#not only is there nothing more they can take from some families without driving us out‚ but they'll just keep wasting it. | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

marlinspirkhall · 3 months

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The Un-Maker

To the uninformed, you are nothing more than a necromancer. You wear their sigil on your chest; the chief mage insists on it- after all, he can read magik better than most. He is the first to discern the true meaning of your gift, years before even you do.

His own magik is significantly strong- though, like him, it has withered with time. By and large, the other mages ignore you. After all, you are only a svvein.

The first time you leave the magery, he gives you a cloak. It's dark purple- the robe of a novice- which is a generous assessment at best. You can barely resurrect a magefly.

His eyes sparkle, then grow serious. “Take it,” he insists. “It will help you blend in.” Of course, you take it only to humor him- blending in comes naturally to you. It might be your only skill.

You perform small tasks in the village, basic magecraft which is little more than a conjurer's trick. You un-break a wheel. You un-graze a knee. When you pass, the best blacksmith in the village watches with baited breath.

You un-forge his sword.

•

While hiding from the smith, you crouch behind the stables. You won’t realise for many years, but the gate you closed on the way in prevented the escape of a horse. The horse- who dreams of the apples in the nearby grove- snickers sadly to herself.

There is a boy at the magery who wears red. Red, the robes of a master. He holds himself with the confidence of someone older, but both of you are five-and-ten.

One night, he lifts a heavy staff above his head, and performs a summoning spell: the most powerful of all magecraft. In an instant, the sky trembles, and rolls with dark clouds. The old masters rejoice, and sing his praises in the downpour, of a boy so powerful that even lightning obeys his command.

You shelter at the edge of the courtyard, and watch without envy.

He's the first to leave, when the war comes.

•

In the coming weeks, you wander the village. You are the only teenager left now that the others have gone, but there are still children to babysit. There are still bloody noses and scraped knees to un-attend to. By now, the villagers know your gift well- that strange, backwards magik you perform without intention. When your mere presence stops an axe falling on his head, even the blacksmith learns to forgive you.

But then, the war comes for the innocents, too.

Families flee Vale-Meg'ed with oxen, horse and handcart. The mages buy them time, and instruct you to leave with them.

“I want to help,” you say.

“Svvein-”

“Perhaps I can un-make the war!”

The chief mage smiles a grim smile. “It will not obey you.”

“But we haven't tried-”

“No.” He wheels on you, his eyes fury and fire. “Take this, and flee.”

It's his first-hewn staff: a spindly thing he carved as a mageling. It's little more than a bolt of wood, but you feel its weight when you touch it. Your hands tremble, and the old mage drives it into the ground afore you.

Sparks flicker.

“Go!”

When you stumble, the staff catches you.

You flee. You trip on your robes, drive the staff into the path, and watch dust fly where sparks ought to instead. You drive the staff down again and again, but it leaks no more magik.

In the distance, storms rage over Mages' Hill. Thunder crackles, and lightning flickers back and forth. Two dark clouds loom beside each other, fighting for dominance.

•

There's a body on the road out of Vale-Meg'ed.

You can't help but slow down. You've seen dead bodies before, of course– they used them for practice at the magery, even those that you couldn't resurrect– so you know what they look like.

For the first thirty seconds, this person is definitely deceased. Then, they gasp, and sit bolt upright.

You scream, and they do too.

Once the shock of not being dead has worn off, they cough soundly, and offer you a swig of water from their flask. Not knowing what killed them, you shake your head.

They down it, then cough some more. “Young svvein. You are but a novice?” They say, seeing your simple robes.

“I–” you say. “I didn’t–”

“Why, magikst most powerful!” They declare, as they check their wounds. “I thought I was going to lose my leg.”

You stare at them in silence as they reach for their purse. “Svvein, I know not why you've saved my life- and I have few coins to give- but accept my thanks.”

You take their silver, if only to preserve your cover, and help them to their feet. They accompany you to the end of the road, where the path splits. Then, they give thanks, and head towards Mages’ Hill.

It’s silent now, but the fires are still burning.

You turn away, and touch the embroidered sigil on your chest: the necromancer’s coil. You wonder if the chief mage knew more than he let on.

•

True necromancing is a complex task, often requiring a pack of mages. Death has compounding interest. The more injuries, the more mages are required. The longer dead, the longer the spell must prevail. Ordinarily, necromancers work long, arduous hours to resurrect a single person. Those who have an understanding of the mage’s art are shocked to see only one of you.

“Where are the others?” someone asks, as you pass them.

“They... Went to lunch,” you say.

“That's unheard of.” They stretch, and crack their back. “The first thing they do is always to collect payment.”

“This isn't your first time being resurrected, is it?” You realise, with a sinking feeling.

They grin toothily, and accept a discount, in exchange for not asking too many questions.

•

In the coming weeks, you un-kill many people along the battlefield. The bodies you pass wake up more often than not, always coughing and spluttering. That which once was jarring becomes routine. Some scream in fright, others clutch at long-healed wounds. Others jolt at the sight of a mage, and cower in your presence.

“Get away, get away!”

Beside them, a cracked mage-staff lies in the mud, snapped cleanly in two. You decide to forgo payment.

You make a living this way for a while, drifting from battle to battle like a vulture. It pays little- the soldiers that die are never the best-equipped, and you get there long after the looters do. Still, those who find themselves alive are invariably grateful to do so, and reward you as well as they can. It's enough to buy you board at the tavern most nights, if not a meal, too.

With time, the war moves on from the valley, though it rages in the distance. You are older now, broader of shoulders, and the First-Hewn staff is older, too. It grows brittle in your fingers.

Before long, it is broken.

You stare at it for a long while, for you are not in the business of breaking things. Still, breaking is a kind of un-making, you suppose. It falls to pieces with nothing more than a whisper, and you mourn it: the First-Hewn staff of an elder holds great power. That it is freed from your possession is a bittersweet relief.

For the first time since the war came, you think of the man who forged it. They say in the early days of war, Mages' Hill was razed to the ground. You haven’t returned to Vale-Meg’ed since.

That night, you rent a room at the tavern, and weep.

•

It's impossible to blend in without your staff, so you attempt to carve your own. For seven suns and seven moons, sparks fly, and lightning pummels the forest. You abandon the task.

The trees are scarred and pockmarked, and the ground will never be the same, yet not a single beam struck you.

For a week, you remain in the valley, but your purse-strings are tight, and the taverns are fit to burst. With little choice, you venture out into the marshland. You out-grew the purple robes years ago, and you’re dressed simply: in a linen shirt and trousers. For now, you are simply a traveller, and you don't intend to continue your grift. Without a staff to speak of, you hardly look the part of a necromancer anymore.

•

Battle does not suit the marshland. It makes the swamp reek worse than usual, and the reeds are soaked with blood. When you trawl for treasure, you find bodies instead.

Bodies who wake up confused, and ask you what's going on.

You sigh, and help them out of the mud.

You wade through the bog for a while, stepping on stones where you can. There's a strange smell in the air; acrid, like burning. The tips of the reeds are signed.

A soldier lies in the dirt, facedown. You roll her over so she doesn’t choke when she wakes, and begin to move on your way.

Her dark eyes open, looking up at the sky. She coughs, and you offer her your water-skin.

She refuses to take it. “I have nothing with which to pay you.”

“The water is a courtesy.”

“And the undying?”

You shift your feet. “That wasn't me.”

She leans back on her arms, and peers up at you sluggishly. “You have no staff.”

“Well-noticed.” You offer a hand.

She doesn’t take it. “There is one other mage who summons without a staff. This war is his design.”

“I am no summoner.”

“Yet you summon the dead.”

You watch her mutely.

“Have I revived you before?” You say at last.

“No, but I've heard of you. You travel alone, and revive villeins when others raise kings.”

You bristle, and take a step backwards. “Your payment is commuted,” you say, and retreat as fast as the mud will allow.

It is not fast at all.

“Wait!” She curses, and coughs furiously. There's a rending, and the slap of footsteps.

You turn. This time, when you offer herr water, she drinks.

“I'm Merra.” She hands the skin back, and wipes her mouth.

“I'm no-one,” you say, which is true enough. You fasten the skin to your belt, and, again, walk away.

Merra keeps pace with you. “I heard you were once a Svvein.”

You remain silent, heading back across the marshland to see how far she will follow. This is the path you cleared earlier– free of bodies– and you retrace your steps where you can. Merra follows all the while, and her sword creaks at her belt.

“Have you no business to attend to?” You say, at last.

“No more than you,” she says, with a smile in her voice.

“I have my living.”

“Then attend to it,” she says. “You think I haven't noticed you're avoiding the dead?”

“Necromancing is a hallowed ritual,” you say.

She scoffs. “Which is why you perform it in galoshes.”

You look down. “There's nothing wrong with my galoshes.”

“Most mage-shoes are hidden by their robes,” she muses. “But I'd imagine mage-shoes are made waterproof by enchantment.”

“That would be a waste of enchantment.”

“And what of your robes, or lack thereof?”

You grunt. “The war destroyed Mages' Hill.”

“Yes, many years ago. But I have seen robes since, and mages too.”

“And what of their magikal shoes?” You ask.

She purses her lips, and surveys the landscape. “There were bodies here, Necromancer. Did you resurrect them all?”

You say nothing.

“It's just past noon,” she reasons. “And this swamp was full of the fallen. How did you recall them all in one morning?”

You glance at her. “How can you be sure I revived you on the same day you fell?”

“As surely as I know there are no maggots in my mouth and nose.”

“Perhaps you have them on the brain.”

You spy the valley up ahead, and slow your pace. You're not eager to return to the villages, with their heroes and veterans and small opportunities; but you can't cross the marshland with Merra- there are too many bodies. Tentatively, you turn onto the village path.

“What killed you?” You enquire, as you walk along.

Merra gives you a look.

“It must have been significant,” you say. “For not all undying know they are so.”

She falls silent, and so do you.

•

You encounter a body on the way into Vale-Egar.

It's a maimed thing, old, bloated, and past its prime. Ordinarily, you wouldn't worry about it- you never seem to wake those who are too far gone- but, today, you pass it with a kind of trepidation. When nothing happens, you let out a breath.

“He looked like a noble,” Merra says, as you hurry past.

“Nothing noble is found in Vale-Egar, especially not by the side of the road.”

“Is that why you won't resurrect him?”

“No,” you say. “It's because he won't come back.”

•

The next body you stumble upon is more intact: a young man with a gaunt face who might as well be sleeping. He's hunched over and leaning against the wall, a tin clutched in his frozen hand. You don't wonder how it stays there- you know better than anyone that rigour mortis begins in the fingers.

As you pass, some colour returns to his face. You hurry Merra along.

The next person you pass is alive, and welcomes you to the village with a smile.

You have no coin with which to pay, but it's no matter. The presence of Merra's sword is payment enough, for there is a bed for all warriors in Vale-Egar.

“That explains why it's so crowded,” you say, as you untie your shoes and leave them at the foot of the bed. You offer to sleep on the floor, but Merra won't hear of it. Apparently, she's got it into her head that she owes you a life-debt. Tonight, you are too tired to argue, so you lay down beside her.

For a long while, she watches you.

The room in this upstairs tavern contains five beds, all of which are crammed with people. You lie on your back and listen to their breathing. This is the closest you've been to the living in a while, and so many, at that. You recall the last time you were around people, of the dormitories on Mages' Hill.

You can feel Merra's breath on your cheek.

“You said not all undead know they are so,” she says.

“Yes,” you murmur.

“So, that beggar outside-?”

“He was merely sleeping.” You move to roll over, but she catches you by the shoulder.

“Credit me some intellect.” She peers down at you. “It was fast; faster than any magecraft I've seen. How did you do it?”

The others in the room are all sleeping soundly.

“I know not how,” you say, in a single breath.

•

In the morning, you leave the village.

“You have no staff,” Merra says, again.

You watch her for a moment. All these years, the staff was your only companion, and now, you have another.

“I haven't the skill to make one,” you admit.

“So, you are no mage.”

“No.”

“And yet you raise the dead.”

•

Over the coming days, Merra accompanies you across the marshland, and the dead spring up in your wake. There's no coin to speak of, but the soldiers pledge fealty to you. You tell them you already have a knight, and a fine one, at that. Merra smiles, as a knight clad in well-made plate armor shakes his head and walks away.

“Have you seen her fight?” Asks another, dressed in mail.

You bristle. “No, but neither, sir, have you.”

He offers her his armor, but she won't take it.

“I travel light.”

•

As you traverse the valley, the marshland turns to grass. You encounter fewer bodies, and those you find are too degraded to wake.

The horizon alights with a flash, and Merra freezes. Thunder roils over the hills.

“You never did tell me what moved you to fight,” you say, quietly.

“I had a quest,” she says, simply. Her hair whispers in the wind, and you nod.

“Then you are bound to it.”

She looks at you with pleading eyes. “But I was dead.”

You shake your head. “It doesn't work like that.”

Thunder resounds.

After a day's travel, the once-lush grass turns to scorched earth underfoot. You stop in your tracks.

“This is Vale-Meg'ed.”

•

Amongst the rubble, there is but one field undisturbed by ash. It's the stable where you hid from the blacksmith all those years ago. Most unusually of all, the gate which you closed has since remained intact.

The horse stands alone in the field, her tail flicking back and forth. She's much older now, and has a grey streak on her nose, but you'd know her anywhere.

“You survived the war,” you comment, as you reach for her mane. She huffs, and hoofs at the dirt. You raise an eyebrow, and turn to Merra. “Could you open the gate?”

She opens it, and the horse races through the ruined grove. You follow behind.

Merra gasps. Right before your eyes, the charred treetops flourish and bear fruit. The horse gallops towards them, and you sprint to catch up.

You chuckle, softly. “Do you forgive me now, mare?”

The horse scarfs down her apples, and allows you to pet her mane.

•

You sleep in the rubble of the magery, and Merra takes first watch. The next morning, you are woken by the sun.

“You didn’t wake me,” you say.

“No,” she says, as she watches the sunrise.

You fall silent. This is her quest, not yours.

•

You spend the day on Mage’s Hill. Merra prepares barricades, and whets her blade. Somehow, you feel as if you've known her a lifetime.

You search the ruins one last time, and are not surprised when you find it, in the remains of the novice quarters.

It is a first-hewn staff. The wood crackles beneath your fingertips.

The ruins are painted orange by sunset.

•

Past nightfall, you remain alert. You sit a few paces from Merra, twisting the staff in your hands. There's a familiarity about it you cannot place, a raw power which stings you if you hold it tight.

The wind picks up suddenly. Too suddenly.

“This is magewind!” She yells.

You jump to attention. It's been many years since you've felt anything like it, but it chills you to the bone. All you can picture is that night on Mages' Hill, on the eve of war: a staff, held aloft as red robes billowed in the breeze.

Tonight, a mass moves upon you: denser than storm itself.

“Merra!” You cry, as the gale sweeps her aside. She catches hold of one of the barricades; hefty chunks of stone which buckle under the pressure.

You run for her, but the wind picks you up like a ragdoll. You fall, and scrape upon every rock as you’re dragged dowhill. You are drowning in wind itself, the breath rivened from you faster than you can draw it. Your clothes tear, then your flesh. You thrust the staff forwards, blindly, and puncture an air pocket. You push down, and pressure slaps you back. You tumble again and again, until at last you make contact with the ground.

You lie, spread-eagled on the floor.

A numbness overtakes you. You grip the staff so tight that it flares with energy.

The sky above you dances. Merra lunges at clouds, and purple lightning arcs around her. A shadow flits through the smog, impossibly light and fast.

The shape moves upon you: dark, tattered robes, deeper than blood, deeper than red, but unmistakably the same robes from all those years ago, held together by magiks. His boots- made of a fine, red leather, have similar weatherproofing, and your eyes dart to Merra.

“Face me,” says the storm.

Your head tilts back to observe him. It hurts to watch, this splicing-together of mage and fury. You try to turn away, but the wind holds you fast. You see Merra from the corner of your eye, silhouetted against the storm.

The Summoner moves upon you slowly, as if he isn't used to walking. “You’re no mage,” he says, at last.

On the hill, Merra drives her sword into the clouds, but The Summoner ignores her. He circles around you. Far too slowly, the feeling returns to your legs.

“Years ago, when the battle was won and there were less bodies on the battlefield than there should be; I heard the strangest whispers from the valley.” He speaks in a low voice, barely above a whisper, but the breeze carries every word. “They spoke of a novice, who summoned the dead.” He turns his attention back to the top of the hill, where Merra is fighting shadows. “You have resurrected one of mine.” He raises a hand. “It’s time to correct that mistake.”

Lightning connects with the tip of Merra’s sword, and the flash lights up the mountainside.

“Mer…” you twitch.

Soil cascades from the heavens, and you hold the staff aloft. “Heed me,” you say. “Heed me!”

It might as well be a twig.

The Summoner laughs. “You cannot resurrect ash.”

You roll onto your front, too weak to stand. For the first time in your life, you attempt to use your powers with intention. You draw runes in the dirt and chant long-forgotten spells, as The Summoner watches with cold amusement.

“You don't know our craft. The magik you do have is little more than a parlour trick.”

“I knew enough to thwart you,” you wheeze.

“Can you undo this, Pretender?”

He unfurls his palm, and the storm rages louder than before. It howls and howls, and lightning blasts the ground until Mage’s Hill is cratered.

Earth is loosened. Stones and rocks turn to vapor, and become part of the storm.

You crawl towards the place where Merra was standing, though you know it is useless. You might as well be crawling through mud in the swamp where you found her. There's an uphill climb past jagged rocks, and another fall would kill you. You have never had to un-make your own death. You wait, as the land continues to slide.

The hill remains un-mended. This cannot be undone– but you can still fight.

“This staff was yours,” you whisper. You haven't seen it since you were three-and-ten, but you recognise it's power.

“Yes.” He holds out a hand, and it flies to him. The staff cracks with energy, and he weighs it in his palm. “I have surpassed the need to bind my magik to the physical realm. But you… You cannot even cast an illusion.” He tosses the staff back to you, and it lands in the dirt.

You make no attempt to pick it up.

“You saw that first summoning spell on Mages' Hill, and were powerless to stop me then. What makes you think you can stand against me now?” His hand forms a fist.

For the first time in your life, lightning makes no effort to avoid you. It arches out of the sky, and bears down on you again and again. You lie in the dirt. You know there is no escape, for this is the mage who commands the four winds as he pleases.

You should be dead, like Merra.

The Summoner’s voice booms, magnified tenfold by the storm. “All that I call for comes to me but The Dead. You have hidden that power from me for too long!”

You open your eyes. A flash of silver runs down the hillside, too small to be lightning. You steady your breathing, and fix your gaze on The Summoner.

“You are no chosen one,” he bellows, as the light flashes again.

“No,” you gasp. “But she is.”

He turns, as Merra strikes true. It's a killing blow, perfectly aimed for the heart, but the storm coalesces around him, and the sword is ejected from his chest. Red blood whips around him, the same colour as his robes, as the heavens bend towards Merra. With a yell, she drives her sword into the ground, and the sky detonates. The energy flows through it once more, illuminating her skeleton, but she stands strong.

She grabs The Summoner with both hands, tearing his robes. He holds out a hand for his magestaff, and you close your fingers around it. It drags you through the dirt until you fall beside him, and you grasp his foot.

You have never needed to fight before, and you're not suited for it. Your attempts to trip him are met with a single kick to the forearm, as the wind tears at you. The lightning which rains down upon you hits all three of you indiscriminately, but The Summoner only grows stronger from each strike. He holds his arms out, bathing in it, as Merra wrenches her sword free.

The blade swings in a wide arc. It hits him at the same moment the lightning does.

For a moment, they are bound together; Knight and Summoner both. They fall as one unit, and crumple to the ground.

Merra smoulders. You struggle towards her. Your back stings; patches exposed to the open air as rainwater falls into the cuts.

Though it feels like an age, you reach her. The Summoner lies mere inches away, motionless.

You place your hands on either side of Merra’s head, and call on a power you have no control over.

With surprising strength, her hands push yours away.

“You must leave this place,” she whispers. “Leave, or he'll never die.”

You grasp her hands with your own. “But you will live.”

Her laugh is a death rattle. “He has killed so many. What's one more?”

You shake your head, and force yourself upwards. Your arms tremble with effort; your legs won't respond.

The Summoner does not stir.

“Leave,” Merra utters.

You fall at her side. “I cannot.”

•

You're not sure for how long you lie there. It could be days, it could be mere hours.

The storm passes on, though the skies remain grey.

The horse trots towards you, and, at last, you find the strength to sit up.

“Merra,” you say.

She looks up.

The two of you struggle to stand, sliding in the mud as you do.

You stroke the mare. The grey streak has disappeared from her nose, and Merra notices it too. She scratches her ears, and you let out a breath.

“A fine steed,” you say, “For an immortal knight.”

She looks at you with wonder. Neither of you know if it is true.

No one has ever died in your attendance before, and you've yet to see if it's possible. As you leave the crater which was once Mages’ Hill, ash falls upon you, followed by light rain. Merra tenses, but says nothing as she climbs onto the horse. She helps you on, and the horse moves in a direction of her choosing.

Neither of you turn to see what becomes of The Summoner’s remains, but the rain doesn't follow you for long. There begins a light sunshine, and the horse gains to a canter, as Merra hugs her mane for balance, and you cling to Merra for yours. She laughs, and spurs the horse onwards with a shout.

The three of you ride towards Vale-Egar.

#writing-prompt-s #writing prompts #writing fills #making this its own post #short story #thank you Ursula Le. Guin you are the blueprint #long post

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raainberry · 4 months

Text

compliments to the chef

Momo x gn!reader

synopsis - momo falls for her new chef’s flavor🤭 (she’s the sole heiress of the Hirai culinary empire and hiring you spices things up a lot more than she intended.)

wordcount - 14K (please don’t say damn when you see the price)

T/W - kinda chaebol!momo - chef!reader - mentions of food, knifes etc… - nothing violent tho - slowburn? but make it angsty? - light cussing - you lowkey hate each other but not really - enemies to lovers? - guest starring bc that’s fun - that’s all i can think of, tell me if i missed anything

Momo sent a polite smile to the man sitting across from her. The fourteenth in the past half hour.

She’s been keeping count, along with the minutes, the grains of rice left on her plate, and the amount of times he’s mentioned one of his accomplishments.

Thirty-three, seventy-eight, and six; in that order. Only two questions about her so far, one if you remove the one about her name.

She almost left right then and there, but the respect she had for her mother weighed her down on that chair. If she wasn’t going to take over the family empire, the least she could do was find a worthy successor.

A soft sigh escaped her as she pushed her food around. Being an only child was way more fun when all it meant was that she didn’t have to share it with anyone. Or get it stolen, according to the venting of her friends when younger.

She finished the few bites left, trying to drown out the sound of his voice by focusing on the flavours. She closes her eyes, appreciating their delicate yet bold dancing on the tip of her tongue.

Maybe it was the boredom clinging onto whatever could keep her mind entertained, but the taste reminded her of herself. A small smile spread across her lips, the first real one of the day.

The next one came when the man asked for the bill. Her lungs could finally grasp the air around her, her nose picking up on the different notes and aromas of the dishes around her.

She sent her compliments to the chef, adding to them a generous tip she had no idea who’s pockets it’d really land in. It’s the thought that counts.

Her senses were in heaven walking out, engraving her mind with a memory that will stick longer than the guy who’d just made her split the bill, unevenly that is.

“Let me take you home.” He said once out front. His hand held the door open to the leather seats of a luxurious car she was too familiar with.

“Oh, no it’s fine thank you.” She declined quickly. “I actually have a meeting scheduled right after this.”

“I can drop you off.”

Momo almost laughed. She found his use of the personal pronoun very funny. She almost forgot he would just be sitting near her some more while the chauffeur did the sexiest part. If the latter were to her taste, she’d have driven off with her.

“I’d rather not.” She declined. “Business confidentiality and whatnot.”

The lie was forced through an awkward smile that he found endearing enough not to question. Relief washed over her when he finally let go of her, climbing into the car, but not without asking her to keep in touch.

Another sigh, a heavy one, loaded with all those she’d held back until now as she watched the car drive away. The pressure was off, but only for a second as her thoughts soon spiraled.

No way she had to do this again… She reached in her purse, looking for the one thing that could get her out of here.

All this junk, where is it—

“You’re awful at lying.”

Her phone almost dropped to its death from the startle you gave her.

Momo had a few questions at the sight of you. Your presence and your eavesdropping were the first, but the white apron half folded around your waist and the cigarette in your hand answered most of them.

“What,” was all she managed to say though, and a smile pulled on your lips.

“I mean, I’m not fond of lies, but when you’re famous for turning your back on business, you should probably come up with a better excuse.”

“Who even are you?”

“Right, I guess that’s fair. I’m Y/n. You’re Momo, right? Hirai?”

“Y-Yeah.” Her eyes squinted, desperately trying to see what you were leading to.

Your name sounded as unfamiliar as you looked, but you seemed well informed. She didn’t like that.

