#free phon

[obscurecharactershowdown]

Group D Round 2

[image ID: the first image is of the cover for the Hello from the Hallowoods podcast. it depicts the silhouettes of trees, and a large creature emerging from behind them. it's furry, with horns, large antlers, and a clawed hand raised up, as if waving at the viewer. above the creature, in the middle of a red gun sight, reads: "Hello." in read text. the second image is of Phon, a Thai man with short bleached hair, wearing a yellow shirt. he also has an ear piercing. end ID]

Diggory Graves

Convinced they only lost the deadguydeathmatch because not enough people knew about them. A bit of a Frankenstein's monster scenario. Uses they/them pronouns, is dating a ghost trans man. Despite their intimidating appearance they are lovely and would go to the ends of the Earth for their friends. Their arms are for hugs and their claws are for fighting

Phon

Listen, he may be the right hand man of a mafia boss, but he wants out so he can live a nice quiet life with his trans girlfriend that he loves very much. Was willing to do whatever it took to make sure she had enough money for gender reassignment surgery. Just really loved his girlfriend. Had to go and get himself killed in the first episode though, sparking a revenge quest lead by his best friend (who he definitely had some romantic tension with) and his girlfriend. He deserved better. All three of them deserved better. They're also a really interesting parallel to the main trouple (who were responsible for killing him, but in their defense it wasn't on purpose). [additional propaganda 1]

[morathicain]

Ter had never believed he’d be the one to bear the news to Mae. It should have been him who’d died, a fleeting remark Phon would have for Mae during one of his visits. Nothing remarkable, nothing world changing. It had been bound to happen. Instead, it was now him, who sat in front of her, watching her world fall apart as he uttered the words, as the reality of Phon’s death sunk into his own mind again and again. This wasn’t how it was supposed to go and he felt as if he’d sunk into ice cold water, drowning all while he watched his own life go on, like a mistake. There was nothing to say to make this right, to make this better and still he lied, unable to carry the blame in front of her, unable to watch her dispise him, hate him. He had, after all, sworn to protect her if Phon couldn’t, anymore. What a fool Phon had been, to lay such a task onto his shoulders. What a fool Phon had been, to trust Ter with his life. What a fool ...

Mae should have known it, should have expected it and she had, in some corner of her heart, feared it, each day of her life. And still it felt as if she’d grown too sure in her skin, in their life, trusting Phon’s words to be safe and to have this and that he got this, too much. As Ter told her, she felt distant, empty, exhausted. She should have known but all that was left was the black hole sucking in her life, her happiness. They could have had it all, she told herself but knew it was a lie. This had always been bound to happen and the memory of Phon’s smile was like a slap to her face. ‘I won’t let you vanish’, she promised him, her love, her life, reaching deep into the void of her heart. There was nothing left except a spark of rage, of hate upon the world for tearing them apart.

There was a whole new universe out there for Phon, almost in reach, and he yearned for it. It was a simple universe, an honest one, a happy one and he could see it every time he looked at Mae, looked into her eyes. It was the universe which was inside of her, the life filling her to the brim, the love he couldn’t contain whenever they were close. Instinctively, he reached out to her, to take her hand, to feel the warmth of her skin, her heart. He’d loved her as long as he could remember and his only goal in life was to love her even more. He’d started this job because he was good at it, because it had been easy to slip into it, because it had given him the chance to earn enough money to support her. “I’d give my life for you”, he whispered, kissing the back of her hand before pulling her into his arms. “Live your life for me”, she demanded with a rough voice, the universe in her eyes drowning him as he kissed her lips with a burning soul.

@ommited-miscellaneously​ @teresis​

[iguessitsjustme]

Genuinely almost cried when Mae walked away after shooting Thana at the end and that is damn impressive

[rashfcrd]

ok i know boss john is holding shin hostage but he’s sexy

[hecate112]

So i completed watching a thai series called 3 will be free. I love it. I love all the characters and their story. Miw is such a wonderful character.I love everything about her. She has my heart.I love how the relationship between 3 of them progressed from the beginning. I love that this series gave us a good poly relationship. I was rooting for 3 of them to get together from the beginning. And oh my god mae is awesome. Such a wonderful character. Like this show has a transgender character as one of the main characters with such a strong plot. I love how they gave a very good representation for transgender people. I love this show. Such a blatantly feminist and unapologetically queer show. ❤️❤️❤️

[centralperkfamily]

Chandler watches Monica talk on the phone with her mother, and cannot understand how, how this keeps happening.

For all the mess his parents are, for all the ways they embarass him and make him feel like he's the elder one, they never, ever said a bad word to him ( doesn't necessarily mean that they showered him with genuine love and care and affection, caught up as they often were in their petty war-of-tug with him as the rope ).

Monica's mother, judging by all he has heard and witnessed in the years he knows her and Ross, never said a good word to her.

Which makes no sense to him.

Not only Monica is one of the most amazing people he knows – beautiful, kind, smart, so very patient in spite of what her sometimes short temper might suggest, a great cook, a stunning woman... all the praise a person can get, Monica is more than deserving of it – but the idea that a mother would so belittle her own daughter, would make her feel so small and worthless and ashamed, just feels inconceivable to him.

Who does that?!

And every time he sees Monica talk with her mother or hear what her mother said to a third party about her or mention the way her mother treats her, sees how small and defeated she suddenly looks, Chandler feels this wave of protectiveness rise inside of him.

He wants to protect her.

He wants to make her mother see how wrong she is, he wants to make her apologise to Monica, he wants to make Mrs Geller do better.

He wants to wrap Monica up in his arms and shield her from the whole world, or from her mother's poisonous words at the very least.

He cannot actually make her mother do anything, he has no right, unfortunately, to put other people's mothers in their place, but he can do the second thing, or at least try to.

So when Monica sets the phone back down on the base, her shoulders slumped, her eyes glistening, Chandler walks up to her and wordlessly pulls her into a hug, as natural as breathing to him.

[drsbutmakeitspicy]

Maybe on the "Am I a human chair?" AU

PART I - PART II - PART III

Carlos Sr. Found out about their relationship in a funny way

(I'm sorry for grammar mistakes, and also I didn't write the dialog between Carlos and Cenamor in spanish cause as much as I can understand everything I'm horrible at writing and speaking Spanish (it always turn into a weird portunhol by accident 🤭🫣) so imagine that whole last scene is in spanish please.)

Also, quick reminder, this is more of a brain vomit than a real structured fic

Carlos calls Oscar on video, asking how he is doing after the DNF

"Amorcito, how are you feeling? What did the doctors say?"

"I'm high as fuck, got cracked ribs and a concussion" Oscar is blinking slowly and Carlos finds it adorable.

"I just finished media, the team meeting was rescheduled for tomorrow, I'll see you soon Amor."

"Kim said I can't shower alone so hurry up."

"Tell Kim I 100% agree with him."

Oscar can see him moving around grabbing some stuff from his driver's room to bring back to his hotel room.

"He's not here right now" Carlos stops.

"He left you alone?"

" 'm not alone" Oscar is giggling and messing with his own hair with his free hand.

"You're so high baby, it's funny. Who is with you then?" He watches Oscar's phone be grabbed, as it turns Carlos feels his blood run cold.

"He needs to sleep now." Carlos Sainz Cenamor, his father, who Carlos completely forgot he gave a spare key of his hotel room a day before.

"Uh, yea. I'll finish getting my stuff and uh yea bye."

His dad will be pissed at him for hanging up like that.

Oh god.

Things are not as bad as he imagined, Oscar as his Dad are talking about racing, the McLaren driver is lying down on the bed with a towel put on his eyes, wearing Carlos Ferrari Jacket.

His dad is sitting on the sofa, he looks at him, amused to see the lack of color on his son's face.

"He refuses to sleep, says he wants to see you first. Is it a McLaren requirement to be stubborn?"

"Papa Yo-" He whispers in an apologetic tone

"Eres mi hijo, no creas que eso cambia mi amor por ti." - Cenamor says as he gets up and pat his son's back. - "He is here now Oscar, you can finally sleep, no?"

They hear Oscar make an agreeing sound, his right arm out of the bed, hand grabbing the air, calling Carlos over.

Cenamor tells him he will wait outside, something about having calls to make. Carlos sits down by Oscar's side as the door clicks.

"How are you feeling Cariño?"

"I want a kiss. My lips aren’t bruised, the doctor didn't say anything about kissing."

“I'll give you one and you will rest okay? When you wake up again to take your meds I'll help you shower."

Carlos says against Oscar's lips before closing the gap between them. It's slow but sweet, Oscar's hand goes to his hair and as Carlos breaks their kiss the other pulls him back in, whispering "One more."

After three kisses Oscar is out like a light.

