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just-here-for-the-moment · 3 years

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The Innkeeper's Daughter

Thank you sooooo much to @fandom-blackhole who let me take inspiration from This Ask for the original Anon and This follow-up Ask from me, and let me run wild with the premise of Pero Tovar falling in love with an innkeeper.

This one is for @silverwolf319 who sent me a request for "Ummmm...how about soft, sweet filthiness lol like, filthy dirty talk, but with feelings? Does that make sense?"

Saaaammmmm, I hope this delivers on that! 💜💜💜

Update: Part 2 is here!

Word count: 3200+

Rating: mature, 18+ only

Outline: Pero Tovar x “You” (OC cis/het female reader, “blank canvas”/no physical description/no use of “Y/N”)

Warnings: mature language; euphemisms; one use of “whorehouse” and “whore”; slow-burn; yearning; one incident of bar violence; Pero Tovar unleashing his desires verbally; lots of dirty talk; kissing; one breast grope; one erection; everyone’s clothes stay on

The first time you saw the grumpy Spaniard smile was a busy Saturday evening. Your father’s inn was full, the barroom filled with groups of raucous and rowdy men singing traveling songs and reminiscing loudly about battles won and women lost. The contrast between the exuberant hordes and the quiet, scowling man was evident to everyone, but they left him alone to brood.

“The Spaniard” had arrived in the early hours of Thursday morning and disappeared into his room immediately, sleeping the day away until supper. He kept to himself in the barroom, taking over a small table in the corner, keeping his back to the wall and his eyes on the other guests. He graced you with eye contact exactly once during Thursday’s supper, nodding at you to indicate his thanks for the ale before tucking his head back down to eat.

You knew from your two decades behind the bar that the quiet ones could sometimes be dangerous. But your father was much more concerned with the inn’s revenue and suppliers, and brushed off your questions with a wave.

“The Spaniard is quiet and doesn’t seem interested in starting trouble. He’s paid for his room in advance for the week. If he wants to be left alone, leave off.”

The Spaniard did not appear on Friday for the midday meal, but he did come back for late supper, repeating Thursday’s pattern exactly; a seat at the small table with his back to the wall, scanning the room from under his brow, a flash of eye contact to you as wordless thanks when you set down his plate and and the ewer of ale. The rest of the customers were settled for the moment, and something made you bolder than you would normally be, choosing to linger and try to break into the hard shell he wore like a cloak.

“Care for anything else? I have honey cakes set aside from the baker if you would like one.”

He grunted, a noise that was neither a yes nor a no. You weren’t sure if you should take offense or be happy that he made noise at all.

“What’s your name?”

He stopped chewing at that, and raised his eyes to yours, holding your gaze with his own deep brown orbs. The scar that ran over one eye was almost delicate, tracing a line from eyebrow to cheek that told a story of pain and must have resulted in him nearly losing the organ. You had seen many men disfigured and maimed by war and by accidents; but his scar was almost beautiful, highlighting his features in a way that made him more handsome, not less.

He swallowed roughly and grunted again. “Tovar.”

“Tovar… is that all?” You smiled wryly, hoping to pull more secrets out of him.

“Pero.” He grunted again, but this time it nearly resembled full speech. “Pero Tovar.”

He tucked his head back down and shoved more food into his mouth. You took that as your cue to go back to the bar. If he was staying all week you could wait until Sunday when things quieted down, spend a few days slowly probing. You got the sense he wasn’t dangerous, at least not to whoever brought him food and ale. You let yourself be distracted serving everyone else, and when you looked for him at the end of the night he was gone. You tried to ignore the little pang of disappointment that bloomed in your chest.

Saturday dawned clear and sunny, and you rose early to do the marketing for the inn and for your little household of two. Your mother had passed many years before, and your father prided himself on running an honorable establishment. You may have spent your formative years behind the bar of the inn, but nobody in the village mistook you for anything save an honest innkeeper’s daughter. The whorehouse was at the other end of town.

You finished your marketing and returned home, planning how to combine fresh eggs with leftover bread and meat for the midday meal. Most guests of the inn came for the late supper, but a few showed up for the midday meal and some companionship. You hoped Tovar would be one of them, but given that he had skipped the midday dinner on both Thursday and Friday, you didn’t dare hope too much.

To your great surprise, Tovar was already in the barroom when you arrived. He was dressed casually in tunic and pants and was standing on a table under the main beam, helping your father reattach the lantern. The chain had been broken for a few weeks, leaving this part of the room dark. Neither you nor your father had made time to obtain a ladder and fix it yet, but apparently for Tovar no ladder was needed. His tall frame was stretched up, arms raised to reach for the chain dangling from the ceiling, and his tunic lifted just enough to show a band of bare skin over his hips. The sight of him nearly made you drop your baskets.

You recovered your senses and looked away, greeting your father as naturally as you could. When you lifted your eyes to greet Tovar, you swore you saw the ghost of a smirk cross his lips. You hurried to the kitchen to prepare the midday meal.

When you dared to return to the bar, your father had gone, and Tovar was seated at his usual table. He lifted his eyes quickly to your face and you found that you could barely speak. Your words emerged in a breathy rush. “Are you hungry? Would you like to eat now?” You cursed your nerves and tried to settle them. Where were the other guests? Why was nobody else coming down to the bar?

Tovar looked at you sternly from under his brows and you suddenly felt like a child, caught for doing something naughty. But his next words made something in your middle turn over, fluttering like a moth.

“No. Sit with me a while.”

You sat. You were not accustomed to taking orders from strange men in your father’s establishment, but you rationalized it by telling yourself that attending to guests was good for the inn’s reputation, and that you would spring up and take care of any other guests as soon as they entered. You ignored the little whisper of lust that was suddenly at the base of your spine, tickling up like a trail of smoke from an extinguished candle.

“Tell me your name, woman.”

His question shocked you, until you realized that you hadn’t yet given it to him, and apparently neither had your father during their repair work. You opened your lips and spoke your own name, and under Tovar’s intense gaze it felt strange and foreign. He repeated it back to you in his sonorous tone, turning the fluttering moths in your center into lightning bolts.

“Are you enjoying your stay with us? Is there anything you need for your room?”

That half-smirk graced his lips for another moment, then passed away so quickly you were almost sure you imagined it. He shook his head, “No.”

You let the silence hang. Why had he asked you to sit with him if he wasn’t going to converse? Your stubborn streak won out over your curiosity and you decided to hold his eyes with your own and wait him out. Seconds stretched into minutes, and the air between you became heated, suffused with something like the vapors that distorted the air above a fire. Your hands grew moist, and you rubbed them across your lap, hoping the apron would absorb both the sweat and your discomfort. Tovar continued to look at you with interest, and the longer he stared the more you felt your face burn.

You broke first, bending your head and taking in a great shuddering gulp of air. Just then a footstep fell on the threshold and you leapt out of your chair and swept into the kitchen. When you calmed yourself and finally emerged, Tovar was gone. You let yourself get entwined in the gossip and the rhythm of your normal serving of guests, listening to the friendly chatter. By the time the bar was clear again, you decided to take yourself up to your room and rest, to conserve your energy for the busy Saturday night crowd. Saturday late supper consisted of cold leftovers and mug after mug of ale. The crowds were usually boisterous but good-natured, and you were looking forward to seeing Tovar again.

When you woke from your nap the sun was kissing the horizon, and you freshened your dress, changing into one of your nicer ones and a fresh bodice, tying a clean apron around your middle. You scrubbed your face with a wet cloth and rearranged your hair. You felt like a maiden heading to the altar, but you weren’t sure why. Nothing that Tovar had said or done so far gave you any indication that he favored you that way. There really was no need to change into clean clothing or present yourself in any special garments. Still… there was that hope, that whisper of lust that had sprung up under his gaze this afternoon. Maybe he would notice your efforts and begin to take an interest.

You entered the bar and began getting ready to serve the Saturday night crowd, handing around ewers of ale and plates of cold buns and cheese. The inn not only had a dedicated stream of locals every Saturday, but it also tended to draw groups of visitors from some of the smaller towns, as well as travelers on the road who needed a room for the night. You tried to keep your eyes on your work, but they kept flitting to the doorway without your permission, seeking any trace of the grumpy Spaniard and flickering the hope in your gut when they didn’t see him. As the barroom filled, you wondered whether he would appear at all. You pushed all hope of seeing him down, stomping on it and trying to keep yourself focused.

You hurried to the kitchen for another round of buns, and when you emerged into the bar he was there, sitting at “his” table and scowling his usual scowl. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, and you felt your face heat with desire. When Tovar saw you his face opened, and the first genuine smile you had ever seen painted his lips. The rest of the raucous room fell away, and you zipped straight to his table, depositing the plate of buns that had been intended for someone else.

“Hello Pero.” You bit your lip, never having addressed him with his name before. Was it too forward?

“Hello, mi-” he stopped himself, then said your name, almost reluctantly. Had he forgotten it in the few hours since you had seen each other last?

You smiled tightly, a little less warmly than before. Icy flakes swept over your girlish crush and your ardor cooled. If he had already forgotten your name, he must not be interested. “Ale?”

He nodded. “Yes… if you please.”

Your thin layer of ice melted. A “please” from this man was like high praise from anyone else. You nodded and went to the bar, filling an ewer and a mug, and delivering both to his table. You wanted to linger, but calls from the other side of the room interrupted any notion of getting to spend more time with Tovar.

You nodded once at him and departed, taking care of the other guests and helping your father lug another barrel of ale from the back. Every time you dared glance at Tovar he was watching you, gentle interest and curiosity issuing from his eyes, instead of the menacing scowl he had sported when he first arrived. You tried to focus on your usual tasks, letting the rowdy laughter of the bar patrons wash over you, but you could feel Pero’s eyes on you, and you couldn’t stop yourself from glancing at him again and again, far too often. Your distraction was probably the reason that disaster struck.

Your eyes were again on Pero as you made your way across the room, and your toe caught the edge of someone’s foot, causing you to stumble and spill a mug of ale all over a large man. He bellowed in anger. You saw that he was a stranger, and as he unfolded himself from his chair and stood up, you could see that he was twice as broad as you and nearly two heads taller. The ale soaked his tunic and dripped onto the floor.

Before you could open your mouth to apologize, the man raised his hand to strike you. Suddenly his furious face crumpled into pain. He fell to his knees in front of you, the raised arm now twisted behind his back. As his knees hit the floor, Pero’s face materialized behind the man’s shoulder. Pero’s trademark scowl was directed at the back of the man’s head as he hissed instructions to the stranger.

“Apologize to the woman.”

The man spit out a curse and then refused. “She’s a whore!” Another wail of pain issued from his open mouth as Pero twisted his arm up and back.

He leaned down and spoke into the man’s ear, so low that you almost couldn’t hear it. “Apologize.”

The man dropped his head to his chest and whined out a stream of words that included several “sorrys” and “my mistakes”. You looked at him, eyes still wide with shock, mouth frozen into a grimace. Pero looked at you and then gave the man’s arm one final shove. A sickening crack met your ears and the man groaned as he fell forward onto his face.

“Now leave! And do not come back.” The man and his companions scrambled to the exit, and the rest of the customers murmured to themselves as they returned to their own drinks and gossip.

“Mi alma, are you alright?” Pero reached his hand out to you and you shook your head, tears springing to your eyes.

You spun on your heel and ran out of the bar, turning to flee to the back hallway, hands shaking. You pressed your back to the wall and then bent over at the waist, trying to catch your breath. You had seen bar fights before, and broken up a handful when they happened here and there, but you had never seen violence like that up close. You had never seen such hatred on a man’s face as the anger that had colored Pero’s features. You had the sense that Pero would have gladly killed the man and not had a second of remorse.

You heard a foot scrape the floor and you shot upright. Pero was at the end of the hall, eyes flickering in the light from the lone candle on the table. He put both hands out to you, palms facing you in a gesture of openness, approaching one slow step at a time.

“I am sorry. I am sorry.” His voice was low and calm. “Please forgive me.”

“No,” your own voice sounded high and panicked to your ears. “Stop. Don’t hurt me.”

Pero’s face crumpled and he halted his approach. “Hurt you? No, never. I would never hurt you. Please believe me.” He took another step toward you.

“But that man- You, you broke-”

Pero interrupted your awful cry. “Ssshhh, no. No, mi alma. That was not a man. He was a beast. I made him apologize and leave.”

Pero took another step, closing the distance between you to one stride. You were surprised to see tears in the corners of his eyes as well.

“I thought I was saving you, mi alma. Protecting you.”

“You did, you protected me, but- How were you so fast? And why do you keep calling me ‘mi alma’?”

Pero closed the final distance between you and reached his hands out to hold both of yours. He stepped close, and you had to tilt your head back to look into his eyes.

“I love you. You have enchanted me. ‘Mi alma’ means my soul. It means you have my love and my heart.” He looked deep into your eyes. “... and my body, if you so desire.”

He inclined his head and his lips met yours. You felt your head spin, heart pulsing through every vein, pounding in your ears as you let yourself be kissed, over and over again. You had kissed boys before, and even one young man in the village, but this was like being kissed for the first time anew. Pero kissed you with passion, with intent.

His hands gripped your waist and held you to him as your fingers entwined themselves up into his neck and the hair at the back of his neck. Pero broke the kiss and leaned toward your ear. His voice was low and gravelly, striking something in your core and sending sparks to your throat.

“I fell in love with you today. When I caught you looking at me as I changed the lantern. When you sat with me and met my eyes with your own and you didn’t shy away. When I saw that you had changed into a new dress, had made yourself pretty just for me.”

Your breath left your lungs in a huff, and the only sound you could make was a low hum.

Pero continued whispering words and warm breath across your ear, sending shivers down your neck, making your nipples harden with desire.

“I will take care of you, mi alma. Let me take you to bed and show you everything that you need to know. Let me show you how to make love to a man, to please him. How to take a husband and take your own pleasure, too.”

“Ohh…” You hardly recognized your voice as your own, and before you could say more, Pero kissed you again, opening your mouth and slipping his tongue inside. He pressed his hips against you, pinning you to the wall. You could feel his hardness against your hip; but instead of scaring you or making you feel ashamed, it stoked the fire in you from a flame to an explosion.

You kissed Pero back, as hard and as eager as he had kissed you. And then you did something you never would have imagined: you reached behind your waist and grabbed his wrist, bringing his hand up to cup around your breast. He squeezed and thrust his tongue into your mouth, swallowing your moans and squeaks.

He broke the kiss again to suck and nip at your cheek, your jaw, your neck. Every kiss inflamed you further, and you pressed your hips against his, rubbing from side to side to feel his hardness through the layers of your skirts.

“Let me take you to bed, mi alma. Let me make love with you.” Pero’s voice dropped to a low rumble. You could barely hear him above the thrum of your own heartbeat, but the words sent a new rush of something hot and wet to your private area.

“Let me kiss you between your legs, to taste you. Let me show you everything I know. Let me have you, and you may have me… all of me. Let me love you, mi alma.”

Your mouth opened and you spoke the only true answer to his request.

“Yes, Pero. Please.” --- Just-here-for-the-moment’s masterlist

My “all fics” tag list:

@anaaaispunk @justanotherblonde23 @gracie7209 @nicolethered @honestly-shite @driedgreentomatoes @dihra-vesa @1800-fight-me @the-queen-of-fools @juletheghoul

@kesskirata @honeymandos @silverwolf319 @mourningbirds1 @greeneyedblondie44 @spacedilf @maxwell–lord @anxiousandboujee @cevvie @quica-quica-quica @sherala007 @writeforfandoms @libellule2001

#Pero Tovar x reader #Pero Tovar x you #pero tovar x fem!reader #The great wall fic #the great wall fanfiction #Pero Tovar fic #Pero Tovar fanfiction #pedro pascal fic #Pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal characters

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darkorderaf · 3 years

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Can I request prompt 19 from the kiss prompt list with mjf?

Yes, of course! I always get a little anxious on whether or not I'm doing MJF justice but HEY, we out here tryin'. Here’s Max being kind of a dick, please enjoy. :)

Pairing: MJF x OFC. Prompts: “If we get caught kissing we’re dead but let’s risk it.” Rating: T. Warnings/Content: Heated makeouts, nothing too wild. Word Count: 935.

(I don’t own gif; credit to archbishop-of-maxlow!)

It was the slap heard around the ring. She had been mid-promo in the ring with the Nightmare Family around her after her win when he came out. Flanked by his boys, no less. She clenched her jaw tight and lowered her microphone. Even just looking at her made her chest tight. They had had something once. A small something but then he had gone and did what he always does. Betray and destroy.

Even then, that hadn’t stopped them. It just made things more complicated.

“Woah, sweetheart, come on. You’re going to keep lying to these people, to your friends, while you celebrate? That’s cold and that’s coming from me.”

“At least I have friends,” she said, one brow arched as she looked at him. “How many do you have, Maxwell? And Wardlow doesn’t count, you pay the poor guy.”

The big man had nothing to say to that. Max smiled at her, the one that curled up and said that he knew some shit. That slight narrowing of his eyes. She both hated and liked when he got that look. She hurried across the ring but he had already started talking.

“It’s fine, I can do it, since you’re not going to tell them that you’re in bed with--”

Her palm connected hard with his cheek and effectively slapped the microphone clear out of his hand. His eyes held hers and that smirk was there. The one that made her face hot with anger and need. The one that he knew got to her. Not long after, the Nightmare Family and the Pinnacle collided and spilled over into the ring. It was a better time than any to get the hell out of there.

Max caught up to her and followed her into the dressing room she shared with the rest of the Nightmare Family. His hands tentatively touched her hips and when she pressed up against him, his grip tightened.

“Max,” she said, her voice a strained whisper. She caught the bright red at the corner of his mouth and instinctively went to wipe the blood away with her thumb. “Damn, I got you good.”

“Yeah, you did,” Max huffed as he angled his head down to look at her, his eyes dark and half-lidded. One hand trailed up her chest and caressed her cheek. “You almost had me convinced, kitten. Do you think they bought it?”

His voice was a low and heavy whisper against her cheek as he leaned in. She glanced at the door and he caught it. Any second, any minute, the rest could rush in through the door. The thought thrilled him and she could tell.

“What?” Max gently sucked at her pulse-point as he backed her towards the door, his thumbs a warm pressure against her hip bones. “What is it, baby? Are you worried they’re going to show up?”

He gently bit at her jaw and huffed into her ear. Her hands undid the buttons of his suit jacket, then slid upward to clasp behind his neck.

“Are you worried they’re going to see us like this?”

His hands dropped from her waist to drag a hot trail down her thigh. He hitched one leg around his waist and then the other. He widened his stance to keep her pressed against the solid door as he lifted her.

“A little,” she said. Her hand fumbled behind her to get the lock, too caught up in how he was looking at her to even think about glancing away. “But not that much.”

As soon as the lock clicked, he caught her mouth in a kiss. Briefly, she tasted copper mixed with the mint of the gum he had been chewing before. His hands held her ass and supported her against the door. His warm mouth moved with hers so well that she couldn’t help the way her hips gently rolled against his. He grunted and slanted his mouth against hers, kissed her hard and deep. Kissed her with that fire he could set upon the world if he wanted to.

A hard knock rattled the door and the pair paused. Her heart beat rapidly in her chest and she looked at Max with wide eyes. He looked completely carefree, his lips moist and his cheeks flushed. The person on the other side tried the door and she heard Cody swear.

“Hey, are you alright? I don’t know what that was about but Max is just...Such a piece of shit.”

Max’s pleased smile distracted her and he teased her with a light kiss. It caught her off guard when he gently nuzzled against her neck and feathered kisses up it.

“Seriously, are you okay?”

Cody knocked again but was cut off by a woman’s voice. Thank fuck for Brandi Rhodes.