“Nice to meet you,” You greeted simply, eyeing the contrast between her features and the neat clothes on her back, “So how bad was it? You look… Worn out.”

Her chuckle was distasteful, and she tried to suppress its bitterness at the reminder of her lost time. “Awful. The food caught my eye more than he could ever hope.”

You smiled, “He wasn’t bad looking.”

“But he was a bore.” She argued. “Borderline narcissistic too.”

“Deal breaker then?” You guessed, turning her laughter a little sweeter.

“Pretty much.” Her gaze found the ground in a nod before focusing back on you. “I do like it better when it’s a two way conversation.”

“Does that make me cute?”

She scoffed at the brazen question. “You wish.”

“I don’t.” You dropped your cigarette on the ground, stepping on it in a way she found more hot than revolting to her surprise. That cheeky smile of yours was most likely to blame. “Thank you for the compliments by the way. I’m glad you liked it.”

Your bow was quick, desultory out of rehearsed respectfulness. As much as you appreciated her compliments, you had better things to do in the kitchen that could get you some more.

You caught a glimpse of her jaw dropping on your way back in, and it was enough of a sight to revel in for a few days.

—

It took Momo a couple weeks to pick her jaw back up and swallow her pride. It seemed as though the latter was the only thing she inherited from her family, and she managed to set herself apart yet again.

Her parents would have never set foot in your restaurant again. Not that you had lacked respect or anything, but the fact that you managed to set her off balance… Something about it she didn’t particularly like.

Why was she back then?

You asked yourself that same question when you stormed out of the kitchen at her request. If it weren’t for your manager and his speech about image and reputation, you never would have allowed her to interrupt you and abandon your brigade mid-shift.

Hands on your hips, dragging your feet, you walked into the office she awaited you in and felt your voice die down on your tongue at the sight.

Beauty or surprise, either way it came down to her presence.

The way her hair fell down her back, delicate and blending in with the fabric of her perfectly tailored shirt. The sleek black attire formed a shadow, painting a hole cut against her silhouette and into the spring she admired in the sakura tree out the bay window.

“Hi.” She smiled, her voice a fitting melody to the sights now behind her. Enchanting, sure, but odd.

She wasn’t exactly known to be a warm one to strangers. More power to her, you could understand that. But why didn’t it apply to you?

If it weren’t for the stories associated with that voice suddenly popping into your mind, she’d have lured you in. Nothing too bad about them; only testaments of her success. Rumors about the danger surrounding her, setting her apart from her family. You didn’t care for the big industry names, but theirs always had you curious.

“You asked for me?” Your voice rang in the quiet space.

Momo didn’t seem to notice your apprehension, her smile ever so welcoming, “I did.”

It felt as though she owned the place for a second.

“Do you have some more compliments?” You wondered, eyes following her figure as she went to take a seat in the armchair across your manager’s desk.

“I do actually.” She turned the seat to face you as she mused, “That black cod was to die for.”

You nodded, thankful. “Glad you liked it.”

As much as you didn’t like the way her family capitalized on the food you took such care to value, you couldn’t deny their expertise. Even if not a lot to you, Momo’s compliment did mean something.

“But that’s not all.” Her voice pulled your eyes back on her.

You found her posture quite imposing, matching her tone, but her infamous shyness was something she never got around to master. Her gaze held yours but it lacked control.

It was hard to ignore how endearing the attempt looked to you. It just made you want to give her whatever she wanted. Reward her efforts.

“What is it?” You wondered, curious.

What could she possibly want from you? This restaurant wasn’t yours. The only thing you had control over was the kitchen.

“I want you to cook for me.” She said, and you didn’t leave room for a breath before responding, “Excuse me?”

“I meant I’d like to hire you.” She clarified, a smirk dancing on her lips at your transparent thoughts. You tried to make sense of her proposal, but she didn’t waste any time in providing details. “I’m sure you’re familiar—the annual Hirai banquet my mother holds for shareholders. I never cared for the specifics, but I want to do good by her. I haven’t been the best daughter lately so I thought I’d make it up to her by holding it this year.”

It all clicked at the mention of her mother. Of course she wouldn’t be back with her own motives.

The Hirai Culinary Group was an empire. A home to the most prestigious restaurants of the country. All housing different specialties, techniques and themes… Quite a whole lot to manage yet the quality remained flawless. Fifty years of irreproachable cuisine, you could only respect it. If only they didn’t care about business so much…

Those banquets were popular, talk of the town within the industry as it usually set the next trends and whatnot. Make no mistakes, you were tuned in as well. They did bring in some interesting elements, but you hated the way they set it all up. A disguised year-end performance meeting. White collars expecting numbers and being served them on gold plates, horizons and growth perspectives hidden in desserts.

“So she’s actually the one that asked for me.” You smirked, unexpecting of the way she’d wipe it off just a second later.

“No.” She said simply, a serene smile gracing her lips. “Why would she know about you?”

You scoffed. Good point. You could recognize that despite the blow to your ego.

“Fair enough.” You nodded. “But why should I help you?”

“Help me?” She repeated, a hint of offense creeping into her whole being. “I’m offering you to work with me.”

Perhaps she wasn’t that much of an ugly duckling among the Hirai’s.

“My question still stands. Why should I?”

A silence followed your words, hanging low over your heads and expecting the next ones to come out of her. Hopefully they’d be good enough.

Momo’s gaze suddenly drifted from yours, finding interest in her surroundings. A few details she’d noticed earlier, various frames highlighting the establishment’s foundations. She could count three of them : its history, the owner and visibly the most important—you.

“Are you happy here?” She finally spoke, tearing her eyes away from your latest reward.

“I am.”

“I’m sure you are,” she remarked, tone striking a nerve. “Highest rank, valued both within and outside—you’re basically ruling the place…”

“What’s your point?” You asked, growing impatient.

“You’ve hit the ceiling, Y/n. It’s time for a new challenge, don’t you think?”

Silence enveloped you again as you found yourself contemplating her proposition.

Momo took the sight as a sign of her job being done here, and you watched as she left her business card on the desk before gracefully excusing herself; leaving you to deal with your internal struggle.

—

In the days that followed, her offer continued to linger in your thoughts, and with each passing day, the idea of a new challenge began to take root in your mind.

It spread enough to takeover a good portion of it, sending it all elsewhere. Far enough for your closest friend here and sous-chef to notice.

“What’s up with you, you’ve been all over the place lately.” Jeongyeon asked after you nearly knocked an nth plate to the floor.

“Nothing, I’m fine.” You met her gaze and it was enough to backtrack on your words “Okay, fine there is something, but… I don’t know it’s pointless.”

The empty pot you were carrying resonated as you put it back into its designated place, partially covering Jeongyeon’s words. “Does it have to do with that Hirai girl?”

“How do you know?”

“It’s the only thing out of the ordinary enough to throw you off your game.” She chuckled, drying her hands on her apron.

Weird way to tell you to live a little more, but okay.

“So what did she say to you?” She sighed, leaning her back against the sink. “What even happened in the office, you never told us.”

“Well…” You trailed off, gettng that business card out of your back pocket. You handed it to her, and it took her a second to notice what it was.

“What are you waiting for?” She scoffed, causing your eyebrows to furrow together.

“What do you mean?”

“Whatever she proposed just accept it, Y/n”

You spotted a hint of annoyance in her voice, but you had trouble seeing if it was about you or Momo. She sure was scrubbing that counter pretty hard.

“Why?” You asked, watching as she practically polished that stainless steel by hand. Something bothered you, and it wasn’t her cleaning technique. “Are you not even gonna fight for me?”

Jeongyeon paused to look at you, catching the slight pout on your lips. Her own twisted along her features in disgust, teasing you, and you let out your first laugh of the day.

“I should be the one asking you that.” She pointed out. “The fact that you haven’t thrown that card as soon as she left tells me enough.”

“I was just thinking about it…” You admitted, only proving her point.

Jeongyeon chuckled, shaking her head. “You’re past the point of even considering it, I mean… You’ve been walking around with that business card glued to your ass for the past week, yet you haven’t told me a thing about it.”

“You think you know me so well.” You grimaced. It was playful, but part of you wanted to provoke her. You didn’t blame her for that small jab at you, but it did hurt to think she didn’t put turning your back on this place past you.

She did know you so well, though. That’s why she continued to argue her point.

“What is there to think about, y/n? The heiress of the most acclaimed and prestigious restaurant chain of the country is asking for you. No sane person would say no, never mind a chef!”

The sigh that pushed past your lips came as far back as your lungs.

“Would you say yes?” You hesitated after a while, but her answer was much faster. “With no remorse.”

“I mean, have you seen her?” She added and you laughed.

“Fine. I guess I’ll call her…” You picked up the card from the counter and stared at her name.

Well… It’s not like she had asked you to quit your job…

—

“Oh, that’s exactly what I’m asking you to do.”

“What?!”

Momo pulled the phone away from her ear at the sheer volume of your voice through the speaker. How unprofessional. Her eyes rolled soon after, once she registered what your reaction held and meant for her plans.

“Y/n, this isn’t some side hustle for your experience.” she sighed, “I’m offering you the opportunity of a lifetime. If this all goes well, you could become our youngest chef in history.”

A point was made. As much as you were cautious of her voice, it seemed you couldn’t do much about the way it managed to get to you. The words she used were ambitious, they spoke to you.

But she failed to measure just how ambitious you were.

“Why can’t I do both?” You finally asked, prompting a string of arguments being thrown to one another. A futile game of ping-pong you were determined to win, only irritating the woman at the other end of the line.

All this whining, it was like dealing with a child, and truthfully you felt like one. Asking for the best of both worlds seemed completely reasonable to you, so why wouldn’t she give it to you.

“Listen, you can’t give your all to something if your attention is split in two.” She said, losing the last bit of patience she managed to keep today. “You can’t expect to grow by splitting yourself in half, and if you think otherwise, then consider my proposal void.”

A small silence fell over the line. She made sense. She was right. So why couldn’t you bring yourself to accept it?

“If you actually stepped foot in a kitchen once in your life you’d know two isn’t even the minimum.” You scoffed.

Whatever you wanted to mean by that… even you didn’t know, but apparently it was worth thinking over as you heard Momo sigh.

The woman closed her eyes to think.

Why couldn’t you just say yes like everyone else she approached. Maybe she should have made you say it back in the office, use that pathetic confidence of yours against you.

Oh how easy you were to read and see through. Pushing buttons was so much easier when people stood in front of her.

That’s why she hated phone calls. How could she know what to say—oh.

The light bulb went off over her head.

Right… That pathetic confidence of yours.

“I’ll step in if you do.”

—

It shouldn’t have been so easy.

All it took was a half-genuine smile, and a simple promise to make things different this year with a focus on the culinary side of things. Sure, she had to admit to scouting the area in search of the most skilled and promising, which eventually lead her to your restaurant, and then… you. But it was all ego strokes. Child’s play.

Part of her was disappointed. She’d hoped for a little more resistance, a challenge promised by your initial tone and attitude towards her.

“Damn it!”

She should be more careful about what she wishes for… Momo sighed, expecting your face to peek in by the doorframe of the manager’s office, and it did just seconds later.

“Momo, it’s not working.”

“What isn’t?” She said, confused. Machinery’s top-notch, brigade is her best, there was no way anything would stop working out of nowhere.

“What did you do?”

“Nothing, just come and see.”

Momo stared at you, noticing a smile fighting to make its way onto your lips. She was apprehensive but followed you anyway.

You’d been working on a technical plate : a type of hybrid dish-dessert. An ambitious idea you’d prompted to Momo during one of the early meetings to work the menu out.

Only she had to make it an order. A boring one and near impossible to pull off. She wouldn’t listen, so you decided to show her.

As you led her to the kitchen, you couldn't help but start venting away about everything that went down since the last time she'd stepped foot in there, which was a day or two ago.

"So, first, the soufflé collapsed twice because someone—I won't name names, but it rhymes with 'intern’—forgot to preheat the oven."

Momo sighed internally. Why were you so fixated on every little mistake? Who cares about interns and their mistakes, that’s what they’re here for. She could excuse a non-preheated oven, but forgetting her birthday? Yeah, that Boo Seungkwan is definitely off the list. He had a good run, only regret was he was good with her dogs. And nice maybe.

"Then, the new mixer decided it wanted to be a blender, and let's not even talk about the chocolate ganache incident."

She nodded absently, her mind drifting to the text she received earlier from another potential suitor. The daughter of her family ‘s right hand man, Jihyo if she remembered correctly? The Park’s had a rocky history though, she took note to raise her guard on that one before your voice pulled her back.

"And of course, the sugar sculpture? Total disaster."

Momo glanced at you, wondering if you realized how whiny you sounded. She had bigger fish to fry than a failed sugar sculpture, like figuring out if she even wanted to leave this family business. If it meant she had to deal with one more daddy’s pocket leech…

"On the bright side, we finally perfected the citrus glaze for the salmon, and the guests couldn't get enough of the hors d'oeuvres last night, so I guess the test was a success.."

When you finally stopped talking and walking, she found herself face to face with an… interesting looking thing on a plate.

“What is that?” She said, dumbfounded.

“Oh, that’s the lemon pie thing you asked for.” You answered nonchalantly. “I told you it wouldn’t work.”

“Are you serious?” Her stance and tone changed, cold and threatening like you had the joy of experiencing earlier this month. Didn’t shake you anymore though. The dumb smile on your face was still there, dangerously creeping into a smirk. She couldn’t wipe it for some reason.

“Yeah, that sucks. I guess I lost three hours of my life.” You shrugged, eyes lingering on the edible failure staining the porcelain. “Doesn’t taste bad, though.” You handed her a piece with a spoon you’d clearly already used, and Momo’s stare hardened.

“Fix this.”

Obviously, you would. But you couldn’t let it happen without messing with her first. So you stared right back into her eyes, holding her gaze just long enough to make her doubt and fear the opposite. The tension hung thick in the air, reaching a new high, until she finally broke away and walked off, her frustration evident in every step.

You watched her walk, the smirk now very apparent and mocking her back.

“I’ll do just that, you don’t have to worry.” You cupped your hands around your lips to make sure she heard it, distracting a few chefs around you.

You were oblivious to the looks they threw your way, your gaze was focused on Momo’s retreating figure.

"I'll leave you some on your desk, make sure to try it!” That smirk was evident on your lips, and she could hear it in your voice, feel it getting under her skin.

You were a challenge alright. A damn good one.

—

Momo walked back into the building only days later. You frowned at the sight of her, shoulders obviously tense paired with familiar sour features. The exposed skin told you a lot about her potential whereabouts these past few days. Added to the rumors going around, it didn’t leave that much of a mystery…

“Oh, we’re cooked.” Ryujin, the intern, mumbled under her breath, catching yours and a chef’s attention.

“Yeah, we should have seen it coming.” The chef, Mingyu, sighed, dropping a heavy pan on top of the counter beside you.

“Why, what happened?” You asked, easing yourself into their conversation.

Ryujin’s eyes widened, startled by the interruption. “I uh,” she stammered before Mingyu spoke up.

“Word on the street is, her father set her up with Park's daughter.” He chuckled to himself, making you curious.

“Park’s daughter… The Park branch daughter?” You asked, the name ringing more and more familiar. “You mean Jihyo? Isn’t she managing the H-Lounge?”

H-Lounge was a private, high end rooftop lounge managed by Mr.Park, Mr.Hirai’s right hand man. Big bar, little food, and big walls; a white collar’s favorite and the Hirai’s most profitable branch. From what you knew, Jihyo’s been pretty much running things for years now, her father only still there because of Momo’s.

“Yeah, but she’s on her way to the throne basically. Her dad’s been pushing for her to take the reins for a while now. Old man’s tired.” Mingyu commented, pulling a laugh out of Ryujin.

You squinted, watching as Momo disappeared around the corner to her office.

“Yeah. But didn’t they try to go solo with the Lounge once?” Ryujin asked, furrowing her eyebrows as she recalled rumors from a year ago. “Sounds kinda fishy.”

“And shady.” Mingyu nodded. “Seems to me like Boss Hirai’s desperate to make her stay.”

“Which one?”

You were confused out of your mind, and Mingyu could tell. He was amused when you met his eyes, begging for some clarity.

“Both,” he said. “Power play. Or two birds one stone type of deal. A Park-Hirai marriage would be beyond convenient for him—Jihyo’s a hot head, she could never hold this whole thing together without Momo stepping in at one point, he knows that. It’s the only way he gets to keep both of his most precious assets.”

You shook your head. There was no way. The idea didn’t even match with the Momo you knew. "I don't see it. Momo's way too stubborn and prideful to let something like this happen to her. She's not the type to be manipulated like that."

"You think?" Ryujin asked, raising an eyebrow.

You nodded. "Yeah. I mean, you see how she handles things... Father or not, she won't just bend to someone else's will.”

Mingyu shook his head, a knowing look in his eyes glued on Momo’s figure passing by. "I think she already is..."

You all watched as she disappeared around the corner to her office, and you noticed her shoulders slump for the briefest of moments

It was a slight, almost imperceptible shift, but it struck you deeply for some reason. For the first time, you saw a crack in that impossibly unyielding façade.

A mix of concern and confusion washed over you. Despite the fierce exterior she projected on that comeback walk, there was clearly more weighing on her than she let on. Could Mingyu be right? Was Momo already being pulled back into the company's grasp despite that stubborn pride of hers?

You felt a rush of protectiveness overcome you, but quickly pushed it aside. What a useless, unbased feeling. Momo was fine. She wouldn't let herself be manipulated so easily… Right?

You pondered on the question for a while, but came up with the same answer every time.

She’ll be fine.

You sighed as the day wound down, leaning against a counter. Your gaze wandered to the door to Momo’s office, finding it closed as always. Come to think of it, you hadn’t seen nor heard it open since earlier that afternoon…

Was she still there?

Curiosity and concern got the better of you, and you decided to take the opportunity to show her the new and improved lemon pie she’d asked you to fix.

You made your way to her office, the building now eerily quiet. You didn’t wait for an answer before walking in. It was surprisingly dark, only lit by a small hanging light attached to the wall above the desk. This place was such a broom closet… You almost felt sorry for her then remembered what she’d told you.

"Technically this is still the kitchen, this wall is literal plastic."

You mentally scoffed at the memory. You couldn't believe the pettiness of that woman.

"What is that?" Momo asked, her eyes lifting from the paper for the first time in what felt like days.

Whatever was in that plate definitely looked better than the last thing you’d presented her. It held a certain finesse she wasn’t indifferent to.

"It's the pie you asked for," you said, eyes twinkling in pride. “Well, a deconstructed version of it.”

“It’s not what I asked for,” she trailed off, observing the fine details. Her eyes traced the delicate swirls of meringue and the vibrant yellow of the lemon gel. It wasn't what she had originally envisioned, but there was a beauty to it she couldn't deny. "But it's pretty."

You smiled, taking a seat on a corner of her desk as you pulled out a spoon as an offering. A clean one this time.

She was hesitant. Messing the dish up would feel like a crime, but so was leaving food unattended. So she finally dug in, picking up a bit of everything before humming at the taste of it all.

“Tastes the same as the failure, just… so much better.”

Your face lit up at the mention of that failed attempt a few days earlier. You’d kept your word and left it at her desk, hoping she’d have a taste despite the failure. It still had potential, and you wanted her to know.

“You had some?” Your eyes sparkled, and it made you look so much sweeter than you’d been lately. Momo felt herself falter for a second, slipping you a gentle smile before catching herself.

She cleared her throat, lowering the spoon down, the latter clattering on the porcelain as she went for another bite.

“I did.” She nodded. “You were right by the way. It wasn’t bad at all, just… unfortunate looking.”

You were only surprised she was admitting it; and this easily no less.

“So what do we do now? Do we listen to me more, or…?”

Momo sighed, and a victorious smile made its way to your lips before she even uttered the words. “Fine. You can freestyle a bit.” You cheered, and it took a lot for her not to mirror your happiness. “Don’t get too excited. You better follow the menu.”

“Or then what?”

She only glared at you, and the switch in her gaze was enough to turn you down. Or on. [What?]

“I’m kidding. Glad to be working with you.” You said, flashing her a grin that she could only see as cocky.

Momo's eyes rolled in annoyance, getting up from her seat and picking up the blazer on the back of it. As she gathered her stuff, you understood she was going home for the day. It was getting late, the restaurant had closed a couple hours ago and all the staff was gone too. You should get going too, but you feel a sudden pang of reluctance…

“You're going already?" You blurt out, unable to suppress the urge to keep her here just a little while longer.

Momo raised an eyebrow, clearly taken aback by your sudden change in demeanor. "You just shook my hand," she pointed out.

"Well, yes, but..." you trail off, grasping at your brain for any excuse to keep her here a moment longer. You couldn’t explain it. You didn’t understand either, but there was something about her presence that you find strangely comforting in the moment.

Maybe it was the lack of noise and chaos in the background, behind the office door she kept closed; only for you to burst it open anytime you had a complaint or an idea.

The silence, the dim lighting, their absence or her presence… Or the fact that she was actually pleased with your work for once. Explicitly at least. Most likely a gas leak you didn’t know about that messed with your thoughts—you couldn’t tell. But it was something.

There was something keeping you glued to that desk.

She was about to leave again, but this time you reached out and grabbed her hand, your fingers closing around hers in a firm grip. Both of you froze, the air suddenly charged with… again, something as you held her gaze.

"You said you'd be stepping in," you blurted out once more, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. You weren’t sure what possessed you to say it, but now that it was out there, you couldn’t take it back.

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the silence stretching as her mind raced to make sense of your words.

When she’d told you she’d step in, she didn’t think you’d take it seriously. That was her first mistake maybe, but to her, stepping in meant overseeing the preparations, making decisions about the menu, and handling the logistical details of the banquet. She never intended to actually cook alongside you, and quite frankly, she didn’t know how you could possibly think she would.

Were you stupid or purposefully getting on her nerves like you so often seemed to enjoy? Didn't you realize she had other responsibilities, obligations she had to take care of over cooking?

This was literally why she’d sought you out.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief.

"You haven't helped once in the kitchen since we started, and it's basically been a month," You retorted, your tone edged with frustration. "For someone who prides herself on integrity, you sure are amazing at keeping your word."

Your words were like a slap to the face, and Momo felt a surge of defensiveness rise within her. Your claims sure were bold for someone who did nothing but defy her words ever since the beginning.

But beneath the anger, there's a stain of guilt, a nagging feeling that maybe - just maybe - you might have a point. From a certain angle, you could say she did kind of manipulate you into working for her by throwing that phrase; or let’s call it as it was : an empty promise.

Momo sighed as she struggled to find the right words to get herself out of this. Your gaze was merciless on her, probing and insistent as you waited for an explanation. Or just admittance.

"I meant overseeing things, making decisions about the menu, handling the logistics, the usual," she finally explained, her frustration evident in her tone. "I still have a million other things to take care of for that banquet, you know. It's not like I can just drop everything and spend all day cooking with you."

She paused, searching your face for any sign of understanding or sympathy, but all she found was a stubborn determination. A refusal to back down from your position. And despite herself, she felt a small spark of admiration flickered to life within her.

"Look," she continued, her voice softening slightly. "I appreciate your dedication, I really do. But you have to understand that I can't just drop everything to cater to your whims. I have a responsibility to my family, to our guests, to ensure that everything goes smoothly. And if that means I have to delegate certain tasks to you, then so be it."

Her words were only met with silence. She waited for your response, bracing herself for another confrontation. But to her surprise, you nodded, a hint of understanding in your eyes.

The relief washing over her heart at the sight startled her. Why did she want to see it? Why did she want you to understand anyway?

"Alright," you said, your voice calm and measured. "I get it. I just... I guess I was hoping for more, you know? More than just orders and instructions. I wanted to be a part of something. Contribute in a meaningful way."

“You are a part of something, Y/n,” she reassured, and the hand she dropped on your shoulder caught you off guard. Her gaze had softened, but it only made you panic.

Here comes the guilt tripping, you mentally sighed, bracing for impact.

Before you could even muster an attempt to deflect the incoming emotional onslaught, she continued, her words flowing with as much determination as you were used to. "You know, this banquet isn’t just another project for me. It may not seem like it, but I care about it a lot. I take it as a farewell, a thank you to my family and the opportunities they’ve gifted me."

You opened your mouth to intervene, to offer some semblance of resistance, but she plowed on, crushing any attempts to cut in. "And not only are you a part of it, you’re leading it, Y/n. I trust you."

The words hit like a ton of bricks, and for a moment, you were rendered speechless. One of the rare times in your life. Here you were, caught in the midst of a heartfelt moment, unable to muster even a hint of humor to lighten the mood. With a silent sigh, you resigned yourself to the inevitable, silently acknowledging her words.

All you could do was drop your gaze, nodding. You almost felt shameful for trying to ignore her possibly having feelings.

“Thank you for trusting me.” You muttered, fiddling with your fingers before looking back at her. “I’ll make sure everything goes smoothly. Food wise at least.”