—-

Talking with his father goes well, he is not disappointed in him, he doesn't understand how they got involved, with the amount of times they fought in and out of track but doesn't ask.

"I knew one day you would end up with a McLaren driver, I just guessed the wrong one."

"Papa!"

“Reyes and I adopted Lando since your McLaren days because of that y'know? We both were sure one day you would come over with him and tell us."

"I never had romantic feelings for Lando! And it may not look like it but he is straight, Papa."

"Hmm, I'll have to call your mom back, we thought you broke up with Lando last year, we thought he didn't spend new years with us because of that."

“When? Wait, when did you give mom a call??"

"I left you and Oscar alone so I could call her. She asked if now you will stop with those PR relationships contracts. You know she hates those. She said she read early today some good things about your boy."

His face is all warm and red, he feels like a teenager, embarrassed about having a crush, but also he feels glad to have such a wonderful family by his side.

His dad's phone rings, Reyes’ picture shows up.

"Here, talk to her, she wants to see when we all could have dinner together so she could meet Oscar”

[milkycatswithpetals]

Hurt/comfort, cursing(one right in the beginning), self indulgent, fem!reader, insecure reader(belly fat, imperfect skin), mentions of being too tired to shower, mentions of wearing dresses, misogynistic sentences said by readers mother, old-fashioned lover boy Hyune(loml), mentions of not eating, mentions of periods, tell me if I forgot something.

Tell me if you want a part two!!

•••

You were feeling like shit. It was a week before your period, maybe that why. Anyways, you had a free day which you'd spend on running errands and then a date with your dear boyfriend, Hyunjin. But early in the morning, as you couldn't sleep thanks to your body to accustoming to work schedule, you put on your favourite sports bra. Something was off, it felt... A tad bit too small? You sighed and put on some sweatpants to go with the bra acting like a top. Yawning, you waddled over to the bathroom and stood before the mirror. You were all sweaty, but too tired to take a shower no matter how much you wanted to. You stared at your reflection, hair messy and greasy - you'll just put it into a bun and hope hyun won't notice. You lazily dragged the hairbrush thru your hair, and put it up with the same hairtie as always - one thats stretched out as much as it could, with hair tangled around it. You took your time, looking at your reflection from different angles to catch sight of every insecurity. Your eyes lacked shine, burdened by the purple-ish eyebags, the soft jawline and chubby cheeks. By the time you got out of the bathroom, your nose was red and eyes watery from trying to get out blackheads with your nails. You knew it wasn't a good idea, but you couldn't care less if it made you bleed as long as you looked a certain way.

•••

The next destination was your kitchen, the first thing you did was fill the kettle and prepare your tea. The kettle rustled with the water that's starting to boil and your tummy rumbled. You opened the fridge door and started blankly at the contents. What were you waiting for? Well, your thoughts felt like they kept your arms binded closely to your sides. Your mind telling you that you don't need anymore food, look at your belly! It's protruding out, jiggling when you laugh. You frowned and sighed, shutting the doors. your hand found your belly, and tried to push it in. The lies made up by your mind were stopped when the kettle started to squeak. You brew the tea and stirred it, the spoon hitting the sides of your mug. Just as you were leaving, you rolled your eyes and stepped back. You almost forgot to take your meds.

•••

Throughout the day, you could feel the lack of nutrition. You couldn't focus at all, your body was trembling. You brushed sit aside and just went on with your chores, you hated cleaning the house but it felt just a bit nicer when you lived alone and did everything at your own pace. You glanced at your phone to check the time, 4 p.m already. Where did the time go? You didn't know either. You stood Infront of your dresser, biting your lips as you carefully picked out your outfit. You felt like you need to hide your body, so it landed on a knee-length, loose-fitting dress, and some shorts under – the world is full of creeps. You took all of the clothing to your bathroom, and threw it onto the closed toilet flap. Firstly, you tidied up your hair, then brushed your teeth. With a sigh, you put on your underwires bra. You hated bras, but your mother would always tell you that "your breasts will become saggy" and "it's a woman's fate to be uncomfortable". It was hard to let go of these thoughts, but you still felt enraged at the sentences. Then it was time to get on your makeup. Colored concealer, foundation, standard concealer... It was tiring. But you need to be pretty for Hyunjin, right?

•••

Half a hour later, you're done, somewhat pleased with your looks. You tested out different jewelry to complete your look, when you've got a message.

Hyunnie: I'll pick you up in ten, darling 🩷

You smiled at your phone, eagerly waiting for his arrival. You put on your shoes, the ones he got you. Once again lost in thoughts, the bell ringing brought you back to reality. Hyunjin waited at the hallway, a bouquet of your favourite flowers in hand. He was the traditional type when it came to romancing you, he basically worshiped the ground you walked. After the courtesies were done, flowers in a vase, your hand kissed, the two of you went on your way to the restaurant.

"you're so beautiful, my dear. I'd paint you, but I'm afraid I won't be able to catch just how gorgeous you are."

Hyune said and brought your hand closer to him as he leaned into a sweet, innocent kiss right before starting the engine in his car. You felt like you didn't deserve him, like you were burdening him. You two have talked about this, but once again, it wasn't easy to let go of these thoughts. Hyunjin noticed your pale skin and saddened eyes, and it upset him deeply. Once at the restaurant, which was illuminated solely by candles giving it a mystic atmosphere, he held your hand tightly. He opted for a table with a sofa, so he could be as close to you as possible he kissed your knuckles again.

"baby, I can see you're feeling bad about yourself again. But know, no matter what's on your mind, you'll always be perfect to me. I love you unconditionally, and I don't care if you look like the beauty standards. You are my standard, and I'm one lucky man to be called yours"

Both of you knew that this wouldn't make you magically feel good at all times, but Hyunjin felt like he could spend an eternity solely praising you.

•••

He didn't pressure you to eat, but rather made it seem like something fun. He'd taste something first, and then kiss you with the bit of sauce still on his lip. If you liked it, he'd feed you, bite by bite while telling stories to distract you from the food. You didn't even notice when you ate a whole plate, and Hyunjin sneakily put the dirty dishes away so you wouldn't dwell on it. Once both of you finished your drinks, he lead you back to the car. Once you two arrived at your place, his plush lips found purchase on yours, his hand interwining with yours.

"is the sleepover offer still available?"

•••

[creative-crybaby]

A Show of Gratitude

PAIRING: timeskip!Miya Osamu x fem!reader

GENRE: wee bit of angst/comfort | smut (18+)

Minors DNI

TAGS + WARNINGS: nipple play, light manhandling, masturbation (m and f), fingering, oral (f receiving), cum eating, praise kink, size kink (kind of)

Let me know if I missed anything.

WORD COUNT: 7.1k

SUMMARY: As a thank you for shining a spotlight on Onigiri Miya, Osamu invites you over for dinner (and dessert). All characters are 18+

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

Osamu raises a brow at you, though more out of amusement than cynicism. It suits him even, the somewhat teasing lift complimenting the blank expression he usually carries. His lips form a subtle pout—it’s cute, you think. It sends heat to your face, and you clear your throat before smoothing down your skirt. Who knew someone with a large build and resting neutral face could juxtapose all of that with a miniature shift in expression—

It’s been quiet for too long, you realize. 

“I’ve only tried a handful of things on your menu,” you begin with a stammer, “but I still plan on trying some of the other stuff to add some suggestions for the readers. Plus, if you don’t mind, I could interview you. I’m sure you’re busy with getting everything in line, so whenever works for you works for me. You’ve only recently opened up your shop, so I’m sure me writing a piece on it could gain some attention, and—”

“Sure,” Osamu says, adjusting his cap. Your mouth snaps shut, the warmth returning, setting fire to your face as you wish nothing more than for the ceiling to crash down on you. “I already figured it’d help the shop, but I’m not too sure when I’ll be available for an interview.” He pulls his phone out from his back pocket and holds it toward you. “If yer fine with giving me yer number, I can message ya when I’m free.”

Your focus seems to care more about his Kansai dialect than his words, and you blink that pulling magnet away.

“Right, yes,” you reply as you hastily take his phone and add your number to his contacts. Your hands find each other as soon as you return the device to the handsome shop owner, twiddling thumbs dancing an anxiety-induced tango. 

“Great,” Osamu nods curtly. It doesn’t help when he glances down at his screen, and the corners of his lips twitch upwards. His hooded eyes meeting yours seem to glue your feet to the ground as your knees threaten to buckle. “Ya should hear from me soon. Thanks, (L/N).”

With a mix between a nod and a bow, you leave in a hurry, teeth digging into your bottom lip to block the embarrassed squeal trying to come out. 

Most would know to introduce themselves first, regardless of their profession (or lack thereof). You know this. You have done so before. But not every potential interviewee you’ve met has broad shoulders to dig your nails into or large biceps that you wouldn’t mind holding you in a chokehold or pecs that could replace both of your pillows or a slutty little waist—

Professional, you call yourself. Bullshit.

