#she weighs as much as the beach ball to him

[smovs]

forgot to share the standee design I did up for Shorelines & Sandcastles last year. there they are!

[munson-blurbs]

Argyle x Fem!Reader smut

Summary: Your plans tonight only involve ordering a pizza, but a conversation with the pizza boy has you craving something very different.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), phone sex, masturbation (m! and f!), voice kink, Argyle is a simp as per usual

WC: 1.7k

A/N: This was inspired by me and @word-wytch ordering pizza at Steel City Con where the pizza boy did not want to get off of the phone. Nothing spicy happened, but it made us think...what if it had?

Also, big shout out to @munsonmuses for helping me with the ending. Love you, Addie!

--

“Surfer Boy Pizza, this is Argyle speaking. Can I interest you in a delicious pie? Perhaps the Argyle Special?”

You stare at the shiny brochure in your lap, breath catching in your throat when you hear his voice. You were expecting someone brusque, rushing you off of the line so they can collect the next order, but the man speaking to you might as well be laying on a white sand beach. 

“Um, h-hi,” you wince at the way you stammer, tempted to hang up and save yourself further embarrassment, but you keep the receiver pressed to your ear. Lenora Hills is a fresh start, a place where no one knows you, and you’re determined to spread your wings and become more than the ‘shy, awkward girl.’ So, even though you were going to order a small cheese pie, you push yourself to ask, “what’s the Argyle Special?”

Soft laughter trills from the speaker; it’s warm and welcoming without a hint of malice. “Oh, the Argyle Special? She’s kinda my baby.” Good lord, the way he says baby has your thighs clenching involuntarily. You hear him shuffling a bit, adjusting positions to get more comfortable. “So, we start out with your classic thin crust.” Argyle lowers his voice and adds, “You might think you can toss it in the air a coupla times and call it a day, but you’d be wrong. You gotta knead it, get all the kinks out, right?”

“Mhm.” Your free hand begins to dip below the waistband of your denim shorts before you pull back. What are you doing? Touching yourself to a stranger explaining how to make pizza? “I, uh, I gotta—”

“Next comes the sauce,” he continues, not noticing your interjection. “Now, less is definitely more here, y’know what I’m saying? A little goes a long way.”

You nod, too caught up in the moment to remember that he can’t see you. “A-And then what?”

“Cheese. Enough to achieve that perfect amount of gooey goodness, but not so much that it weighs down the slice.” Another peal of laughter, just as kind as the one earlier. “Some people ask for extra cheese, but in my humble opinion, it takes away from the rest of the toppings, y’know?”

There’s a quiet swishing sound coming from his end, and it draws your attention. “What’re you doing that’s making that noise?”

“Huh? Oh, uh, yo-yo.” Your question has clearly caught him off-guard; instead of further explaining his baby, he asks, “what’re you doing?”

Immediately, your thoughts flit to the way your fingers yearn to be inside you, the way your clit aches to be rubbed each time he talks. But he can’t know that. “N-Nothing. Um, yeah, nothing.”

You can practically hear his brows raise in disbelief. “Doesn’t sound like nothing,” Argyle teases gently. “In fact, it sounds like you’re doing something important.” He pauses for a second. “Lemme guess: top secret CIA mission?”

“No.”

“FBI?”

You giggle despite the embarrassment washing over you. “Not quite.”

There’s silence; his audible breathing is the only way you know he’s still on the line. “You got a really cute laugh.” 

Is he flirting? This is flirting; it has to be. But he doesn’t even know what you look like. 

You don’t know what he looks like, either, and you were about to masturbate to him, you remind yourself wryly. Anything’s possible. 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah. Sweet but also sexy. A rare combo, if you ask me.” 

You summon all of your courage; the ball is in your court. “I, um, I like your voice.” Heat pools in your cheeks as you say the words. 

“My voice? Shit, I always thought it was kinda goofy. My friend Jonathan says I sound like Cheech and Chong. Well, not, like, both of them, but just…one.” A rustling noise; he’s shaking his head. “Sorry, I’m not good with getting compliments and stuff.”

“S’okay. Me either.” You laugh again, finding the ability to be honest refreshing. “Keep telling me about your special. Your baby,” you amend. 

He exhales a cloud of lust. “Fuck, say ‘baby’ again.” Ah, so it had the same effect on him that it did on you. 

This time, you don’t chastise yourself for the way your fingertips graze your cotton panties. You and Argyle are clearly on the same page. Why fight it? “Tell me more about the Argyle Special, baby.”

“I gotta know first if you’re doing what I’m about to do,” he says breathily. 

“I am,” you affirm, finding your clit easily and applying the lightest pressure. 

A sharp inhale, then, just above a whisper, “Good. So, so good.” He unzips his fly and groans as his hand wraps around his cock. “I’m just gonna talk, and you keep touching yourself for me, okay?”

“Mhm. Just…keep going.”

“Shit, yeah, I got you.” Another moan as he strokes himself, his sentences getting choppier. “The toppings…I like to combine sweet and—mmf—savory.”

You tug your panties aside, slipping your middle finger into your waiting pussy. “Keep going,” you urge, desperate for his silky voice. 

“Some diced g-green pepper…sliced jalapeños…and…” Argyle’s focus is split between listing ingredients and jerking off, and one is evidently winning. 

“And what, baby?” There’s a slight edge to your tone—dare you say, a sultriness—as your ring finger joins your middle, fucking yourself with both of them. 

You’re not the only one who picks up on your newfound confidence. “And pineapple,” he manages. “Comes from a can…fuck, I can hear how wet you are.”

You whimper, forcing air into your lungs. Breathing has never been a manual task until right now. “It’s because of you.” Your fingers move faster; you curl them slightly to maximize your pleasure. “You and your voice.”

“I’d talk all goddamn day for you.” His voice is thick with desire. “I’d do anything you asked me to—oh, fuck,” he grunts. “What would you want me to do if I was with you right now?”

What wouldn’t you want him to do is an easier question, but you try to quickly formulate a response. “I-I’d want you to touch me.”

“More specific, honey,” he tuts. “Where do you want me touching you?”

Everywhere. Anywhere. You think about where your own hand would be if you weren’t holding the phone. “My clit,” you say urgently, “or my…my tits.”

“Mmm, I could put my mouth on one and my fingers on the—”

“No,” you insist, cutting him off mid-sentence. “Fingers only. Need to keep your mouth free so you can talk.”

A chuckle, then, “fair enough. Guess I’ll rub that pretty little clit of yours, huh? Make sure you’re ready f’me.” There’s a soft puh as he spits on his cock to lubricate it. “Wish I was inside of you. Bet you’re so wet…and warm…and—ohh, yeah— so tight…”

“I’m so close,” you whine, absolutely desperate for this orgasm. You tuck the phone between your ear and your shoulder, bring your newly-freed middle finger to your clitoris, now swollen with need. “Please, Argyle, tell me how you’d fuck me.”

“Oh, baby,” he rasps, the schlick of his fist stroking his erection becomes louder, faster. “I want you screaming my name. That sweet little pussy st-stuffed with my cock. And I’ll go deeper…and deeper…and deeper…until you can’t—fucking—take it!” He growls out the last four words. 

It’s enough to drive you to the edge. You don’t tell him you’re cumming, but he knows just from the choked moans that you’re there. Your fingers are shiny with the proof of your arousal as you finish all over them, wishing they belonged to Argyle. Wishing you belonged to Argyle. 

“I’m cumming, fucking shit, h-oh, my God.” He’s in another galaxy now, stars swirling around him as his release spurts from his aching tip and coats his hand in his sticky seed. “Holy fuckin’…whoa.” There’s a brief pause. “Gimme one sec, okay?”

Argyle’s racing across the kitchen, phone dangling from the cord, before you can even respond. “Sorry,” he says, panting and laughing when he returns to the receiver, “had to grab some paper towels and clean myself up. Can’t go walking around with jizz on my hands.” 

“Not a good look,” you agree, the warmth from your giggle melting any residual awkwardness. “You definitely need to wash them, like, a hundred times before you make another pizza.”

“Nah, man; I’m actually clocking out now. You were gonna be my last customer, but, uh…” he trails off, and it occurs to you that you never finished placing your order. “We got a little distracted.”

Distracted is putting it mildly, but you’re in no headspace for a semantics debate. “I guess I’ll have to call back the next time you’re working and try again.”

“Y-Yeah, for sure!” Eagerness dominates his tone, and he tries to rein it in. “Or, um, maybe you can come by in person? I’d like to see the girl who made me cum harder than I have since…ever,” he adds cheekily. 

“Mhm. I can do that.” Can you? Yes, you tell yourself, I can. I’m turning over a new leaf, and that apparently involves having phone sex with the pizza guy and then meeting him for the first time at his job. 

You swear you hear a quiet yet triumphant, “yes!” before he says, “You sure? Because I’d totally get it if you wanted to keep this a one-time thing.” His hesitation indicates that he’s no stranger to unrequited pining, like he’s bracing himself for a rejection. “But I gotta be honest with you; I really wanna see you.”

“I wanna see you, too.” You wrap the springy cord around your forefinger. If his voice could make you feel this way, imagine what he could do with his fingers, his tongue, his…

“I work from noon until six tomorrow, if you wanna stop in?” Argyle cuts into your train of thought. “Or if that’s too soon, then we can just—”

“Argyle?”

“Yeah?”

You smile widely even though there’s no way for him to know that. “See you at six tomorrow.”

--

[sardonic-the-writer]

—"Camera Flash"

—Tw: None

—Notes: Back on my bullshit. Tagging @lyssys and @zooone for shits and giggles. Return on the king /j

—Song: "cold weather" By Glass Beach

They hated him.

He had the better camera. The better reviews. The better compliments chalk full of five stars from dazzled reveiwers he flashed that million dollar smile at. The better clothes. The better computer; one that didn't need to be smacked on the side everytime it froze.

They hated him and his cocky smile. The way he practically floated above all their heads on a pillar built purely on his superiority complex.

(Y/n) hated Wilbur Soot and would untill the day they died.

"Honestly love he's not too bad of a person. You should give him a chance. Not like you have a choice."

They were all sitting in the break room; Niki, Puffy, and (Y/n) I mean. The later of the bunch was frowning at the paper—precisely the paper printed by the company they worked for—eyes darting back and fourth between words written by none other than their self proclaimed arch nemesis as they pretended to not hear their pink haired friends words.

Niki took a sip of her coffee quietly after speaking into the cold silence radiating off her grumpy friends. A few pink strands of hair were pushed behind her ear as she went to speak again.

"If you would look past his outer layer you'd see a whole lot more (Y/n)." She spoke softly, gently placing down her tea cup. From next to her fiancée, Puffy nodded. Her rainbow colored hair bounced with the quick movement, a hand sewn pirate hat courtesy of Niki the only thing containing the unruly mess.

A curt no was all that (Y/n) responded with. They flipped to the next page of the LMANBURG TIMES to read yet another "astounding" and "jaw dropping artical" by fucking Wilbur.

"You're gonna have to though babe." Puffy popped a bubble in the gum she had been chewing, the color of it almost as rose as Nikis hair. "Boss' orders."

"I know it's boss' orders. I'd much rather be fired than ever work with that prick." (Y/n) snapped back, the hate and vemon in their voice directed at the absent Wilbur rather than their friends. (Whom at this point were sharing a knowing look filled with exasperation.)

"You say that now, but I know for a fact more than an hour without your bed you'll be a mess."

They went to argue but all that came out was a grunt.

"It's just one interview side by side with him anyways (Y/n). If things go bad, which I guarantee they won't as long as you put effort into being nice—" Puffy heavily enunciated that part "—then we'll take you out to whatever restaurant you like tonight. My treat."

That certantly caught there attention, eyes peeling away from the newspaper to look a them.

"Any restaurant?" (Y/n) echoed.

"Any. But you have to make an effort." Niki responded for her partner with a light smile.

It took a second. The two girls could both see the cogs turning in their brain, weighing the pros and cons of agreeing to this. Apparently the promise of free food won.

"Fine. But when I make you both take me to that expensive place downtown I don't wanna hear it." They responded with a crooked smile, all of them knowing full well that (Y/n) would feel bad about it the moment the bill came around and try to pay them back later.

They all shook on it with little grins on their face, those smiles filled with giddy friendship turning into giggles as Puffy accidently knocked Nikis mug of tea over and hit the floor.

God (Y/n) hoped this deal would be worth it.

The deal wasn't worth it.

(Y/n) could feel their frown lines deepening with each extra moment spent in his presence. And based on the occasional eye roll sent their way, he felt the same.

Wilbur Soot was currently gripping the handle of his 2006 Honda with the strength of a thousand men, jaw tight and knuckles whiter than any snow to ever touch ground. (Y/n) was sure if they looked down at their own hands currently balled into enraged fists, they would look the exact same.

The silence was loud. It overpowered everything from the putter of the cars engine to the meaningless tune playing on the radio inbetween them. As far as they were concerned, the automatic door lock was the only thing stopping them from heaving themself out of the moving vehical and into the street. That and the promise of a free dinner later tonight.

A slow inhale of breath could be heard next to them, a false smile filled with artifical warmth relaxing Wilburs face as he went to say something other than "get in" for the first time since they met up over an hour ago.

"Alright. The interview won't take long, given we are nearly there." He spoke with almost a chirp in his voice. (Y/n) recognized it as the same tone a customer service employed would give to someone.

"All we need to do is ask a few questions about this year's crops a—"

"I know." They cut in sharply while smoothing out the hem of their pants instead of looking at him. "I read the report."

