#now it's time to exercise and do errands

[honnelander]

crush

alright, this is such a niche and self-indulgent little piece of writing bc i freaking LOVE this (awful and huge asshole) character buuut i do like to write for whatever i love in the moment sooo here's a little Brad Wolfe aka Hunter X-5 fic (he's cute ok??) (and if you're into marvel and are not watching the loki series, PLEASE go watch it! it's so amazing!) credit to @mrsbawar21-blog for the still!

WARNINGS: none

word count: 2.8

pairing: Brad Wolfe (Hunter X-5) x reader

summary: Mobius could tell Brad knew you a lot better than he was letting on, and he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

masterlist

taglist: @antrenna @buggy0827 @laviiv @feelinmatcha @ivonarfsh @facelessfionna @deserticwren @shadydeanmuffin

"See? Isn't this nice, Brad?" Mobius asked his beige jumpsuit-claded prisoner as he sipped on his vanilla milkshake, happy as a clam. "I mean, literally ten minutes ago we were at each other's throats, yelling at one another, and here we are," Mobius gestured around with his hands, emphasizing the 1980s McDonald's they were currently sitting in, "sharing a meal like two adults."

"Yeah, and you also tortured me," Brad replied quickly, not missing a beat as he kept his gaze set on the pair of Lokis conversing in the parking lot through the window. He drummed his fingers on the plastic tabletop, bouncing his leg up and down as he quickly glanced at Mobius with a quirked eyebrow. "Forgot to mention that part, huh?"

"Yeah, and you called me a 'nobody'," Mobius rebutted quickly, a hint of irritation dripping from his voice. He stopped himself, shaking his head slightly with closed eyes as he exhaled curtly.

Now wasn't the time to dispute that and the silver-haired TVA analyst knew that arguing with X-5- or Brad, whoever, was a waste of everyone's time and he didn't feel like renewing their earlier verbal scrimmage here when there were more pressing matters at hand. Ultimately, Brad did bring them to Slyvie in the end so that must count for something, right?

"But, that doesn't matter. See, I even bought you a shake," Mobius said, reaching across the table to pick up Bradley's vanilla shake and put it closer to him. "A little peace offering."

Brad's eyes flitted to Mobius' obvious olive branch for a second before looking back up to the analyst, unimpressed. After a beat, he raised his right hand, jabbing an accusatory index finger at Mobius, as he cocked his head to the side, saying, "But you did slap me, right in the face. I'm not gonna forget that."

"Just take the shake, Brad," Mobius said swiftly, slightly exasperated as he suppressed the urge to roll his eyes and let out a frustrated sigh.

Now, Mobius M. Mobius prided himself on his seemingly never-ending well of patience, but even he felt himself start to get annoyed at Brad's unrelenting persistence on being as difficult as can be. Did he always try to be as annoying as possible or was this just how the ex-hunter always is naturally? It was exhausting.

The former minute man-turned-actor glanced down at the shake again, leaving it untouched before looking out the window to refocus on the Lokis outside. "What- what are they even doing out there?" he asked with a huff, gesturing a hand towards the pair of variants. "It's like they're going over every detail of their relationship or something."

"Yeah, well," Mobius relented with a small sigh, taking another sip of his shake. "There's a lot of baggage to unpack when you're basically in a relationship with yourself," he explained casually like he was talking about a bad day at the office.

Brad picked up on the slight disdain in his captor's tone but he didn't care enough to broach the topic any further. Instead, Brad sighed in slight disgust as he resumed drumming his fingers on the table saying, "God... it's weird."

Not wanting to harp on his partner's unorthodox romantic relationship any more than he had to, Mobius picked up a plastic fork, getting ready to dig into his pie. "Now, why don't you tell me a little bit more about your movie, huh?"

Brad rolled his eyes and scoffed at Mobius's obvious deflecting technique. "What about it?"

"Tell me about all about it." The analyst took a forkful of pie, asking with an encouraging smile, "Is it a horror flick?"

"Oh, come on, Mobius. You don't care."

"No, really! I'm serious," he said through a mouthful of pie. "The poster we saw looked scary."

Not being one to pass up discussing his work and real life that awaited him back on the sacred timeline, Brad took the bait. "It's not scary... it's elevated thriller," he explained in a slightly matter-of-fact tone, waving his hand around for emphasis. In a condescending tone, he added, "It's cinema, thank you very much."

Mobius had no clue if there really was a difference between a scary movie and an 'elevated thriller', since it all sounded the same to him, but he appreciated Brad's enthusiasm on the topic.

Lifting his milkshake up to his mouth to try and hide his amused smirk, Mobius relented, "Oh, my bad. You're right... 'elevated thriller', got it." He nodded as he took a sip, putting his cup back down when he was finished. "I'll have to check that out then."

"And you have to get your own ticket!" Brad continued. "I'm not hooking you up. Especially not after all of," he waved his hands around at their current setting, "this."

"Right, of course," Mobius agreed patiently, watching Brad with a small smile. "I'll get my own tickets."

After his small spiel, the ex-hunter let out a small sigh. He blinked, a look of recognition overcoming his face as he straightened up like he was remembering the situation he was currently in.

He turned his torso to face Mobius head-on, putting his arms on the table and motioning towards the TVA analyst's meal. "Look, why don't we get this all to go, huh? It- it packs right up. Why don't we just- get it to go, so we can get out of here," he said, emphasizing the second half of his sentence as he mimicked packing something up and motioned towards the exit.

"We can't do that," Mobius rejected quickly. "Not yet, anyway. I haven't finished eating and besides, y/n hasn't even gotten her food yet," he added, jabbing a thumb over at you, who was loitering by the cashier in the front, hands on your hips as you looked up at the menu.

Brad followed Mobius' thumb, huffing out another irritated sigh at your figure and rolling his eyes. "She's still ordering? We don't have time for this- God," he muttered under his breath and slumped in his chair, rubbing his jaw. "She always takes forever to do anything," he added with a mumble.

However, Brad's little admission right there didn't escape Mobius' keen ears. Trying to keep casual, he dug back into his pie. "'Takes forever to do anything', huh?" he asked nonchalantly. "It kinda sounds like you know a lot about y/n."

Brad's eyes flashed to Mobius's briefly before looking elsewhere, shifting in his plastic seat. "Yeah, well, she's your partner, isn't she?" He glanced out at Loki for a second, "Or, at least one of them? You should know how slow she can be sometimes."

The silver-haired analyst shook his head once. "She's not slow. I prefer the term meticulous, actually."

For whatever reason, Brad felt the need to clarify himself, which Mobius couldn't help but find interesting since he knew X-5 to be a guy who always brazenly said what was on his mind no matter the circumstances.

"I didn't mean slow as in stupid," Brad quickly clarified. "I-I meant as in she just takes a long time to do anything."

"Uh-huh," Mobius replied simply, secretly enjoying how bent out of shape the man in front of him was getting. "Right."

"Yeah..." Bradley trailed off, finally picking up his forgotten shake and taking a long sip of it, avoiding Mobius's expectant gaze. After a few beats of silence, he put his shake back on the table, looking over at Mobius with an annoyed glance. "What?"

"Nothing," Mobius replied easily, looking over at Brad once again before looking back at his food, munching on a fry. "I just think it's interesting how you know how 'slow' y/n can be sometimes, that's all."

"Look," he looked back at Mobius, a hint of irritation (and embarrassment?) in his features. "Whatever little 'thing' you're trying to imply here between me and her, just drop it."

Mobius perked up, looking back at his prisoner. There it was again, Brad's peculiar choice of words. "'Drop it'? Don't you mean 'give it up'? Since 'giving up' would imply that there's absolutely nothing there, whereas 'dropping it' would mean that something is there but you just don't want to talk about it?"

Brad sat up. "Drop it, give it up- whatever Mobius, just stop talking about it."

A smile started to creep up on Mobius's face, finding joy in all of this. This little impromptu interrogation was turning out to be a lot more fun than the last one he had with the actor. "'It'? So there's an 'it' now? What's 'it'? Do you mean your little crush on y/n?"

The actor's body stiffened for a nanosecond before turning to fully face the analyst. "Mobius, I swear to God-"

"OH! So that's a 'yes'!" Mobius declared, hitting the tabletop playfully with a grin, his smile only getting wider at seeing Brad become more and more agitated. "You do have a crush on y/n! Aw, that's so adorable Bradley, really."

The ex-hunter leaned back in his chair, scrunching up his face as he looked to away. "'A crush'? Really, Mobius? What are we- five? Please."

"Oh, so you love her?"

Brad's eyes widened, snapping back to look at him. "What? No, I don't-"

"Oh, that's ok," Mobius reassured with a wave. "Maybe your crush on her will blossom into love one day, who knows? I mean, life is crazy right?" He got another forkful of pie as he said, "I just can't believe that you had a crush on my partner this whole time and I didn't even notice. What kind of analyst am I?"

Mobius shook his head, laughing at his own joke. It seemed so obvious to him now. He should've realized that X-5 had some type of feelings for his long-time work partner eons ago. He always thought it was strange how X-5 would randomly stop to chat with them, well, with you mostly he now realized, at seemingly random times throughout the day, like when you both were having lunch in the cafeteria or how X-5 would always be the minute man to volunteer and be the muscle for one of your missions if need be. He had always thought it was weird and strange, but now it just made sense.

"Mobius," Brad said, letting out a defeated sigh. "Can you just, drop it? Please?"

Mobius looked back up, eyebrows raised as he looked up at the former minute man. "And now you're saying 'please'? Wow, you're just full of surprises today Bradley, aren't you?" he asked with a disbelieving laugh. He watched as Brad slunk back into his seat, a resigned look on his face. Ever the kind soul, Mobius kinda felt kinda bad for him. "Hey, look," Mobius started, in a softer tone, "X-5, Brad, Bradley, whatever you want to be called, your secret is safe with me, alright? I won't tell her, I promise."

The movie star was quiet for a moment, sucking on his teeth. Even though he personally might not like Mobius, he did know that Mobius was a man of his word and kept his promises so, he had no choice but to trust him. "Yeah, well... thanks," he said, flashing the analyst with a quick look of gratitude as he rapt his knuckle on the table.

"Hey, no problem," Mobius said, regarding the man across from him for another moment before finishing up his pie. With a small, surprised laugh, Mobius said, "You know, I just think it's funny how a," jerk, he thought to himself, "guy like you ends up with a little, school-yard crush on such a kind and caring person like y/n."

Brad raised an eyebrow at Mobius's choice of words. "'A guy like me'? Liking someone like her? What is that supposed to mean Mobius?"

"Oh, nothing," he replied innocently. "I just think it's funny. I guess, in this case, opposites really do attract, huh?"

"Oh, what? Now you're calling me a jerk?" Brad started, ready to go at it with Mobius again. "Why don't you just-"

"Hey, guys," you said, finally arriving at the table with a brown to-go paper bag with your food, sliding into the seat next to Mobius, your partner, unknowingly stopping the argument that was about to take place. "Sorry I took so long. There were just so many options to choose from, you know? It was hard to decide."

Now that Mobius was keen on Brad's little crush on you, he couldn't help but want to mess with him even further. "Ah that's ok y/n, I know that sometimes those things can be a little slow," he said, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards when Brad sent him a glare. "So don't worry about it."

"No word from Loki yet?" you asked, completely oblivious to the invisible sparing match occurring between the two men. "They're still out there?" you asked as you leaned on the table, craning your neck to try and see the two variants better.

"No, nothing yet. Hey, y/n," Mobius said suddenly, hitting your shoulder slightly like he had just come up with a great idea. "Why don't you move and sit next to Brad? I think he has a better vantage point to see them than I do," he innocently suggested, sending Brad a good-natured wink.

Brad nearly face-palmed himself. He forgot that Mobius could sometimes be as subtle as a baseball bat. "Mobius," he warned lowly.

But the mentioned analyst continued unphased. "And while you're sitting over there, watching the Lokis, you know, next to Brad," he added again for emphasis, "you can eat your meal."

"Oh, no need," you answered easily, to which question, the guys didn't know. "I got my food to go."

"See?" Brad quickly straightened, a newfound urgency in his tone and movements are he looked back and forth between you and Mobius. "She's smart, she got her food to go, to have back at the TVA. Which is exactly where we all need to be. Right now. Let's go."

"Jeez, Brad, what is it with you?" He asked exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. "You're like a broken record. First, you're all like, 'get me back to the sacred timeline' and now you're all like, 'get me out of here'." He shook his head. "It's like you-"

"Know something," you said, cutting off Mobius' train of thought, your eyes looking at your beige jumpsuited prisoner with a calculating gaze.

At your words, Mobius stopped his spiel, blinking as he leaned back in his seat, his eyes looking over at Brad in thought. "Do you know something?" he asked.

Brad, however, stayed quiet. He picked up his milkshake, swirling it around before taking a couple of sips as he turned his body away from you both, looking out the window.

"Hey," Mobius said a little more firmly, slapping the actor's forearm to get his attention. "Don't get all quiet on me now, Zaniac. What do you know? Is this a setup?"

"It's an ambush," you said.

But Brad continued to suck on the straw, not looking at either of you.

"Bradley, answer me," Mobius said forcefully.

Brad put his milkshake down, swallowing the sweet treat before looking at you. "We need to get out of here," was all he said.

You held eye contact with him, discerning the urgency and panic you saw held within his gaze. You couldn't help but feel that when Brad had said 'we', he really only meant you and him. His look and words sent a shiver down your spine.

Mobius was the first to get up, the rest of his meal forgotten. "Alright, let's go. We need to regroup with Loki so our friend Brad here can tell us what's really going on." He picked up his tray, walking over to the trash to dump the rest of his fast food scraps away, and put his tray on top of the can.

Brad held your stare for another moment before finally blinking, breaking the spell, as he hastily got up himself. "Finally," he muttered. He tossed his drink away as he quickly followed behind Mobius.

But you didn't move. You stared at the now empty spot that X-5 had occupied seconds ago, trying to discern why you felt that he knew about a lot more than just this current situation.

As always, your long-time partner and best friend knew when you needed to be broken out of your train of thought and get you back on track. "Y/n!" Mobius called out as he headed towards the exit. "Let's go!"

Snapping back to reality, you blinked, shaking off your wandering thoughts and stood up, following Mobius and Brad outside. Now wasn't the time to analyze Brad's actions and choice of words, right now all you needed to know was what Brad knew right at this moment and why he was so adamant about getting back to the TVA.

If you wanted to question Brad more, you could do that later. He was your prisoner after all and time worked differently in the TVA, right?

[cosmogyros]

I ought to be well accustomed by now to the fact that I live in backwards-land when it comes to most physical/health things, but it still confuses the heck out of me that eating food saps my energy so drastically.

Today was a classic example: I woke up in the morning full of energy, peppy and motivated. I was dancing around the house, getting a ridiculous amount of chores done, listening to music, having a great time...

...and then I had breakfast. Now, it doesn't really matter what the food in question is - my usual breakfast is either oats with a bunch of toppings (seeds, nuts, fruit, yogurt) or else eggs and toast - and today it happened to be a piece of pita bread with homemade guacamole (avocado, tomatoes, nooch, spices, lime juice) plus a protein shake.

