned and chiseled but of a slightly less than average height.

Just as Callum had expected, he’d been passed the usual tight shorts to wear for these photoshoots and he felt the eyes of all the men upon him as he returned wearing them. With his larger build, he’d always required the biggest size shorts. But now that he had gained weight, the fit was nothing short of disastrous. His fleshly love handles poured over the waistband, the butt cheeks threatened to break the seams at the back and his thicker thighs had almost prevented him from getting them on at all. There was no point in asking for a larger size. He already knew they didn’t have any. Nevertheless, he was surprised by the delighted faces on them all as he strutted into the room; the photographer setting to work before he’d even got into position. Callum turned and made all the usual poses that had been asked of him in the past, although never in the presence of the boss.

“This is awesome!” Zach called out encouragingly, directing the photographer for certain angles that he wanted more of.

Later on, the athletic model to the side was brought on to join him. They stood, side-by-side, Callum towering over him and probably weighing not far off twice his weight.

“Are you ready for some really kinky stuff?” Zach called out next.

Callum shrugged and smiled. “Why not, I guess!” he laughed, still finding it amusing that all the men were so pleased with the fit of these ridiculous shorts.

The assistant had returned with a large bag of burgers and fries from the local fast food place, and a giant armchair was positioned in front of the camera. Callum sat down and was asked to begin eating, spreading his legs to make it seem like he filled the chair out as much as possible. As time went on, the corners of his mouth were painted with a little ketchup and mustard to make it appear as if this was all part of a giant eating session. The model stood behind him, as if enjoying and encouraging it all. Finally, they posed together, with the slender guy grabbing and poking at the new fleshy areas on Callum’s body, before ending with the guy actually hand feeding him yet another burger.

“This is all absolute gold!” Zach delighted in saying, placing his arm over Callum’s shoulder and leading him into the little office to the side. “This arrangement of ours could really work well.”

“What’s going to happen to the photographs?” Callum asked, already feeling just a little embarrassed about some of the poses he’d made.

“Don’t worry. No one you know will see them. The ‘Bear Night’ is very exclusive,” Zach smiled reassuringly.

On the night of the bear event, Callum arrived an hour before opening and was unsurprised when he was presented with the same shorts for him to wear behind the bar. He was initially concerned that he would be working alone that evening until he realised that Zach really hadn’t been lying about how exclusive the event was. Little more than thirty guys trickled in, greeted personally by Zach. Callum assumed that drinks had been included in the ticket price, for he wasn’t required to use the cash register or card machine once.

The men were a mixture of overweight and extremely obese, peppered with the odd slender sidekick. A giant buffet of food had been provided, which the larger men pulled chairs up close to and were busy making quite an impact on. 

“I’ll man the bar for a little while,” Zach offered kindly. “You go get something to eat. There’s plenty there,” he grinned.

Callum smiled, his mouth having been watering for the last half an hour with all the aromas coming his way. He strolled out and grabbed a plate, heading straight for the chicken wings. Several of the guys came up to him, chatting casually about this and that, until the inevitable question of his weight gain came up. They’d all seen the comparison shots of him from eighteen months earlier and looked at him knowingly. When they asked how he’d gained it all, Callum responded honestly: he’d been enjoying his food too much, he’d become a little lazy and complacent. He’d been taken aback by how shocked some of them had been by that answer. The fact that it had been an ‘accident’ didn’t seem to be something any of the men had expected, and it was at that moment that Callum realised the large, fattened bodies of some of the men had been cultivated through years and years of deliberate overindulgence. The ‘Bear Night’ name was all one big cover. These guys were, as they explained, ‘gainers’.

As Callum returned to the bar, he watched his boss carefully. He’d never seen Zach in a  social setting before, nor looking as relaxed and in a genuinely delighted mood as he was right then. There was no way he was making any money this evening; not when you considered the salary he’d been paying Callum for the last month, all the free drinks, the buffet and the DJ. This was where his ruthless quest for profit ended; the man’s true passion in life. He sat next to the larger guys rubbing their stomachs playfully, or fetching them more food, laughing and revelling in the company of his friends. Perhaps Zach was a nice guy after all.

“Thanks for this evening,” Zach smiled, passing over a generous tip to Callum as he pulled his shirt back on, ready to leave. “You were a big hit with the boys!”

“They were nice guys,” Callum nodded. There was rarely any ‘trouble’ in this bar, but it wasn’t often that it was inhabited by people who were friendly and pleasant the entire time. 

“There’s lots of food left, so take as much as you like,” he insisted. “And just remember… no cardio,” he grinned, with a little devilish look at Callum’s stout middle that was evident even in his loose-fitting shirt.

“I think I can manage that,” Callum smiled back, patting his stomach in much the same way he had seen the other men do that night. Then he left, knowing that he didn’t need to do another shift for an entire month. It was, quite simply, the best job in the world.

Callum soon learned that he was a very unproductive person with so much free time on his hands. He couldn’t say he particularly liked his housemates, nor had much in common with them. He spent most of his time in his room, playing video games and binging on TV series. After a disastrous relationship in college, he’d mostly stuck to casual hook-ups, but even his enthusiasm for these had waned now his most recent profile picture had failed to garner him the attention he once enjoyed. There was no point in lying about the fact that he was no longer as trim as he used to be. The whole point of a hook up was to get naked with someone else, so falsely portraying his body was more than useless.

“You’ve gained a few more pounds,” Zach smiled as Callum pulled off his shirt at the start of his shift.

Callum squirmed a little. “Yeah… sorry,” he mumbled, looking down and seeing that he was in even worse shape than last month.

“Don’t apologise!” Zach beamed. “This is perfect. This is exactly what the guys want to see.”

Callum fingered his deepening belly button awkwardly. His weight had drifted so far beyond any of the bulking phases he had gone through in the past. His old high of 250lbs seemed insignificant as he knew he was at least 280. Even his pecs had started to take on a softening fullness, making them bounce a little as he walked. Just what would his old college football coach say if he could see him now? However, Zach hadn’t been wrong. The men who arrived that night were more than complimentary, sliding him plenty of tips as the end of the evening approached.

“I want to do more promo shots for the ‘Bear Night,’” Zach announced, checking his diary as Callum began preparing to leave. “How does the eighteenth work for you?”

Callum shrugged. “That’s fine,” he agreed. What else did Zach expect him to be doing?

“I’ve set up a tab for you at this place,” Zach explained, handing over a menu from a take-out joint only a few blocks from Callum’s address. “Order as much as you want, whenever you want it,” he stated seriously. “It’ll help keep your weight up for the shoot next month.”

“Are you serious?” Callum beamed, taking the menu; his eyes sparkling with delight.

Zach merely chuckled and patted him kindly on the back. “You enjoy it, my friend.”

Once again, Callum could hardly believe when his monthly paycheck came through. He’d worked a single evening the entire month, yet earned enough to pay his rent and enjoy a decent lifestyle. He’d used the take out offer from Zach on just a few occasions, not wanting to exploit the gesture too much and risk his cushy job situation. However, he’d still more than managed to prevent himself from losing any weight. For months he’d dealt with shrinking clothes, yet the last few pounds seemed to have annihilated the fit of most anything remaining. Much like his older brothers, a stubborn, stout little stomach had rounded itself out and made the great lunge forwards, whilst his butt had lost that tight athleticism to it; becoming wider, more protrusive and particularly less toned. Indeed, Callum could tell that Zach had noticed how much bigger his butt was, directing the photographer at the next shoot to take several more shots from behind than he had last time. There had been raised eyebrows between them all when he’d come into the room without his shirt on and it was obvious that they were having to rethink how to stage the shoot in light of his altered body shape.

“Another awesome session!” Zach beamed after they were done, his arm resting on the back of the photographer as they scrolled back through some of the shots. 

The new, toned model Zach had hired to pose with Callum looked across at them strangely, clearly never having worked a job quite like this one. “Good luck!” he mouthed sympatheically to Callum as he took off as fast as he could; an envelope of cash in hand.

Callum pulled his shirt back on and chuckled to himself. The fetish work really didn’t bother him all that much. Sure, it had been a bit strange at first, having his extra blubber pinched and photographed, followed by a simulation of getting fed by a more athletic guy. But, so what? Surely it was a good thing that not everyone in this world desired people who were only slim and toned. 

He put his shirt back on, ironically feeling more self conscious in that than he had been the entire time he was shirtless. The fit was so tight and unflattering, he tugged at it more and more, wishing that he could just add a couple more inches to the bottom of it so that the cool breeze of the fall didn’t bite at his slight overhang. Zach looked over and frowned. “You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Callum replied, dramatically sucking in his stomach as he tried to get his jeans on over the tight shorts he had been modelling in for the last hour. “But I am going to have to drop a few pounds this next month,” he explained. “I can’t afford to buy a whole new wardrobe!”

Zach gasped and held a hand over his mouth. “Oh, of course!” he shot back. “How thoughtless of me! I didn’t even think of that.” He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Of course you must have an allowance for these things,” he stated, seeming to be very embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of it earlier. He pulled out a small wedge of notes and held them out to Callum. “Here. Take this. It’s not fair that you need to pay for things like new clothes from your own paycheck. Call it a legitimate business expense.”

A startled Callum reached a hand out to accept the offer.

“Good man!” Zach smiled, patting him on the back again before strolling off. “Catch you on Monday for the Bear Night.”

As the holidays came around again, Callum returned home to enjoy a traditional Christmas with his family. With all three of her boys home, their mother had spent hours preparing mountains of food for the entire week. Being such a traditional Italian lady, she had been delighted when her son had told her that he’d given up his job at ‘Buzz Cut.’ It wasn’t a lie exactly. Callum’s images were all wiped from the club’s socials and website after all. He just didn’t go into a great deal of detail about his new job, describing it only as ‘traditional bar work’. Okay, maybe that bit was an outright lie.

Both of Callum’s brothers had continued to pile on weight since he’d last seen them and, in return for his own silence, they politely ignored the comparatively smaller, thick stomach on him. Their mother’s authentic Italian cooking was something they all agreed was not to be missed, and their enjoyment of it was not constrained by calorie counting or portion control.

“Someone ate well over the holidays!” hooted one of the regulars at the Bear Night. 

Callum grinned and patted his stomach in the way the guys all seemed to like. “You bet I did!” he laughed back, hoping for a good tip later on.

“How much weight did you pack on in December?”

Callum shrugged. “No idea,” he answered honestly. “I don’t own any scales.”

The guy raised his eyebrows. Numbers appeared to mean a lot to the crowd here: waist circumferences, clothes sizes, measurements on the scale. Each one was part of the jigsaw that seemed to make them who they were.

Later on, when Zach manned the bar for a short while to allow Callum to grab some food from the buffet, one of the guys had approached him and asked if he could feed him a couple of the doughnuts himself. Callum had smirked at the request and shrugged his shoulders. “Why not!” he replied, sitting down and opening his mouth as requested. It was no different to the photoshoot poses he did every couple of months, only with these guys, there was likely to be a good tip at the end of the night. 

More men gathered around to watch. The evenings were well attended now, with the bar filled with easily sixty guys. They didn’t often see the way Caluum’s stomach had begun to rest in his lap as he sat down and they openly praised him for how attractive he was. They’d asked to touch his belly, which Callum had again consented to, leaning back and letting the hands all set to work as he chewed. There was definitely a kinkiness to it all that he was not adverse to, and he finished his evening with more than double his usual tips.

“You did very well this evening,” Zach smiled as the event came to an end and Callum stood at the buffet table, finishing off the last of the bits. With more guys in attendance, Zach had been coaxed into a few more shots at the bar than was usual. “I think we need to think about increasing your salary.”

Callum smiled. Zach had never praised him in his old job, yet now the compliments tumbled out of his mouth every time he saw him. “Sure!” he nodded, his mouth full of food. “I’m certainly up for that.” He could see his boss watching him with the same fascinated look as all the other kinky men that evening. Something had indeed happened to his stomach over the holidays. Fat had bloated it once more, with blubber layering itself upon already established chub. The effect had softened up his torso like never before.

“I settled your tab with the take out place the other day,” Zach went on, still watching Callum as he picked at the last of the food. “I was really pleased with how much you’d been ordering from there; especially considering you’ve been home with your family for two weeks.”

Once again, Callum chuckled to himself. He’d started using the take out a lot more in recent weeks, lured in by the convenience of it all. His housemates were so generally unpleasant, so it made it easier that he didn’t have to spend time in the kitchen. Nonetheless, he had still worried about the giant bill he must have been amassing. However, it genuinely seemed like he could do no wrong in Zach’s eyes. “I’m just living my best life!” he teased, grabbing a wedge of his belly fat and jiggling it in the way the other guys seemed to like.

Zach had followed up on his word, boosting Callum’s salary more than even he had hoped for; simultaneously requesting another photoshoot for a few weeks’ time and explaining that he’d compensate Callum accordingly.

“A pig snout? Really?” Callum had laughed upon seeing some of the props for this shoot. Just like the last time, a giant container of thick, gloopy calorie shake was out and ready for him to consume, with one of the new attendees of the Bear Nights standing by to act as today’s model; fit, toned and flirtatious as hell, Callum couldn’t deny that he was actually excited to get started.

The shoot had been a deep dive into the world of all chubby guy fetish. Callum had been fed, measured, handled and restrained. Yet, he had enjoyed all of it. Hearing both the photographer and Zach mumble in approval each time they changed their positions. 

The old shorts Callum usually wore were no longer viable; his thighs and butt had simply grown too much and there was no room in the crotch to wear them with any level of comfort. Despite his eye for detail when recreating old poses at Callum’s new weight, Zach had taken pity on him and purchased a range of new, larger underwear and outfits.

“Do you mind stepping on the scales for me?” Zach asked towards the end of the shoot.

His stomach bloated and face covered in bits of the food his handsome co-model had fed him with, Callum stepped up. This would be one for the socials, wiith Zach recording the moment on his cell phone.

“Three hundred and fifteen!” Zach blasted as the number finally settled; his voice on camera giving away the genuine excitement he usually managed to keep concealed behind an air of professionalism.

“Is that good?” Callum asked, looking around. He’d always surprised people with his weight, being much heavier than they had anticipated due to his extreme height. He couldn’t even remember what he had been before any of this weight had started to pile on.

“It’s VERY good!” smiled the kinky model behind him, providing Callum an unscripted rub of his wide butt, which also gave him yet another semi as he did so. However, it was Zach’s triumphant grin that was turning Callum on most of all. He’d always had a slight crush on his handsome, well dressed boss. But as they had started working closer together, and ever since Zach had started being so damn nice to him all the time, Callum had begun to fantasise about him more than ever before. So, when he was asked to try and finish the tray of doughnuts for the end of the shoot, Callum made sure he gave the performance of his life.

Despite the long periods of absence there was still one way that Callum knew how to get Zach’s attention. Given the high praise he’d received for running up such a high tab on the take-out orders, Callum began phoning up for food like never before. He became quietly aroused as he imagined Zach’s face as he went to settle the account in a few days’ time: the shock and delight of the kinky man he really was behind the great business presence. Then Callum would rub his large, tank-like stomach in the way he imagined Zach would; exactly like he’d seen the guy doing with several other fatties at the bear nights.

Each and every time Callum went back to the bar, Zach was surprised by his size. The wide eyes and adulation turned him on without fail. The chubby chasers had also found their way into Callum’s dating profiles and he now didn’t even flinch when someone asked to feed him something during one of their casual meet-ups. The guys who were contacting him were suddenly getting hotter again, and the more he leaned into their kinks for his chubby body, the more desperate they seemed to become for him. Zach’s tab with the take out place was coming in really handy. All Callum would have to do is order a few items from there and he’d receive the most erotic and horny messages from his admirers as he posted pictures of himself consuming it all.

“So, this Zach guy who pays for all your take out…” began one very handsome chubby chaser who had come over for sex one Friday night. He’d asked many questions about Zach and the situation Callum had found himself in; getting more and more turned on as their arrangement was explained to him. “Is he, like… your feeder or something?”

Callum pondered the question. He’d learned so much about this world of kink, but he’d never really applied any of it to his own strange situation. “Um…” he mumbled to himself. It didn’t seem like the right word to describe what Zach was to him. But, then again, what other word would fit in its place? “I suppose he is,” he nodded, finding his erection was returning at the idea. “Yeah, I think he definitely is!”

At the next photoshoot, Callum had been asked to bring in a range of his old clothes that no longer fit him. He’d obliged, using the opportunity to have a good sort out in his room and had taken plenty of his things to the clothes bank. A beautiful, hired hunk stood to the side as Callum strutted in wearing pants that would not button and a t-shirt where his stomach fat poured out underneath. Even his underwear torturously stretched, and Callum could feel the air on his buttcrack. He looked over at Zach, the photographer and his usual assistant, their eyes gleaming with excitement to see him like this. The weight had been pouring onto him in recent months and he found himself surpassing three hundred and fifty pounds in quite rapid speed. His stomach was round and bulbous, without a single stretch mark upon it. His pecs had finally softened, but his chest felt enormous and powerful. He saw himself as strong and masculine, frequently referred to as ‘Big Guy’ by those around him. It felt manly and sexy. Best of all, he hadn’t needed to go to the gym once in the last twelve months in order to achieve it.

“So, are we starting with the shake?” Callum asked, seeing it waiting there on the table ready for the shoot. He sat down on the chair, his fat spreading even more. He looked up and saw Jerry, the photographer’s assistant and chuckled in surprise. “Looks like I’m not the only one struggling to fit into his clothes today!” he teased, seeing the tight fit of his shirt.

Jerry grinned and rubbed his tight gut. “I’ve been eating like a pig!” Jerry nodded proudly. “I’m up fifteen pounds since our last shoot and loving every bit of it!”

“You finally took the plunge, huh?” Callum laughed, jiggling his own belly. “I bet your boyfriend is loving every second of it!”

“You bet he is!” Jerry chuckled back, lifting his shirt briefly to show his hairy little gut.

The oblivious, hired model seemed more reticent than the rest. When Zach directed him to the funnel, he shook his head and looked at them all like some sort of freaks: Jerry’s comments, Callum spilling out of theatrically tight clothes, and the three men who were revelling in the sight from the sidelines. “Nah… I’m out!” he declared, throwing his shirt back on and strutting out despite the protests.

“Was it something I said?” Callum joked, grabbing a wedge of his belly fat and jiggling it playfully. He couldn’t say he was sorry to see the stuck-up the guy leave. He didn’t really understand why Zach still tried to get in models from outside of the scene. Some days it could just make things so awkward and tense.

After Zach returned, having failed to convince the model to stay, he shrugged his shoulders in defeat. “I guess we’ll have to reschedule,” he sighed.

Callum shook his head. “I spent all day yesterday stuffing my face in preparation for today,” he exclaimed. “We’re doing this!” He looked around at the three of them, finally settling upon an idea. “Zach! You should get in here instead. You’ve got a body just as good as that model.”

Stunned by the idea, Zach instinctively shook his head. “No, no. I couldn’t. I’m a businessman!”

“We don’t have to show your face,” Jerry added helpfully, clearly agreeing that it was a good idea.

“That settles things then,” Callum smiled, sitting back a little more in his chair and excited to see where this could go. He looked across keenly as Zach reluctantly removed his shirt and was handed the funnel.

“Just a few shots then…” Zach mumbled awkwardly.

With the model gone, the mood had changed and the four of them had relaxed. Callum settled back as the funnel was inserted into his mouth. With his tight clothes, it was obvious that he was getting hard, staring into the eyes of Zach as the shake was poured into the funnel.

Callum gave a giant burp once the shake was all down. Back in the early days, a calorie shake like that would have absolutely floored him. But now, with his stomach emptied of gas, he felt ready to continue.

“Does it feel softer than you imagined?” Callum asked Zach once the guy had been directed to rub his stomach for the first time. His hands were good: warm and assertive, sliding expertly across the expanse of stomach fat.

“It’s definitely not as firm as it looks,” Zach agreed; his eyes twinkling with a devilment Callum had never seen before.

Callum growled in kinky approval as Zach began shaking up a can of whipped cream without being directed. He leaned his head back, eyes bulging with surprise at how much his mouth was filled, then swallowed obediently. 

In very little time, the whole can was emptied and Zach seemed to have fully relaxed into the role. “Open up, Fat Boy!” he ordered, picking up the usual tray of doughnuts.

Somewhere in the background, the click of the camera could be heard, but inside that studio, Callum felt like it was only the two of them really there as an intimate, erotic feeding had properly gotten underway. Zach was doing much more than posing for the camera. He seemed to be a man who knew how to get the best from a fat guy, his words of encouragement and gentle mockery working for Callum on so many levels.

“I do good work, huh?” Zach chuckled forty minutes later, stepping back and elbowing the guy behind the camera.

The photographer exhaled in appreciation and swooned. “No one has ever gotten him this big before!” he agreed, snapping more and more shots of Callum’s painfully stretched out gut and the wincing expression on his face. “I think you did more than feed him,” he nodded at the hardness in Callum’s underwear. It had not faltered the entire time.

Callum could hear the men whispering as he sat there, feeling completely beached as he tried to burp up some gas and find release. He had no idea how many calories he had just consumed. 

All of a sudden, the other guys were leaving and the whole thing was over. “Come on!” Zach smirked at Callum. “You’d best get out of here before everyone else starts arriving.” The man was putting his shirt back on, priding himself at how much he had defeated Callum’s appetite as the boy seemed unwilling to even try moving himself. “Unless you want all your old work colleagues to see you like this?” he teased, hoping to inspire Callum to get moving so that he could start clearing up.

“I don’t care,” Callum replied, throwing a lazy arm on top of the shelf of belly fat that had been made even more extreme by the bloat. “Let them see me. I’m not ashamed of anything.”

Zach was continuing to fuss and tidy around him, checking his watch. “Come on!” he insisted, fetching Callum his clothes and throwing them towards him. “Get dressed!”

Callum heaved himself up, grunting as he reached down for his pants. “You’re embarrassed about all this, aren’t you?” he asked his boss.

Zach scowled. “Not at all,” he mumbled, wiping crumbs from the chair, now that Callum was upright.

“Then let me stick around and see everyone,” Callum chuckled, rubbing his extreme stomach bloat. “I’d love to hear what they’d have to say, seeing me as I am right now.” He caught his reflection in the mirror. “Fuck! I look enormous!” he marvelled, twisting from side to side. He looked over at his boss with interest. “You seriously know how to stuff a guy!”

“I’ll message you about the Bear Night.” Zach shot back, not even entertaining the idea of Callum hanging around as he looked about the studio one last time to ensure there was no remaining evidence of what had transpired.