From next to them Wilbur took a deep breath. Barely contained annoyance wouldn't even begin to describe the look on his face right now.

"Then you would know that you're supposed to be taking pictures while I talk to the local farmers I assume."

"What? Why me! Why should I do all the hard work while you sit there and write a few things down and leave!"

"Would you like me to take the pictures then darling." The pet name rolled right off his tounge accompanied with a vat of pure, concentrated spite added to it.

"No. You'll just find some way to fuck that up too." They grumbled, turning away from him to look out the window and up into the grey sky's.

It was only a few minutes from then that the car stopped, signaling that it was time to unpack the gear from the back of the cars trunk. They did this, along with making the trek to the local farmers market, in silence. The kind of silence that came with sharing a hotel room with someone you hated, or being pared into a group project full of slackers in school.

The rest of the prosess went a lot smoother compared to the bumpy car ride there—both figuratively and literally. They both made sure to keep a fair distance from each other, (Y/n) snapping many a picture of vegetation and smiling farmers just happy to be in a big newspaper while Wilbur did what he did best and charmed paragraphs of material out of the hard workers. In fact, as they had just finished up and were both walking back to the car in that same stony silence, (Y/n) briefly thought about how despite the car ride and arrival there, that things seemed to have gone off without much of a hitch.

If only the universe didn't hate them.

A flash of brown, the feeling of something cold, and a few papers flying in everywhich way came and went. (Y/n) barely had time to recognize that they had just slipped in mud, falling into Wilbur and taking all 6'5 feet of him down with them. Including all of the work they had just completed.

No one said anything for a split second, Wilbur hovering over them in an awkward possition and breathing heavily from the fall, his cheeks flushed with the effort of catching himself so quickly. Only the soft drip of mud and chirp of wildlife dared to sound.

"I can't fucking belive this!" (Y/n) snapped. Mostly at themself, but judging on the way Wilburs eye twitched lightly, he had taken it that they were talking directly to him. "Can't even hold onto the work that we, no, I just did! Now I'm gonna have to go back to the office and decipher all this past my shift! Probably while you're out with all your mates getting a beer or—or whatever assholes do in their spare time. I can't belive its not enough that you have to be better than me in everything you do Soot, now you have to ruin my night to."

It might have gone on like that forever. Wilburs arms on either side of (Y/n)s neck, the person below him ranting untill he could practically see steam pouring from their ears and wafting up into his face, fogging his glasses.

Then—

"What is your problem with me."

They stopped talking.

"What..?"

Wilbur pulled away from them, now resting across from them on his knees. He ran a hand through his hair, only pausing to cringe at the feeling of mud being slathered into his scalp. He had forgotten about that.

"Whats your problem with me." He repeated after another moment. "I get that you don't like me—"

(Lie)

"—Hell, I don't even like you—"

(Another lie)

"—but why the hostility. It's like you're waiting for something to go wrong just so you can snap at me."

(Y/n) opened their mouth quickly. Probably to say something quick and witty like "becuase your a bastard, asshole" or "I get free food out of it" but closed it the moment they thought about what he had really said

They—well—they genuinely couldn't think of a reason why they didn't like him other than he was annoying. And that was based off what? His flashy camera? Niki had one of those too and they thought she was the sweetest person in the world. What then, his charm? Puffy had plenty of charm to rival even Wilburs own and she happened to be one of (Y/n)s closest friends.

So then why did they hate him.

"I think." They swallowed. "I think I was jealous. Am jealous."

"Of what."

"You. Your work, your personality, your ability to act like this perfect guy who's living his dream." They had sat up now, as eye level that they could get to Wilbur. "I don't know. I guess I've always seen you as this pompous suck up. Or maybe even just someone better than me. And that scares me."

Wilbur didn't say anything for a moment.

Then the corner of his lips twitched up. Untill he broke out untill a smile. And that smile morphed into a grin. Eventually that grin became—

"Laughter?"

Sure enough, Wilbur was laughing. (Y/n) had half the mind to reach over and punch him stright inbetween the eyes, but the other half told them to hold on.

"Why in the absolute fuck are you laughing."

"Becuase!—" He paused to stifle his laughter. "—I feel the same way about you."

It took a second for (Y/n) to entirely prosess that, but the moment they did, a small chuckle rose in the back of their throat.

And a moment later they were doubling over with laughter almost twice as loud as Wilburs.

Any farmers that would've passed them at the moment would have thought them to be crazy; covered in mud and leaning on each other through a laughing fit. But clearly the two wouldn't notice the judging glances; nor care.

Eventually their laughter died down to occasional giggles, stomachs hurting with the after affect of such an event.

Wilbur smiled.

"You know. You're not so bad (Y/n)."

They smiled back at him softly.

"Right back at you Soot.

[chickenparm]

Tradition - Part Three

“Sn-Snezhnayan tradition dictates in a traditional battle, the winner is allowed to request one thing from the-” another cough, born from phlegm in his throat that rattles wetly, “from the loser.” (or, You accept a bet and despite not winning, you’re not sure if you’ve actually lost.)

Previous Part | Next Part AO3 Link

Childe/f!Reader 4,386 Words - SFW Bamboozled into marriage, awkwardness, future parts will be NSFW

---

Paimon finds out, and is surprisingly calm about the entire affair. You expected screeching, kicking of little feet, tiny fists punching toward Celestia as if that would solve the problem. Instead, you’re met with a sage-like nod that makes the end of her dango skewer move precariously in the air next to your head.

“Paimon figured it was only a matter of time before Loser Harbinger made his move.”

“Huh?”

“Huh?” Paimon pauses just as you do, staring with wide, starry eyes in pure disbelief. You’re certain it matches your own expression, maybe with a little less pizzazz. 

What does she mean, “a matter of time”? Paimon has said some pretty ridiculous and nonsensical things in the past in the pursuit of being right, but this is too much even for her.

“Wait, hold on. You didn’t know?”

Irritation laces tight against your spine, making your skin crawl and your hair stand on end at the insinuation she’s somehow making and not making. “Know what? Spit it out!”

Paimon does the opposite, taking a dango ball in her cheek and speaking around it. How she doesn’t drool, you’ll never know. “That he’s like… way in love with you? That’s why Paimon stopped tagging along with you to see him. Paimon didn’t want to be around when he finally cracked and did something disgusting.”

“Disgusting?”

“Y’know, like kiss you? Or-... Or um…”

Paimon didn’t need to finish. Your stomach clenched at the thought of what Childe could do beyond something as heinous as kissing. If only Paimon knew that you’d truly been the first to toe over the line, crossing into territory that you can never truly come back from. How deep you were willing to go into that territory is up for debate, but you’re certain it would make Paimon attempt to wrap her tiny little hands around your neck and squeeze.

Pointedly, you turned and started walking again, counting the cross beams of the veranda above your head as you rounded closer to Bubu Pharmacy. Paimon followed after you with a gentle chime that signified she’d put a little extra effort in keeping up. Must be all the dango you brought back that’s weighing her down. 

“You know, maybe this is a good thing?”

“Tell me how it’s good, Paimon.” You didn’t need to demand it. Once a thought slips into her head, it’s certain to find its way out with or without your consent. Granting it is just easier in the long run. 

“Well he’s a Harbinger. Fatui. There’s gotta be a way for you to turn this around and make it useful. Y’know… do a little spying? Some incognito work? Wring some information out of him? Trick him into-”

“Yeah, I get it. You realize he tricked me into this, right? Childe’s always been one step ahead in these sorts of things. I’m not sure I’m up to tricking him about anything.”

Just before the midway point of the veranda, you pause to lean on the railing and look down at the bustling harbor below. Liyue is in full swing; carts running back and forth, stalls open and calling out their wares, the scent of Wanmin’s daily special carrying on the breeze all the way to the top of the city. 

In the distance, you can follow the coastline until it curves back on itself and goes out of sight. It’s impossible to see from here, but you distinctly remember the scattering of seashells that dot the shore in spiraling colors of blue and white. It wasn’t so long ago that you were picking along that beach for the first time, and your initial thought had been how they remind you of a certain harbinger that had been so friendly. 

It’s not as if he isn’t friendly now, but before he simply wanted to take you out of the picture by killing you with kindness. An interesting choice for a Fatui, but you’ve understood for some time now that Childe is anything but ordinary in every sense of the word. 

Once, he might have wanted to trick you into leaving. Now, he’s tricked you into staying - right by his side. 

Paimon doesn’t descend often, but this now she does so by planting herself at your elbow and sitting on the wide railing. After a moment, there’s the soft thud of her head hitting your shoulder as she leans on you. “Paimon knows you’ll be okay. This was pretty far fetched, Paimon doesn’t think Childe is going to be able to surprise you with anymore nasty tricks.”

“Well, don’t count him out just yet.” Your words are heavy enough that your shoulders sag and you struggle to avoid letting your chin drop to your chest. All at once, you just feel tired. “Maybe we could just… run. I read in the travel guide that Fontaine sure is nice this time of year.”

“If that’s what you wanna do, then Paimon will be with you every step of the way!” It’s said after a moment of hesitation, as if Paimon doesn’t really have any faith that you’ll ditch this tough responsibility that you’ve shouldered. 

Because it really was a willing acceptance, wasn’t it? Despite the underhanded way he’d gone about it - and his insistence that he’d hunt you down with someone to perform the ceremony on the spot - you’re certain that if you kicked up enough fuss and showed true displeasure, you could get Childe to take it all back, including the ring that’s in your pocket once more. 

“No,” you sigh the single syllable from the very bottom of your lungs where all your exhaustion seems to be bundled, “that won’t work. He’d just figure out where I am and we’d have to go running off again.”

“We could go to Snezhnaya. He’d never think to look there-”

“On the contrary, I’d look there first in hopes that you’ve taken the initiative to meet my family. Well, our family, soon. Isn’t that a nice thought?”

If Paimon couldn’t fly, she’d be goo on the paved stones far below. Her shriek startles you far more than Childe’s sudden appearance, and she falls for a few feet before getting her bearings and shooting back up enough to nearly hit the roofing of the veranda. “Don’t do that! You almost killed Paimon!”

“Wouldn’t want that, now would we?”

It doesn’t sound convincing, even as he says it with a placating smile that’s far too reminiscent of the ones he’d been wearing when you first met. How you’d ever fallen for them, you’re not sure. A traitorous little part of your heart reminds you that you’re still falling for them, in an entirely different way. With silent resolve, you kill that part with all the strength you can muster. 

It isn’t much.

Childe’s elbows land on the veranda railing with a thud that shakes the wood propping you up, his bicep pressing against your own. All it takes is a shuffling of a few inches to put space between yourself and your… fiancé. Paimon is far more interesting to you as she all but buzzes in the air like an angry hornet, nearly spitting with anger as Childe simply laughs at her. 

“Paimon is out of here! Paimon would rather be anywhere but here, the air smells funny!”

And in a dusting of stars and constellations, Paimon zips down toward the city with her arms crossed. If you didn’t know any better, you’d swear there were steam trails from where it escaped her ears. Childe laughs again, now with a little more feeling. Somehow, in your distraction, he’d closed the distance again until he was flush against your arm. 

The breeze shifts for a moment, clearing away the smell of Wanmin and leaving you with the scent of something minty and sweet, mixed with the scent of freshly laundered clothes and salt. It takes all your willpower not to turn your head and take a deeper breath to commit it to memory - the smell of Childe. How odd that it doesn’t turn you away like you thought it might have. With no small amount of exasperation, you wish it would. It might make things easier. 

“Didja get your answers across the pond, sweetness?”

The pet name brings goosebumps to your arms. In a valiant effort, you attempt to convince yourself that they’re of disgust. Like smelling the refuse near the lower warehouses after the end of a long Summer’s day in Liyue. Rotting fish and waste rather than clean and cool and sweet. Refusing to turn and meet his gaze, you instead squint out across the water at the boats that bob in the bay. “A few.”

“...Aaand? You’ve got me on thin ice over here. Don’t be stingy.”

“And what? It’s not like they matter one way or another. It’s happening, just like you want it to.”

That’s not the answer he’s looking for. You know it isn’t, just by how his head lifts to look at the sky, likely in an attempt to ask the Archons for some patience. Rather, one Archon in particular, the only one that matters to him. You wonder if the Tsaritsa knows what he’s done, if she’s in on his little plan behind the scenes. 

The deal had been strictly no Fatui, and while he’d seemed honest in how he’d delivered his blunt confession, you’re not sure you’ll ever be able to shake the suspicion in the back of your mind. There’s something he must be getting out of this if he’s decided to move so quickly and drastically. Perhaps it’s best if you have Zhongli look into Snezhnaya’s laws about spousal immigration…

The silence between you lasts for only as long as it takes you to make your mind up to double-check his motives, only for you to break it again. “What do you want out of this, Childe? And be honest for once, I’m exhausted.”

“If you’re that tired, I can give you another day to-”

“About the situation, not my recent travels.” It comes out far more harsh than you want it to. Childe sucks in a sharp breath, one that feels like freshly broken glass in your ears, and his gloves creak under the grip of his tightening fists. 

“What I want,” Childe starts, matching your tone in its needle-like precision before backing down to something that could nearly be compared to tenderness, “is exactly what I said the first time.”

“Remind me. I’ve had other things on my mind lately.” A lie, considering this is all you’ve been thinking about since you left the Golden House. There’s a bell tolling in the distance, one that states the afternoon hour. If things were normal, you’d just now be entering the gilded hall to face down Childe once more for a fight. 