And I have felt like a ZOMBIE since then. Exhausted, limbs heavy as lead, and I spent all the rest of the day on the sofa because I couldn't muster up the energy to walk from one room to another.

This happens so consistently. Whyyyy?! Why does my body hate food :(

[clowningaroundmars]

i'm going so hard in the paint in my personal life that my therapist had to remind me to take it easy and i almost bluescreened LOL

[lobotomydaughter]

waking up at 5am and getting a workout in is so good for me but it also means waking up at 5am

[lemonmaid]

A snip i need to get out of my head before bed. (Warnings pregnant reader, not proofed read, I'm so fucking tired)

Poly 141 x pregnant reader.

When you told the boys that you were pregnant, many many emotions but not one was negative towards you.

Johnny was excited, immediately thinking of names and happy that they almost have enough people for a football team (john thinks rugby would be a better sport but who is asking).

Simon who is immediately nervous due to his own family issues, he knows therapy can help with this but he'll be damn if he is ever like his father.

Kyle who is immediately thinking why it is important to know who the father is, even if he isn't the bio dad he is still gonna buy the proper hair products just in case.

John who is already crying, he is a big papa bear now and he couldn't be more happy.

Over the course of your pregnancy, the boys are literally waiting hand and foot for you.

Simon refuses to let you do anything on your own. You want to help with the nursery? No sit down and rest. You need to bend down and grab something you dropped? Nah call him even if he is at work.

John is up your ass about you doing exercises and taking your prenatal vitamins. He wakes you up at eight in the morning to do a light work out for your core muscle then makes you wind down for bed by 9 pm.

Johnny is always ready to make a snack run, even if John is against it, hell he even got back up emergency snacks in the car. Even though you all share an Alaskan king bed, reach over and shove him awake so he can do a quick errand.

Kyle is always with you when you are shopping, 100% he will agree with you on any clothing for the baby, you want the cutest expensive baby towel that is good for eczema? No problem. You think we should do cloth diapers? You're absolutely right, save nature.

When you have to get a body pillow/pregnancy pillow to support your stomach the boys are upset that they can't cuddle you without the pillow being in the way (or the little shit kicks them and it hurts you).

The boys love, LOVE it when you wear tight shirts, I mean look at that adorable bump and Jesus christ your breast have gotten so big.

Speaking of breast, Johnny is always looking at you like a kicked dog when you don't let him "help" you pump.

Please tell them when something hurts. Because these boys take everything too serious. When you started having braksion hicks, they were so paranoid. It got to a point where when you were in labor you didn't tell them untill they were 5 minutes apart. Which freaked them out, rushing you to the hospital.

The boys are 100% supportive of your birth plan, they really are.

But as soon as the contractions hit and they see your pained expression, they are immediately second guessing.

John is bluntly telling you to take the epidural.

Simon is rubbing your back telling you that there is no reward for having a natural birth.

But, you progress, practicing your breathing exercises, you've been training for this moment. You decided to bounce and roll on the yoga ball that was offered in the room, it help with the pressure.

Johnny is the one who has been trying to sneak you food, happy wife (or partner) happy life. But Kyle is nagging him how you cannot have food when you are close to labor (you're only 2 cm and it's been four hours).

Simon is encouraging you to sleep and rest, when you obviously can't Johnny is helping you recheck the diaper bag for the tenth time that night.

Kyle who is walking with you up and down the hall, purposely walking down the hall with the window where you can see the other newborns.

John who is now having panic attack, 'oh god I'm going to be a father'.

When it's finally time to start pushing, one of the nurses tries pushing out the others, thinking that John is the father. It wasn't untill your midwife told them to leave them be and that they can stay.

Simon and John who are holding your hands as you pushed, Johnny is playing with your hair to help distract you from the pain and Kyle is wiping your forehead.

When everyone hears the sharp cry that echoes in the room, the gasp is heard, when the newborn is placed on your chest, they can't help but shed a tear.

Simon and Johnny are telling you that you did an amazing job. Kyle is kissing your head, comforting your cries, John is watching the nurses every move with the newborn.

They all couldn't be more happier.

[crisuhaa]

all in the name of a glance . . ! ˖ ݁𖥔 ݁˖ 𐙚

.・゜゜・ amphoreus men x gn!reader . . !

sypnosis things amphoreus men—(anaxagoras, mydeimos, phainon) do to gain your sweet attention!

warnings;; slight ooc chars(??), them being a little stupid (TT), slightly dense reader :3 semi pre-established relationships <3

౨ৎ— anaxagoras . . !

Anaxagoras had always been a direct person, he thrived on being straightforward and catching his students off guard.

So, why—why? Does that not apply with you? Why does he hesitate on making a move to have you talking again?

“ehem..” he coughed out, holding his papers whilst he sat in his desk—with you sitting on the couch across the room doing who knows what.

“cough.. eurghh.. EHEM..” he gargled out, a concerning noise actually—looking up from his papers to look at you, you must've noticed by now, right? Right..?

“oh for the love of cerces..” he grumbled out in frustration, the Titan of Reasons name leaving his lips, now that got your attention.

“naxa? you okay?” they *finally* looked up at him, letting go of the random object they were fiddling with.

He deadpanned, letting go of the papers he was grading “are you serious? Like actually?”

“what?.” they tilted their head, confused as to what went into his head THIS time. “after all my attempts of..”

“attempts of?.” they blinked, standing up to walk to his desk. “attempts of drifting your.. gaze towards me.. Cerces is what gains your attention?” he grumbled out, earning a soft chuckle from you.

“ah? You wanted my attention didn't you?” they laughed once more, cupping his cheeks. “mhh.. I'm paying attention now, naxa.”

“good, see it that you do all the time.”

౨ৎ — mydeimos . . !

Mydei wasn't one to ask of anything involving you doing something—not when he could do it himself while you just sit there all relaxed for him.

Cleaning? He's doing it for you to the point where the house is sparkling. Running errands? He already got your schedule down to a T just to do your errands. Cooking? He's already ready to wake you up with breakfast.

In summary, he'd never ask anything of you—never, even if he wanted one thing. Your attention, of course. But how does he ask for it? Well.

“one, two.. three, four.” he mumbled, doing push ups on the floor, right in front of you while you read your book.

He slightly grumbled, in the middle aged women he talked to (for advice), they say a way to a loved ones heart was strenght.

What better way to show strenght than to do as many push ups as he could to prove himself to you? Was it a good idea? Probably not!

“twenty-three, twenty-four, twenty-five..” he continued, pushing his body upward and downward in inhumane speed, pushing his body to its limits.

“three hundred and fifty two, three hundred and fifty three, three hundred and—” he collapsed on the floor, out of exhaustion. Yet it STILL didn't get your attention, what more do you want?!

Instead, he gave up, standing up to sit next to you—hair messy with sweat sticking onto him. “finally done, de?” they smiled, looking at him.

“done with what?.” he blinked, looking a little more than happy to have your attention, finally. “your exercise, I've been wanting to hang out with you.”

They say a way to a loved ones heart is by strength, but his loved one only wanted his attention, much like he did with them.

౨ৎ — phainon . . !

Phainon adored healers, not just any healer—his (self-proclaimed) healer that he met through Hyacine.

The moment Hyacine introduced them since she was too busy to heal him at the moment—he was WHIPPED.

Who knew Amphoreus had someone this adorable? He didn't, and he should've! And now that he does know, what does he do?

Operation make-pretty-nurse-fall-for-phainon plan is on the go! And how does he plan on doing it? Simple! Get hurt as many times as possible!

“(name)..” he whined out, walking to their office like a kicked puppy “phainon? again?” they let out a soft sigh, gesturing to the seat for him.

“being a hero isn't easy, huh? haha..” he smiled, showing his barely scraped arm

“it's not that bad, you could've done this yourself.” they hummed, taking out the needed supplies—oblivious to the betrayal on his face

“and risk getting an Infection? I'm wounded!” he huffed, looking at them with soft eyes. “mhh.. Yeah, yeah. Stay still.”

And so he did, he kept silent, staring at them whilst they work on his wound—they're so close, right where he adored it.

“if I didn't know any better, I would've thought you're doing this on purpose to have my attention.” they laughed softly, meeting his eyes—expecting him to chuckle and look away.

But he didn't, instead he looked at them dead in the eye with a serious tone “and if I was, is it working?” he mumbled out.

“just a little.” they smiled in amusement, finishing up the bandage and pulling away. “are you?”

He smiled softly, standing up to face them once more—“I am.”

Safe to say operation make-pretty-nurse-fall-for-phainon was a huge success.

authors note;; i think ts was OKAY. I think,?? TT BUTTTT it's clear I love amphoreus men but I'll make ones of the women as well!! :33

౨ৎ — crisuhaa works . . !

[pleasantlycrazyworld]

This is so self-inserted but don't mind me

Apparently when i crash out i write lmao

Frank castle is my new love at this point so please send in request! I'm also taking request for bucky barnes and Logan howlett still <3

Frank Castle dealing with you while you study

Frank hates when you overwork yourself, so he started to just observe you.

It started small he would come home at an actual reasonable time for once and you were at the kitchen table working away. The first thing that crosses his mind is Oh shit it must be serious. You warned him when you first started seeing each other that if you were at the kitchen table that meant you had a huge amount of work to do. He's never seen it in action before but now that he's face to face with it...he kind of wishes he was still out working.

NOT THAT HE DOESN'T WANT TO SUPPORT YOU! but at first, you scared the shit out of him with how intense you were working. You had such an angry look on your face, and music was blaring in your headphones, loud enough he could hear the song from where he was standing and loud enough he was concerned for your hearing.

Usually, you raced to him to give him some sort of affection when he got home, now you haven't even lifted your head to meet his eyes. He approached you in the same way he would approach an injured animal.

"Babydoll? Have you been working since you got home?" He cringed at the question as his eyes drift to the clock on the microwave to see that you got home six hours ago. Thankfully his eyes went back to your form in time to see you nod weakly. A harsh sigh tumble past his lips before he could stop himself.

You were fearful that he was going to just close your laptop but instead he walked behind you and opened the fridge. Silently he started to dance around the kitchen and began a quick dinner he knew you'd enjoy and that would help fuel his dolls body.

He does eventually close your laptop, but it is in exchange for a plate of food. Sitting next to you, he eats in near silence as he listens to you rant about your workload and how overwhelmed and unsupported you feel with your college. He nods and gives his short phrases of support that let you know he hasn't tuned you out as he starts to mentally plan a study set up for you.

The following day, you had the day off and had originally planned to just spend the day cooped up in the house working, but Frank had very different plans. He took the entire day off and woke you up with coffee. "I have a few errands to run, sweetheart, nothing crazy, but I was wondering if you could come with me?" He nods along with your protest and mumbles a few I knows before justifying his request. "I know you're drowning in work right now, but you know I don't know everything I need to pick up at the pharmacy and that lady always gives me those dirty looks that you hate...she doesn't do that with you there." He gives his best puppy eyes and squeezes your hips softly to help sway you into agreeing, and he even "agrees" for it to just be the one quick errand.

But...since you're already out might as well get some lunch right? Neither of you had breakfast, and now it's nearly 1. "We need to eat, sweetheart," he says as he pulls into the diners parking lot.

The two of you get home around 3, and you were pissed. He handled the attitude you gave him since he took you out pretty early in the morning, but he was pleased with himself. He knew you got fresh air, some exercise and an actual meal so he backs off for you to work until dinner...which will be at a responsible time he'd be damned if you didn't eat until midnight again.

But this man is a man of observation through and through. He will just wander into the kitchen every few hours to make sure you are still breathing and not having a breakdown. Usually, he is met with you in the same position he left you in the last time he checked in but sometimes there is clear frustration on your face, and those times are when he softly closes the laptop and asks for some attention. "Baby, all I'm asking is 15 minutes. C'mon, how is a 15-minute cuddle break going to kill you?"

He's sneaky. He knows your soft spot for him, and he uses that to his advantage.

And when you are done with all the work and have passed the class, he rewards you in the only way he can, and all of the sudden all the work is worth it when you can hear his soft whispers of praise throughout the night.

[arthursknight]

it's a word that inspires more boredom than fear when you're made out of its ingredients, merlin supposes. curse.

men, grown and brutal, tremble at the mention of it. women avert their eyes and murmur apologies to keep it tamed and away, somewhere far from their hearths and doorsteps. kids are taught that jokes are not to be made in its name, and everyone in camelot-- and, by extension, merlin supposes everywhere the sun can reach-- has been taught, from the first crying breath, that magic lurks somewhere behind a shadow ready to catch its claws around your throat and curse you.

arthur is one of those kids, merlin supposes, where the lesson didn't truly land. he's been known to wiggle his fingers at a young knight who lands a lucky blow during training, cock an eyebrow and say in a voice that echoes too much of uther, "you didn't curse me, did you?"

it's funny, merlin can admit, the way their cheeks always stain tomato red as they stammer to prove they're not, you know, ensorcelling the future king by managing to best his parry for once. half the time, merlin knows from the sidelines, arthur lets them, even if he won't admit to it.

but it's arthur's joke to him, too. "i must have gotten cursed," he'll say when merlin's a few minutes behind bringing him his morning bread, "to have been saddled with someone so incapable of being able to tell time. we do have clocks in this kingdom, still, do we not, merlin? or has my father passed ordinances while i've been out hunting again?"

or, when merlin stumbles and spills the last of the wine arthur's been nursing from the skein on his way to try and put it back where arthur can no longer reach it, arthur will moan into his furs, "you can't be serious. is this some d-- devil-- devil--"

"devillry?"

"yes. are you-- 's trying to curse me?"

"by preventing your royal grumpiness come morning?" merlin quips. "nothing gets past you."

it's funny.

arthur can't know the half of it. arthur doesn't know what it's like to live with a curse (and will never, so long as merlin lives and walks this earth beside him, and there's a part of merlin that knows, terrified and ancient in his core, that that will be longer than any man may ever know). arthur doesn't know what it's like to wake every day, live a life that can never be honest, fall asleep listening to the earth calling his name and begging him to embrace his power only to wake up and ignore it with all his might. and-- gods. sure, that's fine. he can mope about the magic all he wants, he'll pencil it in. but-- it's this curse, right. the one where merlin can nod off during an important meeting of some sort or another and look up, only to find arthur secretly laughing at him, smile uninhibited, and his heart will turn to ember. or the one where arthur will already be up and at 'em come morning, somehow wired on energy from a brilliant idea or a new training exercise or just a good night's sleep, for once, and when merlin comes in the door, he'll sling his arm around him and say, "right, so now that you're *here*--," and he'll smell like forest and mulling spice and merlin's skin will sting electric. this curse. the one of arthur's wink across a fire in some woods near the edge of their land, on the precipice of danger, some joke merlin must not get. the one of his smile, bright and wide in the summer sun, women swooning on the side as merlin grumbles about being with an arrogant sod to cover his racing heart. this one isn't very funny at all, is it. and it's one he is sure he'll live alone with, as his other one. pencil this one in, too, beside saving arthur's sorry behind one more extra time this week and the errands he needs to run for gaius. nightmare about magic destiny, then washing up before going to clean the stables, then watching practice, then pining over the crown prince in a way that is horrific, then probably some sort of nonsense beast from a neighbouring kingdom. he'll have time enough. but it's one night of the same-- same as it always is, arthur making some quips, when he presses on the bruise a little too hard. something about how he wishes he could lift himself of the curse merlin brings to him during one of their rare late night card games. "right, well," merlin says, tired and empty from it like he sometimes gets, "i'll take my leave." they haven't finished. "we haven't finished," arthur laughs, confused, looking suddenly boyish. fuck. "wouldn't want to bring you even more bad luck," merlin forces. "curse and all." he doesn't know why it's hitting him so hard tonight when he's normally able to stomach it. maybe it's the weather, the heat. maybe it's the exhaustion. "you-- merlin, i wasn't being serious." "yes, well, it's not-- not a very funny joke, is it." christ. merlin has to steady himself by fiddling with his tunic so he can get his head back on. arthur tilts his head, then. it has been a long day-- a long week-- a long month. this has been a rare moment of reprieve, just the two of them, and merlin's gone and blown it with his cursed emotions. "merlin," arthur says, stern, but when merlin looks at him, it is not the hardened gaze of a bloodhungry father. it's calculating, soft, steady. "do not make me admit to you how much of an honour it is to have you at my side." the air leaves the room, a sudden whoosh. merlin catches himself before he does something stupid and makes the cards explode by sheer force of emotion or something. "oh," he says, a half laugh. "well--" "sit down," arthur huffs, "before i curse you." he already has, merlin knows. and he will, again and again. and merlin, damn him-- merlin will let him.