“She’ll be fine, Cody, just give her a minute. Come on.”

The two against the door listened and waited for the sound of their receding footsteps. Max kissed her deeply and when they were both panting messes, he pulled away.

“That was close,” he murmured. He took one of her hands in his and rubbed the palm of her hand with his thumb, felt along the thundering pulse in her wrist as he raised it above her head. Her back arched into him and he eyed her, his gaze heavy. “It’ll be a damn shame the day they finally catch us, huh?”

“If they do,” she said quickly and pulled him into her. “Until then, let’s stay like this.”

Max pulled away long enough to whisper hotly against her lips.

“Don’t have to tell me twice, doll.”

#maxwell jacob friedman imagine #mjf imagine #mjf fic #mjf fanfiction #aew imagine #aew fanfiction #aew fic #wrestling imagine #wrestling fic

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lardguz · 3 years

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All You Can Eat Bluff-et

WHEW. This took me a lot longer to write than I anticipated because I got kind of stuck near the end (just like a certain fatass lawyer in this one, hehe) but YEAH. Wow! Hope you guys like gay lawyer feeder/feedee relationships!

Phoenix Wright sat on the couch in his office, formerly known as the Weight & Co. Law Offices, blankly staring at the TV screen in front of him. It had been two weeks since he was found presenting forged evidence to the court and subsequently stripped of his attorney’s badge and defense attorney title. Since then he’d not really had much to do, not being used to being unemployed for the first time in years. He had cleaned the office from top to bottom multiple times in the first few days following his sudden dismissal, trying to keep his mind off the creeping existential dread. His friends had stopped by frequently to check on him when they heard the news, and he put on a reassuring smile to them all, but now? The apathy was beginning to set in. Phoenix sat there, wearing just a dress shirt, an undone tie, and some slacks, watching the news talking yet again about his disbarment, with his hand rummaging absentmindedly around in a bowl of potato chips. He kept bringing handfuls of the crunchy snacks up to his mouth, loudly chewing on them without realizing how much he was eating.

Phoenix had been eating like this for as long as he could remember, but without constant cases keeping him on the move, and all the time in the world to just sit on the couch and mindlessly watch TV, his snacking habits were starting to show on his body. His middle was starting to protrude just the tiniest bit, slightly straining the button nearest his tummy on his dress shirt. As his fingers scraped the bottom of the bowl with nothing left to eat in it, Phoenix got up off the couch and turned off the TV. At that precise moment, he heard the familiar Steel Samurai ringtone that his former assistant, Maya, had begged him to put on his cell phone echoing from across the office. Trotting over to his messy desk, he picked up the phone. “Wright and Co. Law Offi—er, wait. No. Hey, this is Phoenix Wright speaking?”

“Wright, I’m outside your office door,” spoke a familiar voice with a slight British accent to it, “Open up. How long have you been hiding away in there, anyways?”

Phoenix audibly sighed. “Just a couple of days, Miles. Don’t worry about it. I’ll be right over.” He hung up and made his way over to the office door, hastily running his hand through his hair to make sure it wasn’t a mess.

There outside his door stood Miles Edgeworth, the famed prosecutor, long-time rival to Phoenix Wright, and his boyfriend. The silver-haired man had bags in each hand which seemed to be very heavy. Phoenix leaned in to kiss his partner and then welcomed him into his office. Edgeworth looked around at the shabby state of the room, empty snack bags littering the floor, and huffed in mild disgust. “Really, Wright, you live like this? Have you eaten nothing but garbage junk food at all the past week?”

Phoenix rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well, you know, I was always more of an art guy in college than a cooking guy? Ehehehe…”

Miles groaned and dropped the heavy bags onto the couch, sitting down next to them. “Well, it is a good thing I brought you some real food then, Wright. Here, come sit next to me. I’ll show you what I’ve brought.” The well-dressed prosecutor patted the cushion beside him gently. Phoenix lowered himself down next to his boyfriend slowly and looked into his cool gray eyes curiously. Edgeworth opened one of the bags and pulled out a few plastic containers of some sort of soup. “This is homemade potato and leek soup, with lots of heavy cream. Very nourishing. It’s still warm, I made it just before I left to come over here. And this,” he said as he opened the other bag, revealing a single much larger container, “is a devil’s food cake. I also made this myself, but I baked it last night. The frosting is also homemade.”

Edgeworth popped the lid off of one of the containers of soup and, pulling a spoon out of the bag, dipped it into the bowl and lifted it to Phoenix’s mouth. Phoenix leaned back a little in confusion, stammering. “I-I am perfectly capable of feeding myself, Miles! You don’t have to—”

He was cut off abruptly as the spoon was inserted into his open mouth. The soup, with beautiful, bright flavors and creamy deliciousness, practically melted in his mouth. His cheeks flushed crimson as his eyes met his boyfriend’s, who lifted a finger to his own lips in a shushing gesture. “You have done so much for me, Wright. Now it’s my turn to take care of you. Understand?” Phoenix nodded quickly, still a little dazed, and Miles removed the spoon, refilling it from the bowl and bringing it to his lips again. This went on and on, as Miles emptied one container of soup and moved onto the other two, until there was no more left to feed to his lonely boyfriend. Phoenix belched softly, rubbing his distended belly, which strained against the buttons of his shirt even more now that he’d eaten essentially a whole pot of soup by himself. Miles rubbed his swollen tummy sympathetically before leaning over to whisper in his ear. “I hope you still have room in there, Wright, because you still have to eat dessert…”

Removing the rich chocolate cake from its container, Edgeworth cut off a large piece and held it to his boyfriend’s lips, encouraging Phoenix to take a big bite of the delicious confection. He opened his mouth wide and took a much larger bite than Miles had anticipated, taking about a quarter of the slice in one gulp. The two men continued in this manner, the prim and proper prosecutor delicately feeding slices of the moist chocolate cake to his now very stuffed boyfriend until no more cake remained. Phoenix undid the buttons on his shirt to allow his strained gut some relief, the orb of flesh firm and hard to the touch. Edgeworth gave his boyfriend some gentle belly rubs to try and ease his aching tummy before leaving for the night, promising to be back again tomorrow with more proper food to keep the unemployed former lawyer well-fed.

A year had passed since the fateful trial that had left the legendary Phoenix Wright unemployed, and not many people had seen much of the former lawyer since. Only his closest friends, and the occasional food delivery person, had been in contact with Mr. Wright since his disbarment. The one-time master of courtroom bluffs was sitting on the couch in his former office as he did every day now, a small stack of takeout boxes stacked on the coffee table in front of him. Anyone who knew Phoenix Wright in his lawyer days would hardly recognize the man on the couch as that legendary defense attorney now. Phoenix was wearing a baggy hoodie and a pair of sweatpants, having long since outgrown his old tailored suits from when he still practiced law. The loose, stretchy clothing he preferred to wear at present didn’t leave much to the imagination despite not being form-fitting yet. Phoenix’s chest, once a decently defined pair of pecs, had blossomed into a pudgy pair of moobs that even his XXL hoodie couldn’t hide, and his growing gut sat comfortably in his lap, the bottom of his softening tummy rolls peeking out from the bottom of his hoodie whenever he stretched or moved his arms. Speaking of which, Phoenix’s arms were also noticeably jiggly with fat, with rolls that bunched up at his shoulders whenever he reached upwards. He also had a nice, plush pair of love handles that oozed into a muffintop over the elastic waistband of his sweatpants, which his boyfriend Miles Edgeworth had taken quite a fancy to grabbing ahold of whenever they kissed. None of his weight gain on his upper half even held a candle to how his lower half looked, though. Living such a sedentary life for the past year since his disbarment had sent quite a bit of fat to his thighs and rear end. Phoenix’s ass cheeks were enormous, giving him a beautiful pear shape whether he sat his fat ass on the couch or stood up to waddle to the door to get food delivery. Each round cheek was roughly the side of a pillow, and just as soft. His thighs were also thickening at an astounding rate, each one roughly wide enough to get him stuck in some smaller chairs. When he’d weighed himself earlier that week, Phoenix saw that he’d surpassed 350 pounds. If he had still been a lawyer, that number would have stunned and horrified him, but now? He didn’t really mind at all.

The tubby former lawyer scratched at the stubble on his double chin, leaning forward to grab one of his takeout containers stacked in front of him, when the doorbell rang. Phoenix lowered his arm and instead hoisted himself off the couch, his chubby stomach wobbling underneath his sweatshirt as he did so. He walked over to the door to the office, his meaty thighs rubbing against each other uncomfortably as he did so. God, I’m probably going to have to start taking bigger steps when I walk soon, Phoenix thought to himself as he reached the door. He peered through the peep hole, expecting to see Maya or Edgeworth or someone more familiar, but instead he saw a face he never thought he’d see again. Or, rather, the lower half of a face, since the upper half was covered by a very familiar visor. Phoenix hastily opened the door and stepped outside to confront the visitor.

“Godot?!” he shouted, “How did you get here? Aren’t you supposed to be—”

“In prison?” the white-haired man laughed. “Yeah, well, as it turns out, murder in defense of another isn’t a death sentence. Your pretty little boyfriend got my sentence reduced for “good behavior” and “health reasons”. He also said I should stop by and say hey.” The former prosecutor glanced up and down at Phoenix’s body, chuckling dryly. “Good to see you’ve been taking real good care of yourself, Phoenix, despite everything that’s happened to you.”

Phoenix gulped, subconsciously scratching at the bottom of his overfed gut which flopped over the waistband of his sweatpants. “So, you heard about… that?” Godot nodded, and Phoenix sighed softly. “Figures. Yeah, I got played for a fool. Given forged evidence to present in court. I’m sorry for letting you down so soon after I proved to you that I was worthy to follow in Mia’s—”

“Trite!” Godot snarled. Phoenix yelped and reflexively covered his face, expecting to feel a scalding cup of coffee smack into his face upon hearing his old rival’s nickname for him. He peeked around his fingers to see the masked man rummaging around in a plastic bag that was slung over his arm. That was the first time Phoenix noticed that Godot was carrying multiple plastic bags. The older man clicked his tongue decisively and pulled out a small white box, marked with a logo like a coffee cup with three red lines going horizontally across it. He held it out to Phoenix.

“What’s in this?” Phoenix asked curiously as he reached a hand out to take the box. Godot stayed silent, so Phoenix opened the little package. Inside was a large pastry, a cream tart shaped like an attorney’s badge. Phoenix looked down at the confection, then glanced back up at Godot, a look of confusion plastered on his chubby face. The masked man’s eyes couldn’t be seen, but his mouth broke into a sly grin upon seeing the disgraced attorney’s expression. “I needed something to do after I got out of prison, so I decided why not do what I was always born to do and open a nice little coffee shop? We’ve been a massive success, and your prettyboy boyfriend told me you’d been really enjoying sweet stuff lately, so I decided I’d bring a little taste of Café Armando to your office.” He lifted his bag-laden arms to properly show off just how much he’d brought with him. “Got a little something of everything we make back there for you, Wright. Mind if I come in?”

Phoenix swallowed heavily, his mouth watering already at just the prospect of gorging himself on fresh-made pastries. He nodded shakily, unable to form words with his mouth in his dazed state. Godot shouldered past the overweight former lawyer, heading further into the office. He chuckled loudly at the stack of takeout boxes on the coffee table. “Looks like you already got plenty to eat here, Phoenix, but that’s fine, I’ll put my stuff on this side of the couch for you.” Godot dropped the bags of baked goods onto one half of the couch, leaving Phoenix with the other half all to himself.

The portly man sat back down on the couch cushion, his lardy ass spreading out under him to take up the entire couch cushion. He made to reach for one of the plastic bags and grab a box from within, but Godot slapped his hand away. He waggled a finger in Phoenix’s face. “Ah ah ah, that’s not how we’re doing this, Wright. Your man had very specific instructions for me. So you just sit there and look pretty while I handle the hard stuff, tubby.” Godot prodded a finger into Phoenix’s chubby gut to emphasize his point before reaching into one of the bags and removing the box that contained the cream tart from earlier. The older man then swung his legs over either of Phoenix’s thick thighs and straddled his rounded gut, leaning on it lightly while pressing the cream tart to the scruffy man’s lips. Phoenix eagerly devoured the tart in just a few bites, waiting impatiently for the next confection.

The two men continued their feeding session for hours, Godot getting more and more forceful the more Phoenix ate. His fat cheeks and double chins were covered in crumbs and cream, and a few bits of pastries had fallen onto the front of his hoodie, which was now riding up heavily on his distended gut. The soft layer of fat cushioning the outside of the enormous orb was stretched far by the amount of food Godot was stuffing into his former rival. Phoenix’s mouth was constantly full, every time he finished chewing on a pastry another was prompt shoved into his tiring mouth. Godot growled taunts in a low tone the entire time, calling him a fat pig and commenting on how far gone he was after just a year of unemployment. Finally, as he reached into the last bag to grab another pastry to shove into his adversary’s mouth, Godot’s long fingers closed around empty air. Turning his gaze back towards Phoenix’s exhausted, messy face, he grunted in annoyance. “Well, I guess that’s the end of my fun for now, Wright. But before I leave, I got one last thing I need from you…” Before Phoenix could muster a response, Godot leaned heavily against his bloated gut and wrapped his arms around the stuffed man’s chubby shoulders, planting his lips against Phoenix’s cream-covered mouth. Phoenix let out a muffled noise of surprise before melting into the kiss, unable to deny his long-standing attraction for the mysterious masked Godot back from his lawyer days. The two passionately made out for another few minutes, Godot’s sharp teeth digging into Phoenix’s lower lip occasionally. Finally, they parted, and Godot stood up, slapping Phoenix’s engorged stomach as he made to leave the room. Phoenix sat there in a daze for a few moments before the inevitable food coma washed over him, lulling him into a slumber while his stuffed gut digested its feast.

Morning light filtered through the blinds of the former Wright & Co. Law Offices’ windows, shining directly into Phoenix’s eyes and waking him up. The disgraced lawyer yawned and stretched as he leaned back on his couch, where he had fallen asleep sitting up the night before, just as he did every night these days. It was now a little over four years since the once-famous Phoenix Wright had been stripped of his attorney’s badge, and that time had not been kind to his once-slim and fit body. As he yawned, his fat cheeks caused his eyes to squish shut entirely, and his triple chin creased into a quadruple chin. His neck was buried under rolls of fat, showing no separation between chins and neck anymore. His hoodie, once slightly too big for him, was now several sizes too small, and yet he kept wearing it. The only thing it covered was his oversized moobs, which stretched the elastic fabric nearly to its limits just from their girth alone. The sleeves of said hoodie were starting to rip in places on the seams, his pillow-sized fat-coated biceps poking through the little tears in diamond-shaped bubbles that widened as he stretched his arms above his head. Phoenix’s stomach, while nowhere near his biggest asset, was still impressively large, completely visible due to his hoodie not even coming close to covering it now. His gut split into two distinct rolls that were separated by the fold where the upper roll collapsed over his belly button. The lower roll pooled in his lap like a liquid, settling between his overstuffed thighs while also overflowing over the outer edges of them, and flopping over the edges of his knees slightly. His love handles had also become a multi-layered deal, each one soft and squishy and overflowing out of his strained waistband like an overcooked souffle.

Still, due to his sedentary lifestyle since losing his job four years ago, Phoenix Wright was incredibly bottom-heavy. All those months of planting his fat ass on his couch and doing nothing but eating crappy takeout food, sleeping, and watching Steel Samurai reruns on his TV, with the only exercise he got being walking to the door to bring in all the bags of food he got delivered every couple of hours, truly did a number on the lower half of his body. Each of his enormous shapeless asscheeks took up one half of the couch, the cushions completely flattened underneath his incredible weight. The burgeoning bulk of his massive ass strained the fabric of his once-huge sweatpants, with one steadily growing tear going right down the middle of his butt, which would reveal his boxers to anyone behind him if his ass weren’t firmly sat down on his overburdened couch at almost all hours of the day. His thighs were almost as thick as tree trunks, making his pants look like overfilled piping bags, with little rips forming on the seams where his dimpled cellulite poked through. His thighs were so fat that no mater how far apart he spread them while sitting, they pooled under him in a way that they were always touching. The fat from his thighs was also starting to fold over onto his knees, making it gradually harder to bend them when he stood up to get his food deliveries. Phoenix was also starting to notice that his meaty calves were starting to get so fat that his ankles were fusing with the mass of fat that was the rest of his flabby leg rolls. All in all, the former legal legend was nigh unrecognizable to anyone who hadn’t seen him in the past four years and known about his decline into pure sedentary gluttony.

Phoenix felt a buzzing coming from the pocket of his hoodie that currently rested right between his massive pillow-sized moobs, straining his fat arms against his squishy chest. The sheer size of his chest made it hard for his already-overburdened arms to reach things in front of him, especially when it was something so close to his body. Eventually he managed to reach his pocked and pull out his phone and saw that the last of the deliveries had been made, so Phoenix swung his bulk off the couch and began waddling to the office’s door. His soft, flabby gut hung almost like an apron in front of his legs, the lower half of it dangling halfway down his couch-crushing thighs, slapping against them loudly with every heavy step he took. The obese man opened the door and gathered up the piles of takeout containers in his flabby arms, his wobbling gut just barely brushing the floor as he leaned down to pick up the precious packages. He knew he had a double date tonight with his husband and boyfriend, but Phoenix just couldn’t wait that long to have his greedy gut properly filled. He began steadily waddling his way back to his old worn out couch, his shapeless orbs that were his enormous ass cheeks jiggling hypnotically the entire time.

Phoenix slowly lowered his incredible bulk back down onto his sofa, oblivious to the strained groaning of the metal frame beneath his prodigious rear end. He deposited his delicious cargo onto the coffee table in front of his couch and leaned forward, his double-layered tummy splitting into even more rolls as he strained to reach one of the roughly thirty or so containers of food. He grabbed it in his pudgy fingers and sat back, sighing in relief as he opened the styrofoam box. Inside was a triple decker cheeseburger with extra cheese and bacon, with extra fries. Phoenix always gorged on burgers on Wednesdays, it was an old tradition of his and Maya’s to get burgers on Wednesdays nights after working a long case. Now that she was too busy training to be the next Master of Kurain Village, Phoenix opted to just stuff himself with extra large burgers on his own instead. Grasping the massive burger between his sausage-sized fingers, he lifted it to his mouth and took a huge bite, moaning in joy as the flavors of the juicy burger burst over his taste buds. A little bit of grease dribbled down his scruff chins, but Phoenix didn’t even notice. He continued devouring the triple cheeseburger with practiced ease, demolishing the entire thing and all the fries in record time before moving onto the next container, and the next, and the next…

The former lawyer ate and ate for hours, completely lost in the decadence of his burger feast, each one just as fattening and greasy as the last. Phoenix was completely ignorant to the pounds he was packing on in his fast food haze, too busy stuffing his flabby face with his greasy “breakfast”. His fatty arm rolls grew thicker and thicker, ripping the seams of his hoodie’s sleeves to shreds after just an hour of gorging himself. Tears in the stretchy fabric began to form between his massive breasts, each one straining the overburdened sweatshirt in opposite directions. His soft, flabby gut gurgled as it slowly seeped further outwards, filling his entire oversized lap and overflowing over his legs entirely. His enormous ass and titanic thigh rolls finally won the battle against his formerly-loose sweatpants, a series of loud ripping noises and the twang of splitting elastic signalling their end as waves of lard erupted out of them, his meaty love handles and wobbling cheeks resting comfortably on the arm rests of his overtaxed couch as his oak tree sized thigh rolls dangled over the edge of the sofa cushions.