Maybe you’re fighting him now, in an entirely different way. 

At your request, Childe laughs. Not the false, airy thing that he gives when he’s trying to put someone at ease before stabbing them in the back. Not the derisive one that speaks of bitterness. This one is almost giddy as he all but sings, “If you want me to go moon-eyed for you all over again, there are more direct ways to ask, sweetness.”

It’s not dignified with a response. That suits him just as well - he knows exactly how to get under your skin.

“Childe, my love, my heart, fire of my loins. Speak your feelings to me sweetly in my ear-”

Your head whips to look at him with indignance, and you’re greeted with the sight of a grin cutting him from cheek to cheek, scrunching his nose slightly, crinkling his eyes at the corner. It strikes you to silence as you take it in - this joyous, unfettered show of complete happiness. A quiet part of your heart tucks away the memory for a rainy day.

Right now, he’s impossibly close. All it would take is for you to have turned your head a bit further and you’d be in the same position you’d had to force yourself out of during your last meeting. Only this time, more direct and exactly what he wants. It’s exhausting to do double-takes at every gesture he makes, yet it’s impossible to take it all at face value. 

While the two of you had both been pawns in the Liyue Fiasco, it’s hard to shake off the hostility that begs to be set free. He’d apologized, you remembered it when he’d approached you not too long after the entire event. And in that moment he’d seemed genuinely remorseful, even as you’re looking back with a clearer idea of exactly who Childe is. 

A breath sweeps across your cheek, shifting the tiniest of baby hairs and leaving you with pleasant chills down your spine. It precedes an inhale as his eyes dart back and forth between yours, words on his lips that he’s trying so very hard to piece together. For just a split second, almost faster than you could blink, Childe is unsettled. Unashamedly, you want to see more of that - the man existing beyond the veneer of careful pretenses and smiles that don’t quite reach his eyes.

Finally - finally - Childe picks what he deems acceptable for you to know. “Well, if you’re gonna twist my arm about it… I told you before. I want to marry you,” at the cushion of your cheek, where he’s the closest, you’re certain you can feel the barest brush of his lips against your skin as he speaks, “then take you home to my family and see you bundled up for a Snezhnayan Winter. Afterwards, maybe you pick a somewhere and we honeymoon there and you let me try and woo you with my devilish charm-”

“Do you have a list written out somewhere? That sounds awfully rehearsed.” Once more, with every ounce of willpower you’ve ever possessed and may someday come into ownership of, you shuffle away from his touch to instead lean your elbow on the railing and your cheek on your fist. It pushes one of your eyes closed from the position, but even with a singular eye you can track the way his cheeks turn just the slightest shade of rose pink. 

The facade cracks, if but for a moment before he recovers with what might be a joke - or it could be entirely true. It’s so hard to tell. “I have a whole stack of letters professing my undying love for you. Usually written when I’m laying in bed on my stomach, kicking my feet and nursing whatever bruises you’ve left on me.”

You shudder to think of exactly how many letters that might be. Rather than wring your brain over the thought of Childe doodling hearts around your name, you instead pinpoint on a different string of words. You need this confirmation.

“You love me? You’re not just pulling my leg or something?”

And once more, Childe is speechless. Not in surprise, but rather a careful thoughtfulness that leaves him considering the shift of your hair in the breeze, the line of your slumped shoulders, your steady gaze suddenly putting him beneath a magnifying glass so strong that there’s nothing he can hide now. His visible resignation feels heady like the victories you’ve won over him in the past, even if they may have been orchestrated on his end.

Even cheapened with that knowledge, the memory of him sprawled underneath you with palms flat against the floor and a wild, unhinged expression of glee is one that makes your stomach tense uncomfortably. A sudden twinge of want feels like an impassable road block, distracting you nearly enough that you forget exactly where you are, who you’re with.

With a breath that shakes just enough to catch your attention from unruly thoughts, Childe responds with, “Yeah. I do. A whole lot. Maybe even a crazy amount.”

“Crazy as in size, or crazy as in you’ve been collecting strands of my hair without my notice?”

Childe blinks at you slowly, considering your rebuttal. The hesitation to deny any sort of psychosis doesn’t lend credence to whatever he’s about to say next, but you’re enraptured with the way he seems to plan out his words before hitting you with them. “I think the fact that I skipped a few steps and went right to marriage should probably tell you a whole lot, babe.”

The one syllable of that pet name hits like a punch, and you very-deliberately turn your head away to look back at the harbor, your chin resting in your palm now. It takes a moment for your eyes to adjust to both being open once more, and it keeps you from noticing how he leans into you again. 

It’s different; it’s the solidness of his chest pressing into your shoulder as his hand lays across your lower back. Not far enough down to be scandalous, but any passerby would be unable to mistake the intentions. Against your first instinct, you don’t shake him off. In fact, you can’t help but relish the feeling of his warmth beginning to seep through the layers of your clothes. 

“Do you love me?”

The answer comes easy, even if you know it might be painful - to whom, you aren’t sure. “No, I’m sorry.”

And you expect it to deter him. Regret almost has time to form before you tamp it back down. You anticipate the sudden coldness that will come with him drawing away to put distance between you. Rejection like that doesn’t soothe easily, and you’re certain that if Childe is telling the truth, he must be hurting to the bone. 

A soft huff leaves him, not quite a sigh but close enough that you feel bad for your answer. Even if it’s the truth, it’s not a kind one. But it’s far more merciful than lying to his face. The silence drags, and you’re certain that’s the end of it all and Childe may be rethinking what’s to come. 

But rather than release you, rather than pull back and ask for you to return the ring, Childe instead uses his free hand to dig shamelessly into your pocket that holds the piece of jewelry. With a deftness, he places it on the railing and flips the lid open to reveal its glittering contents. The two of you stare for the longest time, watching as the clouds move over the sun at irregular intervals, throwing light against the ring in a mesmerizing array. 

It truly is beautiful, if only because you’re certain it was made custom. That’s not something that can be done in a day, no matter how much mora can be supplied to the craftsman, and it leaves you wondering exactly how long he’d been holding onto this. When did he decide that this was the course of action he wanted to take?

And why was it this one? Flowers and sweet words and honesty would have suited him just fine - and you’re certain he’d be successful in a way that can only be described as absolute. Because even now, as you’re wary and unsteady, you’re convinced that if he boxed you in against the railing and kissed you, you’d only fight him a little.

All at once, you’re reminded of his presence as he sucks a breath in through his teeth and picks the ring out of the box. It rolls between his thumb and forefinger for a moment, almost as if it’s a physical manifestation of his thoughts roiling in that head of his. Then it stops, and following it is the last request you expected. Or, perhaps the first one you should have known was coming.

“Will you give me a chance to change that? Just one. That’s all I need for most things, you know.”

Your gut tells you to tease him. To call him cocky and point out that now he’s only made it harder for himself. Yet all you can do is swallow harshly around the thickness in your throat that blocks your airways. The woodgrain beneath your fingernails gives only slightly under your grip, and the pinpricks of wood beginning to sprinter brings you back to reality. 

Instead of derision, you give him honesty.

“Just one.”

“Seal it with a kiss?”

“You’re pushing it.”

Again comes that giddy laughter. It lifts from his stomach, shaking his chest against you as he leans closer and holds the ring up with intention. A final confirmation of what’s to come, what you’re willing to lay your heart down for. The moment you take action, you’re certain that Childe is going to put his all into this - just as he does with everything else. 

Without hesitation, you lift your hand and slide your finger through the ring until it’s snug against the base of your finger. A twisting of his wrist has your hand captured in his, and he brings the back of your hand to his lips to press a chaste kiss there. Then four more against your knuckles, and four more beyond that to the tips of your fingers. 

“I won’t let you down. You’re not gonna regret this.”

Maybe you might. It’s possible you won’t. But in the meantime, you smile tightly and try not to mourn the sudden chilliness of your hand as he lets you go. Standing straight and tall, he blows a breath through his teeth in  precursor to the sudden sheepishness that slips into the edges of his voice. “But we’ll have to start tomorrow. I’m already running late for some… meetings. Important meetings. You know-”

“Work stuff. I don’t need to hear about it or-”

“You’ll poke that cute nose of yours in.” Despite that being the honest truth, it doesn’t seem to bring any dejection to Childe’s demeanor at all. In fact, he almost seems ecstatic at the thought of you intruding on his day - one that he’s apparently late for already. 

“Why did you even stop if you had things to do, huh? Get moving!” It’s not an excuse to get time to yourself away from him. It’s not.

“Well, you see, I was walking by on my way to those important meetings, and who would’ve guessed I’d see my fiancee standing here looking absolutely radiant. And I thought to myself, ‘Surely speaking with the love of my life would-’”

“Don’t call me that.”

It spills from you in a sudden burst - one that you’re not entirely sure that you’d stop even if you could. The rest of his diatribe dies on his lips as he blinks at you, first in shock, then in confusion. With your right hand, you idly spin the ring on your left with little attention spared toward the motion. 

Patiently, despite being late, Childe waits for you to explain yourself. You’d thought it would be obvious, but he just… stands there. An explanation is needed, even if it shouldn’t be warranted.

“Just… that’s moving fast, Childe.”

“Faster than being engaged before we’ve properly kissed one another?” The teasing in his tone rings entirely hollow - it’s only there to lighten the mood, but it falls flat as your cheeks warm and you avoid looking at him directly. Unfortunately, he holds a magnetism that has your eyes trailing back to his despite your embarrassment. 

Opening your mouth, you prepare a rebuttal that never arrives. Trying once more and falling flat a second time, you close your mouth once more with a snap of your teeth and focus on the glittering of his earring that swings with the tilt of his head. He’s got you with that one, but the usual lingerings of his victory aren’t present in the air. It’s not a win he seems to be relishing. 

One of his hands lifts, almost as if he’s going to touch your shoulder, but it stops just short and hovers awkwardly before he swings back to his side. Your eyes can’t help but follow the movement, even as he takes a half-step away. 

“Can I see you tomorrow?”

“...Yeah. I’ll be around town.”

“Okay.” It’s painfully awkward now, more than it had been when he first approached after the events that had put this weird crack between the two of you. He’d nearly bent over in half as he clasped his hands and asked for your forgiveness, laying all his cards out on the table in an effort to win back even an iota of your trust. If only he knew how much he’d gained since then, up until his little trick. 

“See you tomorrow, then.”

“Uh… yeah. See you, swee-... Traveler.”

Never before had his relaxed posture seemed so forced. Unable to look away, you watch as he finishes his trek across the wooden lookout veranda, then takes a sharp left toward the stairs that lead to Yuehai Pavilion. Staunchly, he keeps his facade until he’s out of sight, and you feel terribly alone. 

Traveler. It had been so long since he’d used the common name for you that it struck you speechless. Sure, more than enough people had called you such, but hearing him say it rather than the myriad of nicknames, or even just comrade felt deeply wrong. 

And, despite knowing that it was healthy to set some sort of boundary about the rather swift nature of this relationship, you almost feel a sense of regret after staking that line. Would it really be so bad to let him dote on you like that? A long sigh leaves you, from the very bottom of your chest, as you turn back to lean on the railing once more. 

Maybe it wouldn’t hurt you, but you’d just told him you didn’t feel the same. At least, not in the same capacity he seems to be claiming. Just thinking about it makes your gut twist - it’d be like leading him on and then taking too long to reel him in. Leaving him adrift feels cruel. 

Even if your chest grows tight at the memory of the exact pattern of the faint freckles on his cheeks, the half-lidded gaze he’d given you after you’d stopped just short of giving him the true kiss he’d wanted. Even if your heart skips at the memory of him in the Golden House, bruised and battered in his victory, claiming of course, he loves you.

[theoddcatlady]

What's Inside the Witch's Coffin?

I know people that would literally murder me if they knew I put this on the internet. But I don’t see many other options. If I go straight to the cops odds are I’LL get blamed for what happened to my friends and get thrown straight in jail for a multitude of reasons. And I know at least one of them is alive and I need to find them.

I’m a smuggler. I… come into possession of objects I shouldn’t have and sell it to whatever fat cat wants a new piece for their mantle. The Witch Coffin is probably the biggest thing I was gonna try and sneak into the states, but that was because it was a specific ‘request’. The Witch Coffin was discovered in eastern Europe, and to be honest I’m not sure why the buyer wanted it so damn badly. But hey, me and my crew were gonna get a mil and we figured we might as well try, right?

Theft itself went off without a hitch, but the next day I got picked up for being spotted at the scene. That’s all they had, but I still got kept in lock up for three days. Glad they let me out without a fight in the end but the moment I got back to the hideout I knew something was wrong. I could hear the flies buzzing.

There was so much blood. On the walls, on the ceiling, it looked like a guy just went kaboom while standing in the middle of one of the bedrooms. I found body parts scattered all over the house and the coffin was just… gone. What I saw could make a lesser man wet himself.

One of my crew, Nicole, she left her notebook behind. I always teased her about how she scribbled away in that damn thing every chance she got, but it helped clue me in about what happened

I have to find her. Just in case I can’t, or if I meet the same fate as my buddies, maybe one of you can.

~*~

Item was successfully retrieved. Item is a six by three foot coffin made of a blue gray stone, covered with intricate carvings. The lid depicts a carving of a long haired woman, positioned with her arms spread out with a chain in one hand and the other hand appearing to be clawed. I think she once had a face, but time has worn it away. The sides both depict various tortures and executions- drowning, stoning, being burnt at the stake, hanging, etc.