[gallusrostromegalus]

hi i see that you have much smart dog experience. i may have accidentally purchased such a dog. she's only 10 weeks, and ive had her 1, and she's already outmatched every puzzle feeder i got or have made. to the point that she is morosely disappointed when her food comes in an actual food bowl. do you know where i can find like. "heres 100 enrichment toys you can make out of free trash so your dog stops eating fucking rocks for enrichment" lists. i only have so many paper towel tubes XD

Herschel now just disassembles puzzle feeders, so I've been focusing on "Toys that, even if he already knows how to operate them, will still take TIME for him to collect the treat from" to give him something to fuss with.

Herschel eats all his meals out of a Kong Wobbler, because he will otherwise eat so fast he will literally inhale and choke on his kibble and I do not need him developing pneumonia from aspiration. Even though it's a "Simple" toy it slows him down and he does have to think a bit to tip it in the most efficient manner possible. Kong's "Flipz", "Gyro" and "Rewards Wally" are also really good "dog needs to think/carefully manipulate the toy for food" toys that act as both mental stimulation and exercise and "give human a break for up to twelve minutes" toys.

I highly reccomend KONG as a brand- they're local to Denver and have an impeccable saftey record and all of the toys I have gotten from them have held up extremely well vs. the ravages of three entirely too smart and strong-jawed dogs at once.

Some more thoughts:

If she's not prone to shredding rubber, the kind of treat toys she has to chew are also good stimulation.

If you don't want to give her That Many treats, my vet said that dogs can have as many green beans as they want. Just make sure that the beans haven't had salt added to them- canned usually does, but frozen green beans usually don't, but always check the label.

You can make nearly any toy last longer, or make a cheap long-puzzle by freezing the treats so they take longer to eat AND provides hydration. Herschel's most favorite treat of all time is literally a wad of sliced green beans in a dixie cup, filled with water and frozen. Just peel off the cup and hand him the chunk of ice and he's good for up to half an hour and more chill afterwards.

You can also freeze lick mats

If your girl is like Charlie and doesn't like greenbeans, you can also try freezing paper cups of: Canned pumpkin, apple slices in water, putting some ice cubes in the bottom of the cup, a gob of peanut butter in the middle and then fill it with water to make a peanutbutter filled ice cube.

If your girl is REALLY like charlie who has figured out how to use labor negotiation and strike tactics for better treats: boiled chicken chunks frozen in some of the water you boiled them in.

Walkies are as much mental stimulation as they are physical exercise. Take her out and let her sniff to her heart's content.

Also Puppies in particular need like, SO MUCH exercise.

Let her participate in activities with you. Herschel and charlie sit in the kitchen and I narrate cooking dinner to them, which seems to interest them, even if I don't have spare veggie ends to give them. I also frequently bring them along in the car if I'm running errands when it's cold enough to do that, so they have something new to look at, and get to participate. I also am more likely to stop at a new park and give myself some exercise and mental stimulation.

Training her to do tasks is GREAT Smart Dog enrichment- esp if she's a herding or heeler, they LOVE being helpful. I taught the dogs they get a small treat if they come in from the yard without me having to go chase them down, which saved me a lot of hassle, and now I'm working on teaching herschel to pick things up off the floor for me if I drop them and alert for chickpeas, which my housemate is allergic to.

A lot of dogs like cat-type toys. Tie a stick or some fleece to some paracord and drag or flycast it around for her to chase/play tug with when she catches it. Toys that bounce unexpectedly were also a huge hit. or just wave the string around the cat and the corgi both like that.

If you live in farm country or know other people with pets, you can grab something with the scent of another animal on it and bring it home for her to smell. Charlie and Herschel spent the better part of three days investigating the wad of horse undercoat I brought home and put in the spare wobbler for them to smell.

[writingoddess1125]

We Missed You Pt. 4

Nikto x FemReader + OOC

Part 3 <<<

WARNING: Body Mutilation, Jealousy, Invasion of Privacy, Manipulation, Awkwardness, Body Anxiety

NOTE: If you've never seen Nikto from COD before he does have acute dissociative disorder, so at times he will refer to himself as 'Us/We' a bit randomly.

You felt like you were walking on eggshells.

Or trying to avoid a potential pissed off ghost-

Ever since that little argument you had with Nikto a few weeks ago he had once again turned into a shadow.

Appearing at random times, only really to spend time with Ava before he was gone again- Which youd had assumed would be less often since he lived down the hall but honestly it was the opposite.

He hadn't even said a word to you which would have been fine if you didn't have a inkling feeling he was watching you 24/7 and you just couldn't prove it- Your skin always prickling at random times which clued you in.

You had still seem Micky in the office when you checked your mail however had kept a bit of a distance. Both out of worry of if Nikto would do anything-

Sure he wasn't your keeper but you knew he was unstable and didn't want to bring another human into your messed up life-

Speaking of another human..

If you didn't have enough on your plate. Your darling little girl had decided that screaming jer head off was just the thing you needed for your mental well being.

"Please Ava I've got you shhh Its okay-"

She had been gassy for the last few hours after drinking her last bottle far too fast and had decided it was her mission to let the world know that her stomach hurt.

You had also been sure Nikto was most likely hiding away since you saw his bedroom door was closed. Leaving you on your own on this.

Looking at your phone which was playing some white noise you see it's well past midnight. However here you are sitting on an exercise ball gently bouncing while holding your daughter who was inbetween crying and fussing.

Exhaustion was settling on you and you just stared ahead- a bit in a daze in truth as you felt your brain all but close to shutting down.

It was too much for one person to handle.. In such a short time your world had changed, and you felt like you couldn't catch up.

You had a little human to look after-

You had a large scary human looking after you-

It was so much

You didn't realize how long you'd been sitting there slowly bouncing on the exercise ball, It wasn't till you felt a hand grasp your shoulder you snapped back-

Looking up now wided eyed in mild panic you see one of the stresses in your life. However his eyes were narrowed down at you in seemingly concern, Still holding your shoulder in place as he looked you over.

"Did I wake you up?"

Was the only thing that seemed to slip past your lips- Nikto softly shaking his head.

"Had Errands"

Looking down you see Ava had long gone asleep, You looking to the clock again and see its nearly 2 in the morning. It seemed you'd zoned off and was falling asleep yourself.

"Give her to me.. Go shower and eat"

Nodding softly you couldn't even refuse his offer. It sounded so nice, Gently you hand Ava over. Mindful not to wake her up as he took her so gently in his arms.

Possibly the exhaustion but you reached up grasping his arm softly as you got up from your seat and stumbled to the bathroom in the master bedroom- Barely bothering to even close the door. The shower had been nothing short of heaven. You didn't know how long you were there, but long enough to feel at least like a person again.

Yet stepping out very quickly go to get your nightlies in order. Drying off as you walk through your room to find some clothes that werent on the floor. Stopping only when you catch yourself in the cheap vanity mirror, half bent forward mid grab of a shirt.

Every aspect of your body making your lips curl in a frown.

It was still hard for you to adjust after all this time.. They always said that it would be difficult after having a child but you didn't expect this still..

You'd don't the research you'd stalked through tiktok and Instagram of how others were able to get back the way they looked before.

From crazy Postpartum workouts, creams and oils, odd smelling drinks. They had all these amazing transformations

But why hadn't you?-

You still saw the added weight, The dark line that went from your belly button down, the deep wrinkles of stretchmarks that had settled on you.

Not including your boobs, your sides, hell even your hair-

You just didn't look the same-

You didn't feel the same-

'Am I even the same person?..'

A bubble of shame filled your system before you put on your clothes. Quickly throwing a towel over the mirror as you didn't need more stuff to worry about- However it seemed your self-consciousness had given you a unfortunate second wind.

"Damn it..Why now brain.."

Your body desperately wanted to swan dive into bed and never leave. But you hadnt eaten and knew you'd probably regret if you didn't at least get a nibble of something..

A damn near irritated march out of room, in hopes of swiping something like a damn mouse sneaking into the kitchen. Which was immediately interrupted by a moving shadow which made you jump. Despite knowing exactly who it was..

"Son of a-"

You rub your face, trying to ease your rapid heartbeat. This oddly felt like Deja-vu of the first night Nikto had dropped in on your life.. but instead of sitting in the dark he was standing next to the couch holding a baby monitor like some messed up nanny demon.

'Thought by now I'd be used to the late night popups-But here we are. Nerves shot-'

"Better?" He asked, rather kindly? Something that was new seeing how his tone only ranged from irritated in low and lower octaves.

"Yeah, Thank You so much. Im gonna head to bed soon.. just was grabbing some food"

You say softly, Gesturing to the half eaten poptart and water still on the counter. Nikto rolled his eyes as he shifted behind him holding up a bag from a local fast food place. You cant help but light up at the sight and take the bag with a thanks as you immediately grab some curly fries and pop it in your mouth with a happy sigh-

"So you're talking to be again hm? I thought you were still mad at me-"

He sent you a glare, Which confirmed that he was still mad at you in some way. Even if he did get you some food.

"I still want my things back you know-"

"Hm-"

He only grumbled, Which you had learned was his main way of simply saying 'No'. You couldn't help but roll your eyes at him, taking a bite of what seemed to be a attempt of a taco.

"You know a Jealous man is unattractive-"

"Who said I was attractive?-"

"...Touché.."

Nikto was surprisingly quick when it came to being a smartass. Despite being creepily quiet he actually was quite sarcastic in the right situation. It would have been attractive if he wasn't so damn terrifying. You look down at the carpeted floor, running your bare foot over it a bit shyly as you eat the rest of your taco.

"Ive uh.. Actually been meaning to ask about that and a few other things.."

You don't have to look up to see he was doing that far too serious and intense stare at you-

"What things"

"Well one If I ask what you do, Would you tell me?"

"Yet"

'Strike one'

"Alright.. Do you have any family?.. Besides Ava?"

"..Yet. No one"

'Strike two-' You shift a bit uncomforbly at this admittance eating a few more fries

"Is your.. Whatever you do have anything to do with the mask getup?"

"Yes.. and.."

He leaned back a bit from his seat on the arm of the couch. Seemingly either getting more comforble or trying to settle from being uncomfortable-

"We have scars"

"Well.. Could I see what you look like?"

You finally look up at him and are met with a intense and honestly piss inducing stare that made you want to cry a little.

"Why-"

'Strike Three and thats terrifying-'

You almost choked on your food but managed to recover, your leg shaking a bit in anxiety as you mess with a random tear on the bag.

"Well I did sleep with you and have your kid before seeing your face- Seems like I've hit a point of no return dont you think? Not like I can hit the undo button on my place in your life especially with whatever your face looks like"

There was enough truth in your words that it seemed to fly. Of course you wanted to actually see the father of your child and yes part stupid morbid curiosity.

Nikto slightly turned his head side to side. Clearly juggling the idea to him, It was almost 30 seconds of silence before he nodded.

"Fine... It's Bad-"

Nikto warned rather suddently. You incredibly surprised he agreed in the first place and how fast he was grabbing at the mask.

He'd lifted the bottom of his balaclava to his forehead, Just under his main hairline while keeping complete eye contact with you.

Well you couldnt lie-

It was fucked.

It wasn't like the books or movies were the man is drop dead handsome with a scar down the side of his face or a series of stitched up skin to add to a rough look.

No..

This was grotesque-

The right side of his face was seemingly the main victim. You could seem divets of were skin and flesh used to be which went up to his temple and under his eye socket, Like it had unevenly skinned and burned. His upper lip was nearly gone giving you a peak at his teeth that you could see was all to bright veneers- clear that his natural ones had probably been knocked out.

But it was the part of his cheek that seemed to be worse off. Most of it was downright gone with only a thin layer of skin that covered the inside of his mouth.

The left was scarred like it had been burned mildly with other cuts but otherwise spared from the terrible treatment on the right side. But you could see from that more normal side he looked- Well pretty if not a bit plain?

Not some outrageous beauty or a rugged handsome man. Probably a man you'd have swiped 'yes' on Tinder without thinking too deeply. Dusty brown hair, Thick brows, a sharper jawlime, and a crooked Roman nose-

Well what was left of one at least.

You were silent for a moment. Thinking it over. You didn't want to sweep it under the rug with a insensitive 'It's not that bad'- Nor a pitied 'I'm sorry-' And definitely not something to bring back whatever he had gone through in asking too many questions.

"Well.. Its definitely fucked I give you that"

...

You flushed as you realized what had slipped past your lips. Horrified by your honesty and lack of tact- 2am brain was not the ideal state to be in when having this chat.

He gave a crackly gravel like chuckle, the first time you'd heard him make any sort of noise like that before- and you could see the curve of a smile. But was hidden quivk when he pulled down the mask.

"Da It is"

Nikto almost sounded relieved by this- You weren't sure why however still it made you feel like an asshole.

"I uh.. probably shouldn't have said it that way.."

He shook his head, you could tell he was smiling still at your words for some unholy reason- If not amused or happy?

"We prefer the honesty- But I have question now"

Nikto was once again anything but predictable... So fast after just revealing clearly a very traumatic situation flipping it on you as if it's nothing.

"Shoot"

"You got nicer clothes, Why aren't you wearing them?"

You were silent for a second yourself, Already feeling a bubble of embarrassment starting to settle in your chest. However you figured if he just showed you something as vulnerable as a busted up face you could at least be honest yourself.

"I'm um- Still getting over my Postpartum body.. its not really something I want to show off"

You wanted to say that it probably wasn't helping you were eating fast food at 2 in the morning, but hey might as well.

He hums, mumbling something to himself which you had no chance of hearing before looking to you.

"Explains the covered mirror-"

You felt your body run cold at first then heat up as you tightened your arms over the bag with wide eyes- Feeling now incredibly exposed as you knew damn well he had been peeping on you.

"You and these god damn cameras-"

He snorted a bit as he stepped closer, His head cocked to the side locking eyes with you as he moved in.