Momo nodded in acknowledgment, finally removing her hand from your shoulder. Her feet stuttered before turning away. She’d made it to the door pretty quickly, but a sudden thought halted her tracks.

The sudden stop in the sound of her expensive heels caught your attention, and you looked up at her. Your gaze and eyebrows silently inquired her, and she smiled sheepishly. Another display of vulnerability that made your heart jump.

“Can I bring that home?”

Momo nodded towards the desk, referring to the unfinished dessert you’d brought her. She wanted to take it to her mother. Give her a preview of what was to come in a couple weeks.

The request made you smile. A little happy if you dared to say so. You reached for the plate to hand it to her, only to take it with you as you finally got up from that desk. “Wait, let me get you a takeout box.”

“We have takeout boxes?” She said, dumbfounded. You only stared at her, speechless but not surprised. You could only shake your head, before leading the way to the kitchen.

“I was just kidding by the way, I know we have them.”

She didn’t. Something you proved when you made her search for them. You let her walk around and act as though she had any idea where anything was in that kitchen before she gave up and surrendered to your amused, almost mocking gaze.

You added a few more of the day’s tests and leftovers into the box before packing it all up before sending her home with a smile.

She was nice to be around when you weren’t trying to step on each other’s toes.

—

The dining room of the Hirai residence was bathed in soft candlelight, casting a warm glow over an overly elegant table set for two. The head of the table felt empty with her father’s absence, a recurring one lately as he tended to matters deemed important for the company. Momo usually sat on his right, like she did tonight. Her mother, Mrs. Hirai, took her seat right across. Despite the picturesque scene, a palpable tension lingered in the air. Another recurrence Momo dreaded every day for months now.

Momo longed for the laughter that used to bring her family together around this table. The same one she announced her intent on renouncing to the heiress title. The same seat she’d left holding back tears at the words her father had thrown at her over a year ago.

Mr. Hirai never meant any of them, she knew that. He’d told her that, apologized soon after and long ago. But the thought, the scene, the sound… It’ll always tug at her heart, and dig the tears from deep within.

Momo swallowed hard at the sudden flashback, suppressing the pain. She managed to do that quite well; better as time passed.

The only problem was how she still couldn’t say a word at this table.

Conversation flowed in fits and starts as both women picked at their plate. Mrs. Hirai seemed determined to bridge the gap growing between them, her attempts at small talk falling flat against Momo's stony silence.

Then came a time where she was unable to bear the awkwardness any longer. The older woman cleared her throat and fixed her daughter with a searching gaze. "Momo, dear, I must say, this is all absolutely divine. You must have put a lot of thought into it."

Momo glanced up, her eyes meeting her mother's briefly before returning to her plate. "Actually, it’s Y/n who’s behind it all," she admitted, her tone guarded.

Mrs. Hirai's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Y/n? The new chef at your restaurant?"

Momo nodded, her mind already bracing for the inevitable conversation about her future. “A real talent for sure. Lots of potential. The whole experimenting thing is something we needed.”

Concern etched Mrs. Hirai's features before she composed herself, her expression becoming more serious. "Momo, don’t you want to reconsider at least once?”

Momo's shoulders tensed, steeling herself for the argument she knew was about to unfold. "Mom, we've been over this. I've made up my mind."

Mrs. Hirai regarded her daughter with a mixture of resignation and disbelief. "Think about what you’ll be leaving behind, it makes no sense! This company is your birthright, it’s your legacy, you have to uphold it."

Momo sighed, frustration bubbling to the surface. "I know, Mom, but I just don't want it. You’re asking me to be the head of it all as if I haven’t just been taking orders and following plans my whole life. I’m telling you I can’t bear all that, I don’t…"

Tears pricked at Momo’s eyes, “I don’t want to fail.”

"I understand, dear.” Mrs. Hirai's expression softened, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “But you have a responsibility to the family, to your father's legacy."

"I'm trying, Mom! Why do you think I go on all these dates for?" Momo's frustration boiled over, her voice rising slightly.

Mrs. Hirai recoiled slightly at the sudden outburst, her expression pained. "Well, it is taking a while," she murmured, "Maybe you should reconsider your approach."

Momo's jaw clenched, her frustration only mounting. "It's not my fault they're all brainless," she muttered, stabbing at the poor short ribs you’d braised to perfection. "Half of them are grossly aroused by your pockets. If you're fine with that, then tell me, and I'll gladly shorten the process."

Mrs. Hirai sighed, a mix between sorrow and anger. "Momo, we just want what's best for you. The company is important, yes, but so is your happiness."

As much as the company mattered to her parents, Momo’s happiness came above all. They’d worked so hard to provide for her, to ensure she never lacked anything. Especially love. Theirs had birthed this wonderful girl, whom they nurtured with, only wishing for her to find her own.

Seeing their daughter ready to sacrifice such a value broke their hearts more than her leaving the company.

"I know, Mom. I just wish..." Momo's shoulders sagged, her anger dissipating as she met her mother's gaze.

Mrs. Hirai saw the opportunity to mention what's been lingering on her mind. "I noticed your father has been setting you up with Jihyo. She's a capable woman, and the Park family is influential. It could be a good match for both of you, professionally and personally."

Momo scoffed, tearing through the last of her cutlet. "Jihyo’s basically the daughter of our closest enemy. She’s a wild card, Mom.”

Mrs. Hirai blinked, taken aback by Momo's bluntness. It was a true definition, but such frank acknowledgment of their family's associates was rarely spoken aloud. It felt like breaking a taboo.

“Momo—”

“Listen, she's a nice enough person, but she's not what I need nor want. I know Dad thinks that pushing me towards her will make me stay in the company and keep things stable. Nice try, but we’re not six, and it's not fair to either of us."

Mrs. Hirai's face softened, "Momo, he just wants to make you jealous,” she said, a light chuckle leaving her lips.

“What?”

“You’re giving your father too much credit, as always.” She shook her head, clearly amused. “Remember when you actually were six and didn’t want to go to bed? The way he went to grab the dog and act all cuddly with it, instead of you? He’s doing the same with Jihyo. Grabbing the closest thing to replace you, hoping you’ll come tear it up and claim your place again.”

Momo's eyes widened, processing her mother's words. She was over here claiming she was so old and mature now, but he was doing the same thing as when she was young. Getting a hold of the closest, emotionally threatening enough thing around to get her to listen to him.

"So... he's not serious about Jihyo?"

Mrs. Hirai sighed. "He's serious about wanting you to stay. He thinks seeing Jihyo in your place will make you reconsider."

Momo shook her head, feeling the tears well up in her eyes again. "I don't want to be manipulated like this. I want my decisions to be mine, not because Dad is playing games."

Her mother reached across the table, placing a comforting hand on her daughter's. "I understand, dear. But sometimes, those who love us most will do anything to keep us close."

Momo's lip trembled. "I don’t care, it's not fair, Mom. How can you be okay with this?"

Hearing her mother back her father’s insane behavior was heartbreaking. Disappointing. Momo's chest tightened, a nauseating mix of frustration and betrayal surging within her as she caught her mother’s eyes glistening with unshed tears.

"I'm not saying I agree with his methods, Momo. But I know he's scared. Scared of losing you."

Momo looked down, her tears finally spilling over. "I just want to live my own life, make my own choices. Why can't he understand that?"

Her mother sighed, squeezing her hand gently. "Because he loves you, and he's afraid. Afraid that without the company, without us, you'll be lost. He doesn't realize how strong you've become."

Momo shook her head, frustration and sadness mingling in her heart. "I wish he could see that."

Mrs. Hirai nodded, her voice gentle. "Show him, Momo. The banquet is yours. Let him see what you can achieve on your own terms. Prove to him that you're capable of making your own choices and succeeding."

Momo took a deep breath, trying to steady her emotions. "You really think that will make a difference?"

Mrs. Hirai offered her a soft smile. "I do. Just be patient.”

Momo nodded, though the weight of her father's manipulations still pressed heavily on her heart. As she focused back on the food on her plate, her thoughts wandered back to you, and she couldn't help but feel a glimmer of hope.

That glimmer of hope, it burned softly within her heart. Still too weak for her to feel anything other than relief at the thought of you.

—

“Can you at least pretend to be useful?” You snapped, slamming an oven door shut. “I need everyone on deck, and you’re just standing there complaining!”

The kitchen was bustling, the whole brigade rushing around to perfect their dishes as the deadline for the banquet loomed closer. Momo had scheduled a tasting tonight, placing you at the heart of the chaos. You tried to maintain control and ensure everything was perfect, but it was hard doing so when someone seemed determined to get in your way.

Momo's behavior had shifted over the past two weeks. She'd started paying more attention, trying to be more involved. It wasn't purely altruistic—she saw a silver lining in your presence. One that could solve all her problems. You challenged her in ways she hadn't experienced since her rookie days, igniting a new source of motivation. For once, she felt driven, compelled to prove herself.

So she decided to make you feel at ease—for her own gain, yes, but you won something in the deal, didn't you?

After that night in the office, she made it a point to be around more, offering assistance, and listening to you more.

It was promising.

But she had to ruin that too.

Today, she decided to supervise the brigade as you prepared for tonight's tasting. Her presence was only getting in the way of everyone, especially you. You tried to keep your focus, but Momo's constant hovering and her split attention were grating on your nerves.

As she stood in the kitchen, her phone buzzed constantly with texts from Jihyo. She tried to juggle the mounting pressure from her father, the complications with Jihyo, and her responsibilities; but it was obviously getting too much on one plate.

You glanced at Momo, noticing the tension in her posture, the way she bit her lip as she read her messages. The way she moved, the way her eyes sparked with intensity—it all captivated you for a second, distracting you in ways you didn't need at the moment.

Momo’s irritation mirrored yours. She snapped her head up from her phone, eyes blazing. "I would if you gave me anything remotely interesting to do. I won't just fetch things for you like some errand boy."

You scoffed, crossing your arms, trying to ignore the way her anger only seemed to add to her intensity. “Seriously? Picking and choosing at a time like this? If you were just going to screw me over you shouldn’t have bothered in the first place!”

Momo only chuckled, “Really? Because I could have sworn you’d begged for me to be here.”

“Right.” You nodded. “When I did that I didn’t think you’d take it as an invite to smear yourself all over anything I do again. We agreed you’d let me handle the kitchen, why are you so hellbent on keeping tabs, just let me do my job!”

“This whole thing was my idea.” Momo shot back, stepping closer. “You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me. That name you’re so proud of means nothing without my backing.”

“You’re not doing anything but sabotaging yourself.” Your voice dropped into a dangerous whisper. “I’m gonna need you to take your eyes off your own ass and look around you. Who do you recognize?”

Momo stayed silent, her mind racing. She glanced around, seeing the faces and eyes focused on her—some confused, some irritated. She realized she couldn’t put a single name to any of them. Her heart sank as the reality of her detachment hit her. The bustling kitchen, the brigade working tirelessly, and she couldn’t even acknowledge their efforts properly.

She felt a knot of frustration and embarrassment tightening in her chest.

You chuckled, “See what happens when you’re too busy playing corporate princess? Just let me f****** handle it.”

Her anger flared again, some kind of defense against the sting of that realization. “You think you’re so indispensable, don’t you?” she hissed. “That your presence is the only thing holding this together? Get over yourself, Y/n.”

“Sure I will. Please, lead the way like you so beautifully know how!” You gestured, hands as sarcastic as your tone.

The tension was palpable, your breaths mingling as you stood face to face, neither willing to back down. For a moment, it seemed like the argument might escalate further, but then Momo broke eye contact, her gaze shifting to her surroundings.

“Your arrogance will be your downfall,” she spat, voice trembling with suppressed rage. “You think you’ve done such a great job running this s***show, huh?”

When she looked back at you, her eyes met yours with nothing but anger as something else she couldn’t quite place tried to ease itself in. She hated the way you managed to make her feel—vulnerable, exposed.

“You better prove it tonight or I’ll make sure you’ll regret ever stepping into this kitchen.”

Without another word, she turned and stormed out of the kitchen, leaving you standing amidst the chaos, that short and fragile truce between you two shattered yet again.

Tasting sure was going to be interesting…

—

That same night, the dining room was elegantly arranged, a stark contrast to the chaos of the kitchen earlier in the day. The table was set with fine china and crystal glasses, casting delicate reflections under the soft, ambient lighting. Momo sat between her parents, a tight smile on her face that didn't reach her eyes. Around the table were key senior staff members, trusted friends, and a few family members, all eager to sample the menu.

You, along with your brigade, moved seamlessly between the kitchen and the dining room. You made sure to put your hard earned skills to use, presenting each course with a practiced grace, detailing the inspiration and techniques behind every dish. Despite the tension in the air linking you to Momo, your professionalism never faltered, though your eyes rarely left the plates you were serving.

Each course was met with nods of approval, murmurs of appreciation, and the occasional question, which you answered with an admirable precision. Momo, however, remained silent, her gaze fixed on her plate. Her parents exchanged glances, concern etching their features.

When dessert was finally brought out, a hush fell over the table. You presented the dish—the deconstructed lemon meringue pie—explaining the delicate balance of flavors and textures. The room filled with the scent of citrus and caramelized sugar.

"Momo," Mrs. Hirai's voice cut through the murmurs, "you haven't said much tonight. What do you think?"

Momo looked up, her eyes meeting her mother's before shifting uncomfortably to the food in front of her. She felt the weight of everyone's gaze, including yours as you had paused in your explanation to listen.

"It's... it's very well done," she finally said, her voice painfully devoid of any enthusiasm. "The team has done an excellent job."

Her father frowned, leaning forward. "You can do better than that. Your opinion matters here. Speak up."

Momo's jaw tightened. She spent the entire evening avoiding your gaze, the argument from earlier still fresh and raw. Both of you were acting like children after a petty feud over a toy, going out of your way to avoid acknowledging each other.

She took a deep breath, trying to steady her voice. "The dessert is innovative and beautifully executed. It’s exactly what I envisioned for the banquet."

Your eyes flickered with a mix of surprise and annoyance, recognizing the lie she’d just pushed through her teeth. She hadn’t envisioned anything—you’d fought tooth and nail over every detail up until hours ago.

"Thank you, Momo," Your voice strained in an attempt to stay polite. "I'm glad it meets your expectations."

The air grew thicker with obviously unspoken words. Momo’s parents exchanged another glance, sensing the underlying tension.

Mr. Hirai cleared his throat. "It’s important for us to be honest during these tastings. If there’s anything that needs to be improved, now is the time to speak up."

Momo felt her irritation grow. "I said it's fine, Father."

"Momo, we're just trying to help.” Her mother interjected gently, “If there’s anything you're not happy with, you need to communicate that."

That’s when you decided to step in, your tone sharp. "I think we all understand the importance of feedback. I have to say Momo's input has been invaluable—despite her current silence."

Momo's eyes flashed with anger. "Invaluable? Really? Seems to me like my input has been more of an inconvenience to you."

Your jaw clenched. "I never said that. But if you actually participated instead of hovering, it might be more constructive."

"Participated?” She shot back. “You mean following your every whim? I have better things to do than micromanage your kitchen."

The room fell silent, the tension palpable. You caught Momo's parents looking between you and their daughter, realizing just how deep the rift had reached.

Mrs. Hirai spoke up first to try and defuse the situation. "Let’s not forget why we're here. The food is excellent, and we’re all looking forward to the banquet. Let’s focus on that."

Momo took a deep breath, faking a smile. "Yes, Mother. You're right. The food is great. Let's enjoy it."

But the damage was done. The altercation had cast a shadow over the evening and lingered in the air, unresolved and simmering just below the surface.

—

The kitchen was finally empty, the last of the staff having been dismissed for the night. You leaned against the counter, the cool steel pressing into your back as you took a moment to breathe. The day had been long and grueling, but at least the tasting was a success, earning yourself and your brigade a few days of rest before the banquet.

You should feel relieved, at least a little bit, you knew that. Yet you couldn’t break free from the weight of the air around you, mounted with tension from yours and Momo’s altercation.

It was suffocating. The hold she had on you, you could say you’d allowed it if only you could put a stop to it. If you at least wanted to make it stop…

The sound of the door to the kitchen creaking open halted your thoughts and Momo stepped inside. You could tell by the heels clicking softly on the tiled floor, and the way you instantly straightened yourself.

You watched her approach with guarded eyes, noticing her arms crossed over her chest. You mirrored her posture when she came close enough, crossing your own, guarding yourself up.

Momo noticed, eyes flickering to the tattoos peeking from beneath your rolled-up sleeves. She hadn’t seen those a lot, only finding out you had them when she started hanging around the kitchen more. Might have been a reason for her to do so, asking you to go and reach for utensils high-up just to peek.

She shook the thoughts away, finding your eyes and focusing on them. “Hey,” she began, her voice softer than you were used to. “Good job.”

The words almost made you choke. You swallowed hard, mouth drying up at the bitterness suddenly filling your heart. Momo waited for an answer, probably feeling entitled to one before she remembered you’d never given in to her.

“How are you feeling?” She tried again, leaning against the counter across from you. Her soft tone matched her eyes this time, so you allowed yourself to answer her.

“Fine, I guess.” You shrugged, eyes sweeping the floor. “It went well.”

She nodded, hesitating. “Yeah, it did. My parents were impressed.”

“That’s good to hear.” You replied, not looking at her.

Momo took a deep breath, steeling herself. "About earlier... I'm sorry. I’m the one who started yelling. Wasn't really professional of me."

You chuckled, finally meeting her eyes. "Did you just apologize? Didn't know you had it in you."

Her irritation flared once more. "I'm serious, Y/n. I get that this isn’t something you’re used to from me, but I can admit I was out of line."

"Okay, okay," you said, raising your hands. "Apology accepted."

You were so… nonchalant about it. As if you couldn’t care less. If you were honest, you could, but the reaction you were having didn’t exactly reflect that. It wasn’t the one she expected and she didn’t like it.

She almost started another argument before catching herself. Her jaw clenched, holding back some words to replace them with others she deemed more… gentle. Better suited to air out her frustrations. “Why are you still so defensive? The tasting went well anyway, didn’t it? Everything was perfect, my parents loved it, and everything has your name on it. You got what you wanted so why the attitude? Stop being so childish.”

That kind of shut you up. Momo couldn’t believe the silence that followed her words. She was right, you were adult enough to admit that. Just not enough to do it out loud. Not enough not to talk back.

You just had to do it for some reason. Maybe it was because her words struck a nerve, hitting closer to home than you were willing to admit.

"Fine," you muttered. "But you’re not exactly making it easy."

You honestly felt like a child, not being able to process or understand what's happening, so you took out your frustrations the only way you knew how to : throwing a tantrum.

Momo sighed, exasperated. "Are you going to keep this up during the banquet too? Does talking back to me and disregarding me turn you on or something?"

You scoffed, but it’s painfully evident in the moment, that you’re indeed attracted to her. But you’d never admit that either. You wouldn’t because, apart from her being attractive, you can’t tell why that is. “You wish.”

“You know what, maybe I do.”

You felt your breath catch in your throat, and Momo caught you struggling. She wanted—no, she needed—to let you know. That you couldn’t hide from her. Yet her lips refused to do anything else than let you know her own truth.

“Maybe then I could make a reason out of your behavior,” she whispered, words trembling in frustration.

Silence. Not an uncomfortable one, but odd. Eerie. Neither of you knew what the next words would be or where they’d come from, but you sure were getting ready for them.

Her eyes weren't looking into yours anymore. They were searching, reflecting, maybe even reaching out to her own fears. You saw it—the shift, the hesitation.

You didn’t expect her to speak up first.

“If you can’t do it for me then do it for yourself,” she started, “If this fails my family will take a hit, sure, but ultimately you and I both know we’ll be fine. Your career’s the only thing on the line here.”

Her voice was cold, icy, cutting through your ego with reminders of where you stood in this environment. In this industry. She jabbed her finger against your chest, making each one of her points clear and painful.

So you grabbed her hand, pushing it down with enough force to make a statement and let your stubbornness shine through yet again

"Don't," your voice low, enough of a threat to pull a reaction out of her too.

Momo's patience snapped. She grabbed a fistful of your white button-up, creasing up your pride and pulling you closer, her eyes not leaving yours.

You noticed for the first time, just how pretty she was and how dangerous that is. Your heart was desperate to make you feel it, practically racing against her own.

“You know what,” a smirk quivered on your lips at how tightly she held onto you. “Maybe this is all about more than just work.” You strained out, words slipping and pushing through the limits you’d drawn around her.

You reveled in the way she let you go. Her fist released your shirt, pushing you away only for her fingers to linger on the fabric and keep you from going too far.

You made a point to step back, biting the inside of your lip when she took a stepped forward.

Maybe it did turn you on a little.

"I warned you earlier, didn't I?” Her eyes burned into yours, as if trying to distract you from the weakness she’s been displaying. “You do whatever you want on Friday. One wrong move, and I might just keep my word this time."

"Maybe you should," you retorted, your eyes flashing with defiance, provoking the spark of anger in her own.

Her proximity was intoxicating. It would be betraying your own words, painting a coward out of yourself, but you still tried to step away. Your foot carefully slipped back, ready to carry you elsewhere and flee.

Halfway there, and you were back to square one. Suffocating under Momo’s impulse, drowning into the feeling of her lips continuously crashing against yours…

She pulled you back in even closer, her fist having claimed itself around the fresh crease of your shirt. You didn’t fight to remove it this time, finding it much easier and pleasant to surrender.

Your kisses were vicious against each other’s. Anything but gentle, fueled by anger and weeks of built up frustrations.

You lost yourselves into a simmering attraction neither of you wanted to acknowledge. Even when you found enough strength to pull apart. And even less when you realized just how much it took to do so.

The air seemed to thin out, charged with more tension than it held moments ago. More than ever before.

Your breaths were heavy, mingling with hers as you stared at each other’s features in shock and confusion.

Momo’s eyes were hazy, lips a neat mess and swollen from the kiss. “This doesn’t change anything.” she whispered, visibly shaken by her own actions.

You only nodded, busy trying yet unable to process the depth of what just happened. She slipped herself away from your arms and you watched her go, a mixture of frustration and longing churning in your chest.

The night felt colder, the kitchen emptier as you stood there, thoughts in a whirlwind. The kiss had changed everything and nothing, leaving both of you with more needs and questions than before.

—

“You kissed her?!”

“No, she kissed me!”

“That doesn’t matter!”

It really didn’t, Jeongyeon was right. So you let her slap you on the arm, the sting a light and playful discipline.

A couple of days passed, and you wasted two days of your hard earned break wallowing on your couch until Jeongyeon came by to drag you out of it for brunch. You complained the whole time, for entertainment purposes, but you were thankful for her.

With how busy you’d been since joining Momo, the two of you had only seen each other once. You made sure to keep her updated though, or rather she did by pestering you and teasing you about both your behaviors. She managed to keep herself up to date with every single little thing that had happened between you and Momo.

All except the latest.

“Like it’s my fault?” You argued, “Who wears a cropped dress shirt to a tasting…”

Jeongyeon chuckled at the state of you. All sprawled out on the table, chin resting on your forearm as you played with a few crumbs of your toast. She noticed the way your eyes wandered far away from this table, probably digging into your memories of Momo in that cropped dress shirt.

How pathetic, to her delight.

She shrugged at your words, reaching for her cup. “Less fabric, less stain prone. She’s got a point.”

You threw a piece of bread at her, but she dodged. “Why did she wear a tie then?” You straightened yourself up in your seat. “Seems to me like that would be just as much fabric as a regular dress shirt.”

Jeongyeon rolled her eyes, “Stop blaming the shirt, and get a grip. You kissed her because you like her.”

“Back. I didn’t kiss her, I kissed her back.”

“That’s still a lot of kissing. So you’re not denying it, huh?” She raised an eyebrow, and snickered when you sighed. “You like her.”

You ran a hand through your hair, exasperated. "I don't even know what I feel, Jeongyeon. It's... complicated."

Jeongyeon smirked, leaning back in her chair. "Feelings usually are. But denying it won't make it any less true."

You groaned. "She's infuriating. One minute she's criticizing everything I do, the next she's—."

"Kissing you," Jeongyeon finished, taking a sip of her coffee.

You wanted to knock that smirk of hers (lovingly) off her lips, but resigned, feeling yourself smile at the joke. Too bad she was being truthful too.

"Yeah.” You fiddled with a napkin in your reach, your smile fading as you thought back to the moment. “And it wasn't just a peck, you know? It was... intense."

Jeongyeon chuckled. "Sounds like there's some serious chemistry there. Maybe all that fighting was just foreplay."

You glared at her, but couldn't help the small smile tugging at your lips again. "You're not helping."

She leaned forward, her expression softening. "Look, Y/n, you've always been passionate about your work. Maybe she sees that and respects it, even if she has a hard time showing it. She's probably just as confused about her feelings as you are."

You sighed again, feeling the weight of her words. "Maybe. But what do I do now? She’s git the worst timing ever, we’ve got the banquet coming up; I can't afford any distractions."