There is definitely something inside, I hear something rattling about as we dragged it off the truck. Finn keeps bugging us about just ‘taking a peek’ but if he so much as lays a finger on the lid I’m breaking said finger. We cannot deliver damaged goods to a client, that would ruin our reputation.

Not that he could lift the lid on his own anyway. Damn thing weighs a ton and kid’s a shrimp.

___

Something’s wrong. Rick has been gone over an hour and he was just supposed to duck out real quick for smokes.

This wouldn’t suck so much if he wasn’t the only one who knew how to contact the client. Abe agrees with me that we just need to lay low until Rick comes back. Finn’s nervous but he doesn’t have the balls to actually bail. He doesn’t know where I stashed our passports anyway.

___

Finn tried to lift the lid. ‘Just for a peek’. And as expected he nearly broke his hand and ended up cutting his palm on one of the sides. Fucking moron.

Abe bandaged him up while I cleaned the coffin up, Finn got some of his blood on it and I didn’t want it to stain. Got most of it off and hopefully the client doesn’t notice anything.

___

Think the heating broke. Abe is taking a look but the temperature dropped from a cozy 70 to a chilly 62. It’s going to get even colder tonight. Time to bundle up and think of those white sand beaches I’ll be vacationing on as I sleep.

___

Wish I had some trazodone left. Having trouble staying asleep. Probably the cold.

Maybe I can get a real prescription when we’re back in the states.

___

Had some strange dreams.

It was like I was walking through a story. Only a member of the audience rather than part of the play.

I saw a woman wearing a flowing, emerald green dress. Her dark hair hid her face from me, but all she was doing was picking various plants and adding them to her basket. Least at first.

Then another woman burst through the undergrowth and fell to her knees. Compared to the woman in the green dress, she looked dirty, simple. I couldn’t understand everything she said, but she kept pointing to the bruise on her face. Looked like someone clocked her good.

The wit woman in the green dress gently took her hands and her voice rung clear as a bell.

‘Come with me, and live joyful and free.’

___

Spiders. I really hate spiders.

There must’ve been a nest in the floor because Finn started screaming and when we ran into the coffin room to tell him to shut his pie hole when we saw the spiders. Big ones, covering the lid of the coffin.

I let Abe deal with that because I have a limit. Tell me to cause a distraction, blow up a truck, steal the crown jewels, I’ll do it. Don’t make me deal with god damn SPIDERS.

___

More fitful sleep just led to more weird dreams. I think my dreams took inspiration from that damn coffin, I swear the woman in green looks just like the carving on the lid.

She was teaching a group of women, least it looked like it. Still couldn’t see her face, but the group ate up her every word. The class was just women, some young as ten or eleven and the oldest looking to be in their seventies.

The woman was picking up certain plants or berries and quietly explaining their uses. Then she pointed to one of the youngest in the front row and asked, ‘Are you ready for your baptism?’

The girl nodded excitedly and the others gave her plenty of space as the woman walked to her. Taking a stone knife from her belt, the woman sliced open a part of her arm and held above the girl’s head.

Scarlet spattered against the girl’s cheeks and tongue before I woke up again. I think I’m staying awake until Rick gets back.

___

Still cold as hell. I’m going to kill Rick if the reason he’s been gone so wrong is because he hit it off with some hooker.

___

Breaking News: Big ole Abe is actually scared of something. Snakes.

Went to go check on the coffin and much to both our surprise there were three big ole guys just curled up on top. Abe screamed like a little girl and ran out of the room. They weren’t even a poisonous variety.

I don’t even know how they got to the coffin because they were sleepy with cold when I picked them up. Coffin itself is even colder. Like touching ice.

Tossed all their scaly butts outside. I wonder if I should tell Abe I once owned a ball python. ___

I must be on edge from the cold. Abe managed to get a lil fire going in the fireplace but I swear to God I saw a shadow while we were all trying to warm up near it. Like a shadow in the hallway. Like of someone heading to the coffin.

I bolted for the hall and back to the coffin room, but no one was there. No one in the rest of the house either and we searched attic to basement. Finn kept teasing me about being paranoid but Abe told me it was all right. When he was still in the army and was patrolling late one night he nearly shot up a bush thinking it was an insurgent. When you’re tired and anxious, it’s natural to see things in the dark.

___

It’s now 55 degrees in the house and dropping. Another five it’ll be the same outside and inside. I was built for Florida. Not this.

___

Found another snake in the coffin room, curled up in the corner. Didn’t recognize the species and Google isn’t telling me squat so I’m not gonna screw with it. I shall call him Herbert. Abe thinks we should call him Satan.

Finn called me paranoid earlier but he is even worse. He thinks the snake came from inside the coffin. Bitch the damn thing has a lid that’s probably over a hundred pounds. Not to mention it fits so well with the box itself a flea probably couldn’t wiggle out.

___

Maybe Finn was right to be paranoid.

I saw more shadows and started searching the house again. I swear I saw someone walking up and down the fucking hallway and I had to be sure. Finn went with me up to the second floor. Still teasing but I was glad not to be alone.

On the way down the stairs Finn suddenly just went flying down, head over heels. Landed on his arm at the bottom and I heard one nasty crunch.

Abe managed to put it in a sling but we can’t go for real help. Not now. We can’t have anyone become suspicious of us. Cops are still on high alert about the Witch Coffin going missing.

I hope that’s not what happened to Rick. Idiot.

___

50 degrees. So freaking tired.

___

I’m officially spooked. This isn’t the first time I’ve transported artifacts. Hell this isn’t even my first time transporting something from a grave.

But the shadows are whispering and the guys can hear them too. I enter a room and I can hear a soft voice. To me it’s just that. Muttering. But the moment Abe or Finn gets in the room that voice turns… Angry. Cold.

I don’t believe in ghosts. I don’t believe in ghosts.

It’s officially colder in the house than it is outside.

___

I don’t know how I fell asleep it’s so fucking COLD and the shadows are getting louder. I can’t make out what they’re saying but I know they’re saying something.

My latest dream. I don’t understand it.

The witch’s house is on fire. All her students are dead. Heads cut off.

The witch herself kneels before a mob. Her chest is full of arrows, her throat has been cut, her legs are broken in so many places… but her wounds still continue to flow with blood and she’s not fucking dying.

I finally catch a glimpse of her face as two men drag her to a box- no not a box. The coffin. She can’t be any older than eighteen. She is just a scared little girl who just wanted to live life in peace with her friends. She doesn’t know why she has these gifts. She doesn’t know why she can’t die. All she knows is that all her friends are now dead and it is her fault.

They throw her in the coffin and before the lid is placed on I hear her scream.

We have to let her out.

___

We are opening the Witch’s Coffin. There are these weird snakes everywhere and spiders are spinning webs of ice. It’s cold enough that I can see my fucking breath.

The coffin itself is bleeding. I thought it was just left over from where Finn cut himself but there is blood dripping from other parts of the coffin now. Parts he didn’t touch.

It is time to free the witch, no matter the consequences.

___

Rick, if you find this, your passport is under the sink in the basement bathroom. Get out of the country. Run for your life.

We opened the coffin and I thought for a second all that was left was bones. Dry. Dusty bones.

Then the lid cracked. Blood began seeping from the bones. Muscles, veins, organs, skin all grew back. The witch’s hair sprouting from her new scalp, growing until it nearly reached her ankles in length.

Then her eyes shot open. Her colorless eyes.

But she could see well enough to lunge at Finn.

Her fingers grew claws and shredded through him like he was tissue paper. He didn’t stand a chance. She ripped off his head and I saw her stick her hand up his neck when Abe tackled her, screaming at me to run. Run as fast as I could.

I hid in the basement. I prayed for God to have mercy on my soul.

But the Witch hasn’t killed me.

When she got to the basement, she was soaked in blood and cradling Abe’s head in her arms. I shut my eyes and prayed she would make it quick.

She sat beside me, stroking Abe’s fluffy hair.

Then I heard Abe’s voice.

“How am I not dead?”

I opened my eyes to look at his head. The Witch had pressed two of her fingers to his lips. His eyes flicked around and his face was frozen in pure terror.

The Witch spoke, her voice strangely younger than I imagined it would be.

“Because. After consuming the other man’s brain, I realized I would need you and the woman. Simple knowledge isn’t enough to survive in such a startling and new world.” She turned her pale gaze on me. Slitted pupils seemed to sprout from the center of her eyes as they focused on me.

“Help me and I give this man a new body.”

She’s in the shower now, not even a foot away from me. Take away the eyes she does look normal enough. Abe’s head can’t talk without her magic, but he’s sentient. I can see the fear in his eyes.

I don’t know if she will actually keep to her word but that’s all I have to go off of.

Rick, please, save us.

[fatfables]

Fat People Can Sing Too (Part Six)

Ben's journey towards becoming a huge star continues with a romantic encounter...

On the day of the semi-final he begged David to tell him how much he weighed. He tried to hide his disappointment upon hearing that he was 21 stone. He felt fatter. Brian and David were very pleased.

When he entered the stage to sing ‘The Noisy Eater’ by The Avalanches there was an audible gasp from the studio audience. The song was a bad choice for his voice but Brian had insisted that it worked lyrically. Ben struggled through it and tried to shuffle about the stage making rap star-like movements with his hands. Even his hands were fat now. His palms were swollen and his fingers porky. He was back to wearing a plain white tee and blue jeans, XXXL and 42 inch respectively. They were of course too tight. His belly was now truly beach ball sized and bounced up and down as he bent his knees to the beat. His sexy ass, that had caused such a reaction the previous week, was this time kept safely in his pants, however, it was clearly several inches wider, hung lower, and filled out further. It was just massively bigger. Millions of housewives commented on it to their husbands. One, a nice lady called Hayley, did so only to distract herself from the massive boner that she had noticed her teenage son was rocking. Ben sang, “In my stomach, I heard a voice. It said, Please feed me, my tank is on empty. I’m seeing things so please don’t tempt me.” As he sang he subconsciously rubbed the top of his swollen rounded out stomach and it rumbled loudly with greed. His microphone picked this up, but he had no idea, he just kept singing about all the delicious foods he wanted to consume. His performance was met with mild applause and he left the stage feeling concerned.

David was waiting for him in the green room, he gave Ben a hug and a box of Cadbury’s Milk Tray. Ben whinged that the song was a bad choice and that it had been by far his worst performance. David didn’t seem worried at all, “We’re after the sympathy vote, you won’t get enough of them if you’re too good. I promise you it’s gonna be fine.” Ben was absentmindedly eating the chocolates that David had given him when Brian entered. “That was fucking perfect!” he said and gave Ben a pat on the back that caused his flab to jiggle. Ben explained that he thought he had sucked terribly. “You still don’t fucking get it, do you?” Brian furrowed his brow and launched into a rant, “We were after the fucking sympathy vote Ben! Yes, it’s a bad choice of song, that’s why it was so fucking perfect! A huge sad fat diabetic with a binge eating disorder singing about how he can’t stop eating. It will make perfect sense when you admit your disorder on stage. You better fucking let the tears flow!” Ben felt like he already wanted to cry. Part of him also really wanted to tell Brian what he thought of him and that he wasn’t a sad fat diabetic because he didn’t fucking have diabetes and he didn’t have a binge eating disorder! He didn’t have the energy though. He just couldn’t be bothered anymore. He ate seven more chocolates before mumbling something about just wanting to be famous.

He was called on stage with the other five contestants. The judges gave their feedback and said that it had been his worst vocal performance. The studio audience booed. At least they still seem to like me, he thought. The judges voted him into fifth place. Only the strength of his previous performances had prevented them from placing him last. It was now definitely up to the housewives of England to save him and save him they did. He received 852,000 public votes. He was astounded. Maybe Brian had been right all along?

The presenter asked him, “How has it been coping with all the extra media pressure this week?” This was a euphemism for ‘What the fuck is wrong with you? Why do you keep getting so disgustingly fat and drunk in public?’ And, ‘How the fuck can you keep putting on so much weight?’ Ben gave the exact answer that Brian had prepared for him. He clarified again that he didn’t have an alcohol problem but that he had been struggling since the death of his darling gran and that he had turned to food as a comfort. He then preemptively apologised if anything he said before had misled anyone but that he was only just managing to admit it to himself, let alone the general public. He had now though come to the realisation that he did have a binge eating disorder and that it was only perpetuating his unhappiness. He begged everybodies forgiveness as tears ran down his massive round cheeks. The presenter hugged him, told him how brave he was and that he was an inspiration to millions of overweight people. He got a standing ovation. He had somehow managed to lie perfectly. The tears were of happiness. He was totally fucking elated.

There was only a small private party that night in Ben’s room. For the first few hours it was Ben, David, and Brian but then Brian had suddenly left after an argument with David in the bathroom. Ben had gotten drunk for the first time since the previous week's party and negative headlines. His head had been a little too fuzzy to fully listen in and understand what it was about. He mostly just heard Brian swearing a lot but David had clearly mentioned finding something in Brian’s bag. Ben tried to question him about this once Brian had slammed the door and stomped off down the corridor but David wasn’t interested in answering him, instead he completely shocked Ben by giving him a slow sensitive kiss on the cheek while fingering a Mr Kipling’s Bakewell Tart into his mouth.