But it’s a little too late to go back and delete your contact information from his phone. Your blog, a little something you do on the side, consists of new spots in your area you’d recommend your viewers to check out. Onigiri Miya opened not that long ago, and after finishing your umeboshi (and then ordering the tenmusu, katsuobushi, tarako—you get it), your stomach achingly sent your brain the message that the shop needed more recognition. 

You only caught sight of him after you asked one of the very few employees to fetch you the owner. Tired of making you more food than your wallet would appreciate, they offered a nod before heading to the back and returning with a towering figure dressed in all black, the uniform tee doing its best to remain in one piece as it hugs his body.

You didn’t notice the rice grains stuck to your cheek until he casually pointed it out. The exchange between you two after that involved more ogling than conversing on your end. And you didn’t give him your name until he gave you his phone. 

Dumbass.

All of this replays in your head as you attempt to come up with questions for him. And if you manage to shake the embarrassment away, you wonder if you’ll be able to avoid making a fool out of yourself when you interview him. 

Your eyes trail down to your phone on your desk. You could apologize for your behaviour, telling the ravenette something about having a lot on your plate that wasn’t his food. Maybe you should make up some excuse to back out before leaving the country with a completely new identity. 

These anxieties disappear like a popped bubble when the soft vibrating of your phone interrupts your spiralling thoughts. Fumbling to grab the device, you turn it on to see you’ve gotten a text from an unknown number.

Unknown until the message lets you know it’s the handsome shop owner from earlier that day (not verbatim, of course). With your heart in your stomach and throat at once, your thumbs do a jig above the keypad as you try to come up with an answer. You didn’t have to, at least not yet, as the ellipses appear on his end, and he gives you a time and day to interview him. 

After agreeing with him (and using too many exclamation points), you exchange your goodbyes. 

Those interview questions can wait: you need to scream into the void. A pillow will do, you suppose.

“For the love of God, do not make a fool out of yourself.”

You stand before Onigiri Miya’s entrance, muttering and clutching your notepad for dear life. Convincing yourself that being several minutes early was necessary resulted in you showing up about half an hour before the planned meetup. Waiting outside with your eyes glued to what’s visible of its interior makes you feel like a stalker. Truth be told, you want to see him again, catch his accent again, taste his food again, have his eyes bore into your nervous frame again—

“Yer early.”

A shriek almost escapes your throat at the voice, and your head snaps to follow the familiar sound. Osamu pokes his top half from around the shop's corner, lips pursed and brows slightly raised in curiosity.

“Ah, Miya!” You stammer, straightening your posture and adjusting your notepad. “Hi! I–uh, I know I’m sort of early. I guess I thought I’d take more time getting ready this morning than I actually did.”

The smile you offer him is supposed to be an easy-going one. Though, it’s difficult being convincing when your bottom lip occasionally wobbles and the corners of your mouth twitch at every pause. Some excuse, really: he probably doesn’t believe you. You don’t believe you. 

Regardless, he nods. “Sorry for scarin’ ya. I was just takin’ care of some stuff out back. Feel free to come in. Might as well start early, if yer fine with it.”

You mumble a soft verbal agreement, too afraid your voice will betray you should you say anything more. Osamu approaches the entrance to his shop, waiting for you to enter first. With a deep breath, you do so, the owner following you soon after. 

It seems that the gods were on your side, even if momentarily. The interview went as well as any other one, with the exception of your not-so-subtle ogling. He’d tell you about his love for food and how he realized his passion for it over volleyball, as well as his relationship with his twin. Every bit of information you’d get, you’d fit perfectly into a mental draft, ready to type it all once you got home. Even so, your genuine curiosity didn’t shy away as he shared his story, admiring his dedication and pleased to hear about the support he received. 

When everything is finished, you exchange your thanks and let him know when the piece should be ready. 

“Feel free to message me if you have any questions,” you tell him as you both make your way to the exit. 

Osamu nods, offering you a half-smile that’s still enough to fluster you. “Will do. Thanks again, this could really help ma shop.”

You returning his expression with an even wider grin is only natural with the flattery he throws your way. While one of your hands subconsciously picks at the strap of your bag, the other waves him off. “Well, let me publish the piece before you go saying all of that.”

“Nah,” he hums, adjusting his cap. “I read some of yer work to see what I was gettin’ m’self into. Yer gonna do this place proud, no doubt.”

Your shoes become your source of interest. You can’t let the ravenette see how his words affect you: not unless you want the poor man to call the ambulance. Two sentences had your heart trying desperately to claw its way out of your chest, pounding in your ears and face melting from the heat. 

Still, when you straighten your back and look at him, you give him a smile and a nod. “That means a lot, thank you.”

Oh, look at that: you’re getting better at this. 

Osamu copies your actions. “Yer blog just got a new fan. Keep up the good work.”

Nevermind. You need to leave. Like, now.

The next time you show up to Onigiri Miya is about a week after you publish your piece on it. 

After doing everything in your power to not embarrass yourself, you found the writing process to be the easiest part of the entire process. Not only because you had more than enough information at your disposal, but you also got to isolate yourself in your apartment, free from distractions and attractive shop owners. Being honest about the well-prepared food and best recommendation depending on one’s tastes came easy when you tried a good portion of the menu; of course, you would do the place justice. (And, of course, you made sure you weren’t kissing too much ass in your piece during your editing process.)

Despite the shop being far busier than when you first arrived, your eye catches its owner before anything else. Behind the counter, Osamu sports Onigiri Miya’s uniform as he prepares an order, large hands moulding rice into a triangular shape with precision that shows his experience. It’s a silly detail to catch, but after the interview (and the countless ones before that), you know better than to dismiss their work as “just food.”

Your feet carry you to where the ravenette works his magic, and you’re about halfway there when he notices you. 

“Ah, (L/N),” he greets, offering a half-smile as you settle onto a stool. 

“You seem busy,” you quip lightly, trying to return his energy. At the very least, you deserve points for eye contact and not letting your voice waver. 

Osamu’s smile morphs into a smirk as he momentarily looks away to wrap the nori around the neatly-shaped rice ball. “All thanks t’ya.”

His words have you taking in your surroundings, barely having done so when you entered the shop. It’s more or less packed, for sure, the stool you’re sitting on being one of, if not the only vacant spot for you to take. A variety of customers flood the interior, with some more peeking in from the outside: a group of high school girls seated in the corner, giggling about god knows what, a mother and her son sitting only a few seats away from your spot, a few men in suits sitting by the windows seemingly gaining energy from their food. Not a lot of people you would assume to read your blog, though you wouldn’t exactly say you had a target audience in mind based on age or gender. Regardless, the compliment feels far-fetched, somewhat undeserving. 

You turn back to face him. “You’re too nice.”

“I dis’gree,” he counters nonchalantly. “I read yer work. You did this place proud.”

Heat returns to your face; if you didn’t know better, you’d assume you were getting sick. 

“My blog is just a little something I do on the side for fun,” you explain. “It’s not famous or anything. Besides, you’re the one making the food here. Give yourself some credit.”

Osamu finishes the last rice ball before placing it on a rectangular plate, and an employee–a new one, you presume–takes it to bring it to a young couple sitting near the entrance. 

“I do make some pretty good food,” he muses, removing his cap to wipe his forehead with his forearm.

“That’s what I’m saying,” you chuckle. “If I’m not careful, my diet might solely consist of your onigiri.”

The ravenette huffs a laugh, wiping his hands with the white cloth on his shoulder before resting his arms on the counter and leaning closer to you. “I’m not just talking about rice balls.”

An innocent correction, really. But with the small distance between you two and how his voice dropped an octave, your palms growing clammy as you gulp deeply is beyond your control. 

Your fingers instinctively return to fiddle with the hem of your shirt as you attempt to find your composure. “I don’t doubt it.”

The former wing spiker pulls away with a satisfied smirk. “Great. I’ll cook for ya.”

You blink in confusion, brows slightly furrowed. “Huh?”

“Consider it a thanks for writin’ about ma shop,” Osamu explains as he gets back to working on another order. “Lemme make ya a nice meal. Not sure when it won’t be busy in the upcomin’ week, but I’ll let ya know and plan ahead.”

You don’t fully process his offer until he draws his attention to a customer. The scream that threatens to explode from your throat gets swallowed in time before you make a fool of yourself. He’s just returning the favour… to your favour… which isn’t how it works, but you’re certain he’s just being friendly. He loves food, and from what he’s seen from your blog, he knows you’re in the same boat as him. And with the soft yet genuine smile he gives to each customer he greets as they enter or as he prepares their orders, it’s tough to convince yourself his offer is anything more than one out of kindness. A tad disappointing, but it should ease your nerves for when the time comes. 