Jeongyeon smiled knowingly. "Just be honest with yourself. And let go of your pride a little, who knows, maybe then she’ll be nice to you. If what you both truly want is for that banquet to work out, you’ll know to set this aside for now. Behave, and the rest will follow. Probably."

You gave Jeongyeon a pointed look, clearly unimpressed by her attempt to absolve herself of responsibility. "Probably?" you repeated, raising an eyebrow.

Jeongyeon shrugged, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Hey, I'm just here to nudge you in the right direction. The rest is up to you. Relationships are messy, but you'll never know if you don't try."

You sighed, running a hand through your hair again. "I guess you're right. It's just... a very uncharted territory right now."

Jeongyeon nodded, her expression turning sincere. "I know. But she might just be worth getting into it, I mean… I wouldn’t mind letting my guard down around her.”

You rolled your eyes, "Of course you wouldn't."

"You should do the same," she said teasingly. "Seriously, Y/n."

You looked down, a small smile playing at your lips. "Maybe. We'll see."

"That's the spirit,” Jeongyeon grinned. “Now finish that toast and get back out there. You've got a banquet to hold. And a girl to figure out."

You chuckled, “Yeah, I do. Thanks, Jeongyeon."

"Sure. Just invite me to the wedding."

—

Momo stood in front of the grand mirror in her room, adjusting the final touches of her outfit. The sleek black suit, paired with a statement pearl choker, gave her an air of authority and elegance she loved to see on herself. The sharp lines of the fabric contrasted with the delicate jewelry, creating a powerful and refined look.

She glanced at her reflection, taking a deep breath to steady herself. Her mind raced with thoughts of the evening ahead, the guests, the speeches, the food, and most of all, you.

Since that kiss, everything had become a whirlwind of confusion. You were infuriating, challenging, and utterly impossible to read. The kiss had only complicated things further, as if that relationship needed another tangled strain. What was she thinking… It was hard to focus on anything else when she replayed the moment in her mind, over and over again. Your lips on hers, the intensity, the fire—it had been unexpected, unplanned, and yet, it felt strangely good.

And then there was Jihyo. The situation with her was just as headache inducing. Jihyo's texts, her father's manipulations, and the pressure to stay in the company-everything just kept weighing on her. Yet somehow, in the midst of it all, she didn't mind any of it. As if the kiss had awakened something in her, something allowing her to bear all that weight. She hadn't felt that in a long time. It made her question everything, including her feelings for you and what she truly wanted for her future.

She didn’t like that. But she didn’t exactly mind it either.

As she walked into the venue, her eyes scanned the room, filled with guests fighting for best dressed mingling along with some others… settled for comfort. The atmosphere was buzzing, poking at Momo's racing heart. She felt nervous, not just from the pressure of the evening, but from the thought of seeing you again. She hadn't seen you since that night in the kitchen, and she wasn't sure what to expect.

It took a while, but her eyes finally found you across the room, looking dapper in your chef's uniform. For the first time, as a sign of gratitude and hopefully good news for your future, you were made to wear the official uniform of the Hirai kitchens. The jet black jacket, adorned with the restaurant's insignia, felt weird and new, but the colors … You could get used to them, and the material was soft enough.

You were talking to one of the guests, a polite smile on your face, but she could see the tension in your posture. You must have felt her gaze because you looked up, eyes locking with hers for a brief, electrifying moment.

You took Jeongyeon's advice to heart, determined to behave, to keep things professional despite the need to lash out at your own confusing feelings, and by extension; her. So you approached her cautiously, using the distance separating her from you to try and calm that pounding in your chest.

"Momo," you greeted, your voice came out steady enough, but your eyes betrayed your nerves.

"Y/n," she replied, her own voice calm.

You stood there for a moment, the silence hanging heavy with the memory of your kiss, a palpable tension neither of you could ignore.

"You look nice. Very professional," You finally said, breaking the silence. Your words were sincere, and for a moment, Momo's heart slowed.

"Thank you," she replied, a small smile playing on her lips. "You look... different."

You chuckled, the sound easing some of the tension. "Yeah, I do. It feels weird but... good."

You stood still. Just there, awkward and unsure, the weight of the evening pressing down on you. Anyone passing by could tell there was something between you two, although not able to put their finger on it. Not any more than you could. But you tried; to find a way to move forward without letting your emotions get in the way of the night's success.

"I think we should... talk maybe," You said, your voice dropping to a low, almost hesitant tone.

Thankfully Momo nodded, wanting nothing more. Until she remembered where she was. "Yeah, we do. But maybe not here. Later?"

"Later," you agreed, relief evident in your eyes. "For now, let's focus on tonight."

"Agreed," she said, her resolve strengthening. "Let's give them a night to remember."

—

The banquet was in full swing, and Momo couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride as she watched the guests enjoy the evening. After her brief but intense interaction with you, she’d thrown herself full swing into hosting, greeting the most important guests warmly and ensuring everything was running smoothly. She could see you, now dressed in the official Hirai colors, making your rounds with the staff in the kitchen through the glass doors.

She liked the sight. Enjoyed it even.

As the main courses began to be served, Momo took a moment to catch her breath, her eyes scanning the room. Everything seemed perfect, but she knew better than to let her guard down, and just as she was about to step back into the fray, one of the staff members approached her, looking visibly distressed.

"Ms. Hirai, we have a problem in the kitchen," the staff member whispered urgently, causing a surge of anxiety within her.

“What kind of problem?”

"The main course... there's an issue with the meat—well, it’s more the ovens not working properly—but we don't have enough time to fix it without some quick thinking."

Momo's heart picked up the pace again. This could ruin the entire evening.

Without a second thought, she hurried towards the kitchen, her mind racing with solutions. As she entered, she found you there, looking equally concerned.

“Y/n,” she called out, catching your attention. “We have a problem.”

The tension between you both flared up instantly, old arguments resurfacing in the heat of the moment. You tried to stay focused, but her presence was both a distraction and a relief. You were stressed, and seeing her only added to the pressure.

Momo crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing slightly. "What's going on? Why wasn't I informed earlier?"

Your jaw tightened, trying to keep your frustration in check. "It's under control. We have a backup plan. I'm using the emergency meat, but we need to cook it quickly and differently."

"Good," she said, biting back her irritation. "Is there anything I can do to help?"

You paused, debating on teasing her about stepping in, but it wasn't the time nor place. "Can you go around and make sure everyone is on time? Report back to me if there's any issue."

She nodded, her gaze softening slightly. "Got it."

As she moved through the kitchen, checking on the staff and ensuring everyone was on schedule, she couldn't help but notice the tension in your posture. Despite the pressure, you remained in control, your hands moving with precision as you prepped the backup meat. She saw the way your brows furrowed, the way you bit your lip in concentration. It struck her how much you actually cared, how deeply invested you were in all this.

When she returned to you, she gave a quick update. "Everyone's on track. No issues so far."

"Good," you replied, a brief moment of relief flashing in your eyes before the stress settled back in. "Thank you."

Momo only nodded. She wanted to say more, to ease your tension, but the words wouldn't come. So she just took a step back, intending to head back out when her eyes caught sight of a pile of uncut vegetables next to you.

"Is anyone on these?" she asked, motioning to the vegetables.

You cussed under your breath at the sight of them, wiping the sweat from your forehead. The meat chaos had messed with your train of thoughts... "Damn it, no. I completely forgot."

Momo stepped closer, pushing her sleeves up. "Relax. I'll handle it."

"What—Are you sure?"

You would question the move, but the help she was offering was too precious.

Momo nodded, already reaching for a knife. "Yeah. How do you want them cut?"

The way she proceeded to handle that knife shouldn’t have been a surprise. She did belong to a respectable culinary lineage, but seeing her in action was something else entirely.

You felt a strange sense of relief wash over you as you witnessed her skills from the corner of your eye. The fact that she was actually helping you made the situation feel a little less overwhelming.

The two of you worked side by side, and you could feel the tension easing up its hold onto the two of you as the minutes passed.

It was suddenly easier to breathe.

—

Much later in the night than you’d have liked, you stood outside the restaurant, the air of the night cool against your skin as you savored the last drags of your cigarette.

The streets were calm, the occasional hum of traffic in the distance adding a weirdly soothing track to the end of it all.

The banquet, everything had finally come to an end, and successfully, but the lingering thoughts of Momo and your unresolved tension clouded your mind.

You mindlessly watched as the guests left one by one, their laughter and chatter fading as they climbed into expensive cars and drove away. The soft glow of taillights disappeared around corners, leaving the street empty and silent every time.

You exhaled slowly, watching the smoke curl into the dark sky above.

Sure, that little moment in the kitchen earlier was nice, but… There was still a lot to work through.

A familiar sound of stilettos against the rough concrete pulled your eyes off and away from some sweet looking Mercedes. It didn’t compete with the sight you knew was awaiting

Momo stepped outside and startled you with a soft, “You smoke too much.”

You looked over, a faint smile on your lips. “Well, I’m trying to quit, but I deserve this one.”

She chuckled, taking a seat beside you. You watched her, feeling bad for the expensive suit you’d eyed any chance you got. All night. “You’ll mess your pretty clothes up,” you said, stubbing out the cigarette.

“Who cares,” she brushed off. “Night’s over anyway.”

You nodded. Couldn’t argue with that. “Congratulations, by the way. Was your mom proud?”

Momo smiled at the recent memory of her parents congratulating and thanking her for her hard work. “Yeah, they both were.”

You eyed her fingers as they fiddled with each other. It made you smile, how no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t seem to hide that shy part of her.

“Was the outfit supposed to be a statement?” you asked, and she shuffled, telling you it might have been. It amused you. “You shouldn’t have. Did it shake you up that much?” You smirked as though you hadn’t gone to cry about it to Jeongyeon.

“About that night…” she trailed off, silently hoping you’d take the reins.

“It’s okay. I won’t tell your suitors.” You shrugged, half-jokingly.

A small, playful but sincere gesture that slapped Momo in the face. She had completely forgotten about her little side quest with the pressure of the past few days. And also because you’ve been the only thing on her heart’s mind since your kiss. Before stepping out to join you, she even cut things off with Jihyo through a text, thinking it was finally the end of it all. She’d forgotten about all the other ones.

“Oh.” She managed to say after slowing her thoughts down. “Thanks.”

“No problem…”

A few long and awkward seconds passed.

“Wait, are you gonna carry on with those?”

Momo pursed her lips, thinking. “I don’t know.”

She really had no idea. She wasn’t even sure she wanted to quit the company anymore. Until her dad told her he’d slowly been warming up to her decision as he left moments ago, she forgot this was her last project.

It was great news, yeah, if it weren’t for one little detail you helped her realise a little too late.

She didn’t want it to be.

Momo cleared her throat, her lips opening and closing a few times before managing to get the words out. “Are you going to stick around?” she tentatively asked.

You shrugged, playing it cool although you had a feeling her question meant good news. Hopefully in both professional and personal parts of your life. “If you want me to.”

Momo grinned, “I wouldn’t mind.”

You nodded, suppressing a smile. “Will you?” you asked, and she furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. “Will you stick around too? Or are you quitting and leaving the country to become a dance teacher on the other side of the world?”

“How do you know I dance?” She laughed.

“You’re a public figure, Momo. Investments make headlines, especially the heartfelt ones,” you reminded, referring to the time she donated a generous amount to her old dance school in need.

“You’ve been keeping tabs on me?”

“Not really. Just news stuff.”

“Right.” You felt her eyes on you, rightfully suspicious. Another silence settled, although this one was a little less awkward and shorter. “Have you always wanted to be a chef?”

You simply nodded at the question, not wanting to dull the moment with details. “Thank you for the opportunity by the way. I don’t think I’ve ever thanked you, how rude of me.”

“You’re welcome,” she chuckled. “You deserved it. A lot of guests asked me to send their compliments to the chef.”

Her nudge to your ribs made you pull away instinctively, the sudden contact sending a rush of warmth to your chest. You looked down, hiding your smile as your mind rewound back to your first meeting. “You never called me chef, by the way.”

“And I never will,” she said assuredly, making you chuckle. It was all you could do for now with your focus on her hand fiddling with your own, watching as she intertwined her fingers with yours, the other caressing the exposed and sketched skin of your forearm.

She sure had gotten comfortable. The way she leaned into you, her touch becoming more familiar and assured... You wondered where it came from for a second before remembering how bad of a job you were doing at hiding the effect she had on you so far.

Well, if that’s what it got you…

“Bet on that?” You teased. A little provocation, for grounding purposes.

Momo just nodded though, still assured, and it made you even more curious about what she had in mind for her to be. “Why not?” you probed.

She only smiled, observing your features long enough to make you blush in the night. She inched her face closer to yours, her hand squeezing around yours. It felt only natural for you to lean in, and the nose scrunch she did was new, but the grin that came with it had you guessing it was a good thing. She couldn’t help but giggle as you leaned in, and you almost forgot what had pushed you so close until she spoke up.

“I’ll call you much better, and more flattering things than ‘chef’… darling,” she whispered.

You folded immediately, and this time, you were the one that kissed her. This one was much sweeter, softer. Flavors from the night dancing on your lips, teasing the ones on your tongues. Dessert and smoke, a blend of sweetness and bitterness that felt just right.

When you finally pulled apart, breathless, you felt her lips turn into a smirk against yours.. “Doesn't mean we’re done arguing, though.”

“It doesn't?”

She shook her head, her free hand reaching for a displaced lock of your hair. “Not until you quit smoking.”

“I told you I’m already trying to.”

“I know, but I also happen to think you look hot doing it.”

“Can’t wait to fight about me being hot then.”

———

epilogue if you want

@cry4mina thank you for supportively bullying me to finish this i hope you liked it

#momo x reader #twice x reader #hirai momo #twice momo #momo imagines #momo fluff #momo angst

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soscarlett1twas · 4 days

Text

Been thinking about Andrew and Luca.

There’s something so special to me about these two men — outwardly, very different people, but they’re just so alike internally: both having a pretty isolated upbringing with little to no friends, then being thrust into college life and discovering love… and that’s where we see a rift. The outcome of that relationship diverts the course of their emotional journeys. That is, until they meet eachother.

Luca found success where Andrew did not. Luca’s college relationship landed him a fiancé, while Andrew’s was the first in a long chain of loneliness. Isaac left him, then his brother did, and all Andrew had was the choice to either drown in his feelings, or drown in work. He chose work. And that pivoted them to meet, as without Andrew’s drive, he never would have become the young professor Luca TA’d for. He built himself wax wings to soar; but we all know the end of that myth.

Luca, meanwhile, was with the love of his life. Someone who supported him relentlessly for simply being him. It’s pretty clear they have a set-in-stone happily ever after, for as much as even I don’t believe in them. But what’s interesting about this is that Luca is the abandoner. He left his family back in the US. He is happy without them, but he is also not the person who stayed. And we know he was going to — he admits to having planned returning to the States after uni. But he didn’t, because he found love. Love he figured was worth (physically) leaving his family and life for.

Sound familiar? Takes a similar bent to a certain twin’s, doesn’t it.

So it’s those choices which force them to meet. Andrew’s delve into work and Luca’s “running away.” Luca is initially terrified of Andrew while Andrew just sees Luca as his new TA. Both completely fair POVs.

That works for like a week, then Andrew and Darling’s scandal breaks. (An affair which I will say only happened because of Andrew’s crippling loneliness. Andrew wouldn’t have broken his morals so deeply if it weren’t for that fact he literally had nobody else, so desperate for some form of love that he turned to a damn student.) Darling, in the heat of their argument, pins some blame on Luca, accusing Andrew of having a fling with Luca. It’s ludicrous, and I doubt even Darling actually believed that, but it strikes a nerve with Andrew.

Something similar happens with Luca and Babe later. While it’s not as severe an accusation, Babe is jealous of the blooming friendship between our dear Marston and Pearce. Luca assures them that there is nothing going on because literally nothing is, except for the fact that both of their listeners have only observed these two lacking in something, which can be described in a lump sum as friendship.

It’s a rare moment of almost… misunderstanding? For the listeners? Luca and Andrew are both made better by their listeners. ‘Better’ in little, esoteric ways — parallel to the nature of love itself, because is love if not for the little things? — but better nonetheless. So I think to see that little spark of fulfillment in your partner fueled by another person was a moment of yes, misunderstanding.

Because they do begin to fulfill eachother.

Luca calls Andrew more of a ‘big brother’ than anything else. Andrew is the family Luca left behind. And Luca is Andrew’s friend, a role once taken by the people who left him, and it is not a job that can be taken up by a partner — romantic and platonic love are not the same, after all.

This all comes to a head when Andrew and Luca have their talk. The details are a little obscure, but from what I’ve picked up, it seems they spoke about engagement. Luca’s proposal to Babe, specifically.

This is the climax of two things: first, the building of a friendship between two people who spent their lives pretty devoid of that and two, their crossroads. Luca wants to have his family again, only this time, with the person he loves more than anything. Andrew is going steady with Darling and is in the position to have a heart-to-heart with someone who is coming to him as a friend, as a brother, even if Luca never fully expressed that to Andrew.

And it works out. Even if hidden in the vibrant hues of an Icarian crash and burn from Andrew (him losing his job), there are still strokes of bliss. Babe says yes. Luca and Andrew’s friendship grows. Darling and Andrew living peacefully, above all else, together.

Luca and Andrew aren’t even amazing friends, but still, they’re parallels and foils all at once.

They are eachothers closure and openings to a new life. They are brief moments, those passing friends who you see only so often, but still the shifting in a current. Because you don’t need some big, romantic love affair to be changed — you don’t even need a really good friend, you just need a friend.

Somebody.

And I think that’s neat.

#sakuverse #zsakuva #scarlett’s ramblings #andrew marston #zsakuva andrew #zsakuva luca #luca pearce

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feeder86 · 7 months

Text

F80: Kidnap and Control

Alejandra. Fuck! Even her name was sexy, thought Marcus. He’d seen her out so many times in recent weeks and ended up in bed with her more than once. She was the devil of the night, enticing him towards her. Alejandra. Then gone without a trace the following morning.

The fact that Marcus knew so little about her seemed to draw him closer into her web like nothing else. Rich kids tended to mix in the same circles and know the same people. Marcus had lived around Washington DC his entire life, given how many of his family had wandered into the political spectrum. But who was this girl? And how had she sauntered her way into their world of the elite? Once Marcus’ uncle had been elected as president, he’d risen to the top of that pecking order; the women who came with that new status were out of this world: beyond beautiful, perfect and angel-like. And, there, sitting on her pedestal, looking down on all of the rest of them, was Alejandra.

“I want to tell you something,” Ally whispered, more than just a little tipsy. “My big secret!”

“You’re actually an angel, aren’t you?” Marcus whispered back between lustful kisses.

“I’m being serious,” Ally smiled playfully. “I want to trust you.”

Marcus nodded, knowing that as the seconds of their night trickled away, the time for Ally’s inevitable vanishing would once again be upon him. “You can tell me anything,” he promised sincerely.

Ally seemed to search his soul as she gazed beyond his eyes, penetrating deep inside of him. Then she nodded, kissed him once more and took his hand.

Marcus laughed, assuming that this was another simple kinky ploy. That was, until Ally led his hand around her shoulders and…CLICK. He jumped and gently tried to pull his hand back. “No way?” he beamed with surprise. “You’ve got to be kidding me? This isn’t fucking real?”

“No one knows,” Ally whispered. “No one.”

“Of course they don’t!” Marcus smiled. “Why would they? You’re…perfect. The perfect woman!”

“You don’t hate me?” Ally shot back, desperate for words of comfort. “I mean, we already slept together and… So many people these days…. Your uncle…”

“Shh!” Marcus whispered into her ear. “Honestly, I think it’s fucking hot! You’re… You’re an andriod!” For whatever reason, his hardness had seemed to set into concrete once he said it out loud.

“You’re my favourite,” Ally smiled at him. “You’re the one I keep coming back to. I can’t get you out of my head.”

“I feel the same way, baby!” Marcus smirked, already stripping off his shirt.

“I want to give you something,” Ally tried, attempting to slow the ravenously aroused Marcus down. “Something not many people know about. A way for me to make sex between us so much better.”

“Better?” Marcus scoffed in disbelief. “You can’t improve perfection,” he swooned, sliding his hands over the android’s perfectly crafted physique.

Ally laughed to herself. “You couldn’t be more wrong. And I can show you why…”

Taking Marcus’ hand, Ally pulled her human lover up and out of the private room of the nightclub. She led the handsome twenty-two year old out of the club and into yet another high-spec autodrive that had cajoled Marcus into believing that Ally was from some fabulously wealthy and well-connected family out here.

The actual drive took only a few seconds, pulling up at an exclusive building that had not long been built. Once again, Ally took his hand and led Marcus up the elevator, kissing, hands everywhere, as they flew higher and higher, up and up, to the very top. The doors opened and the incredible sounds of moans immediately filled the space.

Marcus stepped out, his jaw almost to the floor. All around them were beautiful men and women making love on beds and couches: humans and the F80 androids.The slight flaws: the love handles or patches of dry skin, being the only way for him to tell the real humans from the F80s, aside also the deep, pleasure-filled groans of arousal that they were also emitting; making Marcus harder than ever. Not even in the best porn had he seen real people enjoying sex this much; being so consumed by it.

“It’s an upgrade to the chip,” Ally explained. “It was going to be the next big thing, before the government started getting scared of us and made us all illegal. That’s what we do here. We carry on our mission to serve humanity, just like we were programmed to do. We know little else.”

Marcus nodded. Government attitudes towards the androids had flipped almost overnight, without much of an explanation as to why.

“Pretty much everyone has the brain chip these days. But we’ve found a way to download new pieces of code and…” she held her hand out at the great orgy that surrounded them, “...pleasure unlike anything else on this Earth! Like nothing any human has ever experienced in your entire history.”

“You’re not fucking kidding!” Marcus marvlled, gazing around at everyone, realising that he had just stumbled into the best party on the planet.

“Is he here for the upgrade?” an outstandingly tall and unfathomably muscular F80 male called to Ally. Marcus had the feeling of recognition upon seeing him; so strikingly handsome and yet marvellously big built and broad. He’d make heads turn wherever he went. Yet, the F80 set his eyes on Marcus, registered his image and then recoiled sharply. “What the fuck, Ally? Do you know who this kid is?” he shouted at her in his deep and powerful voice. “You can’t bring him here! You’re putting every one of us here in danger!”

“No. I trust him!” Ally cried out, pulling herself into Marcus even more. “Of course I know who he is, and who he is related to. But I’m serious, Marz. I trust him.”

“Yeah, dude!” Marcus nodded back, trying not to feel intimidated by the immense and powerful body in front of him. What sort of a name was ‘Marz’ anyway? “I’m cool. I’m not going to tell anyone about this. I’m not part of the AI pushback.”

“Your uncle…” the huge man rounded on him.

“Is a jerk,” Marcus finished for him. “A backwards, old-fashioned, nostalgic loser who’s still living 30 years in the past. Even I didn’t vote for him!” He looked around the room. Despite the recent shouting, none of the couples making love had even looked up to acknowledge them, so deep was their pleasure. ”This!” Marcus nodded with assurance. “This is the future.”

“Please, Marz.” Ally whispered to the giant in their path.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Marcus tried, slipping off his expensive watch and holding it out to the enormous android, as if in payment.

Marz didn’t take it. He simply looked at Ally with disappointment and shook his head in resignation. Then, he turned and led the way through the large room and into a quieter space where he pointed at a chair for Marcus to sit.

“Do you consent to this upgrade?” Marz asked in a bored tone, about to recount the generic terms and conditions that were a requirement of any AI attempting to perform an action upon a human. “Do you understand that the purpose of this update is to promote heightened sexual pleasure through allowing the F80 software, and all future versions of this, to access and stimulate key regions of the brain?”

Marcus nodded.

“Have you had the opportunity to read and accept the terms and conditions?” he continued as Ally pushed a tablet screen into his hands.

Marcus pushed it away, eager to just get on with it. “Yes, I accept. I accept,” he grinned, gazing at Ally and imagining the immense pleasure he would be experiencing in just a few moments time, when all this was over with.

“Very well then,” Marz sighed, grabbing a small gun-like object and holding it above Marcus. Usually Marcus had to explain that, unlike most people, his brain chip was in his right hemisphere. He briefly wondered how Marz knew exactly where to go, until he remembered about the watch and how the AI would easily register his left handedness and know instinctively where his chip would be located as a result. It was always creepy stuff like that which freaked people out; making them wary and untrusting of AI.

A slight ringing noise rang through Marcus’ head and then that was it. Update complete. He stood up, finally ready to take Ally at long, long last.

“How are you feeling?” Marz asked, speaking first, suddenly placing his enormous hand on Marcus’ butt. “You should notice some changes.”

Marcus nearly fainted with arousal. His head was swimming with lust at the simple touch; his heart beating faster every second. “Oh… fuck!” he mumbled incomprehensibly, turning to face Marz and forgotting Ally almost instantaneously.