Finally, after just a few hours, Phoenix finished devouring the last of his burger feast, belching into his closed fist after swallowing the last bite. The man lazily looked down at himself, realizing all he could see was his bare tits and the top roll of his gut. Then he felt his soft fatty flesh covering the entire couch, overflowing over the edges, and it hit him: Phoenix had officially grown fat enough to fill his two-person couch just by himself. As that realization was sinking in, he heard a loud noise, like metal bending, and his heart sank. Trying desperately to lower his sagging lard-covered arms to his sides to hoist himself off of the ticking time bomb that was his couch, Phoenix realized he was now so fat that his arms couldn’t bend right at the elbow anymore, his rolls of arm fat folding over the joint and making it essentially useless. Not only that, but he couldn’t even get his arms down to his sides anymore because of his beanbag-sized moobs and layers of side rolls getting in the way. Well, that just leaves me with one option, Phoenix thought to himself as he planted his chubby feet on the floor in front of him. He began slowly leaning forward, trying to inch his way upwards and off of his sofa, but after a few minutes a cold realization dawned on him: his enormously fat ass was stuck between the armrests of the couch. He’d heard of people getting stuck in a dining chair before, but an entire loveseat?! This was ridiculous! Phoenix didn’t have long to think about how incredibly obese he had gotten, as the couch let out one last groaning metallic shriek and gave out under his unbelievable weight. Phoenix let out a yelp as he plummeted backward to the floor with a resounding boom that sent the entire office quaking. Thankfully he had a lot of extra padding to cushion the fall, and he lay there groaning, his flabby shoulders and back rolls pushing his multiple chins and drooping jowls up around his face. Well, at least Miles and Godot will be here in a few hours, Phoenix thought to himself. I may as well sleep off those burgers while I wait for them. The gigantic man yawned loudly as he fell asleep, pinned beneath his own hundreds of pounds of lard, snoring loudly the entire time.

Phoenix woke with a start as he felt something laying on top of his squishy chest. He opened his eyes and was greeted with the familiar red glow of his boyfriend Godot’s visor inches from his fat-wreathed face. Standing over him and looking mildly amused was his husband, Edgeworth, holding a few bags of food in his arms. The chief prosecutor tssked softly as he shook his head at his obese partner. “Really, Wright, I’ve been warning you about that couch for months now, and yet you kept ignoring me. Now look where that got you, stuck laying on your back, pinned by your own greedy ways.”

Godot laughed softly as he leaned forward to kiss Phoenix’s fat lips. “He has a point, Phoenix, you really have let yourself go. You’ve become quite the hungry little hog, haven’t you?” The masked man grabbed heaping handfuls of Phoenix’s flabby jowls as he shoved his mouth against the helpless former lawyer, making out with him with such an intense ferocity that Phoenix didn’t really know what hit him. Their lips parted with a whimper from Phoenix, craving more, but it was cut off by Edgeworth sticking a sticky cream-filled donut in his husband’s greedy mouth. “There will be plenty of time for that later, dear, but for now, I’m sure you must be starving. Let us take care of that little issue first before we get you up off that floor and find out just how big a butterball you’ve become.” Miles passed the rest of the box of donuts to Godot, who was still laying on top of Phoenix’s enormous bulk. He positioned the box on Phoenix’s chins for easier stuffing access and began pressing the fried sweet delights into his mouth one after another, barely giving him any time to swallow one before another was fed to him. Miles sat on the floor beside Phoenix, leaning against his pillowy arm rolls as he began stuffing his husband’s face with large fancy cupcakes, frosting and crumbs flecking his droopy jowls and his many stubble-covered chins.

The tender dual-feeding session was over quickly, with two feeders and one voracious feedee making short work of the boxes of baked goods. Edgeworth leaned over his morbidly obese husband’s arm fat to kiss his round overstuffed cheek. “All finished? Then we should probably get you off the floor now and see how much you weigh, hm?” Godot whined from where he still lay on top of Phoenix’s mounds of man-tits. “Aww, but I’m having fun up here! He’s so soft and fun to pinch and lay on now “ The masked man grinned mischievously. “Plus, it’s so fun to see from above just how far the mighty Phoenix Wright has fallen.” Miles gave Phoenix’s flabby gut a hearty shove, sending the entire expanse of his husband’s fat-swaddled body wobbling so hard that it knocked Godot off of his chest. The two men each grabbed one of Phoenix’s lard-coated wrists and heaved, taking a solid five minutes to get the jiggling mound of pure fat that was once the best defense attorney around back on his feet. Edgeworth then led the pear-shaped butterball to the scale he’d bought last year, watching the numbers go up and up. They finally stopped, and Edgeworth read the display out loud. “Seven hundred and sixty-two pounds. Good god, Wright, you really have gotten enormous.” He pulled Phoenix into a hug, squishing into his pillowy soft body. “I’m so proud of you, dear.” Godot grabbed a fistful of his boyfriend’s chair-sized ass cheeks appraisingly, before grunting in approval. “Yeah, I’d say you’ve become a pretty prize hog, Phoenix. Good work. Looks great on you.”

The two much smaller men escorted their doughy partner as he lumbered his way back to the broken sofa. Phoenix was breathing heavily, worn out from just waddling over to the scale and back, but the couch was completely busted. He had nowhere to sit now. Edgeworth patted his squishy shoulders reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Phoenix. I can get you a special reinforced couch delivered tomorrow. But more importantly, I have a job opportunity that came my way for you.”

Phoenix looked at his husband quizzically. “Job opportunity? What kind?” Miles chuckled. “Well, it involves a lot of eating as a front, but… how good are you at playing poker?”

A young brown haired lawyer was pacing around the defendant lobby of the courthouse. Today was his first ever trial as a defense attorney, and his client was nowhere to be seen. The chubby man was very nervous, loudly muttering to himself in a voice that had clearly been driven hoarse from practicing all night the night before. “It’s fine, Apollo! Everything is just fine! Your client is probably just stuck in traffic, that’s all! He’ll be here in time for the trial! It’s fine! You’re fine! I’m fine!” He took a deep breath and let loose a yell that could probably be heard from across the entire courthouse. “I’M APOLLO JUSTICE, AND I’M FINE!!!” Breathing heavily after such an incredibly loud scream, Apollo wiped his forehead with the back of a pudgy arm and walked over to one of the benches in the lobby, collapsing onto it gratefully. It was then that the rotund young man noticed the array of tables on the other side of the defendant lobby, each one piled high with mountains of food. “What the…” he mumbled to himself, “Who is all that food for…? Is- Is that for me?” He hoisted himself off the bench and walked over to the tables, his fat tummy growling hungrily at the sight of all that delicious food. Apollo was by no means a skinny man, having been well acquainted with stress eating ever since he started law school. Reaching out for a cream-filled donut with one chubby hand, he stopped when he heard noises coming from out in the hall. Loud noises, like a dinosaur was stomping around out there. Curious to know the source, Apollo turned around at the exact same moment the door to the defendant lobby opened. His eyes were greeted with the sight of none other than the Chief Prosecutor himself, Miles Edgeworth. Apollo yelped in shock and bowed his head respectfully, but Edgeworth stopped him. “That won’t be necessary, Mr. Justice. I’m not here on prosecutor business. It’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance, though. I’ve heard much about you from your mentor, Mr. Gavin.”

Apollo’s chubby cheeks were bright crimson, flustered to receive such high praise from such a legendary prosecutor. “U-uh, th-thank you, Mr. Edgeworth. I mean! Uh! Chief Prosecutor, sir!” Miles chuckled, a sound that Apollo was certain not many heard. “Please, Mr. Edgeworth will do. Now, I’ve heard you’ve taken over the case that Mr. Gavin was originally meant to take?” Apollo nodded. “Yes, Mr. Edgeworth. Once I heard who it was I would be defending, I insisted! He was always a hero of mine when I first decided I wanted to be a lawyer as a kid. Even after what happened seven years ago, I still believe he’s innocent!”

Edgeworth nodded, satisfied by the fledgling defense attorney’s passionate answer. “Excellent. Well, then, your client shall be arriving shortly.” Apollo looked up at him, clearly confused, so Edgeworth continued without pause. “I said I wasn’t here on prosecutor business, correct? The only reason I came here was to make sure your client could get here on his own.”

Apollo hummed in even further confusion. “What do you mean, Mr. Edgeworth? Is he… injured?” Miles shook his head gently. “You’ll see soon enough. Good day, Mr. Justice, and good luck with your trial.” With that, the Chief Prosecutor left the defendant lobby, his coat tails swooshing behind him. Apollo stood in the middle of the lobby, absolutely baffled, when he realized the loud stomping noises in the hallway had started again, and were getting louder-- and closer. He stood and watched as the door to the hallway was opened, not by a hand, but by an enormous flabby stomach as wide as the door was pressed into it slowly. The wobbling double-decker behemoth of a gut oozed past the door frame, soft enough that it could still fit through despite being wider than the doorway itself. Then came the rest of the doughy man’s front, his enormous drooping moobs and upper belly roll the only thing covered by his tent-sized sweatshirt. His neck was a thick ring of no less than eight flabby chins, all covered in a stubbly beard. His eyes squinted from behind jiggling oversized jowls that drooped down to his shoulders. The mammoth of a man continued shuffling his way through the doorway, squishing all his doughy rolls against the frame. His arms, which were just cylindrical dimpled pillows of fat that were slowly absorbing his round hands at the wrists, grasped at either side of the door frame to try and lever his massive bulk through the door easier. But suddenly, his flowing rolls of lard stopped moving through the doorway, and the flabby behemoth strained and pushed against the walls with his swaddled arms, trying desperately to get the rest of his bulk through the door. Apollo shook himself and trotted over to help the comically oversized man.

As he got closer to the wedged ball of lard, Apollo really got a good look at just how massively obese this guy was, even with only half his body visible. The young lawyer wasn’t skinny at all, but this guy even put his soft and round physique to shame. Apollo was pretty sure he could see the man’s feet peeking out from under the bottom of the exposed rolls of his incredible gut, which came down to just above his ankles. Looking down at his own stomach, which only just barely drooped over his belt, he couldn’t help but feel a little impressed, and maybe jealous, that someone could get just so ridiculously fat.

Apollo coughed nervously before addressing the panting, wobbling blob of a man. “Uh, sorry to bother you, sir, but uh, do you… need help getting through the door?”

The blubbery behemoth responded in a voice that was deepened by all the fat caking his neck and interrupted with wheezy breaths every few words. “Yeahh… tha’ woul’… haah… helph a lot… thin’ my assh ish… haah… shtuck…” Apollo had to take a few seconds to mentally translate what the enormous man was saying through his speech being slurred by his flabby jowls getting in the way of his mouth. “Oh, your, uh, b-backside is stuck? Here, let me grab your arms and try and pull you through, okay sir?” The doughy butterball nodded, his cheeks and chins jiggling as he did, and he reached his overburdened arms as far forward as he could. Apollo had to lean into the man’s cushiony stomach rolls to reach his arms, feeling himself sinking into the warm, soft adipose. He grabbed onto the man’s fat-ringed wrists and began pulling as hard as he could, trying to ignore the way being enveloped between the man’s blubbery tits and tummy made him feel. After a few minutes of pulling the immense man’s nearly useless arms, Apollo finally felt the wobbling flab all around him begin inching forward slowly. He kept tugging at the monstrously sized man’s round hands as he in turn shuffled his titanic thunder thighs through the door, every roll and fold of fat covering them touching at the middle, all the way down to his ankles. Once he got his double door-wide hips and thighs through the door, it was just a manner of getting his fat ass inside, which was easier said than done.

Apollo let go of the man’s flabby arms to take a few steps back and think of a new plan of attack. He scanned the blubbery blob’s body, observing the parts he could now see that were stuck on the other side of the door before. It was no wonder he’d gotten stuck in the door. It was a single doorway, and this man, who was so fat that he’d probably be immobilized by his own weight soon if he kept getting fatter, had a lower half that was wide enough to take up five chairs at a dinner table. One overstuffed thigh was almost as wide as the doorway itself on its own, let alone two of them. His squishy love handles oozed over the top of his sweatpants that probably had more X’s in their size than Apollo cared to even imagine, giving the already definitively pear-shaped blubber bag a overflowing muffin top behind his apron of stomach rolls. His arms rested at a ninety degree angle because of his beanbag-sized tits and plush love handles colliding with fat-coated arm rolls that were the size of his own fat head. Damn, how huge must this man’s butt be if it’s still stuck in the doorway after all the rest of that managed to get through?! Apollo thought to himself, when he noticed the whale-sized lardball eyeing the food tables that he’d almost taken a donut from earlier. “Who’sh tha’… haah… food f’r...? Haah… haah…” the behemoth wheezed. “The food? Oh, I’m not sure. It was here when I got here. No one said whose it was.” Apollo could only stand and watch in awe as he observed what happened next. The monumentally obese man began wobbling his bulky form forward and backward against the door frame, slamming his rolls against it repeatedly as cracks began to form around the wooden framework. He then began slowly inching his thunderous legs forward, having to shift his blubbery bulk back and forth in a painfully slow waddle, his lard-caked thighs touching at all points no matter how far apart he spread his legs to “walk”. As he moved his door-sized legs forward, the cracks around the door frame widened, creating loud snapping noises as he dragged his rolls of fat further and further into the defendant lobby.

Finally, with one resounding crunch, the door frame gave way, parts of the walls surrounding it coming with it, crushed to pieces by the enormous blob of a man and his incredible ass cheeks. The flabby titan’s doughy body surged forward as he freed his backside finally, giving Apollo a chance to finally see the probably half-ton of lard in all his glory, and boy, did it make sense how he’d gotten so stuck in that doorway. The man’s ass was easily wide enough to get stuck in a double door, let alone a single one! Each doughy cheek probably took three chairs to sit on on their own, and they sagged so far down that they were touching the floor! Apollo was stunned. How could someone get this fat and still be up walking around? The swollen mass of fatty rolls wobbled constantly as he stood still, wheezing from the effort of busting through the doorway using his hundreds of pounds of fat as a battering ram. After getting his breathing back to the normal level of heavy breathing for one his massive size, the colossal mountain of man-flesh turned his attention back to the tables piled high with food across the lobby, drooling at the sight of it all. He began shuffling his jiggling bulk towards the tables slowly as Apollo watched in fascinated awe. Each heavy step shook the entire room, his double-decker gut rippling with shockwaves from slapping against his meaty cankles with every step. His shapeless flabby ass cheeks wobbled hypnotically as they bumped against the floor with every movement. His beanbag chair moobs slapped against his flab-caked arms, which rested at an angle even when waddling across the room. His cascade of chins and sagging jowls shook with every heaving breath from the exertion of walking so much. As soon as the man’s gut rolls reached the tables before the rest of him, he flung his doughy body at the plates of food, his fat hands grabbing any food within reach and stuffing it into his greedy face, chewing loudly and getting his chins covered in food. Apollo cleared his throat and spoke to the whale of a man. “Um, excuse me, sir, but, wh-why are you here? This is the defendant’s lobby, not a buffet.”

The barely-mobile butterball spoke around a mouthful of food. “Mmmmph… sho… Milesh… mrrrrmph… dihden… shay…? Youh… ahre… hffff… my… lawyuh…mmmmph…”

Apollo’s jaw practically hit the floor. Gazing at the mound of blubber before him, wearing a tiny sweatshirt stretched across his moobs and sweatpants what couldn’t even contain half of his ass fat, the young defense attorney stammered out a response. “W-what?! So then… y-you’re the Phoenix Wright?! The famous defense attorney?” The man’s swollen fatty head wobbled in something resembling a nodding gesture, his neck too fat for an actual nod. “Wh-what happened to you? Last I heard, you’d been disbarred seven years ago! How did you end up like… like that?” The enormous Phoenix Wright paused his gorging himself to explain. “Haaah… haah… I wohrk… ash a… haah… tashte… teshtuh… urrrrp… fuhll… tihme…” The blob-shaped man smiled cryptically, before immediately returning to stuffing his face with the frantic speed of someone who thought they would starve to death. Apollo rubbed his temples, more stressed than ever. How was he going to defend someone who couldn’t even go ten minutes without eating? This case was going to be an ordeal, he could just tell.

#my writing #fat!ace attorney #fat!phoenix wright #ssbhm #male weight gain

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seiyasabi · 4 years

Text

Ugly Bastard

(This is a Yandere Milluki Zoldyck x Rabbit Female Darling :))

I’m really sorry if this wasn’t what you wanted, but this is my interpretation of his character, and my interpretation is that he’s considered the ugly bastard and a neckbeard :/ I hope you enjoy this.

TW: Aged up!!, Forced heat!, !technically noncon!, !dubcon!, He’s rlly gross!, daddy kink!, objectification!!, breeding kink!, typical neckbeard behaviour, mate literally doesn’t wash himself (I’m so sorry) or clean his room!, he fucks you while you hold a comfort object, etc..

I don’t normally say this, but please, please proceed with caution! This got really dark and disgusting :/)

Giggling to himself, the short haired man holds a glass vial up to the light, the amber liquid inside sloshing violently. A grotesque smile paints his chubby face, thick fingers holding it so tightly that his knuckles are turning white, “Thank you, Illu-nii! She surely can’t resist me now!”

The oldest Zoldyck looks down at his younger brother with disgust, wondering how exactly he became this way, “Of course… But, if she was giving you so much trouble, why not take her-?”

Milluki shakes his head, holding the vial close to his breast, “No! I can’t do that, are you crazy?” Illumi raises a perfectly shaped brow, unimpressed by his grease ball of a brother, “I’m not the ugly bastard in this story! I’m her handsome prince-”

Illumi tunes him out, rolling his eyes. Of course his brother doesn’t have morals, he just wants you to bow to his every whim.

Although the eldest brother couldn’t critique the younger too much, he still couldn’t shake the overwhelming repugnance he feels towards him.

He’s seen the room you’re trapped in, seen the harsh way Milluki tugs on your ears and tail, seen the- he shivers at the memory of the short haired man forcing you to feed him. The excessive way he chews with his mouth open, trying to get a reaction out of you, makes the tall man’s blood boil. He has no idea how you’re able to keep calm, but he can applaud you for it.

“-So this is my last resort! Thanks to you, Illu-nii, we can now continue to Zoldyck like!” Illumi can’t help but shiver in disgust at the idea of Milluki reproducing.

“Yes, yes, of course. You go do that,” With quick feet, the slim man hurries away, hoping to escape this conversation as quickly as possible.

Glancing at the vial in his hand, Milluki squeals in delight, a gross smile on his greasy face.

Tonight is going to be a night to remember.

Hearing the door open, you immediately look up from your clean spot on the bed. In your arms you hold your stuffed rabbit, cradling it to your black bodysuit clad breast.

Seeing your captor waddling into the room, you jump to your feet to greet him. Putting on a fake happy smile, lifting your ears, and shaking your tail, you start to gush over him, “Daddy, welcome back! I’m so happy to see you!” You hop over empty Mountain Dew Liters filled with piss, wrappers of empty food containers, broken games that disappointed Milluki, and his dirty clothes. You try to clean up, you really do, but Milluki is one of the sloppiest people to ever live.

His ugly face grins at your beautiful form, your pretty face, and cute voice, “What a good bunny, coming to greet her Daddy!” He opens his arms for a hug, making you breathe through your mouth. Landing on his large stomach, you lay your head against his breast, trying your best to block out his grease, musk, and food stains.

This bastard fills you with so much disgust and anger. He tells you that you need to lose weight, dress up pretty, put on a lot of makeup, keep clean, and be well shaven. Yet, here he is, looking like a goddamn catastrophe.

“I missed you so much! Me and Hoppy,” You raise their stuffed animal, “Were waiting for you all day!”