“All right,” you grin shyly. “I’ll take you up for it.”

Osamu pauses from wrapping the rice around the pickled plums to face you. He beams, quickly finishing his current rice ball to place away before returning to you. 

“Perfect,” he almost chirps before checking on the rice cooker next to him. “How ‘bout I make ya somethin now? Ya liked the tenmusu best, yeah?” Surprised he remembered your favourite, probably from your blog, you nod bashfully. “Great, it’s on the house.”

He winks at you before drawing his focus to your order. If you weren’t sitting down, your knees would’ve failed you.

Oh, you think, subconsciously smoothing down the skirt of your dress. You’re doing this. 

Indeed, you are. And you showed up at a reasonable time (by that, you actually got there early and decided to drive around the neighbourhood for a bit until it was appropriate to park and enter the apartment complex). 

It took a few days before Osamu finally texted you, letting you know when he’d be able to close up shop early to have you over. Since then, you’d keep your phone on you or nearby more often than usual, every single notification catching your attention. You almost don’t care how quickly you responded, letting him know the time and day would work for you without even checking your own schedule to confirm. (You did so afterwards: you’re good, honey.)

Getting ready seemed to surpass all that on an anxiety-inducing level, you’re pretty sure. Dinner at his place sounds like a date, yes. But he never said it was a date. You can only interpret so many social cues, and trying to recall his body language and tone as you raid your closet for something appropriate to wear does no good to your sanity. You settled for a floral summer dress in the end; not the best for the nearing autumn weather, though it’s nothing a jacket can’t fix. Words of encouragement don’t do much convincing on your end as you do your makeup and assure your reflection that it’s not too much, but it gives you something to focus on. 

Those same words of encouragement, while they do make you knock on his apartment door, don’t fill the action with the enthusiasm you desperately need. Though, before you can redo it for something louder, the door opens, and there stands Osamu at his entrance. 

“Hey,” he greets, a subtle upbeat in his tone. You’re not used to seeing him out of his uniform: the simple baby-blue button-down with rolled-up sleeves and black slacks combo on him does a number on you. Not a complete 180; he still appears in his element regarding comfort and accessibility for cooking. It doesn’t hurt that it hugs his torso and arms deliciously. And without his cap, you get a clearer view of his face. A full head of dark hair swept to his left, and his eyes, while a greyish colour, still carry an enticing glimmer you struggle to look away from. “Yer just in time. Food’s gonna be ready in a few minutes.”

Osamu moves aside to let you in. His home seems cozy, you think upon entering. Maybe less clean and more empty; a couple of couches and a coffee table with nothing but a tissue box on it, plus a dining table with four chairs. The kitchen seems to have most of the attention, not that it surprises you. It all makes sense for someone living by himself. He probably lives at his shop, you figure. This place is just a backup.

You thank him when he offers to take your jacket after you remove your heels.

“Ya look lovely, by the way.” His tone remains its usual steady tone, and you almost think he’s telling you what’s on TV. He’s glancing over his shoulder and placing your jacket in his closet as he tells you this, the corners of his lips tilted upwards and adding sincerity to his otherwise flat manner. 

“Oh,” your eyes struggle to meet his in fear of showing how much his words affected you. “Thank you. You look handsome as well.”

You don’t get to scold yourself for sounding ridiculous because Osamu tells you to follow him to sit at the table. A deep breath: calm down, enjoy yourself, don’t stare at his ass–not even a glance, damn it!–and follow him.

The table seems mostly ready, with dishes splayed across it carrying a variety of fresh food. A traditional Japanese dinner: nothing fancy, though with the intimacy of having dinner with a handsome acquaintance (client? Either way, handsome), you’re not complaining. 

“Hope this is all right with ya,” Osamu says from the kitchen. “Wanted to surprise ya with something ya’d like, but from yer writings, ya don’t seem like much of a picky eater.”

You shake your head, only to stop when you remember his back is to you. “It looks great, really. If it’s you making it, I’ll gladly eat all of it.”

He turns around with the last couple of dishes in his hands, a smile plastered on his face. 

“Means a lot t’hear that,” he hums, placing the teriyaki salmon with the rest of the bowls. Once he’s settled in his spot, you both give your thanks for the meal and dig in. You don’t hesitate to grab whatever your chopsticks soar towards, from the goma-ae to a generous chunk of salmon. Only when your mouth is full do you remember you aren’t alone, and your eyes slowly trail up to meet a grey pair. Osamu’s in no better condition than you, his bowl of rice half done with a couple of drops of soy sauce stuck near the corner of his lips. Even with his natural resting face, the stark contrast between his cheeks full of food with the hint of amusement in his gaze is nothing short of adorable. “Keep eatin’ like that an’ yer gonna choke.”

You swallow in one large gulp, much to your esophagus’ dismay. “Not my fault you make good food.”

Osamu chuckles. “Gonna add my home cooking to yer blog?”

You immediately shake your head. “I’m keeping this for myself, thank you.”

“Oh, so you want me to make you food more often?”

Your eyes gradually widen at his words, your hand mindlessly twiddling with your chopsticks. Your gaze switches from the dishes on the table to your date, who doesn’t keep his eyes off you as he continues eating his food. Even with his cheeks stuffed with food, he sports a smirk, one you don’t miss. 

You clear your throat before offering a nervous laugh. “Don’t put words into my mouth.”

He swallows down his bite. “So, no dessert afterwards, then?”

“I never said that,” you pout. “You’re enjoying teasing me a little too much, Miya.”

“Osamu.”

You stop yourself from bringing your glass to your lips, giving him a puzzled expression. “Hm?”

“I invited ya to ma home for dinner,” he states in between a large bite of the salmon. “No need ta be so formal with me.”

Several moments of silence are followed by you sounding out each syllable of his name to yourself. You suppose he makes a good point, though the intimacy that replaces the formality makes you fidget in your seat. If Osamu notices, he doesn’t comment. 

You meet his gaze. “You do the same for me, then.”

He smiles. “Deal.”

A natural conversation flows from thereon, from you explaining how your blog came to be to him sharing embarrassing stories about his twin. Even with each tale carrying a complaint about his brother’s behaviour, you don’t miss the fondness in the ravenette’s tone as he recalls the memories. He’s seemingly the calmer one of the two, yet he doesn’t fail to make you giggle at the expense of his counterpart. (“Don’t worry, ya can laugh,” he tells you when he catches you biting your lip.) The laughter soon evolves to commentary and jokes and entertaining stories of your own, and you don’t even realize how much more relaxed you are until you’ve both finished everything from your bowls. 

You exhale in satisfaction, placing a hand on your belly. “If I were rich, I’d hire you as my personal chef.”

Osamu smiles, picking up some of the bowls and motioning for you to sit back down when you move to follow his actions. “I’d gladly take the job.”

You feel guilty as you watch him move back and forth to clean up, but with every shake of his head, you find yourself obeying and keeping yourself glued to your chair.

“Because I’m your favourite customer, right?” you quip as a distraction. 

“That,” he takes both your cups, “and ‘cause ya’d be rich.”

Your date peeks over his shoulder to find you fidgeting with your fingers under the table. He hears you nervously chuckle when he returns to focus on cleaning the dishes. 

“So, does your brother know you use him to impress your dates?” The inquiry was more of a joke than anything else, but Osamu catches a detail you don’t seem to realize you added. 

“We’re on a date now, are we?” he muses.

Silence; it puts a smirk on his face. Seeing your reaction is more than tempting, but so is dragging out the tension. The former wing spiker doesn’t remember the last time he enjoyed teasing someone like this (aside from his brother, but that’s more taunting than anything else).

He only glances over his shoulder once more when he hears you pull your chair back. You stand next to the table, seemingly wondering if you should approach him or not. Osamu has to hold back his grin. 

“You didn’t answer my question,” you state, glad your voice doesn’t wobble. 

“Ya didn’t answer mine,” he counters not a moment later, though the humour in his tone is evident enough. Your date turns off the faucet before removing the rubber gloves from his hands, plopping them onto the kitchen counter before striding towards you. He catches you clench your jaw, but you don’t budge. “Got a pretty sharp tongue on ya for someone so nervous not that long ago.”

You subconsciously straighten your posture as you inhale sharply. “Not gonna finish cleaning up? You were pretty insistent on taking care of things by yourself.”

He stops a foot away from you. “Nothing I can’t deal with later.”

His dark eyes bore into yours, though you’d hardly call it a staring contest. Not when your gaze would occasionally flicker down to his lips. Of course, nothing he misses. 

Another step forward. He places his index finger under your chin. 

Another step forward. He tilts your head up ever so slightly. 

Another step forward. He leans in, stopping mere inches away from your face.