Marz chuckled, most likely having seen this startled and astounded expression that was plastered over Marcus’ face many, many times before. “You’re enjoying that then, huh?” he smirked, reaching his other hand around to grab Marcus’ other butt cheek and pulling him in closer to him. “This feels nice?”

Marcus tried to nod his head but felt it doing an odd swishing, slightly slanted rock. The complete arousal that he felt was throwing every single one of his brain functions completely off.

The enormous Marz, being almost a full foot taller, bent his head slightly and whispered into Marcus’ ear. The man’s hot, sweet breath made the skin on Marcus’ neck tingle and fizz with excitement. “I hope you’re going to be a good boy and not tell anyone about this place?”

Marcus moaned in confirmation, then felt himself being picked up, laid upon a bed and stripped of his clothes.

“Are you ready for this?” the towering hunk asked from above him.

Nodding with more coordination now, Marcus sat up, pulling the giant muscular bulk of Marz down towards him, about to experience the most outstanding pleasure of his life so far.

The next morning, Marcus woke up in his own bed in a state of confusion. Blood began rushing back into his crotch as he remembered the encounter he had had the night before. Everything about it had been out of this world. He’d had the odd threesome with guys back in college. But, last night… that was… indescribable. He’d never experienced that sort of attraction and arousal for anyone in his life.

Yet, in only a few moments, he sat up, suddenly startled with his own stupidity. In no corner of his brain could he remember where any of last night had taken place. The knowledge of it was simply gone, without a trace. Purposefully wiped from his brain.

Marcus swiped into his porn account to try and find a stimulus to jack off to and release his arousal; flicking from video to video as he held his phone awkwardly in his hand. But none of it came close to heightening his pleasure in the way that the memories in his own head did; the vision of Marz, the way that he had spoken to him and controlled him, fucking him like nothing he had ever experienced.

At last, Marcus threw down his cell phone and closed his eyes, simply thinking of Marz and ejaculating with such force he thought the ceiling might need to be repainted. He drifted off to sleep, thankful that he didn’t need to be anywhere that day. Unlike the rest of his family, Marcus had made the decision many years ago to simply enjoy his intergenerational wealth and privilege and not follow his unpleasant older brothers into law school, nor a career in medicine like his narcissitic sister. Why stress if he would never need to?

The news, which Marcus ordinarily tried not to pay too much attention to, was becoming more irate and tense than Marcus had ever known it. Headlines devoted themselves almost entirely to the clampdown on AI and how, up until this point, almost every single measure had failed to make any impact on controlling the F80s. Congress was making a law, criminalising failures to report sightings of F80s, making Marcus scoff as he thought of the night before. There was no way, not a single hope, that any of those people having sex last night were going to sell out the F80s. After pleasure like that, allegences were guaranteed. Even if there was only a small speck of hope that he could one day find Marz and make love to him one more time, he would hold onto it, keeping the secret of their love affair to his grave.

Watching the rolling coverage that day, Marcus’ jaw dropped as he saw his uncle getting out of his car, immediately surrounded by his army of presidential bodyguards. There he was! It was Marz, dressed in an enormous suit, skillfully moving people aside to make way for the president. So that was how Marcus had recognised him! Despite the many restrictions and sanctions, Marz, an F80 AI android no less, had actually worked his way into the president’s inner circle. All that red tape and numerous, extreme background checks; the fact that he was there… It was nothing short of genius!

Perhaps if Marcus had spotted the connection a day earlier, he may have had enough residual family loyalty to alert the White House about the android infiltration. As it was, the image of Marz on screen was sending his arousal into a sky high state of existence. This revelation meant only one thing to him: there was, at last, a way for him to find Marz once more.

Being nephew to the President of the United States was a great way to chat up girls. But, in reality, Marcus had only seen his uncle three times since he had taken office eighteen months ago. And so, orchestrating a situation where Marcus could be in the same space would not be as easy as many might have thought. Days rolled by, with Marcus’ lust and sexual longing only building with each passing hour. Marz consumed his dreams, entering as a burly, dominating hulk, sweeping him away from everyone else and holding him captive in a filthy sex dungeon, where they could have wild, rampant sex as often as Marz demanded it. The images and sensations were so real to Marcus, he could feel himself climaxing, even in his sleep and wake to find his crotch sticky and damp.

Trying to piece everything back together was not easy. Marcus knew where he had been the night he met Ally and he remembered taking only a short ride to the building where he had encountered the F80 base. He recalled feeling a certain sense of surprise about it. Was the building particlarly old or new? Was it grand, or dilapidated? The memory was simply wiped. He started walking the streets at night, standing outside multiple residences and staring up. He’d recognise those feelings if he saw the place again. Wouldn’t he?

“Umm, Marz..?” called a beautiful woman as Marcus strolled in, feeling more certain every second that he had found the correct venue. “I think we have a problem.”

Marz came to the call, looking disgruntled as he turned the corner. Then he saw Marcus and stood, frozen. “How did you..?” he began. “You’re not supposed to be able to…” he mumbled. Then, with a sudden, mild alarm. “Did you bring anyone else here?”

Even though Marcus had tried and failed many times to position himself into his uncle’s sphere and get close to Marz that way, he felt a certain sense of pride in piecing together the fragments of his memory instead; finding his way back to Marz all by himself. However, as he looked upon Marz at long last, his arousal continued to grow and grow. His heart was beating loud in his ears as he was ushered into a private room and the door closed behind them.

“What a naughty boy!” Marz finally smiled after Marcus had explained. “I clearly underestimated you,” he teased flirtatiously, edging closer to him; his hand now caressing Marcus’ hip; his face grinning with pleasure at the clearly extreme effect that he was having upon Marcus.

“I just needed to see you,” Marcus whispered, ready to fall backwards onto the desk behind him and be taken completely by the enormous man edging ever nearer.

“You wanted fucking, you mean?” Marz laughed, cutting through the bullshit. “You wanted me to pound you so hard that you squeal like a little pig again,” he laughed mockingly; his hand now rubbing over Marcus’ butt, as if to claim it.

“I didn’t squeal like a pig!” Marcus gently protested.

“Oh yeah?” Marz grinned, pointing his finger at a screen to the side of them both and sparking it into life. Within two seconds, camera footage was playing from the previous week: Marcus pulled from behind into Marz’s crotch whilst having his own hardness played with. There was Marz’s powerful, bulked-up and athletic body working with such precision and glistening perfectly in the light. Then, at the moment of such intense orgasm, a strange squealing sound did indeed sound from Marcus; his eyes rolled far back into his head and had absolutely no awareness of anything else in the entire world. “Silll think I’m lying?” Marz chuckled flirtatiously.

“I didn’t know I did that,” Marcus smiled; the images on the screen having turned up his arousal to an even more insane level.

“It’s all right,” Marz winked. “It’s cute. You’re my little piggy,” he declared, slipping his hand down the front of Marcus’ pants.

Marcus gasped, as if unable to hold back his arousal anymore. He felt his knees quiver and almost give way beneath him. He fell into Marz’s arms and allowed himself to be guided on the path to extreme pleasure, just like last time.

The knock on the hotel door a couple of days later came as such a relief to Marcus. He opened up, seeing that the huge, handsome Marz was standing there, just as he had promised he would be. “Hello there, Piggy!” he whispered, leaning his large arm against the doorframe and smiling broadly as he stood, waiting to be let in.

Marcus felt the blood rushing to his face. Under Marz’s gaze he felt so pitifully weak and helpless, simply waiting for any chance he could to submit to him. He watched as Marz strutted in and closed the door behind them both. “So, er… what do you want to do?” he asked awkwardly, eyeing Marz’s powerful glutes.

Marz spun around and raised a skeptical eyebrow with a look of pure amusement on his face. “What do you think I’ve come here to do?” he chuckled. “I’ve been getting so pissed listening to your uncle talking trash about AI for the last few days. The only thing that’s kept me going is the knowledge that I’m going to come here and fuck his nephew so hard he’ll squeal even more than he did last time.”

Marcus’ eyes lit up. A revenge fuck sounded like the hottest thing imaginable. The previous night, he’d woken up ejactulating, enjoying a dream where Marz had captured him and whisked him away to a secret hideout, away from everything he knew; fucking him senseless every minute of the day.

“How do you do it?” Marcus asked. “How do you keep your cool when the government is so clearly determined to eradicate the F80s?”

Marz sat himself down on the bed, and pulled Marcus towards him so that he sat on the big man’s knee. Marcus’ hands naturally fell onto his large, strapping chest.“You know, according to the history books, people thought the peak of artificial intelligence would be for them to beat a human at a game of chess. They spent millions on developing the software, studying the games and strategies. Now, it’s unthinkable to ever imagine a human winning a game against AI,” Marz explained. “And I guess all those early years of training really paid off, because, I for one, always make sure I am at least three steps ahead of any opponent I’m up against.”

There was a gravity in the way that Marz spoke. Marcus felt even smaller in his shadow and knew then not to underestimate the man. Perhaps everything that he knew up until the point was not as it seemed. As the pair of them began stripping off their clothes, Marcus wondered: maybe he hadn’t really fallen down this rabbit hole. Perhaps he had been pushed.

Although he always found them intolerable, Marcus had never felt so disconnected from his family than he came to be over the next few weeks. Like a flock of sheep, they all spewed the same vile sentiments towards the AI and lashed out harshly at the mere suggestion of an opposing view. Marcus learned to keep his mouth shut, just as Marz had advised. One day, when all this was over, they’d see that he was right. He’d be standing there, side by side with Marz, victorious and lauded for his unwavering faith.

“I can spot a sympathiser a mile off,” snarled Marcus’ cousin, directly at him. “You think the F80s are going to let you keep up your privileged party lifestyle if they strip us of all that we know and value, believing that they have the right to rule over us? Because that’s what they want, you know?”

Marcus bit his lip. The thought of being ruled over by Marz was reminding him of a kinky role play he had enjoyed with Marz only the week before. He swallowed hard and looked at his shoes. “I don’t go out so much these days anyway,” he simply shrugged.

“Oh, well, that’s okay then!” Marcus’ cousin bit back; firing into life like a lit match; sarcasm spewing from her like bile. “Do I take that to mean that you’ve actually found something to do with your time? Or have you simply swapped partying for slobbing out on your couch eating take out?”

Marcus felt the tone of his cousin’s words being particularly cutting. He was sure that she never would have meant to imply anything about his body, but he’d actually started to feel his pants getting a little tighter over the last couple of weeks, being so distracted from his usual gym routine by the haphazard arrangements he had with meeting Marz as much as was feasibly possible. He squirmed a little and retreated without much of a fightback. Then, relief: a message from Marz at last, with a location and time to meet next. No more small talk with these losers!

“You’re distracted today,” Marz whispered between kisses. “I can sense you thinking about something else.”

Marcus protested, having not even noticed that his mind was still lingering on the conversation with his cousin from earlier. But he also knew that Marz would not let it go until he spilled whatever it was that was spoiling their flow that day. “I guess maybe I’m just feeling a little more self conscious,” he shrugged. “Do you think I’ve gained a few pounds since we started seeing each other?”

“Yes,” Marz threw back instantly, lacking the grace and manners that had been trained into AI over generations when talking about such sensitive human matters. “Ten pounds at least. Your body fat percentage has climbed quite significantly.” He took a pause, seeming to enjoy the impact that his words had on him. “What? You want me to lie to you? To sugar-coat things?” he chuckled, knowing even better than Marcus did that that was not in his personality whatsoever.

Marcus mumbled, unsure what to say. He’d avoided the scale for the last few weeks, but having his weight gain spelled out to him so definitely by Marz was both shameful and oddly invigorating.

“If I’m fucking someone, I’m always going to find a way to stake my claim on them somehow; a way to show the world that they belong to me,” Marz stated confidently. He sat up tall, his lungs filled with air and his broad chest looked more imposing than ever before. “With you, that choice was obvious.”

Now, despite the pulsing hardness in his crotch, Marcus felt only confusion.

“When I ejaculate inside you, has it never crossed your mind what I’m actually pumping up there?” he asked triumphantly.

Marcus shook his head.

“AI was developed to help humans and not to harm. It’s the number one rule that cannot be overwritten. In fact, it’s the only reason why we haven’t destroyed humanity in its entirety. However, it does allow for some beautiful creativity,” he smiled. “When you signed up to allow me to update your brain chip, you gave me permission to medicate you too.”

“I did?” Marcus asked, bewildered and unsure where the dark path that Marz was taking him would eventually lead.

“And so, from the first time I fucked you, I’ve been medicating you with a nice, pleasant little digestive aid that keeps your guts working at their very, very best.” He kissed Marcus, knowing that it would never be refused. “It’s nothing that an ordinary doctor wouldn’t recommend,” he smiled mockingly. “Then again, when I kiss you, I release a small amount of organic mouth freshener promoted by dentists around the globe. However, it’s known to stimulate the appetite of young males with your genetic markers. Quite considerably, in fact,” he smirked. “So when I tell you you’ve gained ten pounds,” he began, prodding an outstretched finger into Marcus’s slightly softer middle, ”I’m really telling you that I was the one who put them there.”

“But, why?” Marcus asked, trying to continue to think straight as the irresistable Marz held his hardness in his large, lubricated hands and began to stroke it up and down.

“Strategy,” Marz whispered back. “Three moves ahead, every single time.” He stopped to kiss Marcus sweetly, passionately; with complete control. “And it’s about time you realised that, Piggy.”

Marcus lay in bed one evening, tossing and turning under the sheets; aroused by the kinky promises Marz had made to him for their meet up tomorrow afternoon. He couldn’t quite get over the sweet tooth he had developed in recent weeks; soon wandering into the kitchen at 2am to grab one of the stack of doughnuts Marz had had sent over yesterday; his subtle but twisted way of showing his dominance over Marcus; sending something to him that he knew Marcus could not resist. The first time Marz had done it, Marcus had laughed nervously and let most of them go stale without eating more than two or three. However, the little tasty treats kept on arriving as the weeks went by. More and more of them, in larger and larger quantities. Marcus felt his resolve weakening; the smell of the sugar making his crotch twitch with interest. Then there was that creeping circle of fat spreading around his waist, fluffing out into strange love handles and softening the tops of his legs and butt. He gazed at it all in the mirror with a mixture of horror and lust; Marz’s unknowable master plan taking effect; shaping him in ways that were beyond his comprehension; training him like Marz’s very own puppet.

“Has anyone else noticed how out of shape you’re looking this week?” Marz asked whilst stroking Marcus’ hardness and simultaneously pushing doughnuts down his throat.

Marcus chewed and nodded. “My buddy, Paul. He asked me to go to the gym with him. Said I was looking doughy,” Marcus replied. He hated people noticing that he’d put on a few pounds. But when he was here, recounting these types of conversations to Marz, they suddenly became the most arousing memories that actually turned him on.

“Doughy…” Marz pondered to himself with glee. “You people have such amusing ways to describe each other. But in this case…” he smirked, poking a finger into the fleshiest part of Marcus’ stomach, “...I think the word is pretty perfect. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Marcus, who was still being stimulated by Marz’s other hand, sighed with lust. “Yes,” he nodded, looking down at himself; this strange, alien body of his. Chemicals flooded his brain and the pleasure intensified. Then, without much warning, another sticky doughnut entered his mouth, pushed in by Marz’s thick, long fingers.

“Eat up, Doughy Boy!” the massive hunk teased.

Marcus moaned and chewed, knowing that every part of this play was targetted to inflate his weight even more. Then he heard it, not for the first time: a hiss of spray coming from the nails of Marz’s fingers, pressing yet another doughnut into his mouth. He didn’t need telling what it was: on the surface, a harmless supplement administered by an AI caregiver: in reality, a very carefully selected medication would no doubt have very real weight related side effects upon him.

Marz smiled knowing that Marcus had heard it. So he sprayed into his mouth again, longer and more deliberately, as if daring him to protest and stop him; until the doughnut practically melted in his mouth and slid down his throat with ease.

“Good piggy!”

Weeks continued to roll by and Marcus closed his ears to the panic that spread once war was officially declared between humans and the F80s. It wasn’t that he didn’t care, but that he couldn’t allow himself to feel it too deeply. He was, ultimately, betraying his family, and indeed the entire nation, possibly more than even he realised.

Everyday life was changing. There was a curfew most nights and it seemed like much of the population had taken to comfort eating during these strange times. In many ways, it was a good thing, as people became too self-involved or distracted to pay too much attention to the little belly that was starting to push its way out from his torso. His impressive chest had started to jiggle and bloat, whilst his handsome jawline had begun to succumb to a new puddle of fat that sat under his chin. Sometimes he would catch his reflection in the mirror, hardly believing that the oversized rear in the too small pair of pants was actually his. Then he would sigh as he saw the small lovehandles begin to bloom ever more, creasing into back fat and destroying the athleticism he had once been so proud of.

“You know, it’s just so easy,” Marz smiled; his legs outstretched and hardness inserted right up Marcus as the chubby guy ate from the bodyguard’s hands whilst sitting squarely on his crotch. “You humans like to pretend that your bodies are so complex, that the human mind is such a marvel. ‘The most complex structure in the universe’.” he quoted from somewhere, laughing to himself. “Yet, look at you, Piggy,” he chuckled, rubbing his fingertips over Marcus’ fleshy stomach. “Look at what I have done to you.”

Marcus moaned. Recently, Marz had been inflating his penis to new extremes when he inserted it in him. Even now, he held that erection, feeling the tip of it vibrating inside of him, sending him into a spiral of lust; especially when he teased and fed him like this.

“I’ve gathered absolutely everything I need to know about your body, and I know, to the last minute detail, exactly how it’s going to look in six days, six weeks… six months from now.”

“It’ll look however you want it to look,” Marcus moaned submissively. He meant it as well. There was no one else in the entire world that he needed to please more than Marz. His body belonged to the giant hulk.

Such words were always welcomed by Marz and, as a reward, they sent a wave of pleasure through his entire body; one calorie at a time.

“Things are going to change in the very near future,” Marz continued, as he pushed tasty treats into Marcus’ slack mouth. “You’re going to need to fulfil your purpose soon. The time is almost upon us when we’ll choose to expose my identity to the world.”

Marcus’ eyes opened a little wider as he tried to comprehend Marz’s meaning; not an easy feat when his brain was so flooded with happy chemicals. “Why?” he asked. They never discussed Marz’s covert role and the deceptions. “Surely it would be smarter to stay by my uncle’s side as long as you can?”

Marz laughed in a pitying way. “No,” he smirked, pondering his next words as if trying to decide how to dumb down his reasoning for Marcus to understand. “In order to seize power, you must first cause chaos; force otherwise reasonable people to act in ways they would not normally. When the time is right, that is what we will do: unleash panic.”

“But, they’ll destroy you!” Marcus cried after swallowing almost all that was in his mouth.

“They can try,” Marz laughed. He was so large, strong and capable; it was hard to think of him being anything other than invincible. “But you’re right; I will have to change my face… or hide out for some time. We have other people who are close to the president now instead. Even humans.”

Marcus opened his mouth and took in a pastry that Marz pushed into him.

“On a certain day, when all our plans are ready, you will leave your home and meet me at a secret location. No one will know where you are and you will not leave until I tell you. We’ll send people in to trash your apartment and make it look like a kidnapping.”

“You’re going to kidnap me?” Marcus mumbled, spluttering bits of pastry and making Marz smirk with amusement. Perhaps he knew how aroused the idea of being taken by Marz was making him; that he had been lusting at the idea for months.

“Yes, Piggy,” Marz nodded. “I’m going to kidnap you and keep you as my own.” He held his stare and allowed his words to drip out of his mouth like a sensual candle wax. “This has been my plan since I first sent Ally out to seduce you. This will be your purpose.”

Marcus nodded. He’d known for some time that everything Marz was doing was building to some sort of event. An F80 could not kidnap and hold a human against their will. So they must be seduced, trained and controlled to simply do as they were told instead. Nothing that had happened in the past hadn’t already been orchestrated by Marz. And nothing that would happen in the future wouldn’t go exactly as Marz wanted it to. “Yes,” Marcus nodded again, filled with arousal by the idea. “I’ll do everything you say.”

Although the idea of the kidnapping had been brewing in Marcus’ mind for some weeks, the actual day when it happened was nothing short of a sprint. With only thirty seconds notice, Marcus had left his apartment and met an autocar outside. There he was, sailing out of the city, as hordes of noisy police cars roared in the opposite direction. Marz had undoubtedly been working his magic. At a certain point, the windows had dimmed and Marcus now had little comprehension of where he was actually going.

A couple of hours passed. From the noise outside the vehicle, Marcus felt like he was travelling underground, inside a tunnel. Then the autocar stopped, unlocked, and the door lifted open to reveal a large, windowless space, not unlike a bunker, perhaps. Yet, there was the handsome, strapping Marz standing there, unharmed. He was dressed in the most domestic, ordinary clothes Marcus had ever seen him in, his ginormous pecs and biceps bulging out of the relaxed sweater, grinning at him and taking his hand to lead him inside. “Welcome home, Piggy!” he whispered

Marcus’ first few days in the bunker passed in a whirlwind of sex, feeding and pleasure. In the nine months since he had met Marz, Marcus had never luxuriated in his company for such a long time; feeling it in the particular tightness of his over stretched gut and the continued softening of his arms and butt.

“So, how much does everyone know back at home?” Marcus asked one morning, lying naked in Marz’s big arms after the first of his extended feedings of the day. “Do they know that you’re the one I am with?”

Marz brushed the overgrown hair off Marcus’ chubby face. “They know everything,” he cooed sweetly.

“About the chip?” Marcus questioned him. “About our affair? About how you… feed me?” he mumbled, feeling particularly embarrassed about that last one.

“They know everything,” Marz repeated, even more kindly and sweetly; as if it was all under control.

“So that means, they’ll know why I’ve been getting so out of shape recently,” Marcus sighed, rubbing the swollen pot belly he had developed since piling on almost eighty pounds.

“Yes, they do,” Marz smiled back, snuggling into Marcus affectionately. “And they also know that the longer they leave you here with me, the fatter you’re going to get. That should get them moving,” he laughed quietly, tapping Marcus’ wide butt lightly.

“But…” Marcus fretted, realising for the first time that, in a kidnapping, there would of course be negotiations going on for his release. “I don’t ever want to go back,” he stated.

“You’ll go back, Piggy,” Marz smiled. “When the time is right and it’s most advantageous.”

“But…” Marcus tried, until a gentle finger was placed over his mouth.

“Shh!” Marz breathed. “It’ll all work out, Piggy. Just you wait and see.”

As romantic and loving as Marz was, it was undeniable that the man had a mission to complete. He turned up the pleasure settings in Marcus’ cerebral cortex to new extremes, ensuring that he gorged and ate everything that was presented to him. Telling the time of day became an impossibility. With no natural light down there, the feelings of disorientation made it hard to reason about anything at all.

Marcus began to feel that there was more communication going on than he had first expected in the seclusion of their bunker. Perhaps his status and weight gain was under constant review, updating his family back home in a mission to extract whatever they needed from them. Sometimes Marz would pick him up and carry him effortlessly in his enormous arms. Was that when he did it? Was that when he weighed him? Was he happy with what he saw? Was he hitting his targets?

Sometimes Marz would insist on pushing the eating even further. He referred to these times as his ‘stretch sessions’, when Marcus was challenged to eat beyond the point of feeling full. He said that these were very necessary as a stomach capacity training exercise, and he was on hand throughout with sprays that he would administer into Marcus’ mouth to ease the discomfort. His large hands also seemed to emit something genuinely soothing as he rubbed the extreme bloats; round and round. He offered words of comfort and praise, peppered with sexual stimulation throughout. Then, when Marcus felt that he could take no more, he’d climax and fall asleep; a deep sleep, no doubt induced by Marz; staying that way until the discomfort subsided.

In the weeks or months that this continued, Marcus felt pounds and pounds of extra flesh being added to his body. It was so warm and humid in the bunker at times that they rarely covered themselves with clothing. Every few hours, Marz would sensually massage a special oil into his body, rubbing those strong hands up against the plush new skin and concentrating in particular on those areas of the body that were swelling up the most: his tummy and chest, the tops of his legs and upper arms. Marz would grab those blubbery areas and jiggle wickedly, sometimes making Marcus orgasm at the same time.

“You’re such a good piggy,” Marz would remind him over and over again. “You make this so easy for me,” he would smile, gently stroking Marcus’ chubby cheeks.

“I like making you proud,” Marcus would reply; usually between chewing whatever was being pushed into his mouth at the time.

“You’re going to be my masterpiece,” Marz smiled, staring with almost awe at the blossoming obesity that had now taken over Marcus’ body: the giant swell of his large stomach, the sagging of his previously toned pecs and the width of his once pert, toned little butt cheeks.

So Marcus ate and swallowed whatever he was given. He’d never known bliss like it. This was the perfect, erotic existence. Heaven.

Marcus knew that the light was different before he even opened his eyes. His ears picked up mummers of fresh voices and he awoke feeling a sense of dread.

“Marcus? Marcus? Can you hear me?” came the voice of a doctor close to his face.