He rubs a sweaty hand over your exposed shoulders, “You’re so cute, Bun. Daddy has a special present for you today,” He uses the hand that once rubbed your shoulders to reach into his pocket, withdrawing a certain amber filled vial, “Be a good girl, and drink this all. You’ll do that for me, right?”

You pull away from him to look at what he’s offering, feeling dread weigh down on your heart, “What is it, Daddy?”

He tuts condescendingly at your question, releasing you from the awkward side hug you were in. His thumb and forefinger grip your chin, a suddenly serious look on his face. Fuck, you forgot that rule, “Bun, you know how Daddy feels when you question him! Good girls don’t question their Daddies, we always know what’s best for them.”

You want to scream ‘no’ at him, but unfortunately, you’d rather not receive a brutal punishment tonight. Nodding your head, you smile up at him, “Okay! I’m sorry for questioning you, Daddy.”

He squeezes your tail, before grabbing your hand, and forcefully placing the vial into it, “Good, Bun Bun! Now, drink this!”

Rolling the warm glass in your hand, you scrunch your nose slightly at the weird smell of the contents inside. But, feeling his warning glare on your figure, you quickly uncap it, and throw it back like a shot.

It tastes horrible!

You can’t help but gag at its vomit esque taste. Covering your mouth with a hand, you stare down at the vial in both shock and disgust. Luckily, you’re able to choke it down, but you’re only barely able to.

“Good Bunny, I’m proud of you,” He runs a moist hand through your hair, making your stomach lurch.

“Thank you, Daddy,” Milluki drags you to his bed, disregarding the trash you have to step on with your bare feet. Once at the bed, he tries to push you onto his side. You don’t allow yourself to fall forward, instead opting for your designated sliver of the bed. No matter what you try, no matter how many times you change your sheets, Milluki’s side always ends up absolutely filthy! His grease, food stains and…… unspecified stains discolour any colour of sheets, even black ones! So, you only stay on your side, trying not to get a skin infection.

He makes a noise of disapproval behind you, but quickly flops down on his side, his arms squeezing your middle tightly. His right hand lays over your tummy, squeezing slightly. Thinking that he was going to critique your looks, you whimper slightly, “I’m sorry, Daddy, am I gaining weight? I can go on another diet-“

“No! No! You’re doing great, Bun! If anything, I think you’ll need to be a little bigger…” He trails off, increasing your nerves. Is that why you’re sweating? It’s suddenly very hot in here.

“Daddy, is the heater on?” You lay your free hand on your forehead, the other gripping Hoppy in an ironclad grip. Are you getting sick? That could be a problem. Your diet since getting here has changed drastically, along with your sleeping pattern, cleanliness or your environment, and your stress level. Hopefully he’ll cast you into a separate room, leaving you to your own devices.

“No, why?” He removed your hand from your forehead, and replaced it with his own. Is this supposed to happen? He isn’t too sure how heats are supposed to happen.

“I-I think I’m getting sick, Daddy. Should I go take a cold bath?”

“No! I mean, uhm, no, that won’t be necessary. Just stay right here,” He tightens his hold even more, you can feel your ribs creak underneath his fingertips.

You say nothing, starting to curl into yourself at the feeling of cramps in your abdomen. Could you be starting your period?

“I think I started my period,” You don’t see him look at you in disgust, but you can feel it.

“Then get up, I don’t want you dirtying the sheets,” You had to stop yourself from laughing. You? Dirtying the sheets? Says the man who has turned them rancid! You set your bunny stuffie on your clean pillow, trying to keep it away from any dirt.

Hurrying to your feet, you move quickly towards the bathroom. Once inside, you flick on the light, showing its pristine condition. He almost never comes in here, leaving it clean.

Unzipping your outfit, you pull your tail out of its hold, and shuck it down your legs. Once bare to the room, you open the toilet seat lid, and sit.

Once done with your business, you wipe, expecting something to be different, but not what you see. The piece of toilet paper is absolutely drenched, and not in what you think.

You slick is practically drenching your entire hand, scaring the shit out of you. What on Earth is happening to you?! And why did the feeling of your wiping feel so good?!

Grabbing baby wipes, you wipe down your pussy and ass, cleaning yourself up as much as possible. You stand up on shaky legs, closing the lid, flushing the toilet, washing your hands, but the pain becomes too much. Tears bead your eyes as your fear and pain take over, causing you to curl into a ball on the marble floor.

A burning feeling of arousal pools in your belly, making the urge to touch yourself grow exponentially. What the hell did Milluki give you? And aphrodisiac? You’ve never had a heat in your life!

Milluki knocks on the door after a long period of silence, the only thing he hears is your crying, “What’s wrong, Bunny? Is everything alright in there?”

You whimper in response, prompting him to open the door. The sight of your naked body made him do a double take. And, upon seeing a growing puddle of arousal around your hips, he can’t help but salivate.

“Is my little one in heat? How precious! Cute little bunnies need their Daddy, and if you ask nicely, I’ll be happy to assist you!” Milluki bends down to grab you, but finds difficulty when his large stomach stops him halfway. Grunting slightly, he crouched down, finally able to grab one of your arms and heft you into his own. Once secure, he stands to his feet, stumbling to your bed.

He tosses you in the middle, much to your disgust, and flips you onto your back. He gazes down at your perfect body, practically salivating at the sight of you.

Your pussy is drooling onto the dirty sheets, cleaning away his dirt in its midst. Perfect teats are pebbled, chest heaving in deep breaths. Your ears hang high above your head, curling slightly, looking adorable. Your little tail above your cute butt looks so nice to pull. A thin sheen of sweat is present on your skin, and as much as he wants to be disgusted, he can’t. You’re just too perfect like this.

“Do you need Daddy’s help? Come on, you need to beg for him,” Your body locks up in revulsion. You don’t want his nasty cock anywhere near you! For all you know, he’ll give you a bacterial infection!

“Nu-no, Daddy. I just-I just need to sleep, I think!” Looking over your shoulder, you see a dark present on his face.

“Are you disgusted by me?” His voice comes out deeper than normal, anger slowly starting to become apparent.

“No! No! Nothing like that, Daddy!” You force your aching body up, crawling towards him. You’re on your knees before him, holding onto his dress shirt pathetically within your pretty hands, “I just-you know I want to wait until we’re married,” You look down in an attempt to be bashful. Telling him that lie at the beginning really saved your ass, but right now, it seems that he’s tired of waiting, “I promise that that’s all! Because what if I get pregnant? I want to ensure my baby is taken care of-“

He grabs your hands, yanking you towards him, your naked chest smashing into his fat. He cups your face with gross hands, gaging your reaction. When all he sees is anxiety, he sighs overdramatically, “There’s no need to worry about all of that. Mama said I can marry you, so we can make a baby now!” His words make you gush with unwanted arousal, the last thing you want is him to fuck you, “See?” He releases your face with one hand, using the other to scoop up some of your arousal, “Why are you stopping yourself? Daddy’s cock is more than sufficient to fill you up.”

Try as you might, the smell of his arousal and your heat clouded mind are starting to drive you wild. He’s the closest fertile male, making your instincts go into overdrive to mate.

A pathetic whine leaves your throat, making him giggle horribly, “Even all teary eyed, you still look so cute. Good thing all of your makeup is water-proof, because if they weren’t, you’d look so ugly right now.”

You’re so aroused, that his words don’t make you furious like you usually would be.

“Now, take out my cock, Bunny. Suck me well, and I’ll breed your pretty pussy well,” In your mind, you don’t want to. You don’t even want to touch him with a ten foot pole. But, instinctually, you’re ready to jump his bones.

With shaking hands, you grab his belt, unlooping it with ease. Sliding it off, you move to his button and fly. Unbuttoning his pants is a bit difficult, due to it barely containing his large body, but you manage. Once done, you move on to his drawers, gross, white stains cover the front of them in a crusty topcoat.

Shivering in disgust, you pull them down, revealing his decent sized cock. Milluki smiles down at you, and grabs your ears in a makeshift ponytail, egging you on.

Deciding not to look to close at his repulsively unwashed cock, you close your eyes, and suck on his precum coated tip. It tastes awful. If you thought that heat inducing elixir was awful, this is 100 times worse.

Withholding your gags, you take him further down your throat, praying you don’t get strep throat. Using your tongue, you rub the vein on the bottom of his shaft. Hollowing out your cheeks, you suck him hard, bobbing your head quickly in the hopes of him finishing.

Gripping your ears even harder, he groans and pants as he bucks into your mouth. Milluki can’t believe it! His waifu is sucking his cock willingly!

That thought has him busting a fat, chunky load down your throat, causing you to almost throw up for real this time. He quickly pulls you off by your ears, looking down at you in awe.

The puddle around your cunt only grew bigger, and your fucked out expression is so endearing!

“Good girl for making Daddy cum! Do you want him to cum in that cunny? To make the hurt go away?” You nod eagerly, making a piggish smirk cross his features, “Beg for me, Bun Bun, beg for me nicely, and I’ll do it.”

You grasp his cloth covered hips in a tight grip, resting your chin on his large stomach, “Please, Daddy! Please make it stop! Please fill me!”

“Hmm, I’m not sure if I’m convinced,” Whining at his words, you turn around in his hold, pressing your slick cunt against his already hardening cock. Rubbing lightly, you keen at the pressure.

“Please, Daddy, I’m begging you! Please fuck me!” Milluki can’t hold back anymore, immediately forcing his cock inside your soaked pussy. Screaming in pleasure, you push yourself harder against him, tail tickling the underside of his tummy.

“Shit, you feel amazing,” He bucks his hips into yours hard and fast, not caring about your pleasure, “Don’t you see? This is your purpose; a little Bun like you is meant to be my cock sleeve, my little baby maker.”

You can’t bring yourself to respond, only pathetically fucking yourelf into his thrusts. He groans at your tight and wet walls, loving the way your cute, bunny body clings to him.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum,” He lifts one of your ears to whisper into it, “You want my babies? You want me to cum inside?”

You nod your head rapidly, disregarding the slight pain of his tugging, “Uh-huh, please fill me up, Daddy! Make me your house wife! Make me have your baby!”

Your words send him over the edge. Slamming himself deep inside you, he releases his disgusting cum inside your womb, bloating your tummy slightly.

The large man leans on your smaller form, smushing your face into the dirty sheets. Within moments, the burning feeling and pain is gone, leaving you disturbed and revolted.

“Wha-what do good girls say to their Daddies?” You wanted to throw yourself out of a thirty floor window.

“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you for giving me a baby,” He pets your head with a moist hand, rolling out and off of you, in favour of lying behind you. He wraps an arm around you, pulling you close to his soft body.

Milluki falls asleep quickly, allowing you to cry quietly to yourself.

Outside the door, Illumi stands motionless. He can hear your crying, and for the first time in his life, he truly pities someone.

He can only hope his father will reject you as Milluki’s spouse.

Otherwise, you’ll be stuck with the ugly bastard for life.

Requester: @milluki-simp--i-guess

#yandere hxh #yandere milluki #milluki hxh #milluki x reader #hxh x reader #yandere hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader #tw: noncon

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the-purity-pen · 4 years

Note

Hi! Could you do a Billy x Reader where the reader is a virgin and it’s her first time with a Billy?

okay so i definitely didn’t mean for this to be a full on fic, but here it is. i hope you enjoy it! <3

Pairing: Billy Russo x AFAB!Reader (no pronouns)

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 2,373

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Your nerves were getting the better of you. Your eyes were darting around, avoiding the man before you and your heart was threatening to jump out of your chest. Your hands wrung together in front you as you swallowed a large lump that had formed in your throat. You finally chewed your lower lip and lifted your gaze to meet Billy’s.

He was sitting across from you on the metal picnic table that you were sharing. He leaned forward onto his forearms as they rested on the table, his gaze trying to gauge you and noticing the little twitches of nerves running through your body. His head tilted to one side then the other, trying to read your mind. His lips twitched to one side before his tongue was pressing against the inside of his cheek in thought.

“We don’t have to, you know,” he offered gently, sitting back slowly, his hands coming together on the table. You shook your head slowly in small movements as you watched him move back.

“N-no. I love you, I do. I just-” You didn’t know how to tell your boyfriend that you were a virgin. The conversation hadn’t exactly come up in the last two months that you had been officially dating. You didn’t want to bring it up either. You feared that because you were inexperienced that he would not want you anymore.

Kissing and making out were perfectly fine and maybe some hand stuff happened on your end to him but you always shied away from having him touch you. You had always told him that it was because you wanted to make him feel good and not to worry about yourself.

Billy was far more experienced, having slept with multiple women over the years. When you both were still just friends, he gave quite a few stories of his conquests. Both when he was active duty and after he gained control of ANVIL. It was well known in your circle of friends and was evident any time that you went out together for drinks. The way women would flock to the tall man with a pressed suit and coiffed hair.

Billy stood up then, letting out a quiet sigh as he came around the table and held his hand out to you. You looked up to give him a wry smile but took his hand anyway. He had already paid for dinner and you were done with your dessert but the conversation that had been brought up kept you at the table a bit longer than usual.

Once you were home, you found yourself flipping through your key ring, fumbling to grasp the correct key. Billy looked at you with a furrowed brow and covered your hands with his larger ones, calming your movements. “We seriously don’t gotta do this,” he told you and when you didn’t look at him right away, he called your name quietly.

When you did look up, Billy could see the tears welling at the corners of your eyes. One of his hands came to the side of your face, his thumb swiping away a lone tear that fell. This was your friend Billy, not your boyfriend. The one that cared deeply for your well-being. You sniffled and shook your head, trying to lean into his touch.

“I want to,” you told him before leaning in to press your lips to his softly. Billy groaned quietly, forcing himself to not deepen the kiss right then and there. He pulled back, releasing his breath and looked to you before sliding the keys out of your hand to open the door himself.

Once inside, he closed the door behind you and locked it, tossing your keys onto the small table that lined the foyer. One look at him and you were melted. The softness in his eyes replaced the scarred, broken man that had found you all those years ago. Not many got to see this side of Billy but you were one of the few fortunate ones and now it meant even more that he was being so authentically himself for you.

His hands reached out to touch your shoulders, his fingers ran down the length of them slowly. His eyes were watching his hands move but your eyes were watching his face. He leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek as his hands moved forward to the buttons on your jacket. He unbuttoned them slowly and gave pause to pull back and look you in the eyes.

You looked at him as your teeth gnawed at your bottom lip, slightly swollen from the kiss and tingling for more. Your eyes danced around his dark features and nodded slowly as he made your jacket and subsequently your top fall from your body. You were left in your bra and jeans, on display and while Billy had seen you over the years undressed before him, he knew something about right now was special.

You swallowed hard when he leaned in to kiss your jaw, his hands cupping at your breasts to massage them through the lace. His hands felt warm and all-encompassing as his groped at the muscles, giving them a slight massage that had your head rolling back. But your heart was fluttering and you put your hands on his to stop his movements.

“I’m a virgin,” you blurted out and immediately sucked in a breath. Billy stood up straight and looked at you with furrowed brows. Your breath quivered as you watched him, the man you had given your life to. The one you had spent countless hours shopping and redecorating his crummy little apartment. The one that although being a total ladies man always treated you with respect.

And now was no different. Billy may have been troubled, scarred, broken and done some very bad things but with you, he was always this Billy. The one that after blurting out that you were a virgin simply said, “Do you trust me?”

You blinked, unsure of how he wasn’t just turning away from you. Backing away as if you were tainted in some way or that you were too fragile and he didn’t want to break you. That was the response from every other guy you had been with. But not Billy.

You nodded slowly and he grinned. “Good. I’m not gonna do anything you don’t want to, okay?” His hand came to your cheek and held your face so you couldn’t look away from him. “Okay?” he asked again and you nodded. “You need to say it,” he assured you and you swallowed again, trying to find your voice.

“Y-yes. I trust you Billy,” you managed to squeak out

You didn’t know how many minutes had passed as Billy’s hands on your body and his lips attached to your skin were blurring the lines between seconds and minutes. Your bodies had moved effortlessly through the hall to your bedroom. Billy didn’t need much guidance to find it since it wasn’t his first time being in there. But this had a whole new connotation to it.

His bare chest against yours as his kisses pressed into your lips sent your heart and mind reeling. Your hands were suddenly unsure of what to do so they just traced mindless shapes along the muscles of his shoulders and upper back.

Billy moved so that you were laying on your back on the bed, a slow but gentle movement, his body covering yours. His kisses were gentle and unassuming as he trailed them up your stomach, over your bra and up to your neck. His arms laid to either side of your head when his lips met yours. He pulled himself up a bit, his hand coming to the side of your head to brush through your hair lightly.

“Are you sure?” he whispered quietly against your lips as his nose nudged yours. His eyes caught your gaze and you nodded.

“Yes Billy. I’m yours,” you whispered back before he was kissing you fervently, a passion that had buried deep down now igniting in every fiber of his being. His little unrequited crush on you had been built up for years.

It was why he had treated you so differently to other girls he had. Even Frank had noticed the difference and Karen on more than occasion had teased you about Billy liking you. But your friendship always meant more. Taking the leap of faith into dating despite not having sex yet was new for both of you it seemed.

Billy’s hands ran down your body to behind you and undid your bra. He pulled it forward gently and watched as your breasts became free. The dark of his pupils taking over his already darkened irises.

Over the next few minutes, his hands moved deftly to finish removing your and his own clothing but when he got your panties, he stopped just short and checked in with you again. Your heart was beating erratically in your chest as you answered him with a simple yes.

His eyes drank in every inch of skin that was exposed to him and as he eyed your moist center, his tongue poked out to lick his lips. “Can I taste you?” he muttered, his hands rubbing your thighs in soft strokes, coming closer to your core but never quite touching. His eyes searched yours for an answer.

You shook your head out of instinct and Billy’s hands moved up to your stomach, over your breasts as he hovered over you again. “Tell me what you want,” he murmured against your skin and your body arched up into him.

“You. I want-” you paused, moving to hold his head between your hands and making him look at you. “You.”

Billy dropped his hips and you felt his length pressing at your entrance. He stepped back only for a moment to reach down to grab a condom from his discarded pants. He rolled it down his erection and looked back up at you. He leaned over and ran a hand gently over your jaw.

“Relax doll,” he cooed, watching your face as he reached between you to line himself up. He pressed into you and when your face winced, he stopped, looking for any sign or verbal cue that you wanted him to stop.

You looked at him and gave a soft nod to encourage him to go deeper. He pressed in again, only an inch or so, letting your walls flutter around his length, adjusting to the stretch. The pain would subside and you would nod to let him know to keep going. Another few moments and Billy was fully sheathed in you.

You could have sworn that your peak was already so near while he sat within you, peppering the skin of your breasts and collarbone with kisses. He was praising you softly, telling you how good you felt, how tight you were for him, how you were made for him.

When you felt your body finally relax around him, his kisses and words doing magic to your nervous self, you pulled your head up to kiss his forehead lightly. “Please, move,” you whimpered against the skin of his forehead. He lifted up, his arms on either side of you. He locked his hands with yours, holding your hands for leverage as he pulled out just enough to leave the tip of his cock within you.

When he slid back in slowly, you felt every inch of him splitting you open and the pain was now subsiding to pure pleasure as he rocked into you slowly over and over again. Your head flew back deeper into the mattress, your body arching into his and he could have sworn that the way you mewled his name could have been the end of him.

His mouth contorted as the pleasure built deep within him. It wasn’t just the familiar fire of being turned on to no end. This was something more, something… deeper. He released your hands and fell further onto you in slow motion, his hips writhing into yours, his cock hitting a bright white spot within you that you didn’t even know you had.

You cried out softly as he didn’t just fuck you. He was making love to you and that realization made tears prick at the corners of your eyes. His hands held your shoulders as he quickened his pace little by little until he was grunting and groaning and murmuring your name as he kissed you passionately, dipping his tongue into your mouth to taste all of you at once.