David was still on shift and ensured that Ben ate an absolute shit ton. Now was the best time to attack the food front as Ben was drunk and extremely happy. In total he ate three boxes of bakewell tarts, two tubes of pringles, cajun chicken and chips, four mango sorbets, garlic mushrooms, a double pepperoni pizza, a second box of milk tray, a litre of strawberry yoghurt, and three double cheeseburgers. This took about six hours in total along with the nine or ten pints of beer. He lay on his bed feeling giddy, horny, and bloated as fuck. His beach ball belly had expanded yet again, its huge round shape held together perfectly as he relaxed on his back. This mountain of fat moved gently up and down as he breathed in and out. It blocked the view of his feet. Ben felt so big and so stuffed. His aching stomach was packed far too tight, he could feel the digestive pain deep inside him, a sensation he was growing to like. David came over to him to say goodbye. Ben looked him in the eye and very softly asked if he would kiss him again. David thought about it for a few seconds before leaning forward and kissing Ben on his full fat lips. He held the kiss longer than he had intended to, allowing Ben time to put his tongue in. It felt better than he had expected. Ben grabbed him with his fat heavy arms and pulled him up on top of his mountainous frame. Ben was so comfortable, like a human mattress, with a huge pile of soft pillows placed in the middle of it. They kept kissing and David felt his dick harden. As it grew it began to stick into Ben’s belly fat. It felt so smooth and sensual. A strange mixture of heavy pressure and squeezy softness enveloped his cock and he instinctively began to dry hump it. Both men moaned with pleasure. David’s hands started feeling their way around Ben’s plump upper torso. Although slightly disgusted by it David couldn’t help but keep fingering and stroking the roll of fat that seemed to hang off of Ben’s sidemoobs. It was gross but engrossing. He squirmed on top of Ben for several minutes with Ben running his chubby hands over his hair and upper back. Ben asked David to fuck him and was kinda suprised when he said, “No, you fuck me.” To the best of Ben’s knowledge David had always been a top and when he said so David just softly replied, “Normally yes, but not with you. With you, you need to fuck me!”

It took real effort but Ben rolled onto his side. David fell off him and into the soft bedspread with a kerplumpfff. He lay on his front, buried his face in a pillow, pushed his ass tantalising up into the air and arched in his back. Ben heaved his ample frame around and over David. He wanted to bend down to lick his friend's asshole but his round bulbous belly was in the way and it hurt when he applied any pressure to it by bending forward. He spat at David’s ass and rather unceremoniously forced three round fat fingers straight up into it. David screamed in pain and bit down hard on his pillow, eyes tightly shut. Ben moved his fingers in and out and the pain began to ease. He pulled his fingers out and pushed his dick in with a surprising amount of dexterity for his now almost ridiculous size. Thrusting was a real effort so he did it slow and smooth. He couldn’t believe that he was really making love to his friend. Holding his own body weight up with his arms proved to be impossible after only thirty seconds or so. He could feel the weakened upper-arm muscles, buried deep under inches of fat, shaking with agony. David was lucky that Ben managed to lower himself into a lying position on top of him rather than just suddenly collapsing. Even so Ben was heavy as fuck. Over twenty stone of him pinned David’s skinny ass down to the bed. David felt like he was being buried alive. His chest hurt as he struggled to breath from the pressure that Ben’s mass inflicted on his ribcage. Ben’s massive beach ball belly pushed down in the small of his back with such force that he felt like he was being contorted into a V shape. With each thrust the monstrous belly heaved forward, placing yet more pressure onto his own thin abdomen. Ben’s fat rolled over his sides, it encompassed and enveloped him. David imagined himself being sucked into his friend's gut by its gravitational force, slowly turning him into even more belly fat. Ben felt fucking huge as he crushed his friend. His rarely used asshole felt so tight and good. The pressure on his massively stuffed belly was immense. Its hard centre was strained full of thousands of calories, packed tight and expanding like an overinflated tyre ready to pop. Ben could feel all of his new fat tingling. He couldn’t believe how sensitive his skin had become to even the slightest touch. He squeezed his own beautifully swollen breast and sighed loudly. His heart thumped heavily in his chest and he felt it starting to pick up pace. When he released, with his final thrust forward, it felt like his entire ten gallon belly was emptying of cum. David sank even further into the mattress and let out a muffled cry. Ben rolled his huge round body off his flattened friend and lay on his side next to him. David’s face was bright red, he was sweating profusely, and wore an expression that somehow put across a feeling of equal pain, pleasure and relief. “I love you, you’ve made my dreams come true,” Ben said to him before they fell asleep.

[chickensarentcheap]

Tyler and Esme have never really dated, which is weird, I know LOL. But for them, as an old married couple (lol) their idea of a 'perfect' date would be at the restaurant they love in Cooktown, right on the water. So a great meal, a nice stroll afterwards, coffee and dessert somewhere before heading on. They're very 'simple' people these two lol

Well, as boring as it is, definitely, they'd both say it was the other's eyes that they love the most and were first attracted to. After that, Tyler would say her freckles and her smile, Esme would say his hands and forearms.

Esme would say his compassion (yeah, he's a mercenary, but he's got a lot of 'good' in him) and how he's a 'big man with an even bigger heart'. And that he's protective and makes her feel safe and secure. Tyler I think would say how bright and bubbly she is. How she gives everyone a chance when she meets them. Like him, for example. She saw more to him than anyone else ever did.

These two are opposites in many ways. Let's start the most obvious, their physical differences. Tyler is 'freakishly tall' (as she she calls it) and built like a brick shit house and she's 'freakishly tiny' and barely weighs a hundred pounds soaking wet. He's a grump first thing in the morning, she's very bright and chatty and talks his ear off while he drinks his coffee lol. Esme is very much an extrovert and Tyler is very....well...Tyler LOL. She's a social butterfly and he prefers to stick to a small group of friends and colleagues. He likes that when they go places, he can just stand around and she can do all the talking lol. But somehow, they 'work'.

There's not much they don't come to some common ground on. But the biggest disagreement they have stems from when he had to choose either her life or that of their unborn child and he chose her. Esme felt he should have picked the baby. It remains the one thing they will never agree on: she says if a situation like that arises, to always pick the child. He says no way. That he will always choose her.

Let's face it, he's never going to get the chance to borrow something of hers. LOL. That girl can wear clothes from the junior department. Esme however, is notorious for 'borrowing' from his side of the closet. T-shirts, dress shirts, hoodies, sweaters, ball caps.

This is kind of a hard one. Hmmm. I think the ocean would be what reminds of Esme of Tyler. The sound of the waves, the smell of the salty air. For him, I think it would be smell of coconut or honey. As he associates those with her scent.

Esme is incredibly sentimental, as she's the more sensitive one. He purchased a bracelet for her in Dhaka (just a cheap thing, three different colours of leather braided together) as a 'peace offering' after they'd gotten into a little disagreement and he tried to 'choke her out' and they had some crazy, angry sex (their first time together). She refuses to get rid of that bracelet. It's a mess. He's fixed it several times and always just tells her to get rid of it. It wasn't expensive, important, etc. But she refuses. Tyler gets sentimental over things she gives him for his 'collections'. Watches, surfboards. The kids once made him a jar filled with sand and shells and beach glass from the beach at their place when he was in the hospital for a prolonged period of time.

Nope. They can't. They find it impossible. They HAVE to be touching in some way. Even if it's just the side of their legs pressed against each other. Or if sitting across from one another, their toes touching under the table.

These two love animals. In the main series, they have two dogs, several goats, several chickens, three pot bellied pigs, a turtle, hamsters, guinea pigs, a bearded dragon, and two horses

@tragiclyhip

[bridgertonbabe]

Now I need the follow up to the angst and Benedict telling tell her how much of a dick he was/is and how he’s loved her all this time please

Anon asked: BUT HOW DOES HP!BENOPHIE ACTUALLY GET TOGETHER AFTER ALL THE YULE BALL DEBACLE 😭

Right, I’ve stalled long enough, so *cracks knuckles* here goes;

Benedict arrives at Aubrey Hollow around a week before Simon and Daphne’s wedding takes place in order to help his family set up and prepare ahead of the big day. While Sophie sees quite a bit of him, she is glad that there are always Bridgertons around to provide a buffer between them, lest she make the mistake of being led on by him again.

They start off being politely cordial to one another but the more time spent together in close proximity under the same roof, the more they fall back into the easy rapport they used to have growing up prior to everything that happened at the Yule ball and after. They team up in teasing Colin together, they help cook dinner with Violet one night, and they bring up the rear of his group of siblings one day when they traipse through the fields to visit the local village just as they used to. 

It takes several days for them to find themselves alone together as they cleared up after a game of Quidditch with Simon, Kate, and his siblings. It’s then that Benedict offers her apologies, for what he said at the Yule ball - Sophie was shocked that he knew she had overheard him until she realised that Phillip must have told him - and for stopping their near-hookup on the beach in Greece. He tells her that he doesn’t want her to hate him, the thought of which had haunted him for the last two years. Sophie quickly extends an apology out to him in turn, saying she didn’t mean what she said when she yelled at him on the beach that fateful evening. She had spent two year cringing at the memory of screaming she hated him, and she explained to him that she was drunk and emotional and what she had said wasn’t fair of her, especially when in retrospect she can understand he didn’t want to take advantage of her when she was inebriated.

It’s certainly a step in the right direction and Sophie is relieved that the bad air has finally been cleared between them, making her feel incredibly light and it’s only then that she realises that she had been weighed down by that friction and angst for quite some time. She was curious when Benedict opened his mouth as if to say something else but he was robbed of the chance when Hyacinth swooped in and stole her away to help with the dinner. 

With amends having been made, the pair remained close in the days leading up to the wedding and were typically buddied up by Violet as they assisted with the many preparations that needed seeing to. Despite spending a lot of time together, there wasn’t another opportunity for them to be alone again since they were constantly surrounded by Bridgertons and it seemed whatever Benedict had wanted to say to her the other day was something he wanted to speak with her in private about.

On the day of the wedding Aubrey Hollow is bustling with life as the family all rush about to get ready. Sophie had come down to the living room assuming to find Eloise who she had thought would be there and who could help her finish zipping up her dress - but instead she found Benedict. She had tried to excuse herself but Benedict noticed her half-done zip at the back of her dress and offered to help her with it. Sophie swallowed and nodded, turning her back to him, and as soon as she felt his fingers ghosting against her skin her heart began frantically beating. Though her dress was now zipped up, Benedict’s fingers lingered for a few seconds and he murmured how beautiful she was. She looked over her shoulder and met his piercing gaze with her heavy-lidded own and suddenly she felt a heavy anticipation hanging in the air between them, coaxing them to draw closer as their eyes fell to each other’s lips - only for the charged longing to be disrupted by the Bridgerton brothers galloping down the stairs. 

They quickly stepped apart though none of his brothers noticed the flush that graced their cheeks, with Anthony instead barking at Benedict asking as to where his cufflinks were. Benedict cursed when he realised he was missing the Bridgerton blue cufflinks that each of his brothers were wearing and acknowledged that he had left them up in his room. Before he had the chance to fetch them, Gregory pointed out that guests were already arriving and Anthony told Benedict there was no time to retrieve the cufflinks when they had to be ushers, but Sophie resolved the issue by volunteering to get them for Benedict. 

She hurried up to his room and went straight for the nightstand where Benedict had said they would be but they weren’t there. She thought perhaps he meant he had them in the nightstand drawer and pulled it open, only to be surprised by what she found. There was an enchanted photo and beaming back at her were teenage versions of herself and Benedict from the night of the Yule ball. She picked it up and stared as she only just remembered Daphne insisting on taking photos that night and had snapped one of her with Benedict outside of the Great Hall before the ball had begun. She saw how elated her sixteen year old self had been in that moment, blissfully unaware of the crushing heartbreak she would be on the tail end of by the end of the night. Her eyes then looked at Benedict from seven years earlier and she watched as he smiled at the camera before his twinkling gaze was drawn back to the girl by his side. Sophie’s breath hitched when she saw how he was looking at her, his face soft with fondness, his eyes dancing with affection, and a smile on his face that she had never seen him wear before. She didn’t know that Benedict had ever looked at her like that and he had truly never resembled his father more in that moment - Benedict was gazing at her in the same way she had always known Edmund Bridgerton to gaze adoringly at his wife. 

Her heart was fluttering madly and she realised she had been holding her breath for a number of minutes as she processed the way Benedict had once looked at her. What did it mean? Surely she was reading far too much into it? But then this was the night they had shared their first kiss, the first time she had felt that heavy anticipation between them - however this was also the night he had told his mates that she was just his little brother’s friend. For a second Sophie considered that she was letting her longing heart get the best of her, for hoping that this meant something when it probably didn’t until she wondered why Benedict had this photo in his possession. The photo was a little worn, as if it had been handled quite often and she could see fingerprints smudging the image. She also realised that it hadn’t been just knocking about in a junk drawer, left unforgotten for years; it was in the drawer of his bedside table where he would keep other items he needed close to him like a sketchbook, which she then picked up, flipping it open only for her jaw to drop at the penciled portrait of herself. She gaped and opened to another page to find not just another sketch of her but also a photo of her for comparison; a photo from the last album she had sent back to Aubrey Hollow from her interrailing trip with the guys. Peering into the drawer she saw several photos of herself smiling, laughing, waving back in various countries they had been to. There were also old gift tags from presents she had given him over the years, her eyes scanning multiple uses of her own handwriting of Lots of love, Sophie x. In addition there were scrap pieces of paper which she recognised were notes they had written back and forth to each other when they used to study in the library together, a ticket from when Sophie had taken the Bridgertons to a muggle art gallery during a day out in London, and an old fragrance tester strip that - when she gave it a sniff - still smelt like the flower of sakara, which was the very perfume she had been gifted by Anthony with upon Benedict’s recommendation. 