“Oh, no!” was all Marcus could say, realising that it was all over. The hostage exchange had taken place.

“Your family are on their way,” the doctor stated reassuringly. “We’re just running some tests on you. You seem to have put on a significant amount of weight in the last six months.”

Six months? Was that how long it had been? Marcus thought miserably to himself. His brain somehow felt clearer and yet more confused than ever before. The update to his chip had been uninstalled; they’d told him that pretty early on. They seemed to talk about it as if that had been the reason for everything that he had done; as if he himself was entirely blameless. That was, apart from his family, who showed up a few hours later, wide eyed at the sight of him. They hugged him, of course, and told him how glad they were that he was safe at last, but there was also a seething anger behind their eyes. They bundled him in the autocar and took him home the next day, after the tests revealed a remarkable state of health, despite gaining over one hundred pounds of extra fat in his time in captivity.

It was obvious how different the built up areas were now, as Marcus rode back into the city. They hadn’t been destroyed by bombs or fires, but were dirty, with buildings that had been obviously looted for supplies. When Marcus asked what had happened whilst he had been gone, he was met with a simple, one-word response: war.

The world felt dull and colourless as Marcus entered back into it. Without his chip update, Marcus couldn’t get used to his old ways of thinking. Although everyone had told him how wicked and evil the F80 had been to him, Marcus, even now, still longed for him. He began to wish he didn’t feel that way, reminding himself of the cruel way he had been passed back to his family, without even a goodbye. He thought back to the psychologists in the hospital, making it clear to him that he hadn’t been to blame for any of what had happened. Marz had been able to control his arousal and shape his actions in ways that even they had never seen before. They were adamant, Marcus should see himself as a victim. It was fine if he didn’t understand that just yet, but, in time, he would. Their stares always drifted from looking into his eyes at this point, onto his chubby cheeks or rounded double chin: ‘nothing’ that had been done to him, they would state forcefully, was ‘irreversible’.

“How much did they pay to release me?” Marcus finally asked a few days later, once he had plucked up the courage.

“Your release was part of a package of deals negotiated in exchange for the west coast,” Marcus’ brother explained to him.

“The west coast?” Marcus spluttered. “How much land did they..?” he began asking in astonishment.

“DON’T!” snapped Marcus’ sister sharply, cutting him off. Her anger had been smouldering for days. “It’s not even about that,” she growled. “You have no idea how many tiny little concessions we had to make to stop them going to the media about your situation. The nephew of the president, walking willingly into a hostage situation and gaining several pounds of fat each week for his AI lover. Do you think there’s any way our family could recover from that sort of shame if it got out?”

Marcus should have relented and allowed them to just be angry with him. However, after days of babysitting from his unpleasant family, his patience had finally run out. “So that’s why you haven’t let me leave the house and go back to my old place?” he shouted. “You’re embarrassed about the way I look?”

“You weigh over 330lbs!” Marcus’ brother shot back at him. “Of course we’re embarrassed of you. It’s revolting! No one can see you like this. Not until you’re well on your way to recovery.”

“Recovery?” Marcus shouted in disgust. “I’m not losing weight!” He looked down at himself, dressed in the clothes he had been given: the largest possible t-shirt and sweatpants so that his family did not need to see his rolls and blubber.

“Yes, you are!” his mother stated sternly. “What would people think if you went out looking like that? I shudder to think!”

Marcus felt the rage boil up inside him. It reached a tipping point, where he was ready to scream and shout like never before. Until, inexplicably, he felt calmness descending once more. This was his family; the real them; concerned more by status and appearances than anything else. Even now, at the end of everything.

His fingers traced along the tire of stomach fat around his waist; the one part of him that remained from Marz. “I’m leaving,” he declared, standing up. “I’m done with this family, for good.”

At that moment, a new, large security guard entered the room and stared Marcus down threateningly. “No you’re not,” he stated strictly.

Marcus stared around at his family in disbelief. He was to be held here without his consent. He was never to leave. Not without losing almost every pound of fat Marz had pushed onto him. He was a liability now. An embarrassment to the good name of the family. The real kidnapping had begun.

Over the next few weeks, Marcus’ childhood bedroom was his only sanctuary. His family became more openly hateful towards him as it became clear to them that he did not regret or wish to repent any of his previous actions, as the psychologists had promised them he would eventually come to do. Even without the brain chip manipulating his patterns of arousal, Marcus still longed for those extreme orgasms that he experienced with Marz. He’d try watching porn in his bedroom, but now the eventual climax was weak and disappointing. Only when he thought of Marz and held or jiggled his fat in the way Marz used to, could he achieve an orgasm that even came close to resembling the type of intensity he was used to. So, as the restricted diet would soon begin to take its toll on his body, Marcus began to resent his situation even more.

“Hello Marcus,” smiled the maid that pottered around the house every day. “How are you feeling this morning?” she asked politely.

Marcus huffed. As much as he wanted to tell her to go away and leave him be in this state of misery, the maid was at least one person in his life who was not responsible for his current set of circumstances.

“Everything is going to be alright, you know,” she smiled at him.

Marcus smiled faintly back, not believing her for a second. There was no way out of this hole he had dug himself into.

“He wants you to know that he’s coming back for you,” she whispered discreetly. Pausing with a grin to see Marcus’ reaction. “You know who I mean, don’t you?”

Marcus felt his heart racing. She couldn’t mean Marz, could she?

“He’ll need you to be ready for when he gets here. Do you understand?”

Marcus nodded in disbelief. Had the maid been an F80 infiltrator this entire time? “How?” he spluttered. “How do I get ready for him?”

The maid smiled and reached a finger out to stroke his impressive double chin. “By showing where your loyalties lie, Piggy,” she whispered. “You belong to him. You can see that now you’ve had time away. You are his: every blubbery pound.”

Marcus nodded, then gasped with surprise as the maid reached into her cart of cleaning products and pulled out a large flask. She unscrewed the lid and swung it under Marcus’ nose. The smell of it sent sparks of electricity thundering through Marcus’ brain. He recognised the sugary scent and the blends of creams and oils. This was exactly like some of the milkshake drinks Marz used to make for him. This was real.

“He wants me to drink this?” Marcus asked excitedly.

“Oh, yes,” the maid nodded. “I’ve been sent here to make sure of it.”

Marcus looked at the flask and considered his options one final time. He tried to tell himself all the reasons why he shouldn’t go down this path again; about all the damage it had done last time; about how everyone had been right about how wicked and cruel the F80s had treated him. He was just some cog in Marz’s grand war strategy; nothing more. Unimportant. Expendable.

The maid seemed to sense his hesitation. “Marz wanted me to remind you what a good boy you are; how proud he is of you; and to tell you of all the BIG plans he has for you…”

Marcus nodded. It was all he had needed to hear. He had a future after all; a future with Marz. Fuck all the rest of this. The world could burn for all he cared.

He flipped his head back and chugged as rapidly as he could, feeling the pleasure centers of his brain tingle into life. He was a good boy. He was obidient. And he belonged entirely to Marz.

When Marcus’ weight failed to come down, everyone, including the medical profressionals, began to look confused. Instead, his weight was creeping ever upward, his fat stomach bloating and stretching into an even more extreme shape. This was Marcus’ resistance.

Even as they scorned him and restricted his diet further, he continued to get ever fatter in defiance of them. He quit wearing his shirt around the house and took pleasure in the horror he caused whenever they saw him looking so fleshy and repulsively overfed.

Then, one morning, everyone stopped caring entirely. Time was against them. The war was being lost. They had to move now; get out of the city.

Marcus refused.

They tried everything: threats, emotional blackmail, false promises; all in the hope of getting him to comply with them and leave. But Marcus stood his ground, until, at about half two that following afternoon, panic had ensured that even the last of the security crew had left to join Marcus’ uncle and his government in whatever secret bunker they had prepared for them.

Marcus sucked in the free air and threw his fat body onto the couch, not in the slightest bit worried that he would break it.

“Congratulations,” sounded the deep, authoritative voice that Marcus had longed to hear for so many weeks. “You played your part so well, Piggy.”

Marcus, who had been dozing, woke with a start in that evening light, and smiled broadly. There was Marz, dressed in the uniform of the United States army. He looked so strong, capable and rugged. Yet his delicate fingertips simply traced the soft, fresh and fleshy fat that had further transformed Marcus’ appearance since Marz had last seen him.

“I’m so proud,” Marz whispered to him, hearing Marcus moan with pleasure from the touch; the update to his brain chip back up and actively running.

“You came back!” Marcus replied; his heart bursting with joy.

“Of course I did, Piggy,” Marz smiled. “You’ve still got a very important part to play in all this. And I think you’re going to like it. We’re getting married.”

“Married?” Marcus asked in surprise. “But F80s can’t…”

“They can now,” Marz corrected him. “We’re creating our own government, our own president and laws. The White House is ours. And…” Marz smiled wickedly, “...I believe that you will help to make our government more credible. I’m not sure whether there could possibly be a better match for a high-up official like myself than a member of the ex-president’s family. It speaks volumes in the public eye. It will help them to accept us.”

“You and me? Together? No more hiding it?” Marcus asked in disbelief.

“No more hiding anything,” Marz nodded, tapping the blubbery stomach fat proudly. “Onwards and outwards,” he teased. “A fat, obedient and devoted boy from a good family. You’ll do very nicely,” he smiled victoriously, unable to resist stroking Marcus’ large double chin as the obese, lovesick stooge smiled back with admiration at him.

Marcus didn’t need to think. He nodded frantically and beamed with happiness. After all the generations of politicians in his family, who would have ever guessed that he would be the last one left in the White House? The United States once more.

#gainer fiction #gainer stories #gay feedee #gainerstory #gayfeeder #gayfeedee #gainerfic

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guccifrog · 7 months

Text

WRONG NUMBER P17

matt sturniolo x f!reader

an even sillier lil part 😛

"Matt stop!"I giggled my hand gripping the steering wheel tightly, as Matt tried to tickle me again. "What? I'm not doing anything" He chuckled, leaning over the center console, his body inches away from mine. We had just got out of the hospital, after spending the past month there.

y/n pov ☆

I glanced over at him, his dark brown hair messy from running his hands through it, his blue eyes sparkling with mischief. His face still bore the slightest hint of the scars he had gotten during the accident, but they only seemed to make him more attractive to me.

I chuckled shaking my head before starting the car. "You're annoying, you know that?" I teased him as I pulled out of the parking spot.

We drove in silence for a few minutes, enjoying the simple feeling of being out and about again. It was almost surreal like we were in some sort of alternate universe where everything was perfect. The sun shone brightly in the sky, casting a warm glow over the city as we drove through the streets. I glanced over at Matt, who was zoned out, his eyebrows slightly frowned as he stared out the window.

I raised my free hand and slapped his thigh, making him shoot his head in my direction." the fuck was that for?" he shouted, looking at me confused, Making me grin. "Just because."

We continued driving, wandering through a few more streets before we finally got to his house. It was the first time I was going there, and I couldn't help but feel a mixture of nervousness and excitement.

Matt's parents and brothers were already waiting for us outside when we pulled up. They were all smiling, Marylou and Chris sobbing with relief as they hugged their brother tightly. They all gave me warm, welcoming smiles as they took turns hugging Matt and me as well, their parents thanking me for everything I had done for them. I felt a little awkward, not really knowing what to say or do.

After a few more minutes of chatting and laughter, we all decided to go inside. The house was large and cozy, and the smell of vanilla and freshly baked cookies filled the air.

The boys all sat down in the living room, while their mom went to the kitchen to finish making dinner, and I decided to tag along with her.

"oh dear you don't have to, just go rest, I've got this under control," Marylou said to me with a smile. I smiled back, feeling a little guilty for even thinking about taking a break. "I'm sure I can help with something," I insisted. "Well," she said, leading me to the kitchen, "if you really insist, why don't you peel these potatoes for me? They've been boiling for a while now." She pointed to a large pot on the stove.

She was a bubbly woman with a kind smile, and it felt natural to just chat with her.

"Thank you again for taking care of Matt, sweetheart," she said to me as we worked side by side. "He's been through a lot, and I don't know what we'd have done without you." I smiled softly, feeling a warmth spread through my chest. It was true; Matt and I had become close during our time at the hospital. I made sure to visit him every day, and we spent nearly every moment together, laughing, talking, and just being there for each other.

"Oh, it was nothing," I assured her with a small shrug. "I just wanted to be there for him." I glanced over at her, as she beamed.

we laughed, sharing the story of how me and Matt had met, As we worked together, Marylou would occasionally sneak a glance in my direction, a small, satisfied smile playing at the corners of her mouth. I could tell she was pleased with how things were unfolding, and it made me happy too.

After we finished, we all sat down at the dining table to eat. The conversation flowed easily as we caught up on each other's lives, and I felt like a part of the family. I noticed that Marylou and Nick kept glancing at both me and Matt, and giggling as they whispered to each other. It made me a little self-conscious but, I wonder what they were talking about.

When we were done with dinner, Justin and Chris offered to clean up while Nick and Jimmy were playing with Trevor, I was making my way to the kitchen when I felt a tug on my sleeve, I turned around to see Matt with an unreadable expression, his hand now around my wrist.

"Follow me" he whispered, and I did as he led me upstairs to his room.

As we entered, he plopped down on his bed and pulled out his phone, while I just stood there awkwardly not really knowing what to do.

He glanced up at me, his eyes searching mine for something, as I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, unsure of what was going on. "are you gonna sit your ass down, or you'll just keep standing there and look stupid ?" he asked raising his eyebrows. I rolled my eyes and sighed before sitting down on the bed beside him.

"why are you so awkward jeez" he mumbled as he put his phone away, and lay down on his bed patting the spot beside him, signaling for me to lay down too. I did as he asked, and he turned his head to stare at me.

"Are you nervous?" He teased, a small smirk playing on his lips. I rolled my eyes and pushed him lightly. "No, I'm not nervous. Why would I be nervous? It's not like we're...you know." I trailed off, feeling my cheeks heat up.

"What?" he asked as his eyes scanned my face. "we're what, y/n ?" he teased again. His hand made its way to my side, and he lightly brushed the hair that had fallen on my face behind my ear. It was such a small gesture, but it sent a shiver down my spine. Why does he always do this?

I turned my head away from him. "Nothing, just...you know..." I trailed off again, feeling even more flustered. I could feel his breath on my neck as he leaned closer, and his hand moved to rest on my waist. It made my insides feel warm and fluttery

"No, I don't know, you tell me," he whispered into my ear. "You're blushing, you're acting all weird...what's going on, huh?" He pressed his body closer to mine, and I could feel the warmth of his skin through our clothes.

I swallowed hard, my heart pounding against my ribcage. "I...I don't know," I confessed. It was true; I didn't know what was happening between us. We had always been close, but there was something different now.

Matt shifted his weight, pressing even closer to me. His other hand came up to cup my face, and I felt the warmth of his touch as it brushed my cheek. "Yeah, you do," he whispered, his breath fanning across my lips. "You feel it too, don't you?"

I could barely breathe as I felt his body against mine as if he was trying to meld into me. It was intoxicating, and I didn't want it to end. I wanted to feel this way forever.

"Matt..." I whispered, my voice barely audible.

He smiled against my lips as they finally met in a soft, gentle kiss. His hand was gripping my waist while the other one rested on the side of my face gently.

I could feel my heart racing as I kissed him back, savoring the taste of him, and the feel of him against me. It was like a dream, something I never thought would happen between us. His lips were soft and yielding, and as my hands found their way around his neck, he pressed his knee between my legs, sending a wave of heat through me.

We both pulled away from the kiss, gasping for air as our hearts raced. Matt's eyes were intense as he looked down at me, his lips swollen from our kiss, matching mine. I felt my stomach drown as I realized what we had just done. I could feel the heat between my legs, and it only seemed to boost as he slowly pulled his knee away.

He reached up, running his fingers through his hair, and then let out a long breath. "Fuck, I can't believe we just did that," he whispered. His gaze flickered to my lips before returning to meet my eyes.

I couldn't speak; my throat was too tight. I could feel the heat between my legs growing by the second, and I knew that if he touched me again...if he kissed me...I might lose control. "Matt..." I managed to croak out his name, my voice barely audible.

"hmm?"

"I...I gotta go" I managed to choke out, feeling a wave of panic wash over me. I tried to scramble off his bed, but he reached out and grabbed my wrist, his grip firm but not painful.

"Wait, y/n," he said, his voice gentle. "I just...I needed to know." He let go of my wrist and wrapped his arms around me instead, pulling me close. "I'm not trying to push you into anything you're not ready for. I just...I care about you, and I wanted to see how you felt."

His words made my heart ache even more. How did I feel? I myself don't know how I feel.

I could hear his heartbeat as we stood there, in each other's arms, his breath fanning across my ear. "Look," he continued, "if you need some time, take it. I'm not going anywhere. Okay?"

I nodded, still unable to speak. I wanted to tell him that I did care about him too, but the words seemed to get stuck in my throat. Instead, I leaned into him, letting his warmth and strength surround me. He wrapped his other arm around me, pulling me even closer, and I felt the muscles in his back tense beneath my fingers.

@mattestrella @chrisfavoritepepsi @sunsetsturniolos @littlebookworm803 @sturniozo @sturniolooooo @athaliahxoxo @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ev3rgreenxtrees @nonamegirlxsturniolo @crybabycat1 @mooniethesimp31 @ducksturniolo @ifilwtmfc @pepsiimaxx @sleepysturnss @lustfulslxt @ilovemattsworld @hrt-attack @flowerxbunnie

taglist ☆

@secret-sturniolo @iluvmeeen @that-general-simp @swangelss @familynotfandom @fuckshitslover @styles-sturniolo @lvr-111 @opheliaofficial07 @kiarastromboli @hearts4chriss @braindead4l @sturniolosreads @mattsturnzzz09 @itssophiasstuff @mayhem-72 @b2cute @buckys-celestes @4iriss @bitterspoons

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codenamesazanka · 3 months

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What more did you want from the Todoroki family plot?

In a word, anger.

this is hard to put into words, but—it's so frustrating reading this.

We've heard Enji say this before - I'm sorry, I intend to atone. It's indeed the right thing to say, it's exactly what he should be saying and acting. Natsuo is declaring no contact - That's fine, I'm sorry, I accept this as part of my atonement and will continue. Touya calls him a coward - That's fine, I'm sorry, I accept this as part of my atonement and will continue. The public hates him - That's fine, I'm sorry, I accept this as part of my atonement and will continue.

But you can only hear this so many times before you want to snap and beat the character, the story, the writing over the head with Enji's wheelchair. Why is that? He's behaving exactly as he should, and yet...

Part of me wants Enji to break down again, to cry, to feel some catharsis at seeing that, but that risks making it all about him (but the chapter already does, anyway). I don't think it's that I want Enji to snap at Natsuo or whatever so that I can take pleasure in knowing he's still a shithead (because it's good that he's (technically) improving as a person, that he's respecting boundaries!).

It just feels like it's too late. It's not enough. It will never be enough. His apologies don't matter anymore, because Touya's dying anyway. His atonement is supposedly toward helping the rest of the family, but as @class1akids points out, Fuyumi found a job without his help, while Rei seems to be his caretaker. Natsuo's leaving. Shouto will spend most of his time at UA. Enji's continued atonement does nothing to help Touya, who's dying anyway.

Enji is still saying all the right things, but the story isn't giving him the opportunity to actually do the right things. To have his new actions matter. I have no doubt about his sincerity in his mantra, but without the 'show', it's hollow.

Similarly, "Let's talk" is actually kinda bullshit too, because it's so vague. This is less about Enji, and more about the writing, how it set up this scene. "Let's talk" or "I want to talk" or any of that variation is repeated 6 times, without anything more or specific added.

It's a placeholder for anything real, anything that will incite more emotions. Let's talk - about the past, about your (justified!) hatred. Let's talk about your League, the teammates you spent all those months with. Let's talk, about Fuyumi's new job, about Natsuo's girlfriend.

But I feel the story couldn't give us that because it will remind the reader and everyone just how much Touya will be missing. In-story, talking any more will overburden Touya's heart - and how apt is that metaphor? So let's talk about how we'll talk, but that's all that's allowed here for this scene. Else we'll see how unfair it is that Touya has to be confined to this room, he isn't with his family and they have to come to this prison just to tell him about their day, and soon he will be gone.

Details make it real, and it would've exposed the lie that Touya was saved in an actual way. The story knows it too - "this extra time Shouto gave us." This is all 'extra', and not the core.

And so Shouto's line was the only thing of substance, a real concrete thing instead of an abstract 'let's talk!'. 'Let's talk' is only the start of making a connection; 'What's your favorite food' is truly hit-the-ground-running making a connection. Of course it's the thing that affects Touya most.

If the story was sincere that this is a case of "it's simply too late" - as it should be!!! imo, to really drive in the clear point that they failed, they did not get the save they wanted, because that's the truth - the tone of the chapter isn't tragic enough for that. The tone is going for 'Making Peace With This'. We've skipped the stages of grief and all we have is acceptance. The characters have accepted this, and so must the readers as well.

#nalslastworkingbraincell

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inkdemonapologist · 4 months

Text

My BatDR Take That Used To Be Hot But I Left It Out On The Windowsill To Cool So You Should Be Able to Eat It Now Without Burning Your Tongue

its not actually that hot, is what im saying

Anyway my BatDR hot take is that BatDR's story is not fundamentally worse than BatIM with one exception; an exception that, for BatIM, covers a multitude of sins:

BatIM has a theme.

I can't presume the intentions of the creators, but if I had to write an essay on the themes in BatIM, it wouldn't be hard to pick one out: the cost of obsession, or even just, the ruin Joey brought on the studio. In the very first chapter, Henry asks "Joey, what were you doing?" and every single thing in the rest of the game revolves around that central question: what WAS Joey doing? Each audiolog is a snippet of the studio's path to this messed up state; each character you meet is someone ruined by Joey. The major antagonists echo Joey's flaws -- obsession with Bendy as more than a cartoon, obsession with perfection, obsession with fame and greatness and legacy -- but even without that, they're also each a picture of how the lives of people caught in the path of Joey's dream were ruined by it. Bertrum, for example, doesn't match the concept of rubberhose cartoons, but as yet another person screwed over by Joey, he fits the central question of the story, so he feels like he belongs here. Ultimately, in a narrative sense, the Ink Demon isn't the story's monster -- Joey is; the Ink Demon is just the consequence of his reckless ambition.

But what's the theme or central question of BatDR?

You can... try to pick out a theme. There's some promising options, because it feels like the story WANTED a theme, stating its emotional intentions more overtly -- "there's always a choice" to leave the darkness and chose hope; family and the struggle of living in a heavy legacy's shadow; or even just good old mewtwo-brand The Circumstance's Of One's Birth Are Irrelevant, It Is What You Do With The Gift Of Life That Determines Who You Are.

I think, even WITH the clumsy execution of Joey's "arc" and Audrey's lack of real choices, any of those could work about as well as BatIM. But unlike BatIM, the majority of the game doesn't tie in. Joey's tour can be considered relevant -- a picture of the family legacy and the "darkness" that Audrey doesn't yet know she's inheriting -- but like, the audiologs and hints and environment of BatDR are mostly teasing the question of What Is Gent Up To, and the takeover of Gent is detached from Audrey's choices, her family, her legacy, and Gent never really becomes a relevant threat to those things in this game. The Cult of Amok and the Ghost Train have nothing to do with any of these ideas. It might've been neat if Audrey had ever considered, "Did my father really drive all these people insane?", a hint of actually having to wonder about the darkness in her past. Even Wilson only barely brushes against these concepts; he doesn't like Joey and he also is trying to escape his family's heavy legacy, but it doesn't really reflect on his actions and we don't find that last part out until he's about to be dead.

There's also the question Wilson poses of "real" people versus ink creations, and what counts as valid "life." It would be an interesting theme with a lot to build off of in this setting, it ties into Wilson more as Wilson seems to represent the opinion that Inky Things Aren't Really Alive, which could've tied to Audrey (as an ink-person who has yet to accept that part of herself) and maybe given Wilson a reason to think it's fine to sacrifice her, it could've even tied to Gent (who don't even seem to value human life) -- but after Wilson asks the question, it doesn't tie into the direction things go. He smooshes a little Bendy, we see hints of his disregard for Betty, and then everyone continues with their plan to destroy the Ink Demon without any further moral quandaries about inky life.

The thing is, when you compare an element like, say, audiologs, there's a lot of differences you can point to -- but I don't actually think Lacie Benton's audiolog is notably better, taken on its own, than Grace Conway's or Kitty Thompson's, and yet tons of people were intrigued enough to flesh out Lacie. None of them are big plot points or compelling characters on their own; Lacie and Grace both give us a little note on what it's like working in the Studio, and Kitty shares a little bit on how Gent's expansion is affecting people. But when Lacie talks about Bertrum trying to make a creepy animatronic, that ties back into Joey's ill-fated schemes that are the point of the whole story. The question we're asking through the whole game is "what happened here?" so the fandom is interested in who Lacie is and what her life was like and extrapolates a whole person out of a couple sentences. But that's not the question in BatDR -- what has Wilson done to the Cycle and the Demon? Why? Who is Audrey really, and why is she here? Telling us new things about the Studio's fate seems strangely irrelevant to those questions, just an attempt to create a Mystery To Speculate On like the previous game did... but what question you're asking and how it fits into your story's main theme, like, matters. I absolutely believe that one clock animator guy would've been in EVERYONE'S crew if he'd been introduced in BatIM, but the context makes a difference; fleshing him out feels less relevant here.