You moaned against his lips and cried out as your walls finally clenched down around him, gripping in a vice lock. He moaned louder as he pushed through your high, chasing his own release. He murmured sweet praises again as he got himself closer, moving his hips more rapidly against you, hearing the sound of skin against skin.

You’re so beautiful.

I love when you cum around my cock.

Can you give me another one, baby?

His need for you to find another release and the way he was talking was sending you to close to that point again already. It took a few more firm thrusts into you, hitting every delicious spot he could to bring you to pleasure that you were falling apart beneath him. A panting, sweating mess as your head rolled back and your toes curled, your hips pressing up into him.

A groan of your name and he pushed as far into you as he could, then stilled his movements as he filled the condom. His breathing was hot and heavy against your skin as he dropped his head down into your chest, letting you both calm down from your highs.

He lifted his head finally, his breath still a big ragged, placed a soft kiss to your skin before speaking. “You okay?”

You nodded before taking a shaky breath in. “Yeah, yeah I’m okay,” you said softly, your hands coming up to card through his soft hair that was damp with sweat. You pulled your head up to catch his eyes and he gave a warm smile.

“Do you regret anything?”

“With you? Never.”

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

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#billy russo #billy russo headcanon #billy russo fic #billy russo smut #billy russo fanfiction #billy russo story #billy russo x reader #billy russo x you #billy russo/reader #billy russo/you #billy russo x virgin!reader #virgin reader #virgin reader fic #ben barnes #bin bons #binbons #ben barnes character #ben barnes character smut

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songbirdsingingthings · 4 years

Text

MHA boys + how they would celebrate your birthday

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters, they belong to Kohei Horikoshi

A/N: This was requested by @lovers-liability, I hope you like it!!!

Shouto Todoroki:

- He’s so sweet but so clueless about what to get you or how to celebrate with you

- Probably would ask your closest friends about your interests in order to get you the best gift he could get

- He doesn’t really have to worry about the cost of it (I mean, c’mon he’s got Endeavors card)

- He’ll take you out to dinner probs

- Tries to bake a cake - it doesn’t go well

- A good boyfriend, he tries his best

“Sho, tonight was amazing,” you hum, an arm laced with his. It was well into the night when the two of you made it back to the dorm building.

“I’m glad you liked it,” Shouto said, smiling at you. Dinner had been a real treat - the two of you dined at a fancy restaurant that you two had to get dressed up for. You wore a Y/F/C dress and Shouto was in a dashing gray suit with a tie matching your outfit.

“Liked it? I loved it! I don’t think I’ve ever had that good food in my life.” You sigh contently, a dreamy look on your face. As the two of you make your way through the common room, he stops you at the kitchen. You raise an eyebrow but follow him. To your surprise, he pulls out an... interesting looking cake.

“I, uh, I tried but I think I did something wrong.” He admits with a bashful expression. You stifle a laugh and take a fork out of the drawer next to you.

“Hey, if you made it, I’m sure it’ll be good.” You say confidently. You dig your fork into the near side of the cake and take off a chunk. It crumbled weirdly which wasn’t a good sign, but you stuck the slice in your mouth anyway. It was awful the moment it hit your taste buds but you managed to chew it anyways. You tried to give your boyfriend a smile, but an underlying sour expression forcibly showed up.

“I’m sorry, I know it’s probably foul-tasting.” Shouto says defeatedly. You quickly put your hands on his shoulders and shake your head.

“No, Sho, it’s so good.” You manage, the cake still in your mouth. The red-and-white hair boy just shot you an unamused look.

“Y/N, you have a horrified look on you face. It’s not good.”

“Yes it is I love it.” You counter.

“Then swallow it.” He says finally, a small smirk on his face. Your eyes go wide but you try and muster up the courage to swallow the piece of cake, if you could even call it that. Your mouth seemed to go dry - like all of the spit and saliva it produced had been sucked up by the cake, but it was still just as crumbly as before. “See, you can’t. Now here,” Shouto says, raising a trashcan to your mouth. You spit out the cake but show some decency by covering the action with a hand.

“I’m sorry Sho. It’s just... I never thought a cake could be made and come out like... that.” You mumble, wiping the corner of your mouth. He chuckles and hugs you.

“I’m the one that should be sorry, it’s your birthday. Now c’mon, I’ll call one in to be delivered. Chocolate or Vanilla?”

Katsuki Bakugou:

- He will by you gifts but play it off as not a big deal

- “Don’t be an idiot it’s just a stupid (insert gift here)

- HE MAKES THE BEST BIRTHDAY CAKE

- Like seriously whatever cake flavor or type of cake he will make it and it will be absolutely delicious

- Cheescake? In his sleep. Ice cream cake? Been there done that. Flan? Hell yeah, he’s got it.

- All in all, when you get to celebrate your birthday with him, it’s a very fun time with Bakugou

“Katsuki, it’s perfect!” You exclaim, setting your gift back down in its tissue paper padded box.

“Tch, it’s not something to be all over-dramatic about.” Your boyfriend says, rolling his eyes. Although he tried to put up an apathetic appearance, you could see the faint inkling of a blush start to blossom on his cheeks. You lace your arms around his neck, causing the blonde-haired boy to look at you.

“I love it, and you.” You say, your fingers starting to play with his hair. A soft look flashes in his eyes as he wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “I was being serious, it’s perfect.” You reach up to give him a peck on the lips. Bakugou hums as you rest your head on his chest.

“Happy Birthday,” he says simply, one of his hands reaching up to rest on your head. You sigh happily at the added comfort. “C’mon, let’s eat the cake I made.” You raise your head instantly, a grin spreading across your cake.

“You made me a cake?” You ask joyfully, following him to the refrigerator.

“Yeah, whatever.” He says. The blush on his cake was now fully apparent as he took a plate that was covered in tin foil out. When he unwraps it your jaw drops. It was perfectly made. You fumble around for a knife and cut a slice for both you and him to eat. As soon as you fork a piece into your mouth you wanted to collapse onto the floor. It was heavenly - perfectly moist, the frosting not too sugary, and the ratio was perfect.

“My god Katsuki, you really made this?” You say, quickly finishing the rest of your slice.

“Of course I made it dumbass, you think I would get you store-bought crap for your birthday?!” He grumbles, a glare on his face. You really couldn’t take him seriously, though, as he talked with a mouthful of cake.

“Thank you.” You say, pressing a kiss to his mouth. Both yours and his lips tasted like frosting, making both of you irresistible to the other. You left the cake sitting on the counter for a while, finding each other much more sweet than the dessert.

Izuku Midoriya:

- He is so much fun to celebrate with

- He’ll take you to an amusement park, treat you to a spa day, go to the hot springs

- Literally anything you want to do for your birthday he will make sure that it happens

- Will get a cake from the store because while he’d like to make you one, he just doesn’t want to risk messing it up

- He gets you such a cute gift that goes along with whatever your interests are

- 10/10 sweetest birthday ever

It was one of the most relaxing days you have had in a while. Izuku knew you were up to your nose in work, so what better to do than spend your birthday by unwinding? Currently the two of you were sat in a private hot springs just north of you and Izuku’s home, soaking up the hot water. With a glass of champagne in one hand and the other held by Izuku, you couldn’t think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

“You enjoying yourself, love?” You open the eye closest to your boyfriend to see an amused expression on his face. You smile and close your eyes again, drifting over to lay your back against his built chest.

“Very much Izu, thank you for taking me here.” You sigh as you feel his hand come up to massage the knots in your back. He hums and kisses your shoulder.

“Of course - you’ve been so busy lately that I thought you could use a special getaway. Plus, it’s your birthday.” He says, his arm now just hung around your shoulder. He reaches for his own glass with his other hand. You open your eyes and turn around to face him, a soft look on both of your faces.

“You know, a day at home would’ve been just as fine. You didn’t need to go all out like this.” You say, your mouth spreading into a shy smile. A small moment of panic goes through Izuku at your words.

“Oh, I’m so sorry, was this too much? I thought that it might’ve been too much when I made the reservations but I did it anyways -mmpf!” You cut off his ramblings with a passionate kiss. He eases instantly at your touch and sinks into the kiss.

“This is absolutely perfect.” You reassure him. He gives you a grin and holds your chin gently in his fingers.

“Happy birthday, darling.” He whispers, bringing you back to his lips.

Mirio Togata:

- Human form of sunshine

- He’ll take you to the beach or for a picnic in the park, just somewhere a little more intimate but still out in the world

- He will prepare lunch for the two of you and cut the fruit into cute shapes (he is so pure I cannot)

- He makes a pretty good birthday cake, I’m not gonna lie

- He gives you a gift and has the thing matching it for him (like bracelets, rings, necklaces; that kinda thing)

- A very fun and relaxed birthday with our blonde 3rd year <3

It was the perfect day. The sun was shining, birds were chirping, and the temperature was lovely - not hot enough to make you sweat but not cold enough that it would require a jacket. Spread before you was a cute little red picnic blanket covered in plates of finger foods, a pitcher of lemonade with two glasses, and who looked to be the happiest man alive.

“Oh, Mirio, it’s lovely,” you say, slightly taken aback. He gave you a wide smile and offered you a hand, helping you sit down next to him gently. He pecks your cheek and offers you a platter of your favorite h’orderves.

“I’m glad you like it! I’ve got all of your favorites, and I thought we could just enjoy a nice day at the park for your birthday. Sound like a plan?” He asks you happily, his arm finding its way wrapped around your waist. You lean into his touch and smile.

“It sounds perfect.” Your afternoon was full of fun and laughter - throwing foods up into the air for the other to catch, trying to fly a kite but it eventually ending up tangled in a tree, and stealing kisses from each other. Finally, the sun was starting to go down, prompting the two of you to start packing up everything.

“Y/N, before you go, I have something for you.” Mirio says, gaining you attention. In his hand was a wrapped box with a little bow on top.

“Mirio Togata, you did not get me a gift after doing all this for me.” You say, hands on your hips. You couldn’t believe how caring and giving your boyfriend was - always going one step above and beyond what you thought was reachable.

“Open it.” He says simply, placing the little gift in your hands. You give him a look before tugging the ribbon undone and slowly peeling back the paper. What rested underneath was a velvet box. You sucked in a breath and looked back up at your boyfriend who had a grin on his face.

“Mirio, I swear.” You warn, carefully lifting the lid. What lay inside were two of the prettiest bracelets you had ever seen. They were both made out of a small silver chain and had a small rectangle charm on each. You flipped both of the charms over to reveal his and your initials.

“I thought it would be cute.” He says, lifting the one with his initials. Wordlessly he clasped it around your wrist. “You could wear my initials and I could wear yours.” You quickly clasped the bracelet with your initials around his wrist and grabbed onto his shirt’s collar, pulling him in for a passionate kiss.

“You’re too good to me,” you say breathlessly. Mirio chuckles and brings a hand up to your face, tucking your stray hairs behind your ear.

“Happy birthday.”

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scapegrace74-blog · 4 years

Text

Ginger Snap, Chapter 4

A/N Here’s the next chapter installment of Ginger Snap. I now have this story mentally plotted to its conclusion. It will have a total of 6 chapters, with perhaps a wee epilogue. In keeping with the theme, the title of this chapter is “Where There’s Smoke”.

Previous chapters are best enjoyed on my AO3 page, because I have a bad habit of going back and editing them after they’ve been posted.

I glanced around the sitting room, trying to see it through a stranger’s eyes. Well, not a stranger. Through Jamie’s eyes.

We had sold most of our furniture before leaving Boston, not considering it worth the expense of shipping across the Atlantic. Frank hired an interior decorating firm to furnish the third floor Southside flat before we arrived. The overall impression was stylish, if a bit soulless. Having grown up a virtual nomad, there were no mementos or heirlooms to speak for my personal journey. For the first time, I regretted their absence.

The buzzer rang, and I shook away my wistfulness. Jamie’s tousled curls and reckless grin greeted me as I opened the door. Today he wore a fitted navy jumper, faded grey jeans with frays about the ankles and the ubiquitous work boots. A messenger bag was slung across his broad chest.

“I hope I wasn’t supposed to supply the ingredients for today’s lesson, because my cupboards are bare,” I remarked after inviting him in.

“Jus’ as well. I wouldna squander yer food. I have all we need right here.” Reaching into his bag, he removed a clear container filled with chunks of pink meat swimming in a broth of blood. I wrinkled my nose in disgust.

“What sort of dish will I be making with those?”

Those summer eyes shone in merry provocation.

“No’ a dish, Arsonist. An experiment.”

Two saucepans were set on the stove. Jamie had me place a few pieces of meat into the water of one pot before it warmed. To the other I added a pinch of salt and a clove of garlic, but waited until it came to a boil before adding the chicken. After five minutes, I used tongs to move the now-pale flesh to waiting salad plates. Neither looked particularly appetizing, but the first pot yielded a glutinous blob.

“I suppose this is the control group,” I remarked, looking at Jamie where he leaned against my countertop, ankles crossed like a cover model. “I’m already quite familiar with what culinary failure looks like, thank you.”

“No’ failure. Variability,” my teacher argued. “See here? If ye want meat tae dissolve til it doesna hold its texture, low heat is key. An’ if ye want tae infuse it with flavour, always combine heat an’ seasoning at the same time.”

I took a small nibble of chicken from the second pot, and sure enough it tasted mildly of garlic. It was otherwise quite bland, though. When I commented on this, Jamie nodded in excitement.

“Aye, verra good. Nature seeks equilibrium, as ye well know. Sae now ye have poultry tha’ tastes o’ water and water tha’ tastes o’ chicken. If ye were makin’ a stew or chicken stock, t’would be a good thing. Fer anything else, tis shite.”

I laughed, getting into the spirit of his well-executed game.

“Have ye any music?” he asked while we cleared away the results of round one. “I always cook better with a bit o’ background noise.”

There was a high-end stereo system in the living room, but I doubted Jamie would be interested in Frank’s collection of Brahms, Mahler and Celtic harp. Seeing my hesitation, Jamie dug out a portable speaker from his bag.

“Do ye mind?” I shook my head and soon my kitchen hummed with guitar chords and plangent vocals.

The lesson lasted far longer than the scheduled hour. Jamie had me bake, fry, roast and braise different samples, each time explaining why a particular technique might be used and insisting I taste the result. It was so much fun, I shed my habitual reticence while cooking.

“An’ now fer the pièce de résistance,” Jamie announced in dramatic tones. From his seemingly bottomless messenger bag he removed what appeared to be a miniature flame thrower.

“What the fuck is that?” I asked, forgetting myself.

“I wanted ye tae ken there’s a place fer fire in the kitchen, Arsonist. Tis only a question of picking yer moment.”

With a flick of his lighter, he set the butane alight and handed me the small kitchen torch. Using extreme caution, I seared the outside of the two remaining morsels until they were a rich caramel colour. Jamie then wrapped them in foil, placing them in the oven to finish cooking. When they were cool enough to sample, the outside was pleasingly crunchy and sweet, while the inside swam in moist chicken-y flavour. We both declared them the winner.

“Tis a funny thing about fire,” Jamie remarked as he packed up his bag to leave by the more conventional front door route. “It can remain hidden beneath the surface, burying its secrets deep inside. Doesna mean it doesn’t burn, though.”

I thought about what he’d said long after he was gone, leaving me alone with his signature scent of rising bread and salt air.

That weekend, I blamed the poor weather when I declined Frank’s offer to shop for an engagement ring.

***

The next week, instead of asking to be buzzed inside, Jamie requested that I join him downstairs.

Grabbing a Mackintosh, my purse and slipping into comfortable walking shoes, I joined Jamie outside my door. He was particularly animated, despite the foul weather.

“We should ha’ started wi’ this lesson, but t’wasn’t the right day fer it,” he explained as we walked towards the farmers’ market that took place twice a week in the shadow of Castle Hill.

I considered protesting that I already knew how to shop for food, but Jamie’s enthusiasm was contagious.

We stopped at every stall, sampling the foodstuff on display, which was surprisingly varied despite it being November. Jamie knew most of the merchants by name and our progress was regularly halted by conversations on topics as varied as his family’s health, the latest rugby results and Scottish politics. I envied his wide circle of acquaintance and apparent ease interacting with them. There was no pretense, no stiffness, just a man who inhabited every square centimetre of his life to the fullest.

Jamie insisted that I taste various produce before adding it to the cloth bag he’d provided. Honey-crisp apples. Peppery radishes. Herb-infused venison sausage.

“Close yer eyes,” he instructed when I was practically dizzy with all the flavours. Still, I complied immediately. A rubbery moisture tickled my lips. “Open,” he said simply. I opened. “Tell me what ye taste, Arsonist.”

I chewed the morsel of cheese thoughtfully, letting the taste and texture coat my mouth before finally swallowing.

“Creamy. Thick. Salty. Sorrel.”

I opened my eyes only to fall into the inky vortex of Jamie’s pupils, which had expanded to almost eclipse his irises. His hand still hovered near my mouth, muscles frozen in abstraction. The cheesemonger let out an awkward little cough. Jamie blinked, and the moment vanished.

“Sorrel?” he asked a bit gruffly.

“Yer lass has a fine palate, Fraser. My sheep graze in fields full o’ it.”

I allowed myself a smug little smile. Neither of us corrected the merchant’s presumptive pronoun.

Later that evening, I sat cross-legged before the fire with a picnic for one. Frank had called from his office earlier to say he was working on notes for an upcoming symposium. Before me lay the results of the afternoon’s market adventure. Closing my eyes as I ate, every mouthful set my senses ablaze.

We never found time to visit the jeweler that weekend either.

***

The next week, I fell ill with a miserable head cold. Frank was in Oxford for his symposium, so I called Ginger Snap myself and explained to Jenny in a hoarse voice that Jamie should avoid coming to my flat at all costs.

I was curled up in a mentholated daze when there was a series of knocks. It took several minutes to free myself from my blanket cocoon and shuffle to the front door. Glancing in the entryway mirror, my hair called to mind an electrified poodle and my nose was twelve shades of raw, but I opened the door anyway. No-one was there. Leaning out to peer down the hallway, I practically tripped over a brown paper bag resting at my feet.

Inside was a metal thermos, still quite warm to the touch. As I unscrewed the cap, my stuffed nose was assailed by fragrant steam. Homemade cock-a-leekie soup. I felt a glow fill my chest that had nothing to do with my fever. Pouring a helping into a mug, I shuffled back to my couch-nest. I felt better already.

***

The following week, Jamie was distracted. I’d thanked him profusely for the soup, and asked if he could show me how to make it for myself. As the chicken thighs and stock began to warm, however, I caught him glancing regularly at his phone, fingers drumming against his thigh.

“Are you expecting an important text?” I finally asked.

“Hmm? Och, Arsonist, I’m verra sorry. Tis only that we got a last-minute request tae cater a big corporate Christmas party, an’ Jenny is beside herself wi’ worrying.” He tucked him phone into the pocket of his cargo pants.

“When’s the party?”

“T’morrow,” he confessed.

“What! Jamie, what are you doing here? You should have called me to reschedule.”

“T’wouldna be fair, what wi’ us missing last week on account of yer sniffles. An’ wi’ Christmas ‘round the corner, I didna ken when I’d... er, when we’d have time for another lesson.”

I turned off the burner with a decisive twist. Jamie opened his mouth to lodge a protest, but I beat him to the punch.

“Jamie, the soup will keep. Growing your business is more important. I wish there was something more I could do to help, but under the circumstances...”

“Come wi’ me?” he blurted out.

I was nodding before the words finished leaving his mouth. Notwithstanding the fact that he had just literally been teaching me how to boil water, I didn’t want to lose his company so soon. We likely wouldn’t see one another again until after the New Year.