No more steps for him to take. You barely catch the sound of the faucet dripping the occasional water droplet over your heart echoing in your ears. Can he hear it, too?

None of that matters as he takes your statuesque frame as a sign to pull away. You panic; grabbing onto his shirt, you yank him towards you to meet your mouth with his.

The subtle taste of dinner lingers on his tongue, not that you can complain. Your hands find their place on his cheeks while his own wander down to your waist. A lazy hum of satisfaction buzzes out from his throat, leaving a light tingle on your lips and causing your heart to pound in your ears. 

You pull away for air and from the shock of what just happened, your wide eyes meeting a droopy, lust-filled grey pair. 

“Look at ya,” Osamu pants, one of his hands sliding down to your thigh. “Yer real cute, ya know that? Couldn’t stop thinking about kissin’ ya for days now.”

Your lids fall to match his expression while your thumb mindlessly caresses his face. Your mind speaks before you can stop it. “Just kissing?”

That familiar glimmer returns in his gaze, and he gently squeezes your thigh. There’s a pull coming from his hold; nothing forceful, just light enough to give you a chance to withdraw. With little-to-no room left between you, you can only press your chest against his. 

“I’ve got a few other things in mind,” he hums as if pondering. “Wanna give 'em a try?”

You nod absentmindedly, your hands sliding down to wrap around his neck and play with his hair. “Please.”

His lips curl into a satisfied smirk before they reattach themselves to yours. He’s got you mewling in a matter of seconds, your fingers swirling around his locks and occasionally tugging them. Osamu groans, lightly grinding against you and making you gasp. 

The hand on your thigh disappears to slide your dress straps off your shoulders, and the ravenette pulls away to tug the top of your number down to expose your breasts. His mouth attaches itself to one of your nipples while his fingers tweak at the other bud, further drenching your underwear while your grip on his hair tightens. Your body feels hot, your hips rubbing against his bulge in desperation. You draw a blank, wanting to enjoy every second, but being all over the place. And you’ve only started. 

It’s when he eventually pulls away to remove your dress do you realize this is actually happening. The fabric drops to your feet, leaving you in ruined panties, and the cool air does little to fight the heat you feel all over. Large hands, roughened from years of volleyball, carefully hold you up to place you on the table, taking their time moving away from your exposed body. Those same eyes that seemingly hang in a drooping shape with indifference now do so in a hunger that has you subconsciously clenching your thighs. 

“Fuck,” Osamu rasps deeply, eyes never leaving your frame as he hurriedly unbuttons his shirt and throws it aside. You’re blessed with the sight of ripples and valleys of soft skin over hard muscles with small clans of stretch marks highlighting his upper arms and what little you can see of his hips. His belt disbands with a clink, and he’s panting when he removes his slacks. “D’ya have any idea whatcha’ do ta me?”

The Kansai in him seems to shine through when he gets needy; that thought flies through your head, barely giving you time to process it. You don’t care to, not when your date approaches you once more to hook his fingers past the waistband of your underwear. His gaze peers up at you, starving, but patient enough to check on you. Your response is the rising of your hips, allowing him to slide the flimsy material down your trembling legs. 

Why are they doing that? Nothing you haven’t done before. Not something you do often, either. The last time you had sex was in… college? Last year of college. Yeah, with some guy in one of your classes. His pace wasn’t all that different from this one right now. You refrain from showing your displeasure when you recall how he thought penetration alone was enough to get the job done. (It was, just not for you.)

Why these memories are choosing to return, you don’t know. Maybe you feel out of practice, or because it’ll all be over before you know it, and the handsome shop owner who made the best onigiri you’ve ever tasted will probably just be that and nothing more after this. That latter possibility makes your stomach plummet, and you bite your lip. It’s just dinner. Dinner with a crush. Most of what you know about him came from an interview. 

You catch yourself looking at him when you realize he has yet to make a move. 

At first, you feared it was due to disgust. It isn’t until you find him zeroing in on your dripping cunt like a man starved does your body relax a bit. His calloused hands grab hold of your thighs, lightly squeezing their fat as he drops to his knees. 

“Gonna take care of ya,” Osamu mutters, seemingly more to himself than you, before swiping his tongue across his bottom lip and leaning in. “Gonna take real good care of ya.”

Settling your thighs onto his broad shoulder, the ravenette then licks a long, slow stripe up your cunt, tasting your essence and flicking the tip of his tongue against your clit. You exhale shakily, which is enough encouragement for your date to proceed with his ministrations. 

“‘Samu,” you whisper, your fingers returning to his charcoal locks as his tongue’s movements against your clit increase in speed. You’re rewarded with a groan as you buck your hips into his face, and his hold on your upper thighs grows stronger to keep you grounded. With the added stability, you bring one of your hands to tweak at your nipple, adding to the pleasure and making you mewl. 

Your eyes are fluttering closed until you feel Osamu’s tongue move to thrust into your cunt. You squirm in your spot with a gasp, eyes snapping open before your head drops to face the culprit. Pools of lust for irises greet you in a hazy connection, having been zeroed in on your expressions since their owner got his first taste of your essence. You’re already hot all over, head to toe, but the gaze you can’t look away from sets your face on fire—though that’s nothing new, now is it?

“Better than any meal I’ve ever had,” he mumbles against you before wrapping his lips around your puffy clit and suckling hard. Your head draws back as you wail, your hips failing to escape his grip no matter how much they writhe. That familiar build-up in your lower stomach makes itself known, causing you to whisper pleas and your date’s name repeatedly. He’s pressing his face further into your cunt, his mouth working overtime on your clit as your orgasm only hangs on by a thread.

And then, it’s gone. 

Your eyes–which were apparently closed–blink open as your brows knit together. Peering down, you see Osamu slip out from your hold on his hair, that same unbothered expression back on his handsome face (save for your slick coating his lips and chin, of course). 

“‘Samu!” you whine in frustration as you watch the ravenette stand up and brush the invisible dust off his knees. You don’t let his (very) noticeable bulge distract you from your stolen reward. “I was so close! What’re—”

He removes his boxers in one motion, letting them drop to the floor and wipe your brain clean of whatever you were about to ask him. Osamu observes you freeze from the sight of his girth, his face in its usual neutral stature while his gaze grows even heavier with lust and his chest and ego swelling with pride.

“Wanna make ya cum on ma cock,” he answers a little too casually, regardless of whether or not it actually answers your unspoken question. With his hand wrapped around his shaft, he swipes some of his precum, using it as lube as his focus lays on your naked form. “That all right with ya, princess?”

You nod mindlessly, your eyes never leaving his thick cock. Watching him touch himself, because of you no less, makes your hand wander south, gathering your essence and his spit before sliding a finger into your weeping hole. You shakily exhale as you catch his dick twitch, and it’s not long until you add another digit to massage your insides. 

It’s also not long until a much larger hand grabs your wrist to make you pull your fingers out. Being so focused on his lower half, you didn’t realize Osamu approached you once you started pleasuring yourself. He brings your hand, wet with your slick cascading down your palm, to his mouth, languidly licking up the mess while his eyes burn a hole into your very being. 

“As much as I enjoy the show,” he drawls, wiping his chin with the back of his hand, “I made ma intentions pretty clear. Unless ya suddenly changed yer mind, yer cumming on ma cock, doll.”

With that, he gently pushes your shoulder, making you lie on the table. Not exactly comfortable, but you consider it worth it as you watch Osamu position himself between your legs with his cock aimed at your entrance.

Time flies when you’re having fun, and while you were worried about this night ending far too soon, you can’t say the feelings are still there as the painful stretch consumes your body. You appreciate him taking his time for you, though it only makes the process all the more apparent: every ridge and vein making itself known as they leave their mark inside you. It isn’t until his hips meet yours do you release a breath you didn’t realize you were holding in. 

He says your name, and you peer up at him while slowly propping yourself on your forearms. With gentle hands resting on the apex of your thighs, your date leans down you plant a kiss on your lips. You return the affection, feeling yourself relax a bit and noticing the subtle taste of you on his tongue. 

You find your head following his when he pulls away, earning you a chuckle before bringing one of his hands to your crotch. Collecting your slick, he then rubs slow, tight circles on your clit. Your hips buck, and you sigh, whimpering his name in gratitude. 

“You can move,” you utter. “Doesn’t hurt as much now.”

With a curt nod, Osamu grabs hold of your legs to wrap them around the small of his back. He thrusts gently, allowing you to accommodate and testing the waters to see what you like. You hum contently, though your eyes don’t seem to know where to look. Part of you wants to admire his face, but you worry about the intimacy behind the action. Marvelling at his physique, as fun as that would be, would probably make you drool; sex or no sex, you’d like to avoid that. Or, stare at where you two connect, but you’re certain you’d cum on the spot. You can’t do that. Was this always so difficult?