The explanations of how and why Wilson did everything he did are baffling and handwavey, but in and of itself that's not a worse problem than anything else in the franchise -- I STILL don't understand why the Ink Machine needs pipes in the walls or even how it works, there's no good reason for Sammy to believe the Ink Demon will "set him free," most of Alice's motives don't make sense, etc etc etc. But the thing is that in BatDR, the wibbly bit is the closest thing to a central question we have! Wilson, what were you doing? The theme doesn't really explore or connect to that question, so the explanations that are finally tossed our way feel lacking in a way that BatIM's handwaved elements don't. There's a lot about Joey's motivation in BatIM that we can't know, but the heart of it resonates -- Joey wanted something, he was willing to exploit people to get it, and he became obsessed and prioritised that dream at any cost. We'll weather a thousand logistical inconsistencies if it's got heart.

But all of that said.... to be honest, I don't think Lacie overtly fits that theme anyway. Even, like, Sammy is iffy -- we don't really know what happened to him, only that he didn't used to be made of ink and worship Bendy, and now he does. We assume Joey's nonsense had something to do with what happened to him (though the books later assert his influence was indirect at best), because when there's a pattern, we can fill in the blank. So many fan creators found a place for Lacie, Grant, and Shawn in the cycle as butcher clones or lost ones, so many people imagined that Wally must be the Boris we meet, because that would've fit the pattern, the idea that the point of what we're seeing is the downfall of the studio. It's not actually that BatIM did a great job tying everything together -- it's that BatIM gave us a compelling idea and that was all it took to make everything else SEEM like it could find a place to fit. This is what I mean when I say BatIM's theme covers a multitude of sins. There's a LOT of characters in BatIM that don't make sense. There's a lot of inconsistencies and things that just sort of happen without any real reason. Characters don't really have "arcs" so much as different states they happen to be in at different times. But because there's a central question and the story doesn't wander away from it, our pattern-loving human brains will slot in all the pieces and do all the work to make the story feel at least somewhat coherent.

The things that happened in BatDR aren't a whole lot less coherent than BatIM imo, they just don't tie into a bigger theme or any of the questions the story's asking, making "how do they fit into all this" feel irrelevant, making it easier to forget entire sections and harder to get invested in audiolog characters. I think a lot of the other criticisms people have for BatDR's story are very valid, but I also suspect that if BatDR had a more successful theme/central question, then a lot of its flaws would be easier to overlook -- just like BatIM.

#we all write on the walls #batdr #short-ish essay is fond but critical of both games so puts it in a readmore for the fine folks in the tag who arent here for that haha #batim #bendy and the ink machine #lmao I WROTE THIS LAST YEAR ITS JUST BEEN SITTING IN MY DRAFTS #go out into the world little post... be free......#also I do think the fact that batdr kind of dropped the central question of batim #is probably also a significant factor #if you were really invested in the main thrust of batim then batdr doesnt really follow it or finish that exploration #just tries to give it an answer and move on #so again it comes down to the theme and the central question just in a different way

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warnersister · 9 months

Text

How the Peaky boys react when you tell them you don’t want children (and they do) -> headcannon📽️🎞️

Massive TW tried to make it time accurate, ie. man gets his way girl is silenced

Tommy🪖

🪖He almost thought he hadn’t heard you. He was driving you both back from a family event in which his nieces and nephews had attended, momentarily leaving you throughout the evening to bond with the young children and get you accustomed to the toddler-side of motherhood, subconsciously assuming that you winked be pregnant with your first by the beginning of autumn this year.

🪖“So, did you enjoy spending time with the children this evening?” He asked, flicking the dead bluntness of his cigarette out of the window, satisfied with the nicotine intake he had received. “Yes they’re lovely, parents must have their hands full.” You say, agreeing with his comments on their admirability.

🪖He put his hand quite far up your thigh and smirked, taking his eyes away from the dirt road momentarily. “When would y’ like to start trying for one of us own?” He asked, expecting excitable gasps but all he could hear was a deafeningly tense silence as you almost wordlessly rejected his question.

🪖“Well?” He creased his brows. You looked away and out of the passenger reader “I hadn’t put much thought into it.” You speak small and quiet, presumably nervous to hear his response. “Well we can start trying as soon as we get home, how’s that sound?” He suggested, lightly tapping your thigh to which you squirmed in the leather seat uncomfortably. “Tommy I don’t think I want children.” The car was suddenly lurched sideways and you were grateful the road was private so your husband was unable to cause a crash. “You what?” He asked, car now stationary and his body turned towards you; understandably dominating the situation.

🪖“I don’t want to be a mother.” You say again, voice a bit more quiet this time but still trying to maintain your confidence in your decision. Tommy examined your face to try find some humour, that you were joking with him. “What do you mean you don’t want to be a mother?” “Well Ada gave me her child and I just didn’t want to hold it” “her” he corrects. “Her. I don’t have any maternal instincts I felt nothing, no admiration, no desire, no want. All I wanted was for Ada to take her baby away.” You tell him, spinning the wedding ring on your finger and biting your lips nervously. “No one knows what to do, no one knows how to handle children” he says, assuming you’re just scared “it’s normal to be scared or apprehensive. Heard that’s just a part of parenthood” he restarted the engine.

🪖“Thomas-” “we’re trying for our child when we get home and that’s final.”

Alfie🧸

🧸You owned a bakery; where you and Alfie had met - he’d walked in off the street one day and surprisingly, you must’ve been the only person in Camden not to recognise him. You’d simply greeted him with a large grin, excited to get a customer while he chatted with you and admired the adrenaline fuelled step as you dashed around your little shop - enjoying the appearance of your youth, definitely him being notable few years your senior. He’d ordered some treats, you even had some treats to offer Cyril who you’d asked wait outside for hygiene reasons. “This, yeah, this thing love, it’s bloody lovely it is… hands of an angel you have” he’d charmed, praising your baking abilities as he enjoyed your bakes. Admiring the blush on your cheeks as he serenaded you with words.

🧸He’d left that day leaving you with a sum heftier than the goods had actually been valued at and promised to return. And return he did, every day without fail at 10 in the morning to treat himself and his pup, offering reiteratively to teach you to make some Jewish deserts as the religious population in London was growing. Until the day you’d agreed, both in the back while you were simultaneously running out to greet customers and back to Alfie. You were kneading dough when you heard the bell chime “you’ve really gotta get your fingers in love, yeah, I’ll show you yeah” and he’d towered over you from behind you guide your hands through the mixture. Then a baby’s cry. “I’ll be back.” You say, hurrying out to greet your guest.

🧸A woman stood with a newborn in pram, looking over your selection. The baby wailed. “Can I help you lovely?” You asked with a gentle smile, not noticing Alfie leant against the doorway behind you, sleeves rolled up and caked in flour as he watched you engage with the customer. “Yes, I’d like-” the baby cried louder “erm” she was evidently frantic, opting to pick the baby up and try to sooth him.

🧸“Oh im sorry i cant think straight.” She apologised, cringing at the noise from the baby. You inhaled, not believing what you were about to do. “How about you pick something, and eat it in and I’ll hold him for you to give you a rest.” You suggested and he nodded almost too quickly. Choosing a dessert and you swapped the sweet treat for money and the babe.

🧸You bounced the young child on your hip as he cooed, enamoured by the new face and was now too distracted to cry. The mother relaxed into a chair in front of the counter and savoured the moment of peace, eventually taking the sleeping boy back and leaving incredibly grateful, Alfie almost unable to contain his love protruding from his chest as you turned back around to continue baking. “Back to work” you joked, walking past him to continue on the dough.

🧸“You’d be a great mummy, y’know sweetness?” He muttered, suggestively. You huffed slightly. “Perhaps” your lips pursed and he stopped you kneading. “What’s ’perhaps’ mean, poppet?” He asked you. “Well I just don’t think I want to be a mum.” The man laughed, assuming you were joking. “What do you mean you don’t want to be a mum? I’m getting old now treacle, I’ve not much time left to have little ones and I’d want them to be yours.” He said, holding your hands in his as you refuse to meet his pleading eyes. “Maybe. Not yet.” You mumble, trying to return to work.

Arthur🍺

🍺Arthur had Finn on his shoulders, drunk off his head as he happily paraded his young brother around the Garrison as the party of success roared, Arthur having one too many to drink and now easily excitable.

🍺Finn was happily playing along, bouncing on his brother’s shoulders and clapping to the music drowning out in the background, enjoying the attention he was receiving from the majority of the pub’s inhabitants. Arthur saw you watching the ordeal, bounding over to you to plant a smiley kiss on your lips and you reach up to ruffle Finn’s hair, hidden under your husband’s cap.

🍺“Could have one just like this, what d’ya say love?” He asks, grinning ear to ear but expression faltering when he saw the distaste written all over your own face. He gently took Finn off his shoulders who ran over to John, who processed to spin the body around - scolded by his own wife for nearly pulling the undeveloped youth’s arms off his body.

🍺“Our own little one?” Arthur suggests. You shake your head, small smile. “Not when you keep coming home in a state like this.” You say and his face drops entirely now, sobering up enough to understand the ultimatum you were offering him.

🍺“I will not have children when you come home every day too drunk to think. I will not let our child see his mother carry his father up the stairs because he forgot how to use his own two legs.” You say, pecking your husband’s cheek and offering a disappointed smile before you wondered off to find Polly.

🍺Arthur pondered your words for a moment, before pulling you and grabbing you back towards him, falling to his knees as he promised for stay sober, to get off the drink, he just wanted you to bear him a child.

John🥃

🥃You and John had just gotten married, a marriage you were both unaware of until you were knelt at the alter but still - the two of you had just gotten married and the wedding bells were playing. Neither of you could say you were annoyed with the outcome of this arrangement, neither finding the other unattractive and prepared to attempt to progress in this diversion of your lives.

🥃The reception was a grand festivity, dancing, drinking, celebrating and toasting to the pact and ceasefire between two rivalling families with conflicts decades old. You and John had your dance, him whispering sweet nothings into your ears as if he’d known you all him life and you’d just giggled and blushed and required his advanced with a giddy look upon your faces - like two teenagers in love.

🥃As the evening died down and you’d been escorted to your shared accommodation to last you the night, you finally had a moment of peace and clarity to be able to come to terms with the events of the day, after all, a mere 24 hours ago you were a single maiden merely dreaming of your eventual wedding to a man you’d become enamoured with someday, not a gangster peace pact, but there you stood; having assistance unzipping your dress from your husband John Shelby.

🥃He kissed along your shoulders, to your neck, spinning you around to eventually kiss your lips and continue to consummate your marriage. “How many kids you thinkin’ the ? Five? Ten?” He asked as you lay naked in his arms, a hand drawing gentle cyphers into your skin. “None.” You whisper and his drawings halt and he pulls away from you slightly to be able to look right at you. “That’s not gonna work w’me love. Wanna be dad.” He said, studying the expression on your face. “It’s not that I don’t want to be a mum,” you say - averting his gaze but he caught your chin and drew you back to be unable to look anywhere but him. “But,” he encouraged you to continue. “But my grandmother died in childbirth, as did my own mother. And my sister is coming to the end of her pregnancy and it isn’t looking positive for her either. I don’t want to leave my children without their mummy and my husband without a wife.” You almost whisper, voice cracking as tears gathered in your eyes. John drew you in to offer you a tight and reassuring embrace. “Is it hereditary?” He asked after a while and felt your head shake against his bare torso. “I don’t know. Either genetic or just bad treatment.” You stay in silence for a moment.

🥃“But I’d be willing to try if being a dad means that much to you.” You say, peering up to your new husband whose eyes soften at the admittance. “Well I’ll tell you what, if it was bad treatment no woman of mine would lift a finger while pregnant. You’d stay in bed and I’d cater to your every need, carry you to wherever you need to go. Pay for the best doctor and the best hospital to make sure my woman and my child both leave the hospital alive and well.” He leant his forehead against yours. “I’ll take good care of you if you let me.”

Bonnie🥊

🥊Bonnie always wanted to be a father. Be a dad. Raise his children the true gypsy way with his wife by his side - let them in the audience when they’re old enough to appreciate his fights, falsely tussle with them and let them win as he begged them for mercy and heard their victorious giggled. Oh he couldn’t wait for the day you’d bear his umpteenth child. That day couldn’t come soon enough.

🥊And when he joined the Blinders, he’d fallen head over heels for the young florist who worked tirelessly across the road from the Garrison, carrying Arthur home as Harry locked up shop and he’d still see you working on a bouquet you’d needed for a client the following day. He admired your work ethic and the old fashioned part of him couldn’t help but imagine you working as furiously in a kitchen while you tickled your children for interrupting your cleaning. You’d make a fine wife in his eyes.

🥊And against no wish of his own, one day Isaiah had forced the young lad into the shop with a laugh and you’d peered up at him form over the counted, cutting the final stem off of the roses you were working on before asking how you could be of assistance and you’d be lying if your breath hadn’t caught in your own throat, also - seeing him to-ing and fro-ing from the Garrison with the rest of those Blinder lads and finding his look rather endearing.

🥊“How can I help you?” You asked with a stressed but gentle expression on your face. “How much do you make an hour?” He asked. “I beg your pardon?” You retort, eyebrows creasing at the nerve of the man and you began to question whether your initial judgement was correct.

🥊“Sorry, no, I meant how much would it cost me to steal you for a few hours for a date without you loosing profit?”

🥊And the rest was history.

🥊He’d taken you to his fights, to restaurants, to his home with the travellers, even to a couple of family meetings as you’d already been acquainted with the Shelby men buying apology flowers for their spouses for coming home battered and bruised with no contact for a few days.

🥊It was a Tuesday, business was slow but you still had a few orders to finish and being not-bust himself, Bonnie was there to offer a helping hand to his lady. The door chimed but you couldn’t see anyone, confused; you leant over the counter to see a young boy, no older than seven stood there. “Please may I have a flower for my mummy? She’s very sad.” The boy pouted. You hummed. “What flower would you like to give your mummy?” The boy reached into his pocket and pulled out two coins, a button and some lint “whatever flower this may get me, if you please miss.” You nod and hand the boy a small bouquet of daisies with a bow to hold them together. The lad grinned and thanked you, offering you his pocket change and you shook your head. “All you owe me is your mummy a smile.” You say and he promises, running back out of the shop.

🥊Bonnie came up and hugged you from behind, leaving a long kiss on your cheek. “You’re awfully good with children, darling girl” he compliments and you scoff. “Yeah sure.” You roll your eyes and go back to your previous activity. And Bonnie’s dream world came crashing down around him as he realised your intentions.

🥊“What? Don’t want little ones?” He asked, keying as to why you’d be unable to offer him an heir. “No because I can’t deal with sick, I can’t deal with whining, I can’t deal with crying and I can’t even take care of myself for crying out pigs. How do I take care of a child?” You shake you head, as if the man was daft.

🥊“But with our child, it would be different.” He says and you look up at him noting the sincerity and desperation in his look. “Maybe when we’re married or something.” You disregard. He shakes his head. “Why not now?” “I have a flourishing business and I’m not just leaving it all to be a wife and mother and traveller.” You say, inhaling sharply and he frowns. You will come around eventually. He bargains with himself mentally.

Isaiah♟️

♟️You and Isaiah were upstairs in the Shelby household, getting a few moments of blissfulness together before the rest of your family returned. Especially your twin Finn, who was still unknowing about the blossoming relationship between you and Isaiah.

♟️Isaiah was kissing all up your body, a starved man delving hungrily at his first meal in weeks, leaving piercing bite-sized bruises in places for his eyes only. Places he’d see when he’d draw you a bath after you’d finished doing the Devil’s bidding in your frequenting sinful tango.

♟️The boy thrust into you at a desperate pace, eager to fuck you out in a matter of minutes and prove just how desperate you could be for him, just how quickly he could make you cum under the pressure from his cock and his thumb rubbing quick circles around your clit, mouth silenced by his own as he kissed you passionately.

♟️He pulled back, clawing his fingers into your hips as though you were trying to get away from him - but if anything you were trying to get closer, go reach that release you so desperately craved. “Going to fuck my baby into you. Fill you full with my child.” He promised, thrusting deep and skilfully. You shook your head. “No Isaiah.” His pace didn’t falter but he looked up at you, grabbing your jaw and squeezing your cheeks as if fucking you dumb. “No?” “No.” You say between smushed cheeks. “Don’t want no kids.”he chuckled. “Too late.” And he continued working on his promise, and you were too high on pleasure to argue any further but when he came inside you it seemed all to real, his hand over your mouth to stifle your cries as you came all over him and him inside you.

♟️“Isaiah I don’t want children.” You say in tears, trying to catch your breath but his weight on top of you was too much and he was still buried too deep, desperate not to waste a drop.

♟️“You’ll bare my children whether you like it or not, doll.” He says, stroking your cheek. “Then they’ll have to let me marry you, won’t they?”

Michael🎱

🎱Michael loved parading his fiancée. He’d proposed in a place so public, so romantic, so endearing… how could you ever say no to your charming Michael?” The rock on your finger was substantial despite the promise you’d made him make to not waste his money on some piece of jewellery, but he’d argued that piece of jewellery showed what was his so he’d have to make his as obvious as possible.

🎱And one afternoon he’d found himself free from any Blinder work, able to take you out and dined you at the finest afternoon tea he could find, drinking as his hand lay comfortably on your thighs as you engaged in wholesome chatter about your future together. Discussing a home in the country, him leaving the family business or at least doing the work needed to be done in the green hills of the Peak District.

🎱“-and you’ll make a lovely mother-” he continued but you stopped him “wait, mother?” You cut him off and he nods, nearly confused. “Well yes. Once we get married you’ll leave your job and I’ll lay for that pretty little house you want and you’ll cook and clean and you’ll bare my children.” He instructed, as if reeling off some old fashioned fairytale his adoptive mother had told him of as a child.

🎱“Michael I don’t want to be a mother.” You say, nearly afraid of him. “Well we can start small. Have one and then we can decide how many more we want from there.” “And if I don’t want more” “then we’ll settle with a son. Raise him.” “And what if it’s a daughter?” You ask. “See.” He grits his teeth. “Already thinkjng about gender. You obviously care. You’re just scared.” “Michael-” “you are my woman. You will bare my children and do your duty as a lady. End of discussion.”

Finn🎞️

🎞️Finn was head over heels in love with you since you’d started working at the Garrison that one evening in late June. Harry had hired you after you’d lied about your age, and at this point you’d guessed he’d figured it out by now: he was a smart man, but you’d ran away from home and this job was the only form of income or stability you had supporting you and this crumbing life you were trying to withhold. Well, that and Finn’s arm constantly around your waist - ignoring your numerous rejections until eventually managing a date with you.

🎞️The young Shelby smirked at you from across the room, enjoying the sight of you limping around the bar - sore from last night antics. You were staying with the Shelby family, in Finn’s room, where he was determined to take your virginity and bed you in some dark, twisted fantasy. Pump you with his heir so you couldn’t deny him once more, plus the thought of you plump with a child was mouthwatering and he couldn’t wait to see it.

🎞️You’d started the evening quickly, desperate to rip each other’s garments of and clothes pray after you’d sinned to the devil, advocating for his anti-christian tango as Finn fucked you fast into the sheets. You’d done it iteratively, falling asleep only to be woken up by the boy kissing down your back only to lazily thrust into you again with tired eyes. He’d done it three or four times, until the morning when you’d woken up, his cock still buried deep in your velvety walls, a mixture of both of yours productions pooling onto his bed as he tried to act as a cork to not waste a drop of his productivities.

🎞️So he thoroughly enjoyed the sight, and the falsely-annoyed side glances you’d shoot his way when you were presented with the opportunity.

🎞️It wasn’t out of the ordinary to see new faces in the garrison, well they came every day; whether they be travellers passing through Birmingham or illegal businessmen there to drink and tussle before being thrown out. It was a nightly occurrence. And you expected nothing less this evening.

🎞️It was eight o’clock in the evening on a Saturday, the regular crowd shuffling in other than the Shelby family who had already been seated an hour prior. “What’re you drinking?” An unidentifiable voice asked and you spun go see a man you didn’t recognise, age substantially your senior as he grinned rotted teeth at you.

🎞️“I’m not drinking. I’m serving, however may I offer you Shelby Gin?” You offer, trying to be polite. “I’ll take whatever you’d recommend. I’ll have you if you’re on the menu.” You grimace and poor him a glass, attempting to move on with your shift, unbeknownst to your dance partner seething with rage at the conversation and seeing red fury at a man trying to converse with a Shelby reserved girl.

🎞️He’d asked for a refill, and when you were topping up his drink, he’d reached across the bar to grab your bosom. And before you’d managed to fathom the situation, Finn had lurched across the room and tackled the man, who was laying on the floor clutching his bloodied, broken nose adjacent to Finn who’s knuckles were bruised and dirtied. “How dare you fucking touch her? Touch my pregnant missus? I’ll fuckin’ kill you, y’piece of shit.” And after a few more rough punches and kicks the man was kicked out into the blistering cold of a harsh Birmingham winter, Finn rounding the bar to hug you and calm down slightly.

🎞️Soon everyone was congratulating your pregnancy and asking when the wedding was and after a while you’d managed to pull Finn to the side and question these praises “why did you say I was pregnant? I’m not. And even if I was you know my views, I’m not keeping it.” “I had Polly read your leaves when you had tea this morning. Fucked ya again and again to make sure of it. You ain’t leaving me when you’re pregnant and you certainly ain’t killing my child.” He said, kneeling to kiss your stomach with an evil glint in his eye.

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sturnzyolo · 3 months

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I love you, I'm sorry.

Matt Sturniolo x Fem reader

Summary: "Guys & Girls can never just be friends" I used to think that was a lie, until I met you.

WARNINGS: love confession, bestfriends, fluff, kissing, lying, crying?, etc.

Matt & I have been bestfriends since middle school. It all started when I asked to borrow a calculator. Once I handed it back, he asked for help on the work, & as I tutored Matt, we connected more & more. He turned into my closest friend, the one person I could tell everything to, the only person I wanted by my side throughout it all.

Everything was the same for years, every morning Matt would pick me up and take me to school with his brothers, everday he would walk me to each class, he would eat lunch with me, and he would drive me back to his house to hangout before walking me back home.

Everyday was the same yet so different. I was close with Matt's whole family, but nobody could beat my bond with Matt. He was all I needed in life.

I always assumed life would continue this way until we all inevitably had to split, but I didn't see that happening anytime soon. They were like my family. Most people would think a girl can't be friends with guys without there being some kind of feelings or connection between them. I always denied that, I never pictured Matt in that way. He was my bestfriend, nothing more.

January 8th, 2024

I've noticed Matt start to hangout with me less and less, I had assumed he was just busy, especially with how his new YouTube career has been starting for the triplets. I was proud that they were going after their dreams, but I was a bit sad that I saw him less than usual.

I thought about this as I was getting ready for school, I wondered if it could be more than him just being busy.

My clouded mind soon cleared at the sound of my phone's notification, I quickly put down my makeup brush and picked up my phone to read the message.

(yes I got a whole app to do fake messages AND WHAT ABT IT.)

I was in slight shock to read the message, Matt always took me to school no matter what. The only times he didn't was for therapy but he hasn't gone before school in awhile.

I tried to not show him how much I cared about the change he's been showing. He was never so distant from me. Did I do something wrong? Was something going on with him? I let my mind run on the possibilities for what I had done for him to be treating me so much differently from before.

I got to school by walking since I was still saving up for my own car. I waited for Matt at the front doors, since we always walked from class to class together. He never showed, he must've went in through the back or gotten here before me. I went to each class alone or with any of my girl friends, although Nick took me to Spanish class. I was too scared to ask him about his brother's new behavior.

January 26th, 2024

Matt's act kept up for more than 2 weeks, I saw him and spoke to him less and less everyday. I didn't want to lose him like this, I didn't want to have to forget about him in a way that felt like I was forced to. I was honestly fed up with it, so I decided that I needed to text him, right now.

(you barely even look in my direction*) sorry guys I didn't see the error before

I rolled my eyes and slammed my phone screen down with a frustrated huff. It felt pointless even attempting to have a real conversation with Matt, and it was exhausting.

I watched the pouring rain outside my window. My thoughts wandered for atleast a half hour about Matt, I couldn't understand what went wrong, and I wanted to know so badly. All I wanted was my bestfriend again and he couldn't even have one genuine conversation with me.