"Do not worry- You are very pretty. Not 'Fucked' like we are"

Nikto hummed, those far too bright and creepy eyes almost baring into your soul, Making you stumble back.

"Thank You?.."

You say softly- a light tremble in your voice as he gently grasp your chin. There was a few beats of silence- It was odd and danced on the line of terrifying to awkward.

"I- Should finish eating and uh get to bed"

You say quickly. He hummed softly in agreement if not reluctant as he released your chin but didnt move so you had to slip past far too close to him, quickly walking down the hall.. Only glancing back once as you see Nikto standing there watching you as you go into the room.

What ever that was- It wasn't good..

[housecow]

i have knee problems stemming from an injury when i was younger. if i step wrong and fall in a certain way, the pain is so bad i can’t walk. but sometimes i like to fantasize: what if something even worse happens and i can’t walk for weeks? what if i happen to be in regular close contact with my feeder?

it’d be hard being told i have rest and let myself heal. there are plans coming up that have to be cancelled, the few active hobbies i have left take a hit. but…it’s so easy to accept every snack brought to me. after all, i sought out a feeder—this lifestyle is the one i’ve eaten myself towards. and he knows i have an inclination towards eating too much. that first week goes easier than it should; weight starts to pile on. but i miss going out, even running errands sounds nice. in the few moments my hands are absent of food or a shake i am regularly in contact with my friends.

the next week i’m better but… i feel slow. my feeder has started to keep people away because i need to rest and he’s right, healing is taxing on the body. i start responding less to others, too. our funnel has gotten so much more use in the last few days. the sugar and constant snacks step up and i can tell there is an agenda behind it all but *god* it feels good to be doted on. he helps me through the necessary exercises but trips across the house are rare. i notice how difficult it is to lift myself up now—how sedentary have i been?

that question doesn’t cross my mind again, there are better things to focus on. my feeder knows how to use my adhd to his advantage—food, sex, TV, and games all provide the dopamine hit needed to keep me distracted. the 3rd week is similar enough to the 2nd: ritualistic feeding becomes the norm. we don’t need a valve to control the flow on the funnel anymore, he knows i can finish everything. my belly is swollen out into my lap all of the time now, if i hold my boobs aside i can see new stretch marks creeping across my expanding hips. i expect the snacks, “babe, can you grab me something from the fridge?” is a phrase heard several times in the day. and my feeder obliges.

the 4th week we have an appointment and im told i should walk and start being active again. the doctor looks nervous though and tells me i need to watch my weight, he says something like “its alarming how quickly this happened,” but i blocked it out because—i can’t even see how much i weigh? my belly blocks the view now. oh my god.

in the car afterwards my feeder expresses doubt at the situation: “you don’t look so steady on your feet, i think you should still take it easy.” his eyes meet mine and i don’t miss the brief glance away, desire obvious at the sight of my rounded figure that’s entirely his fault. i know what he wants and i can’t deny myself that want, either. and he knows better in these situations, i trust his judgement. maybe it is best to stay in. plans can be pushed further back… the walk back to the car was a little difficult, too.

the next weeks—or does it span months?—pass in a blur. staying in is all i want to do. although i’m supposedly healthy again, i rarely get up and walk around more than needed. “needed” means a slow, clumsy walk to the fridge and back to either the couch or the bed. when my feeder is not there to feed me himself he takes time to order food to the door. bending down to pick things up is a monumental effort for me—a heavy, wide belly pressing into my fattened thighs. my swollen tits obscure my vision but serve as an excellent table when i need.

my feeder comes home one day and im asleep, taking up more than my fair share of the couch. my breaths are not easy and its obvious how much i ate beforehand: mostly-empty 2 liters, takeout containers haphazardly stacked on top of one another as they were finished, countless snack packages balled up and stuck between the couch cushions because sometimes i like to squirrel stuff away. as if there was a chance of hiding these habits my feeder built.

but the best part of it all is the empty pitcher sat against the corner of the couch, because i couldn’t reach to the coffee table to properly set it down with so much fat making every movement difficult.

the remnants a weight gain shake. our usual ingredients of cake mix, melted ice cream, strawberries, chocolate syrup, nutella, crushed oreos. it was hastily made, however, and it’s obvious by the chocolatey powder on the sides of the container that it was about the calories this time, not the taste. he can see where some escaped the pitcher and poured down my overly plump, round face and past the lovingly cultivated double chin. it dripped onto my breasts, lovely puddles of calories he wish made it inside of me even if the sight is wonderful. after that thought, an idea comes up. how deep are the rolls he’s gifted me? a cow this size needs to be used.

[solxamber]

Octavinelle #8 comedy please!!

Mountain Madness || Jade Leech

For the Holiday Event! || Prompt: "This is non-negotiable" ; Genre: Comedy

It was supposed to be a simple day. You’d been running errands, trying to avoid chaos (and failing, as always), when you accidentally opened the wrong door.

“Ah, Prefect,” Jade Leech greeted, his serene smile both comforting and terrifying.

“Uh, hi, Jade. I think I—”

Before you could finish explaining, his hand latched onto your wrist.

“Perfect timing,” he said smoothly. “We’re always looking for new members.”

“We?” you echoed, glancing around the empty clubroom.

“Yes,” he said with no hesitation.

Before you knew it, you’d signed the Mountain Lover’s Club application form, Jade watching with a look of triumphant amusement.

“Great,” he said. “Now that it’s official, let me explain one of our fundamental activities.”

You paused, suddenly filled with dread. “What fundamental activity?”

“Hiking, of course,” Jade said, his smile widening ever so slightly.

The pen fell out of your hand. “...Hiking?”

“This is non-negotiable,” he said, as if you’d just suggested sitting in the clubroom and doing nothing.

You should have known better than to agree to anything involving Jade Leech. Now, you were halfway up a mountain trail, desperately clutching your knees as you tried not to collapse.

“I��m dying,” you wheezed, glaring at Jade, who looked like he’d stepped out of a magazine ad for adventure gear.

“Come now, Prefect,” he said cheerfully, bending down to examine a patch of mushrooms. “You’re doing well for a beginner.”

Well? You felt like you’d aged a hundred years in the past hour.

“Why are you even stopping?” you demanded, waving at him as he crouched over another fungi cluster. “Are those mushrooms paying your rent?!”

“Curiosity is its own reward,” he replied, holding up a specimen like it was a trophy.

You groaned, slumping onto a nearby rock. “Curiosity is going to kill me.”

He finally looked over, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re swaying.”

“I’m not swaying,” you lied, your legs disagreeing with you.

Jade approached, setting down his mushroom with great care before offering you his hand. “Very well. I’ll slow down.”

You blinked up at him, suspicious. “You mean that?”

“For now,” he said, helping you up with a deceptively gentle grip.

The rest of the hike was slower—thank the Great Seven—and you actually managed to breathe like a normal human being again. By the time you reached a clearing, the view almost made you forget how much you hated exercise.

“This isn’t... entirely awful,” you admitted, staring at the picturesque scene before you.

Jade chuckled softly, sitting beside you. “High praise indeed.”

“You’re lucky I’m too tired to argue,” you muttered, leaning back on your hands.

He tilted his head, watching you with that unreadable expression. “Perhaps you’ll even grow to enjoy it one day.”

“Don’t push your luck, Leech.”

But when he smiled that small, almost sincere smile, you couldn’t help but wonder if maybe—maybe—this cursed day wasn’t so bad after all.

Masterlist

[saint-strychnine]

two-backed beast

Ogata Hyakunosuke/reader "In which the stereotype about single women and cats rings true. Or: An exercise in self preservation and androphobia" Rating: Explicit (18+) TW: Parental death mention, female loneliness, paranoia, misandry, misogyny, unreliable narrator, psychological decline, explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, mental instability, agoraphobia. Word count: 13.2k AO3: Pharmaceutica

There's a reason that male animals kept in polite society are neutered. Farmers keep one rooster, a handful of bulls- separated, typically by pasture- and whatever variety of studs or sires are penned on an agricultural estate. Stallions are gelded to make them placid, good natured, and so friendly they are the ideal steeds for children to mount. Reason would have it that they are illogical beasts, driven mad by lust and domination to the point of killing other males of the same species and his own offspring. The annihilation of order is male nature if castration is off the table. Humans, somehow, missed such a memo on a grand scale.

You are 25 when your father dies.

The funeral your mother arranges last minute is in every shade of hurried, only a few family members made the begrudging trip to offer condolences on a muggy August night. You remember her crying and acting as if the sky had fallen out of the sky, the devastation wrought deep and unrelenting in every corner of her soft face. You do not feel much. He was not a bad father or even a bad man, overtly, but you cannot help but feel that maybe this is not the worst outcome. He perched himself like a fat house pet in a recliner most nights and his hair was falling out. Maybe it was time for this to happen. He was only a few years older than your mother but he happened to age at nearly triple the rate. What an alarming sequence of events. Maybe he was dying this entire time and nobody ever even knew. After all, he did not always look this way.

"You're a strong girl," Your mother says, her voice is shaking and a hair above a whisper "You're strong for me." Her grip is cold and corpselike as she presses her face into your stomach, kneeling on the ground. Your poor mother, clammy fingers pet through her brittle hair and a painful lump pangs in your esophagus. Seeing your mother cry is such a disturbing thing.

Maybe something is fundamentally wrong with you to mourn your mother's grief over the death of your father but feel next to nothing now that man who raised you is gone. Again, you remind yourself, he was not a bad man. Your mother cries most nights, the bags under her eyes are inflamed and pregnant looking and her face sags with misery. Cooking dinner has been your chore for about two years and neither parent would complain about the quality of the dishes, but now you feel an insurmountable pressure to fix your mother's hellish state with food.

A fool's errand if there ever was one.

Retreating to your bedroom after the dishes are cleaned up is your only option and quite frankly, you can only listen to your mother's raw voice for so long. I'm a bad daughter, you'd think, peeling back the covers of your bed and crawling in after a too hot shower. The fabric is cold on your skin and the whir of the desk fan next to your bed makes goosebumps erupt over your flesh. Maybe if you were a better daughter you would have gone to the grocery store and bought a nice pork belly and some flowers and treated your mother to a dish she grew up eating, but you have unfortunately come to find a sense of comfort in the death of your father. A threat neutralized, a parasite expelled, an infection quelled.

The next morning you don't bother changing out of your pajamas, just like the morning before and the one before that. You don't leave the house, you're not dirty per se, and there is nobody you are trying to impress here, therefore there is no logical reason for you to change out of your pajamas. Your puffy mother is too stricken with grief to nudge you out of the nest to go buy fruit or go for a walk, so she sits at the breakfast table with a room temperature cup of tea with her hair a mess and says nothing about the fact she has seen you wearing the same thing for four days straight.

"Could you do something for me?" She turns to you, eyes sunken in. It strikes you as an uncomfortable sight.

"Yes, what?"

"After breakfast, please get the mail. Your father's friend said he sent a card with a little money in it," nod, nod, and one more nod. You're not paying attention too closely as you refill the electric kettle that is nearly as old as you are, watching as the appliance bubbles noisily when you turn it on. Damn thing probably gave me lead poisoning and made me like this . It wasn't like you were strapped for cash, but with your father's death there won't be extra income coming in. Your mother may expect you to get a job now.

Something about the sun on your skin never failed to make you nauseous. You try not to perseverate over a little two minute errand while you blow on your tea, the taste of last night thick in your throat. Everything about this morning was less than ideal, if you ever had imagined such a concept of ideal before. Regardless, it wasn't nice. You weren't particularly thrilled with it, and you contemplated what you might wear to go to the mail box. You're 25 and deliberating how bad of a social faux pas it might be to get your mail in something less than business casual. An intentional slurp of hot tea draws you out of your thoughts.

There is a gray cable knit sweater you have in the back of your closet that you haven't touched in two years. There is also your skirt from high school, an ankle length beast of fabric that devoured your womanly form in a single swallow. Perhaps there was a comfort to being consumed by your clothing where once you had been eaten, you were no longer appetizing to those around you. Your mother watched you drift up the stairs of your home and back down in a ten minute succession, her supple eyes looking wary as you go for the mail key. Part of her was back, you supposed, seeing that flash of mild discomfort was enough. She never did get rid of her habit of chiding you for being slovenly.

The sun aches against your eyes and skin, and it bites when you flinch at the unrelenting sensation. A wrinkle in your nose has your eyes squinted as one foot pushes in front of the other and carries you, an empty vessel, down the pavement. It's just getting the mail, it isn't supposed to be anything terrifying, but the sensation of eyes follows you. That was the thing- after you graduated from high school and your friends drifted off like dandelion fluff, you had taken a deep comfort in the walls of your bedroom.

Slotting the key into the paint chipped mailbox, you're greeted with the sight of a small envelope perched upon a magazine for a makeup brand, below that is an advertisement for window repair, and under that is something from the funeral home. Half tempted to throw that one into a storm drain, you tuck it under your arm and turn around and damn near launch the mail into the air upon seeing a man standing behind you, equally as unenthusiastic to be at the mailbox as well. Your jump of surprise must annoy him because his cat-eyes narrow, but beyond that, he makes no other cue that he's displeased.

"You look like you've seen a ghost," Your mother starts, tearing into the envelope once your retreat was successful from enemy territory. Her voice is gravely from last night's crying.

"I ran into a neighbor when I wasn't expecting it."

"Oh," She doesn't bother to read the card, counting up the yen that spills out. "I would've thought it was a stray dog. I keep telling that old man down the street that it's going to get shot if he lets it roam around like that. Which neighbor was it? Was it Watanabe? She's nice. Left us flowers last week, you know."

"No, it was a man." Well, you're not sure if it was really a man. He looked more like a cat and had deep, unsettling black eyes.

"Mm. I see, I think you probably saw Kadokura then, the other old man. He's also friendly. Your father was friends with him."

"He was younger than Kadokura." Was he? You're not exactly a fan of this guessing game as your mother counts up a plush stack of yen- A little money my ass. Mr. Kobayashi has always liked mom. Your eyes narrow. It looks to be at least 50,000 yen based off of the crisp bills. You want to sneer at such a lowly, wretched display. Truly something grotesque. You wonder if your mother is privy to Mr.Kobayashi's advances.

"So a young man? I think Tome Ogata has a son. He lives with her, to my knowledge. That's probably who you saw."

"...okay." You're not sure why this has her interest piqued, but you don't intend to stick around and find out. Her gaze is already smoldering into you as you take your leave to wrestle out of your skirt and sweater and crawl back into bed.

Unfortunately this would not be the last instance of Tome Ogata's impact on the world coming around to haunt you, or more specifically, your sanctuary. The next morning you hear the voice of a woman mingling with that of your mother's. She speaks in a hushed tone and you can hear the soft clinking of your mother's wedding bone china tittering in between woman-speech. Twenty five is patently too old to be sitting on the steps leading from your room but it is in your interest and decidedly your mother's that you listen in. You don't know this Tome your mother addresses so gently, what if she is aware of your father's life savings? People do strange things when men die. The sleep is still crusted in your eyes and your skin feels a touch greasy, perhaps you don't descend the stares out of shame for your neglect of hygiene, or maybe you don't want to see the same cat-eyes from yesterday.