“Hey.” The ravenette glides his hands up and down your torso before finding their place on your breasts. “Easy. Want yer eyes on me, ‘kay? Wanna watch you fall apart.”

Your gaze shyly makes its way up to meet Osamu’s, his eyes soft while he smiles down at you. With a deep breath, you let him know he can pick up his pace. That smile of his widens as he complies, morphing your insides into the shape of his cock as he reaches deeper. The air is knocked out of your lungs, your voice choking up as you cry his name like a mantra. 

“‘Samu!” you wail, tightening your hold on his lower back. “Feels good! Feels so f-ucking good! Don’t stop!”

That glimmer flashes in his eyes as you beg for him, and Osamu swoops down to crash his lips onto yours. This kiss was more tongue than anything else, and you moan wantonly as you messily taste him. 

You’re hot. Everything is like touching a sizzling stove. The makeout session, the cock splitting you in half, the squelching from between your legs. There’s fog between your ears, far from clearing and presenting any sort of rationality as your date finds your sweet spot.

“There!” you pull away from him to shriek. “Keep fucking me like that! More, more!”

He can’t deny you when you plea like that, and he holds you in that position to ram into you the way you need him to. Your throat hurts from whatever noises claw out of it, though it doesn’t stop you from slurring “moremoremoremoremore” as your orgasm bubbles in your lower stomach. Or maybe all that begging is playing on a loop in your head? You don’t hear yourself; all you know of is the ecstasy between your thighs and Osamu stalking through the windows of your soul. Open for him in more ways than one. 

“‘M close,” he grunts, his movements becoming sloppy. “Ya cummin’, princess? Can ya do that for me? Make a mess on ma cock like a good girl?”

You nod before processing, but you consider it the right choice when he breathes out a laugh and changes his position to lean on his forearms. There are barely a few inches between you two, and he’s quick to fix that problem by kissing you once again. 

You’re squealing against his mouth when your orgasm finally hits you, your body stiff as you clamp down on his shaft. You feel heavy, rigid as your senses kick into overdrive, and you’re floating, vision grows spotty. Your head is thrown back out of necessity, your lungs in desperate need of oxygen, and Osamu’s presence alone is dizzying.

He’s still messily pounding into you once you’ve calmed down, and your legs shake against him from overstimulation. 

“Too much,” you whine, “too much! ‘Samu—”

“I know, doll,” he grunts. “I’ll be done soon. Promise, I’ll—”

He cuts himself off with a curse before hastily pulling out, wrapping a large hand around his cock and pumping until he cums on your stomach with a drawn-out groan. Through hazy vision and a complimenting puddle for a brain, you watch in awe as his jaw goes slack and eyes flutter shut with furrowed brows; he almost looks soft.

Now, you’re both spent, breathing matching in rhythm as you recall your surroundings. The first thing you notice is the pain in your lower back: sex on a wooden table will do that to you, you suppose. Worth it.

Then, you’re being picked up, your body limp like a ragdoll as you yelp from the sudden movement. “‘Samu!” 

The ravenette hums. “I’ve gotcha.”

Your arms, weak from carrying your weight, reach to wrap around his neck. All he does is sit on his chair with you on his lap, and he exhales.

“Is this what you meant by ‘dessert’?” you quip tiredly, leaning against him.

“Nah,” Osamu buzzes, rubbing your back soothingly. “I got somethin’ ready for after dinner, but this works, too.” You snicker weakly at his humorous tone at the end until it fades into a heavy silence. Not awkward, no, but relaxing doesn’t seem to quite fit the description, either. “It’s a date.”

You sit up too quickly, and you wince from soreness. Not that you could help yourself, what with his sudden comment. “Huh?”

“Tonight,” he clarifies, “I planned on it bein’ a date, since I think yer cute and ya helped me with ma shop—and don’t try ta argue otherwise. But with ya being so shy, I figured I’d let you decide, or maybe play into it if I thought ya were interested.” He pauses as if he were wondering what to say next. “All good if you weren’t lookin’ for that.”

You’ve never seen him blush before, and yet you find yourself regaining some energy when you catch the pink tint on his cheeks.

You giggle. “I think it’s a little late for that now.”

Osamu pulls you back into his embrace, burying his face into your neck. He tries to ignore the mess on your stomach pressed against his, though he couldn’t stop from wincing. “Guess so.”

More silence, though on the scale of comfort, it leans closer to a sense of ease.

“So,” you hum, “do you sleep with all your loyal customers or just the ones that’ll promote your business?”

Your date snorts, making the corners of your lips twitch upwards.

“Nobody else… yet.” He then pauses, pursing his lips as if to ponder. “Though ya just gave me a pretty good idea. Might help the business.”

You lightly slap his arm, earning a laugh from both of you. You try to sit up again, this time more slowly, and stretch. 

“We should probably clean up,” you remark, turning to look back at where you laid back and got your guts rearranged; it makes you shiver.

“I can deal with that later,” Osamu shrugs, shifting in his seat and looking down at the creamy white now on both of your torsos. “Let’s get ya cleaned up first.”

Your heart flutters as his tone softens, and when you look back at him, his eyes carry adoration. 

“And then dessert?” You ask sheepishly.

He smiles warmly. “And then dessert.”

© creative-crybaby, do not repost or modify

[obscurecharactershowdown]

Group D Round 1

[image ID: the first image is of Matatagi Hayato, a boy with spiky black hair, tan skin, and black and gray eyes. the second image is of Phon, a Thai man with short bleached hair, wearing a yellow shirt. he also has an ear piercing. end ID]

Matatagi Hayato

he is. just a fucked up little guy, your honor. he is a two-faced bitch and i love him for it. he's so much of an edgelord and just all-around fucked up lil guy that he literally wins a soccer match w his team against literal aliens because those aliens could see people's minds and his was SO fucked up and twisted that it messed up the aliens' strategy- also he has two younger brothers who he deliberately teaches that lying and stealing is 10000% ok u just have to make sure you don't get caught jio;gejaos even tho his personality to other ppl is trash and he personally believes other ppl are inherently untrustworthy he Does rlly care abt his brothers and he basically raises them by himself because they live in poverty and he agreed to join his silly little soccer team because he was promised money so he could take care of his family and that's respectable but he is TOTALLY a fucked up little jerk who is mean to everyone gjeio;gas idk i just want to examine him under a microscope, i care abt him lovingly referred to as Specimen Number 01 he's just weird. he's a weirdo. have u ever seen him without his stupid blue hair streak? now THAT's weird. OH and fun fact abt his blue hair streak. it magically appeared in the middle of a soccer match after he revealed his two-faced bitchy nature to everyone. yeah, he has edgelord disease. i'm afraid it's terminal. he's just a lil virus. nasty lil guy. he's easy to bully. i want to keep him in a jar. also he's my son. hope this makes sense. thanks.

Phon

Listen, he may be the right hand man of a mafia boss, but he wants out so he can live a nice quiet life with his trans girlfriend that he loves very much. Was willing to do whatever it took to make sure she had enough money for gender reassignment surgery. Just really loved his girlfriend. Had to go and get himself killed in the first episode though, sparking a revenge quest lead by his best friend (who he definitely had some romantic tension with) and his girlfriend. He deserved better. All three of them deserved better. They're also a really interesting parallel to the main trouple (who were responsible for killing him, but in their defense it wasn't on purpose).

[ccstiles]

Venom of the Past chapter 1

Buried memories

(thank you to Fiya for helping me with the Spanish bits!)

Sugarboo, Seth and Alphonse got to live a happy life, knowing that everything from the past had been dealt with, in one way or another, and they were free to live their lives.

And they all lived happily ever after, the end!

...Except, is it really the end?

As they always say, when one door closes, another one opens, and this door, was to a path that wasn't so forgiving.

It was an early spring, and Sugarboo's home bakery was booming. they were able to quit their old boring job to pursue their love of sweets.

It was a dream come true, baking all through the day, spreading love and cheer through the town, and then coming back home to 2 loving idiots who showered Sugarboo with love. They couldn't ask for it any way else.

They had been away all day delivering orders to happy customers. It was the best part of their job, getting to see their happy faces.

It was while they were on their way to deliver the last of the sweets, that things started to feel...off.

Sugarboo started to get this odd feeling, a sense of anxiety that they hadn't felt in a long time. They brushed it off, thinking it was just anxiety for tomorrow's orders they still had to bake, but the feeling continued.

It got worse, though, when they were almost to the customer's house,

Thunk!

"¿Que?" Sugarboo was surprised with the sound, their car starting to lose speed as, what was most likely, the tire lost air.

"¡Fantastico!" Sugarboo sighed, "flat tire. Hopefully I can make it back to Al's so Seth can help me out with it"

Their car rumbled along the rest of the way to their destination. After giving the older man the cake with a smile, Sugarboo stalked back to their car to check out their tire. When they got there, though, something unexpected caught their attention.