Sophie stared at his bedside drawer which was filled with what he cherished most - which by all accounts appeared to be her. It was a staggering discovery and Sophie couldn’t fathom what this all meant, what it could possibly mean -

Perhaps he loves you, too.   

She was then brought back down to earth by Hyacinth calling for her and she quickly returned the photo and sketchbook to the drawer and closed it shut. Sophie got up to answer Hyacinth’s call when she remembered the reason she had ventured into Benedict’s room in the first place. She glanced about and luckily found the cufflinks on his desk and grabbed them before she left. 

During the wedding ceremony as Simon and Daphne exchanged their vows Sophie dared to glance over at Benedict, only to find his eyes already settled on her. With their gazes interlocked, for a moment she firmly believed that both of them were on the same page, that the words they were hearing applied to how they feel for one other, causing butterflies to erupt in her stomach and for her heart to pound against her chest in renewed hope. 

At the reception Sophie’s heart soars further when Benedict asks her to join him on the dancefloor, his eyes hope-filled when he offers a hand to her.

“Um, excuse me, I was going to dance with Soph.”

She could have stupefied Colin right then and there for opening his stupid mouth and interrupting them.

“Oh, right.” Benedict withdrew his hand sheepishly. “Sorry, I didn’t reali-”

“You never once mentioned sharing a dance.” she shot at Colin, giving him a sharp look of annoyance.

“No but we always do,”

“Well Ben asked me first.” she bit back. 

“Ugh, fine!” Colin rolled his eyes. “Well then who am I supposed to dance with?”

“For crying out loud, Penelope’s right there; ask her!”

Before Colin could say another word, Sophie grabbed a hold of Benedict’s hand and pulled him to the dancefloor where they danced together for several songs, much like they had at the Yule ball. When a slow song starts up they remain on the floor, drawing together with their hands clasped together, her other hand on his shoulder and his on her waist as they swayed together. With their soft gazes transfixed he gently pulls her in closer so that they’re chest to chest and Sophie can feel her whole body burning from his touch. Benedict then takes the opportunity to quietly tell her that contrary to her belief, he didn’t kiss her at the Yule ball as a rebound from his ex; he kissed her because she was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen, further adding that their first kiss had been life changing. Sophie was stunned, her heart thumping against her chest at the sincere confession he had just professed while gazing into her very soul. He then asks if that first kiss had meant as much to her as it had to him and without hesitation she breathlessly tells him that it did.

As the song comes to an end, Sophie can suddenly feel a lot of his family’s eyes on them during such an intimate and meaningful conversation (with the exception of an oblivious Colin as he had his back to them while he danced with Penelope). Benedict suggests they go somewhere quieter to talk and Sophie acquiesces before they then slip away from the party and out of the wedding marquee. He leads her to the edge of the garden by a cluster of trees where they won’t be seen by anyone peering out in search of them.

There Benedict takes her hands in his and then pours his heart out to her, explaining he said what he said at the ball because he was confused and in denial about the intense feelings he had developed for her that night. He also explained that he had put a stop to their beach hookup because he wanted their first time to be special and not some drunken fumble because she meant too much to him and deserved far better than that. Sophie is left astonished by what he’s confessing to her and when she asks what all of it means - hoping with every last fibre of her being that he’ll tell her the very thing she’s always dreamed of - he then tells her he's in love with her and has been since the night of the Yule ball, acknowledging he had screwed up massively with her but hoping with all of his heart that there's a chance she might love him back.

Sophie’s heart is thundering wildly against her chest, she can feel it pulsating all through her body and in her ears, and she had never felt so giddy and breathless in all her life. She then tells him that the reason she didn’t mean it when she said she hated him a couple of years previously is because she could never hate him - she only knows to love him and has never even come close to loving anyone else the way she's loved him since she was 11 years old. 

At long last they kiss again just as fireworks go off for the wedding, his hands tenderly cupping her face and her hands clutching the front of his jacket, feeling his lips smiling against hers as they lose themselves in the magic of falling in love all over again.  

They then sneak past the wedding marquee hand in hand, slipping into Aubrey Hollow and climbing up the stairs, stealing kisses as they go, before they reach Benedict's room. He locks the door behind them, casts a quick muffling spell on his room, and then they’re wrapped around each other again, kissing and squeezing and undressing each other until they end up in bed and have the magical first time that Benedict had wanted for them that night two years ago. After, as they bathe in the moonlight shining through the window lazily trading kisses and whispering sweet nothings to each other, Sophie feels nothing but utter love for the man whose arms she’s engulfed in, filled with all-encompassing bliss knowing she’ll get to spend the rest of her life with Benedict Bridgerton. 

[paktderpakte]

Last Flight

The moonlit sea slid by beneath the two Meteors. It felt to Collins like they hadn't seen anyone for hours, but they didn't have that kind of flight time. Every so often the crippled engine sputtered, he felt the plane slow, watched the altimeter bleed the height he was trying to save for the glide, precious feet slipping into the sea like his fuel.

He and Davies had gamed it out on their channel together in the first few minutes after they escaped the blockade, trying to weigh their options and what might have happened on the Island, what might have happened to the relief fleet, where they might go now. Even on a full tank they'd never make it to Papua. Illustrious had to be somewhere in the Philippine Sea, that was certain, far out of reach dueling with Kaga-- or else she and her escort were simply sunk. Flying to her, they would run out of fuel somewhere south of Taiwan and get shot down by Japanese patrols.

The only thing for it, they had decided, was the Philippines. The Americans might throw them in jail, might hand them over to the Japanese, but then they might not. Assuming no leaks, they would run out of fuel a few kilometers north of Luzon, and then they could drift in, make a belly landing on some beach or even land on an airstrip if they could make contact with someone.

It was about the best plan they were going to get.

Speaking of making contact, he decided to try again, flicking his comms to the distress channel for ships. He took a moment to steady himself, then spoke.

"Mayday, mayday, emergency. Survivors from the siege of Hong Kong flying southeast, bearing 1-3-0 toward Luzon. Insufficient fuel to reach land; engines damaged. If any League of Nations or friendly ships are receiving this transmission, please respond. Repeat, emergency, crippled RAF fighters request assistance, en route from Hong Kong to Manila, running out of fuel. Please."

Tenser than ever, he listened for a response. Static. Listened some more, hoping to catch some semblance of speech in the static, and nearly jumped with excitement to hear a human voice until he realized it was Badger. "We might get some shipping traffic, but that's it," he commented, not chastising his friend so much as commiserating. "And it'll probably be Japs."

"I know. Right now-- if I spoke it well enough I might ask them for help too."

"They'd shoot us."

"Maybe." They flew on.

The comment stuck in Collins' mind more than he liked. He thought of Campbell, stumbling back to the Island…the rest of the squadron, left behind, surrendering to the IJA. Would they be shot? Sent off to a prison camp in the interior?

"We wouldn't have to worry about it if Control had done its job." Badger broke his despairing reverie, and anger flared to replace it. This was all down to command incompetence-- incompetence or malice. His fist clenched against the lever thinking of it for the first time since they'd fled. Shattered wrecks strewn on the airstrip at Von Seeckt with his comrades still inside, James' plane blossoming into a ball of fire, Parker sinking under the waves.

He hated that bitch in the red planes. Sylvie Dorn. He had read her file over and over in the brig, burned her face into his memory. He didn't care what Jaeger was like, that he seemed to have a shred of honor-- he had a murderer in his command staff, as far as Collins was concerned, and she would pay for it.

But she only killed James, didn't she.

Adlai. He'd made them stick it out over Guangzhou, he'd refused to send them more fighters over Hong Kong, kept the ceasefire from them too.

He'd killed them all.

He'd pay for it too.

Not that Collins told Badger any of that. His wingman would never rat on him intentionally, but they'd probably be questioned, and having murderous intent toward your former air controller would raise red flags. He just took a breath, tried to calm himself, let the death grip release. "Yeah," he finally radioed back. "They really fucked up bad."

"…anyway. How's your fuel?" Better to get back on survival.

"Little more'n forty. I don't think my fuel lines got hit-- the black squadron's commander, I charged him and it spooked'em. I'll probably make it over land."

Though he couldn't see it, Collins shook his head. "Yeah, you're doing better than me. And that wasn't their commander. It was a stand-in. Whoever it was probably wasn't used to leading so many planes."

"Eh? 'ow you know? Maybe he was just off 'is game."

"Because the black squadron is the first of their wing. Schwarze," he muttered it like a curse. "Their commander was the thief who stole my plane."

Davies whistled. "One 'ell of a trophy. Pilots are a mess without a commander, they teach the Russians that, they say. Kill the head of the snake and the rest falls apart."

"…I hope Temple is having a better time of it than that," Collins finally said, after a long silence. They could see the island at this point, black against the black sky, and yet-- Badger was doing much better than him. Twenty gallons in his tank would be generous, and as Collins stared at the fuel gauge it seemed to drop visibly, ticking away his life, ticking away the time Temple Squadron had a deserter for a commander instead of a dead commander.

The broken engine sputtered again, the airframe shook around him, he sank a few dozen more feet. "I might make it with the glide, but I might have to ditch in the water. We'll see."

"Right."

He made another distress call, but the two pilots didn't say much more to each other. Even when the engine 'ran,' now, it didn't want to put out the same kind of thrust. The speed indicator kept dropping, the altitude indicator, the fuel indicator, all ticking down, grains of sand in an hourglass as Luzon crawled closer.

Maybe thirty klicks out, the pierced engine stopped for good, then the other a few moments later, as the last of the fuel burned up or dripped into the sea. "Fucker. I'm out. I think there's a beach…a little south of our bearing?"

Badger took a deep breath on comms, steeling himself. "I see it. Are you going to try and ditch there?"

"No better options, are there?"

"No." The second pilot hesitated. "I'll bring help back. I still have a ways left to go."

"Yeah. You've been gimping your speed to stay with me too."

The less-damaged plane and its pilot separated from Collins, and started to accelerate, banking away to the south where the lights of a city gleamed. "I'll be back. Really. Even if you're dead I'll be back."

Collins didn't respond. And now he was alone. No men to protect, just his own skin.

They'd practiced engine-out landings, but this wasn't that, there was no runway. He was just falling out of the sky. He pulled the plane into a glide configuration, didn't bother but to glance at the altimeter now, just watched the sea and the strip of sand loom up to meet him. He wasn't going to make it. There would be no leaving a trail screaming onto the beach, he was going to skip across the water like a rock and his plane would shatter and sink and none of them would know what happened to him. God.

An instant before his borrowed Meteor hit the waves, Collins wondered if Davies would make it to an airstrip. The last thing he saw before he blacked out was the canopy splintering from the impact.

[starjynx]

@barrenstars sent: [CRASH] - sender laughs at the receiver when a wave knocks receiver over ( from smiley, for yuzuha! )

Nothing quite like the smell of sunscreen & sound of seagulls flying overhead. Emma had invited Yuzuha out to the beach for the day, surely a recipe for a fun afternoon with her bestie. But, Yuzuha failed to anticipate Toman being invited to this outing. The boys having to be the rowdiest they've ever been as the Shiba tried her best to ignore the boys running by trying to splash each other. A hand reaching out to pull Emma along with her further into the sea, away from the ruckus but still shallow enough to spot shells. Smiles had been exchanged as they both pointed out different shells they could find. Yuzuha had been so preoccupied staring down at the sand rushing between her toes & shells being washed into the rushing water that she failed to see Emma running away & shouting at Yuzuha to follow. 

One big wave knocked Yuzuha off her feet & had her colliding with the sand below, sea water filling her senses & mouth opening to spit out water that snuck in. Embarrassment weighed heavily with a reddening face, she almost didn't catch Smiley laughing at her. Almost.

❝ Oh yeah? Was it that funny? ❞ Agitation heavy in tone as she balled wet sand in the palm of her hand without much thought. Letting actions speak first, she stood back up & hurled the ball of sopping sand at him. A smirk spreading across her sandy visage. ❝ How about now, still hilarious? ❞

SUMMER STARTERS || NOT ACCEPTING!

[mintmatcha]

kageyama

hurt/comfort

Sand clings to his hair, tiny specks of white against the raven gloss. It'll drive him crazy tonight, once he gets home, but for now, he just continues to lie there, setting the ball straight into the air and catching it again. The Italian sun shines bright, but Kageyama doesn't savor it; his mouth is drawn into the same, serious line as always.

"I broke up with her." Italian weighs heavy on his tongue.

"Oh, I'm sorry." you reply, dragging your fingers through the hot beach sand. It's hard to sound genuine; you never liked his girlfriends. Most of them were fine enough, but none of them seemed all that enthused to be with him.

"I'm not." Kageyama pushes the ball back up, sharper this time, so hard it hangs in the air much longer than before. "She didn't love me."

"She said that?"

"No." he sighs, like it's obvious, "But it was obvious, wasn't it? She just loved dating an athlete."

Kageyama catches the ball in his fingertips, holding it up to block the sun. With a delicate precision, he rotates it in place, caught in a perpetual eclipse.

"I don't think anyone's ever loved me." he says under his breath.

"Your parents-"

"That doesn't count. They're forced to love me, biology makes them."

It'd be so easy to confess right now. Blame the summer sun, blame his sudden emotional neediness, blame anything and just say it. I love you. I love you.

But it would feel hollow to confession when he's down, when he's vulnerable.