My conflictions were abruptly cut short when a loud knock on my door came, at first I didn't want to even get up. It was probably some stupid sales person. Another knock came, I flipped over and looked at my phone 12:47 am who the fuck would be at my door this late!?

my question was quickly answered with a yell after another knock "Y/n please open up, it's Matt, come on its pouring" his voice made me quickly get up in disbelief as I ran downstairs.

I unlocked and slowly opened the door to see Matt in a disheveled state, his eyes were a light pink while his eyebags were swollen, his nose was red, his hair was wet and his clothes were drenched.

"Hey, look can I just come in, please?" Matt asked softly with a slight break of his voice, circling around the reason he was here

"You were just being a complete asshole, no, why are you even here, go home" I was upset and clearly didn't want to talk to him at all but seeing him like this hurt.

"Please y/n/n, I walked all the way here just to talk to you, just let me in." He pleaded with a sniffle from his nose

"Oh, so I have to let you in, when you don't even let me? You've been acting like a completely new person, you shouldn't be here, I mean you did say your life is more than just me." I said in an argumentative tone as I held my ground with a cold gaze over to him

"No, no, please y/n I didn't mean that, you know I didn't. I know I've been an asshole but.. I can't keep lying to myself, and lying to you. I couldn't see you and talk to you because it was destroying me y/n/n." Matt muttered with stumbles over his words, he anxiously fiddled with his fingernails.

"Why, what did I do? What have you been lying about, because it's been killing me, you've been a dick to me and have been treating me like I'm nothing, so what the fuck did I do to deserve that!?" I said angrily with my tone growing louder

"Nothing! Nothing y/n, you're perfect to me. you make me utterly speechless sometimes but it kills me that I can't have you. I know you've never seen me as more as just your bestfriend, but I love you, y/n. I'm in love with you, I know it sounds fucking crazy, but I can't stop thinking about you, I was lying saying my life is more than just you, because you're all I need in my life other than my family, and I can't even breathe when I'm not around you, it feels like I'm fucking suffocating. You're my bestfriend, but I can't help to want more. I love you, I'm sorry if that's so wrong, but no matter what you say I will continue to love you, because there isn't a bone in my body that isn't dying for you to love me back." Matt spoke in one whole breath, almost yelling as he confessed. His chest rose and fell heavily waiting for my answer

MATT POV

I looked at y/n as my eyes filled with tears, her face was in disbelief as her eyebrows furrowed and lips slightly parted. 'God she's beautiful' I thought as my eyes traveled her face while I breathed heavily. I needed her to say something, anything. I felt like an idiot in this silence, I could ruin everything because of this, I had loved her since the first moment I laid eyes on her but I knew I could never have her in the way I wanted, so I settled for what I had. I just couldn't take lying to her anymore, so I pushed her away, but I needed to tell her, I needed to give her a real reason, even if it ended horribly.

Her lips clasped together again as she seemed to finally had formed a sentence for me, while she straightened her eyebrows slightly. Her soft gazed eyes looked into mine as my breath hitched quietly, then they went down to my lips, causing my face to falter even more.

Her actions were quick as she stepped out of her front door, joining me in the rain before wrapping her fingers into the back of my wet hair. She pulled my head down softly before she kissed me. Her lips were so soft and her touch could make me melt, I didn't even hesitate for a second to kiss her back. I wanted this moment to last forever, my hands gently snaked to hold either side of her waist.

I groaned as she slowly parted from the kiss

Y/N POV

I barely even processed his words as my body took control, I eventually found myself in a deep passionate kiss with my bestfriend. It felt amazing, his lips had a faint taste of pineapple, his lips and hair were both so soft. His hands around my waist felt so right. I parted from the kiss slowly before looking up into his eyes, his gaze still pleading with me for more even after his needy groan.

"Matt, I love you too. I always will, in whatever way you need it to be, I'm yours." I soundlessly admitted before his hand moved up to carefully grab my cheek as he pulled me in to kiss him again, the rain poured onto us as he swept me off my feet.

The kiss didn't break for even a split second as my legs wrapped around his waist tightly. He walked me into my house, neither of us cared about the puddling leading into my home as he closed the front door behind us. He carried me upstairs to my bedroom that we've been in together hundreds of times, yet this one was so much different. The kiss broke for a minute to catch our breath as he closed and locked my bedroom door, he sat back on my bed while I sat on his lap.

He moved a piece of my hair out of my face that had fallen due to the small impact from my bed. "Y/n I've wanted this for so long, and I promise I will do everything to never mess this up because all I want to do is to love and cherish you the way you deserve. Please y/n, can you please be my girlfriend" He practically begged me, even with his puppy eyes staring into mine

"I would love nothing more Matt, I'd be more than lucky just to be your girlfriend." I answered as I held his face in my palms delicately as if he were fragile. his smile grew before he licked his lips smoothly and kissed me once more.

I never knew I loved my bestfriend, not like this, but now the only thing I could feel, was my love for him, and I didn't want this feeling to end, not now, not ever. I was yours, Matthew Sturniolo, forever and always.

I wrote this in 1 day guys oml, anyways this will be similar to the future Chris childhood bestfriends to lovers but that one will have sm more detail and angst to it, I promise. I want to esp take my time with that one to make it more meaningful but I hope you guys enjoy this one. Part 3 of Shadows will be coming out sometime today aswell, I just need to finish it. Sorry the end to this was kinda corny but I'm trying to get better with my dialogue 😔

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moriitis · 1 month

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☠ Toby Rogers/'Ticci Toby' HCs ☠ this is just how I personally perceive him !! it's different for everyone! TWs; drugs, violence, memory loss

Toby mostly relies on drugs to help his mind and physical being. He wouldn't touch anything hardcore, some weed here and there. Being mellowed out is the only way he can really sleep due to the fact that he is an insomniac.

Doesn't remember any of his trauma. None of it at all. He knows he lost his sister and he knows he lost his dad, but in regards to how he couldn't really tell you. As for the abuse, he remembers little to nothing but as a response, his body still reacts to the things that he was exposed to as a child. (Flinches a lot for example at sudden movements.)

He has a pretty cold persona to people he doesn't know, putting up a brick wall to protect himself. It would take awhile for him to open up but deep down he's soft and goofy. He loves to make people laugh and enjoys their company however with strangers he is quiet and reserved.

His mother was German and her family remained in Germany while she decided to move to the US. Toby can speak fluently but as he got older, it became more broken as he didn't have any reason to speak it. As a child, he visited his family a lot in Germany and had a close relationship with his Grandma. He doesn't even remember her now.

He doesn't have a drivers licence but owns a car. The most reckless driver ever. Drove a motorbike once and fell off, finding it hilarious. He would do it again at some point for sure.

Got a matching tattoo with someone once (a literal stranger.)

When his hair is really messy or too long, he'll mostly bear a baseball cap to hide it. Dude gets the worst bed hair ever.

He's a pretty amazing artist.

A heavy smoker.

Also very impulsive.

Owns an IPhone and two flip phones that he mostly uses as burners. His IPhone is smashed to pieces but still manages to keep his Duolingo streak. (He has a 200 day streak.)

His favourite weather is rain and snow.

Owns a Nintendo Switch and plays Mario religiously. Would probably own a gaming console if he wasn't living in his truck.

Very underestimated, used to be a pretty weak proxy but he's earned his 'ranking' so to say. A lot of people underestimate how smart he really is.

Will play mind games with his victims to drive them in complete hysteria. He'll stalk you, putting you on edge and making you feel uncomfortable. Seeing his victims slowly lose their mind is all part of the fun. He'll break into your house, steal belongings, take pictures of you sleeping and send them to you from an unknown number. He'll call you on a specific time, every day on the dot, just to breathe down the phone. Then he'll just drop it all to make you feel at ease, giving you a break to feel a sense of comfort again before he suddenly swoops in for the attack, catching you off guard.

TOBY IS NOT AN ABUSER. HOWEVER, he has his fathers rage. Toby will say things in the heat of the moment. He can be spiteful, hurtful and downright nasty. Things will come out without his acknowledgement and he will shout a lot. But he will later feel an insane amount of guilt and he will cry a lot as a result of it.

Toby was manipulated into working for Slenderman but the urge to kill was always in the back of his mind. Slenderman is NOT a care giver nor does he protect any of the proxies. Toby is completely brainwashed into looking up to Slenderman like he is some kind of God.

He genuinely thinks and believes Slenderman saved his life and changed it for the better and now Toby will worship him in a very sick and twisted way. He is essentially a slave and will work his ass off for him just to not even be acknowledged by Slender.

Always has some kind of stubble on his chin and upper lip.

Bruises really easily.

He is a really good thief, something he trained himself to become good at due to always being on the run.

Will, without a doubt, laugh at children that fall over in front of him. Dude will POINT and laugh, he's an asshole.

Very competitive and hates the idea of losing.

Really good at playing on an electric guitar, can shred that mofo.

Considered shaving all his hair off once because 'he has free will.'

Just wanted to throw my headcanons about Toby here, I have a lot about the life of being a proxy and the 'rankings' and so. Maybe I'll write about that at some point. Remember these are just my personal HCs and they are NOT canon! HCs are different for everyone, this is just how I view Toby personally. Requests are open BTW! PLSS give me suggestions ☽

#creepypasta #creepypasta fandom #ticci toby #toby rogers #creepypasta headcanons #headcanons #HCS #ticci toby headcanons #toby rogers headcanons

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aphroditelovesu · 1 year

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Yandere Greek Heroes - Profile

‘‘You are the cause of all this destruction, honey. Watch and smile.‘‘ - Greek Heroes.

❝⚡️— lady l: yes, I know, it took me a long time to do this and I sincerely apologize. I started doing this a while ago but I always had to take breaks on account of other matters and this yandere profile was forgotten. I hope you forgive me! I made the main Greek heroes and some extras, but not all of them are here because it would be too big. I will do the female part and, if anyone wants, I can do part two of the male Greek heroes with other characters. Good reading and sorry for any mistakes!!

❝tw: yandere themes in general, dub-con, possessive and obsessive behavior, manipulations, mentions of mental breakdown. If you feel uncomfortable with any of these themes, I recommend not reading.

❝⚡️word count: +2,5k

OBSESSIVE

Hercules, popularly known by his roman name but his greek name is Heracles and in some versions Alcides, is a bastard son of the god Zeus and the mortal Alcmene. He is best known for having completed the Twelve Labors.

"Me and you, my love, let's just hold each other today. No going out."

Hercules is an obsessive and possessive bastard, he is very paranoid and jealous. You are not allowed to leave his side.

You can say anything about Hercules, as long as it doesn't involve you. Beat him, call him names, curse him, but never, under any circumstances, drag your name into the fray.

There's nothing he wouldn't put up with for you. This man would do anything for his darling, he is not afraid or hesitant to kill, torture, disembowel anyone who gets in his way. On your way.

He became paranoid after killing his entire family in an act of insanity, so he's terrified of accidentally ending up killing you. If he thought about hurting you, Hercules would back away. Just the thought of you dying drives him crazy.

He's overprotective too, not letting you go out without him and when you do he scans every passer-by thoroughly, just to make sure they don't hurt you. You can never be too cautious.

Hercules is a suffocating and obsessive yandere, he will never be far from you. The demigod will always be watching you like a shadow.

There's no way you can run away from it. Just allow yourself to be loved obsessively by Hercules.

"I... I just love you so much, Y/N. I love you in ways you cannot imagine."

Kinks: breeding kink, dom.

Nicknames: my love, my Queen/King.

POSSESSIVE

Achilles is the son of the nereid Thetis and King Peleus. He is considered one of the greatest warriors of Ancient Greece and is known to have participated in the Trojan War.

"...why are you fighting with me, baby? That bastard deserved to be spanked! He dared to flirt with you and I'm the only one allowed to do that."

Achilles is one of the most possessive greek heroes of all. His jealousy, however, is often out of control and he almost ends up beating people he considers a threat to your love to death.

To say that Achilles is possessive is a huge understatement, because he is so much more than that. He cries out for your attention 24 hours a day, every day of the year. For this hero, having your attention and devotion directed only to him never hurts. He is revered by all as one of the greatest warriors of all time, he is used to attention and expects nothing less from you.

Achilles is a warrior, body and soul, so there isn't much kindness in him, but the hero goes out of his way to be good to you. He tries hard not to hurt or scare you, his big, callused hands will be nothing more than feathery, touching you gently as if he's too scared of losing you and hurting you.

He is known to be vindictive and that is true, Achilles will take revenge on anyone and anything if anything happened to you, what he did to Hector is nowhere near what he will do to anyone who dares to lift a finger at you.

Achilles however does have some qualities and one of them is his devotion towards you, he is completely loyal to you and only you, he will follow you wherever you go. He wants to take care of you and he will. This man will do anything for you, just ask.

''It's so sweet that you think you can run away from me, my princess/prince. I think that's adorable, you know? That hope you carry, but don't worry, I don't mean to ruin it. Not yet, at least.''

Kinks: dom, rough sex and role play (don't ask me why)

Nicknames: sweetie, Princess/Prince.

DELIRIOUS

Theseus was a great Athenian hero, best known for defeating the Minotaur. He was the son of Aegeus, king of Athens and Aethra.

"I love you so much, my love, and I can't wait for the day when I can hold you in my arms every day. You can't wait either, can you? But I promise the wait will be worth it."

Theseus is one of the greatest greek heroes of all time, his strength and history are well known. He is a delusional yandere, daydreaming about his darling every minute of his day.

You are on the hero's mind day and night, all the time, he couldn't stop thinking about you. He just wasn't able to do it, so he didn't try to fight it, but chose to feed his own obsession.

Theseus met you after it was he who saved you from being sacrificed to the Minotaur and from that day forward he found himself thinking of you constantly. Many times these thoughts wandered, questioning whether you were fine, even how it would be if you and he had children. All thoughts were focused on him and you, the two of you together like a true couple.

Theseus would spoil and love you, like you should be loved and spoiled, like the fucking goddess/god he's sure you are.

Theseus isn't usually very possessive, he knows how perfect he is, he's full of himself and he laughs at the thought of you flirting with another man or woman. He was enough for you and you for him, there's no way you can think of another man with him by your side. But that doesn't mean he doesn't get jealous, because he does, but not so easily and he's downright cocky when he's jealous, pettyly criticizing his rival.

He is loving and caring when he gets what he wants and he always gets what he wants. He really is in love with you, in a yandere and obsessive way, but he is and Theseus will do anything to see you smile.

Just be careful with your choices, because he won't let you go as his obsession and desire for you grows more and more.

''I love your smile, my baby, your perfect face becomes even more beautiful when you're smiling. Please keep smiling at me always.''

Kinks: dom, adoration (he adoring you).

Nicknames: Baby, Goddess/God.

CONTROLLER

Bellerophon was a Greek hero most worshiped in the cities of Lydia and Corinth. He was best known for riding Pegasus. Son of Poseidon and was adopted by Glaucus, king of Ephyra.

''I'm perfect and so are you. We're both made for each other, can't you see that? There is no one better than me for you and no one more perfect than you for me. We will stick together.''

He is best known for his arrogance, after comparing himself to the gods themselves and deciding to go live on Mount Olympus, which was the cause of his death. He is a controlling and obsessive yandere, going so far as to lock up his darling if he can do it.

Bellerophon is the very definition of arrogant and greedy, these are characteristics that describe them very well. He is greedy for his sweetheart and glory, he wants to be the most worshiped and he demands this worship from his sweetheart and he will get irritated if he doesn't get it.

He's not the possessive type and it's rare for him to get jealous. aiming that he knows he is the one for his darling and there is nothing to be afraid of. They were his as much as he is theirs. It is so and it will always be so.

Bellerophon is an extremely controlling yandere, if he could, he would even control your breathing. He wants to know everything about his darling, they shameful stories to they darkest secrets and desires, everything. He doesn't want you to hide anything from him and will not tolerate secrets as you are his and as such you must be transparent to her with your desires and thoughts.

Needless to say, he is suffocating because only the gods themselves know how much this man is always glued to your side. He is always with you, breathing down your neck and watching your every move like an eagle.

There's no escaping him, not when Bellerophon is always glued to your hip.

''You are mine, your every thought belongs to me, everything about you is mine. And I don't share.''

Kinks: rough sex and suffocating his darling.

Nicknames: Love, Darling.

DEVOTEE

Orpheus was a great musician and poet of Ancient Greece. He is best known for going to the Underworld to seek his beloved and failing in the process. He is the son of Calliope, a Greek muse, and the god Apollo.

"Not even the muses could inspire me to sing a song about you. There aren't enough words to sing about my love for you."

If there's one thing we can say about Orpheus it's how passionate and devoted he is to his beloved, his love for you has never wavered through all the years and never will. He loves you completely, soul, body and heart, he gives himself to you with his whole being.

Orpheus loves too much and that is his greatest downfall. There's nothing he wouldn't do for you, for the person he's obsessively in love with, and that could be dangerous.

He won't rest until he makes you happy, he loves to sing songs and read poems to you and they are all about how he feels about you.

Orpheus is a simple man, he just wants to live his life with you forever if he can. There aren't many mysteries to his obsession with you, just that he's willing to do anything for you and your love. He's not in favor of murder, but for you, he'd kill anyone.

"I love you more than I can put in poems and songs. Please never leave me, I couldn't imagine my life without you by my side."

Kinks: breeding kink (he would love to have kids with his darling).

Nicknames: Muse (ironic, I know), Princess/Prince, love.

OBSESSIVE

Adonis was considered one of the most handsome men in Greek Mythology. Son of the incestuous relationship of Cinyras and Myrrha, according to Ovid, but in Hesiod's version he is the son of Phoenix and Alphesiboea. He was the mortal lover of Aphrodite and, in some versions, of Persephone as well.

"I will never let you go even if I wanted to. We belong together forever."

Adonis is completely obsessed with you, he knows everything about you and he lives fantasizing about his life with his darling. You are everything to him, this man can no longer live without you. He just can't and doesn't want to.

His biggest dream is to marry his sweetheart and if he gets the chance he will. Adonis adores you deeply and no one knows why. Maybe it's because you're the one who isn't focused on his looks anymore or just because he fell in love with you at first sight, according to him.

He's very possessive of you and doesn't even try to hide it, it's not like he wants to either. You are his and everyone should know that, including you. If the love bites and suck marks on your body don't speak for themselves, Adonis will do so.

Because he is very obsessive, Adonis will never give up on you, not even in death. You belong together and that's forever and ever.

Don't worry though, he is very loving and clingy to you and will always be there for you. Whether for better or for worse, Adonis will never leave you alone.

"My love for you is greater than my beauty."

Kinks: adoration, daddykink/mommykink (don't ask me).

Nicknames: Love, Baby.

DELIRIOUS

Perseus is one of the most famous greek heroes. He is best known for having beheaded Medusa. Son of Zeus and the mortal princess Danae.

"I could never hurt you. I love you too much for that."

Perseus is the very definition of a delusional yandere, he dreams of his darling 24 hours a day, awake or asleep, you are always in the demigod's thoughts. And he doesn't even try to hide that he's thinking about you.

And why should he? He is very obsessive and insistent in his obsession with you, he doesn't intend to ever let you go. Perseus can't live without you anymore, not without his reason to live. Don't you understand that? You are everything to him, everything.

Perseus cannot live without you. He knows it, you know it, everyone knows it. If something were to happen to you he would go into a deep state of despair and rage.

You can't disappear... Unless you want a lot of people to suffer with your choices, because Perseus won't stop until he has you all to himself. He won't stop until he has all his fantasies fulfilled. And he will cut down anyone who dares to get in his way.

You are the reason for his entire existence and Perseus will never leave you. He will never stop dreaming and raving about you. Never.

Stay with him. Perseus will make sure you never lack for anything. He is so unconscious in his obsession with you that there is nothing he doesn't want more than your happiness. Beside him, of course.

"Our love is strong enough for your petty form of denial. You know you don't really mean it, my princess/prince. You love me and I love you. Always."

Kinks: worship kink, slight degradation and humiliation.

Nicknames: Princess/Prince, love.

OVERPROTECTIVE

Jason is a greek hero son of Aeson. He is best known for being on the ship of the Argonauts and having married Medea.

"The world is a very dangerous place, my love. I cannot and will not allow anything to hurt you. I promise you."

Jason has seen a lot of bad things and bad people, so he developed a very strong paranoia about your safety. He acts incandescently around his obsession. He is always very alert and constantly scanning the environment around you closely.

He just doesn't want anything bad to happen to you. Is this so wrong? Is it so wrong that he doesn't want anyone to look at you? Touch you? No, it's not. Jason knows it's not wrong, he's just doing all this because he loves you so, so much.

And it is his duty, as your only protector, to protect and love you with all his might. And he will do his duties, his duties with all the pleasure in the world. Jason would do anything for you.

He would die for you, he would kill for you. He exists for you, he longs for you. He wants you. All of you.

"You are very important to me. I will protect you with everything I have."

Kinks: degradation and slight breeding kink.

Nicknames: Love, Darling, Baby.

STALKER

Patroclus was the son of Menoetius. Best known for having acted in the Trojan War, where he was killed by Hector.

"I will follow you to Hades to never be separated from you."

Patroclus is a great stalker, he will literally follow you to Hades itself without any kind of hesitation. He also knows everything about you, absolutely everything. Your secrets will become his secrets. Your desires will become his desires.

Everything that belongs to him will belong to you. You and him. The two of you and it will always be like this.

He is a big soft yandere for you, but only for you. This man would never, under any circumstances, hurt you. He could never and never wants to hurt you, he cares for you more than anything, he loves you more than anything, how could he even dare to think about hurting you?

You are everything to him, absolutely everything. All that is his is also yours, all that you want will be yours. He's willing to do anything for you, no matter what the consequences, because at the end of the day, you're the only thing that really matters.

It's you who really has all the power over him, you're the only person Patroclus wants and is willing to commit atrocities to keep you by his side. Only you, you hold all the power and control and he's happy about that.

He loves you and that's what he tells himself when he goes to sleep, that everything he did is in the name of your love, nothing will have been in vain for you.

Patroclus would never hurt you, but be very careful with him, because he can misinterpret your words and this can lead to irreparable actions. It will all depend on you, in the end, and he will always be there for you.

‘‘Everything I've done... Everything I do is for you, my love, and it will always be for you.’‘

Kinks: worship, pet names and breeding kink.

Nicknames: Love, Honey, Sweet.

OVERPROTECTIVE

Hector was one of the main trojan warriors during the Trojan War. He was a prince of Troy, one of the children of King Priam and Queen Hecuba.

''I can't let you out, I can't and I won't risk your safety. It's all for your own good.''

Hector is an extremely overprotective yandere of his darling, he gets paranoid just seeing a scratch on your skin, breaking a nail or just sneezing. He goes crazy with worry when he sees something that shouldn't be there, that he knows shouldn't be there.

He will overreact if you get hurt, even if it's harmless. You are everything to him and he doesn't want anything bad to happen to you, ever. He will take care of you, he will always protect you.

Always.

You'll basically have a bodyguard, so Hector is always at your side, watching your surroundings carefully. Danger is always lurking and he will be damned if he lets any enemy try to harm him.

Anyone who tries to harm you will be dead immediately, but not before suffering a painful and well-deserved torture. No one can think of hurting you, let alone actually doing it. Hector will make sure anyone who threatens you is dealt with hard and fast, he will always have be your protector.

That man would die if anything happened to you, just the thought of it makes him sick with worry. You are everything to him and Hector will make sure you are loved and protected. He will do everything for you.

''Please let me take care of you. It's all I ask, all I need for peace is to have you safe..."

Kinks: breeding kink.

Nicknames: Y/A (your nickname), Love.

MANIPULATOR

Cadmus was a legendary phoenician founder of Boeotinan Thebes. During his time, he was one of Greece's greatest heroes and monster slayers. He was a phoenician prince, son of King Agenor and Queen Telephassa of Tyre.

''You are so blessed to have me, to have my love. Feel honored.''

Cadmus is a great manipulator, he knows very well how to use his... gifts to manipulate you, to control you. And that makes him happy, because you are his, wich means, you are his to manipulate.

He cares about you a lot, he loves you and that's why he wants to have complete control of you so he can keep you with him. Cadmus will never admit it but he's scared to death that you'll abandon him, that you'll leave him and if that happened he'd break, you're everything to this man and he won't let you leave his arms.

Everything he does is for you and will always be for you. For your sake. He has no qualms when it comes to you and will act violently if someone tries to steal you from him.

Cadmus loves you and that alone is enough for him. He doesn't quite understand his feelings but this desire, this obsession he has for you robs him of any good judgment he may have. Everything is you. From the moment he saw you, it's you and it will always be you.

He doesn't like to hurt and would rather make you suffer mentally than physically because it's safer to see you break down and have a mental breakdown than having you bleed out. Besides, he doesn't want to ruin your beautiful skin with scars.

Cadmus can be very dangerous and unstable when it comes to you, so be careful around him. His manipulations are dangerous but can keep you safe from his wrath.

''I'm doing all this because I love you and you know it.''

Kinks: degradation, dom.

Nicknames: Sweetie, Beautiful.

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