It was a thirty minute walk to Leith. Jamie could probably have covered the distance in half that with his long strides, were it not for me trotting along beside him. We stopped at several shops along the way to pick up provisions, arriving at Ginger Snap with our arms laden with the freshest food Edinburgh had to offer.

I had expected Jenny and Jamie to be working alone, but the fire station was abuzz with activity. I was hastily introduced to Angus, a distant Fraser cousin; Mary, a childhood friend of Jenny’s; and Murtagh, Jamie and Jenny’s godfather. They worked together like a well-oiled machine, and I stood awkwardly to one side, wondering what the hell I was doing there. I was preparing to make my excuses when Jamie called me over to a spare station. He gestured to the commercial-sized sink, which was full of vegetables of every dimension and colour.

“Claire, I need ye tae rinse and then cut these inta nice even pieces. Can ye do tha’ fer me?”

"Consider it done, chef,” I said with a jaunty salute.

There was a feeling of camaraderie as we each went about our assigned tasks. I chopped. Mary baked. Angus filleted. Jamie cooked, and Jenny plated the various canapés, salads and sauces and stored them in the enormous refrigerators that lined the back wall. Murtagh’s role seemed mostly to keep the troops in line with an assortment of verbal barbs.

Music played in the background. Volleys of witty banter flowed between us, but never at the expense of the work or anyone’s feelings. Angus nicked himself with his filleting knife, and Jenny sent him to my station for treatment, saying I was the team’s resident doctor. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so at home.

Time passed quickly and before I knew it, it was dark outside. The bulk of the work was done and the pace slackened, the pressure of the looming deadline relieved. One by one we cleared our stations, meeting at the small seating area to share a well-earned drink.

Jenny sunk into the couch beside me and let out a loud sigh.

“Ouf, I canna believe we got it all done. Claire, ye were a godsend. Normally I do most o’ the prep work, but it leaves me no time tae arrange the dishes.”

I demurred, uncomfortable with the praise.

“Nay, Arsonist, ye were amazing,” Jamie began to object, but he was interrupted by my phone buzzing. Glancing down, I felt my face fall. I’d completely forgotten about Frank. Now he was texting, asking me where I was. I quickly fired off a reply, then stuffed the phone into my pocket.

“Everything alright?” Jenny asked.

“Oh, yes. It’s only my fiancé, asking when I might be home,” I answered, still distracted by my uncharacteristic lapse. As I glanced up, I ran straight into Jamie’s iceberg gaze.

“I didna realize ye were engaged,” he looked pointedly at my bare ring finger. “Congratulations.”

He said the word as though every syllable pained him. I quelled the urge to explain, to say it wasn’t a real engagement because I’d never agreed, that I’d only been looking for a sense of security, but somehow found myself in a cage.

Instead I hastily finished my drink, called myself an Uber and quietly wished everyone a good night, all while avoiding the many questions written across Jamie’s expressive face.

#my writing #outlander #ginger snap

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remmushound · 4 years

Text

@brightlotusmoon @errorfreak88 Part 3 of my bay/rise crossover.

Leonardo didn't know where he was, and frankly he wasn’t sure he cared. He was more concerned about not knowing where April and Splinter and Donatello and Raphael were. His brothers— his family! He had reached out to them, felt his fingers brush against Splinters, and then they were being pulled apart again. Pulled away from each other. Then Leonardo was flying out of the rift, clinging with all his might to the only one he had managed to protect. Michelangelo. He landed hard, skipping across metal with solid thuds like a rock on water as he clung to the box turtle’s shell, his baby brother still hiding within. The bouncing eventually turned into a slide that brought Leonardo to crash against a wall. Pain shot through his extremities, but it only made him hold on to Michelangelo even tighter.

The minute they stopped, Michelangelo popped out his shell with a sharp yipe, his arms shooting out and wrapping around Leonardo to cling to him like a security blanket. Leonardo couldn’t help but smile and rubbed the younger mutants head in a comforting motion.

“It’s okay, hermano. Just a little bit of a bumpy ride.”

Michelangelo whimpered and his nose went back into his shell.

“Oh come on! Don’t be like that!”

Michelangelo pulled his arms and legs back in as well.

“Awww, come on~” Leonardo pushed himself away from the wall to lean over Michelangelo and peek into the shell as his shadowed face. “You know you wanna come out!”

“Where is out?” Michelangelo asked, his voice carrying a strange echo.

“Er…” Leonardo looked around. He didn't recognize the place, a giant metal ball with a spiraling floor design and a high ceiling, a blinking light at the top of it. He hummed and narrowed his eyes at the luring draw of the light, but didn't acknowledge it Past that. “Pokeball?”

“What? No we’re not!”

“Well how you gonna know if you don’t come out?”

Leonardo smirked and leaned back to give Michelangelo enough space to emerge. Michelangelo peeked his nose out once more.

“That’s it! Just a little more!” Leonardo encouraged.

Michelangelo’s full head poked out, and his neck too so he could look around at their surroundings. “Woah. This is so cool!”

“Cool isn’t exactly the word I’d use.” Leonardo whistled and stood up, reaching for his sword naturally. It was nowhere on his body.

“Hey uh— you don’t happen to have your yoyo, do you Miguel?”

“Um…” Michelangelo reached to his belt and frowned. “No. It’s gone somewhere… do you have your swords?”

“No.”

The structure gave a powerful groan and Michelangelo yelped, attaching himself to Leonardo’s side like glue. “It’s spooky here…”

Leonardo would be lying if he said that a similar anxiety hadn’t grown in his gut the moment they entered this strange place. Cold, dark, mechanical— everything Donatello loved, except without the eccentric nature. But he couldn’t be scared now. He has Michelangelo to look after, and right now his baby brother needed him.

“Hey hey hey, don’t get soft on me now!” Leonardo beamed, leaning down to Michelangelo’s level. “We just escaped the mother-freaking Shredder and you’re scared of a dingy little metal ball?”

“It’s not very little, Leo…”

Leonardo scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. “Potato potahto! Tomato tomatoh! Shredder, Giant Metal Ball of Doom! What’s the difference?”

Michelangelo didn't answer.

“The only one I can think of is that Shredder was waaaay scarier!”

“Oh really?”

Both turtles froze at the new voice. Leonardo gently placed his brother down, keeping an arm still wrapped around him to keep them both close.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” The new voice laughed in a mocking, wheezing tone, “Turn around.”

Leonardo could see no other option other than to obey. He gave Michelangelo a reassuring pat and held his brother just a little tighter before turning to face whoever it was that had called out to them.

The creature was big, a body near as broad as Raphael’s carapace and a shape that was loosely spherical. It’s entire body gleamed with a layer of slime that oozed out from folds on the sides of it’s head, and every so often a tentacle would reach up to gather the accumulating mucus and spread it throughout its body to keep itself moist. There was a crown on its head, a ridge higher than the rest of its body that slightly resembled the crown of certain dinosaurs. Leonardo could almost swear that whatever it was, was the brain of some massive creature, escaped from its body to do whatever it is that giant, tentacle-having brains do.

“Well?” The creature stroked feelers on it’s face, what could pass as lips parting to reveal tiny, dolphin-like teeth.

Leonardo only allowed himself enough time to blink before he forced his smile to come back and meet the strangers smirk. “Well what?”

The creature lunged forward, supported by pipes that extended out from the misproportioned battle suit, bringing it within inches of touching Leonardo. “Aren’t you scared?”

“Scared of what? A chewed up wad of bubble gum that gained sentience?”

It growled and one of its tentacles came down upon Leonardo, covering him in the thick, viscous coating of it’s body.

“Oh I’m sorry! Did I get some slime on you?”

Leonardo didn't flinch. He reached out a hand and poked the creature on the nose. “It is not slime, it is mucus!”

It growled and swatted Leonardo before pulling back again closer to its suit. “Who said you could touch me with your foul, disease-ridden hands?!”

“Hey hey hey!” Leonardo threw his hands up in surrender, “I bathe regularly! It’s Raphael you gotta look out for.”

“You think you’re funny, do you?” It squinted its eye at Leonardo.

“I think I’m adorable. Don’t you?” Leonardo put his hands under his chin and batted his eyes.

“I think you’re an obnoxious freak of nature.” It tried to draw forth a violent reaction, but Leonardo remained cool.

“Eh, aren’t we all?” Leonardo shrugged, “But this obnoxious freak of nature has a name. Do you?”

The creature seemed to consider Leonardo’s question for a moment before saying, “It’s Krang.”

Leonardo snickered.

“What?” Krang snapped, almost defensively, “What’s so funny?”

“Sorry— sorry!” Leonardo almost keeled over laughing.

“What’s so funny— what’s so funny, it’s just my name!”

“It’s just— ahahaha— did your mom hate you or something?”

Michelangelo started to finally get in on the laughing, and soon both brothers were almost falling over.

“I chose my own name— the Queen doesn’t have time to name all of us!” Krang defended, grunting as its features scrunched up.

“So you’re saying you have a face not even a mother could love?” Leonardo smirked, recovering from his laughter at will. “Man, that is depressing!”

“ENOUGH!” Krang shot two wired pipes forward to grab Michelangelo and Leonardo, squeezing them harshly. “Now you listen here, little turtles! I am not in the mood for games.” It’s eyes glanced between the brothers in an almost alien way, “And if all you’re going to do is play with me, then I’m going to put you away in my toybox.”

“Sounds fun!” Michelangelo piped.

“Fun?” Krang shifted to look at Michelangelo.

“Yeah! In a big box with a whole bunch of other people, having slumber parties every night!” Michelangelo hummed and sighed.

“Well, I’m glad you’re going to enjoy yourself. It’s an extended stay.”

Krang shifted slightly, its armor suit slow and topheavy, and at the press of a button on the suit the floor began to open up and reveal a spiraling display case. Rows upon rows of small, frozen containers. A thick layer of frosty smoke escaped through the opening and filtered out through vents. Krang hung the two brothers over the drop and loosened his grip just to feel the fear of his prisoners. Looking down into the endless abyss of bodies distorted by frost and age, Leonardo felt a sense of vertigo overtake him. It seemed Krang latched onto the fear almost immediately, judging by the evil expression on its face.

“Not so eager to visit the other toys now, are you?” Krang laughed and pulled Michelangelo and Leonardo back over solid ground, putting them down as the ground closed once more. “Now maybe you’ll play nicely.”

“Where are my brothers?” Leonardo demanded, “My family?”

“They’re fine. They were spit out somewhere or other. Does it really matter?”

“Yes.” Leonardo snarled.

“Hmm…” Krang rubbed their folds in concentration, “Then why don’t we make a deal, little turtle?”

“What kinda deal?” Leonardo returned to hugging his brother as Michelangelo cowered against him.

“I didn't just call you here to chat.”

“Well you’re sure doing a lot of talking anyway.” Leonardo grumbled under his breath.

“I brought you here for a far more important reason.” It folded its tentacles over its mouth.

“Care to share with the class?”

Krang huffed. “You have something that interests me— or more like had. You see, a year ago today I tried to take over the earth.”

Leonardo laughed. “Didn't do a good job— you didn't even make the news! I’m sure I would know if there was a broadcast about a giant brain in a robot suit tried to take over the planet.”

“Not your earth. A different earth.”

“There’s more than one?” Michelangelo asked.

“Oh, there is a plethora of earths, all slightly different from the last! But yours… intrigues me. It’s one of the more recent ones, and the use of your ‘mystic magic’ caught my attention.” Krang circled Leonardo like a cat with a mouse, “The way you teleport around with such ease, even without a beacon to guide you~”

“Spit it out, Gellatinous, I haven’t got all day.”

“You’re very impatient for someone whose at the mercy of one far smarter.”

“Eh, I can handle Donnie, but that has nothing to do with this.” Leonardo snarked off, “What do you want?”

“I have you, and I have your family, and I have your sword.”

“Great. And what does that have to do with the price of jelly doughnuts?”

“I want you to show me how to use the magic you possess, and afterwards I will let you and your brothers go back on your merry way!”

“I thought you were all knowing or whatever.”

“I never claimed that. I too need to learn like every creature does.”

“How do we know you’re not lying about letting us go?” Michelangelo pouted, sticking out his lip.

“Do I look like the lying type to you?”

“Yes.” Michelangelo and Leonardo said as one.

“Mm. Clever boys. Well, the answer is that you don’t know. But you don’t really have many choices either.”

“Mm. Fair.” Leonardo shrugged. “Whatchu need me to show you?”

“How to activate the rift that you’ve seemed to master.” Krang tapped its tentacles together.

“Oh that’s easy! You just take the sword and go woosh woosh,” Leonardo made vague gesture, “Then it goes all whoooooo whaaaaa bwaaaaa!” He made a motion of a rift opening. “Then you go all ‘take me so and so’ and badda bing badda boom, you’re done! That work?” Leonardo clicked his tongue and wink.

“What.” Krang narrowed his eyes.

“Well, you take the pointy part and go whish woosh, then slish slash, hundred yard dash, and you’re in Paris!”

“I— I don’t understand what you’re saying!”

“Well you take the thing and do the thing so it makes a thing then you go through the thing and bam: the thing is done! Take a break and get yourself a pizza for your hard work.”

“You’re getting on my nerves.”

“Exactly how many nerves does a brain have anyway?”

“I’M NOT A BRAIN I’M AN UTROM!”

“A who-trom?” Michelangelo tilted his head.

“AN UTROM!”

“You-tron?” Leonardo asked with a smirk.

“GRRR— just show me how to do it!” Krang pulled Leonardo’s sword out of thin air and dropped it into Leonardo’s hands. “And don’t think you can outsmart me!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, K-Pop.” Leonardo took the sword and pointed it, dragging it to make a circle. His face illuminated the glow and he smiled.

“Yes!” Krang cheered, smilingly widely and holding out its tentacles to Leonardo. “Give it to me!”

“Yeeeeah, no.” Leonardo stared a moment and then winked before stepping through the blue and disappearing along with the mystic portal.

“NO!” Krang launched himself forward and grabbed at the space where the turtles had once been, “GET BACK HERE!”

#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt au #rise leo #rise mikey #bayverse krang

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firstfrostfall · 3 years

Text

A Cold Lament - Chapter Five

a tommy shelby fanfiction

In the winter of 1918, the Shelby brothers returned home from a war-torn France. In the winter of the following year, the middle brother, Tommy, recognizes an opportunity for his family to move up in the world, and it came in the shape of a misplaced crate of weapons.

In the meantime, per the request of his aunt, he gives a struggling young woman a job.

Little did he know, that like the smell of snow on the wind in late autumn, everything was going to change, and it wasn’t just because of some stolen guns.

Takes place during Season One.

“I’m freezing my fucking balls off, Tom,” Arthur grumbled while taking a sharp swig from his flask.

Tommy stood with his brothers in an open field atop a grassy hill, the ground beneath them still moist from an earlier frost. It was a clear and sunny day, despite the bitter December wind that nipped at their faces. The sky was a brilliant shade of blue above the hazy tree line on the horizon, without a single cloud in sight.

They were trying to purchase the Appaloosa that Tommy had his eyes on, but it was turning out to be more of a waiting game than anything else. Their meeting spot with the seller was out in the countryside, far away from any signs of civilization. So much so, that the roads were nothing more than sets of winding dirt trails, and the truck they borrowed from Charlie Strong had gotten stuck in muddy puddles on more than one occasion during their drive. Another fucking headache.

“Easy,” Tommy reached for his pocket watch and glanced at the time. It was only a little after 11 am. “The seller will be here any minute now, and then we’ll be on our way.”

“Yeah, you’ve been saying any minute now for twenty fuckin’ minutes.” John retorted.

“Can someone remind me why we’re buying this damned horse again?” Arthur tugged his cap lower on his head. “It’s the bloody winter. What do we need a horse for? The races aren’t until spring.”

“Horses take time to be trained, Arthur.” Tommy gave him a tight-lipped reply.

Eventually, after about another twenty minutes of waiting around in the cold (much to John’s dismay), their seller came sputtering up the road in a beaten-down truck with the horse in tow.

“G’day, boys!” The seller called from the truck, waving his hand wildly out of the window. Two gruff-looking men sat in the seat beside him. “Brisk morning, isn’t it?”

“Quite.” Tommy quipped, forcing a smile. John scoffed and rolled his eyes.

The seller hopped out of the driver’s seat and tipped his ragged tweed cap to them. He was a short and stout older man, with bushy eyebrows and a scraggly white beard.

“Leroy.” He reached to shake Tommy’s hand.

“Thomas,” Tommy jerked his chin toward his brothers who stood beside him. “These are my brothers, Arthur and John.”

“You’re Polly Gray’s kin, yeah?” Leroy asked while plucking a tall piece of dried grass from the earth and placing it in his mouth.

“We’re her nephews,” Arthur answered, glancing at the two men who were still sitting in the truck.

“Ah, that’s very nice.” The older man chewed on the blade of grass. “Very nice.”

Tommy couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but there was something off-putting about the man. Too much small talk, too many fake pleasantries.

“What clan are you from?”

“No clan, just traveling on my own.”

“Who's in the truck?” Arthur raised his eyebrows.

“Oh, no one. Just some hired protection for myself,” Leroy waved a hand at them. “Nothing to concern yourselves with. I’m an old man selling horses, can’t ever be too careful, yeah?” he paused for a moment, then added with a wink, “I’m sure you boys know how these deals can go.”

Tommy hummed in affirmation. An old man selling stolen horses, that is.

“Yeah,” Arthur replied, kicking at a clump of dirt on the ground.

“Now, enough with the niceties. Shall we take a look at that horse?”

Tommy gave a pointed nod and followed him around to the back of the truck. The three brothers watched Leroy eased the horse out of the stall, whispering to her while she wildly thrashed her head around.

“Ha, she’s got quite the personality,” The seller grimaced as he tugged on the reins in an attempt to quell her, so vigorously that his heels dug into the muddy earth.

“We can see that,” John scoffed while nudging Arthur in the side.

Eventually, the horse settled, huffing and puffing clouds from its nostrils and into the frigid air. Tommy stepped forward to appraise the horse more closely. He ran his hands down its legs and inspected each hoof, then curling back its lips to examine the teeth. She had a palomino coloring, a white mane and tail with a chestnut coat that faded into white speckles.

“She’s beautiful,” Tommy gave the horse a few final pats on the shoulder. “We’ll take her.” He motioned for his brother to come toward him with the flick of his wrist. “The payment, John.”

John nodded, taking a few strides to his brother. Before he could reach into his coat for the money, Leroy cleared his throat loudly.

“Ah, yes, the payment,” He smiled and gave the reins a tug. “The price is double of what we spoke about earlier.”

Tommy stared at him blankly. “What changed?”

“My mind. That’s what changed.” Leroy exhaled dramatically. “This here is a good horse,” He punctuated each of his words with a pat on the horse’s neck. “I have a lot of interested buyers who are willing to pay the extra... fees.”

“Fees?” John echoed, his mouth agape. “What fees?”

Tommy raised a hand to silence his brother. “You said you were only dealing with us.”

“Yes, well,” The seller shrugged. “People say a lot of things.”

Tommy rolled his eyes and shook his head, reaching for the cigarette case he tucked inside of his jacket. “We’re buying the horse for the amount we originally settled on.”

“Says who?”

“Says us.” John narrowed his eyes at the man.

“Listen, I don’t want to cause any trouble,” Leroy placed a hand on his heart. “But the doubled amount is my final and only offer. I’m just trying to make a living here- I’m sure you boys can understand that.”

Tommy nodded while he perched a cigarette between his lips. “We’ll pay the original amount and a half.”

“Fuck, Tom.” Arthur removed the cap from his head and ran a hand ragged through his hair.

Leroy stroked his beard thoughtfully and then shook his head. “No. I’m only taking the doubled amount.”