Callum knew it was going to be a huge gamble. However, his dick was hard and, after looking at himself in the mirror. He knew he couldn’t just walk out of there as if nothing had happened. Throwing his t-shirt onto the floor, he charged over to Zach, reaching for his hips and spinning him around to face him. The boss seemed slightly surprised by Callum’s boldness, but his eyes instinctively moved towards his employee’s plump lips. That was the cue, Callum realised, heading in for a kiss.

Zach seemed to let his guard down for a few moments, embracing the kiss and letting his hands roam all over Callum’s fattened body. He was a good kisser: passionate and tender. But then he pulled away and rubbed his face as if he had done wrong.

“You’d better go,” he stated in a quiet panic, striding back to his office and shutting the door.

Really? Callum thought to himself. Zach had actually just walked out on him?

The boss was awkward at the next Bear Night, trying to keep out of Callum’s way as much as possible. In reality, it hadn’t been too difficult for him, given the hoards of people who surrounded the large chub that night. It had been his biggest month ever for weight gain. Not only was the number on the scale looking even more impressive, but Callum could feel the squishy blubber softening him up all over his body. Without even trying, he had arrived in clothes that were unnecessarily tight; pants that dug into his hips and a t-shirt that failed to conceal the bloating softness under his stomach. For the first time in months, he’d given himself a proper, close shave, unmasking the rather severe double chin he had developed, and it was that, more than anything else that the horny guys were marvelling at. 

In terms of his appetite, everything had seemed to click into place and he no longer got so full after even very large meals. “Three hundred and eighty pounds can do that to a guy!” smiled one of the kinky regulars, absolutely smitten by Callum’s growing physique.

“Everyone thinks I have the potential to be absolutely massive!” Callum boasted as he picked up some beer bottles after the night had come to an end. The music was over and the harsh lighting was revealing the fleshy reality of Callum’s fattened torso as it jiggled and bounced as he walked about. His stomach was like a barrel after all the guys had tipped him to push food into his mouth. It was almost unreal how far out in front of him it pushed.

“Yeah, you were definitely the biggest talking point of the night after your little 25lb gain in a single month!” Zach chuckled back, only slightly more relaxed after a couple of beers. 

“I think I’ve found my calling,” Callum joked, patting the very fat tummy that had received so much attention that night. However, it was obvious that Zach was trying not to look. “The thing is… after having such a good month, I kinda need to up my game for the next time folks see me.”

Zach laughed at that, nodding his head and continuing to avoid eye contact as he cleared up. 

Perhaps it had been the fact that Callum’s ego had been stroked the entire night long, but something inside of him was suddenly a little impatient at the lack of attention Zach was willing to give him for all his hard work, packing on the weight as he had. He pulled out a chair and sat down, folding his arms.

“What’s up with you?” Zach asked, confused.

“You know me, I’m the garbage disposal,” Callum replied childishly. “You can’t let all that food go to waste.”

“I’ll just pack it all up and you can take it home, as usual.”

“No, no, no…” Callum shot back uncompromisingly. “If you want me to eat it, you’ll need to get it down me now. I’m ready for it.”

“If you want to go home, I can just package it up now,” Zach replied; a nervousness in his voice as he could see that Callum was trying to address the awkwardness between them.

Callum only shook his head, unbuckling his pants and letting his fly down to give his stomach the optimal room to expand. He sighed, dropping his hands limply by his side and let his extreme stomach lure Zach in, without even attempting to coax him into conforming.

“Well, maybe just the pastries,” Zach mumbled, picking them up and walking over nervously. “There aren’t many of them left.”

Having spent months indulging in this world of eating kinks, Callum knew the exact moaning sound to make as the food hit his tongue. It turned him on so much to cater for these types of fetishes. Already, he could see a growing bulge in his boss’ pants, even as the guy tried so desperately hard to keep his cool. It was like a super power, being able to eat and consume, fueling these types of fantasies for men like this; sometimes making them climax like never before. All he needed to do was learn how to harness that energy from Zach.

“I’d still have my six pack if it wasn’t for you,” Callum teased his feeder.

At this, Zach scoffed. “No you wouldn’t!” he laughed.

Callum nodded in agreement, still leaving his hands limply down by his sides so that his stomach was the feature that Zach would be forced to stare at. “You’re probably right,” he smiled. “I always was a greedy boy, deep down.” He took another huge bite, staring hard into Zach’s eyes in the way that all the other kinky boys had been unable to resist. It was taking all his effort not to rub his hand over Zach’s bulgling crotch that he could see becoming more defined in front of him. He burped, knowing that that was yet another thing that these guys loved to see him do.

Zach clearly appreciated it, stepping away and fetching a large glass of soda from behind the bar. Callum didn’t waste time taking the hint, opening his throat up and swallowing it down as though it was effortless. Then, out came a roaring burp that echoed through the large, silent space. “Did you like that?” he asked Zach proudly, smirking as he prepared to take down even more pastries.

“You’re very impressive,” Zach begrudgingly acknowledged.

A great smile spread across Callum’s face. “I know I am,” he nodded a little arrogantly. “That’s why these nights are so busy now. Everyone wants to see me grow!”

“You certainly have a way of bringing people together,” his boss smiled down at him.

Callum caught Zach’s arm, just as the man was bringing another pastry towards his mouth. “You know I love doing this, right?” he asked earnestly. “I’m going to get so massive for you all. The biggest ass, the biggest gut! I want to do it all for you. I need to become the ultimate kinky boys’ fantasy!”

All at once, Zach’s defences fell. His mouth plunged onto Callum’s and they kissed with a furious burst of lust and attraction; the kind that there was no coming back from.

Despite the several sleepovers at Zach’s place the following month, no one at the next Bear Night would ever have guessed that the pair were secretly seeing each other. For the most part, that was due to the surprising blowing up of Callum’s bouncing chest that had stolen all the attention. His arms had been nudged out even further by the bulging fat growing under his armpits, with guys pinching and teasing him for the larger fat roll that had also developed at the back of his head. Even with all the exercise in Zach’s bedroom, he had still amassed a further 17lbs, continuing his longest ever winning streak of big gains.

At almost 400lbs, he’d been outgrowing things at an alarming rate; his body surrendering to the softness and jiggle like never before. He’d known for a while what fat had felt like on his body, but the thick layers of it now felt even more erotic, making guys like Zach hard whenever they caught even the slightest bit of exposed flesh on show.

“I knew you wanted to be discreet tonight, but I didn’t realise you were going to ignore me all evening,” Callum grumbled, sitting himself down by the leftovers with no intention of helping with the clean-up.

Zach had the look of a man who knew he had done wrong. He shrugged, not trying to defend himself. “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I really didn’t intend to…”

“Are you embarrassed of me?” Callum asked.

Zach shook his head. “Absolutely not!” he declared fiercely. 

Callum could tell that Zach had fallen in love with him, despite not mustering up the courage to tell him so yet. But what was the issue that was holding him back, even now?

“I’m embarrassed of myself,” Zach finally stated. “I just feel so… pathetic when I see how confident you are in your own skin.” He pulled out a seat and sat down next to Callum. “You’ve altered so much since I’ve known you and yet you’ve embraced it every step of the way. You have this incredible ability to not care what others think about you. I envy that so much.”

Callum shrugged his shoulders. He’d always known how important Zach’s reputation was to him. It was the reason why the Bear Nights were so secretive, and why he had fought his attraction to Callum for so long, knowing that he was an employee. “I don’t want to force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he nodded. “But, at the same time… I won’t be your dirty little secret.”

Zach considered the magnitude of Callum’s words. An ending had arrived. But, somehow, when he took the fat man’s hand, Callum knew that everything was going to work out okay.

“Callum!” smiled handsome Danny behind the bar of ‘Buzz Cut’ as the big man rocked up a few months later. “If you’re looking for your boyfriend, he’s in his office, pretending to be busy!”

Callum smiled at that, requesting a fresh beer. He chuckled at the memory of reintroducing himself to the old crew he used to work with here in the bar. At 465lbs, he’d been fairly unrecognisable to them, yet they had gotten used to it pretty fast, with even the sly jokes about the revelations surrounding Zach’s kinky love of fatties starting to die down.

“The new poster looks great!” Danny pointed towards the wall, where the large open advertisement for the new Gainer Night stood out sharply against everything else. Callum's old, muscular physique photoshopped back to back with his unrecognisably obese new look. “You look fantastic!” he nodded towards Callum’s proud face on the poster, beaming at the whole room and inviting them along.

“Ah! There’s my handsome boy!” cooed Zach, finally emerging from his office as soon as he had spotted Callum waiting for him at the bar. He reached in, giving his enormous lover a sweet kiss.and immediately rested his hand on the guy’s wide rear without a care for the curious stares it was attracting.

“So, where are you two lovebirds off to tonight?” Danny asked between serving other customers.

“Zach’s taking me out for dinner,” Callum smiled.

“Oh, I bet he is!” Danny chuckled, noticing the horny way his boss was gazing at Callum's giant gut. “Four hundred and ninety pounds by the holidays. That’s the goal, right?”

“That’s right,” Zach smirked back, patting Callum’s large tank of stomach fat. “So you just keep serving up all those drinks so that I can pay for it!”

“Will do, boss!” Danny nodded happily back.

“I hope you’re hungry?” Zach whispered to his lover as he held Callum’s hand and led him out of the club.

Callum grinned, looking down at the already stretched-out buttons of his shirt, determined that this would be the night he would burst through them. “Don’t you worry about that!” he smiled. “I’m a greedy boy. I know what I’m doing…”

[ddarker-dreams]

A Deal's a Deal II.

Yan Chrollo x F Reader

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, descriptions of anxiety and emotional/mental manipulation. Word count: 4.1k.

Prev

You met Chrollo at an old hole-in-the-wall bookstore that housed archaic texts. 

There was little information on your condition, but what material did exist hid itself beneath allegory and ciphers. The best leads came from high strangeness circles. They expanded on Jung’s concept of the collective unconscious, drawing parallels between historical records across cultures and periods that all implied some system that transcended physical limitations. Whether it came from alchemists like Paracelsus, mystics like Crowley, or authors like William Blake, hints of this system can be found sprinkled throughout history. 

Chrollo informed you that this system is commonly called ‘Nen.’

Before him, the nomenclature eluded you. You simply regarded it as a phenomenon best kept to yourself. The world’s a weird place, filled with inexplicable things that the human mind can’t always comprehend. This handheld device, which you nicknamed Instant Replay, is the foremost example.

You were always aware that you knew things you shouldn’t have. As a child, it perplexed you. Why do people sometimes sound weird? A few trips to the audiologist proved your hearing is perfectly fine. When this avenue didn’t provide answers, you ended up in counseling, where you reenacted the dilemma with dolls. For a while, you insisted that what you heard was real. It frustrated you to no end that the adults in your life either dismissed you or offered bromides. 

As an adult yourself in the present, you can’t blame them for being at a loss. 

You smartened up eventually. What you once blabbed about to anyone who would listen, you kept to yourself. This eased the tensions at home. Your parents seemed happy that the issue had ‘resolved’ itself and you maintained the illusion. Playing pretending could only do so much — the core problem remained. Your mind made the connection that when another was being dishonest, that’s when their voice would sound strange. After you realize that, there’s no going back. The epiphany changed how you interacted with others for better and for worse. 

“You want to get rid of your ability?” he sounded surprised when he asked. 

“How could I not?” you replied. “People lie… a lot. Friends, family, strangers. And, okay, that might not seem bad, but imagine always being aware of it. It— It eats away at you. Wears down your ability to trust. I have to act like I’m none the wiser, knowing full well someone just lied to my face. I don’t want to know! I’m tired of knowing!” 

“You’re unable to control when it’s active?” 

“Instant Replay lets me ‘review’ audio, both in real-time and after it’s been recorded. I have control over the latter, but that’s it.”

Your antagonistic relationship with Nen fascinated Chrollo. According to him, most people were intentional when it came to crafting their Hatsu. There are very few cases like yours where Hatsu is subconsciously given shape and form. You wish your subconscious had created something more useful, like a sword. That would’ve been cool. 

“Could I learn a new ability to oust Instant Replay?” you wondered. 

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t work that way,” Chrollo dismissed. “In theory, it is possible to learn different abilities, although your inexperience would make that difficult. There’s no way to erase an ability either. You can, however, lose access to it. For instance, there’s my predicament, or…” 

He leaned in close and whispered: 

“... Someone could steal it.” 

-

Chrollo looks out of place in your apartment.  

It’s a cozy, lived-in space, full of trinkets that he thoughtfully examines as if he were in the Louvre. Meanwhile, you prepare two cups of tea. Chamomile with honey for you and Earl Grey for him. After setting the timer for five minutes, you realize there’s not much else to do but wait. The silence is unusual and unnerving. Anticipation thrums through the air like an electric current. You feel it coursing through your blood; tingling along your skin. 

The barstool you’ve chosen as your perch groans against the wooden floor as you pull it out.

Chrollo picks up a picture for closer inspection. You crane your neck, curious about which snapshot captured his attention. It’s from a night out with friends. Empty plates and drinks littered the table and each of you crowded in close to fit into frame. Since the restaurant was high-end, you were dolled up, adorned in an outfit that rarely saw the light of day. 

“Swarovski?” He sounds amused. 

“I’ve been known to splurge on the occasion,” you huff. “The necklace was on sale and the earrings were—” 

You cut yourself off, although you’re unsure why. It shouldn’t be a taboo topic. Nonetheless, beneath the weight of his gaze, you couldn’t get the word out. 

“—From an ex?” He offers. 

You nod. 

He returns the picture to its proper place, a cryptic smile on his lips. “So even you aren’t above materialistic impulses, hm?” 

“There’s a difference between rampant consumerism and buying yourself something nice on occasion,” you retaliate, disliking the edge of mockery in his voice. “I don’t need to hear this from the dude wearing a silver Rolex watch.” 

“It’s white gold.” 

You roll your eyes. “A camel through the eye of a needle.” 

“‘First cast out the beam out of thine own eye.’” 

“Do you seriously have the entire King James version of the Bible memorized?” 

“It was one of the most accessible texts in my youth,” he says, his smile softening into something pensive. “The missionaries were far more generous with those showing signs of ‘progress.’ I tried helping my companions memorize the more significant passages, but they weren’t what you’d call ideal pupils.” 

Missionaries? You purse your lips and consider the implications. Had Chrollo grown up in destitution? Come to think of it, you know very little about him or his background. Unlike you, he never volunteered the information. He skillfully maneuvered around any inquiry into his past. The most you’ve gleaned is that he’s a traveling antiquarian who, in pursuit of valuables, made some enemies along the way. 

The shrill shriek of the timer rips you from your thoughts. 

Chrollo accepts his mug with a “thank you” and sits on the rightmost side of your coach. After plopping two ice cubes into your concoction, you join him, leaving ample room between you. The nerves from earlier return. He’s an easy man to converse with, but when his mind is preoccupied — as it most certainly is now — you’re at a loss. Do you try reinitiating banter? Opt for a completely different topic? Or should you let him initiative, squirming around until he breaks the thickening tension? 

“Have I held you in suspense long enough?” Chrollo asks while holding his hand out. A book with a handprint on the cover appears, the pages flipping too fast for you to gauge their contents.

The quality of his aura temporarily stupefies you. This must be the difference between a novice like yourself and a genius. You can muster up enough aura to summon Instant Replay, but that takes considerable effort. To him, managing the flow of aura comes as easy as breathing. You scooch closer to study his technique. How long would it take you to match his expertise? Years? Decades? 

“I’ll get bashful if you keep staring at me like that.” 

“Liar,” you accuse without any real malice. 

He chuckles.

“Give me your hand.” 

Heat rushes to your face as you recall what happened when you last parted. “D-Do I have to?” 

“Yes.” 

Hesitantly, you do as he requests. He maneuvers your hand against the conjured book’s cover. You gnaw on your bottom lip, trepidation brewing inside your soul. You thought you’d feel relieved when this moment came. There’d be some butterflies, yes, but that would quickly give way to relief and exhilaration. The thorn that’s been in your side all these years is finally coming out. Your quid pro quo has reached its conclusion; this is your reward, your ticket to a normal life. 

“I like you too.” 

“I’ll be there whenever you need me.”

“It’s okay if you come.” 

“I promise I won’t tell anyone.” 

“We’ll always be together.”

Yes, people lie a lot. Sometimes, you’re unsure if they’re even aware of it themselves. They lie to you, the people they love, the people they hate, and themselves. Fate decided you’d be made witness to their folly, sewing your lips shut and eyes wide open. The wounds it left behind are intangible and incurable. How do you heal what you can’t explain knowing to others? How do you explain your hesitation, shift in demeanor, and inadequate coverup? 

The sound of Instant Replay whirring reverberates throughout your skull. 

Chrollo speaks your name softly. You startle, realizing that you’re blinking back tears. 

“I—” 

“It’s alright,” he reassures. The words sound crisp — genuine — soothing your budding concern that you’re inconveniencing him somehow. In an instant, the hardcover dissipates, leaving your hand flat against nothing. Chrollo takes the opportunity to come closer. When you don’t protest, he completely closes the distance, until you’re thigh to thigh. 

He smells good. Intoxicatingly so. 

“Show me the ability you despise so much, dear.” 

Dear? You think to protest the emergence of this nickname, yet you can’t bring yourself to. Instead, you follow his order, mechanically lifting your arm and summoning your ability much like he had. 

“Good. It’s almost over with,” he brushes the wetness away from your eyes with his knuckles. Your heart leaps at the contact. “Finally, I have to ask about your ability. There are so many possibilities… what to choose, what to choose… ah.” 

With the same hand that wiped away your nascent tears, he cups your cheek.

“Do you trust a man like me with such a dangerous ability?” 

“I have my reservations,” you respond. You don’t miss the amusement he derives from your candidness. “This sounds bad, but… at this point, I guess I just don’t care.” 

For a moment, all is still. There’s no odor of sulfur, maniacal cackling, or declaration that the ritual is complete. You didn’t have to sign a contract in blood or swear an oath to an infernal being. Your overactive imagination ran numerous scenarios through your head. The lack of flair over this life-defining moment is almost underwhelming. You frown, fearing that there was an error somewhere along the way. If there was, he’s given no indication, yet you’ll remain restless until the results are confirmed. 

“Chrollo?” 

“Hm?” 

“Did it work?” 

“It did, love.” 

“Could you, um,” you lick your lips, a motion that draws his attention. “Make something up so I can know for sure?” 

This request amuses him.

“How will you know if I’m being honest to mess around with you or not?” 

At this, you give him a light shove. Given his apparent playfulness, you expected him to move back, but he doesn’t budge an inch. It felt like trying to move a concrete building. 

“Make it an obvious lie, then.” 

“An obvious lie, hm?” He mulls over your suggestion. “Very well. How about this: I don’t want you beneath me.” 

You gape at him, dumbstruck. 

“I find it easy to control my urges around you.” 

He keeps going. 

“I’m unmoved by your beauty…” 

He gently pushes your shoulders until you’re lying down. 

“... Your wit…” 

He hovers above you, tracing the outline of your lips with his pointer finger. 

“... And boundless charm.” 

Chrollo tilts your head up by your chin. “Well? Do you believe me now?” 

Slowly, as if in a daze, you nod. Your heart lurches, the organ beating loud enough to hear in your ears. You feel uncomfortably warm, like your heater’s been cranked to the highest setting. Gradually, the violent joy you expected to accompany your liberation abounds, starting at your chest and overflowing outward. You’re smiling, breathless, your corporeal form barely able to contain the glee. You see your reflection in Chrollo’s eyes. There’s a manic quality to your countenance; you barely recognize yourself. 

You’re free, you’re free, you’re free— 

His lips find yours. Your cognition short circuits, leaving you in a reverie where you can barely understand what’s happening. He handles you so carefully that it’s easy to forget you’re physically trapped. He carries on, either failing to notice your apprehension or disregarding it. 

On some level, you’ve always sensed this underlying attraction. You remained purposefully obtuse. There was too much at stake — jeopardizing your aims for a fling felt counterintuitive. On paper, he’d make for the ideal partner. He’s devilishly handsome, charismatic, and intelligent to a fault. Aside from some dubious morality, you couldn’t ask for a better suitor. 

And still, hesitation prevailed. 

Every now and then, there’d be glimpses of some great, existential threat, beneath the fissures of his porcelain mask. These glimpses gave you pause. You think he could’ve tried harder to hide these damning qualities, yet chose not to. Where’s the fun — the thrill — in always playing nice? You needed his help more than he needed yours. His connections spanned continents, whereas yours were shallow and easy to uproot. 

How many of your convictions would you compromise? 

How far would you let the poison spread to cure another affliction? 

How can you look down on him if you’ve fallen to the same level? 

When he pulls away, you avert your gaze, fearing what stares back. 

“... So you are afraid of me, then.” 

Chrollo lets you wriggle out from underneath him. When your eyes make brief contact, it feels like he’s inspecting you, as if you were a specimen in a petri dish. It isn’t the reaction you’d expect from a rejected man. Nonetheless, you’re on edge and longing for a menial task to occupy yourself with. Recalling the state of the kitchen, you decide that will suffice. 

He remains seated as you wash and dry the implements used to make your tea. 

This uncharacteristic silence unsettles you further. The only audible sound in your apartment is your faucet, the water running over silverware that’s plenty clean. You scrub at it harder, wondering what you should do next. Originally, you intended to thank him for his pivotal role in removing your burden. You never would have made it this far without his assistance. Even with this strange atmosphere, your gratitude remains unwavering. 

You’ll be able to live life like anyone else now. It’s an accomplishment worthy of celebration, regardless of the twists and turns along the way. Maybe he misinterpreted your body language or acted on an impulse. These mistakes can happen when emotions run high. 

Okay, you think, psyching yourself up. This doesn’t have to be weird. I can—

“Have you given much thought over last week’s unpleasantness?” 

Your heart skips a beat and your shoulders droop. 

“I assume you haven’t,” he says. “That’s fair. It must’ve been frightening… I wish I could have spared you such an experience.” 

The appreciation he previously instilled in you desiccates, drop by drop. 

“Will you please get to the point?” 

Under different circumstances, you would’ve been more patient with his preamble, but this is a sore subject. A buried corpse like that shouldn’t be exhumed. His reasoning, though elusive to you now, doesn’t inspire warm sentiments. 

“That incident won’t be the last of its kind.”

You turn around as he approaches, sipping his tea. He leans against the counter and eyes you over the cup’s rim. 

“In truth, we should’ve left hours ago, but I was feeling sentimental.” 

“‘We?’ Chrollo, what are you talking about?” 

“Had it not been for your role in getting my Nen back, Hisoka would’ve killed you,” Chrollo says this so casually that you question if you’re hearing him right. “Now that you’ve done your part, he has a vested interest in doing so.” 