"You love yourself."

He flinches, suddenly turning his face from you. You touched a nerve you didn't know was exposed.

"I'm not a narcissistic asshole anymore." he pauses, "Am I?"

"I don't mean it like that." you poke a gritty finger against his forehead. "You take care of yourself, you treat yourself to niceties, you feed yourself."

You tug his shirt by the sleeve until he relents and turns back to you. "Would you do that to someone you didn't love?"

He watches you with those wide, blue eyes, soft with childlike curiosity. "Does that count? Does that count as love?"

You shrug, looking back into the sun. Nothing blocks your view and you stare, locked with it until your eyes tear up and you are forced to blink. "It has to." you insist, "It has to count, or I'd be loveless."

[dr3amofagame]

as of yet unnamed ghost!dream au

here’s some of a ghost!dream au that i’ve been working on for the last few days!! it’s been Fun - definitely one of my favorite current aus, along w/ vegas team 2.0 and others. it’s a really ,, bittersweet c!sam + c!dream centric au that’s equal parts fluffy and messed up, and my goal is to (somehow) wrangle this mess into some sort of happy ending 

anyway, i hope you all enjoy!! definitely look out for more of this in the future, and a future name change when i get around to thinking of one that Fits lmao 

tw: blood, violence, implied torture, abuse, description of dead bodies, unhealthy relationships, emotional distress, unhealthy coping mechanisms, grief, death, dehumanization

Sam woke up to fifty pounds of fur smacking him in the face.

He startled, stumbled to awareness as he struggled to breathe from the newfound weight on his chest. It took a few moments for his vision to clear up enough to see what was right in front of him, but his lips quirked up in a small smile as Fran sat, self-satisfied, with her paws pressed against his collarbones, looking for all the world like she was priding herself in her win.

"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up." He ran a hand through the fur on her head, got a bark in return. The smile dropped, however, when his brain - still foggy with sleep - began to drag itself into awareness, bringing with it a whole slew of unpleasant memories that largely made him want to crawl back under the covers for another week, please.

Fran barked again, headbutted him insistently, and he pushed away the thoughts with a bleary shake of his head. As much as he wanted to avoid his responsibilities, experience had taught him otherwise, and what was he without his duty, now?

He was halfway through the process of putting on his armor when he realized, hands falling from the straps they had been readjusting, lips pulled into a thin line.

Oh.

Right.

Fran barked again, probably noticing his hesitance, making a point of ramming her head into the backs of his legs again when he stood still for a little too long. Sam stared at his hands for a moment, then another, before going to undo the fastenings of his netherite chestplate and hang it back up on the stand.

He wouldn’t be needing those for a while, would he?

“Hey girl.” He kneeled down to scratch Fran by the ears, smiling softly when she closed her eyes in satisfaction. He usually didn’t have any time to spend with her, not with him needing to check on the prisoner in the morning to make sure he would be ready for Quackity’s visits at noon and his afternoons usually filled with his work at Las Nevadas and on his own bank and keeping the prisoner alive-

Sam breathed out a little too harshly, reaching for the Warden’s communicator he kept tucked in his chest pocket. The same words stared at him in the morning light, clear and damning.

Dream was slain by Quackity using [Warden’s Will].

It had been an accident, in the end. He hadn’t been listening well enough, Quackity’s shouts blending with Dream’s ragged screams making up the same painful two-note song that filled most of his days, when the cell - steadily growing in sound for the past hour, as Quackity (inevitably) became more desperate and the prisoner (inevitably) forwent any attempts at holding back his pain - suddenly went silent.

The quiet itself was enough to raise his hackles, have him reaching for a pearl as he clicked open his communicator; the quiet “Sam?” from Quackity only made them rise more.

By the time he reached the other side, his communicator was already buzzing with the notification he’d known would appear, in the end, and Dream was lying still with a sword shoved through his chest.

---

Sam hadn’t really reacted, when he first realized. He set upon the task of cleaning up the aftermath much the same way as he approached everything nowadays, quick, efficient, and methodical. He sent Quackity away to wash off the worst of the blood, not bothering to follow him across the lava; it’s not like there was any prisoner that could take advantage of the loosened security, anymore. With the winged man gone, he resigned himself to the job of dealing with the remains of the prisoner.

In the heat of the lava, the body hadn’t even cooled yet, the blood flowing from it- him- whatever, still warm to the touch. Sam eased off the cracked remains of the mask, heart momentarily seizing at the sight of the face underneath it; gaunt, pale, and stretched in memories of pain that it could no longer feel, it- he looked anything but peaceful. His eyes were still blown open in fright, bright green eyes long-dulled, a smattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose and cheekbones thrown in sharp relief from the paleness of his skin. Even with the scars on every visible inch of skin, he looked- young, like a scared kid, expression tortured even in death, and Sam could feel echoes of horror beating against his skull like a heartbeat. With a slightly shaking hand, he closed Dream’s eyes - the man was dead. It was the least he could do.

He must’ve spent a solid few minutes carefully bandaging each cut and gash, still sluggishly weeping blood - not that it meant anything, with him dead, but it felt - necessary, to at least give him this much dignity after death. He was covered in blood, some of it fresh, most of it not, but after wiping away the worst of it from his skin (his hair and clothes had been a lost cause for a long time), he almost looked- human. It wasn’t a perfect image; he was far, far too still to be anything like the Dream that Sam remembered, and there were more bandages than exposed skin, at this point, skin paper-white against the black of the obsidian floor and the air still thick with the smell of blood, but if he squinted a little he could almost imagine that Dream was only sleeping. That nothing had happened.

Nothing had happened.

Or at least- nobody could know what did happen. Not with Dream’s death meaning that the information of the revival book was lost forever, not when his death would open up a whole can of worms that both he and Quackity would be better off not having to deal with for the rest of time, thank you very much. Keeping it all a secret wouldn’t be that hard, all things considered; he could turn away visitors with the excuse of preventing something like Tommy’s death from happening again, and it’s not like anyone was particularly preoccupied with thinking about the conditions of the prisoner. He and Quackity would have to think of a better excuse in the future, but now wasn’t the time. All he had to do was get Dream’s body out of Pandora and away from people’s prying eyes; everything else could come after.

Picking up Dream took less effort than he expected; even though the man was a dead weight, he hardly seemed to weigh anything in Sam’s arms. Making their way out of the prison was much harder, but with a few well-placed enderpearls and the abuse of quite a few guard mechanisms, they were out under the night sky. It was a clear night: the moon nearly full, the stars bright and twinkling; it was the kind of night that Dream loved, once.

He bit back the thought as soon as it came. Dream was dead and those days were gone. There wasn’t any point of thinking about them, now.

He ended up carrying the man to a patch of forest against the beaches behind the prison, burying him without much fanfare and pulling out a piece of cobble to serve as a shoddy headstone. It was a small and lonely grave in the middle of a woods that no one ever visited, the cobblestone dull and easy to miss. Only Sam would know where it was.

He told himself that he didn’t care as he left, tridenting across the bay towards the community portal so he could finally go home and rest. It didn’t matter; hardly anyone had bothered visiting the man when he was alive. What would change with him dead?

Distantly, thunder rumbled.

---

It was strange, to have nowhere to go, reminded him of the early days when it was just him and Fran exploring and hollowing out the mountain for his base one block of stone at a time. He figured that it was about time that he and Fran went on a proper walk, anyway, and so after a light breakfast they were off - Fran running in front in leaps and bounds, tail a blur as she greeted every tree and rock by the house with the eager overfamiliarity that only a dog could have, Sam staying back and whistling whenever she came a little too close to harassing a fox or chicken or whatever mobs were out in the early morning. Every once in a while, she would run back, shoving her face into his hands as if to check in and say hello, and he would give her a couple assuring pats before she rocketed away again.

He definitely should’ve been doing this more often; a small rock of guilt settled in his gut at the sight of Fran’s clear exhilaration at being outside of the same four walls. Her room was as nice as he could make it - food and water kept in abundance, an assortment of toys scattered all over the floor, her bed covered in a collection of blankets she had claimed for her own - but with everything going on, he really hadn’t had the time to bring her on long walks and play with her as he should have. She looked happier than she’d been in months.

He looked up; Fran was in the process of running back towards him, again, and he opened his arms in anticipation of a flying ball of fur smacking him in the chest once more, when she froze. Paws digging into the grass, her head cocked to the side as her ears swiveled, pointed up and alert at some sound that Sam couldn’t hear. Her muscles tensed, and he stepped closer, hand reaching forward-

“Fran, don’t-”

Fran darted off into the forest, a white streak disappearing in the underbrush, and Sam muffled a yell as he moved to chase her. Her sprint sent fallen leaves flying up into the air, a trail of dust and destruction following her as she dashed deeper into the trees.

“Fran, get back here, what are you doing, stop running!”

Completely ignoring him, Fran continued to run ahead, turning suddenly to the right and sending Sam scrambling in an attempt to follow. Ducking out of sight past a collection of thickets into what appears to be a sunlit grove in the middle of the forest, she gave a sudden, triumphant-sounding bark.

“Fran, you really can’t be running off like this, girl, I don’t even know where we are-”

He froze.

Fran, bright white in the sunlight, was wagging her tail as she panted, tongue lolling out of her mouth, muzzle seemingly split in a wide grin. Her dark eyes looked up at Sam, bright and intelligent, and she barked again when he looked at her as if to ask him if he was proud of her discovery.

Just behind Fran, translucent in the light, stood a figure. They were short - only coming up to Sam’s waist, if that, and wore an oversized light-green hoodie that reached halfway down their hands and khaki shorts. Their hair seemed windswept, blown around by some nonexistent breeze, defying gravity as it floated in a messy halo around their head; they turned towards him, freckled cheeks immediately breaking out in a blinding smile.

“Sam!”

He watched, numbly, as the kid stumbled forward, tripping on nothing as they crashed into him, arms immediately going to wrap around his legs tightly. They looked up, shoulders shaking with small giggles, mouth open to show a gap-toothed grin - one that was far, far too familiar.

“Dream?”

“Hiya Sam! Didja miss me?” Dream giggled again, still looking up at Sam, and he felt something dark and cold, almost like guilt, rising in his throat as he met his gaze.

Dream’s eyes were pitch black.

[jesslockwood]

rakes | chapter two

pairing: regency!Harrison Osterfield x regency!reader

words: 2.1k 

warnings:  bridgerton s1 spoilers, swearing, mentions of sex

a/n: this took me forever to write because i wrote the ending ish and I have even the whole end part planned out lmao. now I just need to write up to it lmao. 

Please Reblog and Like if you enjoy!

series masterlist

You awoke startled, sweaty, and with tears streaming down your face. It had been from a nightmare, of your first season’s debut. You knew that things could not go as horribly wrong that night did, yet, you were afraid deep down it might. 

You could never forget the piercing scream that rang through your body as you watched helplessly, your worst unknown nightmare becoming real in front of you, and being able to do nothing for your parents. 

After sitting in your bed for what seemed like hours, you decided to get dressed at the start making a list of what you had to do in haste to get ready for the season’s rush.

There was so much to do and so little time, so you knew one worry could be put at ease if you planned it all out. At least then your mind would hopefully quiet down the thoughts in your head. 

Sitting near the window with it open, you watched the sunrise, wondering how your dear William was doing. You had left hastily, not even with a goodbye to him. It was too painful to be in Grosvenor square where all your fondest memories had been with your deceased parents. He was of course in those fond memories, yet it was too painful as you saw your father in him, and the man he became because of your father being a parental figure to him.

You wondered how he was handling being the earl, especially without the guidance or help of anyone. Especially since your presence is missing. You wrote to him all the time, yet he had no return address to send it to so you knew not much of how your dearest sibling was doing.

You knew not much of duty of being a man and running an estate and the burden weighed on society of being an earl, yet you knew the pressures and gossip and betrayal all too much so you knew it could not have been easy. 

You only wished as much that you could have stayed for William, yet you knew your body would not let you stay as the fear would crawl into your bones, rotting you into some sort of insane spinster. 

You stretched your body out after sitting for too long on the uncomfortable chair, deciding it was time to head on out- “the earlier the better”- you thought.

As soon as you stepped out into the hall you had turned, and collided with a strong torso, almost falling to the ground. Strong arms had caught you before you took a nasty spill. 

“Pardon me-” you whispered quietly, as you then realized the close proximity of you and the man that had caught you, his face very close to your own. 

He looked disheveled slightly, with his golden locks out of place slightly, and a small amount of dusting of freckles that adorned his face. His icy blue eyes had been staring into yours, almost too cold to even look into, yet you felt a sense of curiosity to capture the color of them in your mind. You also had noticed the closeness of your bodies in this very moment, almost too scandalous to even think of in society’s ton. 

“Apologies, Miss.,” he said with a slightly crooked smile that could make any woman melt at this moment. 

He helped you regain your balance on your own two feet, before heading towards the stairs, giving you a lopsided smile again, nodding at you, and went downstairs.

You were almost too stunned to move from the interaction. You had never been as close as that to a man in your life. It gave you a small chill down your spine, even thinking about him, the mystery man. 

You were pulled out of your thoughts when your maid, Lucy, was walking out of the adjacent room to yours. 

“Madam, shall I fetch the carriage?” she asks you politely, suddenly snapping you out of your entranced state. 

“Yes, we should get going.”