“I won’t go any higher than what I just offered,” Tommy said.

“If that’s the case, then continuing this conversation for any longer is pointless.” Leroy furrowed his eyebrows together. “Is that clear?”

“Crystal.” Tommy lit the cigarette, the flames of the match just barely touching his fingertips. “Consider our business over, then.” He dropped the match to the ground and stamped it out with his shoe.

“What a waste. I can’t believe you mingy folks won’t scrounge up a little extra for a horse of this caliber,” Leroy grumbled as he led the horse by the reins back into the stall. He jerked his head toward the front of the truck. “I should charge you for the coin I wasted on these two oafs in there. Useless.”

Tommy fought the smirk that quirked at the corners of his lips. The uncanny polished veneer of pleasantries was fading fast from the man’s persona. He was just another rat looking to make a few extra bucks on a black market horse. Sure, it was a nice horse, a beautiful horse, even, but certainly not worth the inflated price Leroy was preaching. It was stolen, too. He knew he should’ve been getting a better deal for that.

“I’m still willing to go over half of what we originally agreed on,” Tommy called to him.

“Let me think again,” Leroy tapped a finger to his lips. “And my final answer is,” He spat on the ground in front of them. “That.” He muttered a curse under his breath, and then spat on the ground again. “And that’s for your aunt, for sending me a fuck all deal.”

While the crassness of Leroy’s comments and actions were an irritation to Tommy, he knew what game he was trying to play. He was trying to get a rise out of them, he had those two men in the truck, after all. He didn’t get his deal (it truly was more of a scam), and now he was nipping at their ankles in a desperate attempt to get his payout.

Arthur, on the other hand, was sent into a spiral. He should’ve known that his brother was nothing but a ticking time-bomb at this point. He had been nursing his flask all morning long (he had to have been halfway drunk), and Leroy’s demeanor was the icing on the cake. The situation was flint, and Arthur was the tinder.

“Fuck.” Tommy and John said in unison.

Arthur knocked Leroy onto the ground and reached for his cap. In the same instance, the two men inside of the truck must have heard the ruckus and were taking rushed strides toward them, each with a crude shiv in hand.

While Leroy was trying to evade Arthur’s wrath, Tommy sensed an opportunity. The reins were no longer in Leroy’s hands, and instead, the horse was bucking and braying about, clearly spooked by the fighting.

Tommy lunged for the reins but was knocked onto his stomach by the wild thrashing of the horse’s head. For a moment, he managed to scramble on the ground and get a steady grip on the reins, but his efforts were futile, for the horse was too strong from that angle. His grip went slack, and the horse bolted out onto the field. Tommy watched as it galloped away, causing something crimson and furious to boil up inside of him.

By the end of it, panting and covered in sweat, Tommy could barely remember the details of what had just happened. It started with a horse, a sniveling old man, two hired thugs, Arthur’s rage, a horse that was now gone, and blood.

At some point, Leroy had managed to slither into the truck and drive away (Arthur tried chasing him down the road, much to John’s bemusement). His thugs, on the other hand, were curled up onto the ground, whimpering as they clutched their scarred and bleeding faces.

“At least that old loon got his money’s worth with these guys,” John commented wryly, spitting blood onto the ground. His lip was bloodied, and would certainly bloom into a dark bruise within the next few hours.

“We should’ve killed him and took the horse in the first fucking place.” Arthur took a long swig from his flask and wiped the back of his hand across his lips.

There was only one thing Tommy could say. “Fuck.”

The three of them were bruised, covered in blood and dirt, and the horse was gone.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Polly sat them down and looked at their wounds in the parlor when they arrived back at the shop.

John had a split lip and a few cuts on his hands, while Arthur was more so just bruised and battered from a rolling tussle with one of the hired men. Tommy was sore, and he wasn’t sure if it was because of the hit he took from the fucking horse, or the nasty slice he had gotten from one of the thugs on his forearm.

“It’s for the best,” Polly said while deftly cutting up a bandage. “Buying a horse in bad faith like that,” She clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Bad luck.”

“Bad luck,” John scoffed while splashing icy water onto his face. “How’d you even know this guy? He was a nutcase.”

“It’s been a long time. I never said he was a friend,” Polly rolled her eyes while she poured alcohol onto a rag. “I warned you that he was a scoundrel. The horse was stolen after all. Now let me see that lip.”

Their bickering became background noise in the back of Tommy’s head. It didn’t matter how anyone knew Leroy. They were one horse short, and his chest fucking hurt from that same fucking horse thrashing about amidst the chaos. But, he found a tinge of humor in the fact that they, of all people, were calling that man a scoundrel.

After an hour of sitting still with several bandages looped around his knuckles, he was getting antsy.

Tommy stood up and made his way toward the stairs.

“Hey, where are you going?” Arthur bellowed from the table. His face was red, and it wasn’t from the fighting- he was certainly drunk now.

“Bed.”

“Pol hasn’t looked at that cut on your arm yet."

“I’ll wrap a rag around it.” He ignored the rest of his brother’s slurred shouts and walked to his room.

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Tommy’s ears wouldn’t stop ringing.

He laid on his bed and stared at the ceiling, watching as the long shadows waned from afternoon to evening, to nightfall.

The red tendrils of rage continued to knead and claw at his gut. He needed horses for the races, and not just any horses. Good horses. That Appaloosa was going to be a good fucking horse. If he was going to have any chance at fixing the big races come springtime, he was going to need a lot of good fucking horses.

Hell, he was trying to build a fucking business here.

There was a moment where he almost reached for his pipe. His head-ached and his muscles were painfully sore. He was just about ready to cut his losses for the day, and call it a night. But then, he thought of something else.

Perhaps, he needed a drink first.

━━━━━━��━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

He watched her sweep the floor of the pub from the window. Her back was to him, and she didn’t notice him until the front door slammed shut.

Anna flinched, almost dropping the broom onto the floor. “Christ,” she turned to him, her face softening in recognition. “Mr. Shelby, you frightened me-” she cut herself off, “Are you okay?”

He knew he looked like a proper mess, certainly felt like one too. He didn’t bother fully changing out of his clothes from earlier, either. Under his winter coat, he was wearing a cotton shirt that was stained with blood, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows to make room for the bandages that covered his cuts. His trousers and shoes were caked with mud too- another lost cause.

“I’d like a drink,” Tommy waved her off as he took a seat at a random table and dropped his coat to the floor. He could see her hesitate, her eyes darting anxiously between him and the rack of booze behind the bar.

“The same as always?” She asked, her voice wavering only slightly.

“The very same.”

Anna propped the broom against the bar and quickly went to work on pouring his drink.

“Where’s Harry?”

“He had to step away early this evening,” She rounded the table with his glass and gingerly set it down in front of him.

“All by yourself again?”

She nodded.

When he reached for the drink, a sudden pain shot through the length of his arm, from fingertip to shoulder. It felt like a thousand tiny little nails pricking at his skin all at once. He glanced down at his forearm and saw that the makeshift bandage he had tied around the gash was soaked red, and was coming loose. “Shit.”

“Here, let me.” Anna sat beside him and took his arm in her hands, slowly unwrapping the bloodied rag. The slice on his forearm was nastier than he initially realized. It was red, hot, and angry. His hands were in poor shape too, a few cuts on the palm, and scratches on the knuckles. Not to mention the bruise he knew was forming on his chest. Her eyes flicked from his forearm to his eyes. “I’m going to get some water, I’ll be right back.”

She disappeared into the back room, and minutes later, came back with an iron pail and a clean rag over her shoulder.

“Would you like me to leave you alone?” She stared at his face intently. “Or do you want me to stay?”

Truthfully, he was taken aback by the questions.

“You can stay.”

She gave a curt nod and took a seat next to him.

“Can I help?”

“Not much I can do with these hands.”

Anna smiled and tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear.

Everything felt, quite suddenly, as though it was too sharply in focus. Tommy watched her while she rolled up the sleeve of his shirt up farther past his elbow, her movements deliberate and gentle. The first time she dabbed at the slice on his forearm, he winced. She noticed this, and each time after she touched it, she glanced at him cautiously, just to make sure it was okay.

Tommy decided that from that moment forward, she was a blue mystery. He wasn’t even sure what that fucking meant, but that’s what she was to him. A blue mystery. She could’ve materialized from the Queen’s fucking castle, for all he knew. But here she was, living alone in a dingy flat, and no one ever saw her other than this fucking place and her family. Her hair was always curled, and she did not speak much. Yes, he thought. She was a blue mystery.

He couldn’t tell if he was delirious or not. Perhaps it was from the lack of sleep and blood, but the light in the room made her hair look like a halo. A halo of red hair. He had to have been fucking delirious.

During his musings, he noticed that he had gotten blood on her blouse.

“I’m sorry about your shirt.”

“Oh,” Anna glanced down at it and shook her head. “Don’t mind this old thing.”

He scoffed and turned away from her for a moment.

“You said you’re from a place called Eastcliff, right?”

“Ah,” She looked up at him from under her eyelashes. “You have a good memory.”

“What’s it like?”

“Well, it’s rather a long way from here, as you know.” She explained while softly gripping his forearm to keep it steady. “It’s right by the sea. Absolutely freezing in the winter, but pleasant in the summer. If you have a map handy, I could show you.”

The drawn-out words. Rather. Absolutely. Pleasant. It was all so painfully upper class.

“Do you like the ocean?”

“Yes,” She started grinning. “I love it in every season but the summer.”

“That seems a little backward.”

“I suppose it is. I hate the heat, and I always look like a lobster when I leave.”

A low chuckle rumbled in his chest.

“Does everyone in Eastcliff have that accent?”

She blinked, lips parting slightly. “I’m not sure what you mean.”

“I can’t imagine everyone in a little seaside town sounds like they’ve come straight from the Queen’s drawing-room.” He meant it as an earnest jest, truly.

“Yes, well,” She squeezed the excess water from the rag and back into the bucket. “I went to a boarding school in London and spent the summers at home. In Eastcliff.”

His question seemed to stop Anna short, in a way that nothing else had so far that evening. Nothing else meant him, showing up to her place of work, covered in blood and mud. He really didn’t have much to say after that. She kept squeezing water from the rag until it went taut.

“How’s that cut on your forehead?”

Tommy tilted his head toward her and raised an eyebrow. He didn’t even realize that there was a cut on his forehead.

Anna narrowed her eyes at him and clicked her tongue against her teeth. “Let me.”

She leaned in close to him now, close enough that he could see the dusting of freckles on her face, the smell of her perfume, the graceful curve of her neck. While she dabbed at his forehead, she never looked at him directly. When their eyes would meet, Tommy noticed the slightest flush on her cheeks. How did she go from a little seaside town, to this fucking city?

“May I ask you something bluntly?”

“I think you’ve earned it.”

“What happened today?”

“A horse.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Must’ve been some horse.”

“It was.” He replied, his voice dreamy. “An Appaloosa.”

“Ah, a nice horse then.”

He blew air out of his nose. “Are you much for horses?”

“Truthfully?” A smile appeared on her lips, it was a real one, because it made her cheeks dimple. “No. I’m terrified of them, ever since one bit me as a little girl.”

“A shame.”

“A shame indeed. But I still think they are beautiful, for what it’s worth. I enjoy watching them, and attending a good race now and then.” Even her voice started to have a dreamy lilt to it. “Are you much for horses, Mr. Shelby?”

“Yes,” He answered with a smirk. “I’m much for horses.”

“Except for Appaloosas?”

“Perhaps.”

They sat in silence for a long while after that. He thought it was amicable, and pleasant enough. The only other noises between them were the sounds of a rag being torn in two, and water sloshing about in the iron pail. Tommy started speaking again when she finished tying a fresh bandage around his forearm.

“Do you need someone to walk you home?”

“Mr. Shelby, if I can be quite blunt- again,” She said with a grin. “If anyone needs someone to walk them home, it’s you.”

He shook his head with a scoff, lips forming a tight-line.

“It’s Tommy, by the way.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“My name.”

“Tommy,” Anna repeated his name slowly, almost as if she was testing it out on her tongue.

“When it’s just us, call me Tommy.”

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby fanfic #peaky blinders fanfic

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honestsycrets · 4 years

Text

What She Really Wants X: What Really Matters

❛ pairing | hvitserk x reader

❛ type | multi

❛ summary | hvitserk has a way of getting what he wants. magnus is sick of being one-upped.

❛ tags | verbal arguments, wedding oriented, referenced underage sex, referenced sexual interaction, underage relationships, original characters.

❛ sy’s notes | i've actually had this fic done for some months and totally forgot about it until i was in my drive. thank you @chibisgotovalhalla for making me feel good enough to post this. It’s more a connecting chapter.

What Magnus hates about Hvitserk (aside from everything) is how whatever he said, went with you.

The world could crumble, pebbles could shake boulders on your house, and you would still have Hvitserk on your mind. Because he was your first-- and no one could beat a first. No matter how he worked or raged for a new beginning or for better for Mads. It was still Hvitserk at the end of the day. Mads’s eyes had almost popped out of his skull when Magnus joined the clustered group of friends and parents. It hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“What did I miss?” he asks because he knows Mads by the expression slapped over his face. That boy has been like his son. He raised him. Loved him.

“Nothing,” Mads quips quickly, snapping his head back around to the field. His coach howls something long and loud. Mads jabs his finger in that direction. “The game is about to start. C’mon Soren.”

Despite the fact that Magnus knew there was a certain something very wrong, he didn’t speak as you returned to a very familiar set of bleachers alongside Mad’s new girlfriend. She was pretty. There was a soft and innocent glitter behind those big brown eyes that reminds him of a simpler time in yours. He makes a note to ask Mads after the game all about her when Hvitserk stops on the uppermost stair, guiding you in after Alaia.

It’s not until they sit, and your hand is laced in Hvitserk’s, does he notice the gems glistening on your finger.

“What’s that?” he asks, leaning over Alaia’s lap. The girl squints at the rings too, watching it glisten, and smiles when she realizes that she’s forgotten to say something. She speak words that make his stomach drop. As if someone had hauled him off to sea, strapped that very same boulder shook loose by his crumbling world, and threw him out into the deep sea. He was drowning and couldn’t find a way out.

“Oh my god! Congratulations on your engagement, mama,” she beams. “Can I see the ring?”

Magnus sputters. He’s caught between your jovial smile and Hvitserk’s smug smirk as his eyes burned into the glittering gem. Hvitserk’s hand leaves yours, taking a drink of the metal tumbler that he brought with him as if that would draw attention away from what he’s done this time.

“There’s two?” Alaia asks.”Papa you didn’t. You’ve gone so far!”

Hviserk chuckles and swashing alcohol between his cheeks before swallowing the spicy liquid.

“We were engaged in high school. Hvitserk thought I should wear both.”

“Gonna put that money to use,” Hvitserk mutters, the faint scent of yeasty alcohol on his breath kissing your cheeks. He looks out to the field and catches Mads sheepishly waving. He waves back. “Been waitin’ to get married to my old lady for years.”

“It’s going to be so great,” she claps her hands together. “I’m happy for you.”

The field cheers through the end of the national anthem. Two dozen players jog onto the grassy stage, flicking the ball between their feet. Go Mads, go! Alaia squeals until her voice becomes high pitched, grating, and odd. She’s the kind of girl that should be on a cheerleading team, but belongs on the football team. She’s outgoing, witty, and you find you like her.

For all that screaming, Mads’s team loses 2 to 1. Alaia beats you off the bleachers and zooms down the stairs to find your son. You’re stuck with the impending explosion that has been boiling to ahead all evening. It finally overflows as people filter out of the bleachers like a herd of stampeding cattle. Their loud chatter blocks out the bulk of conversation.

“You really thought that was a good idea.” Magnus curls his fingers under the cold metal of the bleacher seat. “He hasn’t been back a year and you’re already going to marry him.”

“What is with you? It is her choice,” Hvitserk interjects.

“I wasn’t talking to you.”

“Fuck off, rat faced motherfucker.” Hvitserk snaps. “You don’t know when to quit bitchin’.”

It’s spiraling. You know the men well enough to know when Magnus and Hvitserk are headed for trouble. Hvitserk loves a good fight. He lurches up in his seat, probably ready to chuck him down a few flights of bleacher stairs. You grasp Hvitserk’s hand, settling it on your thigh for to restrain him from doing something that you knew he’d regret. Not for his sake, but Mads. Rather than answer Magnus, you stand up and wipe your skirt down.

“Mads is waiting. C’mon baby.”

You leave him feeling unheard. In the seventeen years that Mads had been alive, he’d not once felt this way. He had been the father figure here. The one who took the kid out to these father events that you lost with the death of your father and the disappearance of your family from Hvitserk’s clutches.

Then he came back. He gave Magnus that same, age-old shit-eating grin, and disappeared behind you. It wouldn’t have burned so much if he wasn’t at the exact same school of the past. The same one where he got his teeth knocked in-- right here. The bleachers may be different but the area is the same. It’s the same place where everything changed. He sits there long after you’ve disappeared down the steps to meet your son.

“Where’s morbror?” Mads, sweaty and panting, has his hand slung over Alaia’s shoulder.”I thought he was coming for burgers.”

You reach for Hvitserk’s hand and lace his fingers with yours. Hvitserk stands behind you with his hand latched neatly around your waist. He cradles your hip as you come up with the latest of poorly formulated excuses.

“He has to go to work in the morning, baby.”

Better you lie than Hvitserk.

Alaia is way too touchy.

You recognize it in the way she clings to his arm on one hand and punches him with the other. Whatever the cost was, she had to be touching him. All over him. Not just a little friendly kiss or holding hands, but you know for a damn fact that she strokes his thigh or trails up the taut pale muscles of his flat belly.

“They’re fucking,” you say pointedly.

Hvitserk throws a look over his shoulder to where they were a few rows down. Alaia slips a salty-sweet strawberry candy between Mads’s lips. Alaia’s other hand is certainly not on her own lap, that’s for sure.

“Huh?” Hvit says around a half eaten sausage. He takes a swig of his booze, “Ya think?”

You thwack him in the arm and glance at the dark aisle beside you. The movie Mads wanted to watch was old. So much so that the theatre reflected its age. “How is he not fucking her? Hvitserk!”

Hvitserk took a glance down. From what he could tell, Mads was the shy one. He glanced down to what had to be a handsy— because he had plenty of those in his day.

“Calm down. He ain’t initiating anything.”

“So she’s a predator?” You hiss.

“C’mon baby, they're the same age.” He says, as if that’s exclusionary, and as if that made any difference in the world. “Ain’t like he’s screamin’ for help.”

There’s a shush— the next few aisles down.

“Aw, you poutin?”

No reply. Hvitserk glances toward Mads and Alaia, content with his choice, and slips his hand underneath the lip of your skirt. He considers himself a rather patient man but your worries when all he wanted to do was relax? Na.

“Hvit stop— We used to be like that. Remember?” Hvitserk cuts you off, rubbing his thumb where he shouldn’t, cutting an outrageous smile.

“This isn’t about us.”

“Ain’t it?”

It’s not. The soft tingles of his fingertips, caressing your thighs, runs shivers up your spine. Your hand falls on top of his wrist, holding him firmly where he was. Hvitserk glances down toward his hand, then back up. An easy fix: you loved it when he pressed his lips to your neck.

“You’re doing it again.”

Hvitserk’s lips part, broadening his shit eating smile. “Doing what?”

Oh, he knew what. But he loved being called out for it.

His far isn’t bad at football.

“Fuckin’ what the fuck was that!”

The ball whizzed into the goal behind him and Mads was left wheezing for breath. Not because he was tired. The old man might only be thirty-six but he sucked at playing against him. Hvitserk plucked up the football between his fingers and spun it over and over between his finger tips. He twisted his head from the goal to the ball in his hands.