"I'm so sorry to hear of your husband's death, losing your lover can be difficult," Tome doesn't sound all quite there and you can hear the unwrapping of a teacake from the cupboard. Your cousin sent those over two days ago and they're going into the belly of someone you don't know. Heaving a sigh, your mother sits.

"It is what it is, really. I was always telling him he needed to stop eating the way he did and put the bottle down. Every day he'd grow fatter and fatter and more tired," stab, "His doctor tried to tell him. His friends tried to tell him. I tried to tell him. He would not even listen to his own wife. He'd tell me he'd start losing weight soon, or perhaps when the financial quarter at work was over," chew, sniff, point at the woman across from her with her tea fork, "He wouldn't change for anyone. I told him he'd miss his daughter's wedding if she ever got married and he'd never see her off properly. He deliberated over that one." It was your turn to sniff, sour lemon scrunching your face. What a repulsive notion.

"Men are frustrating and mercurial. I understand your pain. Reasoning with them can be fruitless, I lost the better part of my life to pining after one," Tome's bone colored fingers are clasped around her tea cup, her gaze is intense as your mother rubs her cheek. "Somedays I still think he'll call or write. My son tells me I need to stop living in the past. But my point is that you did what you could. Please don't blame yourself." You're unburdened, now.

"I just wish he didn't kill himself, I really feel like everything I did for him is down the drain. I've lost the man I've loved for as long as I can remember." Your earliest memory of your father was him taking you to a park to feed ducks and patiently spoon feeding you a little bit of ice cream in your stroller as leaves rustled impatiently around you two. Now both him and the man who lived in the recliner are nothing but ash on your mother's nightstand. Your toes curl into the worn down soles of your slippers as you continue to listen in. Tome offers your mother advice that you approve of, not that you have any business delegating yourself to being your mother's owner in wake of your father's demise. You can't even stomach a trip to the mailbox without running from your neighbor and bitching about the sunlight on your face. To what end are you an authority in any matter outside of your bedroom?

"Sometimes," your mother begins with a familiar water logged tone "I feel as if my daughter is not coping."

"She lost her father. It will be difficult for her for a while. When my own parents passed away some days I could not even pull myself out of bed and my son would have to wash my hair for me."

"Ah, my daughter cooks for me... The night he passed away she got me into bed and laid with me. I cried a lot, I fear I haven't let her cry or process her emotions, I've relied on her for the home to be kept up. It should be the other way around, I think."

"No no," Tome waves a hand. Where is she going with this? You can't see the pair, but you can make an educated guess on their mannerisms. "It is okay to rely on others. You trust your daughter, yes?"

"Of course,"

"Then trust that if she felt she was burdened she would tell you." Tome speaks as if she knows what she's talking about. She doesn't, you're sure of it, and you've heard the woman slept with men for money. Perhaps this is a skill she's picked up, appropriate, solid advice that is appropriately applicable yet you get the sinking sensation she does not practice what she preaches.

"But, another thing," your mother grips the bone china cup, glancing haphazardly at the steps. "She's asleep still," she is not. Tome blinks, expecting some revelation about the assumption. "My daughter is 25, her father is dead, and she's lived at home with us for seven years. She attended college locally at a small University. I'm afraid she may stay here forever and die in this home as her father did, as I will, and then her. I have no other children, Tome, I can't take care of her forever. What should I do? She's never had a boyfriend."

"I see," ice crystalizes in deposits under your skin, right into the layer of adipose fat. Tome sets her cup down. "Funny enough," there's nothing funny about this "My son Hyakunosuke is in a similar boat, a little older than your daughter. After he was in the army he came back to live with me and got a job in an office. No girlfriend, some days I don't think he has friends at all. He's a handsome enough young man, but he simply is in his own head too much."

"Yes, my daughter is like that too, I tried for years to get her to put herself out there, but you can only do so much. Her friends are all married and she's at home with no prospects. Once my husband's funds run out she will have to help support us. I'd like grandchildren, Tome, this family is only getting smaller as the years pass."

Maiden. Mother. Crone.

As you dwell on the repetitive cycle, you draw yourself a steaming hot bath and force yourself to scrub away the days worth of sleep off of your skin. Something about a woman like Tome speaking to your mother makes you uncomfortable. Your mother always said Tome was beautiful and worldly, but syphilis had touched her mind and she had gone a little crazy from the years of pining after her child's father- apparently some political bigwig now. You don't understand why women engage with them, you don't understand why they birth their children and want for them, you don't understand why they do all of this just to have the fruits of their love grow fat and old and bloated. Perhaps you're missing something vital that every other woman seems to have, perhaps you were born deformed and lacking an organ that would allow you to see the humanity in the opposite sex. Dragging a washcloth over your face you deliberate and turn the thought over in your brain until it's sandblasted down into a smooth pebble. You make two conclusions, wholly informed by your own observation.

1. Men are fantastically parasitic animals. They must be, in some way, alluring enough to get a partner. Once secured, they dig in and become too comfortable.

2. Self preservation erodes significantly over time and having children exponentially speeds up this process. It is also irreversible and manifests brainwashing.

Why your mother would ever suggest you partake in such a vicious cycle is beyond you. Perhaps she secretly dislikes you and wants you to suffer just as she did in the end. Perhaps this is one step closer to self actualized womanhood , or whatever that is. You would never become a woman like Tome, you would never become a woman like your own mother. Indignation flares within you, a rare instance of bitter frustration licking at the innermost membrane of your brain. It bubbles and spits like pork fat in a hot pan.

Tome becomes a regular guest at your house for some reason.

The woman is clearly versed well in the art of speech despite her starved brain, every conversation is a meal to her and every complementary sweet and drink in front of her is merely nibbled at. Tome thrives on gossip and struggle more than she gains sustenance from food. Even still, she's a beautifully shaped woman with a beautiful face and a deep practiced elegance about her. The first time you miscalculated your descent from your bedroom you made eye contact with her and nearly started crying. The gap between you was cavernous, steep, and yawning, it was like seeing a groomed show cat perched in your kitchen, an oversized silk yukata half hanging off the old prostitute.

"Hello."

"Hello, Ms. Ogata."

"You can call me Tome, you don't have to be so formal, we're neighbors. How are you doing? Are you holding up alright?" Ah, perhaps you feel guilty for judging the woman. She's just lonely, clearly.

"I'm okay." Well, that's all you say before you feel awkward as Tome waits for you to supplement a little more into the conversation. She's starving, can't you see it? "...Thanks for coming by and talking to my mom. All of her friends moved away. Her best friend lives in America now and they can't talk much."

"Of course, it's always nice to get closer with someone else. Your mother's a good woman, I'm very sorry about your father."

"It's alright, it's nobody's fault." The lie tastes sweet and measured on your tongue, like a sugar cube weighing exactly six grams. Maybe if the fat bastard hadn't ate and drank himself to death he'd still be here, albeit slightly less fat and rocking back and forth in the recliner like a drinky-bird mechanism. Tome's expression softens very slightly at that, her fist curling like a paw and her cheek resting on it.

"If you ever need to get out of the house you're always welcome to come over for tea or lunch. I'm home most days and my son works the weekdays."

"Thank you, that's very nice to offer." You can't imagine anything more awkward, but Tome smiles all the same, her pretty lips quirking up. Busying yourself, you make yourself a reheated bowl of leftovers and squirrel yourself up to your bedroom. The taste of leftover soup lingers thick in the back of your throat like cobwebs, and the bowl remains half finished and room temperature on your desk.

Something questionable lingers in the back of your brain, nestled deep between the sand blasted pebbles of prior ponderings and the other rougher works in progress. Sunset brings a blue wash over your bedroom, oozing in meticulously through the pinholes of the blinds. The glow of your phone screen and the hovering of your thumb over your keyboard was not a new sensation, in fact it was the thing you did to occupy your time more often than not, but an itch had to be scratched. You were privy to a lot about your body, exceptionally well acquainted with being your own lover had given you more than a decade of experience of what had to be done. You were, unfortunately, curious.

Hyakunosuke Ogata is 30 years old and works for a data processing company as an IT specialist. You heard Tome say his name a few times, Hyaku, Hyaku, Hyakunosuke.

Cat-eyes stares back at you with the same robotic expression in his corporate profile under his public resume and you scroll, thumb tacky against the scuffed screen protector, another thumb half jammed in your mouth. This feels wrong to be doing, like you're some kind of creep for being curious about the man who's mother has inserted herself rather brazenly into your life. Your mother doesn't complain, so you don't understand why you feel compelled to do so. Part of you is afraid she'll spoil your mother. Tome's morals are not your mother's morals and absolutely not your own, after all, you fear her influence will spread to her taking up Mr. Kobayashi on a date. How ironic of a daughter to fear for her mother's purity at the hands of a friend she doesn't approve of.

You swallow. Cat-eyes is the son of a whore. He's handsome enough to be the son of a whore, He clearly got a lot from Tome, just not her seductive eyes. You wonder briefly if Cat-eyes can pull the fine line of slovenly and erotic the way his mother so effortlessly does. Ah, what a sight it'd be. Part of you doesn't believe Tome is correct when she asserts her son is as alone as you are. Men are sexually driven animals, aren't they? It's what kept food on the table at the Ogata residence for so many years- a rather grim and bleak thought if there ever was one. Perhaps Cat-eyes lies to women, including his mother, and he keeps a low profile. Maybe he-

Your fingers are inside of you before the thought can reach a conclusion and your cellphone is dropped onto your duvet. What's one more stain? It's your bed after all.

An illusion shatters the morning you walk downstairs having made peace with the fact that Tome would likely be there and thus you had no reason to restrict your movement to only your room while you starved all morning out of indignation. Hyakunosuke is sitting with his mother across from your own and suddenly you feel beyond nude. Tome's eyes crinkle and your mother cranes her neck, a twitch forming in her eyebrow.

"We were just talking about you."

"Ah."

"This is my son, Hyakunosuke." Oh, you're well aware of that. Cat-eyes gives you a polite nod and says hello, his mother petting his arm soothingly as if she were stroking an uneasy animal. It's surreal. Your mother chews on her words before she spits them at you, thinly veiled contempt leaking from her painted mouth. There was always a sort of cardinal sin about being dressed the incorrect amount around men. Another social construct you didn't fully comprehend as you shakily go for a canister of green tea.

"I was hoping you'd be dressed. You know we have company."

"...Sorry."

"Oh, it's alright, really, we don't mind."

"Thank you, Tome, I swear she has manners."

The man you're pointedly not looking at has said nothing, but you feel his gaze on you. Unbeknownst to you this is something he specializes in as Ogata has perfected the art of latent discomfort to an almost terrifying degree.

Cold sweat drips down your spine as you clamor around the ancient kettle and pour a hot slush of water over your tea leaves and watch as the yellow seeps from the pouch. Making assumptions is often a losing game, but when a risk this large is present in your home you have to afford to assume the worst. You came from my rib, did you know that? Such disrespect from the filthy animal sitting in your kitchen makes you hesitant to throw a look at him one last time as you retreat to your room, feeling dirty and sticky in all the wrong places. Ogata's voice is low and rises with little effort to quell the conversation between his mother and your own- what he's saying, you don't know. Your home has been compromised, a man has been here that was not your father.

A very frank conversation is had when the guests leave. Your mother grips your arm and sternly tells you to sit down. Your humanity is pouring out of your body like a leaky faucet, its a tangible feeling and it feels like the drop in a rollercoaster.

"I was disappointed that you didn't come talk with us."

"Sorry." You aren't. Your mother does not flaunt you like you're some prized debutante, pimping you for praise.

"You have to understand that your place in this world only becomes more confined the older you get. Your father is dead." You know. She takes a breath, removing her hand from your arm. "I know you're going through a hard time. But it's not healthy to hide inside all the time and you've done this for years, it's nothing new. I think you should start going over to help Tome for a little money and just to get out of the house. Make her dinner a few nights. I'll be fine here. We spoke about it with her son, and he's not opposed to it. He mentioned her mental facilities fail her occasionally and she has a habit of making the same thing for nights on end."

"Okay, b-but"

"No. No you're going to do this, it's not cute anymore. What will people think of you when you're 30 and have no husband, no children, no way to provide for yourself?" Well. It works for Cat-eyes, Hyakunosuke, but you hold your tongue. If you were a better daughter you would've been dressing up this entire time with a proper display of flowers on the breakfast table each morning and new flavors of tea cakes. You'd have your lips painted and a beautiful silk garment hanging off of your body like water. Your mannerisms would be poignant and measured, you'd be elegant like a crane in a tidepool.

Tome is thrilled to have company.

The Ogata residence is, externally, a humble thing but the interior is decorated with a fine touch. No doubt Tome is a woman with a taste for fine things, and what you can assume is gifts from prior suitors and lovers dominate every inch of the space in which she dwells. You're not quite sure how her son can stomach a notion like that, having the leering presence of men etched into the very domicile he shares with his mother. You're chopping up a head of cabbage when you formulate another stone to sandblast- perhaps Hyakunosuke's relationship with his mother is no different than that of other men?

Cleaving down into the crisp leaves you turn your tongue over in your mouth and it feels heavy, like a glass paperweight. The smell of incense singes in your nose, Tome is humming something softly as she strokes a rather plump looking tuxedo cat. Deductive reasoning has led you to the conclusion that maybe Tome is just another resource of Hyakunosuke's, maybe she's just an extension of himself that all men collectively leech from in some way or another. But, you have no brothers, so what do you know, really?

Tome does not make a habit of complaining about your cooking, in fact she seems quite pleased to be eating something she didn't have to make. Based off of what you know you get the impression her tastebuds have been numbed to enjoy even the blandest of dishes. When you enter such a line a work you're not really yourself anymore, right? You're somebody else, you're someone's idea come to life. Your chopsticks pick up a square of okonomiyaki that falls limp against the wooden utensils. An appetite is hard to come by when your bizarro-world self sits across from you, gleefully and delicately nipping little pieces of her dinner like a finch.

"You're a good cook! You know, your mother said that was always your chore at home."

"Yes," You dip your piece back to your plate, sopping up bonito flakes. "Thank you, I'm glad you like it." That feels right. It's hard to meet the pretty woman's gaze, her hair loose and curling like cat whiskers. Speaking of, the feline she was tending to earlier has made a home for itself in the crux of your crossed legs.

"Did your mother teach you to cook?"

"No, I had a recipe book I learned from. It was very old and simple. My mom never was good at cooking, nor was my father." Tome nods along like she's interested to know more about you. It feels dirty, in a way.

"My son is actually quite good at it. He's an avid hunter, spent a great deal of time in Hokkaido and picked up some of the cuisine there. Sometimes I think he wishes to go back and leave Tokyo, but he insists he's fine here."

"I see." You've never been to Hokkaido. Your mother always said it was snowy and mountainous, many people there enjoy a beautiful landscape and mild summers and there's plenty of untouched land. The concept of virginal land is a vexing thing. You shove the soppy piece in your mouth and masticate on it for a while.

"It's noble of their children to take care of their parents. You share that in common with him. I really think I'm the reason he hasn't left yet."

"I wouldn't want to leave my mother either."

"Ah, but she's a good woman. I wasn't always so attentive to Hyakunosuke, I think it's why he's such an independent man."