You no longer have a way to verify if he’s telling the truth or not. It’s so stupid, so unfair, that you almost laugh. Instant Replay no longer heeds your call. You surrendered it to a new master, who, before taking it from your willing hands, all but told you he was the worst person you could’ve picked. 

Chrollo continues, “He’s a peculiar case. All he cares about is fighting formidable opponents, and, with my Nen returned, I am one.”

You take a step back.

“That business is between you two. I fail to see how this involves me.” 

“I have preparations to finish before I face him,” Chrollo explains. “He doesn’t feel like waiting any longer. Harming you is an excellent way to speed things along. Even I don’t know what I’d do if you were fatally injured.” 

You shake your head. “I— you’re not serious. There’s just no way. I’m moving past all of this bullshit. Nen, Hatsu, whatever; that has nothing to do with me anymore. I’m done.” 

“I’m sorry, dear.” 

“No, you aren’t!” Your voice raises in pitch, pulled as taut as a bowstring. “You knew, didn’t you? That this would be a problem? Oh, oh, you had to, why else would you have acted all weird when you saw him? Stop looking at me like you care, like you’re sorry, 'cause this is the best-case scenario for you!” 

You pace back and forth, your mind racing. This was a mistake. Walking up to him because you recognized the book in his hands was a mistake. Is he bluffing? And if he is, does it matter? You can’t put up a fight. You don’t think you could even make it to the door. If he was a regular man, you’d have options. You could yell for help, call the cops, and inflict some damage, minor as it may be. All those tactics turn to ash before an oppressive, incomprehensible force like this. 

You snap your head in his direction. “Aren’t you going to say something?” 

“I don’t see how that will help.” 

You prepare to spew vitriol his way, when a dreadful thought shoots through you like a bullet. 

“My family. What about them? Won’t they be in danger too?” 

“They aren’t on his radar.” 

“How do you know that?” 

“Please don’t take this the wrong way,” Chrollo sets the cup down. “The suffering of your loved ones wouldn’t elicit a reaction from me, so he won’t bother. Targeting you is the wisest option.” 

Words fail you. Is this it? The depravity he kept subdued finally let loose, so dense in its quality that it threatens to suffocate you? All you wanted was a semblance of normalcy. Normal relationships, interactions, and problems. Has the path you’ve treaded brought you further away from this humble aspiration? Or is there still a way, some faint silver lining that you must find and latch onto? 

“What about after?” 

“Hm?” 

“After Hisoka is dealt with,” you clarify, tapping your foot repeatedly. “You’re not going to let him live, are you?” 

“That’s rather dark.” 

“Chrollo,” you implore. 

“No, I won’t,” he confirms. “As for what comes next — I intend to persuade you.” 

You regard him with suspicion. His tone and the implications sink into you like a venomous bite. He exudes quiet confidence, indicating that nothing you’ve said will influence him in any meaningful way. Dread sticks to your stomach, making your body feel heavy. You hug yourself, clenching your upper arms with shaky fingers. Any lingering excitement from earlier has vaporized, leaving behind a profound hollowness. 

“I suppose this can go a few ways,” you murmur. “I could cause as many headaches for you as possible, or, I could be decent enough.” 

“I’m listening.” 

“I’d like to have Instant Replay back,” you say. He quirks an eyebrow. “Just for a bit. What? I’m assuming if you can steal something, you can give it back, right?” 

“You’d be correct. Still, that begs the question; what are you intending to accomplish with this little scheme?” 

“Nothing that’ll inconvenience you in any major way.” 

Chrollo falls silent. You dig your nails into your flesh as the seconds drag on, awaiting his verdict. If he had your ability activated, he should’ve been able to discern your honesty. Then again, he’s aware of the workarounds. To ensure your words wouldn’t register as untrue, you had to remain vague and subjective. What you consider an inconvenience could differ drastically from him. 

“I’m sure I won’t regret this.” 

Your eyes widen. That dissonant timbre is unmistakable, he returned your ability! Filled with newfound resolve, you stride toward him, your eyes blazing. This is your chance. You need to make the most of this opening before it’s gone forever. He could choose not to answer any of your questions, but something tells you he won’t, like it’d injure his pride. You issued him a challenge and he’s intent on meeting it. 

“Did you have anything to do with what happened last week?” 

“I didn’t.” 

“Did Hisoka?” 

“No, he just happened to be observing you from afar.” 

“Why?” 

“For his personal amusement, I’d wager.” 

“He’d really kill me just to… agitate you?”

“It’s in line with his character.” 

You swallow thickly and press on. 

“And if you’re wrong?” 

“Then I’m wrong. Regardless, you’ll be alive and well.” 

“Can you win against him in a fight?” 

“Yes.” 

“And if you somehow lose, what happens next?” 

“My companions will hunt him down and kill him.” 

Now that you’ve gotten your most pressing inquiries out of the way, you decide to wade through dangerous waters. Chrollo likely saw the benefit in assuaging your doubt, these next questions provide him nothing substantial. His willingness to humor you is undoubtedly finite. Keeping this in mind, you consider the possibilities. You may never have a chance like this again. Is there anything that can give you an advantage? You’ll take anything, no matter how small, even if all it offers is an illusion of control. 

Chrollo glances at his watch in a not-so-subtle motion. 

“Who sealed your Nen?” 

“Now this is more what I expected,” he hums. His eyes take on a bright, unsettling shade. “An individual with a longstanding grudge. Your paths will not cross, I suggest adopting another plan of attack.” 

He saw right through you. You knew it was a long shot, but collaborating with this mysterious figure would have proven advantageous. They must be powerful in their own right to have bested Chrollo. Should you try pressing for more information? Then again, Chrollo doesn’t seem keen on sharing more, much to your chagrin. 

What does that leave you with…?

“How do you plan on ‘persuading’ me?” 

“You’re better off not knowing until we get to that point.” 

You frown. If that didn’t register as a lie, it must be what he genuinely believes. Curiosity plagues you, dredging up anxiety. You have but a few grains of sand left in the hourglass remaining. It’s suspended midair, poised to drop at the most ill-timed moment. The approach of the end is worse than its inevitable arrival. You now have the chance to hasten its onset, at the risk of being debilitated by the impact. What lows would he resort to? Are you actually better off remaining ignorant?

“Alright, let’s—” 

“Does it hurt to know I’ll never love you?” 

Up until this point, he’s fired back with a near instant response. This time, however, he hesitates, the invasive nature of the inquiry necessitating careful thought. You finally found an effective ‘attack.’ It’s too late to do you any lasting good, but you greedily devour it nonetheless. When dealing with a person of Chrollo’s caliber, it’s easy to forget he possesses the same human qualities you do. You might be unable to stop his heart from beating, but you can make the organ ache. 

“I can live with it, dear.” 

You pinch your eyebrows together, thrown off by his voice’s clarity. Is the knowledge that inconsequential to him? Have you misjudged his attachment? While considering this, you flex your fingers, concentrating your aura there. You can’t repeat his words back since Instant Replay wasn’t recording, but you still decide to conjure it. You’ll record what remains of this conversation to ensure you don’t miss anything else. 

The flow of your aura halts at your wrist, refusing to take form. Frowning, you try again, only to realize he must have reclaimed your ability. 

When did that happen? Was it before or after his response? 

Chrollo says your name, regaining your attention. “I fulfilled my end of the bargain. Will you do the same?” 

After playing the role of the interrogator, you’re back to being an inmate. You meant what you said — when you said it, that is. This is yet another loophole to subvert Instant Replay. What’s true to you in one instant can change in the next. It’s frightening how fast he’s learned these nuances that took you years to test and discover. He’s already making the most of your ability, turning what was a thorn in your side into a full-fledged dagger. 

“What choice do I have?” 

“There’s always a choice,” Chrollo asserts. “You just have a habit of making the wrong ones.” 

A delirious laugh leaves your lips. 

"... I suppose you're right."

[a-scary-lack-of-common-sense]

There has been requests about getting a full body colour for Kook!Ford, so here he is, in all his beige, white, and brown minimalist glory <3 (THERE’S A REASON WHY HE HAS SUCH A BORING PALETTE I PROMISE)

Stupid colour rambles that are WAYY too in depth and probably mostly far fetched but this is my AU and I get to pick how much over-analysis goes into the characters’ colour schemes, fuck you:

Ford:

Characterised by pale, almost pastel-ish colours to emulate a sort of sick, unhealthy look.

The paler colours add to the illusion of Ford lacking presence, almost disappearing into the background, to convey how his existence often ignored or dismissed by most of the townsfolk.

Without any visually striking or contrasting colours in his palette itself, his own features blend into one another, blurring the details and diminishing any identifiable traits that would have typically identified him as Ford, or even a person (<- if that mindfuck of a sentence make any sense)

Hints of yellow to show remnants Bill's past influence on him. Because I’m dramatic like that.

Fiddleford:

Deep, rich forest greens with golden accents (influences of Bill appearing in his outfit) (I need to hammer Fidds out a lil’ more ngl)

Stanley:

Deep, rich blues and purples (opposite spectrum of yellow, aka. Bill's colour, which means = safety to Ford)

The inside lining of his jacket is vivid red, to reference his original colours palette and as a representation of his past self being hidden underneath the layers of his predominantly blue exterior, colours representative of his new identity (also red = warm and blue = cold)

His colours palette will eventually open up into something warmer on the outside, veering into purple.

Extra notes on his character: Stan (in this AU) is colder and quieter than his canon counterpart. After years of being in the mafia business, and years of running it as well, he has long since learned to mask his facial expressions and master the poker face (*cough cough* resting bitch face *cough cough*). But, his intimidating and serious air does not serve him any favours when it comes to literally anything other than his “work”, his inexperience when it comes to emotions all the more apparent with the twins. He has trouble expressing his feelings outwardly, and despises this part of himself, because it reminds him of his own father. He feels as though he is failing the twins by being too cold and distant, and tries his best to open up more.

Mabel:

Maintains her original colours palette with pink, but has more hints of red in her outfit, similar to Stan’s, particularly around her sleeves (allusion to “wearing your heart on your sleeves.” Yes, I know that it’s tacky)

The red shows she is more inclined to trust Stan, as she is willing to see past Stanley’s exterior facade of cold aloofness to see his “true” colours (good HEAVENS that is disgustingly cheesy to say but idk how else to really word this)

Extra notes on her character: Mabel trusts Stan fully. Perhaps a little too much. She I dolises Stan to an almost unhealthy degree, and is constantly plagued with the underlying fear of somehow losing Stan’s “interest”, as their mother seemed to have lost interest in her and Dipper. Deeply fears being abandoned again, and believes she “owes” Stan for having adopted them. She believes it is her fault that neither of their parents wanted the twins during the divorce.

Dipper:

Maintains original colour palette with blues, but pretty solidly lacks red in his outfit. He serves as the opposite spectrum of Mabel, instead being unwilling to fully trust Stan and takes him at face value.

Extra notes on his character: Dipper does not trust Stan, and is far more hyperaware of what kind of “business” their “uncle” runs. He is mostly worried about Mabel’s slight obsession with pleasing him, and fears that if they don’t behave, Stan might use his dangerous power and influence against them. He is convinced that Stan had ulterior motives to adopting them, cannot fathom what he, a seeming stranger with all the power in the world, could possibly hope to gain in adopting two abandoned children. Even more so, when even their parents didn’t seem to want them.

[idkyetxoxo]

Four | Silky Lies | Shadow and Flame

Pairing - Azriel x reader

Word count - 2.5k

Warnings - Angst, pregnancy anxiety

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"You're hiding something."

The words slipped from Eris's mouth so casually that, for a moment, I thought I'd imagined them until I choked on the watermelon I'd just bitten into. I spluttered, coughing around the sweetness, eyes watering as I forced it down.

Eris only arched a brow, gaze far too sharp for this early in the morning.

We were having breakfast together, a rare event, and a strangely peaceful one. Morning sunlight filtered through the wide glass windows, warming the dark wood of the table. A quiet breeze stirred the silk curtains. It should have been serene. 

It was, until he opened his damned mouth.

The nausea had lessened over the past week, now that I'd crossed into my third month. 

Still, maintaining the glamour had become its own kind of exhaustion, one I could barely afford to slip. 

I was due to visit Criva later today to consult on another tincture, but I was running out of time. And apparently, luck.

"What exactly am I hiding?" I asked, setting my fork down with calculated calm. I leaned back in my chair, aiming for indifference.

Eris tilted his head, studying me with that same wolfish curiosity he used on adversaries across war tables. 

"That's the problem," he said, swirling his tea. "I don't know. But lately you've been—off. Secretive. Irritable. More than usual."

I gave him a look. "Says the male who throws tantrums like it's part of his morning routine."

He snorted, but the humour didn't quite reach his eyes. "You've been snapping at everyone. You sleep more. You disappear without explanation. And you're drinking juice instead of wine, which is frankly the most disturbing part of all this."

I rolled my eyes and raised my glass in mock salute before taking a sip of the carrot-orange blend that Criva insisted would "nurture vitality." Whatever that meant.

The juice was sweet, grounding, until, abruptly, it wasn't.

A hot wave of nausea rolled through me, and I barely managed to clap a hand over my mouth before the gag slipped free.

Eris sat bolt upright, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. "What the—?"

I didn't make it far. Before I could even stand, I doubled over, vomiting violently onto the floor beside me. The sharp stench hit instantly, and humiliation bloomed hot in my chest.

So much for improving nausea, right?

Criva was already waiting by the time I arrived, always early, always composed, the very picture of patience in her long moss-colored robes. 

The scent of dried herbs clung to the air, sharp and grounding, and the faint clatter of glass vials echoed softly in the stone-walled space.

The moment the door shut behind me, I let the glamour fall. My breath left me in a quiet whoosh as the illusion collapsed, revealing the faint curve of my belly, the tired pallor of my skin. 

I rolled my shoulders and twisted my neck, the ache of it constant now.

Criva smiled gently, though something flickered behind her eyes. "You're glowing," she said, her voice warm but cautious.

I gave her a flat look. "I look like I've been awake for a week straight."

"You still glow," she said, her tone mildly reproachful, as if stubborn exhaustion were somehow charming. 

She motioned for me to sit and I gratefully obeyed, sinking into the worn cushions of the low-backed chair.

"You need to eat more," she added, not unkindly, her long fingers lightly pressing against my abdomen through the fabric of my dress.

"I am trying," I sighed. "But everything that goes in seems determined to come right back out."

Criva frowned, clicking her tongue softly. "You should be gaining weight—not losing it."

"I didn't exactly ask for this," I muttered. "I'm juggling court politics, dodging my father's ever-watchful eye, and doing everything short of running to keep my existence tolerable. And now—this."

My voice cracked, and before I could say more, Criva's hand shot out and covered my mouth with surprising swiftness.

"Breathe," she murmured, lowering her hand gently after a beat. "You're strung so tight I can feel it from across the room."

I inhaled, sharp and shallow, and forced myself to let it out slowly. 

"What have you learned?" I asked, watching as she moved to the workbench, sorting through vials and powders. Her hands stilled for a fraction of a second, barely noticeable, but I caught it.

Something was wrong.

"To put it simply," she said at last, not meeting my gaze, "the pregnancy may be more dangerous than we anticipated."

I went still. The words settled like a stone in my stomach. My pulse ticked up, fast, shallow beats. 

I dropped a hand to my bump, brushing over the delicate rise of it, still barely visible beneath the folds of my dress.

Criva finally looked at me. Her burnt-orange eyes were steady, but kind. "The child is... Illyrian. Half, yes—but that part matters more than I'd hoped. The wings—"

"Are wings a bad thing?" I asked, my voice quiet, brittle.

She sighed and crossed the room, sitting opposite me, her hands clasped in her lap.

"It's not only the wings themselves. It's what they represent—structurally. Illyrian infants have different bone formation. Your body isn't built to accommodate that kind of development. Not without... complications."

I stared at her. I could hear her. I could understand the words she was saying. 

But the fear came slowly, quietly. Not in a rush of panic, not yet. Just a sense of something fraying at the edge of control.

"I'm not saying it can't be done," she added quickly, placing a warm hand over my knee. "Only that we're moving into uncharted territory. We'll need more care. More strategy. There's more I have to learn, and I will find solutions. But I need you to understand the stakes."

Stakes. As if I hadn't been balancing on a knife's edge since the moment I first picked up the scent.

My fingers curled around the fabric of my dress. I didn't trust my voice.

"Don't panic," Criva said softly, as if reading my mind. "You've already come this far. That means something."

But I saw the flicker in her gaze again. The way her fingers tightened on mine. She wasn't panicking. But she was worried.

And now, so was I.

Back in my chambers, the cold greeted me like an old enemy, sharp against my skin and biting at my bones. 

I didn't hesitate, just flicked my fingers toward the fireplace. Flame bloomed instantly, leaping to life from the wood with practised ease. The firelight bathed the room in warmth, flickering against the walls, casting long shadows that danced like ghosts.

Then I cursed under my breath. I was supposed to avoid my magic.

I sighed, more tired than scolding, and peeled myself out of my heavy coat. The dress came next, slipping off my shoulders in a whisper of fabric until I stood in nothing. 

Donning on a silk robe I padded across the room barefoot, the floor cool beneath my toes, and paused as I passed the full-length mirror.

My reflection stopped me cold.

I glanced over my shoulder at the closed door and slowly let the glamour drop. It peeled away from my skin like a second, false layer of myself, until what remained was the truth.

The scent hit me first. His scent. Faint, but there, embedded in me now, whether I wanted it or not.

I untied the sash of my robe and let it fall open, baring the slight, soft curve of my belly to the room. It wasn't much. Not obvious. Not yet. But it was there. Real. Tangible.

I stared.

Then, without thinking I pressed my fingers lightly against the skin, tracing the smallest arc of that curve.

"Hi, baby," I whispered. The words felt strange on my tongue. Foreign.

Was that weird? Talking to something that couldn't answer? I'd never done it before. I didn't even know why I was doing it now.

"I guess I'm your mother," I murmured. "Not I guess—I am. Gods, that sounds insane."

I let out a soft laugh. Nervous. Disbelieving.

"This feels weird," I admitted, stroking once more across the bump. "But I just wanted to—"

The door slammed open.

I yelped, wrenching the glamour back into place in a split second, the robe cinched shut with shaking fingers as I turned, fury sparking through me like lightning.

"What is wrong with you?" I snapped, half-breathless, stumbling toward the intruder.

Azriel stood in the doorway, calm as anything, shadows curling lazily around his shoulders. But his eyes, they were already assessing. Scanning. Reading too much.

"Do you not knock?" I hissed, clutching the robe tighter. My heart thundered in my chest. 

Had he seen? Heard? Smelled?

"What were you doing?" he asked slowly, his gaze narrowing as he studied me. His shadows slithered forward, brushing against my ankle like smoke.

I could've screamed.

"You don't get to barge into my room and interrogate me," I snapped, backing up toward the dresser. "What are you doing in Autumn? Why are you even in my room?"

He leaned a shoulder against the bedpost, too casual for my liking. Too observant.

"Rhys and I have business with your father," he said simply. "We're staying for a while."

My blood ran cold.

"So you just thought you'd stop by?" I shot back. "What—see if I'd fall into bed with you again like nothing happened? Are you truly that reckless?"

"If I was reckless," he said quietly, "someone would know I'm in here."

I turned away, unable to meet that gaze. I grabbed my brush off the dresser and began dragging it through my hair with more force than necessary.

"Azriel," I said, voice low, steely, "we are done. I told you that already."

He didn't move. Didn't speak. I don't think he even breathed.

"I don't know what you expected to happen when you walked in here," I continued, brushing through the same spot over and over again, "but whatever it is—forget it. It's not happening."

My hands were trembling. The silence grew heavy. Suffocating. Like it had weight and shape and teeth.

Azriel still hadn't moved. His shadows stirred faintly, as if even they were hesitant, unsure whether to linger or retreat.

Then, finally, he spoke, his voice low and a little rough.

"At least give me a reason."

I froze mid-brush stroke.

The question was simple. Too simple. And yet it undid something in my spine. I straightened, slowly, turned to face him. My expression was ice when I spoke.

"No."

That single word, sharp as broken glass, landed like a slap between us.

He scoffed, his jaw tightening, and rolled his eyes like he was trying to act like none of this mattered.

The brush in my hand trembled. I clenched my teeth to keep it still.

"Don't tell me you're in love with me or something," I sneered, arms crossing tightly over my chest. "Because I really don't think I can stomach hearing that from you."

Something flickered in his eyes then, just for a heartbeat. Pain. Real and raw.

But he swallowed it down like poison, like he'd been practising. His voice when it came was flat, too neutral.

"Of course not."

But the words rang hollow. Like a cracked bell. Like a lie neither of us could name.

And still, they hit me like a blade to the chest. My breath hitched. Just slightly. But enough.

My hand dropped to my stomach, unthinking, instinctual, as if the child growing inside me could shield me from what his words had just shattered.

A quiet beat passed. Long enough for him to see where my hand landed. Long enough for the shadows to twitch.

"Perfect," I bit out, voice shaking now, not with fear but fury I couldn't direct anywhere safe. "So leave me the fuck alone."

His eyes dipped once to where my hand curled over my stomach. Then back to my face.

He didn't ask. Didn't speak. Just studied me like he already knew something was breaking. Something he didn't understand. Something I wouldn't let him close enough to see.

When he finally turned to go, his wings rustled softly in the still air. No goodbye. No parting words. The door clicked shut behind him.

Only then did I let my knees buckle. Only then did I let myself breathe again.

Dinner was agony.

Of course, my father had insisted Rhysand and Azriel dine with him. A show of civility. A performance for power. As if forcing the High Lord of Night to eat his food somehow made him the bigger male. 

And of course, Eris and I were dragged along like accessories—furnishings for the table.

I wore a deep red gown that clung to my body in elegant waves, every inch the portrait of Autumn's perfect daughter. My hair was slicked back, twisted into a crown of braids. 

Composed. Controlled. Regal.

But inside, I was wildfire.

I sat across from Azriel. I didn't dare look at him, not properly. Not after the way he'd left my room. Not with the phantom weight of my hand still tingling against my stomach.

The wine beside my plate glinted like a taunt. I hadn't so much as touched it. Gods, even the scent made my stomach churn. I clutched my water glass too tightly, knuckles white, willing myself to look bored. Normal.

Then my name was called, sharp enough to slice through the haze in my mind.

"Sorry?" I blinked, looking up. I didn't even know who had spoken.

Beron's jaw twitched, the muscle feathering as he narrowed his eyes at me. "Rhysand asked how the marriage prospects are looking."

I blinked again. "He what?"

"I was informing him of a potential match. Kallias's younger brother. A noble union between Autumn and Winter" he boasted.

I froze. The glass in my hand slipped slightly. I caught it—barely.

Marriage?

My throat constricted, my heart slamming against my ribs.