Arriving at the Bridgeton home was, interesting to say the least, in a good way. It had been around noon, after your stop at the modiste, picking up dresses for the most -well- dreaded season, and you had been welcomed by most of the Bridgerton ladies in the drawing-room, embraced by Violet, asking for your time heading to their home. It was quite a shock as the chaos yet love could be felt in the room, as whom you were assuming the two youngest were arguing of some hair ribbon, and two of the other elder brothers of Daphne’s were in some heated debate about god knows what, and one sister was writing in a journal of some sort as the other played the pianoforte. 

“Welcome dear, to our home. I apologize in advance for the chaos, we are getting ready for Elosie’s first season, and our masquerade ball.”

“No need to apologize, Lady Bridgerton. Thank you for letting me stay until William gets in tomorrow. I just couldn’t stay in the house alone.”

“Please call me Violet! And any friend of my family is welcome here. Children, This is Lady Y/L/N.”

“If I am to call you Violet I insist you all call me Y/n” she smiles warmly towards you, “Eloise, could you please show Y/n to her room, I’m sure she is but tired from her journey.”

She comes out of her trance of writing responding to her mother, “Of course Mama.”

As you walk out of the drawing-room with her she looks as if she’s in deep thought. 

“I have so many questions to ask of you! How were you able to travel? I only thought men such as my brother could do so, yet here you are!”

“Well when my parents passed, I just- well, couldn’t stay here, so I ventured off with what my bro- erm, cousin, William had given to me. I went to visit some other cousins in France and had gone off to other parts of Europe. It was better than I had ever imagined. But now my duty is to my family, and the adventure has stopped, for now at least.”

You had stopped walking when you reached a door, that you assumed was your room.  

“That is incredible, I shall wait to ask more of you, later on of course.”

“Why don’t you show me the grounds and I shall tell you more, right now, and you can tell me about yourself, Eloise.”

Her face lit up.

“I would quite enjoy that!”

After walking around their grounds, you had sat on the swings on a tree, telling her all about your adventures, and she told you about herself and even told you quite a bit about Lady Whistledown and her venture in trying to find the writer behind the pen. It had been a few hours, probably nearing dinner time, but you felt at ease with Eloise. At least, you knew you had a friend in her, that hated society almost as much as you,

“I cannot believe you went in the ocean on the beach! Most ladies here would assume it unlady-like!”

“Well, I am especially not one for lady-like behavior! Especially structured by vicious mamas!” you both laugh together at that comment. Oh how you both knew of the shocking behavior of the ton’s mamas. 

“I believe we should head in now, Dinner will soon be ready, and I can only assume you are starving since we only had biscuits earlier.”

You both get up stretching your legs lightly, before heading indoors. 

You felt warmth sitting at the dinner table, though not typical, it felt like they truly loved each other, and actually enjoyed each other as a family, something you had longed for from your own family, especially for William’s sake.

William had never felt like he belonged in your family, at least not fully. The warmth you and your parents tried to give to him almost did not get through his thick skull, that you had accepted him as an esteemed member of the family. You had always wondered if it was because his true father never accepted him until he needed him to fulfill his wants. 

“So, Y/n are you excited for the season?” Anthony cuts through his current conversation, to include you. 

“Probably something of the sort. I am quite intrigued to see how people have changed.”

“Well, most have not, especially the men.” 

You laughed slightly at that. 

“Well do tell whom to stay away from.” you joke.

“If you have not read the most recent lady Whistledown I assume you don’t know.”

“I’m not quite sure I’ve ever heard of a Lady Whistledown?” you question, curiosity getting to the best of you. 

“Lady Whistledown is a gossip writer, under a pen name, whom, however, mentions people in the ton in name, by name in full.” Eloise cuts in.

You raise a brow quizzically. That was unheard of. 

“She mentions you in her most recent edition” Hyacinth mentions, before going back to throwing peas strategically when her mother wasn’t looking at her brother Gregory.  

“I’m sure Eloise has it if she hasn’t already shown you.” now you were fully intrigued. There was truly only one main thing you thought the writer could write about.

“She wrote about Lord Holland today, and might I say he is pretty dreamy.” Francesca pipes up, before earnings glare from Anthony and a kick from Eloise.

“Ow!” 

“If I didn’t do it, Anthony would have and he kicks harder.” 

You giggle at the family’s interactions. You only hoped you could have one as close as the Bridgertons.

“I see we are quite the entertainment for our guest tonight. I guess there’s no need for Eloise to get on the pianoforte. God knows I’m in motion for that.” Benedict adds before earning a kick from Eloise as well. 

“Ow!”

“Back to the topic at hand, I’d stay away from Benedict for certain.” Eloise says, which erupts you five into a fit of giggles, before getting your end of the table gets a hard stare-down from Violet, almost as if to say ‘behave’.

“So I'm assuming other than Daphne missing, the letter C, Colin, must be the one travelling? Daph did mention he would be writing me asking about the best places to travel.”

“Yes, Colin is the one travelling, but was the letter system too obvious of whom is which?” Benedict asks in an amused manner. 

“I think it’s adorable, and if you must know I find it orderly.”

“Don’t tell my mother that, or she won’t stop talking about how ‘Lady Y/n complimented her naming system’.” Benedict jokes.

You laugh before you see Eloise bringing out what you assumed was the gossip sheet. She hands it to you before you read it over, turning slightly pale at the mentions of your family so intimately.

Harrison had made it into town earlier that afternoon, only to be wondering why Mama’s, and Ladies alike- married or not- had been whispering and pointing at him. On the other hand, he had been met with a warm embrace from his wonderful sister Charlotte, and loving Mother, Phil, only to be dragged by Charlotte for her to tell him to read the latest Lady Whistledown, a woman he knew he hadn’t heard of, nevertheless thought he’d fucked. 

He however listened to his sister and her worry, before being shell-shocked by what was on the page. 

“Charlotte what the hell is this? And who the hell wrote it?"

“Lady Whistledown is but the biggest anonymous gossip columnist, and everyone reads it. Haz what am I to do if no suitors show interest when I am eligible for marriage? What if I end up a spinster?!”

“Char, I won’t let that happen I promise you.”

Harrison was determined to make sure charlotte never had to worry. She was the most lovely of any woman on the market and he would make sure she had a shot. 

“Wait Osterfield, you’re saying, you’ll Woo whoever is the most desired by the queen and marry her?” Tom askes very confusedly as to what sparked this in his bestfriend.

“Yes Tom, That is my plan,” Harrison replies before taking a sip of his drink again.

The two men had reunited at the Bridgerton’s gentleman club, talking over Harrison’s not so genius plan, according to Tom.

“Do you know how many mamas loathe even the sight of you right now? Especially because of Lady Whistledown.” Harrison’s face scrunches up, cringing at that. 

“Yes, I know already. But if I can just get in the good graces of Lady Whistledown, then I know any mama will turn around! maybe if I form an attachment with someone she might see that I’m serious about marrying. Don’t you have that cousin? Zendaya?”

“That’s a terrible idea, Harrison. Also, Zendaya is now going to be under my care according to my mother. She told her father, who is ill,  I’d watch out for her during the season to find her a suitable husband.”

Harrison gets a mischievous, conniving look on his face as the gears turn in his brain. “I said suitable Haz! Her father would have a heart attack if you came near her!”

“Fine, but can you at least convince her to show interest in me to the other ladies? So I can find a wife?”

Tom rolls his eyes before downing his drink mentally hating the idea, but agreeing to try for his almost brother,  even if he didn’t think he’d find a wife.

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[heavywithourbabies]

Emma and Mark

Emma slid back against her husband Mark on their bed and eased her naked, swollen body against him. She almost cooed when she felt Marks big hands wrap around her and start to rub her severely pregnant belly. She felt the heat radiating off of his naked body against hers and she sighed contentedly. She put her hands over Mark’s, and the two of them explored every inch of her gravidness.

“Won’t be long now.” Mark whispered in her ear as his fingers lightly traced the stretch marks on her sides and underbelly. “I know” she replied, “He’s dropped.” Mark nuzzled against her and kissed her cheek. “You know, we can still change his name if you want…” he said as his fingertips grazed her sensitive popped out belly button. She couldn’t help but shiver a little at the sensation. “Oh yeah? And what sort of names were you thinking?” She asked. He stopped rubbing for a moment and gave her kettle drum of a belly a quick pat “Trogdor” he said. Emma chuckled and felt her belly rock up and down a little. Her heavy breasts jiggled. “Trogdor?” she replied, “Isn’t that some dragon or something else dumb?”. Mark continued to rub her belly; his palms placed gently but firm on her taut skin. “What about Twigglet?” He asked, and this time Emma’s whole body shook with laughter. “Oh my God, stop, you’re gonna make me pee a little…” she said between shakes of laughter. “Even if you peed a little, I’d still love my heavily pregnant Emma” He said softly. One of his hands drifted up her belly to one of her swollen breasts and he cupped it gently. Emma still let out a slight hiss in discomfort, but couldn’t deny how good it felt when Mark’s hands were on her. Emma sighed at his touch “I’m surprised you still love me like this.” She said as she shook her dense belly a little. Suddenly, Emma could feel her husband start to get hard behind her and she smiled. “You do still love me even though I’m a beached whale?” Mark let his fingers lightly pull and tease one of Emma’s long dark nipples. She felt the pressure of milk aching right behind them. “You’re as big as a house” Mark whispered hotly in her ear, and for some reason that was the sexiest thing he could have said to her. “And I fucking love you like this.” He said before starting to kiss down the side of her neck, his erection growing stiffer against her ass.

Emma let out a gasp of air on that and closed her eyes. The truth was she was big. She was huge and heavy. She had fully reached the stage of pregnancy when all she could do was waddle around and hold her belly up as she moved. She was tired, and aching, and sore. Completely over having strangers rub her massive bump and ask her if it was twins. She just wanted to meet her baby. But somehow, through all of it, she couldn’t be happier. She never really knew Mark had a pregnancy fetish before this but she was very happy to find out how into it he was as the months went along and she swelled bigger. He never missed a beat to take care of her. To pamper her and make her feel safe and special. To make sure she knew just how beautiful she was. And to take her as many times as he could. Even when she was tired and unsure, he would use his words and his wonderful hands to break her down and have her aching for him. All of it made her hot and bothered. Maybe it was the hormones or maybe it was just all the extra attention, but Emma was finding herself wet more often than not these days. Even if she was as big as house. She was his house. His beached whale. His big, beautiful pregnant wife. “This man” she thought as Mark now massaged her other full breast. “I want to carry this man’s babies forever”.

Mark fully kissed her. His tongue and hers exploring each other. When they broke, his hands went back to her huge belly. “You’re so pretty pregnant.” He said. And Emma felt herself dripping down her thighs.

“You stay right here” she said. “I want to give the father of my baby something” and with that she slowly heaved herself up and away from Mark. For a second she worried she would flop back down heavily on him but she found her balance. She slowly lowered herself to her hands and knees, making sure Mark got a good view of her ass and between her legs. She crawled along the bed, feeling her globe of a belly drag across the sheets. Her breasts hung heavily off her chest and she could feel beads of milk escaping her turgid nipples. She finally got herself in position between Mark’s legs, which was no easy feet with how very pregnant she was, and she took his hard, erect penis in her tiny hand, smiled at him, and then leaned down to take all of him in her mouth.

She heard him groan in pleasure and she started going up and down his long shaft faster. She took his balls in one hand and softly played with them as her saliva ran down the length of him. Her back was already aching from the position, and she felt her heavy body weighing her down, but she continued. She wanted to show him how much she appreciated him. She wanted to show the father of her child how happy she was carrying his babies. She wanted to worship the cock that had given her this huge baby belly. She licked the head of his cock while she ran her other hand up and down his shaft, trying to support her weight with her knees and elbows.

She felt Mark throbbing her hands and he put his hands on her shoulders to stop her. She wondered what was wrong until she saw the hungry look in his eye. “I want you” he said and quickly got up from where he was sitting on the bed. Even though she was so large and cumbersome, somehow Mark easily lowered her down on her side, her big belly and tits resting on the bed. Her back felt immediately better. She looked at her husband again and without a word she opened her top leg to let him inside of her. Mark put one of his hands on her belly and the other on the small of her back as he quietly thrusted into her, burying himself all the way to the hilt in her swollen pregnant pussy. She moaned in delight as she felt her soft wet walls around him. His hold on her gentle but strong. She couldn’t move even if she wanted. Her belly had her down in place and she could barely move. She could feel herself running all over his cock and her thighs. “I love you like this.” Mark said, almost grunting and all she could do was nod her head in agreement. The smell of her sex was everywhere now and it was driving him on. “I’m going to give you all the babies you want.” Mark said in a deep hungry voice. Emma felt the waves of sensation breaking in her and it wouldn’t be long until they let go. “I’m going to keep you so swollen and heavy with my babies …” Mark continued, lost in his thrusting. “Yes….please…. ke-keep me big and pregnant” Emma managed to say in between moans that were getting louder. “Ma-make me a m-mommy.” She said and felt the crest of her high reaching it’s apex. Mark let out a deep groan and she could feel his cock twitch inside of her. She couldn’t hold back any longer

And with that Mark began to throb rope after rope inside his very pregnant wife. Emma almost screamed and she felt the damn burst and she clenched all around him. Her cum soaking his cock and dripping down her lips. The two of then rocked in place, unable to move.

After a few moments, while they were both trying to catch their breath, the baby started to kick furiously in Emma’s belly. Emma let out an “oof” and placed her hand on her belly to try and soothe the baby. Mark smiled gently at her and placed his hand on top of her own. The two of them silently excited for all that was to come.