"Maybe," Tome watches as your hand falls and cups the tangerine sized skull of the cat dozing in your lap, the creature curls like a ribbon and stretches like rubber. "I think my mother worries I'm not independent enough. But I reason that someone has to take care of her. Good daughters do that."

"Yes, but you must live for yourself too."

"I think I live for myself enough."

As you leave for the night after cleaning the kitchen, you dwell on what the woman said. Tome speaks of living for herself and you scoff. A woman who lives for herself does not do so in the beds of parasites with heavy pockets. That makes her no safer, no more dignified than a tree who is swallowed up by kudzu- an inanimate thing at the mercy of the organisms around it. Your mother is sitting in the recliner when you get home, in her hands more mail.

You hope none of it is from Kobayashi, the lech.

"How was Tome?"

"Fine, I think. I made her okonomiyaki, she didn't complain." You rinse your hands in the sink and your mother jeers her head.

"You have cat hair all over you."

"Yes, she has a cat. It's very friendly."

Your soak in the tub that night goes on far longer than your mother would have liked and you get out only once she bangs on the door to get her own bath. You're only in a short towel when you emerge and your mother pinches your shoulder lightly, a soft smile on her face. She laughs when your fingers pinch her cheek back with a tenderness you didn't know you were capable of, the give of her skin so very soft and full of love. She calls you a silly girl and wishes you good night.

Cat-eyes doesn't know it but you've been touching yourself after you come home from tending to his mother. There's a sense of imperiousness that comes with moving freely in the Ogata household, putting your hands on his silverware and his mother and his pet cat that doesn't seem to know the difference between a stranger and a family member. Tome tells you about him rather incessantly, as if she's selling you a used car or an item on clearance.

"I'm very proud of him, he was a superior private officer in the army," she declares one day, threading a ribbon around the throat of the squirmy pet cat. "He got a good education too, he makes good money for himself."

"Is that so?" Of course he's celebrated even if he's a bastard. You know about the Hanazawa scandal, the pig.

"Mhm. Your mother tells me you're still single."

"Oh." Tome looks nervous when your face falls, picking grapes off of a stem at the counter and slicing them in half for a fruit salad.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to come off as rude."

"It's alright."

"Do you have any plans to find a boyfriend? You're a pretty girl." You slice grapes faster and you feel a cold sweat bead up on your neck. A whore calling you pretty? You don't believe it. Tome is pretty, Tome is so pretty in fact that you're not quite sure what she's doing even wanting you around her. Perhaps the older woman likes to feel superior over you, perhaps this is that female-posturing rearing its head that was so prevalent back in school. You shrug, it's all you can offer.

"No, I've never had an interest, really. It just never was a priority."

"Nobody likes to eat Christmas cake after the 25th."

"Cake is good any time of the year, I think..." This is the most brash she's been with you, and you're too anxious to see that it comes from a place of concern. Hyakunosuke comes home early that day, the cat in Tome's arms chirrups to life and bounces from her lap, trotting over to him. You hear his low register say something to the animal and he emerges from the living room with the cat tucked in his arm like a baby. Tome clasps her hands and you start to slice into a pineapple, the crush of the fruit under your knife grounds you.

"Hyaku, welcome home, how was work?"

"Fine," The cat its kneading against his chest, its eyes squinted in euphoria as he drags his thick fingers under its fuzzy chin. His gaze focuses on you. "I wasn't expecting company, I thought I was cooking tonight." Tome waves a sleeve, a tight smile on her lips. "Nonsense, we can all eat together." You busy yourself in your work, preparing dishes as the mother and son duo chat among themselves. He's a man of few words and has an air of unease about him.

Having spent the better part of the day feeding Tome placating half-lies and awkward phrases of self preservation, you don't think you're equipped to handle her son. He's a different beast entirely, and his presence is far more foreboding than you were anticipating. He can play your game of ignoring the other, and you get the sinking feeling he's figured you out entirely. The man seems to hold you in little regard and focuses his attention squarely on his mother. Before you can make any further judgements, you have to focus on making peace with the possibility that Hyakunosuke Ogata has already dissected you and put pinned descriptions into each one of your organs.

Supper tonight is gyudon with a fruit salad dessert. It's a simple dish as all of your dishes are, and you swallow down your meal in terrifying mimicry of Tome's own mannerisms. She's a woman, you, somehow, are not and your failure to self actualize such a notion keeps you scared in the presence of the man sitting across from you. Tome's hands find her son's arm, and she squeezes the thick muscle.

"Do you like it? I think it's very good. If you weren't so dedicated to your own mother I might just steal you!" Her laughter is soft and sweet like a lark and you follow suit with sparrow noises, not quite as alluring. This feels like a losing game no matter what pieces you play. Hyakunosuke nods, sitting ramrod stiff and with his dark eyes fixated on his bowl. "I agree."

"Careful, I might just have to marry you off to my son and keep you forever." The man next to her gives her a look and she guffaws, patting at his shoulder. Your eyes don't match the light smile on your face, you're oozing with discomfort, with some sort of godless repulsion that doesn't quite manifest.

"I'm glad you like it."

Cleaning the kitchen and refilling the cats water dish before you go to leave calms your nerves, but only slightly as Ogata helped his mother to the bathroom to wash her hair and get her ready for bed while you scrubbed at bowls that left nothing more than a few grains of rice in them. Your own personal audience has not shut their eyes once since you've started coming over to tend to Tome. To think women could end up like her makes your skin ripple and crawl, to think women like her produce sons makes you nauseous. The man is a culmination of lust and obsession, of infidelity and exploitation. Ogata doesn't represent anything more to you than the misfortune of women in society, therefore, he's something you tuck away and only play with when it comes to bringing yourself to orgasm. It's only fair, right? He's a pool to drink from just as his mother is, everyone else has had a taste so why shouldn't you?"

Bumping against your legs, the soft nose of the cat pushes against your ankle and winds against your feet. The hot water burns against your skin to the point your nails start to hurt, but you just want to get the job done and go home. You can smell too much of Ogata in his own home, his cologne permeates in the background noise of the air like a subtle miasma and it's making your stomach feel strange.

"My mother seems to think she's hurt your feelings."

For the second time you nearly throw what's in your hands into the air, turning around and shutting the water off. You go for a dish towel, immediately.

"Oh, not...not at all, really, I promise. Why, is she alright?" His gaze is hard and the cat has left you, slinking against the man and leaving fur on his pants. A strand of his black hair hangs over his face like a whisker.

"Yes, but she's overstepped, she realizes that."

"It's fine, my own mother talks like that too, I think all mothers do that," He's difficult to hold eye contact with. He's geometric in every facet, like a mathematical equation that gained sentience, but not nearly enough to be considered an established person. Ogata sweeps his hair back, glancing at the animal desperately fawning for his touch at his feet.

"She wanted me to tell you she apologizes."

"That's okay, nothing to be sorry for," is all you feed these people lies? You seem to lie every time you open your mouth.

"If she says anything inappropriate it's because she's losing her mind, don't take it personally. She has a habit of talking about things she probably shouldn't," a twitch in your eye forms as you drag the dish rag over the water stained countertop. An air of nonchalance and calm is getting more difficult to administer as the seconds tick down.

"I understand," you'd like to smack him for the way he dismisses his mother's faculties.

"I scared you again, didn't I?"

"You have quiet feet. I'm jumpy."

"Clearly."

Ah. This, you fold the rag up, your back to him as you try your best not to let the disgust show on your face. He scoops the needy animal up in his arms and sits down at the countertop you just wiped off, staring at your rigid motions. You can hear the flicking of a lighter behind you. A smoker, bastard, and son of a whore? Hyakunosuke keeps sinking to new lows.

"Humor me here,"

"Sure."

"You're nearly 26 and you've never left your mother's side. Why?"

"I would ask you that but your mother says you stayed in Hokkaido for a while," the words are difficult to force out with a dry throat, and you hiccup on your speech when you say Hokkaido. Ogata's gaze burns deep into the back of your head as you wipe at a spot that isn't there anymore. Smoke eases out of his nose.

"You didn't answer my question."

"I love my mother is all..."

"Most people do. Are you unambitious?" Storm clouds must form over your face because he sits up slightly, intrigued. The dishrag gets set aside and you make the plunge to face him, his fingers laced and elbows on the countertop. You don't understand why he's interrogating you, but you do understand his intention behind it. Posturing, even when you're the scum of the earth like Hyakunosuke men like to pester and meddle. You had a cousin like that and your uncle scolded you when you kicked him for pulling your hair.

"I suppose I am." I have to leave now, bastard-whore, please never speak to me again with your dirty tongue. You stay to argue with him. His cigarette is tapped against an ornate ashtray in the shape of a crocodile.

"At least you're somewhat honest." Your tongue curls a little. This man is a blight and he seems to know it.

"What makes you think I'm a liar?"

"Women lie a lot. It's something they have to be good at."

"Are you speaking on your own experiences here or do you hold a grudge against your mother?"

"Both can be true."

"There's no point in telling me this, we don't have anything to do with each other. I feed your mother and keep her company and it doesn't have to be anything more than that. I'm not interested in her assets, I assure you."

"I wasn't intending to come off that way," He runs his palm against his hair again, glancing down at the animal in his arms. The stupid thing blinks at him.

"Alright."

"I don't dislike you, if that's what you're afraid of." Quite the opposite, but both outcomes are horrifying in their own right. If you upset the tightrope balance anymore you might just end up on the news, certainly an unfortunate possibility. You seem to let the revulsion well up in your eyes because the corner of his mouth twitches slightly.

"That's good to hear," he clearly knows you're lying again, exactly where he wants you to be. This is no better than plucking the feathers off of a chicken trying to eat-pointless and mean. Men seem to do a lot of pointless and mean things, like expiring out of gluttony or thrusting cash in your face for sex and pestering the woman who's taking on the brunt of your mother's personality.

"I don't think you mean that, really, we're more alike than we are different. I can see it all over your face that you're discontent with whatever role you've confined yourself to. Or maybe, what you've been pushed to confine to out of comfort. I'm not stupid, I can read between the lines."

"I have to go."

"Don't, I think we're on the same page more than you assume. Your mother said you never cried at your dad's funeral." You stop short of whisking out of the kitchen and go to point a finger at him, he's stopped you effectively in your tracks with a mere suggestion hidden within his phrasing. Is he like you? A wave of doubt begins to ebb and flow, drawing back a little more as he rolls his thick, naked fingers against the cat. It purrs like an engine and sinks its claws into his hand so that if he draws his hand away it will snag his flesh.

"...Alright, you're the product of an affair. We both have less than ideal fathers. That's a very common thing. I think everyone dislikes their father a little bit, even if it's a secret."

"Exactly. You understand then."

"...I'm going to go home now. It's late."

Your fingers don't even begin to suffice when you're knuckle deep in your cunt and face down in your stale sheets. Thank God your mother is asleep and unaware of the unrelenting gush of your cunt around your fingers that are far too thin to bring you any sort of tangible satisfaction in the moment. Hyakunosuke's fingers were thick and calloused and rolled like a snake, a mesmerizing display of human machinery in such a mundane action. He saw you off with a slight smile that didn't register as one as you hurried out of the bowels of his home and back to your mouse hole. Guilt rises within you at the notion you've allowed him to see some of your privacy- nothing is more valuable than keeping your cards close to your chest and protecting the sanctuary of your information. You can't mimic his fingers in the way you can play copycat with his mother and it leaves you frustrated and crying and in need of a hot bath.

The smell of breakfast welcomes you in a far more caring way than the sun does. Your mother must be getting back to her old self, or maybe her new self because she never made breakfast regularly even before your father died. Your fingers still smell like sex and your underwear is crusted over with last night's misfortune. Women joke about men being unfulfilling sex partners, something that is apparently true in the realm of fantasy as well. You descend the steps after pissing and washing your hands and try to focus on forgetting last night, the terrifying thing it was. Your mother is tossing together some eggs with vegetables and has her hair in silk scarf.

"Good morning, you're up a little earlier today," She's smiling to herself and it looks unnatural considering her bloodhound expression is all you've seen for the past month.

"Breakfast smells good," You take a seat, uneasy and still cold. She presses a dry, warm palm to your cheek and wipes at your face with her thumb.

"Eat then, you're thin."

"I will."

She's stirring up a pan with a spatula, the heat on a little higher than you would've set it for your own eggs, but that's neither here nor there. You feel strangely compelled to assume maybe she knows you spoke to Ogata. Her and Tome are getting closer and seem to share a vested concern in the sex lives of their children. It's a stomach churning endeavor and you don't understand what obsession women have with providing meat for an endless meat grinder. A plate is sat before you all the same, slightly hard eggs piled up neatly on the white porcelain you've eaten off of a million times before.

"Tome's expecting you to come over again tonight. Her son dropped some money off for you before he left for work, the envelope's on the table. Count it up."

A white paper envelope tucked against a potted plant beckons to you, and you take a little pleasure in slipping your finger under the lip of it and swiping it off in a clean motion, disemboweling a dead animal. Colorful bills spill from it like blood, and your mother moves the pan off the burner to get a closer look, her hands sliding against the countertop. Something about it feels dirty as you slide the crisp bills and leaf through them, your mother muttering the numbers along with you- "50,000 yen."

You bite your tongue and stuff the money back in the envelope before handing it over to her as you always have. Ever since you were small you handed her your spending money and she kept it filed away in a bank account you make a meager habit of touching. There's really no point when you have no earthly desires and your parents keep a spoon in your mouth. "Hyakunosuke is a generous man to give you that much."

"...maybe."

"Ah, don't be like that, you're not doing anything excessive for Tome. Do you feel shorted?"

"No," Not physically, at least. This feels like it's a habit he picked up from his uncaring, unloving stud-father.

"Make sure you thank Tome when you go over, that's truly a very nice amount he's given you."

"I'll just thank him in person... He came home when I was there last night."

"Hm?" You gag at the glissando in your mother's tone and at the dirty smile she gives you. This feels like something just short of molestation as heat rises up your neck and stains your ears red.

It's akin to pulling teeth to drag yourself over to Tome's home that late afternoon. You're wearing your mother's dress because all of your leaving-the-house clothes are sitting in a stale pile in the corner of your bedroom. Laundry isn't an appealing thing to be doing anyway, even if it's necessary work. Tome smiles like you're her beloved daughter when you enter her home, slipping off your shoes. In your arms you have a basket of tea cakes your mother insisted on you bringing her. This feels like an endless exchange of fanfare and niceties with nothing to show for it. The cat rattles excitedly while pressed against the wall, tail fluttering like an insect. You get to work and have significantly less patience for any sort of prattle at the moment, something Tome is completely unaware of as she runs hand over hand over hand against the animal in her lap, recounting some vacation she took to Thailand many years ago.

Tonight's dish is smoked mackerel and rice. You feed a little tender piece of fish to the fussy cat and watch as it laps of the sweet meat with its raspy tongue. Tome coos at it like its a baby when it turns to her and whines, a wet look on its face it goes trotting to its mother for comfort at having no more fish to snack on.