“A goal,” Mads gestures. “You know? Or, guess you don’t since you ain’t scored all night.”

“Shits rigged,” Hvitserk says, dropping the ball and kicking it back to Mads.

Mads shrugs and suggests, “Should’ve picked something you’re good at. You won’t beat me at this.”

“Tch,” Hvitserk throws his arms behind his head. “I ain’ good at shit.”

Except maybe selling drugs and chasing prostitutes. All of which his father has made exponentially clear he doesn’t want Mads doing. Mads stops with his sneaker on top of the ball, rolling it up and back, then flicks it between his feet.

“Have to be good at something. Don’t you have a hobby or something?”

Hvitserk peels off his white shirt sodden with sweat and uses it to wipe away the moist sweat dribbling past his eyebrow. He gestures his hand to the dark wooden wedding band that was strapped to his finger. The wedding is next week and while he’s not technically married yet, Hvitserk wore it as some sort of unspoken promise.

“My hobby was women. Not allowed to do that shit anymore. Getting married next week, yeah?”

“Wow, well, uh.” Mads picks up the ball at his feet and searches for words. It’s always nice-- when your own son is amazed at how amazingly shitty of a person you were. Hvitserk chews his cheek, running his thumb along the drawstring at his hips to tighten it up. They walk lazily with one another to start the trek back home.

“I...” Hvitserk starts. “Liked to paint.”

“Gang signs?” he teases. He imagines his father with a can of spray paint or something-- tagging some poor idiot’s unsuspecting business.

“Na, women-- like Renoir.”

“Ren who?”

“I fuckin’ hope ya ain’t going to France like that,” he tsks his tongue, throwing his hand around Mads’s shoulder, chasing away the thought of the Wolves that were so at the forefront of his mind. “Take a class in French first.”

“I’m taking Spanish.”

“Spanish? Wha’s so important about-- oh wait. Fuck,” Hvitserk almost laughs, but it comes with the realization that Mads’s little girlfriend was, in fact, Hispanic. He ruffles Mads’s sweaty hair, shaking loose droplets into the air. “Tha’s my boy.”

There are moments in which Mads feels like his father’s son.

Today was one of them.

The date sped up on him faster than it should have.

This time, Hvitserk was insistent: the wedding had to happen as soon as possible. After all, he was thirty-six. He wasn’t going to be a man that was forty and single. No, he wasn’t. Not if he had everything he wanted; a woman and his very own grown-ass son. He had something to prove to that son. That he was serious about his family.

“What’cha think,” Hvitserk grumbled. His hair, newly cropped short, waved in silky honey waves around the side of his face. His jaw was peppered with a new sort of scruff, worlds apart from his clean-shaven, long-haired past. The suit was slim, crisp, monochrome like you liked it. Better be like you liked it: he wasn’t the type to wear suits for just anyone. His woman? Special exception there.

His son stood back. “Yeah, looks nice.”

“Yeah?”

He slipped in front of the mirror and gave himself a once over. He turns the ring on his finger over and over until he has residual finger ring burn. He bites down on his lip, ripping it between his teeth. It wasn’t just saying goodbye to his single man’s life; it was the fact that his remaining brothers were coming. Bjorn, Ivar, and Ubbe. Would Mads like them?

“Where my boots?”

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t anxious. There’s a powerful thud at the door, then another. Booming laughs fill in the hallway just outside the room. Hvitserk exhales strongly. His large hand lands on Mads’s shoulder with a clasp.

“Those would be your uncles.”

Mads, the little baby, looks panicked as the door cracks open. Ivar knocks open the door, dressed in a deep maroon and black suit. It’s crisp and formed to his chest. You should at least like it-- given the shit that Ivar has given you this year, he looks good. Why would be expect anything less?

“Man c’mon,” Hvitserk rolls his eyes. “Could’ve waited man. My kid--”

“Why would I wait?” Ivar hums, hobbling forward. “You’ve been keeping my nephew hostage from me. Come here boy.”

“With good reason,” Sigurd can’t help but to comment. “You don’t really want to know him. He’s a--”

“Would you both shut up,” Mads hears another man say. He has ruddy hair and a ruddy beard, with sharp blue eyes. He is almost considerate-- if not for the wolfish look in his eyes, he could almost be considered the most placid of the brothers. Instead, he seems to be someone who is always planning. “You’ll scare him away.”

Hviserk settles a lily in the pocket to his suit and fiddles with the cuffs of his sleeves. Strange, he thinks, how you pick lilies. They’re a bittersweet flower for him to this day. When he bought you flowers, they were roses. Whatever possessed you to chose lilies, he’s not sure. It couldn’t possibly be-- Thora. No, you couldn’t remember her.

“Far,” Mads looks over and pleads for some guidance in those soft, bright eyes of his. His eyes snap toward Ivar’s dragging feet, then the drunken stamped in from huge Bjorn and comparatively more calculated steps from Ubbe. “Help.”

“What is there to be afraid of, hm?”

“Go on, go to Ivar.” Hvitserk swings his hands at his hips. Mads looks up the broad body of the blond man and inches toward the darkest haired brother. Probably not the safest of brothers to be speaking to but he’s heard his name multiple times before. Uncle Ivar was scary. And safe. “They won’t hurt you. They’re my brothers.”

“You want a drink, boy?!”

“A dr-- drink?”

Hvitserk wonders why he ever thought he could be a Wolf.

Asta has always been supportive. Too supportive. You knew, somewhere inside, she wasn’t happy about your choice to get married to a man that had gotten her into some trouble. Her whole life could have gone down the tubes thanks to him.

“Are you sure about this?” she said in her slim baby pink maid-of-honor dress. Your hairdresser affixed a soft baby pink pearl pin into your hair. “You can always wait like we said.”

“Waiting…” You glanced down toward your dress, smoothing out the dress’s slim bodice, leading out into its flowy a-line tulle skirt. Your loved the crisscrossing pearls that formed the straps over your shoulder and connected front and back-- maybe a little sexy for your hypersexual husband-to-be. Everything had gone perfectly. Your make up-- a natural, gentle shimmery pink. Everything was soft and natural, and pretty-- and you were so damn happy. “I’ve been waiting long enough.”

“I know.”

“And I want to do it,” you held the bouquet of fresh pink lilies. “I want him.”

“That’s too much information,” she teases.

The door creaked open behind you. While subconsciously, you knew that it wasn’t him-- you needed to know. “Magnus isn’t coming, is he?”

“It’s just me, mor.”

You exhale forcefully. You knew it would be a stretch to ask Magnus to give you away. After what happened to your father, Magnus had agreed to do so with whoever you chose. For sixteen years you banked on that promise. Only now, when it came down to it, he refused to do so.

“It’s a silly tradition anyway.”

Asta begins to protest that she can do it when your son, bless him, intervenes by kneeling down by your knee. His large hands overtook yours. Your hairdresser stepped aside after having affixed the veil to the top of your head. Everything had been going so well. Something… had to go wrong, right? That was the way that days went. They could never be absolutely perfect!

“I’ll do it. I can give you away.”

“You’d do that?” you ask him, unbelievably. You look between Asta-- and Alaia, who looks angelic in a puffy pink dress beside your son. Mads perches kneels beside you, looking like all the man you ever hoped he could be in every sleepless night that you spent up with him as a baby-- wishing that Hvitserk was there. Knowing that your mother said he could never be.

“But you thought I should wait.”

“Yeah but; I love you. That’s what matters, right? That you’re happy?”

That, more than anything, was enough for you. You press back the insistent prick of heat at the corner of your eyes and nod. As you stand up on clumsy metal heels, your boy is there with his hand encouragingly around your waist. Alaia looks for your bouquet of assorted blush and white flowers: lilies.

For a moment-- just a moment, its you and him. No one else matters in the grand scheme of things. He settles the bouquet of flowers between your fingertips, pulling the sheer veil back over your face. “You look… perfect, mor. He’s missing out.”

“Yeah, that’s what matters, baby.”

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#hvitserk x reader #hvitserk/reader #vikings imagines #vikings imagine #hvitserk's heathen feast #honestsycrets fics #hvitserk ragnarsson x reader #hvitserk x you #hvitserk/you

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sincerelyella · 3 years

Text

The Royal Treatment Chapter 1 - One In A Million

Books: The Royal Romance and Open Heart (AU)

Pairings: Liam x MC (Ella); Bryce x F!OC (Aera)

Series Summary: Upon finishing their medical degrees at Stanford University, Ella, Aera, and Bryce take on an international medical residency training program in Cordonia, landing them a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity that will put them to test in the name of romance, friendship, and career.

A/N: Thank you @ofpixelsandscribbles for being patient with me and editing the crap out of this!

Please note that our story is not to be stolen or reposted on any other site. Reblogs are welcome and much appreciated.

Warnings: not much really, maybe adult language?

Words: 2112

Bryce, Aera, and Ella were already two weeks into their residency programs. Bryce in the surgical department, Aera in anesthesia, and Ella in the new pediatric cardiology unit.

Since Bryce and Aera’s specialties worked together closely, the pair of them spent more time together during the day. Every night, however, Ella has to hear about how Bryce stole Aera’s lunch or how Aera was so irritated with Bryce’s antics. All Ella could do is suggest that they confess their feelings.

“El, you know I can’t do that,” Aera sighed as the best friends sat and watched How To Lose A Guy In 10 Days in Ella’s room, while wearing yogurt-scented Korean facial sheet masks as part of their night skin regimen care.

“Why not?” Ella pointed the remote at the TV and paused the movie. “Just tell him how you feel. Who knows, maybe he’ll feel the same!”

“That’s just it, he doesn’t feel the same,” Aera carefully adjusted her mask to the center of her face, making sure that her eyes and nose were fitted perfectly on their designated holes.

Ella bit her lip, hard. Keeping this secret from her friend was killing her, but she made a promise … to her other friend. “You don’t know that, A.”

“Can we just … forget this conversation?” Aera dropped her hands on the pillow on her lap and sniffled. “Please? I just want to enjoy this movie with you and pass out with my hand in the popcorn bowl, like I usually do.”

“Fine,” Ella unpaused the movie and the pair sat in silence for a few moments. After what seemed like 20 minutes, the girls removed the sheet masks off their faces, letting the cold serum linger on their faces for a bit.

“Are you ready for your interview tomorrow? You have that one patient right?” Aera asked as she gently tapped two fingers over her moist face for better absorption of the serum.

“Yeah, I’m ready. The little guy had heart surgery and he’s doing amazing,” While mirroring Aera’s facial care technique, Ella smiled widely as she remembered how her patient, a little five year old boy named Thomas, wrapped his arms around her neck in gratitude.

The next day

Dr. Katherine Richey was Ella’s attending and she was an older woman who was, according to Ella, a badass. Dr. Richey was world renowned, but chose Cordonia because this was the country of her birth.

“Okay, Dr. Brooks, when we go in there, we’ll go over the history, the procedure Thomas had done, and your plan.”

Ella nodded. “Yes ma’am.”

“You’ll be great, Ella,” Katherine squeezed the younger woman’s shoulder. “Nervous?”

“A little bit, but it’s just you, me, Ana de Luca and his parents, so I’ll be fine.”

“Oh,” Katherine’s brows furrowed. “I’m sorry, I forgot to tell you, Ella.”

“Tell me what?”

“Prince Liam moved to start this cardiology unit since he had heart surgery himself as a newborn,” Katherine smiled brightly. “He will be visiting us today and meeting all the patients and their parents.”

“He … Prince … what?!” Ella’s heart began to flutter in her chest. All she could picture was the beautiful blue eyes staring back at her on that magazine. “I …”

“Ella, he’s here, let’s go!”

Oh fuck.

In a daze, Ella followed Dr. Richey to the nurse’s station where a small group had already gathered.

Ana De Luca turned towards Ella and Katherine with a large smile. “Ah, Dr. Richey, how lovely to see you again.”

“Ana, how are you?”

Katherine and Ana shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

“This is my new cardiology resident, Dr. Ella Brooks.”

“A pleasure,” Ella shook Ana’s hand.

“Dr. Brooks, are you new to Cordonia?”

“I am, yes,” Ella squeaked, and gulped when she saw the same man that she ogled on the cover of Trend magazine walk up behind Ana.

“Prince Liam! This is Dr. Richey and Dr. Brooks.”

Dr. Richey and Ana curtsied while Ella stood frozen, still shocked.

Katherine nudged Ella with her elbow.

“Ow!” Ella rubbed her side in annoyance, then realized everyone was staring at her. Shit. “Oh, I mean, how nice to meet you, Your Highness,” she dipped into a small curtsy and saw that the prince had a huge, shit-eating grin on his face.

“Nice to meet you, Dr. Brooks,” Liam couldn’t stop smiling at this beautiful woman who looked like she wanted to crawl into a hole and die of embarrassment. Her cheeks were flushed and she kept her hands clasped together in a tight fist in front of her.

No matter how much Ella wanted to stare at the ground in pure awkwardness, she kept her light brown eyes connected to his baby blue ones.

“Alright,” Dr. Richey announced, interrupting the awkward silence. “Let’s go, we’ll be in room 342.”

Ana nodded and gestured behind her. “Isaac is my cameraman and photographer, he’s just going to get some candid photos for the magazine and news broadcast for tonight.”

The group walked towards the patient’s room, Ella and Katherine led the way. A soft knock on the door by Ella was met with an excited squeal from inside.

The room was filled with balloons, a stuffed lion at the foot of a bed, a large stuffed bear that sat in the corner of the room and it was almost as tall as the ceiling. Thomas’ bed had Star Wars sheets and he had a stuffed Wookie sitting next to him. “Dr. Brooks!”

“Hi, Thomas,” all the nervousness Ella felt earlier dissipated as soon as this sweet boy shrieked her name. “I have a couple friends I’d like you to meet.”

“Hi everybody!” Thomas waved both his hands at his visitors. “I have new sheets! Mom got them for me. Feel how soft they are!”

Liam chuckled and leaned forward to feel the little boy’s bed spread. “That is really soft, Thomas. I’m-”

Thomas’ eyes widened. “You’re the prince!” He grabbed his stuffed lion and held it up towards Liam. “Look! My dad got me this stuffed lion like yours!”

As the two talked about lions and Star Wars, Ella and Katherine spoke with Ana, Thomas’ mom Elizabeth, and his dad Richard.

“We signed all the forms earlier,” Richard explained to Ana. “Our boy is a miracle and his story should be told.”

“Tell me, how did you find out about his condition?” Ana asked as she wrote some notes in her notebook.

“He was almost five years old,” Elizabeth began as she wrung her hands together. “He started complaining of pain in his chest when he would run and play at school. He told his teacher he was having problems breathing-” her breath hitched as she remembered what happened to her only son.

Richard squeezed his wife’s shoulder and continued on with the story. “We took him to an adult emergency room and they just said he was short of breath because he has asthma. They sent us home with medication and that was it.”

“I knew it was something more than asthma,” Elizabeth added. “Chest pain, feeling tired all the time and problems breathing weren’t just symptoms of asthma.”

“Once we found out this unit opened up we called to see if we could have Thomas looked at,” Richard turned to Ella with unshed tears in his eyes. “We are so grateful you answered the phone that day.”

“Dr. Brooks got you in here?” Ana asked as she looked up from her notebook.

“Yes, she fought to have us here, for her to follow Thomas through his surgery,” Elizabeth’s tears streamed down her face. “Thank you for saving my baby.”

As Liam watched, Ella gave Thomas’ parents a hug and wiped away her own tears. His heart skipped a beat as Thomas jumped off the bed and lept into Ella’s arms. He wasn’t sure what it was about her, he just met her not even 30 minutes ago, but he had never felt the need to watch a woman. He had a lot of women throw themselves at him, he was a prince after all; but he had never wanted to watch them or find out everything about them. Liam chewed on his bottom lip as Ella threw her head back in laughter, Thomas still holding her in his small arms. The sound of her laugh made Liam want to be the cause of that for the rest of her life.

“Prince Liam?” Ana called out, breaking the smitten, blue-eyed prince out of his trance.

“Erm, yes?” Liam felt his neck and face flush in embarrassment at being caught staring.

“Shall we make our way to the foyer for your announcement?”

“Ah, yes,” Liam stole a glance at Ella, who was giving him a curious look. “Let’s go.”

The group said their goodbyes to Thomas and family and made their way to the front of the hospital.

“What is going on?” Ella whispered to Katherine.

“You’ll see.”

In the foyer, Ella was surprised to see most of the hospital as well as Bryce and Aera already there waiting.

Bryce wrapped his arm around his friend. “El! Where’ve you been?”

“I was getting interviewed by Ana de Luca, and the prince was there!”

“Whoa!” Aera squealed. “You saw the hot prince?!”

“Everyone, let’s quiet down please.” Dr. Cynthia Moore, the chief resident of the surgical department, clapped her hands to get everyone’s attention. “For those that don’t know who I am, my name is Dr. Moore and I am in charge of the surgical residents.”

Katherine stood at the top of the stairs, found Ella in the crowd with her eyes and smiled. “I’m Dr. Richey and I run the pediatric cardiology department.”

A petite woman stepped forward from behind Katherine. “Hi all, I’m Dr. Martinez and I look after the anesthesia residents.”

A tall man with a white coat cleared his throat. “My name is Ethan Ramsey, I am the Chief of Medicine here at Cordonia Memorial Hospital. I have His Royal Highness, Prince Liam here to make an announcement.”

Liam patted his friend on the shoulder. “Thank you, Dr. Ramsey. I met a lot of you today,” he locked eyes with Ella and smiled. “It was an honor to speak with you, seeing everyone excited to be here is what makes this hospital world class. I’m here to announce a competition, so to speak.”

The residents began to whisper among themselves.

“My father, King Constantine, wanted to start this residency program and open it to not only Cordonians but to foreigners as well. Dr. Ramsey, for example, was offered to stay in Cordonia as your Chief of Medicine after saving my father’s life in America,” Liam cleared his throat. “This competition will allow the winner to become an intern for my family’s medical team. Meaning, should any of my family become ill, you will be the first person we call to come to the palace.”

A hand shot up in the crowd.

“Yes?”

“Prince Liam,” a blond haired, blue-eyed woman next to Ella spoke. “How do we win?”

“Very good question. What is your name?”

The woman blushed. “I’m Madison, Your Highness, Dr. Madison Herrera.”

Liam smiled at Madison and Ella felt her stomach churn. “Well, Dr. Herrera, in order to win, your Chief Resident will be observing you closely. They will be rounding on your patients, speaking to them, looking over your charting, going through your diagnosis, treatment and plans.”

Ethan’s voice boomed throughout the foyer. “If you diagnose wrong, give your patient the wrong medication or fuck up in any way, you will automatically lose.”

Liam’s eyes widened at Ethan’s words. “Well, yes, unfortunately if you diagnose wrong, you will be out. Your Chief Residents will list you from highest to lowest, if you are the top resident for more than four weeks in a row, you win.”

“Do surgical and anesthesia residents compete also?” Bryce hollered.

“Dr. Lahela!” Dr Moore hissed from her place on the stairs.

“It’s okay,” Liam chuckled. “I apologize, Dr. Lahela, only medical residents for this competition.”

“Any other questions?” Ethan asked impatiently. When no one said a word, he waved everyone away. “Fine, go back to your departments.”

Ella let out a long breath and made her way to the cafeteria. She flashed her badge at the woman manning the register whose name was Flora. “Hi Ate, I’m just here for coffee.”

Flora waved her through. “Go ahead, Anak, it’s on the house.”

“Salamat po,” Ella squeezed the older woman’s shoulder and walked towards the drinks. As she picked a size and what flavor coffee she wanted, she felt someone standing behind her.

“Fancy seeing you here.”

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