Across the table, Eris looked like he'd been slapped but only for a flicker. He schooled his expression so quickly no one else would have noticed. I knew him well enough to see the shift.

He hadn't known. If he had, he would have warned me.

I dared a glance at Azriel.

He was already looking at me. No, through me. His hazel eyes sharp with something that looked suspiciously like rage. His scarred fingers had gone white-knuckled around his fork, the metal groaning softly beneath the pressure.

I dropped my gaze.

"Yes," I choked out, forcing a smile, "Kallias's brother...uh—"

"Kain," Eris supplied smoothly, slicing in with calm authority. "It's still in early discussions. Far too soon for formal consideration."

Beron's eyes snapped to him and I knew Eris would suffer for that interruption later. But it was enough. The topic shifted. Barely.

My heart hadn't stopped pounding. Azriel still hadn't looked away.

I couldn't do this. I couldn't sit at this table, dressed in red silk and lies, pretending I wasn't drowning beneath the weight of everything. 

Pretending I wasn't three months pregnant with the child of the male sitting across from me while my father bartered my womb to strengthen his court.

I could run. I should run.

Day. Dawn. Maybe even the human lands. Helion had always taken an interest in me, he might hide me. Or Thesan. They valued compassion.

But the thought of my father's wrath was a noose tightening around my throat. Beron would raze everything in his path to find me. And if he found out about the child—

I swallowed hard, suddenly cold all over. I couldn't afford a misstep. I couldn't afford weakness.

And Eris... for all his flaws, for all the danger stitched into his every breath... was the only one who might protect me. Who might keep this secret. Who might... care.

I shifted slightly, pressing my palm to my stomach beneath the table. The bump wasn't showing through the gown but I knew. 

I felt it.

A/n - So we've established baby has wings, this is set before Nyx so both reader and Criva have limited knowledge. They know it's risky, but not howrisky exactly.

And then we've got reader about to have a little moment with baby for the first time only for Az to barge in, not fully understanding but unable to stay away. Poor, stubborn Az :(

Beron dropping a bomb out of nowhere asw—clearly a lot goes down in this part and I wish I could say things settle in the next one... but they absolutely do not. Buckle up xx

Thank you for reading, I hope you're enjoying so far <33

I really want to start posting this every other day instead of every third day because i'm having sm fun with all the feedback on all my platforms but I don't want to overwhelm or annoy anyone :/

Shadow and Flame tag list - @coffeebooksrain18 @jaybbygrl @slut4acotar @justtryingtosurvive02 @mortqlprojections @sheblogs @moonlitlavenders @windblownwinston @queenoffeysand @tothestarsandwhateverend @saamanthaag3 @metaphysicaldoom @natalijassav @bookishbishhh @yourenothingbutnottome @holb32 @etsukomoonbeam @fxckmiup @i-am-infinite @megwan @cuethedepession @rinalsworld @whoreforfictionalmen18 @asahinasstuff

[flwrkid14]

So is I alright if I ask this?

I've seen the post where everyone wants to be Tim's favorite, might I ask if you could combine it with the 'Tim will never be anyone's favorite' and the brain dead post spin off? I think it'd be super angst angsty if the bats realize tehy unitentionally screwed up with Tim.

Oh, this is such a good ask! and now I’m going to be feral about it, thank you. Combining all of those ideas? Buckle up because this is going to get angsty.

—

Tim Drake will never be anyone’s favorite.

He’s always known it, accepted it as fact, because it’s not just about how he’s never felt like anyone’s favorite—it’s about how he’s been conditioned to believe that no one could favor him. He spent so much of his life trying to make himself useful to the people around him, because if he couldn’t be loved, he could at least be needed. If they needed him, they’d have to keep him around, right?

So that’s what Tim became. The utility knife of the Batfamily. The glue, the fixer, the one who knew how to put everything back together even if no one ever thought to ask how he was holding up.

And if that meant sacrificing pieces of himself, so what? He was never anyone’s favorite. He had no illusion that anyone would fight for him, that he’d be prioritized. The mission came first. Gotham came first. Family was a distant second, if it ranked at all.

Then there’s Danny.

Danny doesn’t come in with the expectations or baggage the rest of the Bats have. Danny doesn’t know Tim as a placeholder Robin or a second chance or a stolen birthright. He knows Tim as Tim—sharp, exhausted, himself. And Danny thinks that’s amazing.

He says it, too, without hesitation. “You’re my favorite,” he says like it’s a fact. Like Tim has always been the first name on someone’s list.

And it’s such a foreign concept to Tim that his first reaction is suspicion. He doesn’t trust it—can’t trust it—because when has anyone ever favored him? Even when Danny shows time and again that he’s not going anywhere, that his affection for Tim is unconditional, Tim’s waiting for the other shoe to drop. For Danny to grow tired of him, to leave, to regret his words.

But Danny doesn’t. He stays.

And that’s where it all starts to unravel for the rest of the family.

They see it—the way Danny looks at Tim like he’s the most important person in the room. The way Tim slowly starts to relax around him, shedding the defensive, brittle edges he’s always carried with them. The way Danny makes it obvious—painfully obvious—that Tim is his favorite person.

It's then that it hits them.

None of them have ever made Tim feel that way.

They start noticing the cracks they’ve left in him, the ones they never saw because they were too busy leaning on Tim to hold them together. They think back to all the times Tim had been the one to put in the effort to maintain their relationships, the way he always came through for them when they needed him, but how little they ever did for him in return.

They see the way he hesitates when Danny shows him affection—how it catches Tim off guard every time, like he’s still waiting for it to be a trap. And the Bats realize they’ve conditioned Tim to expect exactly that.

It guts them.

Cass had always known, in the quiet way she read people, that Tim didn’t feel like he belonged. She saw it in the way he held himself—guarded, distant, bracing for rejection. She’d tried, in her small, subtle ways, to show him he mattered, but watching Danny with him now, she realized she hadn’t done enough, that there was so much more she could have done for him not to feel that way. She hadn’t known how deep the hurt ran, and the guilt settled heavy in her chest.

Danny... Danny treated him differently.

Dick, who always tried to be a good brother but never saw the way Tim’s shoulders tensed under the weight of being “good enough.” Jason, who hated him for wearing the Robin colors but never noticed how much Tim blamed himself for taking them in the first place. Bruce, who thought giving Tim responsibility was enough to show he cared, but never thought to give him unconditional support. Damian, who fought Tim at every turn but never realized how much Tim already hated himself for existing in a role Damian felt should have been his.

Even Steph, and Duke—all of them thought Tim was fine because Tim made himself fine. Because Tim was the one who fixed things, and none of them stopped to ask what he needed.

It becomes almost unbearable for them to watch Danny care for Tim, because Danny makes it look so easy. He loves Tim so openly, so obviously, that it highlights every way the family failed to do the same.

And Tim? Tim doesn’t even seem to know he deserves it.

It’s the wake-up call they all desperately needed but never wanted. They don’t know how to fix it. But watching Danny and Tim together, seeing the way Tim is finally beginning to believe he’s worthy of being loved, they know one thing for certain:

They can’t undo the past.

But maybe, if they try hard enough, they can make sure Tim never feels that way again.

[nagiboo]

“I want to talk to you.”

The words leave his mouth and it felt as if your illusion of a perfect world where only the two of you existed had crumbled with your heart.

“Sure. What’s wrong? You look serious, Sae.”

“This isn’t working.” Ah.

“Huh?” You were confused, as if just a day ago you guys weren’t curled up in a ball, watching your favourite movie with your favourite snacks.

“You’re a distraction.” He stated bluntly, his eyes were as dull and beautiful as ever. He looked like he truly didn’t care.

“You were good to have around at first, convenient even, but now, this has become too much of a burden to deal with.”

The words left his lips as if they were light and meant nothing at all, as if his sharp gaze that bore into your own didn’t shatter your heart to pieces.

“Are you serious?” You sat up from his white leather couch, in genuine disbelief as to how he could shrug you off so easily and quickly.

Sae said nothing, just stared at you. His eyes cold and lifeless.

“You’re unbelievable.” You said, getting up and grabbing your purse. Your voice was tight with utter disbelief and rising hurt.

He didn’t flinch, didn’t blink. He said nothing. He stared at you as if you were some miscalculation in his perfect equation.

“So really, that’s it? After everything, I’m just a hassle? Some burden?”

Sae snickered. “Exactly that.” His voice was mocking, serious. He didn’t realise how hurtful he could be sometimes, and you highly doubt he intended to come off so blunt.

But the damage was done.

That was the last straw, the final nail in the coffin that sent your emotions toppling over, but only internally. You didn’t cry, nor did you beg.

“Then I hope your career is worth it.” Your voice was filled with finality, pushing past him.

The door clicked behind you, and Sae let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He was alone again.

Just like how he thought he had wanted it.

Except, the feeling inside of his chest never lifted.

He only got hollower.

His expression didn’t change, his composure didn’t crack, but his knuckles were stained white from how hard he was gripping onto his training bag.

Where was the relief he so desperately wanted? He wondered.

Being in a relationship was so troublesome, he replayed this conversation and how it would go a million times over in his head. So why did he feel so lonely?

He repeated affirmations to himself, saying that this was for the best. That you were a distraction. That he didn’t actually care for you.

Oh Sae, what a genius you are.

He praised himself in his head.

Sae had made a mistake, and he realised that months later when he had saw you with someone else posted up on your instagram.

Which he admittedly, pathetically, still stalked.

Someone who was just as average as you, lukewarm.

Not somebody who could give you grand gestures, or buy out restaurants for you.

Not someone who devoted all of his time to becoming and maintaining the title of best mid fielder.

Not someone who could get you anything with a flick of his wrist.

He was a normal human.

He didn’t buy you flowers

This man handpicked flowers for you, and you swooned as if it was the most romantic thing in the world.

And Sae couldn’t help but watch from his phone, the little stories you made together. Pictures of this man kissing what use to be his.

He remained expressionless.

But the grip he had on his training bag was unrelenting, honestly. He feels bad for how much he’s been abusing his poor bag. His fists threatening to bleed from how hard they were balled up.

His heart ached, which was weird. Because Sae was above emotions like this.

But, what could he do? He was the one who broke up with you.

So he gritted his teeth, and with legs that were suddenly heavier than any weighted plate, he walked off.

Stupid Sae. What an idiot you are.

made by nagiboo—do not translate my works !!

[imaginedanvrs]

atonement

masterlist

camp counselor!wanda x reader

word count: 6k

warnings: homophobia and homophobic slurs, conversion therapy, manipulation, gaslighting, references to drug use, unhealthy power dynamics (so rape), noncon to dubcon, cunnilingus, degrading, fingering, nipple play, size kink, general mean Wanda

a/n: me? posting blasphemous content on Easter Sunday? I would never

It looked harmless enough. You weren’t sure what you had been anticipating, mostly because you had been trying to keep your mind off of the unavoidable destination, but it certainly wasn’t the depressing place you had expected. No, they were smart enough to keep that reality away from the parents that dropped their ‘troubled’ children off. If anything, it looked like the kind of summer camp that a lot of your friends would be enjoying about that time. 

  There wasn’t a church for one thing. In its place was what appeared to be a ranch style house that had kept its traditional family features such as the pair of rocking chairs on the porch and the maintained flowerbed around the borders. On either side of the building, closing in the driveway, were several other intimate buildings that created the impression of a community style living. They were all decorated with various posters about god’s love and acceptance that you guessed you were going to be hearing a lot about during your stay. 

  Your mother got out of the car first as a man who looked like he was still being dressed by his own mum jogged over from the main house to greet you both. You clenched your grip on your bag strap before deciding to face the music and follow her lead, still examining the area sceptically as your mother and the man introduced themselves. Your mother failed to deliver the same excitement the blonde did, but she attempted to force it nonetheless while your hosts laughed easily at something she had said.

  You weren’t listening to either of them as you retrieved your other bag from the boot of the car, not expecting the man to walk around the other side to greet you. “Y/n!” He said like you were an old friend. “I’m Reverend Vision but you can call me Rev Vis.” You most certainly weren’t going to be doing that. “We’re so happy to have you here, let me give you the grand tour of our home,” he beckoned. You trailed behind them.

  “Do you live on site?” Your mother asked.

  “Oh yes, me and the Mrs. We love our work,” he drowned on and began guiding you through the various rooms of the two buildings either side of his house. The more you learnt about the place, the more you began to dread your stay. There were ‘entertainment’ rooms that were filled with musical instruments and religious books and music. A canteen area fueled by the kitchen in which all of the students were to prepare every meal. A prayer room that was deserted at that time. Finally, the dorms. 

  Vision wasted no time in searching through your bags for anything that could “interfere with your journey” and came up empty handed, much to his well hidden disappointment. Your mother didn’t seem to notice it, too focused on the contents that came out of your bag, but you saw the flicker of his brow when he declared you were all good and began explaining the long lists of rules that you had no intention of memorising. 

  “And we do not allow any kind of sexual acts, with yourself or others,” he said lightly. Your mother shifted uncomfortably and you nodded. You had no intention of being caught by him with your hands down your pants when he did his checks during the night. You didn’t anticipate being there long because you were fully prepared to fake your conversion to heterosexuality. How hard could it be? Besides, you dreaded to think how much your parents were paying the capm under the illusion that they could somehow change you. You had to find it humorous, otherwise it would really fucking hurt. 

  It still did when you watched your family car disappear past the camp gates and into the dense tree line. You sighed, resting your head gently against the cool glass of your window and took in the camp in its entirety. It was a waste of beautiful land, you concluded as you examined where the large field met the changing trees. There were a couple guys in the camp uniform playing football on the grass while a cluster of girls sat to the side cheering them on. Apparently you had caught the end of the game, because Vision appeared on the edge of the grass and called them back inside, most likely to prepare for dinner. 

  “Y/n,” a voice behind you called. You spun around at the unexpected caller just as she opened her arms and enveloped you in a tight hug that took you wholly by surprise. 

 “Hi?” You greeted as a question, making the older woman chuckle as she held you before pulling away and keeping her soft hands on your arms as she took you in and allowed you to do the same. Holy fuck she was beautiful. Her striking emerald eyes bore straight through your own and somehow had the ability to make you feel entirely exposed, as though it would be futile to ever conceal anything from her, including your undeniable attraction to her. In contrast, her smile was soft and polite as she gazed at you in a friendly fondness you would with someone you haven't seen in a long time. There was something noticeably comforting in it and the way she carried an entirely put together personar that you wanted a peek beneath. Metaphorically of course… but also literally. 

  “I’m Wanda, Vision’s wife.” Rev Vis was punching way above his weight. This woman’s voice was even hot. Maybe pretending to be straight would be harder than you thought. 

  “Nice to meet you,” you smiled and glanced away awkwardly, finding her impossible to maintain eye contact with. She didn’t seem to care as she hooked her finger under your chin and turned your head to keep your attention on her. 

  “I have every faith you’re going to do so well here, sweetheart,” she told you fondly then dropped her hand and took a respectful step back. Right, gotta leave room for jesus. “Your roommate will be back soon then you too should head down for supper,” she instructed as she headed for the door.

  “Okay,” you nodded and pretended to unpack your bags. 

  “See you later, honey,” she said before disappearing. You exhaled a breath you didn’t realise you had been holding and collapsed onto your bed. 

*

Your first day dragged by painstakingly slowly. Between meals, you attended bible study taught by Vision who gave you his extra attention as it was your first time there. He asked you to compare your own relationship with god to that which he was teaching, expecting an answer in front of all the other students who had been through the same ordeal and spotted your lies as well as Vision did. Apparently everyone did the same when they started at the camp. 

  You had kitchen duty in the morning and garden duty in the afternoon (which was probably the least crap one) before you had to sit down for what felt like hours to listen to Vision sing about god on a guitar he didn’t know how to tune properly. During every interaction you had with him, all you could think about was how he had ended up with a woman like Wanda. Had they been high school sweethearts? Had their parents pushed them together? Did he have some kind of twisted blackmail over her? They were the only three explanations that made any sense to you but you weren’t about to ask any of the other students for their input. 

  As it turned out, your daily routine was also going to include a one on one session with the older woman which should have been something to act as a silver lining in your stay, but it was the most challenging aspect of all. 

  “When did your desire for women begin?” She asked after some small talk.

  “I’m not sure,” you lied in an effort to buy yourself some time to think of a good response. She smiled at you softly.

  “You can lie to me, but you can’t lie to god,” she informed lightly. 

  “A couple years ago,” you replied honestly. This seemed to please her. 

  “And how did it manifest?” She sounded genuinely curious to know, lulling you into being unexpectedly open with her. It wasn’t as though you had anyone else to talk about that stuff with. 

  “There was a girl in my class that I thought was pretty,” you told her as you recalled your first real crush. “I felt more when she smiled at me than I did when I kissed a boy.” Wanda smiled as though she could see the purity of your memory as well as you could. Except to her, it wasn’t so innocent. 

  “The devil likes to work his way into places we could never expect,” she told you and your smile dropped. “Especially when we’re naive,” she added. It sounded as though she didn’t hold anything against you and she wholly believed you had been seduced by the devil himself and that it was impossible for there to be any other explanation. 

  “I was seventeen,” you reasoned. “I wasn’t naive.” Wanda liked the challenge you gave her. That whisper of a promised defiance gave her a thrill she knew to keep a cap unless she was required to use it. She would do anything for her beloved students to guide them back on the right path, especially one that wore the face of morality so well. 

  “And what do you mean by that?” Wanda enquired. 

  “I knew- I know what desire and attraction feel like,” you told her without looking her in those expectant eyes that unknowingly glimmered at your revelation. 

  “Lust,” Wanda said simply. “One of the hardest sins to resist when it affects one so physically.” 

  “Surely it can’t be bad if it’s natural,” you pointed out. That was not the response the brunette wanted to hear.

  “It is not natural,” Wanda said so quickly that she had to take a moment to recollect herself as you looked at her with shock as you took in that momentary crack in her exterior. It was interesting to watch and you wondered why it had hit a nerve. Surely you weren’t the only one to come into her office and state the fact. 

  “Y/n,” she called slowly. “If lust comes to you while you are here, you must come and tell me,” she told you seriously. Yeah, you definitely wouldn’t be doing that. You agreed obediently anyway. 

  “Good,” she smiled again. “Now, is there anyone you currently feel ungodly towards?” 

  “The same girl,” you admitted sheepishly. Yes, you had had a variety of other minor crushes in the past couple years, but she always managed to fill you with that teasing anxiety that never fully manifested when she said hi to you. 

  Wanda raised her brows indiscreetly. “I hope you will soon be able to give that same loyalty to god,” she said. You didn’t give her a response, unsure of what to say when you had no intention of doing such a thing. “In time,” she added when she saw your hesitation. 

  “Maybe,” you muttered, meeting her half way. “Won’t he love me regardless?” You painted the question with an air of innocence that anyone else would have fallen for. But Wanda saw beyond that and knew you used the faux front purely to challenge her again. She was impressed. 

  “Of course,” she told you gently. “Always.”

*

You thought you were being subtle with the way you kept glancing over at the couple. It was breakfast time so there was a general murmur of conversation that you didn’t feel particularly pressed to join in with. All it did was teach you to avoid sitting with the group you had found yourself with again because they seemed to be the only students there who were actively participating in the conversion with the belief it would ‘fix them’. You pitied them in a way, but not enough to interfere with their ramblings about their opposite sex celebrity crushes. 

  Wanda caught your eye on one of the many times you had peered over. Vision was talking to her but apparently she was as distracted from her company as you were, more fixed on returning your gaze. The corner of her lip twitched when you realised you’d been caught and you swiftly looked away to stare down at your cereal, actively keeping your wandering gaze on the other side of the room for the rest of the meal. 

*

“So what did you do to end up here?” A curly haired boy asked as he strolled into the kitchen you occupied alone. He was swinging a tea towel in his hands as he joined you and started on drying the washing up you had started. 

  “Got caught making out with the pastor’s daughter,” you said stoically.

  “You’re fucking with me,” he grinned and your composure cracked. 

  “Yeah, but it’s much cooler than the truth,” you told him honestly as he jumped up onto the counter. 

  “I’m sure it’s not that bad. My grandma walked in on me with my dick down my best friend’s ass,” he told you and you couldn’t stop the laugh that rose promptly. You grinned at the boy next to you in disbelief, thankful that your own luck wasn’t that bad. “Your turn,” he prompted. 

  “I told my best friend that I like girls. She told my parents,” you said humorously, as though it didn’t hurt like a bitch just to remember. 

  “I think I have better mates than you,” he concluded. You didn’t argue with that. “I’m James.”

  “Y/n,” you replied. “How long have you been here?”

  “Four months.”

  “What?” You splashed some water over the floor when your hand slipped in shock and James yelped when some drops hit him then started chuckling at the look you were giving him. 

  “What? Did you think it was only going to last a couple weeks?”

  “Kinda, yeah,” you muttered as you returned your attention to your chore. “Do you think you’ll be out soon?”

  “Nah, they know I’m bullshitting them. We all are, of course, but some of them can trick themselves into believing it, which is good enough for Vision.” 

  “Yeah, I know Wanda sees right through me,” you told him. “Which by the way, that makes no sense right?”

  “I reckon he’s holding her family captive,” James stated simply. You laughed with him easily, glad you had found someone like minded to you. “Hey, do you wanna get high?”

*

The nimble threads at the bottom of your uniformed cardigan were multiplying as your stay at the camp went by. Your fingers frequently found their way to them when you were uncomfortable, which was more often than not, and pulled at the finer threads until you unintentionally collected a small bundle in the palm of your hands that you had to hide. Vision never commented on it, but Wanda did, telling you that it represented your impulse to repress your femininity or some bullshit like that. 

  You left the threads alone and laced your hands together in your lap when she gave you a pointed look from her office chair and you muttered an apology. 

  “I’ve noticed you and James have become quite close,” she commented. “I must admit I was hoping you would find better company in some of the other students here. James doesn’t provide the best example to follow,” she told you. 

  “We’re just friends,” you shrugged, slightly irked that the older woman had a problem with the one refuge you had been able to find in the camp. 

  “Are you friends with anyone else here?” She questioned, not yet providing you the warm smile she offered every time you stepped into her office or saw her in general. She didn’t look happy that day. She looked troubled but you didn’t believe that was solely down to your decision to spend time with James. 

  “Not yet,” you told her even though you weren’t planning on expanding your social circle. Though if it was only two people it must be more of a line. Still, adding that unfulfilled optimism was meant to appease Wanda. You should have expected her to see it for what it really was. 

  “What do you and James talk about?” She wasn’t going to let it go.

  “Our lives, I guess,” you shrugged. 

  “Your experiences,” Wanda said for you. You knew there was no point in denying that when your glance towards her told her all she needed to know. 

  “Sometimes.” 

  “You should only discuss those topics with myself or Vision, otherwise you may end up having those experiences affirmed and encouraged,” she explained pointedly. You nodded uncomfortably as your fingers found their ways to your threads again only to snap back in place when you felt Wanda’s eyes momentarily burn into you. Something was very different with her. “So tell me what you discussed,” she pushed. 

  “I told him how much I dislike kissing boys,” you told her matter of factly as you tried to suppress your rising irritation. Maybe it was her job, but you hated her need to know everything you and James did. 

  “And you want to kiss girls instead?”

  “I want to do a lot of things with them,” you laid on the innocence thick, playing your role as the good christian who was simply admitting to how she had been led astray and just wanted to atone for her sins. As always, Wanda saw through your facade though that time it made her tick. You knew exactly what you were doing, you just had no idea the effect it was having on the older woman. You had no idea that your insistence on pretending to be good while knowing you were bad stirred something in her that she wasn’t supposed to feel. You were pushing those sinful desires that had infiltrated your mind right into her own and she wouldn’t allow it. 

  “That’s all for today,” she declared without giving a response to your statement. It hadn’t even been your full session time, maybe more like half of it. 

  “Okay,” you said slowly as you stood up. 

  “I suggest you spend the rest of your evening with your roommate today,” she told you as you lingered in the doorway. 

  “Right, bye,” you bid awkwardly, frowning to yourself as you walked away.

  The moment the door closed Wanda sighed heavily and leant back in her chair, catching sight of the framed photo of herself and Vision when they went on a hiking holiday in Colorado. The both beamed at the camera as they held each other close, though Wanda’s love for her husband had been as dim as it was in the present. But it was what god wanted. What god certainly didn’t want was for Wanda to allow her mind to wander to you in the way it had during that session when you had been taunting her with that faux naivety that everyone else seemed to fall for. 

  She had such hope for you when she first met you. But the images you had put in her head of her hand disappearing beneath your skirt as her lips clashed with yours, pinning you down to that very couch you perched on, that was something that could not be allowed to flourish, no matter how it made her throb between her legs. Wanda forced herself to stare at her husband’s image and remember when he used to make her feel that way, but those memories of his breathless features beneath her were replaced with your own and suddenly she couldn’t help but ponder what your sweet moans would sound like next to her ear as her fingers dipped inside-

  “Lord help me,” Wanda called, but he never came. 

*

You and Wanda both faced your own new challenges as the weeks went by. For you, your only refuge was gone. James had been sent back home randomly one night after an incident that no one would discuss with you. You had written your numbers on pieces of paper before that night, but it had disappeared as mysteriously as James had and gave you an equally chilling feeling. You had no idea what was going to happen to him when he arrived home without the results he had been sent away to achieve. Would they send him somewhere else? Somewhere worse? The only thing you could do was try not to end up like him. 

  Unfortunately, Wanda knew that nothing had changed within you. You continued to try and fool her with your illusion of innocence, reciting what Vision had taught you, socialising with the committed students and answering her questions in the way she wanted to hear rather than the truth. Little did you know that your efforts to quicken your release from the camp were futile, because Wanda simply didn’t want you gone yet. You were fighting a losing battle, just as she was. 

  As much as she despised to acknowledge it, the brunette fought her own desires as much as you did. It made her hate how much she was drawn to you. It made her ashamed of the acts she envisaged herself performing with you and how she just knew in her heart that you would so willingly part your legs for her. She wasn’t blind to your attraction to her, she had encountered it enough in her career to see it a mile away, no matter how discreet you thought you were being. 

  “I think I’m getting better,” you lied as you peered at Wanda cautiously. 

  “And what makes you say that?” The older woman inquired, humouring your plain fib. 

  “I don’t think about girls,” you said as you willed yourself not to look at Wanda’s long legs that were crossed eloquently. 

  “What do you think about?” You hadn’t been prepared for that. 

  “God?” Wrong. Obviously wrong. Wanda hummed and you knew that meant she didn’t buy it. 

  “Y/n, I want you to start being more honest with me.” You froze and didn’t dare look her in the eye. “I’m aware that you’re not progressing, so I think we should try something new. Just you and me.” You frowned and risked looking up to the confident woman, not having a clue of the excitement that manifested so secretly. “Are you familiar with penance?” You were, yet you had no idea where Wanda was going with it. 

  “There are many different forms. Some fast, some pray, some confess, but as we practise most of that here anyway, I want to try something else,” Wanda explained as she stood up from her chair and sauntered over to the desk in the corner of her office. You heard her rummaging around in the draws as a feeling of unease began to emerge in your chest. Rightfully so, because when Wanda turned back around, she held a riding crop firmly in her grasp. 

  “Stand up,” she instructed and you quickly did so as you eyed the tool in her hands. “Usually you would do this yourself, but I don’t believe you’re capable,” she explained lightly. “Hold out your hand.”

  “Wanda,” you said as you kept your hand glued to your side. “I don’t want to.” Her features were deceivingly gentle as she listened to you. 

  “I don’t want to do this to you either, sweetheart. It’s just the only solution. So hold out your hand,” she repeated, gripping the crop so tight you could hear the leather stretch in her grasp. It unsettled you greatly. 

  “But it will hurt,” you objected, eyes wide. Wanda could have laughed at how oblivious you were to her intentions.

  “It’s meant to,” she said simply and grabbed your wrist with a force that completely paralleled the softness of her tone. 

  “Wanda-” you tried to yank your hand back but you weren’t as strong as the brunette who only had to hold you with one hand while the other brought the crop down hard. 

  You cried out but Wanda used her grip on you to pull you flush against her chest, her features having turned ice cold. Her lips formed a straight line and her eyes pierced through your own with a sharpness that was usually dulled. The next words she uttered were void of that nurturing faith she used with everyone else and were replaced with something much darker. “If you keep struggling I’ll bend you over that desk and whip your ass instead.” You trembled against her, trying to decipher what your best bet was. When you took too long to decide, Wanda reached around and groped your ass, digging the crop in as she did so as though to make sure you knew she was serious. Your breath hitched as you found yourself completely trapped against the woman that squeezed you through your skirt. You whimpered, riling her up more until you nodded. 

  “Good,” Wanda exhaled, calming the heat she was struck with at the sight of your fearful eyes. “With every strike, you’re going to confess something you’ve lied about to me.” There were so many lies to choose from that when the first strike came, you struggled to pick one out. “Confess,” Wanda demanded, all of her patience suddenly absent. 

  “I don’t like boys, I like girls,” you admitted in a rush, refusing to look at Wanda or your burning hand that she struck again. “I’m not doing the work,” you continued. Wanda remained dissatisfied, striking your raw palm again and again as you admitted to your lies, none of which being what Wanda wanted to hear. 

  “I touch myself!” That was what she was looking for. 

  “Look at me,” Wanda instructed, examining the tear streaks down your cheeks as you whimpered. It was clear you were trying to appear strong and indifferent, but it was quickly becoming too much. The older woman cooed at you as dropped the crop to the couch behind you and took a hold of your inflamed hand, rubbing the abused hand with a tenderness that only made it burn more. 

  “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” Her smile had grown sinister and you realised you were nowhere near done. “What thoughts do you touch yourself to?” Wanda questioned further, rubbing the most tender areas of your palm. 

  “Lying with a woman,” you hiccuped, hoping the harmless phrasing could somehow ease your next punishment. 

  “Who?” She pushed, gripping your chin roughly and forcing you to look straight ahead at her as you confessed what she already knew. 

  “You,” you whispered. Arousal rushed to the forefront of Wanda’s mind, and with it came anger. You weren't allowed to make her feel the way you did. She had a husband and she was a faithful Christian wife until you showed up and infected her mind with your own illness. You had to be put in your place. 

  In a blur, you were laying flat on the sofa you had lied continuously to Wanda on. You were barely given the chance to react before Wanda hiked her leg over your chest and straddled you with a purely feral look upon her face. You felt a strike of fear hit you, however you also weren’t blind to how attractive Wanda looked in her state of desperation. It may have been a desperation to reclaim control and to punish you for her own feelings, but it was hot nonetheless. 

  “You’ve been tempting me ever since you got here,” she hissed, feeling under her conservative skirt for a moment before she lifted it up around her waist. “This is your fault,” Wanda told you as you soaked in the view of her exposed pussy just inches from your face. You could smell her arousal and when she moved to lower herself onto your awaiting mouth, you eagerly grabbed at the back of her thighs until she slapped you away. “You don’t get to touch me with those filthy fingers, just let me use you.” Although you knew it was terribly wrong, you felt your own cunt heat up at her instructions. You knew that it was fucked up that the married woman wanted to get off on riding your mouth, but you wanted it so bad. 

  “Just like that,” Wanda sighed as you ran your tongue through her wet folds and sucked on them lightly, aiming to savour every drop and inch of her. “Put your tongue out,” she continued to demand. As soon as you did, Wanda began to vigorously grind her clit against your muscle, allowing your tastebuds to become ablaze with her as she cursed above you. You had never heard her swear before and knew she would scold anyone who muttered anything close, so knowing you could elicit such a reaction from her made your insides twist with pride. 

  She didn’t argue when you switched to sucking on her pulsing clit and felt it throb in your mouth. You moaned against her as her movements continued and her thighs locked around her head. It felt as though she really was using you for her own pleasure, not caring about your own or any comfort. You were the shameful bliss she was forbidden to engage with, but it felt incredible to ignore her god and use you as she wished. But she was really disobeying him, she was just teaching you a lesson. It wasn’t really sinning. 

  “Fuck, don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop, you slut!” Wanda cried out as she became engulfed with the sensations you gave her. You had no intention of stopping as you shifted to pushing your tongue inside her. You were met by the tight squeeze of her walls and felt your own clench at the discovery she hadn’t had sex in a while. That explained why she was so sensitive too. Besides yourself, you smirked into the older woman and doubled your efforts. 

  It didn’t take long for Wanda to get close to the bliss she had become stranger to and you weren’t about to let her lose that. She knew her body, even after some time of depriving herself, and told you exactly what to do to get her there. “That’s it, that’s it,” she panted, head swimming as she erratically thrust herself onto her mouth and came with a sharp cry. You moaned against her, adamant on tasting your reward as Wanda trembled on top of you and eventually forced herself off when you didn’t stop. She wasn’t about to let greed overcome her. 

  You looked up at her with a hesitant smile that was apparently the last thing Wanda wanted to see. She glared at you and immediately lifted you up and spun you around so that you were leaning over the armrest on the sofa, not allowing you a second to object. “What-” you tried but she didn’t want to hear it. 

  “We’re not done,” she said without care as she lifted your own skirt over your back and yanked down your soaked underwear. She bit her lip at the sight of the wetness that stained them and threw them over to her desk for safe keeping, definitely not to sniff and use to get off later. 

  “Desperate whore,” she muttered to herself as she ran two fingers through your drenched lips. “You want to get fucked so bad? I’ll show you what it’s like to get fucked.” She let the threat loom over you as dipped her digits into you lightly, barely enough to stimulate you but enough for her to decipher how tight you were. Wanda groaned when she felt you clench in anticipation, desperate for any touch you would give her. At that, she let the remains of her self control slip away and thrust her fingers in at once. “So tight,” she commented as you clung onto the sofa, moaning at the feeling of her filling you up in the way you had dreamed ever since you first met the older woman. 

  “Wanda,” you whined when she spread her fingers out within you to push your walls. 

  “Shut up,” she hissed, refusing to listen to your pathetic pleas on the tip of your tongue. “Take it.” And you did. You bit into the couch to mute yourself as Wanda curled and thrust her fingers inside your wet cunt, mapping out every inch of you and pushing your body’s limits. She added a third finger without any consideration to your stifled whines. 

  Wanda, as she told herself, was only doing it to hurt you and punish you. You deserved it for sinning so openly in her home and for attempting to corrupt her. It wouldn’t work, she convinced herself, she wouldn’t succumb to your lust but she had to show you the right path. She had to make you ache. With that in mind, she added a fourth finger and pumped her fingers in wildly. 

  You cried out into the material you sunk your teeth into, feeling your pussy sting at the stretch Wanda was causing. Still, you continued to soak down to her palm. It just hurt so good. Too good for Wanda to allow, so she snuck her hand under your shirt and bra to take your nipples between her fingers and twist them cruelly. You whimpered at the unnecessary act, making Wanda grin triumphantly. 

  Despite the pain, it did little to distract you from the heat between your legs that was quickly growing out of control. Having stretched you out as much as she pleased, Wanda was able to thrust her fingers inside you without mercy, attacking every sensitive nerve until you became a mess on the sofa she was meant to therapise you on. “You going to cum for me, whore?” Wanda asked when she felt you twitch around her. You mumbled a yes you were lucky she heard. “You’re so pathetic like this, so weak to temptation,” she scolded you with a wicked smile you couldn’t see. “Cum for me.” That was all it took for your muscles to clench tightly around her and let go. You moaned like the whore she saw you as as you came, gripping onto the sofa for dear life as Wanda continued to ruthlessly pump her digits into your cunt. 

  “Too much,” you whined when she failed to stop. She didn’t listen. You came down from one orgasm and soon went tumbling into another when Wadna kept up her actions, making sure to drive her point home. You squirmed under her as your body became overstimulated but there was no room or strength for you to move away. “Please!” You begged as you bucked into her palm, unable to stop the contradicting action that served to amuse Wanda. 

  “So sensitive,” Wanda mused, coaxing you through another orgasm until she deemed that the message had gone through enough. You collapsed in a defeated heap as she stood up from the sofa and corrected her uniform as though you weren’t even there. You missed her taking her tainted digits into her mouth to appease her curiosity. Lord, she thought as she tasted your sweetness. She swiftly pushed away the impulse to keep you down and taste your sweetness directly from the source. She had to keep things professional after all. 

  “See me first thing in the morning,” she instructed, features still flushed with lingering lust. She had given into temptation and whether she liked it or not, she would indulge in you again. You weren’t going home anytime soon.

[muletia]

✧˖° 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐃𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐌𝐈𝐍𝐆 — 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐕𝐄

mer!optimus x human!reader

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐎𝐍𝐄 // 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑

word count: 4800

You're not sure how much time passes before you regain control over your body. Time slows down, stretching like overcooked noodles, giving you a chance to escape, which you’re currently unable to take.

The only thing your body knows how to do at this moment is freeze more efficiently than the cold, wet stone beneath you. To go completely still, allowing the merman to win the reflex race, giving him a perfect opportunity to devour you whole. You almost expect teeth as sharp as machetes to sink into your soft flesh with the ease of a knife sliding into a stick of butter forgotten on the counter.

The feeling from yesterday returns, from your first encounter. That disgusting, paralyzing anticipation of being eaten alive.

But this time, you look your killer straight in the eyes. Tired, yet gentle eyes, unique white pupils branding their burden into the folds of your brain, just behind your eyes.

They're beautiful — you think, because your heart, pounding like a jackhammer, drowns out every other thought. He’s beautiful, all of him.

And enormous. Only now, experiencing his size up close, do you truly comprehend what that means. His face alone is as long as three-quarters of your entire body.

Serene, yet unmoved. Melancholic, yet joyful for some reason that brings him delight. Full of contradictions, just like his entire existence is to the human concept of what is known and safe.

Majestic is a good word. No other could capture what he truly is to a fragile human.

But he’s also a threat. A killer and an apex predator. And most of all, he’s far too close to you — a creature with nothing to defend itself, surviving only by his mercy. And even though the fact that you’re still alive continues to surprise you in a good way, it doesn't change the status quo that has reigned on this planet for billions of years.

He is an apex predator, and to survive, you must maintain your distance.

The reptilian part of your brain jolts awake as another powerful breath from the merman plays at being your hairdresser, sending your hair fluttering backwards.

Screw that suitcase, screw everything. You have to run. Now!

At last, you regain control over your body. You cut the invisible strings spun from fear and controlled by the merman, and you do what you should’ve done the moment you made eye contact with him from such a close distance.

You scream and flee.

Though… it’s hard to call it a "flight" when it’s more like rolling backwards off the rock and falling flat on your back into the shallow water. Liquid swallows your dry clothes whole, and with it comes a rush of strategic clarity, finally allowing you to fully wake up. Suddenly, all your senses are tuned to every rustle, every movement, and every scent. The splashing of water behind the rocks in front of you and the worried chirp reach your ears as if they’re coming from inside your brain.

This time, you don’t freeze like a deer in headlights. You spring upward like a loaded spring just as the merman blocks your view of the horizon. He braces himself with his arms against the rough surface of the rock, miraculously not crumbling it under the weight of his power. His face is worried, tinged with concern.

Maybe he does look friendly, maybe he really was worried you’d hurt yourself from the fall, but that’s not enough for you to feel safe when such a fragile distance still lies between you. You scramble back in panic, not daring to look behind you, which sends you landing on your butt again, this time not in water, but warm sand, clinging to your clothes like breading on a chicken cutlet. An unpleasant sensation, but you’d rather suffer through that than feel the merman’s teeth sinking into your flesh.

A gentle, guttural chirp escapes him. Soft, leaving you with no illusions that he had any intention of pouncing on you in a moment of weakness. He only pierces you with his gaze, scanning your body for… wounds? Scratches? You’re not sure, but you can guess when he slumps down flat against the rock, pressing his chin into the stone’s hardness. No longer a towering mountain holding your fate, but a quiet hill — an observer trying to seem as harmless as possible.

You look at him for a moment, still unsure what you're supposed to do in a situation like this. And he looks back at you, white pupils relaxed, covering a greater portion of his azure iris. In the distance, you hear a soft splashing sound, like behind the rock he’s lying on, but that’s not what concerns you most right now.

“You didn’t eat me,” you say, still not fully believing that this is what reality looks like.

The merman gently raises his head, letting you know he’s listening closely, even if the meaning of the words is blurry to him.

“You could’ve attacked me,” you continue, unsure if you're speaking to him or yourself “Eaten me when you had such a good chance. But you didn’t, did you?”

In response, you get only a confused chirp.

Of course. You’re not going to get anything meaningful out of him.

You blink a few times. You’re alive. You are alive.

Suddenly, you want to take a huge, deep breath. To fill your lungs to the brim, which you do. But you can’t quite bring yourself to exhale and lie down on the sand, basking in the relief of still having your limbs intact. One moment of not being turned into a toothpick isn’t enough to convince you to lower your guard.

You run a hand through your greasy hair, tugging gently at the roots near your scalp, and glance back at the merman, still comfortably perched on the rock. Unlike you, his gaze is focused solely on one thing.

On you.

You should take a page out of his book if you want to survive. Maybe this time he chose not to eat you, but that’s not enough to earn anyone’s trust.

But you are alive. You felt his warm breath on your face, got closer than your comfort zone should ever allow, and you managed to survive.

A complicated string of clicking sounds snaps you out of your moment of survival celebration. The merman watches you with concerned eyes, the fins on both sides of his head pressed tightly to his body. You can only guess what he wants, too many potential questions or requests racing through a mind you still don’t fully understand.

So you shake your head and say, “Nope, we still don’t understand each other.”

He tilts his head slightly, then sighs subtly, deciding to scan you once again from head to toe, down to your uncomfortably soaked shoes.

Is he… worried about you?

But why would he be?

You watch him for a moment as he crosses his forearms, returning to that elegant, relaxed pose, trying in vain to decipher his intentions. Until, between wild theories, a small but crucial thought pops into your mind.

The suitcase!

You idiot, how could you forget?! A cold shiver slides down your entire spine, and the hair on your forearms stands on end.

The suitcase…

How are you even supposed to get it back now? Shit, what if the merman crushed it with his body?

No, you don’t even want to think about it. You’ll kill him with your bare hands if that happens. The suitcase has to be intact. Now you just have to figure out how to reach it…

You lean side to side, trying to spot the familiar gleam of metal between the rocks, but the merman’s body is so massive, it blocks your entire field of view. Honestly, it’s a miracle he even fit in that "gap," the sides of his gigantic tail pressing against the rough, uneven rock walls on both sides.

It didn’t look comfortable...

The idea of how to get what you want without having to get any closer to the merman hits you like a speeding truck.

"Erm," you begin, a sudden, unexpected shyness momentarily paralyzing your ability to express yourself. The merman, however, offers a faint smile, encouraging you to continue even if he has absolutely no clue what you're trying to say. "Could you, uhh, could you move back a little?"

You ask the crucial question while simultaneously stretching your arms out in front of you, elbows bent, and pushing them forward a few times, making it fairly clear what you want him to do.

For a moment, he just stares at you, analyzing the message. His scaly black brows furrow, revealing the mental gears turning inside his crest-adorned head. And then, at some point, his smile… disappears. It’s replaced by sorrow, a tinge of hurt, emphasized by a single pathetic, raw chirp — the kind you’ve heard countless times when he called out to you.

But this one carries a different motivation in its tone. He didn’t like the idea of moving?

Still, before you can label the attempt at communication a failure, the merman rises on his arms and gracefully pushes himself backwards, the scales along his tail scraping coarsely against the rock. The mound of his massive, living body shrinks and lowers until it's level with the water. The splashing that marked his movement subsides. The sound of waves kissing the shore drowns out any further clues as to what the merman is doing now.

You don’t waste time, not this time. You immediately scramble back onto the rock closest to the untouched suitcase, screw the scratches and the blood, and stretch your arm out as far as it will go like you’re trying to rip it out of its socket.

No luck.

“Shit,” you mutter, helplessness mixing with rage.

You’re ready to swim for it, to plunge into the merman-infested waters just to finally reach your cornucopia, when the merman’s head rises from the water a few meters behind the suitcase, his nose hidden below the surface.

You freeze, but this time the shock doesn’t last. Oh no, we are not going through the same bullshit again.

And yet… suddenly, the idea of bathing in salty water no longer sounds as inviting as it did just seconds ago. You try again under the merman’s watchful eye, but your third attempt also ends in failure.

His head lifts higher now, revealing his entire face, pearly drops of water carving slow trails over scarred skin. Once again, that same concern greets you, punctuated by a dimmed click.

You sigh furiously, fist pounding against the rock’s surface as you glare — first at the merman, cursing his presence, then at the suitcase. You almost start cursing the fact that you ever even noticed it, because so far, it’s only brought you frustration and trouble, if not for the fact that your anger is too layered to direct at just one creature. It’s not like you won’t manage to get the suitcase into your arms eventually. You will, today even. The real problem lies in patience — an iceberg melting with every second spent without that precious find.

Summoning the last of your determination, you try once more, but when you almost tumble into the cool, crystal-clear water, you're forced to give it a rest for a moment.

The merman looks from you to the suitcase before clicking a few times, the intonation hinting at a question you can’t begin to answer. His sharp, thick claw pointing at your mystery box doesn’t help.

Your complete lack of response prompts the merman to shorten the distance between you, and for a split second, you’re sure he’s about to snatch the suitcase and dive back underwater. Cold sweat trickles down your lower back, but thankfully, your paranoia never becomes reality. The merman surprises you by holding out the suitcase to you on his outstretched palm like it’s nothing heavier than a pebble.

“Okayyy,” you mumble. “Thanks?” and grab the find. The merman instantly increases the distance between you again, though he still stays close.

You had mentally prepared for the struggle of taking the suitcase, for a sudden weight dragging your entire body into the water, but your body betrays you anyway when you nearly let the prize slip right back into the sea. The merman stirs, ready to help, but somehow you manage to handle it.

Clutching the heavy suitcase to your chest with both arms, you slide off the rock, impatience, and the need to see what’s inside urging you on. You ignore the scratches, the wet shoes and underwear, the splashing, the scraping of scales behind you, and drag yourself onto the beach.

You give the suitcase a moment of freedom only when you reach dry sand, where you drop it carelessly, ignoring a curious chirp from behind. The world narrows to just the suitcase. But not for long. The moment you open it, it expands across hundreds, thousands of kilometers.

Oh, it was worth the risk of a close encounter of the third kind. Your recklessness and stupidity finally paid off.

The first treasure to greet you upon opening the suitcase is a bottle-green towel. Wet and stinking of saltwater, but you wouldn’t dare complain. You’ll take anything that’s in there. The towel, as it turns out, is heavy and very thick. You toss it to the side, aiming it toward the brush to keep it from getting caked in sand. Deeper inside, clothes catch your eye. All sorts of Hawaiian shirts, each at least three sizes too big, shorts, a few pairs of boxers and socks, and flip-flops, again, too big to be of real use. At the very bottom of the pile awaits a massive hoodie. Perfect for colder nights… not that you’d ever need it.

You swallow down all your pessimism when it’s finally time to check the small black toiletry bag. Your smile dims slightly when your eyes land on a proudly labeled “3-in-1” dark bottle of shower gel, but then you remind yourself you have no right to complain. And really, there’s no reason to, not when you see the toothbrush.

Never in your life have you felt such overwhelming, almost euphoric relief at the sight of a plain toothbrush. True, its absence had only started bothering you this morning, but still finally, something to scrub the fruity candy off your teeth.

Inside the bag, you also find nail clippers, a razor, and sunscreen. The razor has a blade. If you manage to break it apart, you’ll have a makeshift little knife. The excitement cools when you realize how small the blade is. It’s mostly good for slicing leaves or painfully slow, inefficient fish gutting. Meat’s useless without fire, and you’re not sharpening a few sticks without slicing yourself open in the process. And that’d be the end of your survival chances.

But your good mood returns the moment your eyes roam back across your other finds.

“I can get clean,” you say aloud, your eyes instinctively searching for a listener.

In this case, the curious merman, lying on the same rock as before.

“Get that? I can finally clean myself, ha!” you declare, still grinning.

In response, you receive a happy, soft trill.

“I know it’s dumb ‘cause you won’t understand anyway, but thanks, seriously. For handing over the suitcase, I mean. Heh, now I’ve got something to brush my teeth with.”

“Assuming you’ve got some fresh water around here,” your enthusiasm dips at the thought of digging through bug- and spider-infested vegetation in search of drinkable water, but for now your mood is too good to be spoiled. “Thanks again.”

The merman churrs cheerfully, a sound eerily similar to the ones you’ve heard tigers make in random internet videos. Behind his rock, you once again hear soft but rapid splashing.

Maybe it’s the excitement, the sheer joy tied to the suitcase, but suddenly the merman doesn’t seem so terrifying. Suddenly, he looks friendly. Endearing, even. Genuine.

Still predatory and monstrous, but also gentle. Contradictory, just like everything about him.

He invites a response to his contented smile, and you give it, watching for a moment as his eyes widen and the fins at the sides of his head perk up in brief surprise, before his large, webbed hands begin to knead the air in that same delightfully odd way he was kneading the sand this morning.

"Pfff," you let out a soft laugh under your breath.

Okay, fine, he could be cute. You're not sure what his behavior implies, or why he overreacted to such a simple gesture from you, but suddenly, the aura of dread, of sharp claws, teeth, and Herculean strength melts away.

It gives you hope for greater freedom. The possibility of moving around the island without fear that a single wrong step will lead you straight into his stomach. It’s just the seed of warmth in your chest, a foretaste of autonomy while you await rescue, but it already makes you feel lighter.

Clinging tightly to that feeling of lightness, you stuff the saltwater stinking findings back into the suitcase, zip it up, and grab the handle to drag it back to your temporary base. After taking a few steps, and hearing one confused, slightly pleading chirp the siren seems to follow you, which proves to be true when halfway there you catch sight of his head poking out from above the restless waves.

Soon the suitcase joins the lonely life vest and untouched fish. You carefully spread all your wet clothes out on the grass, choosing the sunniest spots you can find. The ones least battered by seawater you drape over your shoulder, along with the heavy towel, and shove your toothbrush, toothpaste, and that damned 3-in-1 shower gel into your hands.

You glance over your shoulder, searching the horizon for the outline of ships or planes, but the only thing you see is the siren’s massive body blocking the view to infinity. His face twisted in a silent plea that… what? That you stay with him? Won’t go where he can’t follow?

But why, for what, what’s the reason? Why has he become so fixated on you? Loneliness? Madness?

His need for contact unnerves you, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t feel a faint twinge in your heart, especially after how helpful he’s been to you.

But it’s not enough to convince you to stay.

You search the distance again, looking for the shape of ships. Still nothing. No sign of civilization.

For the last time, you hold eye contact with his large, sorrowful eyes. Then disappear into the foliage.

After one too-close encounter with a tarantula, walking into a branch you spotted too late, and two stumbles over overly well-hidden dry roots, you finally manage to find your source of fresh water. A small, shallow pond with remarkably clean water, freshly fed by a timid little waterfall, small, but quite tall just begging to be explored later.

You resist the urge to drop to your knees and gulp down water like there’s no tomorrow, the remnants of your common sense manifesting as a faint, quiet voice reminding you that drinking still water is a bad idea if you ever want to sleep in your own bed again. With the last shreds of self-control, you manage not to make one of the most basic mistakes a castaway can make, congratulating yourself for not being a complete idiot.

The thirst gnaws at you, but you find the patience to take off your sneakers and socks, then your clothes and underwear, before stepping into the cold water. You shuffle towards the waterfall, the deepest part where the water only reaches your knees, and waste no time catching the falling water in a cup formed by your hands. You silence your remaining doubts, and at last, your taste buds remember what water is supposed to taste like.

You drink greedily, filling one hand-cup after another until your throat stops begging for more, refreshing you with an overwhelming sense of comfort. You stand under the waterfall for a while, letting the water do its job and wash away the dirt, sweat, and tears.

The effect is immediate. suddenly, you no longer feel disgusting. You’ve regained a piece of what was taken from you, a sliver of normal life you plan to cling to for as long as you possibly can.

You close your eyes, and the sound of running water becomes indistinguishable from the one you’ve heard a million times while taking a shower. You mentally return to that exact moment, though you feel as if it’s not water droplets touching your skin, but tiny icicles, irritating you with their chill.

Maybe you just wanted to freshen up after an exceptionally hot day? The AC broke for the third time this week, so you were forced to take a cold shower just to feel human again. Mhm, that’s exactly what happened.

Unfortunately, you’re not allowed to enjoy this comforting illusion for long. Just as your mind starts to believe everything’s okay, the safe little bubble is pierced by the siren’s sorrowful yet beautiful singing. Similar to the melody he unknowingly treated you to during your first encounter, but you could swear it’s different now, more clicks in the “verses,” a shift in tone. As if he changed the incomprehensible words, creating a new song.

The sadness returns, along with your compassion for the siren, for the grief and bitterness carried by his song, but also for the loss of your own peace and quiet. For feeding yourself lies that everything’s fine, all to preserve your fragile human mental health.

But nothing is really fine, is it? And nothing will be until you make it safely home, no matter how poor it is, infested with cockroaches, with broken AC and dangerous neighbors. Maybe you’re no longer confined by four walls of civilization, seduced by freedom from fast, consumerist life but what does it matter, when the freedom you’ve been offered is nothing but an illusion?

“I want to go home,” you whisper again, though the cold water no longer bites as harshly as before.

When the siren finishes his song, you try to return to your safe little bubble. You squeeze your eyes shut tightly, letting your thoughts drift to the refreshing feeling of a cold shower on a hot day. And for a moment, you really are in your bathroom. Familiar and safe.

Until the siren starts singing again.

You only have enough strength to hug yourself tighter before stepping out of the flowing water and moving to the very edge of the pond, standing naked on the wet moss. You’re not exactly keen on polluting your possibly only source of drinkable water with chemicals from your shampoo.

You use very little, squeezing out just a drop onto your open palm to catch a mere hint of real freshness, and lethargically, using only as much water as you can gather in your hand-cup, you wash the shampoo from your body. You brush your teeth the same way — conservatively and away from the pond — but the effect of such a simple act is overwhelming.

The Hawaiian shirt hangs off you and the excess fabric of the boxers and shorts has to be tied in a tight knot so they don’t fall off your hips. But it’s still better than wearing the same underwear for the third day in a row. The implication that these clothes likely belonged to a now-dead person gets shoved deep to the back of your mind.

Following the symbols carved into the trees, you return to the campsite. You’re not surprised by the sight of the beached siren, nor the smile heavy with relief he gives you. Or the sweet little clicks that still make no sense.

What breaks the illusion of routine is the fish he holds in his hand. It seems bigger than the one he caught yesterday, and the one still lying on the sand from today. Its scales are a different color too, shimmering yellow and gray in the last rays of the setting sun.

At first, you assume it’s his dinner. Granted, the fish still looks comically tiny in his huge hand, but maybe among fisheaters it’s considered a snack? That’s at least how you try to justify the fact that he bothered to catch it at all.

The siren quickly proves you wrong. As it turns out, after laying the fish on dry sand, patting it a few times, and retreating safely back into the ocean, several good meters away from his catch, it’s neither a snack, nor a bite, nor dinner.

“For me?” you ask, pointing to yourself.

The siren’s nod cuts off your breath halfway to your lungs.

“But... why?” you point to the earlier offering “Thanks, but I haven’t even eaten the last one yet.”

You can’t stand the moment of heavy silence.

“What exactly is this about?” you ask, deciding to accept the gift, sticking to the plan of not pissing off the creature that could kill you with a flick of its fingers “Why are you being so nice? Do you have some kind of motive behind all of this?”

No answer.

Only when you place the fresh fish next to the one you received this morning does the siren inch a little closer, still keeping a distance you’re comfortable with. He watches you with hope, glancing back and forth between you and the fish, but when you don’t meet his expectations, he sighs heavily and returns to what he’s been best at so far: looking majestic and elegant.

“Sorry, but I’m not eating it raw,” you explain as if he could understand you. “Let me know when you find me a pocketknife, then we’ll talk.”

That’s where your tangled, primitive conversation ends.

The rest of the day drags on painfully slow. Aside from going out to fetch dinne r— namely, two papayas — worrying that your fruit supply is vanishing a little too quickly in your stomach, giving the siren your papaya peels again (whom you should probably leave alone with the remains once more), drinking a coconut, and going for a refill of fresh water stored in its hard shell, you accomplish nothing remotely groundbreaking.

Watching the sea and sky for ships or planes before night swallows the horizon ends in miserable failure, leaving you overwhelmed by a longing you can’t seem to shake. And even though you managed a successful interaction with the siren, scored a clean change of underwear, and found a source of drinkable water, you still don’t feel victorious.

Because so what, if this wasn’t your home?

You’re still stranded on a deserted island. Hungry, exhausted, worn out.

You’ve had enough.

The siren chirps softly in distress when he hears your sobs, but all you can manage is to turn your back to him. Your entire body shakes as the crying drains the last of your energy, until your mind finally escapes into darkness. Even in your sleep, you taste the salty sting of tears on your tongue.

This time, you wake up knowing exactly where you are. There’s no illusion of rushing to work, no mental calculation of how many sacred minutes of peace remain before the devilish sound of the alarm rips you from bed.

You wake up hungry and tired, like you only closed your eyes for a few minutes in a quick nap, rather than finishing a whole day to carefully regenerate for the next one. The salty stench of fish hits your nose, and the sound of waves, still calm for now, shakes the grogginess off you. You’d love nothing more than to sleep a few more hours, hoping to recover from the fatigue, but you know you can’t afford such a luxury. What if you miss a ship gliding across the ocean? Or a small plane searching for that one castaway?

Finding the last bits of strength, you slowly push yourself upright, brushing grains of sand out of your hair that snuck in during the night.

I’ll have dreadlocks soon, you think bitterly, failing to comb through your hair with your fingers.

Then you hear an unusually loud breath coming from the beach and you react with cheetah-like speed, immediately flattening yourself back against the ground. Your heart races as your brain processes the signal of a possible threat, heart lodged in your throat, but the panic doesn’t last long.

It’s just the siren. He’s far from you, he won’t hurt you — you calm yourself.

But spotting familiar shapes beside the siren makes your pulse spike again, this time from excitement.

You step out from behind the bush, now free to observe the beach and freeze.

The siren beams when he sees you, flaring his fins and smiling wide. He greets you with a low, morning chirp, but your brain doesn’t have any room left to register the sound.

Because right in front of him lie two large suitcases.

[cosmicourple]

toot toot‼️‼️‼️‼️ Another A.U Idea!1!!!1!11!1 (heavily inspired by witchofthesouls writing 😚) :

,,,

during Six Hundred Strikes, it turns freaky at the end AKA Odysseus rides the fuck outta’ Poseidon. Everything else after that go’s the same, w/ Ody’ returning home n reuniting with his family, Happily Ever After.

uhhhhh, yeah- except, a few days after reclaiming his title of King, Odysseus is visited by Zeus, who’s been intrigued by this Mortal and all he’s survived + surprisingly unashamed at wanting a piece of the action after witnessing the embarrassed stiff state The King got his brother into,,,, so obviously, like most encounters w/ Zeus, it results in them going at it in a Forest of Ithaca, before Zeus fucks off after said good fuck 👍. Intending to come back 4 more hehehaha now he’ll suffer from the Crippling Obsession of Mortals :33

After a long & agonising recovery, Poseidon storms up to Ithaca, absolutely enraged about what has happened. That Little Shit of a Mortal daring to Power Bottom him after using his own fucking weapon to fucking mutilate him, THEN LETTING HIMSELF BE CLAIMED BY HIS BROTHER!???!?!!!!?!?!? This will NOT stand.

But as he emerges from the seas depths to drown the island along with its wretched king, Poseidon stills because. Because- the inhabitants are gone. Ithaca had been abandoned, stripped of all it’s valuables and left behind,,,

You could hear the grass swaying in that silence.

Poseidon was going to fucking break that bastard. Lmao in more ways than ooooooone haha new side 2 obsession awwwwakeeeeeeeeeened—

iiiiiiiif— he could find him first :).

Him & the entire fucking population of Ithaca.

Cut to seven years of bafflement on what has transpired, confusion on where everyone could of possibly gone, intense wrestling w/ obsessive n certain feelings towards this fucking Lil’ Guy, more confusion as The Ocean, Land & even the bloody Underworld are practically ripped apart to try and find where the fuck The Population of Ithaca could of gone off to.

Normally, The Gods never rlly cared about such an obsessive search, but when an entire fucking society just. Disappears out of nowhere. With absolutely no warning, explanation or any trace of what happened. You start to become very keen to involve urself with such a noticeable event.

For seven years this went on, Humanity also becoming keenly aware of the shift in atmosphere that surrounded The Gods, how they have become Extremely Restless and more Physically Present.

It’s an adjustment, but they get used to it.

Once, seeing Zeus steadily zip across The Sky in a humanoid form, swirling clouds & crackles of electricity shifting around his Divine Body would of been a breathtakingly rare sight of telling something important was happening,,,, now. To be blunt, not many care anymore.

Seven years of tension, worry + some existential retrospect, and then finally.

Poseidon isn’t sure how exactly he found them, maybe The Fates had finally decided to let up on this oh so cruel trickery, or maybe it was The King Himself who weaved this Mysterious Illusion that hid His People, letting it fall down for whatever reason…

But there they were,,, a fleet of strangely designed ships, bobbing along the waves gently, trusting The Winds fully with their aimless course,,,

The Ships were like homes, a neighbourhood, the sounds of day to day lives flowing through the air, merged with the shouts and commands of maintaining said Floating Homes,,,

There were platforms of various sizes connecting some of The Ships, complex looking, with people on them, doing various things that were lost to The Sea God,,,

For his gaze had zeroed in on a platform near the very back, certain sounds of two children playing having caught his attention,,,

His Divine Sight found the little forms of the children, most likely twins, and he felt their squeals of excitement roar over the breeze and the sounds of everything else as he gazed upon them,,,

It seemed his ‘encounter’ with Odysseus had not been without consequences. Nor had his brother’s, bitter as it was to think

Yes, he knew who they were almost right away. Youngest Heirs of Ithaca, Twin Children of King Odysseus, Demigod Children.

One, a boy, ran around the wooden surface, shrieking happily as he chased his sibling, eyes a thundering gold, hair a ruffled mess of curly, spiky and jagged all at the same time and a smile big and potentially insufferable if smug spread on his face…

The other, a girl, also giggled loudly as she speeded away from her brother, both of them running around in a never ending circle, teeth sharp and grinning wide, bright blue eyes focused on the boy, watching gleefully as he pursued her yet never managed to reach.

There they were, his children.

why not claim Both of them as his ? all that matters is that their His..

Yet when he went to converse with them and as they stared at him with big unbothered eyes, watching like stunned canine pups— as he explained who he was to them, laughter filled the air,,,,,

“You’re not our father!”

“Our father is called Odysseus!”

“And our mama is Queen Penelope !”

What. No, they’re his, are they blįnd ?—

“Pśűıțħâ!! , Ħëľíġą!!! , čømě ħęřæ Ÿœũř Fäþħēř īş Wäįťıñğ—-

[s0s1mple]

By Your Side — Nishimura Riki

Random Prompt:

“You can think of me as like… your unpaid bodyguard.”

Random Member: Ni-ki

TW: general yandere behavior, violence (not towards reader), monopolization

Masterlist

Ni-ki was popular. Not popular in the sense that everyone walked up to him and struck up a conversation like they’d known him forever, but popular in the way that people around him looked at him like he was untouchable. Like he was above them, somehow, mysterious and cool and just a bit too intriguing to ruin the mystery by asking about anything below the surface.

So they didn’t. They crowded around him but never got too close, never ruined the illusion that had them whispering amongst themselves about what the handsome heartthrob was actually like. They had an image in their head and they wanted to maintain it.

In a lot of ways Ni-ki was ok with that. The attention from girls was nice, even if he didn’t really care for their hushed giggles sometimes, and the aloof atmosphere he carried kept him out of touch with guys just a tad too eager to gain some of his appeal.

But that the same time, it got boring. Annoying. Here he was in his own bubble with nobody attempting to genuinely see him. To approach him and learn without hoping to get something out of him, whether status or romance.

But then you transferred in.

You didn’t know about him, didn’t understand the dynamics in their little school. Even when others mentioned him to you, you were more confused than anything as you side-eyed him. And you were friendly, almost overly so, doing your best to make friends with everyone even if they weren’t the most receptive. And really, most of them weren’t. Hierarchies were important here, and you were at the bottom. How dare you try to talk to them, they thought.

But as a side-effect of that you actually talked to him. Plopped down next to him in class, grinned, and waved. Asked about his favorite subjects, his family, his favorite snacks and animals… When he said a puma because others said he reminded them of one, you just giggled and said you thought a duck fitted better.

Ni-ki was smitten. You were a breath of fresh air, a way out of the bubble he found himself in, a change to the monotony. So he flocked to you. Found you whenever he could, talked and listened and, when you were busy talking to someone else less receptive than him to your friendliness, looked over your shoulder. If these people weren’t going to appreciate your earnest efforts, then he was all too happy to send them scurrying at his cold glare.

You eventually figured out his little habit of warding off unsavory people and rounded on him, brows furrowed as you protested. You wanted to make more friends, you said, painfully oblivious to the angry glares you got for being Ni-ki’s favorite. Ni-ki just shrugged, lips curling into a sly smile.

“Aw come on…” He chuckled, leaning down to your level. “You can think of me as like… your unpaid bodyguard!”

He took that label seriously. He followed you around, his mere stare keeping nasty passive aggressive comments at bay. He wrapped himself around you whenever he could, resulting in giggles and squawks of disapproval from you, all to keep those few, few people looking to pursue you away. They didn’t deserve you, after all. His presence constricted, pulling tighter and tighter as greed rose up inside him, the idea of monopolizing your time even more appealing by the day.

And when the girls, finally fed up with you stealing him from them, isolated you and began tearing at your hair behind the gym? Ni-ki was right there, pipe in hand and sneer on his face. Down went one, another trying to take off only to trip and get caught, the third screaming out before they were silenced.

Ni-ki straightened up with a huff, wiping the crimson from his brow, and slid his gaze to your form. So small, so shaky, your eyes wide as you looked up at him. He grinned that usual calm, cool smile that drove the school wild.

“Alright. All taken care of.” He breathed, waltzing over. You flinched back against the wall, cowering the more his shadow covered you. Ni-ki cooed and crouched down to your level, tilting his head. “That must have hurt, right? You tried to be nice to them… shame they didn’t listen.”

“Y-you- they’re-“

“They’re dead. And you’re hurt. We should get you to the nurse, get your scalp checked out.” Ni-ki reached out and groomed a hand through your hair, lips pursed. He clicked his tongue at your flinch, preferring to chalk it up to the pain the girls had inflicted, and gently hauled you to your feet.

“Why?” Your voice was so small. Ni-ki draped an arm around you, pressing you under his arm and reveling in the warmth, the fluttering in his chest.

“Told you I’d protect you, didn’t I?” A nuzzled cheek against the top of your head. “You’re too trusting you know. But don’t worry, I’ll always be here to look after you.”

Glad ppl seem to be enjoying, but I’m sad my Jay piece only has like 5 likes compared to everything else :( promise it’s good too!

[recoveringsoulsposts]

Being a 4B Woman is so easy because Men offer little to no value to Women’s lives

Being 4B is so easy as a woman because men do not offer much value to women’s lives

Let’s say a heterosexual couple decides to go 50/50. You will inevitably end up adding far more value to his life than you will receive in return.

Women typically end up doing the majority of:

• Domestic labor

• Acting as a therapist + Emotional support

• Managing pregnancy, childbirth, and breastfeeding (which cannot be split 50/50)

Women will inevitably become the default parent while still being expected to look beautiful, maintain an attractive appearance, and keep up with societal standards. So even in a 50/50 financial arrangement, women are not truly experiencing equality.

As a result, you’ll end up performing most of the “traditional feminine” roles while also contributing financially by providing 50% of your income. How do women benefit from this arrangement? While there are some couples who achieve a true 50/50 split, they are the minority. Most women end up doing a “double shift” — working their paid jobs and then handling the majority of household duties due to ingrained stereotypes. Studies show that women perform 70% of household chores even when they pay 50% of the bills.

Now, let’s consider a traditional heterosexual couple where the man is the provider:

• You’ll be expected to handle all the housework, cooking, cleaning, and domestic chores.

• You’ll be responsible for all childcare and emotional support.

• Pregnancy, childbirth, and child-rearing are entirely your responsibility.

• You are expected to be available for sex at all times because you are supposedly “privileged” to have a provider man.

• You must maintain an attractive appearance, staying in shape, and being visually appealing.

Essentially, you’re expected to act as a servant in exchange for what? For a man to “provide.” But what do you actually gain? Aside from room and board, what are you truly receiving in exchange for all the services you provide? If you were to outsource every service that women provide, a man’s salary likely wouldn’t cover the full cost of your labor. Even without this provider man, he would still need to work, earn a living, and maintain a home. So your labor is subsidizing his lifestyle.

Furthermore, there are inherent risks to being around men — even basic safety is a factor. Remember, one woman dies at the hands of a man every 10 minutes. Women are at greater risk of being harmed by their own husbands. There is always a chance the man you are with may be addicted to pornography, video games, or consuming harmful “red pill” propaganda that teaches males to manipulate and mentally abuse you. Men are often not worth the hassle or the investment, especially when they put your psychological well-being & life at risk.

The reality is that most men lack the looks, height, or wealth to even demand half of what they expect from women. Women have historically been forced to perform all these roles without any reciprocal return on investment (ROI). Women are being exploited in relationships with men. Women who still want to be in relationships with men and if they still choose to engage with men, they should demand more, do less, and prioritize themselves. Women are the prize. Men are the ones who struggle to be alone, who crave women’s attention, and who pay for services like webcam interactions and OnlyFans just to experience a connection with women.

Marriage and relationships with men typically decrease women’s quality of life. Men are often parasitic, siphoning women’s energy to build themselves up at the expense of women’s livelihood and well-being. Men live longer when they are with women, benefit financially, experience more success, are happier, and gain stability. The same cannot be said for women. The constant push for marriage and romance is because, without the illusion and intangible experience of “love,” men have little to offer women that is genuinely valuable. Without this idea of love, women have no reason to stay in relationships with men.

The dynamic between men and women is parasitic, when you have men who expect women perform the majority of domestic work, emotional labor, and support for men in relationships, which is actually unnatural when we consider how most species function in nature. Typically, it is males who must prove themselves to females, if they want a chance at reproduction. Patriarchal societies have flipped this natrual system by positioning men as the dominant gender for centuries, by making women dependent on men for survival. Without this dependence, men offer fuck all to women.

. There’s an actual ROI in having a career, being focused on education and money. Being with a man and having children is a 24-hour job. It never stops. ALL RISK, NO REWARD. If men want to be in relationships with women, they must make themselves useful. Most males are a burden and are to obnoxious and entitled to realise they are not worth the risk or hassle of adding all these responsibilities to women’s lives. If you meet a “unicorn” — a genuinely equal and supportive partner — that’s great. But RARE. But for the vast majority of women, males are simply not worth the cost.

Women who are 4B are making the most logical decision for themselves which is completely understandable.

[swiftiethatlovesf1]

Chasing the Rookie

Heyy guys, I hope you enjoy this one-shot of Kimi x reader.

If you want to read more stories of mine, here's my masterlist.

There were few things in life that surprised Max Verstappen. He could read a racetrack like a book, outmaneuver champions without blinking, and maintain ice-cold composure even when chaos erupted on the radio. But there was one thing he hadn’t prepared for—me setting my eyes on Kimi Antonelli.

The new golden boy from Italy. All wide eyes, soft curls, and that shy energy that made me feel like I’d just unwrapped a gift every time he stammered in my direction.

It all started at the Red Bull motorhome in Bahrain.

Max had invited me for the weekend, under the sweet illusion that I’d just quietly sit through free practice and sip my iced coffee in the hospitality suite like the "well-behaved little sister" he thought I was. Instead, I was scrolling through Instagram when I noticed a tall, nervous boy, fiddling with the cuff of his race suit, nodding like he was trying to memorise everything Max was saying. Helmet under one arm, eyes down, and posture like he wanted to disappear into the ground. Rookie energy. Shy energy.

Max waved me over.

“Hey, come meet Kimi. He’s new. ”

I tucked my sunglasses into my hair, stood up, and made my way down the steps. My heels clicked with purpose, hips swaying slightly—yes, I played the part well.

When I reached them, Kimi looked up. Soft features. Pink cheeks that flushed immediately when I smiled.

Hooked.

I held out my hand. “So, you're the famous Kimi everyone's whispering about.”

He swallowed and took it gently. “I—uh, I don’t think people are whispering.”

“Trust me, they are,” I purred. “It’s the shy ones who get talked about the most.”

Max rolled his eyes. “Ignore her. She’s a menace.”

Kimi blushed deeper. “I, uh, I don’t think she is.”

I smirked.

Game on.

Over the next few races, I made sure I was always around. Not in an obvious way. I wasn’t going to spook him. But I was there in the paddock, sunglasses on, perfectly styled hair, a look of innocent curiosity that Max couldn’t quite decode. Every time Kimi walked past, I’d catch his eye, smile just a little too long, maybe brush his arm “accidentally” as I squeezed past in tight corridors.

Max once caught me winking at Kimi across the media pen. He muttered, “You’re a menace.”

And I was. Especially when I realized Kimi liked it. He just didn’t know how to handle it.

He’d flush pink when I touched his arm, fumble with his sentences when I sat too close, and once — when I complimented his hair — he dropped his phone on his own foot.

“I think you enjoy making me nervous,” he said once, almost accusingly.

I leaned in, whispered, “Only because you’re cute when you blush.”

His face turned bright red.

At one point, I leaned against the Red Bull garage wall after qualifying and said, “If I were in your place, I’d be focusing less on corner entry and more on how good I looked in this dress. Don’t you agree?”

He had sputtered, eyes wide. “I—y-you look… good. I mean, very good. But I—I was focusing! I—”

I just laughed and winked. “Relax. I like it when you stammer.”

Kimi didn’t stand a chance.

Max, oblivious to most of it, thought I was just being my usual chaotic self. But Kimi? Kimi saw me. Every time. His eyes would flick to mine in team briefings. His shoulders tensed whenever I entered the room. His hands trembled when I passed him a coffee—because I always passed him a coffee. Black, two sugars. Just how he liked it.

One night, after the Barcelona race, the drivers gathered for a low-key dinner at a rooftop bar. Max had gone to take a call. I found Kimi leaning against the balcony railing, looking out at the city lights.

“Beautiful view,” I said, stepping beside him.

He nodded, not looking at me. “Yeah. It’s… peaceful.”

I tilted my head toward him. “I wasn’t talking about the skyline.”

He glanced at me, clearly flustered. “Y-you… always do that.”

“Do what?” I asked innocently.

“Say things that make me—make me feel like I’m the only one in the room.”

I leaned in, close enough that our shoulders touched. “You are the only one in the room, Kimi.”

He turned to face me fully, nervous and soft and real. “Why me?”

I smiled, fingers brushing his. “Because you blush when I tease you. Because you try to hide how kind you are. Because you don’t realize how magnetic you are, and I find that… utterly addictive.”

He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t know how.

So I helped him out.

I kissed him.

Slow and deliberate, lips lingering just enough for the electricity to sink in. When I pulled back, his breath hitched.

“I’ve been wanting to do that since Bahrain,” I whispered.

“You—you did?”

“Mm-hm,” I said, biting my lip. “You’re mine now, Kimi. Sorry, I don’t make the rules.”

He blinked, stunned, then—finally—smiled.

We kept it quiet. Mostly because Max would freak out. He still thought Kimi was a sweet kid who needed protecting from the media — not from me.

But the more time I spent with Kimi, the more I started letting my guard down.

He wasn’t just adorable and awkward.

He was smart. Loyal. Funny in that understated, dry way. He sent me silly texts after press conferences and remembered how I took my coffee. He wasn’t flashy — but he meant every word he said.

And for someone like me, who was used to running circles around boys who only wanted one thing, Kimi was… refreshing.

He wanted me. All of me. And he didn’t try to tame me. He just held on.

Max found out at Silverstone.

He walked into the Red Bull motorhome and found us kissing behind the team truck. (Rookie mistake.)

He shouted.

Kimi froze like he’d been caught stealing the Mona Lisa.

I just smiled. “Max, you remember Kimi.”

Max turned purple. “Are you kidding me?”

Kimi straightened, trying to be brave. “I care about her. I didn’t mean for it to happen, but it did. I’m not messing around.”

Max stared him down for what felt like ten years.

Then, with a long sigh, he muttered, “You better not screw this up. Or I’ll end your entire career.”

Kimi nodded. “Understood.”

Later that night, I climbed into Kimi’s car and kissed him like the world was ending.

“I can’t believe you stood up to Max.”

“I was more afraid of losing you.”

I stared at him, heart thudding. “You won’t.”

Now, whenever Kimi walks into a room, he looks for me first.

He still blushes. Still stammers sometimes.

I had him.

But more importantly?

He had me.

And for once, I didn’t mind playing by someone else’s rules.

[velarisdusk]

Beneath the Vines

Lucien Vanserra x Reader

word count: 6.7k content: [ explicit sexual content, sex pollen (so, dub-con), unprotected PIV, public sex (forest setting), language, rough sex, biting/marking ] summary: Seeking refuge from court politics in a secluded part of the forest, Lucien meets a female from the Summer Court searching for a hidden spring. He offers to guide her, but their journey takes an unexpected turn when he comes into contact with a mysterious pollen... author's note: this idea has been cooking in the back of my mind since i finished the first book back in december, so i'm happy to finally share it :) writing some of his lines and the narration had me swooning i love him your honor ✦ . Masterlist . ✦

Lucien let out a long breath as the sounds of the court faded behind him. Sunlight filtered through the leaves, dappling the forest floor with warm patches that shifted in the gentle breeze. He closed his eyes, focusing on the soft rustling of branches and distant birdsong. It was rare to find such quiet moments, free from the constant dance of court politics and expectations. As the tension in his shoulders slowly eased, Lucien allowed his thoughts to wander, no longer needing to guard every expression and word. 

His brow furrowed as he mulled over the latest reports from their border scouts. Hybern was growing bolder, their movements more frequent and less concealed. He’d tried to discuss it with Tamlin, but the High Lord seemed more concerned with maintaining the illusion of peace, instead focusing his people and efforts on the upcoming Calanmai festivities. 

A twig snapped beneath Lucien’s boot as he began to pace. Rumors were swirling through the courts. Whispers of Hybern’s king sending one of his most cunning generals to Prythian. Amarantha, they called her. The name tasted like ash on his tongue. 

He paused, leaning against a tree trunk, its rough bark grounding him. How long could the Spring Court afford to turn a blind eye? How long before the fragile peace between the courts shattered under the weight of this looming threat? Lucien’s gaze swept across the peaceful forest, so at odds with the turmoil in his mind. He’d seen firsthand how quickly alliances could shift, how devastating the fallout could be. This time, he vowed silently, he’d be prepared. Whatever storm was coming, he’d do everything in his power to ensure Spring weathered it. 

His ears pricked at the sound of rustling leaves, followed by the snap of a twig. In an instant, his posture changed from relaxed to alert. His hand flew to the dagger at his hip, drawing it in one fluid motion as he spun towards the source of the noise, russet eyes scanning the brush.

A figure emerged from behind a large oak, and Lucien found himself face to face with a female High Fae. She froze, eyes wide, clearly not expecting to encounter anyone else in this secluded part of the forest. Lucien’s grip on his dagger loosened slightly as he took in the unexpected sight before him. The female stood there, clearly startled, holding a woven tote bag over one shoulder. Her hair flowed slightly in the wind, and she wore a sheer, cream-colored crochet cover-up that did little to conceal the black swimsuit underneath. The ensemble was revealing for a trek through the forest. 

“Sorry to interrupt, kind sir,” she said sarcastically. “Just passing through.”

Lucien raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at his lips. “You’re going the wrong way.”

“How could you possibly know that? You don’t even—”

“You’re looking for the spring, right? It’s not that way.” He gestured to his left, far ahead. “It’s hidden, and not in the direction you were headed.”

She crossed her arms, clearly skeptical. “And you know this because…?”

Lucien chuckled softly. “Because I’ve spent more time exploring these woods than I’d like to admit.”

She started walking off in the direction he signaled, and he jogged a bit to keep pace with her. “I can show you the way, if you’d like.”

After a moment’s hesitation, came a shrug and a nonchalant response. “Alright, lead the way then.”

He didn’t try to hide his smirk at her casual demeanor. 

As they fell into step together, he couldn’t help but notice the graceful way she moved across the uneven forest floor. He broke the silence after a moment.

“You’re not from the Spring Court, are you?” he asked, his tone light and teasing. 

Her lips formed a small smile. “Is it that obvious? I’m visiting from the Summer Court. I heard tales of the hidden natural springs here and couldn’t resist seeking them out,” she replied. “And the heat wave made the idea of a cool spring irresistible.”

Summer, he mused. She had a brightness about her, a warmth that seemed out of place in the cool shade of the forest.

He chuckled. “Well, you’re in for a treat. Just beyond those trees over there, through the vines. I must admit, Summer, you certainly know how to find the most intriguing places.”

She glanced at him with a raised eyebrow. “‘Summer’?”

He grinned, a playful glint in his eyes. “Seems fitting for a female as radiant as yourself.”

An eye roll failed to hide the smile tugging at the corners of her soft lips. 

“I’m Lucien,” he said, extending his hand with his palm up. 

She hesitated for a moment before placing her hand gently in his. “(Y/N),” she replied, her eyes meeting his with a spark of curiosity and amusement. 

“A pleasure, Summer,” Lucien said, his voice low and smooth. He lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a soft kiss across the back of it.

She laughed, a melodic sound that seemed to blend with the sounds of spring around them. “Nice to meet you too, Lucien.”

He lingered for a moment, their hands still lightly clasped, before finally releasing her. “Shall we?” he asked, a smile playing on his lips, his eyes twinkling with intent. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

Their conversation flowed easily as they walked, with Lucien pointing out various plants and sharing tidbits about them.

“What’s this one?” she asked, pointing to a vibrant blue flower.

“That’s moonbloom. It only opens at night, used in sleeping draughts,” Lucien explained, pleased by her interest.

“And that? The tree with the silver bark?”

“Whisperwood. The Court’s best instruments are carved from it.”

Their exchange continued, with Lucien sharing more about the flora they passed. Eventually, he turned the conversation to her.

“Tell me about the Summer Court. I’ve spent some time there, though I suspect there’s always more to learn.”

“It’s vibrant and full of life. There are endless festivities, stunning beaches, and exquisite food. I may be biased but of all the courts I’ve visited, Summer definitely has the best cuisine. People are already preparing for the solstice even though it’s barely March.” A soft sigh. “But… the constant activity, the heat… it can be a bit overwhelming.”

Time seemed to slip away as they walked, the forest around them a lush backdrop to their discussion. Eventually, they reached a curtain of vines hanging between two ancient trees. 

Lucien stepped forward gently parting the greenery. A fine, glittering pollen dusted his hand as he brushed against the vines. He blinked, momentarily disoriented by a sudden rush of warmth through his body, but he attributed it to the day’s heat. 

"After you," he said, holding the vines open with a slight bow, trying to shake off the lightheadedness.

Amusement and appreciation danced in her eyes, accompanied by a warm smile as she stepped through the vines. Lucien followed, letting the vines fall back into place behind them. As they walked, a sweet scent filled his senses — warm vanilla mingled with honey and a hint of sea salt. He found himself inhaling deeply, drawn to the aroma.

As they rounded a large boulder, the spring came into view, its serene beauty unfolding before them. The sight before them was breathtaking. A lush, verdant oasis spread out in a natural amphitheater, encircled by towering trees draped with cascading vines. The milky white pool at the center was fed by a small, delicate waterfall, its gentle cascade a soothing murmur that filled the air. Vibrant moss cloaked the surrounding rocks and tree roots, forming an ethereal green expanse that stretched to the water’s edge. Exotic flowers in vibrant hues dotted the landscape, their colors a stark contrast to the predominantly green surroundings. Above, the canopy formed a natural dome, with sunlight filtering through the intricate patterns of leaves, casting a magical glow over the alcove. 

"It's beautiful," her words were hardly more than a breath, eyes widening in genuine awe as she tentatively stepped deeper into the sanctuary.

Lucien nodded, his gaze drawn between the spring and his companion. "The minerals in the water give it that color," he explained, his voice taking on a rich, velvety quality that surprised even him. He cleared his throat and leaned against a tree, arms crossed. He watched as she  set her woven tote bag onto a nearby rock. Reaching over her shoulder to unfasten the tie of her cover-up, the delicate fabric slipped off her shoulders, revealing soft, smooth skin. The way the bikini she wore fit every dip and curve deliciously. His breath hitched as his russet eyes lingered on her, watching her with an intensity that surprised him. 

Flip flops discarded, she dipped a toe into the water, a shiver running up her spine as the coolness contrasted with the warm air. “Oh, that’s refreshing,” she murmured, taking a tentative step into the spring.

The water was unlike any she had ever felt, a soothing mixture of cool and silky, enveloping her in a comforting embrace. She fully submerged herself, the refreshing sensation washing over her as she disappeared beneath the surface. When she emerged, droplets of water clung to her skin, shimmering in the sunlight. 

A warmth spread through Lucien’s veins, his pulse quickening as he watched her. The way the sunlight played on her skin, highlighting the gentle curves and the elegance of her movements, captivated him. His thoughts grew hazy, his usually sharp focus dulled by the inexplicable urge to be closer to her. His gaze traced the line of her neck, watching as the breeze gently lifted strands of her hair. Every subtle shift, every graceful motion seemed to draw him in further. The serene pool and vibrant surroundings had practically faded, leaving only the mesmerizing vision of his Summer Court visitor before him. 

His…?

Lucien shook his head a bit, a useless attempt to rid himself of the growing intensity of his thoughts. It had to be the heat, it was getting to him. 

“You look hot,” she said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

Lucien blinked, momentarily flustered as he took in the way her wet hair clung to her, the bathing suit now a shade darker and clinging to her curves. She looked exquisite, the milky white water droplets glistening on her skin like tiny jewels. “So do you, Summer,” he replied, a playful smirk forming on his lips.

She laughed, the sound like a light, bubbling brook. “I meant you’re dressed too warmly for this weather. Why don’t you join me and cool off?”

Lucien felt a rush of heat that had nothing to do with the weather. He forced himself to move slowly, deliberately, as he began to undress. His fingers deftly unfastened his tunic, revealing a chiseled chest and toned muscles beneath. The sunlight filtering through the leaves cast tantalizing shadows across his skin, highlighting every ridge and contour. 

As he shrugged off his tunic, he noticed the sticky pollen coating his hand. He tried to rub it off onto the fabric, but it clung stubbornly to his skin. He frowned slightly. No matter, it would come off in the water. 

He continued undressing, kicking off his boots and undoing his belt, letting it fall to the forest floor. As he slipped out of his trousers, now standing in just his boxers, he couldn’t help but notice her eyes following his every move.

Lucien caught her gaze and held it, a slow, knowing smile spreading across his face. He had been watching her watch him the entire time, a fact she only realized when she tore her eyes away from his body and looked up to meet his gaze.

With deliberate grace, he stepped into the water, the coolness a stark contrast to the heat bubbling beneath his skin. The spring’s translucent white waters swirled around his calves as he waded deeper, his eyes never leaving hers. 

He finally submerged himself, the water rippling around him as he moved closer to her. “Better?” he asked, his voice low and intimate, the playful smirk returning to his lips.

She felt her pulse quicken, the sight of him, all muscle and smooth confidence, stirring something deep within her. “Much,” she replied, a smile playing at her lips. 

They floated together in the cool water, the soothing embrace of the spring relaxing their muscles. Lucien watched as she dipped her head back, letting her hair float around her like a halo. She closed her eyes, a look of pure bliss on her face.

“This place is incredible,” she said softly, her eyes still closed. “I can’t believe it’s real.”

Lucien smiled, his own tension easing in the tranquil atmosphere. “It’s one of the Spring Court’s hidden gems. Not many know about it.”

Her eyes fluttered open, meeting his with a flicker of curiosity. “How did you find it?”

He shrugged, moving closer. “I stumbled upon it years ago, during a particularly stressful time. This general area of the forest has been my escape ever since.”

They fell into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying the peaceful surroundings and the coolness of the water. Lucien felt a tingling heat spreading through his body, no longer the gentle warmth of before. His thoughts kept drifting back to the female in front of him, the way her skin glistened with water droplets, to the curve of her lips when she smiled. He wanted to feel those lips.

He tried to push the thoughts aside, but the more he tried to ignore it, the more intense it became, his desire for her was becoming harder to control, the need to touch her, to feel her against him, was almost overwhelming. 

“This spring is said to have unique properties,” he continued, his eyes lingering on her face, her eyes, her lips. “Some say that bathing in its waters can bring good fortune, or help with one’s artistic talents.” He chuckled softly. “But others speak of it being enchanted in a more intimate way.”

This provoked a turn of the head and a raised eyebrow, curiosity peaked. "Well, I never cared much for fortune, and I’m a sorry excuse for an artist,” she laughed softly. “So what have you heard? About the intimacies of the spring?” An almost knowing smile graced her lips. 

He swallowed, trying to cover it up with a nonchalant shrug. “They say,” he began, slowly, “that the waters can awaken one’s deepest desires. Enhance one’s… physical urges.”

She smirked at that. “Sounds to me like whoever came up with that got to this spring already horny,” she laughed. At the shit-eating grin on his face, her laughter grew infectious. “Oh, shut the fuck up,” she said, playfully shoving his shoulder.

But the touch was searing. He hissed, a jolt of electricity shot through Lucien’s body, his skin burning where her fingers made contact. His pulse quickened, and he felt a raw, primal need flare up inside him. The laughter faded, replaced by a charged silence. Every muscle in his body tensed as he struggled to keep composed. 

“Lucien?” Concern laced her voice. She reached out for him, but he flinched away from her touch, bringing his hands up to stop her. Hurt flashed across her face until she noticed… “What’s that on your hand?”

She reached out again, but he pulled his hand back, glancing at the sticky pollen coating his skin. Suddenly, it clicked. He knew what this was, had heard tales of its effects but had never encountered it personally.

“It’s… it’s this pollen,” he said, his voice tinged with embarrassment. “It must’ve been on the vines at the entrance. I can’t believe I didn’t put two and two together…”

A mix of curiosity and concern filled her eyes. “What does it do?”

Lucien took a deep breath, trying to steady himself. He could hear his heart thrumming in his ears and wanted nothing more in that moment than to throw himself at the female mere feet across from him. “The pollen is known to,” he pauses with a sigh, choosing his words carefully. “It causes arousal, an intense arousal, making it almost impossible to think about anything else. It heightens every sensation, makes my skin feel like it’s on fire whenever you touch me.” She could see his chest rising and falling more shallowly, could hear his breaths coming more rapidly, could see his pupils dilate each time he looked at her. He hesitantly added, “The only way to get rid of its effects is through… physical intimacy.”

Her eyes widened slightly, understanding dawning on her. “You mean…?”

He nodded, though his regretful expression barely concealed his longing. “Yes, but don’t concern yourself. This isn’t your problem to solve,” he said, his voice strained yet resolute. “I’ll return home and find a way to… handle this. You’re under no obligation here.”

Lucien’s jaw clenched, clearly struggling with the pollen’s effects, but his eyes remained steady. “I apologize, it was careless of me not to recognize the signs sooner.”

With that, he turned, moving to exit the spring and retrieve his clothes. The cool water swirled around him as he took a step, but he felt a hand grasp his bicep, halting his retreat. The contact sent a shockwave of heat through his body, as if her hold would be permanently marked on the flesh there. His muscles coiled tightly beneath her touch, and he had to force himself to contain a whimper that threatened to escape his throat. Every sensation was amplified, transforming the simple gesture into an exquisite torment. He glanced back, his eyes darkening, surprise giving way to raw, unadulterated need. 

“It’s not such an inconvenience,” she said softly, her gaze meeting his with an intensity that made his skin prickle with anticipation.

His eyes widened in surprise, but she rolled hers, a playful smirk forming on her lips. “Don’t act so surprised, Lucien.” His name on her tongue sent a jolt of arousal through him, and he only realized now how painfully constricted his cock was. “It’s obvious I want you, and I think you wanted me even before the pollen?”

He nodded, swallowing hard. “I did. I do.”

Her smirk turned into a gentle smile as she reached out again, tracing a finger down his chest. “So let me help you.”

Lucien’s body tensed, caught between desire and restraint. “Wait,” he said, his voice husky. As he spoke, his hand dipped beneath the water, fingers flexing unconsciously. “You should know… I’ve managed to control myself thus far, but if we continue…” He paused, swallowing hard, his voice dropping to a low, strained growl. “Once I feel you, I won’t be able to stop.”

His fingers curled into a fist underwater. Most of the visible pollen had washed away, leaving only faint traces on his skin, but its effects still coursed through his body. The cool water did nothing to dull the rush of his blood pumping in his ears. With a barely perceptible shake of his head, he refocused on her, his eyes full of want. 

“The pollen… it’s mostly gone now,” he managed, his breath nothing more than rhythmic, short pants. “But it’s like it’s under my skin, in my blood. I can feel it everywhere.” He unclenched his fist, watching as the last remnants of the pollen dissipated into the vast pool, now diluted and rendered harmless. “You won’t be affected, but I…” His eyes bore into hers, desperation in his voice as he spoke, “I’m burning for you, (Y/N).”

With a tender smile, she closed the distance between them. Her hands cupped his face, thumbs gently caressing his cheekbones. Lucien's breath caught in his throat, her touch igniting sparks beneath his skin. His hands remained steadfast on the large stone submerged beneath the water behind him, as though touching her might shatter what fragile self-control he had left.

"It's okay," she whispered, her breath ghosting over his lips. "I've got you."

She leaned in, pressing her lips to his with exquisite softness. The kiss was slow, deliberate, a stark contrast to the fire raging within him. Lucien's eyes fluttered closed, overwhelmed by the sensation. Even in the cool water, heat radiated from his skin, and where her lips met his, it felt as though he might combust.

She drew back slightly, placing feather-light kisses along his jaw, then down his neck. Each touch was like a brand, marking him, stoking the flames of his desire. Seeing his hesitation, she gently guided his trembling hands to her waist. The sensation of her bare skin beneath her fingertips sent a shiver through him, and he instinctively bucked his hips against her, a long, deep whine escaping his lips like a plea. The sound shot straight to her core. 

"(Y/N)," he breathed, her name a prayer on his lips. 

A mischievous glint sparked in her eyes. “Not ‘Summer’ anymore? I was starting to think you’d forgotten my name,” she spoke against his neck.

Lucien’s gaze was unfocused, looking at the vines on the other side of the spring, pupils dilated as he struggled to process her words. His breath came in short, ragged pants, and a fine tremor ran through his body. “Forget your name?” he murmured into her ear, his voice hoarse. Each word seemed to cost him great effort, as if speaking required immense concentration. “Darling, it’s the only word my mind can form right now.”

His fingers tightened on her waist, seeking an anchor as the world around him seemed to blur, leaving only her in sharp focus.

The gentleness of her actions was both a balm and a torment. His body screamed for more, for friction, for release from this exquisite agony. Yet he found himself surrendering to her pace, allowing her to lead him through this intoxicating haze. 

She returned to his lips, deepening the kiss ever so slightly. Lucien responded with a low moan, the sound vibrating through both of them. The gentle waves of the spring embraced them, their cool touch contrasting with the heat building between them, intensifying every sensation.

Without breaking the kiss, Lucien’s hands tightened on her waist, subtly guiding them towards a shallower part of the water. He felt the solid presence of a smooth, submerged stone beneath him and sank down onto it, pulling her closer. She straddled him, her legs on either side of his, pressing her body against his so deliciously that he couldn’t help it when his hips bucked up hard against hers. She gasped in surprise, the sound mingling with their shared breath.

“I’m sorry, I—” he began, but she silenced him by grinding down onto him, her movements deliberate and slow, a wordless reassurance that sent yet another pulse of need crashing through him. His mind spun, every point of contact between them sent his nerves into a frenzy. Her skin felt like silk under his fingers, warm and inviting. He let his hands roam, tracing the curve of her back, feeling the subtle shift of muscles beneath her skin. The way she moved against him, the soft gasps and moans escaping her lips, were a symphony that played directly into the hot coil within him. His hands wandered further, exploring every inch of her, committing the feel of her to memory. He caressed her sides, ran his fingers along the edges of her swimsuit. His touch was gently yet firm, reflecting his reverence for her as well as the uncontrollable hunger that coursed through him. 

But it wasn’t enough. The burning within him grew fiercer with each passing second. He needed more, craved more. The sensation of her grinding against him was driving him to the edge of sanity. It was sweet torture, the ache of unfulfilled need becoming almost unbearable. Lucien’s breaths came in ragged gasps, his body screaming for more, for release — demanding it. The longing was a physical pain, a fire that consumed him from the inside out. 

“Please,” he groaned, his voice rough and low, a powerful undercurrent of desperation threading through it. “I need more, (Y/N). I can’t take it… I need you.” His eyes locked onto hers, a fierce determination in their depths, even as his words pleaded for relief. His grip tightened on her waist, guiding her movements with urgency and restraint, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. “Please,” he repeated, his voice a pained rasp. 

“You need me?”

A single, tense nod.

She looked up at him, her eyes reflecting the same need. “Then take me,” she whispered back, her voice trembling with anticipation.

Lucien captured her lips once more, much more hungrily this time, their bodies moving together in the water. Her hands raked over the expanse of his back, nails lightly digging in. She relished the feel of his muscles tensing beneath her touch, the warmth of his skin under her fingertips. Every contour and ridge of his body seemed sculpted for her hands alone. The power in his frame, the way he responded to her every touch, sent a thrill through her. Her hands wandered, exploring the strong lines of his shoulders, the firm muscles of his chest, and the tautness of his abdomen. Each caress was deliberate, savoring the sensation of his body and the way it reacted to her. 

Lucien's breath hitched as her hands moved lower, feeling the hard planes of his stomach, tracing the edge of his waistband. Her touch was both curious and confident, a gentle exploration and bold possession. 

With a low groan and little thought, Lucien's hands moved to her bikini top, tugging it up just enough to expose her chest. He sucked in a sharp breath, only taking a moment to admire them before descending upon them, his mouth eagerly finding her exposed skin. He left a collection of red and purple marks across them, and she couldn't help but hum softly at the sensation.

Smiling, she pulled the bikini top the rest of the way off, tossing it to the shoreline. “Impatient, aren’t we?” she remarked, her voice breathless and not nearly as teasing as she’d hoped it’d be.

Lucien looked up at her, his eyes so different than when they’d first encountered each other not an hour prior, a smirk playing at his lips. “Only for you,” he murmured before his mouth returned to her skin, his kisses hungry and possessive, leaving a trail of marks across her chest. He shifted slightly, the water lapping at his chest. Her fingers traced idle patterns on his shoulder, not ceasing the movement of her hips. 

“You’re trembling,” she whispered, concern evident in her voice.

He straightened, catching her hand and bringing it to his lips. “It’s unbearable. Every touch, every breath…I feel like I’m burning from the inside out.” He swallowed hard and brought her hand to the nape of his neck, leaning into her touch as if it were a lifeline. 

“Are you sure this is helping…? Maybe we could try—”

“(Y/N),” Lucien interrupted, his eyes wild and craving. “Doing anything but this would destroy me. I’ve never felt anything like this before, but I know… I know that I need you. All of you. I need to feel every inch of you against me.” His gaze locked onto hers, pupils dilated. “Your touch,” he choked out, “is both torment and salvation. I crave it like I crave air to breathe.” Lucien’s hands trembled as they moved to her hips, urging her closer. His fingers splayed across her skin, desperate to eliminate any remaining space between them. “Please,” he whispered, the word barely audible over the soft lapping of the water.

She shivered against him, not from the water, but from the raw emotion in his voice. She brought her hand from the back of his neck to his face, her thumb stroking his cheek. 

“Lucien,” his name on her tongue was so pleasing to his ears. He couldn’t help but close his eyes, lean into her touch.

Her other hand trailed down his chest, his abdomen, finally reaching the waistband of the only thing keeping all of him from her. 

“Let me take care of you,” she murmured, her lips ghosting over his ear. Her hand traveled further yet, getting ahold of him, cupping him, squeezing him, feeling the size and weight of him.

He sucked a breath in through his teeth, muscles taut. A strangled moan escaped from his lips, closing his eyes and rolling his head back. He dug his fingers into her hips, only vaguely aware of the frustrating barrier of her swimsuit. “(Y/N)...” Her touch, her ministrations, it was all so intense. “You’re driving me insane,” he growled.

A low chuckle emanated from her. “Say my name like that again, let me hear it.”

He obliged, her name falling from his lips like a reverent prayer, drawing out each syllable like a sinful plea. 

Her eyes rolled into the back of her head. Whether it was from his voice or the fact that he was tugging her bottoms off, he had no idea. But the sounds she let out were mouthwatering. He watched as she shuddered and moaned beneath his touch, letting out grunts and curses of his own. “Gods,” he rasped, his voice thick. “You sound so beautiful when you moan for me.”

She squeezed him sinfully at that bit of praise, moaning his name quietly. 

“Please touch me, (Y/N)... It hurts…”

In that moment she caved, both of them lifting up a bit to allow the other to rid them of their last bits of clothing. She tugged him a few times, grip tight and movements long. He rocked into her hand, a string of curses falling from his lips. Normally he wouldn’t unravel so quickly, but with every sensation magnified, he’d be surprised if he lasted another minute. 

“Sweetheart, you have to… Gods, please don’t stop,” he managed to gasp out, his hips rocking eagerly, his face scrunched in concentration. 

She met his gaze, her eyes darkening with desire. Nodding slightly, her breath coming out in puffs, she continued, increasing her pace while he maintained his movements into her hand. Lucien’s breath caught, his muscles tensed as waves of pleasure washed over him. He clung to her desperately, burying his face into the crook of her neck to muffle his increasingly vocal responses. His release coated her hand, but quickly washed away into the water as she continued stroking him through it. She murmured soft encouragements all the while. 

She felt his weight slumped against her, heard his breathing slow, found herself wondering if it had passed. She held him close, running a soothing hand along his back, through the hair and the nape of his neck.

When he finally lifted his head, she was ready to greet him with a warm smile, but where she expected either newfound calm or lingering distress, she found neither. On the contrary, it almost seemed as if their actions amplified his hunger. 

Lucien wrapped his arms around her in a tight embrace and found himself rutting his hips up, thoughtlessly trying to find her entrance. She gained purchase on a stone behind him, her chest hovering over his face. With a groan, he released one of his arms from around her, using the hand to guide himself. But when his fingers brushed against her and she let out the softest, most helpless whimper he’d heard in his life, he couldn’t help himself. He wanted to hear more from her. He replaced the head of his cock with his fingers, shakily grazing over her folds. 

Her repeated mantra of “oh’s” and “yes’s” goaded him on, and as he dipped his fingers further through them, he slowly thrusted the still-hard length of himself along her cunt. The caress of both on her sensitive skin getting to be too much. “Lucien, why don’t you just—” What bordered on a wail interrupted her words when he let his tip brush against her clit, the first meaningful relief of pressure she’d gotten there all this time. 

“Wanna feel you, wanna make sure you’re alright,” she could hardly recognize his voice, it sounded pained, his words slurred. “Don’t want… to hurt you.” When he went to slip his fingers into her, she pulled them away, moving to seat herself on him.

“Don’t worry about me,” she assured him she was alright. “I’m helping you, just worry about yourself, okay?” But he shook his head, insisting that he wanted her to feel just as good as he did. “I will. I am.” With that, she lowered herself slowly, taking him inch by inch. Their faces were a mirror of shared ecstasy, expressions soft with contentment. They were entwined — she cradled in his embrace, he sheathed within her warmth. 

Lucien's world had narrowed to this single point in time and space. Any remaining semblance of coherent thought dissolved entirely. The feel of her skin, the sound of her breath, the scent of her hair — these were the only realities that existed for him now. Nothing else mattered — not the court, not his duties, not even his own name. There was only her, only this. 

A low growl rumbled in his chest as he tightened his hold, desperate to remove any open space from between them. His thoughts scattered like leaves in a storm, leaving only base instinct and overwhelming need.

“(Y/N),” he huffed, voice rough with emotion. “I can’t… I need…”

Words failed him, but his body spoke volumes. Trembling muscles, racing pulse, sharp breaths. He was a male consumed. Lucien heard her voice distantly. 

“It’s okay… Take what you need, Lucien.”

As she pulled herself up, something primal awakened in him. Lucien drove his hips up into her and moved with fervent intensity, his actions far beyond conscious control. Every fiber of his being sang with pleasure, drowning out all else. Nothing beyond this moment.

He was dimly aware of sounds escaping him — groans, gasps, fragmented words of reverence. There was only feeling, only her, only them. 

The spring water surged around them, disturbed by the frenzied movements of their bodies. Each trust was relentless, powerful, driven by an urgent need. Lucien’s hands guided her by the hips with a force that left no room for gentleness.

He groaned her name, told her he needed more of her. He didn’t know how it would be possible, in this moment she was his everything. 

Her responses were lost in a series of breathless moans and gasps, her fingers digging into his shoulders as she tried to match his relentless rhythm. “Lucien… don’t stop… please…”

The words spurred him on, his pace now frantic. His eyes bore into hers. Every thrust, every movement, was a raw expression of his need, amplified by the pollen’s effects coursing through his veins.

Her nails raked down his back, leaving red trails in their wake. She clung to him, feeling the intensity of his desire in each powerful motion. The friction and pressure were overwhelming, pushing her closer and closer to the edge. Her body responded to his instinctually, her moans and cries echoing through the trees around them.

“So… damn good… So tight,” he groaned into her.

She gasped, her head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut as she rode him, rode the pleasure coursing through her. “Lucien… oh gods… you’re so deep, I can’t,” she buried her face into the crook of his neck. All she saw was the tanned color of his skin, the golden red of his hair, and smelled the earthy scent of cedar and fresh rain, mingling with the faintest hint of smoke and spice.

He shook his head. “Don’t hold back… Let me hear you. Tell me—fuck—tell me how good it feels.”

Her voice came out in broken gasps, each word punctuated by a moan. “It’s… so good… you’re so good... I can't... I need…”

Lucien's lips found her neck, his teeth grazing her skin before he sucked hard, leaving a mark. "Need what, darling? I want to hear you say it."

"Need you... need you to make me come," she confessed, her voice trembling with need. "Please, Lucien... I’m so close."

He groaned in response, the sound vibrating against her skin. "Anything for you, love." His mouth trailed down to her chest, his lips closing around one of her nipples. He sucked hard, his teeth grazing the sensitive flesh, sending jolts of pleasure straight to her core.

She cried out, her fingers tangling in his hair, holding him close. "Lucien... yes, just like that... don't stop..."

His free hand snaked between their bodies, fingers seeking out her clit. He rubbed in firm, deliberate circles, matching the rhythm of his thrusts. The combined sensations of his mouth on her nipple, his fingers on her clit, and the relentless drive of his hips were too much.

Her body tensed, a strangled cry escaping her lips as she teetered on the edge of release. Lucien bit down gently on her nipple, the sudden spike of pain mingling with the overwhelming pleasure, pushing her over the edge. She shattered around him, her orgasm ripping through her with an intensity that left her breathless and trembling.

Lucien didn’t slow, riding out her climax, his own release following swiftly. With a final, powerful thrust, he let out a primal roar, spilling into her with a force that made stars dance behind his eyelids.

For a moment, they were locked together, their breaths harsh and mingled, hearts racing in unison. Slowly, as the intensity of their climaxes began to fade, they slumped into the water, still entwined, the spring's cool embrace a stark contrast to the heat of their encounter.

Lucien pressed his forehead against hers, his breath still coming in ragged gasps. "Are you... alright?" he managed to ask, his voice hoarse with lingering desire and concern.

She nodded weakly, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. "More than alright," she replied, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on his chest. "That was... incredible."

He chuckled softly, the sound vibrating through both of them. 

She lifted her head slightly, looking into his eyes. "How are you feeling now?"

Lucien took a deep breath, still holding her close. "I still feel it," he admitted, his voice softer now, more controlled. "But it's much more manageable.”

A small smile tugged at her lips. "I'm glad," she murmured, running her fingers through his hair. "I was worried for a moment there."

He pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead, his eyes softening. "You were amazing," he whispered. 

They lingered in the water for a few more moments, their breaths slowly returning to normal. But the connection between them, the raw need, was still there, simmering beneath the surface.

And then Lucien moved again, his hands sliding down to grip her hips. "But I think," he said, his voice taking on that rough, hungry edge once more, "that we have a bit more to take care of."

She shivered in anticipation, her own desire flaring up once again. "What do you have in mind?" she asked, a teasing lilt to her voice.

His answer was a low growl as he shifted their positions, lifting her up and guiding her onto a nearby rock. He took her again there, their bodies moving together with a renewed intensity. Then, he turned her around, bending her over it, her cries echoing through the spring as he thrust into her from behind.

They moved to the water's edge next, Lucien pulling her onto his lap as he sat on a submerged boulder. She rode him hard, the water splashing around them as their movements grew more frantic.

Later, he laid her down on a bed of soft moss, hovering over her as he entered her again. The rhythm of his thrusts was relentless, each one pushing them both closer to the edge once more.

And when they finally left the spring, sated but still hungry for each other, Lucien carried her back to his chambers. He laid her on his bed, driven by a deeper need, something more enduring. There, in the privacy of his room, he took her yet again, their bodies entwined in a dance of passion and connection, free from any enchantments, driven only by their desire for each other.

[doveywovy]

i think it would be interesting to explore tobirama as the golden child in the senju family.

i think there's something really intriguing about the idea that tobirama figured out so young how to manipulate his father, and how to play along with him to make sure he and his brothers are safe- and it's difficult, when he's that young, to completely separate himself from the part he's playing.

He picks up some stuff from always having to see Butsuma's viewpoint, it's inevitable. But not nearly as much as everyone else seems to think. Maybe it makes him more pragmatic, more cruel. Maybe he trusts the Uchiha less then he otherwise would, even with all their clans history. He learns to hide as much of himself as possible, especially anything Butsuma would disapprove of. He learns to be proactive about managing Hashirama, because if he reprimands his older brother first Butsuma usually doesn't see a reason to get physically violent to enforce the lesson.

He's also so very isolated. nobody confides in him- they're too worried it might get back to Butsuma. there is nobody he can confide in- he has to maintain the illusion of perfection for is father. all of this and yet he is still beloved to the clan, in the way an idol is beloved. He's succeeding at the impossible, he seemingly has no flaws, he's the ideal shinobi.

Butsuma is the worst man alive, and Tobirama is his favorite child.

When Butsuma dies, Tobirama is relieved, but he's also bereft of purpose. He's built his entire life around managing this man. Now Butsuma's gone, and Tobirama is missing everything.

Maybe he tries to slot into that same role with Hashirama. For a while, he seems like a classic manipulative advisor. Why is he always trying to control Hashirama, why is he always hiding things, only presenting them when he's strategized how to do it in the most favorable way? it's the only way he knows how to live, but it comes across as sinister.

so eventually Tobirama marries out- arranged marriage for the peace treaty. It's a strategic move for the Senju (get this manipulative freak out of here) and a strategic move for the Uchiha (get this manipulative freak under our thumb) and a strategic move for Tobirama (get this manipulative freak a person obligated to at least try to understand him, and hopefully eventually maybe like him).

He's married off to izuna and moves in with him, where his natural deference and fear of Madara is easily explained by the lifetime of war between their clans and the very real threat Madara once posed to him. His instinctive attempts to manipulate Madara are viewed as par for the course and completely ignored.

Izuna is the only person around him enough (and paying enough attention) to notice he holds Hashirama in the exact same regard. It's good he never pries into it, because Tobirama is unsure how to explain that Hashirama has never threatened his safety nor demanded his extreme dedication to hashirama's causes. That his behavior towards his older brother comes from an inherited fear that was originally born from a desire to protect that same brother. the closest he could get is this, if he ever tried:

Hashirama knows he inherited Butsuma's looks when it comes to his anger.

They furrow their brows the same, their mouths twist on the same side, and their eyes go pitch-black when they yell. Because of this, he buries it- he turns to weeping dramatics or teasing playacting at anoyance. He's ashamed of his anger, and the outbursts of it he has with more frequency than most know.

What Hashirama does not know- because Tobirama will never tell him- is that Tobirama is the only one out of all his brothers to have ever seen Butsuma smile.

Hashirama's smile is identical.