"Poor baby, you'll just starve, won't you? What will we do then? You're just skin and bones..." The fat thing bats at her with its paws, never daring to strike its mother with any real malice. She tickles the plump creature as you drag a sharp blade against the belly of a cooked fish and begin to meticulously dislodge the pin feather bones stuck in the meat. Maybe Ogata isn't wrong to want someone to step in for his mother every now and again, you wonder if he really does come right home after work or if he lingers and meanders and stretches his time out. Working for a company like that can't be that taxing. He's probably only doing it to avoid an awkward repetitive conversation with his half insane mother.

But Ogata does come home as you're plating up dinner and seems to notice that you've reached to fix a third as he walks in. His mother goes through the typical song and dance of asking about his day, petting him over while she chatters to him like a parakeet and tells him he's a good, handsome boy. Dinner, once more, is a humiliation ritual you want no part in.

"Hyakunosuke sent over some money this morning, you got it didn't you?"

"Y-yes, thank you, you're very generous-"

"Don't worry about it. I enjoy the company. Not many people stick around, you know. It's an important thing." There's a weight in that sentence that Ogata seems to dislike the flavor of as he gives his mother a side glance and she shuts up about it, changing the subject to something she saw on the television about an endangered animal being born at the Ueno zoo. The food has no flavor in your mouth despite your best efforts and knowing you seasoned and dressed everything properly. You chew your food to liquid and swallow tea down to wash the remnants of the slurry out of your mouth. Being in the presence of Ogata has rendered you to being a cornered animal as if you've forgotten your civility entirely.

You do your best to finish washing the dishes while Tome is taken to bed so you can avoid a conversation with Hyakunosuke. Throwing glances over your shoulder every so often as you scrub plates clean does nothing in particular to ground yourself. You're borderline manic when you do hear his footsteps and it makes you a little angry that he's finished his job and that he could've been audible the entire time you've been stuck playing this stupid game with him.

"She's glad you don't hate her."

"I have no reason to hate your mother, I promise you."

"That's good, a lot of people don't really like her very much." He's lighting another cigarette up, watching as you dry waterlogged plates with a new rag. It has a persimmon pattern on the cloth.

"That's unfortunate. She's nice. Probably my mom's only friend now."

"She's crazy."

"You don't speak highly of her." A plate goes in the drying rack.

"It's not a dislike, but she's a handful. Drove me crazy growing up."

"That's very normal for parents. Also, wasn't she the one who stuck around and raised you?"

"Your father stuck around to raise you and you're fine with the fact he's dead. What does that have to do with anything?"

Your finger fits perfectly in the lip of the plate in your hands and you turn to him, his shoulder pressed against the wall. He looks like he's going to melt if he puts anymore weight into it.

"I don't know. Is there a reason you want to talk about this?"

"There's an understanding I think we share here," he starts again, and there's a crease in your brow as he lights up another cigarette. From the looks of it, it's hand rolled and neatly packed with tobacco. The silver zippo in his fingers snaps like a firecracker before he slips it back into his pocket. Nothing about this impresses you and he can sense that. "You'll never come to experience love in the same way my own mother won't. Your mother's love expired too. Don't you think that accounts for something? Why are you different than them?"

"I just am"

"I don't think you are. You played it too safe, I think. I've listened in on enough brunches to know you're a basket case and a half- but I don't think it's unjustified at all." He slides his finger against the cigarette case in his hands, an ornate piece of metal that has a forest scene etched on it. Bile wells up in your throat as he forces your gaze to linger on his.

"...You don't have any authority to comment on this-"

"Maybe you think that, but we're both correct in that there's an unchecked problem going on here that's deeper than either of us want to acknowledge. You're sensitive to the very imbalance you're forced to partake in."

"You're the one handing me money to play nice with your mother. Is this different than what she did for a living, or is that an acceptable outcome for the both of us? You seem to be aware of what the problems are and what's caused them. You can't deny that our condition isn't nebulous despite pretending it's not clear cut."

He swipes his hair from his face, looking away just to collect his thoughts. He's a handsome creature, built like predator with a petty sense of resolve painting every minute, little action of his. He exhales through his nose, half shrugging.

"I suppose that's one way to look at it," he starts, those unsettling eyes boring clear through you like a gunshot, "But the way I see it is that you're doing nothing to protect yourself. Your own mother said it best, when she dies, what choice do you have?"

You feel compelled to shake him as he fiddles with the cuff of his sleeve, unblinking, like he's already gotten his prize and he's just anticipating the apex of the conversation. The persimmon print rag falls from your hands on the counter in front of you and you swallow, feeling as if every raw nerve in your body has been exposed. There's no triumph in his gaze, just simple confirmation. This isn't a sport to him, this is a natural progression of courtship. He can sense you want to bolt the second he can see the gears stop turning in your head.

"I don't trust you."

"I don't expect you to trust me."

"Then why are you doing this?"

"Because we're getting drawn closer together. I'm not my father, the only bad habit I have is skirting hunting regulations."

"Wrong. You're the same as every other man on Earth, are you so arrogant to think you're special?"

"I asked you that about yourself and you seemed quite content to believe you were some heavenly chosen virgin in some way or another. You won't ever admit it, though. That kind of thing is only admirable in women, I think. I have a half brother who holds the same belief about himself and he's insufferable. I don't find you insufferable, though, your reasoning has a legitimacy to it. His doesn't." He looks away again, a whisker strand falling in front of his face. "Men like that destroy everything they touch."

You take a breath, trembling. To have to articulate yourself about something you've snuggled up with so long feels like getting your ribs yanked out of a gaping wound. He looks like he's about to close the gap between you but you grip the rag again and knead it back and forth into a ball with your hands. He nearly smiles. Nearly. "...Don't flatter me."

"I'm not trying to, I assure you."

He thinks you're going to leave when you wordlessly go to walk out the door and just stop short in front of him, the look in your eyes is wild.

"I want you to know that I had a lot of really bad thoughts about you. And they won't go away. And I think it's some sort of punishment for putting into words about what I know is true and keeping myself chaste. It isn't fair to me. It's unbearable, I think, really." His hand is dry and warm against your head as you stare at his chest, making a subtle move to snuff his cigarette out and toss it off. "I don't doubt that you did."

"No, these are sexual thoughts, actually. If I could kill you and do away with you and get away with it I think I would."

The heat is palpable in your face and he studies the way your features lock up in something short of a rictus grin. His thick fingers brush the hair out of your face and his poker face is something you envy deeply. The gnawing roar of a hormonal crash is doing a good job of suppressing every one of your firing neurons screaming at you to cut your losses, go home, disappoint your mother, and never show your face to the Ogata family again.

"Repression makes you do weird things."

"I'm not repressed."

"You are."

"Don't tell me what I am."

It's more tongue than not when your arms find their way around his neck, the scent of him clogging your brain up like beeswax. The sensation of a kiss is somewhat disgusting but he holds you all the same as you eek out something new for once, heart hammering in your chest. He can feel the palpitations against his own and he stands there in utter graceless patience as the awkward merging of your mouths cease. Wordlessly he wipes his lips off with the back of his sleeve and you're a trembling wreck on the verge of hyperventilating.

Ogata waits for your next move as your fingers bunch into the fabric of his shirt and you give a dogged look at him. Why, you're pleading, why does this happen to me? But he allows you another heavy, unpracticed kiss as you grip at him with an intensity you've never made an effort to show before. His broad hand smooths down your spine like he's soothing the fussy pet cat that's resting in Tome's room for the night. Between kisses, he takes the gaps as an opportunity to inform you.

"You," smack, "don't have a clue" kiss, "of what you're doing." He can feel the kneading motion of your little hands in the muscles of his back and it becomes abundantly clear he's nothing more than a sexual outlet for you as you notch your fingers into every powerful square curve of his broad-cat body. He should be flattered, of course, but there's a sensation of consumption lingering under your touches. You don't want to be free from the role of men, you want to assume it in its entirety by any means necessary. He can respect that, he supposes, only the unmeasured insanity of a forgotten woman could be a beast in the face typical male behavior. She's unpredictable, only she could operate with such a sense of erratic franticness and be a threat in her own right.

Scooping you up in his arms he wordlessly takes you up the wooden stairs of the house and can feel the sagging limp of your body, winding subtly under his touch like an ermine. It's serpentine and erotic the way you tumble gently into the plush covers of his futon, the door securing shut behind you. For all intents and purposes, he's trapped himself in a cage with a wild animal.

Your legs spread with a shocking effortlessness as you wind in place in the dark. Only the low warm light from the hallway offers a parcel of sight in the indigo darkness of his bedroom. There's a rustle of fabric and your hindbrain hijacks your better judgement as you slide a hand up his bare stomach and up his ribs. He's dead silent and slowing his movements, as if you'd sink your nails into his skin and rip it off if he made any sudden moves. You cup a pectoral and squeeze it, then drag your hand over his bicep, then back to his chest and down again. It's no different than an animal examining roadkill, determining if there's enough to nourish her for the night or if she should cut her losses and go hungry another night.

Hyakunosuke is built sturdy and compact in the way a bobcat is. A soft whine croons from you when the man lays you down with surprising carefulness, and you're unable to suppress a squirm when his thick fingers curl against your hips and then legs, feeling you over as if he were looking for the spot to start tearing your feathers off after you fell out of the sky. But there is no soft eiderdown to yank out, there's only untouched skin. He swallows when you don't push him away. An understanding has been met.

"Do you really not have any experience."

"...No."

"I see," he breathes, taking his time to slip a finger against the soft nest of hair between your legs. It's an electrifying, ticklish sensation and your stomach jumps at his firm, sure touch. You lay still, allowing him to feel you over and drink in the unmapped, uncharted parts of your body. There's a supposition to be made that he's truly never going to know until sex occurs with the lights on, but you concede and melt into the futon below you like water. You can make out the deep black gaze he's holding against you as his finger touches down between the puffy folds of your vulva, a heady moisture clinging to his digit.

He's half tempted to tell you about why that makes you so whole, so ideal, but he doesn't out of knowing it could spurn your mercurial nature and swipe at him. There's a set of cards he must play and he's aware of this as he inches a finger inside of you. It's an alien sensation to have something you can't control nestle deep within your core and blindly nuzzle around your plush walls. He exhales, his voice catching the edge of his breath.

"Do you feel that," He begins, slightly withdrawing his finger only for it to retreat inside of you. "You're receptive. It's not uncommon for different animals to display signs of it- are you ovulating?"

"I-" You face heats up as he maneuvers his finger again. That didn't sound like pillow talk, he's asking as if he's about to lecture you. "I don't know?" Are you supposed to be? Such fluctuations during the month have only proven to upset you when all you wish for is quiet.

"Many animals, when they go into heat, will signal that they're receptive to the males of their species. Typically, by urinating or posturing in some way," his finger curls, you feel like he's stroking your bladder from the inside of your vaginal canal, too syrupy and slippery not to keep his finger inside of you without some sort of effort on both of your ends. "I've seen mountain cats kill each other over a bush a queen pissed on. They slice each others throats open and bleed to death and the queen mates with none of them. She'll have kits with a reserved, older male who has survived his years of competition. Only those who have self control and know what battles to fight are successful."

His finger slips into his mouth and he sucks it clean, watching the way your chest rises and falls, aroused at his low, droning voice. It's not something you should find erotic, before now you thought he seemed as emotionless as a serial killer, a metal blade of a man who has no proper consideration or appreciation for life outside of some arbitrary exception. It's a strange thing to watch him drink you off of his finger and furthermore, savor it. He makes a noise like he approves of something and a tingling sensation nips at the nape of your neck. You're allowing such a man to bed you in a desperate bid with God to render you complete and cure yourself of this ailment you can't shake. Shame is harder to come by when the man that's permeating your mind and body happens to have every intention of affirming whatever assumptions you've given him and telling you you're right. Vindication is nothing more than foreplay for something greater.

A burning sensation runs through your veins as his body lowers down upon you, the slight scruff of his beard soft against your skin as you tuck neatly into his square angles and curves padded with muscle. You don't understand why he feels the way he does, he's a salaryman, an office lackey who should've lost the privilege of his army hardened body years ago. His spiel about the cats precludes the way he allows his cock to settle just at the apex between your legs, and he stills, allowing the gears in your head to start screeching and groaning as they spark and turn again. Your brain switches on like you've come to life once more and you're feeling him again, pressing your nose into his skin and breathing in the soft biscuit-scent of his flesh. It's a scent that's akin to pheromones, you reason, maybe this is why Tome and your mother suffered the way they did. Maybe Hyakunosuke will force you to suffer too.

He makes a soft noise when your sweaty, hot fingers touch his cock, petting over it like you're unsure of what you're doing- simply because you are unsure of what you're doing, you haven't been sure of what you're doing in a long time, and doubt you'll ever figure that one out even if you waste more time thinking about it.

"You smell good," you tell him, your nimble fingers winding up into his product stiffened hair as he grasps his cock with his hand and brushes the head gingerly against the gooey center of your cunt, the powerful roll of muscle under his skin urges you to press closer to him. The accumulation of this affair is driven solely by thousands of years of instinct culminating to a singularity point, a horizon you cannot leap back from, a mark that will be with you forever. Ogata's only half listening though and he sinks within you as if it's as natural as the Earth itself. You laugh a little, the thick stretch is somehow lacking in pain as he settles his weight down upon you further, his thick arms sliding under your back and neck to hold you in a brace. "Is that so,"

"It is."

"I thought you didn't like me," He muses, voice low. There's nothing teasing in his tone, a suggestion for you to explain yourself.

"You said it yourself, we're the same kind of animal, aren't we?" There's no love in your tone, you don't think you can feel something like love for him the way you love your mother. You think she'd be so happy that you've been dragged down to her level now, you think maybe this is what will make you a good daughter in her eyes. You've had the touch of a man on you, you will wear his fingerprints with pride and righteousness and you will finally be one of us. Aren't you happy?

Ogata moves and you feel the punch of his weight in his thrusts. He's not a tall man, and he's not particularly large, but he's maximizing what he's got and he's damn good at it. There's a noise in his throat like a purr as he drops his head down and closes his eyes, his forehead next to your head as his hips drive into you with a surprisingly methodical rhythm. It's hard to formulate something to say when there's a thick cock plunging deep within you and the man on top of you has your world in his hands, but you manage to laugh at something- you don't know what, and he doesn't care to find out. The heavy smack of his balls against your ass reminds you that he's his father, truly, and that this is an evolutionary means to an end for him. He's breeding you with vigor, he's sensed that you're a willing mate, and now he'll make nice on his existential promise to go forth and multiply- at least in the moment, of course, there's a worming fear in the back of your minds as his hips pump that this could end in something far more permanent than the boast of getting laid.

You kiss him as soon as he picks his head up and he reciprocates as if it's his job to, his hands squeezing just enough at your body to appreciate the womanly curves you kept hidden from the world. He breathes again, lips against yours.

"It's a privilege," He sounds somewhat drunk off of the wet, suckling, incessant heat around his cock, hips emphasizing every few thrusts the stupid carnality of the situation that's snuffed out any sort of rational thinking between you both. You grab his face, dragging your tongue across his lips in a fervent mess. "It is, isn't it? You're mother said nobody likes Christmas cake after the 25th," and he rolls this time. Thankfully it's dark so you can't make out the stare he's giving you, borderline abyssal. "Men can't afford to be picky. That's why we die in wars and shoot ourselves in the head," you kiss him again, feeling the heavy, hot weight of his tongue in your own mouth. "Expendable, that's all we are."

There's a wretched softness that comes from you both as he sweats over you and fucks you against the floor, cock bullying against your innermost parts. Sex is a dirty, hot, messy thing and he heaves as he struggles not to collapse under the godly weight of his arousal. You think you're going to piss as your body is jostled under him, all of your soft-squishy parts are flush against the stockiness of his chest and midsection, your toes curl as he bares himself down upon you in rapid succession. Your forehead is sticky with sweat and the steam thick smell of sex makes the room feel like a hundred degrees, but you suffer the burning coil in your stomach as Hyakunosuke's thighs flex and he angles his hips to a sharper degree.

Every fiber of his being is like a loaded spring, the potential energy in his body practically thrums as every movement he makes rubberbands back to a locked state, only to ricochet again. He's panting through his nose, and you sweat you see a hand of God hovering over your face and closing your eyes for you. The coil bursts into a near painful explosion, your legs involuntarily yanking as they fight with your tendons to keep them put, the noise you make is loud enough to awaken his mother and he shushes you, tucking your face into the crook of his neck as he fucks you through an absolutely brutal orgasm. Your cunt cinches tight over his cock and his own belly flexes with a feverish warmth creeping through his groin and through his testicles. The head of his cock has been drooling liberally within you for the better part of the ordeal, the vein on his shaft throbbing with every powerful contraction.

He drops and goes limp when he cums, absolutely useless as his cock spits rope after thick rope of semen deep inside of you. Hyakunosuke is a heavy, sweaty presence as you stare into the dark up at the ceiling, his hot breath chuffing against your neck as he shudders and weakly pumps his hips. There's no shout, no cry, no exuberant declaration of consummation- Intercourse has taken place here and life will continue, the world will turn another day. You feel a strange sense of dread wash over you as the man on top of you slows his breathing and begins to stir again. Your vagina feels puffy and wet and your skin feels far too unlike your own. You're waiting for your revelation from God to come, the Virgin Mary to send you on your way with a blessing, some angel or diving being to affirm that you are no longer a diseased woman and can pick yourself up and proceed successfully in society from now on.

Instead Ogata pushes himself up and sweeps his hair back, his breathing slow as he lays next to you, his eyes drifting to your unmoving form. Your head tips to his.

"...I don't feel different."

"You're not supposed to."

"Oh."

You glance at the analog clock- it's far too late to go home now, and you're unsure if you can face your mother now that you're like her. Like Tome. You don't know when you're supposed to stop feeling like an uneasy child, but what you do know is that you have an animal of sorts lazing next to you that seems to find you attractive enough in whatever way to allow you to intimately integrate into his life. To what degree you're unsure. He doesn't seem like a romantic or loving person, you hardly think he may even be a person at all.

"You should sleep."

"I should go home."

"You are not walking home like that. You would be humiliated if you went home and your mother was awake and saw the state of you. Sleep here, shower in the morning and tell her you fell asleep reading to my mother."

You don't think she's going to buy that but what do you know? The gentle pelting of rain is a soothing balm on the open burn wound of your vulnerability. Your head feels as full as your cunt did and it's doing you no favors that the very bed you lay on smells of your lover-thing and brings you a sense of comfort. You want to cry having spent your life in such a state of survival and denial with no easy answers, but Ogata doesn't pry as he allows you to lay against him and rest. There's no patronizing cuddling or soft kisses or sweet words exchanged. Something about the transaction brings you peace above all else. He's as leftover as you are, if not more.

Tome frets over you the next morning wordlessly as Hyakunosuke goes through the motions of getting his items in order before he leaves for work, hardly sparing you or his mother a glance. A hot cup of coffee made its way into your hands at some point and you murmured a thanks. He doesn't kiss you goodbye, he doesn't give you any sort of condescending form of affection. You know neither of you operate on software like that, but the sentiment is there. You are beneficial to me as I am beneficial to you.

You return home at some point after Tome fed you a light breakfast, a little bit less clear on where you stand in the world, but ultimately a little less angry. You did it, you made it, you'll be fine now. When you shyly step foot inside, your mother gives you a slight smile, knowing the look on your face has changed. She seems at peace, telling you good morning as she leafs through another stack of mail- more cards stuffed with money having finally made their way over to your gluttonous mailbox. You kick your shoes off and fail to hold eye contact, it feels weird still, too fresh. You begin to doubt if that feeling is ever going to go away and wash off in the bath.

"Mom?"

"Hm?"

"Can we get a cat?"

[pmpmyread]

an exercise in expression

It’s always eluded you, always sat just beyond your reach, so you persuade yourself that the combination of words that accurately conveys what it is like to be loved by Nanami Kento simply doesn’t exist.

You’re firmly convinced now, so you’ve long since abandoned the absolute fool’s errand it was to define a feeling that is as intangible as it is potent.

Only if your life were on the line, would you dare attempt to describe it as a presence characterized by a wonderful tapestry of innate dualities, not unlike the polarity that underlies your union.

To the casual observer, Nanami operates at one speed, belongs to one temperate climate. Gathered over several years of close partnership, your observations are anything but casual.

So a presence then, one that is both safe and untamed, both reserved and passionate.

The only man your heart has ever moved for in earnest carries a cool melancholy, one that betrayed the weight of the heavy, unspoken burdens that still weigh heavily on him, burdens you want to take off and throw away, but not before developing a deep understanding for them as a bridge to understanding their carrier.

Because you do make it your life’s mission to consistently unearth his radiant warmth, manifested in the sun that forms his understated yet unparalleled sense of witty humor, one that has you chuckling days, weeks after you’ve first been exposed to its rays.

There are moments where you see it clear as day, in the depth of his steady gaze: the introspective awareness with which he listens as you rant about something or the other. It is his unique quiet steadiness, carrying the fidelity of a metronome, that keeps you grounded on the days you need it the most.

And yet there also is this dormant, subdued turmoil that occasionally comes roaring to the surface, after a close call or an encounter with a cursed spirit that bears too close a resemblance to an echo from the painful past. There manifests a certain resignation in his tone, a certain air of deference in his posture that paints the complicated relationship between Nanami and the concept of impermanence. They’re the moments where you step up, where you show up as his anchor, your reciprocal calibration to his temper acts as your renewed declaration of love.

Sometimes you close your eyes, and you let your sensations take over, your hand moves, it extends forward, and you imagine Kento holding it. Most times, it’s just this, imagining his touch, how familiar it feels, how effortlessly it brings you home. Sometimes, it’s the memory of the first time he held it, the memory of a scorching summer, of a busy market, of his hand slipping into yours, leading you through a busy crowd. No matter where this maladaptive dream starts, the destination is always the same: safety.

Perhaps the reason why your memory automatically flits to this particular phantom feeling, whenever you feel the early pangs of inadequacy set its roots within you on a random day at work is the same reason why you find yourself making a grab for his hand today, unprompted, as you sit next to him one quiet evening pulling his attention from his computer screen. You squeeze his hand once, and he squeezes it twice, just like you knew he would.

Perhaps this is the closest you come to defining, wordlessly, the feeling of being loved by Nanami Kento.

[theweewooshow]

I know you well (but you know me better)

bucktommy | 1k words

He can't fall asleep for an after-work nap because he’s still replaying the call in his head over and over—what they could have done differently to save everyone.

He knows it’s a pointless exercise—he found that out years ago—but sometimes he can’t help it. He knows they did everything they could do, but that doesn't stop his mind from endlessly searching for ways he could have been better.

Usually, around this time into his spiral, he’d have someone with him to distract him. If he was still at the firehouse, Hen would have pulled him upstairs to challenge him with some video game he’s bound to lose or Bobby would have guided him to the kitchen under the guise of helping him cook so he could talk about what part of the call was bothering him and could reassure him there was nothing more he could have done.

At home, he has Tommy now to help keep his mind from getting stuck on replaying calls. He tries to shut it off at home, but every now and then he can’t help it, and with Tommy still at work right now, his mind has nowhere to go except back to that scene, back to his failure to save someone.

It’s another half hour of tossing and turning and pressing his face into Tommy’s pillow for comfort before he gets a text from Tommy.

His relief is stark, seeing his name pop up on his phone, but he frowns when he reads the message.

Back at Harbor. I have to make a stop before I get home.

He feels petulant and a little childish, wanting to text back and ask him to come home now, that he needs him now, but he doesn't.

He just texts back I love you and Tommy immediately returns the sentiment.

He soothes himself by wrapping the blankets tighter around himself, pretending it’s Tommy wrapping him up in his arms, the smell of his aftershave and shampoo surrounding him as he buries his face in his pillow again.

It helps, knowing Tommy’s on his way home, even if he has to wait for him to be done running errands before he gets here.

He manages to doze a little while he’s waiting, his mind easing up on making him replay everything, the guilt settling into remorse because he knows he and everyone else did all they could.

He startles awake at the sound of the front door closing and he hops out of bed, ready to dive into Tommy's arms and shut out the rest of the world until he feels better.

He’s bounding down the stairs when Tommy calls up to him and he smiles, despite his awful mood.

Tommy’s boots are by the door, neatly placed in the spot next to Buck’s shoes on the shoe rack. Something warm blossoms in his chest seeing them there together. Seeing the evidence of the life they share together in Tommy’s—their—house, seeing his jacket hanging next to Tommy’s, their keys a jumbled mess in the bowl, it’s all so domestic.

He heads into the living room when he doesn't immediately see Tommy in the entryway, and stops short when he crosses the threshold into the room.

Because Tommy is holding something—something that is wiggling and squirming in his arms.

“Hi, sweetheart,” Tommy says, looking up at him, nose crinkling as he smiles at him.

“Uh, hi,” he says. He walks slowly forward. “What’s going on?”

“Remember when we were volunteering a couple weeks ago at the animal shelter and this one took a shining to you?” Tommy asks, holding up the calico that quite literally latched onto Buck and didn't let go the last time they went.

“I-I remember,” he says, stopping in front of Tommy and reaching out to stroke his hand over the calico’s soft fur. “Why is she here?” he asks, heart in his throat.

“You didn't stop talking about her for the rest of the week; did you know that?”

“I—yeah. She’s so cute and I was surprised no one had scooped her up yet,” Buck says, letting Tommy place her in his arms, the anxiety and guilt from earlier forgotten as she nuzzles under Buck's chin and purrs.

“Well, I called the shelter today and she was still available, so I adopted her,” Tommy says, looking nervous all of a sudden.

“She’s ours?” Buck asks, looking down at the cat in his arms.

“Yeah, if you want. I mean, I already paid the adoption fee and I have a truck full of supplies for her, but if you don’t want—“

“I do!” Buck says quickly. “I can't believe you adopted her.”

“Eddie texted me about what happened before I left for my last call. I felt so bad that I couldn't be here when you got back, so I figured if something like this happens again, you’d at least have her here to keep you company until I get back.”

Buck swallows around the lump in his throat and only has the presence of mind to set the cat down on the couch before he launches himself into Tommy’s arms, pressing his mouth against his, hoping to pour every bit of emotion he’s feeling into the kiss.

They break apart when the cat starts mewling and when Buck looks over, she’s kneading her paws into the blanket underneath her.

“Look at her. She’s already making biscuits, so she must feel right at home,” Buck says, leaning into Tommy’s side.

He feels Tommy’s chest move as he chuckles. “Just like her dad.”

“Is that a baking joke?” Buck asks, elbowing Tommy before he joins the cat on the couch. “Does she have a name?”

“Well, officially, her name is Kitty Kinard, but I'm sure we can change it if you want.”

“Kitty,” Buck says, petting her fur. Looking up at Tommy, he says, “Thank you.”

Tommy’s expression is full of love when he says, “Anything for you.”

drop a kudos or comment on ao3

[cottonlemonade]

First off CONGRATULATIONSSS omg youre stories are so good and you deserve it(btw you're request system is sooo creative I love it.)

And Can I order a cup of milk with a matcha roll off of menu A or B please? And can I sit next to bokuto!

Tutoring Him

word count: 589 || avg. reading time: 2 mins.

pairing: Bokuto x implied chubby!Reader

genre: fluff

warnings: none

request: fluffy, tutoring crush Bokuto

Bokuto slumped over onto the open book and groaned. He was tired of studying before it even started. Why did he have to hit the books when he could be practicing his spikes right now?

“I see you’re trying out the osmosis technique of studying?”

He shot up, a loose page from his notebook stuck to his forehead.

“Y/n-chan!”, he said in surprise.

“Akaashi-kun asked me to step in for him today. He had an errand to run.”

Bokuto made a mental note to buy his friend an armload of new manga. His chest felt all bubbly when you sat down across from him in the empty classroom.

“So.”, you began and with a cool flick of your wrist opened your textbook to a diagram of cell anatomy, “Let’s start with the basics of the cell structure. What do you know about the nucleus?”

“It’s… in the middle?”

You looked at the picture. “I mean… you’re not wrong.”, you said fairly, then moved your finger a little pointing to something else, “What about cytoplasm?”

“It’s the stuff that keeps everything in place?”

“Hm… again, not… entirely wrong, I guess, but I’m sensing a pattern.”, you laughed and the sound made Bokuto’s heart flutter.

“Alright, one more try. What about the mitochondria?”

Oh, this one he knew!

“It’s the powerhouse of the cell!”, he exclaimed excitedly but his face got a little more color when he saw your frown, “That one has to be right, though. Kuroo taught me!”

“So uhm, I don’t know who this Kuroo is but I think you should spend some time apart. At least until after the exams.” You patted his shoulder.

Next, you had him open his notes for an exercise and were impressed and terrified how he managed to even read them between all the doodles. Most revolved around volleyball, of course, others were just random swirls or shapes. When he got to the pages about genetics however, he confidently turned his folder towards you so you could check if his notes were correct before starting to work, but a moment later he practically threw himself over the pages to cover them.

Although, too late. You had already seen the elaborately decorated heart next to the table of Mendel’s law with yours and his name. It was even colored.

“Uhm, Bokuto-san?”

“No?”, he mumbled feebly as his hair seemed to deflate.

“Do you… are you- I mean… do you like me?”

“I wouldn’t call it like…”

“Oh?”

“More like… super crazy in love?”

“Oh!”

When he looked up and saw you blush, his confidence returned immediately.

“Do you like me, too? - Argh, I had this whole thing planned. I wanted to win the next tournament and confess to you with the medal and- but if you like me, too, please let me be your boyfriend, y/n-chan!”

You were so perplexed that the only thing you could say was, “Are you sure?”

He nodded vehemently, practically hovering out of his seat in anticipation of your reply.

“Yes, Bokuto-san, I’d love that.”

He jumped up and cheered, feeling as if he’d just won a championship. Next thing you knew he lifted you out of the chair and pulled you into a bone crushing hug, your feet dangling off the ground.

“Oh my gosh, Bokuto, put me down before you hurt yourself!”, you squeaked but he only squished you further, melting into the softness of your body. “Not yet.”, he mumbled into the crook of your neck, “I’ll be the best boyfriend, you’ll see!”

a/n: and he was, in fact, the best boyfriend turned husband. I love him so much! Thank you for the cute request and your kind words 🫶🏻 I hope you enjoyed it! 🌟