"What the-?" Sugarboo questioned as they rounded the corner. Sticking out of their back tire was an arrow. They squatted down to take a look at it. It was deep in the tire, if it's presence itself wasn't odd enough. This gave Sugarboo a bad feeling, as they got back in their car to drive to Alphonse's house.

As they drove, though, the feeling of anxiety deepened. They couldn't pinpoint it exactly, but it felt like they were being watched. No matter where they turned, it felt like there were eyes boring into the back of their head.

When they finally rolled to a stop in front of Alphonse's house, they felt too scared to get out of their car, calling Seth's phone instead.

Ring ring!

Ring r-

"Hey Sugar!" Seth's voice rang through the unsettling silence that had settled in the car, comforting Sugarboo.

"Hey Seth. I'm outside in my car right now, can you come get me?" Sugarboo looked around, trying to see if they could place where the feeling of being watched was coming from.

"Really Sugar? You're a big boy, you don't need me to come get you" Seth laughed, but that did nothing to calm Sugarboo's anxiety.

"Seth, please" Sugarboo begged him.

It seemed like Seth could tell that something was wrong, because Sugarboo could hear rustling from the other end of the phone as he talked. "Well alrighty then, I'm comin"

Sugarboo only sighed as their anxiety was calmed, hanging up the phone as Seth came around the corner.

Sugarboo unlocked their door to finally collapse in their boyfriend's arms.

"Oof- jeez Sugar, miss me that much?" Seth joked as he hugged Sugarboo.

"Hmmm, you could say that" Sugarboo sighed as they melted in Seth's arms. Even if they were in his arms, though, they could still feel eyes everywhere.

"You ok there? You seemed really scared over the phon- what the?" Seth loosened his grip on Sugarboo as he noticed the arrow in the car's tire.

The two separated to let Seth take a look at the arrow. He tried to pull it out by hand, but it wouldn't budge.

"Jeez, what happened?" Seth looked up at Sugarboo from where he was squat down.

"I don't know. I was on my way to my last delivery when I heard a loud noise and my tire started to loose air. After I got out and did my delivery, I found that" Sugarboo concluded by pointing at the offending arrow.

"Hm, d'ya think it might have been an accident..?" Seth tried, but Sugarboo could tell he was also getting the same feeling of anxiety they had been having for the past 10 minutes.

"No... It's too early for hunting season yet, and" Sugarboo tried to pull the arrow out themself, struggling. "that thing's lodged in there good, whoever shot that did it deliberately."

Seth's face darkened as the two looked at the arrow. "Let's head inside"

"Yeah," Sugarboo agreed as Seth started to get up. Before they could turn and leave, though, they noticed something tied to the arrow.

"C'mon Sugar, this don't feel right to me" Seth urged them to follow, but Sugarboo squatted down to untie the paper. "What's that?" He asked as the paper came into view.

"It was on the arrow I wonder if..." Sugarboo trailed off as they read the note. Their eyes widening and face pale as they read the short note.

Baking cookies? You've gone soft BS

-boss

Seth read the note in confusion over Sugarboo's shoulder.

"BS? What does that mean Su- woah!" Seth yelped as Sugarboo grabbed his hand and dragged him into the house.

Slamming the door behind them, Sugarboo began to lock the front door before running to the back and locking that one too.

"Hm? Oh hey boo! What's... What's going on?" Alphonse greeted them as they ran through the house, making sure all of the windows were locked, and then covered. "Seth, what's going on?"

"I don't know. They came home with an arrow lodged in their tire and there was this weird note attached" Seth explained as much as he could, as the two watched Sugarboo race around, making double sure that everything was locked and covered.

"Hey, boo, what's wrong?" Alphonse got up from where he was sitting and walked towards a wide-eyed Sugarboo, trying to comfort them.

"You... You need to go sit down" Sugarboo pointed towards the dining room table, "you too Seth."

"Sugar c'mon, what's wrong?" Seth walked towards them as well.

"Would you just cállete and sit down?!" Sugarboo snapped at the two, pausing after realizing what they've just said.

Seth and Alphonse just sat at the table quietly, waiting for Sugarboo to calm down.

The two watched Sugarboo as they paced back and forth in the living room, a look of anxiety stuck on their face.

They finally turned and strode towards the table, standing behind the chair.

"...hey, boo?" Alphonse tried to start the conversation, "what's, uh, what's going on?"

Sugarboo stayed silent for a while, still trying to form the words in their head. This would probably be the hardest conversation they've ever had in their life.

"You... You remember how before Seth came back to town, there had been a lot about your past you never shared with me?" Sugarboo looked at Alphonse.

"Yeah?" Al looked at Seth before looking back at Sugarboo.

"Well," Sugarboo sighed, before placing the piece of paper in the middle of the table, "let's just say that arrow was my version of Seth"

Alphonse took the paper and held it for the two boys to read. After reading it, though, they were puzzled.

"boo, what does this mean?" Alphonse was the first to ask, "I mean, 'BS' and 'Boss', what do those mean or, who are they?"

Sugarboo looked away again, trying to figure out which to answer first, and how.

"BS stands for... It was a shortened version of my code name" they finally landed on an answer, but that only left the other two confused.

"Code name? For what? And, why?" Alphonse questioned them, "boo you're scaring me, what does this all mean?"

"It means I was in the mob"

The room was silent as Sugarboo blurted it out. Seth and Alphonse stared wide-eyed at Sugarboo as they tried their best to continue.

"I... I was in the mob. It's not something I'm proud of, and it's not something I thought would come back to haunt me," Sugarboo explained, "I thought I covered my trail well enough but... It seems like they found me again."

The boys just continued to stare in astonishment at Sugarboo before Alphonse broke the silence.

"Boo, why... Why didn't you tell us? We told you about what we did in the gang, why didn't you tell us? I thought-"

"Being in the mob is different than being in a gang Alphonse!" Sugarboo snapped at him, "being in the mob means death is the first option, and being murdered is considered mercy."

The room fell to silence once more as the trio let everything sink in.

"I didn't want to tell you I was in the mob because..." Sugarboo's voice started to crack before they stopped speaking.

"... because why sugar?" Seth's voice was soft as he looked at them.

"Because I didn't want you two to look at me different" Sugarboo looked down at where their hands were gripping the back of the chair, their knuckles white.

"Why would we look at you any different?" Seth asked, "you know what we've done, we would be hypocrites to judge you sugar."

"...you don't know what I've done." Sugarboo sighed as they finally dropped down into the chair.

"Then what did you do?" Alphonse piped up, trying to keep his voice light.

Sugarboo let the air fall silent once more as they thought about the best way to answer. But who were they kidding, there was no 'best way' to tell your two loving partners the horrific acts you'd done just a few years prior.

"I... I murdered people" Sugarboo's voice broke as they told Seth and Al what they had done. "dios, I-I killed so many people."

Alphonse and Seth just watched Sugarboo as they broke down in tears, sobbing as they told the two everything they had done.

"I hurt them. I hurt them all. I tortured, I killed, I did so, so many things" Sugarboo sobbed into their hands, rambling on and on, "I thought I could get away from it all, I thought I could get away from them but I should have known better. Should have known I couldn't run away from what I'd done. No puedo huir de lo que soy"

"I'm un monstruo, and I thought I could lie to myself, lie to you two, and make everything better. I should have known better." Sugarboo couldn't hear anything outside of the sound of their sobbing and the noise coming from their brain, so they didn't hear the two boys getting up.

Before they knew what was happening, they felt two pairs of arms wrap around them, sandwiching them in a tight embrace as they continued to cry into whoever's shoulder was closest.

"Oh boo, you know I would never look at you different" Alphonse's voice came from somewhere within the warm embrace Sugarboo found themselves in.

"Yeah sugar, we love you too much, we don't care what you've done" Seth's voice was close to their ear, whispering comfort that calmed Sugarboo down.

Sugarboo just shook their head as they gripped onto the person in front of them.

"You two are pendejos. I don't know how you survived this long with a mindset like that" Sugarboo laughed as they began to calm down, "but thank you. It means a lot to hear that."

"Of course sugar," it was easier to pinpoint Seth's voice now that they weren't sobbing, and they realized that Seth was the one in front of them, and that they had been sobbing into his chest.

Once they had calmed down, Sugarboo pulled away from the giant hug they had been squished in, looking at the boys as they smiled. "Thank you again. I don't know what I would do if I didn't have you two idiots with me."

"Hey!" Alphonse gasped as he grabbed Sugarboo, "take that back!"

"No!" Sugarboo giggled as Alphonse started tickling them, laughing harder as he started to tickle them. "Seth! Help!"

Seth just smiled at the two and chuckled. "Alright, alright. Break it up you two."

It took a minute before all the giggles stopped, after that, Sugarboo just basked in the peaceful silence. They didn't know how they did it, but somehow, Seth and Al always knew how to put a smile on their face no matter what the problem was.

"So..." Seth scratched the back of his neck, "not that I love just laughing with you two, but I think now we need to talk about what this whole arrow situation means."

"Right" Sugarboo sighed as they flopped down at the table with their head in their hands.

They stared at the note in deep thought, trying to form a plan in their head. For the first time in a while, Sugarboo didn't know where to start. They never thought they would be found, they did their best to cover their tail, but it seems, even after everything they did to hide, they really couldn't run from their past. Finally, their thoughts straightened some details out enough to start to plan.

"Alright, here's what we're gonna do," Sugarboo stood up and turned towards the two boys, "Alphonse, I need you to start packing some bags, we can't stay here. Seth, I think it's best if we take my car so I need you to fix the tire. After that go help Alphonse with the bags."

Seth and Alphonse nodded before moving to start their tasks. Before Alphonse left the room, though, he turned to Sugarboo.

"By the way boo. While we're doing all this, what are you going to be doing?" Alphonse asked them.

"I'm gonna make a call," Sugarboo looked at Alphonse, "there's an old friend that might have some information on what's happening."

"Ah ok. Good luck boo" Alphonse kissed them before heading off to pack the bags.

Sugarboo smiled at him before their face fell. This was not something they wanted to do, and this was not someone they wanted to talk to after... Everything. No matter how much they didn't want to, they knew that they would be the only way to get to the bottom of this.

With a sigh, they picked up their phone and dialed a number they hoped was still the same after all this time.

Ring ring!

Ring ring!

Ring ring!

Ring ri-

"Hello?"

"Hi, is this...

Is this Rook?"

[ilovechubbieguys]

Chaper 2🍓

If you haven't read chapter one of this series, i recommend you go read it here! Anywho enjoy!

------------------------🍓------------------------

Y/ns POV

I stared at the text with the address on it deciding if its worth it to go or not. Maybe i should text him, it couldnt hurt could it? I start typing out a message to send him "hey what time shoukd i be over?" I hesitate before sending it and staring at my phons as bubbles show up letting me know hes typing a reply.

"Uhhhhhhhhh, like now," "NOW??" i say out loud. I let out a sigh and get up to find somthing to wear. I dont really know these guys so there no need to dress up.

I throw on a off the should shirt and some jeans (like this ⬇️)

I get my purse and head out the door. I didnt have to drive since they live litterally right next to me. I walk over and put my arm out to knock on the door, i paused and let out a loud and heavy sigh before nervously knocking

*knock knock knock*

I stand there waiting for i reply when suddenly issac opened the door "Hey!! Im glad you decided to come, you wont regret it" i smile at him and and follow him in shutting the door behind me "ya thanks for inviting me" i say sheepishly. I follow him into the living room while looking around the house. They had a basketball hood in there living room along with a giant been bad that was covered with stuffed animals.

He stopped and intoduced me to the people on the couch "the one there is nick and that ones larry and ofc you know everyone else" i look over and nick and larry where on the couch as tanner and yumi sat on the bean bad playing mario cart

"Guys this is y/n" he said pointing at me. they lifted there heads and looked at me "hey im nick" i waved at him then larry spoke "im larry" i look over at larry and give him a smile before looking back over at issac "feel free to sit where ever ill be right back" i give a small nod and head over and sit between nick and larry on the couch.

A few minutes later and me and larry are talking about cats for some reason and tanner and yumi are screaming at echother

"YOUR A FUCKING CHEATER"

"I DIDNT CHEAT YOU JUST FUCKING SUCK THATS NOT MY FAULT"

"YOUR STARTING TO PISS ME OFF"

Me and larry laugh at the 2 of them and i get up to get some water followed by yumi. I stand in the kitchen drinking my water and decide to introduce myself sincw i hadnt really talked to him yet.

"Hi your yumi? Right?" You say trying to be polite, but he just walks away "uhm excuse me??" You say raising an eye brow "what?" He say turning to you "i was talking to you?" You say with an attitude "and?" He says as he keeps walking

I stand there shocked at him responce. "What a dick" you say under your breath "im sorry what?" I didnt think hed hear me but guess where already here " i saw your a dick" "oh ya? Im a dick?" You cross your arms "ya thats what i said are you dumb or somthing?" He looks like hes thinking about saying somthing but chooses to say it "do you even remember me?" I sit and think for a little having no clue what hes talking about but then it hits me..Shit.

"Blake?.."

---------------------------------------------------

AAAH I LOVE CLIFF HANGERS 😜

[acapelladitty]

Cock warming with Oz during a meeting with his underlings?

Have this little thing 👀💦💞

Wiping a bead of sweat from his brow with the end of his suit jacket, Oz surveyed the brutish trio who darkened the doorway of his 'office' with a careful grimace.

"Take the boys and go see what he knows, if it's anything interesting then phon- fuck!"

"You okay, boss?"

"Took a bump earlier, hearts going like the metro." Oz explained through gritted teeth, his fingers digging into the hard wood table. "Need to cut down."

Their laughter rang out, the disbelief strong as they turned on their heels and filtered back through the entrance to his office, slamming the heavy wooden door shut behind them.

Oz let out a harsh breath, the edge of it tinged by a moan as he wiped at his brow once more. His fingers snatched free of the table as he rolled back in his chair slightly to glance down at his groin.

A wicked sight gazed back at him as you pull your head off the tip of his cock and rest your cheek on his wide thigh. The fabric of his velvet suit was pleasant against your heated skin, his jutting cock now held only in a delicate grip by your fingers as you stroke him absent-mindedly.

"I thought they would never leave." You mutter, running your tongue along your lower lip. "Was beginning to get worried that I might be trapped here forever."

"That could be arranged, sweetheart. I don't think I would ever leave this chair again, just sit here and have you warm my cock day after day."

"You should be so lucky."

"Oh, I'm very lucky. I have the hottest dame in Gotham on her knees under my table just because she loves sucking my cock so much. With that kinda luck, I should hit the blackjack table."

He laughs, the movement causing his thick body to jiggle in place for a moment, but the sound is cut off by a strangled gasp as you dip your head forward once more to sink his cock deep enough into your mouth that you feel the tip of it brushing the top of your throat.

A large hand presses at your scalp as you set back into a quick rhythm, the naughty arousal which your brief dip into unknown voyeurism inspired making your underwear feel uncomfortably damp against your aching core.

[thisautistic]

Max Nuttawut Jenmana as Phon in 3 Will Be Free

[kattahj]

Thinking about the various 3 Will Be Free characters and their attitudes towards killing.

Miw doesn't want to kill anyone, but ends up doing it twice. Get her scared enough and her survival instincts will kick in.

Neo wants to kill people, but can't. He's bubbling with rage, but when push comes to shove, he can't bring himself to do it. The one time he fully attempts murder, he fails miserably. Why? Is his aim that bad, or are his nerves failing him even as he pulls the trigger? Or – seeing how Thana is surrounded by people – is he actively trying not to hit any of the henchmen?

Shin doesn't want to kill anyone, and doesn't. He's actively determined not to be like his father, and he's too level-headed to kill out of rage or fear. But: Shin turned the gun on his father (who he loves, despite everything). It's not 100% clear whether he pulls the trigger, but by his bewildered reaction when nothing happens, I would say yes. If the gun had been loaded, he would have committed patricide right there. Nothing in the world can make Shin commit a murder he finds unjust, but if he finds it necessary, he can kill.

Ter will kill anyone and everyone, and the only thing that might hold him back is if the people he cares about actively tell him not to.

Phon is also ruthless, but more restrained, and also has some rather random rules (like not wanting to kill Sugar because she's trans and thus presumably reminds him of Mae).

Mae dipped her toe in murder and found that she could not stand it. Out of all the characters, she is the one most actively empathetic, looking at things from the victims' perspective. So in the end, she kills the person she's 100% sure deserves it, and then walks away.

Thana will order the deaths of anyone who looks at him wrong, but prefers to have henchmen carry out the actual deed.

Boss John is fickle – he may order you dead one day, pardon you the next, and then order you dead again. All with a smile on his face.

P.P. wants to be a mafia henchman but goes into a panic from nicking Shin just a tiny bit. ("Ohhh you're bleeding SO MUCH!" bitch where?)

[anisalarkwood-author]

FREE for Stuff Your Kindle Day! 💖💖💖

This week only! April 22-26, the illustrated 2nd edition of Surrender will be FREE on Amazon for Stuff Your Kindle Day.

Today is April 23: Stuff Your Kindle Romance Day!! Go get some HOT❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥STUFF!!