#category is: lyin' eyes | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

arhvste · 3 years

Text

001 MIYA ATSUMU X SHUT UP AND DRIVE SERIES

++ MSBY GARAGE

❝ i've been looking for a driver who is qualified, so if you think that you're the one step into my ride ❞

dt — @rintaroll

“so, what’s it gonna take for ya to praise me a little more?”

you rolled your eyes and huffed, brushing the setters hand off your shoulder.

“shouldn’t you be more concerned about, oh i don’t know, your fans, interviews, your teammates?!” you snapped back as atsumu held both his hands up in defence.

the crowd was loud and still bustling as the black jackals most recent victory continued to stir excitement through the mass of spectators in the high stands. fans were still yelling and chanting as interviewers scrambled to grab the attention of any player they could. multiple had pried for atsumu in fact, alas, all his attention was solely focused on none other than his teams promotional manager; you.

you were chatting to the teams photographer and uploading updates and playbacks onto the teams twitter at the time the blond had bounded his way over to you and here you were, faced with the famous setter leaning on the advertisement boards lining the court diving you from him.

“miya,” you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose as you shook your head. “go and talk to some interviewers and get yourself back over to the others, i’m begging you at this point.”

“beggin’ huh?” a boyish smirk tugged at his lips and his eyes stayed locked on your own.

“not in the way your disgusting little mind is thinking of.” you shot back, stepping back from the board and looking back down at your phone where the teams twitter was currently blowing up.

atsumu snickered before standing up straight.

“whatever ya say doll, just hold up a little longer and i’m all yours again yeah?”

you scoffed and shook your head at him before shooing him away.

“i’d prefer you weren’t.”

“lyin’s a bad habit.”

“would you just go already?”

atsumu laughed as he turned to make his way back to the rest of his awaiting team. waving a hand back at you, he turned to face you before shooting a wink your way as interviewers and photographers flooded the scene.

this was a typical exchange of interaction between the two of you. ever since you had been introduced to the team as their promotional manager, atsumu had fixated his interest outside of volleyball onto you. 7 months later and nothing had changed despite his never faltering persistence.

you sighed as the photographer laughed softly before turning to his own laptop to import more photos for you to upload.

“he seems to have a soft spot for you.”

you groaned and switched your phone off, leaning back on the advertisement boards atsumu himself was previously leaning against.

“he’s such a handful.” you stated as the photographer chuckled.

“looks like he wants to be one for you though.”

“i wish he didn’t” you muttered back as the photographer smiled earnestly at you.

“i think we both know that’s a lie, we’ve been working together for a while and i don't think this dread to spend time with him is as evident as you make it out.”

you whined as you sent a soft frown his way.

“trust me, it is.”

“whatever you say.” the man teased back before clicking on the last images to send your way.

thanking him and making your way over to the teams manager and coach, you stood beside them in front of the msby boys and watched them as outlet interviewers shot questions their way.

multiple flashes went off every few seconds as each player flashed a handsome smile to the camera. you scanned over the team and bokuto was excitedly chatting and laughing with the interviewers. you smiled softly to yourself as you let your eyes wander from bokuto over to sakusa who was trying his best to avoid contact with his sweaty teammates and ‘annoying’ interviewers. it was clear he wasn’t as thrilled to be there as the others so you sent an apologetic look his way and mouthed to him he only had to put up for roughly 10 minutes more. he silently wallowed in self pity at that, but that quickly turned to agitation as atsumu dominated your vision.

slinging an arm over sakusa, (much to the latters disgust), atsumu grinned at you and flashed a smirk for a brief second before turning back to give the cameras a toothy grin.

your face dropped back into a frown as atsumu feigned hurt from a distance.

the team manager laughed as she elbowed you gently.

“interviewers might have a little more luck keeping him focused if you were the one interviewing him.”

you raised an eyebrow as you turned to face her.

“he’s like a puppy.” you stated bluntly as the manager laughed.

“a lovesick puppy.” she corrected as you faked a gag.

“why you all think he’s head over heels for me is way beyond me.”

the manager smiled before nudging for you to look at the attractive setter.

“because it's obvious. you break the boys heart every week.”

you watched as atsumu happily chatted to interviewers and forced sakusa to begrudgingly pose for photos and join in with him.

“he’s not my type.” you said as your eyes stayed focused on the blond.

“right.” the manager teased before smiling over at the team's captain, meian, her own boyfriend.

you smiled at the pair’s interaction as the team dispersed after thanking interviewers and fans for their support.

meian wandered over to the manager who happily placed a kiss to her cheek before guiding her off towards the back of the stadium, hand lingering on the small on her back.

you sighed as your own thoughts invaded your headspace. it wasn’t that you didn’t want a boyfriend. you just hadn’t met anyone worth the time yet.

well, that was your go to excuse to tell everyone anyway. the truth was, you didn't even know the limits to your own standards, you just knew they were high when looking for a potential partner.

the feeling of a heavy arm slung over your shoulder forced you back into reality as your eyes flickered up in surprise.

“miss me?” the hot breath and familiar voice teased the shell of your ear as you scowled.

“you wish.” you snapped back as you attempted to duck out of your offender's grip.

“ah-ah, yer coming home with me today.” atsumu smirked confidently as you hissed at him to get off.

“says who?” you argued as the setter looked down at you smugly.

“me.” another voice joined the conversation as you turned to face the owner of it.

your eyes met the coach who was looking at you slightly sympathetically.

“huh?”

“sorry,” the coach began, hand holding the back of his neck. “i know i said i’d take you home, but my wife has some errands she needs me to pick up before getting home and i’d hate to have to drag you along with me this late at night.”

you groaned but nodded understandably.

“luckily, atsumu here was kind enough to offer to be your ride back home.”

“lucky me.” your voice dripping with thick sarcasm as atsumu ignored it.

“yeah, lucky you indeed. do ya know how many girls would kill to be in yer position right now?” atsumu teased, arm still firmly made at home around your shoulders.

“let them kill me.” you glared at him as he gasped playfully.

“ya don’t mean that.”

“i do.”

“you don’t.”

“just take me home already i’m tired!” you threw your arms up as atsumu grinned.

“sure, give me a few minutes to grab my stuff and i’ll meet you round the back of the building, yeah?”

“whatever.”

you made your way towards the back exit of the stadium and were met with other members of support for the team who were waiting for the boys to grab their things from the locker rooms. some players opted to shower after matches while others waited til they got back home. atsumu fell into the category of players who waited until they got home. this was both a blessing and a curse. you wouldn’t have to wait for him for too long, but you would be met with a sweaty atsumu.

this wasn’t technically a bad thing, atsumu had a habit of getting rid of the smell after each match with an expensive cologne you’d never even attempt to pronounce, but he happened to somehow be a little more attractive when he looked worn out and disheveled. you hated yourself for thinking such a thing but you just couldn’t help it. he was annoyingly attractive and it made his personality a little more dislikable in your opinion.

you waited for around 10 minutes before you were met with boisterous laughter ringing through the spacious lounge by the exit.

atsumu and bokuto came striding out from the hall directing towards the locker rooms, gym bags in their hands and ruggish hair that would need taming again eventually.

you sighed as you waited for atsumu to approach you. he bid his goodbyes to everyone and sent a look at bokuto's way. the ace held a thumbs up at atsumu as the others in the lounge looked at each other giggling and smiling smugly.

you raised an eyebrow but shrugged it off as you felt a hand find its way on your waist.

“let’s get going then.” his voice strumming chords through your body as you shivered slightly.

atsumu led you out and down towards the underground garage used by players and staff members whilst at the stadium. you’d never actually seen atsumu’s car before so you had no idea what to be looking for, but atsumu’s hand remained firmly on your waist as he led you over to an array of expensive cars. mentally trying to guess what car belonged to the setter, atsumu watched with a small smirk etched on his face as your eyes scanned along each car. keys hooked around his finger, atsumu pressed the unlock button as your jaw dropped slightly.

of fucking course.

miya atsumu was the proud owner of a jet black 2021 chevrolet corvette with the number plate gracing it in all its glory ‘MIY4 13’.

you scoffed as atsumu’s smirk widened.

“so, ya gettin in or what?”

“into what? my one way invitation to death?”

atsumu snickered as he led you over to the passengers seat.

“i won’t kill ya, i promise.”

you looked back at him, handsome and sharp features making your eyes soften.”

“well, it’s not like i’ll be able to yell at you if you break that promise.”

“exactly.” atsumu grinned as you climbed into the luxury vehicle. the soft leather padding of the seats welcoming you as your weight shifted onto them.

you glanced around the interior as your eyes were met upon. various lit buttons caught your attention as a screen switched on as atsumu opened the drivers door. you were certain the car had way too many features but that’s what made it a luxury vehicle you guessed. the sleek black and red complimented interior was admired by you as atsumu watched your eyes dance around the car. his eyes softened as you visably relaxed a little more. your hand hooked across the firmly threaded seatbelt as you pulled it around you.

you looked at atsumu who’s smirk seemed to have faded. instead, a soft grin was painted across his face as he helped you click the belt securely in place.

“don’t kill me miya.”

“i’ll do my best.” he winked at you before pressing the start engine.

mentally chanting your last prayers, you accepted the position fate had put you in and did your best to stop the stirring of butterflies in your chest as atsumu placed his hand on the back of your headrest and pulled out.

well fuck.

as if he wasn’t attractive enough before, he sure as hell was now. your eyes widened and heart picked up it’s pace as the scent of atsumu’s signature cologne flooded your senses.

his sharp jaw and focused eyes, pointed in the direction of the rear window as he successfully pulled the car out the space. moving his hand back onto the wheel, atsumu turned to smirk at you as you gave him a pleading look. before you could open your mouth to speak, the setter slammed on the accelerator and the engines picked up its volume as your head was thrown back a little as the car sped out the garage exit.

“you little shit!” you cussed out as atsumu laughed as you sped onto the highway through the city.

“ya love the thrill don’t lie.”

“i’m not lying!” you protested as the flashes of bright lights flew past the window.

atsumu smiled as his right hand found its place on the middle of your thigh.

“miya!” you hissed as atsumu tilted his head momentarily your direction.

“ya can call me atsumu ya know?”

“i don’t want to!”

“for such a genuine person, yer so full of shit sometimes.”

you huffed as you gave up letting atsumu’s touch encourage the stir inside of you. you turned and glared out the window at the passing scene as atsumu hummed in satisfaction.

a few more moments of comfortable silence went by, nothing but the sounds of cars zooming past and the soft hum of atsumu’s own car’s engine.

you frowned and bit the corner of your lip as you peaked towards the blond whose eyes were fixed on the road.

“so,” you began, resulting in the player's eyes to flicker your way for a millisecond. “why are you so hooked on me?” you questioned.

you held your breath as you finally voiced the concern that had been playing on your mind for a while. you rarely had moments of privacy with the man despite his infatuation and demand to be around you.

“am i not allowed to be?” he challenged teasingly as he sqeezed your thigh slightly.

you wanted to force his grip off of you, you really did, but something about it felt so natural you just couldn't.

“miya.” you sighed and shook your head.

“atsumu.” he corrected as you turned to face him properly.

“look, you’re just my type. that’s all there is to it.” he replied simply,as if it was no big deal to him.

“and just what exactly is your type?” you quizzed as you pulled up at a traffic light.

slowing the car to stop for a while the light was red, atsumu turned his face to look at your own before he flashed that boyish grin you’d unknowingly grown rather fond of.

“you.”

and with that, the world threw you back into fast motion as the green light flashed, highlighting his face before he hit the acceleration again making your eyes widen.

“atsumu…” you sighed quietly as the adrenaline brought more life into his eyes.

it wasn’t that you hated atsumu. it wasn’t that at all. he was just someone you didn’t see yourself seriously with. someone so out there and demanding of the world. you had always envisioned yourself with someone a little more down to earth, someone with a stable job with a lowkey personal life, a person who took life at a comfortable pace. you had never seriously considered being with someone like miya atsumu. someone who demanded the world's attention, dominated every scene he was put in, who took life at the speed the highest the accelerator would go. someone so big, so bright. you never imagined someone like miya atsumu would take interest in someone like you. you were opposites stuck in an entanglement of professional lives.

out of every person in the world, the universe had decided miya atsumu would become the man who ticked the boxes to your unknown standards. you just hated to acknowledge it.

pulling off the highway, atsumu drove through the less busy roads as your apartment complex came into vision. half of you wanted the ride to be a little longer, but the other half of you couldn’t wait to lock yourself in your apartment away from the man who caused turmoil inside of you.

atsumu hummed as he pulled around the back of your complex. the roads were quiet and the soft lights of other buildings gleamed off the vehicle as the golden light flooded through the tinted glass of the windows, pulling attention to the boyish, but charming features of his face.

you sighed as he pulled the car to a stop and let the engine settle down. you stayed like that for a moment as the two of you sat there packed in the quiet parking lot.

“listen, I meant it, i really do like you.” he said as you studied his eyes for any signs of him being ingenuine; you couldn't find any.

your eyes softened as you leaned on the headboard.

“miy- atsumu.” you began quietly as his eyes admired your form. “it’s not that i don’t like you or anything, it's just- i don’t know if you’re my type.” you confessed as your heart hammered against your chest.

“well, you just called me by my first name, that’s gotta count for something right?”

you looked up at him and locked your eyes into his honest ones. you sat up and turned to face him as he took both of your hands into his.

“look, i get it, i’ve been annoying since day one-”

“-annoying is an understatement.” you cut in as atsumu playfully glared at you.

“rude. anyways as i was saying, i might’ve come across as a little too strong from the start, but there's just somethin’ about you. i just can’t seem to leave ya alone.” the blond confessed honestly as his warm, calloused hands held yours tightly.

“atsumu, i just don’t know.” you shook your head as he held onto your hands tightly. “i just don’t know what i’m looking for.”

“let me help ya find it in me then.” he pleaded softly, a small grin tugged at his lips.

you cast your eyes down to where your hands were being connected by him. the stir in your chest sped up as your heart was slamming against your chest at this point.

“atsumu i just-”

cutting you off, atsumu pulled your hands away from each other as he moved one up towards your jaw to cradle your face gently. dark golden eyes melting at the sight of you close up, atsumu pulled your face in closer to his and your heart just wouldn’t let you pull away. his lips finally met your own after what felt like an eternity and it was if yours were made to fit against his.

his hand moved towards the back of your neck as he encouraged you to move closer. you leaned closer letting your own hand find its way against atsumu’s broad chest.

the kiss deepened as you gave access to the setter’s tongue as he dominated your movements. small gasps and whines were heard in the silence of the parking lot as neither of you had it in your to pull away. atsumu’s hand was securely at the back of your neck with the other gripping your waist as you groaned at the slightly uncomfortable position.

pulling away, the two of you breathed heavily as you leaned back in the expensive leather seat as atsumu stared at you softly.

“what the fuck was that?”

“our first kiss as a couple.” atsumu teased but failed to stop the wide smile spread across his face.

“who said anything about being a couple?” you shot back as atsumu found your hand once more, lacing your fingers together tightly.

“your body language. you kissed back.”

“i-”

“msby setter miya atsumu as yer boyfriend, wow, arent’cha just the luckiest!”

you playfully hit his chest as he laughed.

“keep it up and that’ll be ex-boyfriend.”

atsumu’s eyes lit up as he grabbed your hand again and held it tightly.

“so ya admit it! i’m yer boyfriend!”

you giggled seeing how genuinely excited he was over it.

“for now.” you hummed as he pouted slightly.

you cupped his jaw and leaned to press a soft kiss to his cheek causing heat to rise to his face.

“let’s just, take this slow though okay?”

“don’t tell me that while sittin’ in this car.” he joked as you groaned against him.

you leaned back looking back into his bright eyes as his gaze softened.

“i’m kiddin’, we’ll go as fast as ya want, and i promise not to kill you on the way.”

you snickered as the blond beamed at you.

“i’m holding you to that.” you smiled as atsumu pulled your face in closer once more. leaning forward to better prepare yourself, you allowed yourself to melt into another deep kiss with the man you would now call your boyfriend.

you never saw yourself being with someone who took life at a fast pace. someone who demanded the world’s attention without verbally calling for it. you never saw yourself falling for someone like that.

but here you were, with the man who ticked all of those boxes easily. the type of man you insisted wasn’t your type, turned out to be the blueprint for your exact type; you just weren’t aware of it until miya atsumu insisted you did.

++TAGLIST! @crescenttooru @miss-angel-ash @sarahvvictoria @babierin @fxncyoomi @s0utien @toobsessedsstuff @omibaby @kenkodzu @sugabeaniee @lovesunas @slutawara @bunny-on-crack @shouyouorange @memorableminds @whootwhoot @yikes-buddy @sweetsamus

#miya atsumu #atsumu x reader #atsumu x you #atsumu imagine #haikyuu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #hq #hq x you #shut up and drive series

627 notes · View notes

mightysteelix · 3 years

Text

Pent Up Desires (Fic)

Ever since the summer event last year, I've been toying with the idea of a larger Robin. And now that its rerun is about to come, I've decided that it is time to finally write it out - and meanwhile hit as many of my kink buttons as possible. This is the result - one of my most indulgent works (if not the most indulgent work to beat them all).

Rating: Explicit Category: M/M Fandoms: Fate/Grand Order Relationship: Robin Hood | Archer/Billy the Kid | Archer Characters: Robin Hood | Archer and Billy the Kid | Archer Summary: Do you remember when B.B. said she would turn Robin into a pig during ServaFes? What if she followed on the threat, albeit with quite the twist?

Robin is cursed and can't control himself around food. Billy has promised to help, but he can't control himself around Robin.

Weight-gain kink fic. Don’t like, don’t read.

WARNING FOR KINK CONTENTS UNDER THE CUT

Additional Tags: Weight Gain; Belly Kink; Size Kink; Size Difference; Masturbation; Dry Humping; Stuffing; musclechub; Robin gets huge; And Billy tries not to jerk off whenever he sees him; Self-Indulgent

LAST WARNING FOR KINK

Summer was in full swing, and Babbage blasted enough steam to make Chaldea hotter than a waterless hole in the heart of the prairie. So, it did not come as a shock that Robin was rockin’ only trunks and an open shirt, which showed some well-sculpted arms. The guy was hell-fired handsome with the finest body ever, and if he wanted to kick back, Billy wouldn’t protest. Nay, what hit like a bullet to the brain was the ton of food in front of him—meats, loaves of bread, and a raft of drinks.

“How’s it goin’, partner?” Billy plopped down in a chair next to Robin. “Famished after Servant Fes sucked the life outta ya?”

“It’s…” Robin, with a larger scowl on his face than usual, panted. “It’s that… purple-haired witch’s fault.” He grabbed a drumstick and tore off some meat like a starved wolf. “She threatened to turn me in a pig…” His face was red with effort. “We had to win her Holy Grail…” He bit another chunk. “Don’t worry,”—Billy stifled a giggle when Robin mocked the Master’s voice—“she won’t follow on it.’ It’s easy to speak when this isn’t happening to them!” After chewin’ the last of the drumstick thoroughly, he swallowed. The slow gulp traveled down his throat and into his stomach. Robin punched his chest and exhaled in relief.

Billy’s eyes followed it and glued themselves to Robin’s gut. It was taut, bloated, as large as a basketball—and just as hard if he touched it. The pressure was makin’ the skin around the belly button burn angrily. The trunks rested under the overgorged curve, a trial of ginger peekin’ below the band. “True, partner, you’re becomin’ a nice piggy,” Billy quipped. “So, the purple lass’s itchin’ for a vendetta, and she chose ya?”

After he popped a soda open and drank half the bottle—his gurglin’ gut sloshin’ and expandin’ even more—Robin nodded. “She cursed the clothes. And I must’ve stepped on her toes something fierce when I complained to Master. Now I can’t even take the swimsuit off.” He grit his teeth, his handsome face (Was that the start of a double chin? Nay, don’t stare!) grimacin’ as he tried to keep the fizz down. His strained jaws opened as if pried apart, and with shakin’ hands, he poured in the rest of the drink. His neck bobbed; his stomach filled and grew in every direction. “Whenever I see—urp!”

Robin closed his mouth. His cheeks bulged with a held-back belch. Yet the stress forced his lips to open: “UUUURRPPP!” He bowed his limp head away. “Excuse me,” he muttered. “But when there’s any food—anything—I must eat it. It doesn’t matter if I’ll explode; my hands will push it down to my stomach.” He slapped the swollen ball, it barely swayin’. Something bubbled in its depths rose in his throat, and he let out another lengthy burp.

Bitin’ his lips, Billy leaned closer. “Have ya tried stayin’ outta here? Far from the eyes, far from the heart and all that?” he advised Robin, his eyes lookin’ anywhere but that overstuffed middle.

“I’m trying. But she’s pulling that Archer’s strings, too.” Robin grunted and glanced at the kitchen while devourin’ a buttered slice of bread. “If I leave my room, he’s on my tail with a cupcake or some other treat. Before I know it, I am dragged here and”—he pointed to the ungodly number of plates—“you see the rest.”

Billy nodded slowly, his whole willpower holdin’ him from lickin’ his lips. A fire was blazin’ in his chest—and his groin. He knew EMIYA’s dirty little secret way too well: the way a man’s gluttony melted him faster than an ice cube durin’ high noon. The Archer had left his treats unguarded when Amakusa discovered his sweet tooth. And when the Ruler came one morning, enormously flabby and flauntin’ it at every step, the pervert couldn’t stop blushin’! For Billy’s shock, neither could he. So did they become accomplices, secret friends bound by a common desire.

But gettin’ his pleasure from Robin, who hated every second of it? Damn, that was a new lowest of the low! Billy’s neck ached with strain as he did his best not to look, but he wouldn’t give in! “Forgive the question, partner,” he dropped it, hopin’ to divert the talk, “but if ya’re stuffin’ down so much food, how are ya not as fat as that priest boy?”

Robin clicked his tongue. “I’ve been burning off the calories. When I am not gulping down food here, I’m in the gym to work out. Doesn’t stop flab from piling.” Billy squinted, lookin’ for it, and caught himself. “But it does help.”

With some vigor, Billy’s line of sight moved higher—towards Robin’s arms. True, they were meatier, fillin’ the short sleeves of the shirt. Robin wasn’t a stick before, either, but now he was more powerful. Gorwin’. Maybe his legs had also bulked, but Billy didn’t wanna risk lookin’ at that gut again.

“Of course, after the training, my stomach is starving, and I chew down more food to make up for it. You should see how much EMIYA brings me then.”

Even more? Billy gulped—and before his brain could call out the horrible, horrible idea, he spoke. “Do ya need a partner for this job, partner? Someone to help with the trainin’ and to keep your appetite under control? Because ya can rely on me!”

“You know, that might help. Thanks a bunch!” Robin’s relieved smile stabbed Billy’s heart like a dagger. “Do you want to try it once I’m done here?”

“Sorry!” Billy jumped outta his chair. He wasn’t goin’ to ditch Robin—he owed up to his offers. “I’ve gotta do something else first!” Namely, one red Archer needed a few bullet wounds and a lecture on personal boundaries. “But tomorrow I’ll help ya!” And hopefully, he wouldn’t end distracted by that amazing, achy, hungry gut.

---

“Damn that EMIYA!” Billy shouted as he collapsed on his bed. “And that purple wretch, too! When did they form their party?” His talk with the red Archer a day ago had gone to the dogs. That man had balls of steel—no matter how many threats or bullets Billy wasted, EMIYA did not budge. And B.B. had hidden in her little mouse hole, without a trace of her anywhere in Chaldea. Billy couldn’t find her, no matter how many rooms he checked—as the stupid chef had told him.

“No whiff of the Master, either,” Billy grumbled. Da Vinci had promised to deal with the unruly pair, but B.B. would stop only if her so precious senpai ordered her. And unless she lifted the curse before breakfast tomorrow, Billy woulda to help Robin with the training again. The pillow muffled his screams. His heart woulda exploded in his chest after watchin’ his partner once. God help him if he had to see him bustle those weights while his gut shifted and gurgled. He hadn’t stopped glarin’ at the packed sphere once, paying attention and squirmin’ whenever it swayed. Robin’s unintended teasin’—him drummin’ over the sphere every once in a while—made it even worse. Billy barely had survived today; tomorrow would kill him!

Even worse, he said some calories stuck as fat. Did that mean an ever-flabbier Robin with a softenin’ gut? How much feedin’s would it take ‘till it became an enormous tank of lard; ‘till it sagged over his deck and he needed someone’s help to jerk himself off? It would jiggle whenever he took a step, it would flop over his shorts—hell, Robin woulda to pull them under his belly! His shirt would hide nothing; nay, it would show off those juicy curves.

Billy’s crotch twitched. No! He clenched fists, his nails diggin’ in his palms. “I’m not beatin’ it to Robin, no matter how smokin’ hot he becomes!” There were boundaries to those things! He rolled, now lyin’ on his back. His dick was makin’ a tent in his pants. The movement only made it rub against the fabric, and the pleasure flared up even more. “Self-control, self-control, self-control!” Billy repeated like a mantra. A burnin’, powerful feelin’ arose in his chest.

Would Robin gain love handles, too? They’d be juicy and plump, always to be grabbed when there was a chance. Billy imagined squeezin’ them in his fingers, the flab jigglin’. Would they push his shirt even higher, so large that nothing would cover them? And when Robin tugged it relentlessly, his gut would shake. The threads would strain and groan, but the clothes wouldn’t fit over that engorged mass. When he gained moobs…

Billy shut his eyes. His body was tense and feverishly hot. Sweat was burnin’ his forehead, and the flame in his dick pulsated through him. He shouldn’t think about those two swayin’, soft sacks of flab. He shouldn’t imagine carresin’ them, kissin’ them. Precum moistened his underpants.

“Who knew: I’m a pervert enough to do it!” Gruntin’, Billy peeled off his pants and pulled down his briefs, freein’ his dick. “Only this time!” He snatched the lube from his nightstand—his hands trembled and almost dropped it on the floor—and generously coated his fingers. “Do yer fuckin’ worst, libido!” he swore and began pumpin’ his cock. The first touch rustled through his body, a torrent of pleasure to drown him. No, oh no, oh, oh, oh yes, yes! He was breathin’ heavily, and his hand didn’t stop.

Robin’s moobs would show under his shirt—nay, so large that he couldn’t fit clothes over them. He’d parade around naked, a total show-off, his gut, and moobs, and love handles, and delicious, delicious backrolls for the whole world to ogle. The shirt would be a mere piece of fabric, stretched and useless, good only for hidin’ his shoulders—if even that!

Billy tried to hold his moans—keep at least that dignity. His insides were coilin’, his muscles were shiverin’. His dick stiffened more, and he drew every movement long until his body woulda broken under the strain of lust. He gulped the moan down, opened his lips for a hasty breath, and closed them immediately, the pant havin’ built up in his throat.

Robin would become a titan of a man, his torso a lardy mountain. He would carry all the weight, his freakin’ strong body put to good use. Those powerful arms he boasted an entire day—that was a start because he would also swell with packed flesh. His shorts would tear around his tights, the veiny mass crackin’ them apart. But he would pay no attention to that. The curse would drive him to eat and eat, glut himself more, unable to fight the thrall of the food. He would complain of his growth but never resist because he couldn’t—not even when he outgrew the chairs, the doors, the halls.

His stomach would be stuffed at all times, yet callin’ for more. What if Billy brought him snacks to the gym? Robin went only there and to the dinin’ hall. What if they shortened that time? What if he did not stop fillin’ his gut, gorgin’ himself, the sphere bloatin’ out of proportions, dominatin’ his already enormous frame? Then he would explode into more impossible, more gargantuan sizes. There would be no end, no control, only expansion and flab, and muscle…

Billy arched his back. A desperate, loud moan—almost a hiss—left his lips before he could bite it down. He was thrusting more rapidly, hastily, desperate for that release. If only he coulda Robin with himself, to have his way him.

If he were there—small, almost invisible next to the giant that was Robin, he would cheer. He would rejoice as the other Archer lifted heavier and heavier weights in the gym, his muscles so swole that they would tear the skin open. Veins would run under the sweaty flesh, visible over the bloated mass. And when Robin wanted to eat… Oh, boy, Billy would make sure he packed away his fill. He would push the meals in the other Archer’s mouth, rub his belly to provide comfort, and squish the flab under his fingertips, enjoy it as the gut would seemingly grow under his touch. Or, it would be tight and heavy, stretched to its limits, angry and protestin’ the constant stuffings. But it would be so used to the fullness and the cursed hunger that Robin wouldn’t handle a second without bein’ stuffed. It would be like an addiction—nay, it would be one—to eatin’, to blowin’ up, to growin’ fatter.

And if Robin enjoyed it as much as Billy, then the blond would have no problem givin’ some bonus help. He closed his eyes and imagined Robin’s dick in his hand. The massive roll of his gut pressed into the fingers, and as Billy stroked the cock, it would groan and roar, so overstuffed that it could burst open. He could also ride that massive ball, rub his member all over it while pushin’ caloric meals into Robin’s stomach. Or he could push his shaft between the two lardy ass checks and fuck Robin!

There, almost there! Billy was pantin’, out of breath, hot as coals. His ghosting fingertips ran across the red tip of his dick. It was an itchy, sudden touch that quickly ended. He hoped to prolong that sick, depraved cravin’ for as long as possible. Thoughts of relief were pushed to the corners of his mind.

Once their efforts came to an end, Robin would be huge, too large for his puny clothes. He would march around Chaldea, showin’ off his naked, heavy, thick body. The muscles would sway, the veins of his biceps and calves would shift. His enormous gut—so enormous that it would fall over his erect dick—would gurgle at every step: either achy and overfilled or not full enough and needin’ more. Robin would tend to it, gloat, relish in his new size and consume even more food. He would feed himself further into titanic sizes. Control would slip out of his mind. After gorgin’ himself, he’d be so horny, so desperate, that he’d pound Billy straight there in the canteen.

Cum shot outta Billy’s cock over his hand, and he was moanin’. His sheets were sticky as the white liquid soaked them., but he kept squeezin’ the last few lustful drops. The heat was sated, the achin’ hole in his chest filled for the time bein’. But, he realized with newfound clarity, tomorrow it would set him on fire again. And the thought of Robin attackin’ the filled tables like a beast sent a shiver down his dick again.

---

“Almost… There!” Robin grunted, gritting his teeth, and pushed up the barbell. His arms stretched, his large muscles expandin’ to their full size and squeezin’ again. His sleeves were already rolled as high as possible, not fittin’ around his swollen arms but tried to creep up more. Sweat was glistenin’ on the skin as it rippled - a proof of the effort he was puttin’ in. His round pecs—as big as apples—flexed, hard despite the flab that covered them. They swayed rhythmically as the weight moved up and down, plusatin’, tensin, and relaxin’: one, two; one, two. Billy’s eyes traced them as they shook, and he could see himself gropin’ them, holdin’ that powerful flesh… “And done!” Robin’s proud shout snapped out Billy. But it was for the worse because the huge Archer sittin’ on the bench let the barbell in place and scratched the curve of his gut, which rolled over his waist.

Fidgetin’ and tremblin, about as helpful as a snowball in a summer gunfight, Billy was warmin’ a nearby bench. He had been comin’ every day, unable to tear eyes away from the clothes that seemed to shrink around Robin’s growin’ body. The gym trips didn’t make him any smaller—especially when, after every workout session, Robin gorged himself until his bloated stomach couldn’t fit a morsel more. Then, he’d complain he was so full, drag out long moans and poke the stuffed sphere. As he sated his gluttony, it distended, pushed out more, and sometimes—a hot thrill cut through Billy—rested on his lap.

Billy bit his lips, strugglin’ not to slip a hand down in his pants right at the gym. He rubbed his tights together. His face was sizzlin’ like fire, and his breaths were rushed, unruly, desperate. He shook his head, hopin’ to clear the fantasy, but choose the damned best worst moment.

Robin jumped on the floor. The shockwave rocked the bench. Didn’t the equipment also rattle? Billy swallowed and the gulp lodged in his throat. He was shiverin’, truly feverish, trying’ to look away from the handsome behemoth. He knew what was comin’, but his neck refused to budge.

“Let’s go to the canteen.” Robin grinned lazily, his chubby cheeks jigglin’ a little. “After this stress, I should eat something.” He drew fingers over his exposed belly. Hadn’t he started touchin’ it more often—almost as if he got his kicks outta it.

No, no, no! Don’t think like that!

“Wasn’t the plan that you stopped stuffin’ your face, partner?” Billy wanted to stall—he was a god-damned coward. Once he saw Robin gulpin’ down food like there was no tomorrow, all pretenses of holdin’ back would fly straight outta the window. “Ya sure it’s not the purple hag’s doin’?” He didn’t know if he had the power to stand up without his legs meltin’ in a puddle.

Robin crossed arms behind his back, the mass of his bulky arms and forearms pressin’ together. “Does it matter much? I mean, I am not sprouting a pigtail, right? I was worried B.B. was literal with her curse.” He glanced down at his belly. “I can get used to some flab.”

Billy’s small body clenched as he struggled to hold back a moan. Robin was already a damn-fine lady-killer—in that case, a bloke-killer. His awesome, broad shoulders led to beefy arms, as thick as tree trunks - as possible capable of tearin’ them outta the ground. A soft layer of flab—quiverin’ unless Robin flexed—bloated their size further. But if Billy dragged fingers over ‘em, he’d feel the packed bulk underneath. Those powerful monsters could—a hiss of pleasure pinned him to the bench—snap him in two. Robin’s muscles were top-notch, too: wider than his arms, shaped by constant bustin’ at the gym and the very act of carryin’ his bulk. They were veiny, ripped, and made the puny summer shorts stretch and ride up under the curve of Robin’s gut.

That lardy overhand attracted attention without fail. It was an enormous sphere of pure fat. The hidden muscles kept it in a firm, massive, fat ball. Robin still tugged the shirt around his oversize middle; the buttons ached and shook, hangin’ for their dear life. His poor shorts fared even worse, trapped between the titanic tights and the blobby belly, strained into a thin line of fabric. What if, while Robin was packin’ away food, it snapped in two, no longer survivin’ the pressure? Would he shrug it off and keep eatin’, too gluttonous to consider it? Would he glut himself, his pecs—round, sightly saggin’, the perfect ending touch to his appearance—wobblin’ at the fast movements?

“Hey! Are you coming?” Robin asked. He had turned his back towards Billy. The shirt rested well above his soft, squeezable love handles, which trembled with each step. His bloated ass cheeks pressed together, foldin’ as he walked. The shorts barely covered them—and if Robin kept feedin’ himself and expandin’, no clothing would fit him. When the threads snapped, and his body exploded outta them.

Billy’s mouth opened wide, and he stood up, followin’ their hypnotizin’ sway. It wouldn’t come to that, would it? Robin had more self-control, did he not? But he had no problem with growin’ fatter—and if his eager steps were an indication, he could even await it. Billy’s imagination quickly did its job, paintin’ a pic of Robin, who was eatin’ no longer with resignation but with cheer. He would adore the way his flab folded or his muscles swelled. He would rejoice more the less he could see under the dome of his girth, proudly lift even heavier barbells and dumbbells and eat his weight in food.

“Come, or you’ll miss everything!” Robin shouted from the hall, turnin’ so fast that ripples spread through the entire mass of his engorged gut.

“I’m comin’, partner!” With an uneasy waddle, Billy followed him. Had he found out? Could he? As if he was a mutt with a yanked chain, the blond rushed down to the canteen. His brain could wait. Robin was right; Billy needed to see every second of that show.

---

Billy’s legs dragged him towards the canteen sluggishly, weakly. He hesitated at every step, pulled back, and then minced forward. What if someone saw him? He had to scram as fast as possible, get far from the dinin’ room. His dick was throbbin’ in his pants—and they were so tight that the whole Chaldea musta noticed. Hot sweat soaked him to the bone: anxiety, arousal, and anticipation. He had clenched his hands and mustered whatever willpower was left to him. “I’m not beatin’ it in the halls,” he murmured in the lonely corridor. “No matter how much I’m burnin’, no matter if it’ll drive me insane, no matter that Robin’s embraced piggin’ out and when I enter the canteen, I’ll find him stuffin’ himself sick.” Each second was painfully long-drawn torture as the twitches of pleasure set him ablaze.

“Can you walk faster, please? You partner”—the voice was so heavy with sarcasm that Billy could see it drippin’—“is inside and has already begun. If you arrive too late, he will have finished.”

“EMIYA!” Billy crouched in his shootin’ position. The tight pants rubbed his sensitive cock, and he felt himself edgin’ closer to release. He tried to hide the dick with his hands but brushed its tender head. “You’ve got a lotta courage,” he tried to push away that shameless joy, “showin’ up before my eyes.”

“Keep the rage for later. The curse would have failed if he did not enjoy it.” The unfazed Archer passed by him. Then, he stopped, glanced around shiftily, and turned back. “And you don’t have to thank me for this. Honestly. The grand plan was someone else’s.”

“I’m gonna give you all the gratitude you deserve, no worries!” Billy reached for his gun, but EMIYA slipped past him and disappeared.

He coulda chased the Archer, but there were more pressing things.

With the red vermin gone, Billy opened the doors and entered the canteen. He moved through empty chairs. The lively hall was now ghastly empty, not a sound to distract him.

Only one table was occupied—or, more accurately, three tables put together as a one. There was no other way the oversize feast woulda fitted. Potatoes, dazzlin’ with melted butter; meats with sauce as thick as syrup; mountains of golden, crispy fried rice—those were a few of the dishes, reversed for the special guest. And he was wolfin’ down a huge plate of appetizers along with a large bottle of soda to keep him company, the same ol’ grin plastered on his face. “Hey, partner!” he spoke, his mouth full. “I would say that you can pick whatever you like, but, uh, I have the feeling this is all for me.”

The flame of passion erupted into Billy. He bit his lips, and his hand reached for his cock, stroking it through the pants. It brought some short-lived relief, but then it rose higher—like a wave which would drown him if he stopped. “S-so,” he hoped to move the topic to anything else, “you were serious ‘bout enjoyin’ the curse, partner?”

The enormous gulp traveled down Robin’s throat. “How does it look to you?” He polished away the last few bites and set the plate on a pile of empty ones. When did he have the time? Billy had come ten minutes after him! How fast was Robin gorgin’ himself?

“If the red Archer will be my chef, I might get a use out of him.” Robin moved onto a juiced steak with bewitchin’ aroma and dug straight in, lickin’ the splotches of grease that stained his lips. “It’s not a weak start, but I bet I can do better. There’s a lot more to eat, after all. Do you want to watch?”

If Billy had any sense left, he should have realized the so clear teasin’. But he could only think about Robin’s huge body, about his gut and ass and bottomless hunger. Squirmin’, he nodded.

“Then you can sit here.” Robin patted the space on the bench near himself. “It might be a little tight, but a small guy like you can fit.”

Small. As if in a trance, Billy walked and plopped down, squeezin’ his body as close as possible to Robin’s flab. His left side was sinkin’ in the lard, feelin’ the warmth which the oversize Archer radiated. Those temptin’ rolls bulged over the smaller man, spillin’ over his lithe frame. He was like a mouse next to the engorged mountain that was Robin. “When did ya began enjoyin’ it, partner? Didn’t ya say ya will be stayin’ fit ‘n’ trim?” His hand hadn’t stopped runnin’ over his cock; how the hell had Robin not noticed?

“No, I did not want to be a pig. I thought B.B. would make me a large pink animal, but it seems she hadn’t been literal. Besides”—Robin stopped his feast to grip his flexed biceps, stretchin’ his fingers to fit around it—“this is quite far from a fat pig. I would have ended this earlier, but I had fun playing with you.

“You… On purpose?” Billy couldn’t bear it anymore.

“Why else? Did you think someone missed the way you were staring at me?”

It was as if a bomb had exploded in Billy’s chest. He shoulda been ashamed, distraught that his dirty secret was out in the open. But instead, he felt bliss, utter and true bliss. Robin was on the same page. Robin was on the same page! “Then, partner… Can I?” He was tremblin’, barely able to speak.

“Do whatever you want. You’ve earned it.”

Billy jumped onto him, perchin’ himself atop the blobby gut. His face leaned forward, and he kissed Robin’s revealed moobs. He pressed his lips over the pecs. His face was enveloped in the soft chub, and his tongue caressed them from the perky nipples and up the curve, glidin’ over the muscle underneath.

He began grindin’ against Robin’s belly. The flab engulfed his cock. As Billy thrust into it, his dick not penetratin’ deep enough to fell the muscle, it shook around. Those jiggles made him throb with pleasure, arch his back, and squeeze—squeeze all he could.

Robin’s huge arms were the nearest. Billy’s hands slid over them, feelin’ the muscle ripple. The veins shifted with each movement and… Was Robin still stuffin’ himself?

The fat sphere pushed out, givin’ in less and less. Robin’s gut was growin’, fillin’ up with food, and he was bound to end even flabbier; even bigger—so impossibly enormous that Billy would be but a speck next to him. He’d be so tiny next to that solid wall of flab and flesh and beef!

Jizz soaked Billy’s underpants. The relief—the final relief—crashed over him like a wave and let out an unabashed moan in Robin’s chest. His warm, frantic pantin’ made the skin tingle.

And he rose his head, and his red, messy, wild smirk met a proud grin.

“For such a small guy, you’re pretty intense,” Robin said. He was breathing heavily, his belly pushing in and out. “Do you think you can handle a round number two?”

The blond, ruffled outlaw nodded, his body movin’ before his brain had a chance to react. “You betcha, partner!”

#weight gain story #male weight gain #male weight gain stories #robin hood #billy the kid #fate grand order #fgo #chubwritings

22 notes · View notes

vannahfanfics · 4 years

Text

Mama Mina

Category: Friendship Fluff

Fandom: My Hero Academia

Characters: Denki Kaminari, Mina Ashido

Hey, everyone! Here’s another story for @bnhabookclub‘s weekly SFW prompt, “You can’t ignore me forever!” Enjoy! :)

Denki’s lips were drawn up in a cheerless pout as he lay sideways on his bed, repeatedly bouncing a ball against his opposite wall. With languid, practiced motions that were more muscle memory than actual attentive efforts, he flicked his wrist to lob the ball at the same spot on the wall he had been for the last hour. He watched with dull lidded eyes as the squishy rubber toy sailed across the width of the bedroom, struck the smooth painted surface, dove down at a forty-five-degree angle to bounce once on the polished wooden floor strewn with dirty socks and worn tee-shirts, then returned to his waiting hand. Shwip. Thunk. Thwock. Slap. The sounds echoed, just as depressing and lifeless as the ambiance.

“Stupid,” he muttered aloud as he hurled the ball across the room once more. “Absolutely useless. What’re you even here for, Denki?” The ball slammed into the wall as he subconsciously applied more force to the throw; in turn, its arc changed dramatically and crashed into his face instead of his hand. The ball ricocheted off his nose to collide with his desk lamp, causing it to spin wildly around and knock into the plastic cup holding his writing utensils. He cursed as he rolled onto his back with both his hands tenderly holding his bruised face, trying to ignore the added insult of his pencils and pens sliding over the desk and clattering to the floor. In the background of that and his groans, he could hear the rubber ball bouncing and then rolling over the wood to come to rest somewhere under his bed. “Stupid, stupid, stupid!”

Denki usually tried to stay positive. He really did. That was his thing, after all, being the plucky optimist. He had drained his supply of sanguinity, however; the cistern was as dry as a desert, not a drop of confidence to be found. How could he be self-assured, after making an absolute fool of himself in the third round of the Sports Festival? It had taken literal seconds for Ibara Shiozaki to obliterate him in their one-on-one battle. Denki had never suffered such a grievous insult in his life. Of course, it wasn’t her fault. It was all his stupid fault.

He pushed the balls of his palms into his eyes, trying to force the tears that were brimming there from leaking out. He failed miserably at that as well. The salty liquid rolled down his flushing cheeks to bead on his chin, then drip down and absorb into the collar of his tee-shirt.

“Ungh… Goddammit,” he sniffed and rolled onto his belly to shove his face into his pillow. In the back of his mind, he thought suffocating himself was preferable to the uncomfortable twisting in his gut and the stinging in his eyes. Unfortunately, the fabric of his pillow was much too breathable. The world is against me. Without removing his face from the cushiony construct, he slipped halfway off the bed to grope blindly around for the rubber ball. Continuously chunking it relieved some of his nervous energy, at least.

He stopped when someone knocked loudly and insistently on his bedroom door.

“Denki!” Mina’s high-pitched voice was still loud even bleeding through the wood. She rattled the doorknob experimentally to find it locked. “Denki, lemme in! Let’s talk.” What the hell is she doing here?! “Me and Eiji and Hanta are all here to hang out. Your mom called us!” Of course she did… he thought sourly. “Hanta’s setting his PlayStation up downstairs! Come on! Let’s go play!”

He removed his face from the plush pillow to shout, “Dun wanna!” He scowled when the pink-skinned girl jiggled the metal knob again, more persistently this time.

“Denki, come on, you’ve been moping in here all day. It doesn’t do any good to sulk like this! Come onnnn! Let’s talk it out!” Denki snorted derisively and threw himself on his side, facing the wall and pouting childishly. If he were in a healthy state of mind, he might appreciate her kind gesture; however, incensed as he was, he could only be petulantly exasperated by her insistence. She continued to bleat invitational prattle before his doorway, and he decided not to waste the energy on responding. If I ignore her, she’ll go away. “Denki. Denki. Denki.” She began relentlessly chanting his name and punctuating each shout with a rattle of the knob. Grumbling unflattering words under his breath, he wrapped the pillow around his ears. The breathable fabric didn’t muffle nearly as much sound as he wished. “Denki. Denki. Denki. Denki. Denki. Denki.” He curled up so that his knees touched his chest.

Go away, he snarled in his mind. I don’t want to talk about how stupid I am. Leave me alone!

“Denki, you can’t ignore me forever! DenkiDenkiDenkiDenkiDenkiDen-”

“Fuck! Okay, I’m coming, just cut it out! Sheesh,” he yelled and threw himself off the bed. Somehow the angry motion was coordinated, and he landed on the flats of his bare feet. His stomps were purposeful and thundering as he stalked open to the door to unlock it and throw it open. “What?” he hissed at the smiling, bubbly girl, chest heaving and cheeks flushed with misdirected self-loathing.

“Denki, are you sad?”

“No! I’m not sad! Now, will you leave me alone?!” he huffed and went to shut the door in her face. In his heart of hearts, he knew that wasn’t right, but Goddammit, the last thing he wanted to do was talk about it. Sometimes a man just needed to brood in peace. Her pink hand flew up to slam against the wood, demonstrating surprising strength as it stopped it in its tracks.

“I think you’re lying.”

“So what if I am?!” Instantaneously, his cheeks flushed a rose color. Dammit, that isn’t what I wanted to say! Her face deadly serious and those black-and-gold eyes boring into the quivering depths of his soul, Mina leaned into the doorway. Denki gulped and subconsciously leaned back in the face of such unwavering resolve.

“I’m coming in,” she asserted simply. Denki deflated with a whine and trudged away from the door to throw himself face-down back on the bed. His groan of acknowledgment was muffled by that annoyingly breathable fabric of his pillow. He heard the soft scrapes of her socks over his floor. They were followed by the gentle click of the door behind her. Denki hugged his pillow as he moped over how rapidly the situation spiraled out of control; it was just par for the course for him, he supposed. Silly, stupid Denki with no spine-

“Denki. You know that none of us think any less of you for what happened at the Sports Festival, right?” He visibly cringed as she heartlessly jabbed at the core of his depression. Snorting, he rolled on his side such that his back was to her. Morosely, he curled his thin body around the pillow.

“Yeah, right. You guys probably thought it was hilarious. She wiped the floor with me.” His bottom lip wobbled pitifully just talking about it. It had been so humiliating. Finally, he thought he had his chance to show that he wasn’t just the dumb guy that fried his brain and mumbled “Yayyyyy,” but he had blown it in the most mortifying way. Kyoka was probably sniggering into her hand while she gossiped about him to Momo-

“Well, Hanta-”

“He was up against Todoroki, and he even got a good shot in,” he countered matter-of-factly. Angrily, he squeezed the plush body of the pillow but had not the raw strength to tear it to little shreds of fabric and cotton like he wanted to. “Stop lyin’ to me. You can say it. I’m useless and stu-”

“You are not stupid!” He jumped violently as her voice cracked like a whip in the relatively quiet bedroom. He yelped like a wounded dog when she wrenched him onto his back by the shoulder. Like it was a shield, he kept the pillow hugged to his body and stared owlishly up at the fuming girl. Her pink lips pressed into a thin line, and her fingers clenched into her hips. “So what if you’re not Bakugo or Todoroki or even Midoriya? You still earned your way into this hero course!” she scolded him. He just vehemently nodded along. Frankly, he was a little terrified she would whap him upside his head if he continued with the self-pity. Her face softened slightly, and she bent over him to ruffle his blonde-and-black hair affectionately. “You have your own merits, and believe it or not, we all know them. You’re loyal and care a lot about your friends.” She smiled brightly down at him as he blushed shyly. “Sure, it didn’t work out this time, but you’ve still got so much time to prove what you’re made of. Stop saying you’re stupid or useless, because you’re not. None of us think that.”

“Really?” he asked her with big, round eyes, and she nodded firmly.

“Pinky-swear!” she grinned and held up her pinky finger emphatically. “Not even Kyoka,” she added with a suggestive wiggle of her eyebrows, which made him gulp and flush further. Still hugging the pillow but not as tightly, he sat up from the bed and rubbed the back of his neck. He had to admit, even though she had just basically reprimanded him like a stern mother, he felt loads better. He smiled warmly when she grabbed his hand and looped her pinky with his.

“Thanks, Mina.”

“No problem!” He chuckled, and she stepped away when he slung his legs around to hop of the bed. She stood on her tip-toes to muss up his already wild hair again. “Now get yourself dressed and come get some breakfast. Your mom said you haven’t eaten anything.”

“Mina, it’s like… two in the afternoon.”

“Brunch, then! Regardless, food! You need sustenance!” she insisted and jabbed him in his belly with her index fingers a few times. He squirmed at the tickling prods and skittered away from her to his closet.

“Yes, Mom!” he snorted, finally dropping the pillow to begin rifling through the closet for a suitable tee shirt. Mina hummed contentedly and strolled to the door, kicking aside a few of his discarded socks and underwear towards his dirty clothes hamper.

“Yup, that’s me. Mama Mina! If you’re not downstairs in five minutes, I’m coming back up to drag you by the ear,” she warned as she stepped out of the door.

“I’m coming! Promise!” he laughed, and she flashed him a teasing wink before shutting the door behind her. Amused, he stared at the wooden entryway for a few seconds, just smiling admiringly. “Mama Mina,” he huffed under his breath and shook his head before wrenching his shirt off and tossing it across the room into the hamper. The smile never fell from his face the entire time he was getting ready.

It just felt really nice to know he had someone looking after him.

“All right! Time to kick some ass, Denki Kaminari!” he told himself with a devilish smile. He cracked his knuckles and his neck, then did a couple pre-game stretches. He then all but bolted out of his bedroom and down the stairs. His friends greeted him with a chorus of “hello’s.” He snatched up a bag of Doritos from the kitchen counter and vaulted over the back of the couch, snatching up a controller and sticking out his tongue confidently.

“’Sup, guys? Ready to looooose?”

“As if!” Hanta cried and shoved him in the side of the head. “You’re the one who’s going down!”

“How do I play this game, Mina?” Eijirou frowned at the flickering screen.

“Just shoot the zombies, Eiji.”

“Shoot the zombies,” the redhead repeated unsurely under his breath and squinted at the television. Denki shoved a handful of nacho chips in his mouth and rolled onto his belly, legs still slung over the back of the couch, before holding the bag out to Mina. She took it graciously and patted him on the top of his head, making him smile widely.

I have really, really good friends.

Enjoy this oneshot? Feel free to peruse my Table of Contents!

Tag List: @deliathedork @sadistiks @simplybakugou

#bnhabookclub #weekly prompt event #kaminari denki #denki kaminari #ashido mina #mina ashido #my hero academia #mha #my hero #boku no hero #boku no hero academia #bnha #mha fanfic #mha fanfiction #bnha fanfic #bnha fanfiction

32 notes · View notes

melodieyvonne · 4 years

Text

Welcome to Melodie Yvonne’s Digital Dreams Gallery where the dream is a wish Melodie’s heart makes ❤ ❤ ❤ Photos by Melodie Yvonne

NessA Flying

The Dream Breakers

Pall Mall 100s in an Orange Box

Rebound Ultrasound

Sloth

Pixelated Nation

I Own Me

Photographic Malady

My Lyin’ Heart

Walls

Bean Salad

A You Addict

Myself Being Me

My Shower Song

The Alex Enigma

Dreaming in Reverse

The NayNay Fairy

Meticulous Ridiculous

Kin

Looks Like You

Smile for Death

I Run

Previously Ate

Sing

My Own Family

Mello and Hazie

Atomic

lookin’ At Stars

Kalien

Worlds Apart

Me Too

Created in Darkness

Hope Insomniac

Hurry

Mongoose

Everlasting Vixen

Curvy Lines

The Catterpatty

Manicured Methiah

Boomerang

My Hero

Suffocate Me

ABC’s of Lust

The End

He Carries Me

Infinity

All My Fault

I’m Leavin’

Flower Child

Summer Night

These Eyes

Leave Me the Love

Taste Life

Forget About You

Micahla’s Ghost

Something to Tell You

GROL Only Knows

Hope

One Upon A Dream

No Vacancy

Blue Intentions Road

Angels in Human Clothes

Pride

Beautiful Mess

Hiding William

Bella’s Path

Pig Haven

Charity

The Revenant Extended

Someone to Call You Mine

Kazel

Lust

Like Kings

The Revenant

Lifestyles of the Rich

Envy

Silent Echoes

Money Does

All for You

M is for Migraine

Walking Hazie

Oh Nope It’s Gone

Broken Rosy Lenses

What the Hell

Distraction

I Wish You

Aynot

The Harmony of Symmetry

Walking Hazie Technicolor

Walking in Heaven

Won’t Save My Soul

Maybe

You Can Keep Him

Don’t Say I’m Sorry

Falling Up

Most

No Worries, Baby

Awake

Stuck Like Glue

How Do I Go

The End of Michigan

My Breakin’ Heart

Skeletor

Forest Mother

Rudeness

Super Grace

On Fire

Back to the End

Demons in Human Clothes

Nothing Left

Don’t

Envy Green

Lost in Me

Seed Guzzler

Shop One of A Kind Fine Art Prints in the Print Shop

Return to Photo Galleries View all of Melodie’s work at melodieyvonne.com/category/melodie-yvonne FOLLOW Melodie on Facebook – facebook.com/photographicmelodie, Instagram – instagram.com/melodieyvonne, Twitter – twitter.com/melodieyvonne Subscribe now to SEE even more of the Music on Melodie’s YouTube Channel All photographicmelodie.com/melodieyvonne.com content copyright Melodie Yvonne Ramey. All rights reserved. No usage permitted beyond nonprofit online sharing without written permission from Melodie Yvonne Ramey. NO IMAGE or word ALTERING of any kind permitted. View the full Photographic Melodie content and Print Shop usage Terms & Conditions HERE Digital Dreams Welcome to Melodie Yvonne's Digital Dreams Gallery where the dream is a wish Melodie's heart makes ❤ ❤ <3…

1 note · View note

ao3feed-bakudeku · 4 years

Link

by Larmoyant

It was times like these when memories of a boy from his days in high school would pass his mind. How different would his life had been, had he sought love and not money? How different would his life had been had he allowed the other young man pursue him, rather than marrying a wealthy businessman.

Words: 2304, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: 僕のヒーローアカデミア | Boku no Hero Academia | My Hero Academia

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M, M/M

Characters: Midoriya Izuku, Bakugou Katsuki

Relationships: Midoriya Izuku/Original Male Character(s), Bakugou Katsuki/Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku/Bakugou Katsuki

Additional Tags: Unhappy marriage, Escapism, Cheating, Unhappy Midoriya Izuku, Alternate Universe - No Quirks (My Hero Academia), Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, I think?

#ao3feed #fanfic #BnHA #Boku no Hero Academia #My Hero Academia #Bakugo Katsuki #Midoriya Izuku #ao3

3 notes · View notes

ao3feed-strangerthings · 4 years

Text

Lyin' Eyes

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2P1mgJj

by StrangeFiction

Janet has an notion her husband has been having an affair. She hires Jonathan Byer's to look into it. And What he finds is upsetting news.

Words: 1270, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Stranger Things (TV 2016)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings

Categories: F/M

Characters: Janet Holloway, Tom Holloway, Nancy Wheeler, Jonathan Byers

Relationships: Tom Holloway/Nancy Wheeler, Tom Holloway/ Janet Holloway

Additional Tags: Janet ain't taking no shit

read it on the AO3 at https://ift.tt/2P1mgJj

#IFTTT #ao3feed #fanfic #fanfiction #stranger things

1 note · View note

writerunsolved · 6 years

Text

The Drunken Mistake - Ch. 1

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Category: F/M

Fandom: Real Person Fiction

Relationship: Tom Hiddleston/Reader

Genres: Fluff and Humor

Language: English

Chapters: 3/?

Summary: You're a young up-and-coming singer based in London who has just released her first album.

After a wild night at the VMAs and some heavy partying and drinking at the afterparty, you write and publish a drunken tweet about a certain celebrity and one of their friends. You only realise what you've done the next day when a slew of texts and calls wakes you up to a dreadful but expected hangover. You immediately delete the tweet, but you're left to deal with the consequences. A public apology would probably be enough to make everything go away if you hadn't been invited to a movie premiere where said celebrity is most certainly going to be.

You decide that the best course of action will be to try and avoid them, but your plans almost never go the way you want them to.

Chapter One - Never Tweet Your Deepest Fantasies

The light streaming in through the window right onto your face, though annoying, wasn’t what woke you up.

It was instead the insistent vibration of your phone, sitting deceivingly innocently under your pillow and making your brain rattle in your skull. The frankly inordinate amount of alcohol you had consumed the night before certainly wasn’t helping, either.

Resigned to having to face your hangover eventually, willing or not, you finally took out the phone and through bleary eyes, you saw you had a disconcerting number of missed phone calls and messages from your manager; in addition, your phone kept blowing up with social media notifications in your hand.

Panicked and confused, you tried to remember the night before.

You’d left the house quite early in the afternoon, dressed to the nines and wearing make-up, all thanks to your stylist Nadia and your make-up and hair expert Linda, and a car had picked you up to bring you to the VMAs where the red carpet had been waiting for you. When you’d first started attending big events like this, you had soon realised what a long day they made: the red carpet usually started pretty early in the afternoon, and by the time the actual event took place you would have been standing on high heels for several hours already. You’d grown tired of wearing them almost immediately, so now when you attended events of this kind you would usually swear off the stilettos and go for a trendy pair of flats.

This time had been different, though. It was an important night, and you wanted to look your best. Moreover, it had been a while since you’d worn heels, and you’d forgotten the actual pain they caused you. So, as with any other event, you’d been dropped off at the venue and walked the red carpet while a never-ending number of pictures of you was being taken and after what felt like an entire day and night, you’d finally gotten off your feet and taken your seat in the audience, not too far away from the stage.

You could still feel the phantom pain of the shoes where they’d scraped off your skin behind your ankles, you reached your hand to lightly touch the spot and moaned in pain, both because of your feet and because of the sharp pang the movement caused to your hungover brain.

You laid back down with your head on your pillow and tried to go through the rest of the night. You immediately remembered winning the award for Best New Artist and happiness pervaded you once again, you still couldn’t believe that had happened! You sought to remember where you’d put the award. You looked for it around the room and noticed it on the floor, right next to the door, propped to keep it open. You reflexively slapped your forehead in reprimand - which only worsened the headache - that was no way to treat your first important award!

After receiving your reward, and hopefully not making a fool of yourself during your acceptance speech, things got a little muddled. You remembered wanting to celebrate and leaving with some of the guys in your staff and some other artists who’d been attending the event. Drinks had begun flowing, which was exactly why your memories were so hazy.

You attempted to squeeze more memories out, but you’d drank so much your brain must have gone into overdrive at some point. Normally, you weren’t one to overdo it with alcohol, but it had been a special night and the award had come as a huge surprise, so it hadn’t been hard to convince you to make toast after toast. Everyone around you had been having fun, it was only natural for you to get carried away with the euphoria of your first real award.

You couldn’t remember anything else after that, so you still had no idea what the reason for your social media blow-up might be. You reassured yourself with the thought that it would just be some kind of article full of embarrassing pictures of you completely dishevelled and visibly drunk. Sure, it wasn’t ideal and it would leave you ashamed for the rest of time, but it would blow over in relatively no time when one of the Kardashians would be spotted buying a pair or jeans or something equally trivial. You shot a quick text to your manager Nina to let her know you were awake and alive, and resolved to find out what was going on as soon as possible. You were just about to open up Twitter when another text from Nina made the matter that much more pressing. It read: “You need to take that tweet down RN!!!!!!”.

You immediately sat up, headache be damned, and scrambled to open the Twitter app. Without bothering to scroll through your timeline, you went directly to your own profile and right there it was, mocking you and punishing you for your questionable life choices, your most retweeted and liked tweet:

[ID: Displayed name: A WINNER @ THE VMAS

Twitter handle: @trebledwoman

Tweet content: h cmoe on who wpldnt want 2 be RAWED by t hiddleston &chremsworth at the sme time?? ? ? if yoy wouldnt ure either a coward or yur lyin]

Dread immediately filled your lungs, you wanted to close your eyes and stop seeing what you’d done but the sheer disbelief kept them wide open, staring unblinkingly at the screen while your brain tried to process what was happening.

You couldn’t fathom doing something so stupid and reckless. It was one thing to be caught after a night of enthusiastic celebrations, but involving others in the show business industry was an entirely different ordeal. Bigger celebrities than you had gone down for much less and putting your whole career at risk because of one night of heavy drinking was the stupidest thing you could have ever done. Seemingly on their own, your fingers started scrolling through the responses you’d gotten and you could see people responding with memes, some even hilarious, but you weren’t really in the mood for a laugh at the moment. Others loudly announced having taken screenshots and having saved the tweet on the internet archive. You weren’t exactly surprised, the internet was forever after all. Even though several hours had passed since you’d posted it, and it was obviously too late for it not to have already spread all over social media, you deleted the tweet without a second thought.

You exited the app and called Nina.

“Jesus, finally! Have you taken that shit down?!” was her answer.

You brushed back your hair restlessly and replied with a sigh “Yes. God Nina, that was so stupid!! What am I going to do? This is a disaster, right? How could I possibly recover from this?! And I just got my first award, too, why did I have to drink so mu-”

“Honey, honey, listen to me. You need to calm down.” she interrupted you “People seem to have taken it as a huge joke, and there was no public reaction from neither Chris Hemsworth nor Tom Hiddleston.” she laughed nervously “I know it was up for several hours, but it’s good that you deleted it, and you will have to publish an apology as soon as possible.”

You took a deep breath and tried to unclench your jaw. Finally, you closed your eyes and said “Okay, so that’s our action plan for now? A public apology? And then what?”

“And then we hope the Buzzfeed articles will be humorous rather than accusing, and we keep on making music, ok?” you could feel and picture her warm smile through the phone “Seriously, we can get through this. Your career has just started and I have no intention of letting you go just yet.”

You’d really lucked out with Nina, she was such a supportive and incredible woman. As soon as she’d discovered one of your songs online, she’d seen a talent in you that not even you’d known you had. You felt a wave of guilt come over you, this was going to affect her too. “I’m so sorry, Nina. I shouldn’t have put you through this.” You shook your head resignedly “It’s one thing to make a mistake, but to let it reflect so badly on everyone around me… I really hope you can forgive me.”

“Oh, sweetheart…” he voice was kind “Don’t say that. I told you, we’ll recover from this. It’s not as bad as it feels right now, and don’t doubt for one minute that I will eternally make fun of you for it.”

That pulled a laugh out of you, she joined in then continued “Tom Hiddleston, though, really? I can understand Chris Hemsworth, he has muscles for days, but I would never have guessed you would be into the unassuming British type.”

A blush stained your cheeks, you were grateful she wasn’t there to see it or she would have never let you live it down. “Hey now,” you started defensively but with mirth “he’s cultured and polite. Plus have you seen his pecs? I bet you haven’t, you huge lesbian.”

Nina let out a rambunctious laugh that lasted several seconds, then said “Oh well, I guess you’re right.”

There was a beat of silence or two, then Nina concluded “I really have to go now, honey.” you never got tired of the pet name “As soon as you’re done writing down an apology, send it to me and I’ll let you know if you’re okay to publish it.”

You nodded, then remembering she couldn’t see it, you told her “Will do. Thank you so much, Nina. See you soon.”

“Later, sweetie.” with that she hung up.

You sat there for another beat, legs still half-covered by the duvet and phone in hand. You took a huge breath that filled you up from your shoulders to your abdomen, trying to gather the energy to face what was showing all the signs to be an interminably long day.

Your head was swarming with possible ways to go about apologising, you wondered whether to address part of it directly to the objects of your tweet or if it would be better to keep it vague and only concentrate on your behaviour. On one hand, you felt like you owed an apology to Tom Hiddleston and Chris Hemsworth for objectifying them like that, on the other you were conscious of the fact that that wasn’t the only reason why you were so ashamed of the tweet.

You regretted drinking so much. In hindsight, you realised that you’d put yourself in danger by being so reckless and that if you intended to pursue your career seriously and to win more prestigious awards, you couldn’t resort to that kind of behaviour again. At least it was a lesson learnt.

You put those thoughts aside, dwelling on guilt wasn’t going to help matters. For now, it would be better to concentrate on the task at hand and to look to the future. Lesson learnt, lesson ended.

You got up from the bed and crossed the room barefoot, on the way outside the bedroom you grabbed the award from where it was still standing up propped against the door and brought it with you to the kitchen through the dining room. The first thing you’d done with the earnings from your first album under your new record label had been to buy a small apartment in a building not too far away from central London. One of the things you’d hated the most about renting was the uncertainty of not having a real home that was your own, the possibility that at any moment you would have to pack up all your stuff and move away and start all over again. Furthermore, you loved reading and owning books, and when you were still renting it was impossible for you to maintain a decent library.

You thought back to first joining your sister in this great big city, and how terrified of the future you were. To be fair, the fear had never really gone away, but that was just the kind of person you were. Your sister had already been living in London for several years, she had a great job and all her life together, and she’d been pushing for you to move here too almost since the beginning. You had preferred to wait, though. You’d only just finished university and felt like you needed more time to figure yourself out, but eventually, the time had finally felt right and now here you were.

The small planner you’d been looking for was exactly where you expected it to be on the kitchen counter. You’d left it there before leaving for the VMAs and in it was basically your whole life. You had a detailed calendar of all your work and social commitments and several blank pages to use should the need arise. That was exactly why you’d been looking for it. You knew the apology would have to be published online and rewritten digitally, but pen and paper always helped you to better put your head in order.

You put down the award you still had in your hand right next to the planner and started idly flipping through this month's appointments, searching for a blank page to use and already wording the beginning of the apology in your head. You’d calmed down quite a bit since first waking up, and even your hangover headache seemed to be dwindling down on its own, so you felt much more centred about your current situation. And then you saw it -

September 4th - precisely one week from now - “New Marvel movie premiere”.

It came back to you in a flash, and really it was entirely your fault for forgetting, that in a week you would have to attend the premiere of a new Marvel film for the soundtrack of which one of your new songs had been chosen. How could you have possibly forgotten having written a song for a Marvel movie?! Alcohol was officially cancelled.

You felt a wave of nausea hit you, either from the residual hangover or from the realisation that you would come face to face with the flesh-and-blood consequences of your actions in a week from now. You couldn’t remember specifically what movie the London premiere was for, but even if it wasn’t another Thor movie there was simply no universe in which Tom Hiddleston and Chris Hemsworth wouldn’t be attending.

You grabbed a glass from where it was drying on the side of the sink and filled it to the brim with the coldest water that came from the tap, and while you were downing it in one single go, you made a resolution.

There was absolutely no way for you to skip the premiere, but you had to avoid Tom Hiddleston and Chris Hemsworth at any and all cost.

Chapter 2

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddleston fanfiction #tom hiddleston fanfic #reader x tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #tom hiddleston imagine #tom hiddleston x you #fanfiction #reader tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston reader #tom hiddleston fandom

84 notes · View notes

otheroutlandertales · 6 years

Photo

Anonymous said: Fergus doesn't know what to get Marsali for her birthday

Hello OOT readers! Muy here. I’ve shaped this prompt to fit within my Fersali ficlet series, which means it can be enjoyed as a standalone fic or as part of a larger story. This particular ficlet takes place in between “First date”/Oversight and The jacket. enjoy!

Fersali: Pictures

by @ianmuyrray

Fergus lounged at the end of a metal pier, cigarette in hand, the sky an early morning blue-gray behind him. Across the bay stood a shadowed city skyline, rectangular windows winking golden in the shadow of buildings. In the distance, sailboats billowed their white sails, stiff, rocking clouds.

Marsali’s birthday is tomorrow. Fuck.

He drew from his cig, the end glowing a brilliant orange, and narrowed his eyes against a sea breeze. He took a moment to appreciate smoke-filled lungs. God, that feels good. He exhaled out of his nose, reluctantly.

He’d met Marsali about a month ago. And it’d been the best month of his life. It was a whirlwind, and yet, he forgot nothing. Time flashed by like lightning, but he knew he could freeze-frame, recall any image he wanted in high definition.

Marsali was a walking daydream. He constantly feared he would be roused from it only to find himself alone again. She was tough, funny, sweet, smart-mouthed, and ridiculously sexy. Their relationship had progressed very quickly, and Fergus felt the groove of pavement and the roar of an engine as he raced toward everything he never thought he wanted.

He was terrified, yet glad of it.

When apart, they were constantly in contact, unable to refuse the magnetism between them. He felt compelled to update her on the little things during the day, to check in on her smallest moments, to share everything. He had never felt such a depth of connection with anyone before.

He ran his hand absentmindedly over the phone in his pocket. It had been largely silent - nothing from Marsali in a number of days.

He stared blankly into the skyline. Boats bobbed around him, the air smelled of sea salt and algae-blanketed rock walls. Fergus frowned.

Rushing into things had its side effects. Like David - someone he reached out to when he was lonely and bereft, someone Fergus had used to pretend another person liked him, cherished him, wanted to spend time with him. But really, David was just someone he could get off with shortly after sending a text. Fergus never had to clean his shitty flat, or shave on his days off, or feel responsible for buying David’s dinner. David wasn’t a boyfriend, wasn’t a relationship; he was only a hookup.

Fergus hadn’t had an opportunity to reach out to David since Marsali had appeared in the restaurant, looking thoroughly fuckable, extremely dangerous, and forgotten by another man. He had been drawn to her, and watching her storm out of the restaurant made him shed his apron and tie and clock out-- assigned shift be damned. He needed to be near her, to find out if she felt the same undeniable pull.

He flicked his thumb against the cig’s filter end, ashes falling into the harbor water, before bringing it to his lips for a final inhale. He sighed as he exhaled and extinguished the cigarette butt on the metal pier before tossing it into a little rubbish bucket hanging from the pier’s post.

And tomorrow was her birthday.

Fergus had agonized over what to get her. Always strapped for cash, making little money as he did as a server, his options were limited. What the hell was he supposed to buy someone he’s only known a few weeks when it feels like he’s known her longer than time itself?

He had decided to show her how meaningful the time warp was to him. So, he prepared a box of photographs for her. Snapshots of them together, of silly selfies, eating mustard covered hot dogs from a street cart, climbing grassy hills in the park, sharing a slurpee at the theater. Photos of them separate. He had included several of the images she had snapped of him: one while he was reading under a lamp at night, one where he was eating an ice cream sandwich in the car, another where he lounged in bed, nude and happy.

And, of course, there were photos of her that he had taken. Photos of Marsali was the largest category in the box; he couldn’t seem to stop taking photos of her, let alone select only a few of the ones he had taken. He wanted to capture her in all lights, in all settings, in all expressions.

There was one he had taken of her in the shower. He snuck into the warm bathroom and playfully stuck his phone around the corner of the curtain. She had squealed in delight and surprise, trying to knock the phone from his hands and into the running water. Water droplets sprinkled his arm and phone, and he nearly dropped it, but he managed to snap a picture. He had leaned against the sink, admiring the image of her on his cracked screen, the out of date phone broad in his hands.

Shower still running, Marsali whipped open the curtain, wild-eyed and laughing. She leaped forward and tackled him, dampening his t-shirt and jeans. But he hadn’t cared. He stripped out of his wet clothes as quickly as he could and pulled her back under the running water, closing the curtain behind them.

The photo from that day is his favorite. A blurry image of Marsali whooping with laughter, surrounded by running water and steam and sea-foam colored tile. She was covering herself the best she could with one arm while the other extended to swat the camera away.

In that photo was Marsali, the woman. Daring, goofy, fun-loving, kissable, fierce Marsali, who trusted him completely from the moment she had met him, who gave him all of herself before he even realized how much he needed it.

His lips twitched, his mind cascading through tender memory, familiar tobacco whirring through his head. A seagull flew by him, then parted with a low swoop. Twilight was fading.

His phone began to buzz, and Fergus felt his heart stop as he was ripped back into the present. He swallowed hard but didn’t move to grab it. Instead, without checking the name on his screen, he silenced the phone.

Several days ago, he had been in the kitchen, stirring a bubbling pot of noodles for a macaroni and cheese dinner for the two of them. Marsali was on the couch, buried in her computer.

At the last second, he had heard his phone ringing.

“Marsali, could you get that?” he called, tapping starched water off his wooden spoon and reaching for a colander.

“Sure thing, dove,” she had replied, standing up from the couch and heading for his jacket on the coat hook, where his phone waited in a pocket, dinging.

Fergus busied himself by straining the noodles and pulling milk from the fridge, tearing open the cheese packet and dumping it into the new bowl of noodles.

Marsali entered the kitchen, her face stony and cold, and held out the phone.

“Who is it?” Fergus asked, mixing ingredients together, frowning at her severe look.

“It’s a call from some guy named David. He wants to know if ye’re available tonight,” she replied, her voice dark and clipped.

Fergus’ stirring efforts stopped abruptly, and he glanced over at Marsali. “Dav-- David?”

“Yes,” Marsali replied, terse. “He also sent ye a photo.”

She tossed his clunky, outdated smartphone to the counter where Fergus saw a graphic, closeup of David’s erect penis.

Fergus’ heart leaped into his throat, and his head spun. He rubbed a hand against his forehead, trying to stop it, staring hard at the macaroni bowl before him, the two smaller bowls he had set out for their dinner to share.

“Who is David?” Instead of demanding, Marsali was cold, her blue eyes glittered dangerously with ice. “And how often does this happen?” She waved a hand over the phone.

“It’s not what you think,” Fergus replied, his mind racing, trying to find a way to explain that wouldn’t upset Marsali further.

“It’s not?” she snapped, nodding towards the lit phone screen, David’s erection still displayed. “What is that, then?”

Fergus flinched. “He was from before you.” He had been so focused on Marsali during the last weeks that everyone else had faded into the background.

“Ye’ve been with men?”

Fergus swallowed. While he had reached an incredible level of intimacy with Marsali, he hadn’t yet shared that. No one knew he had been sleeping with David, or that David wasn’t the first. “Yes.” His cheeks flushed.

“Why didn’t ye tell me? Did ye really think I would care?”

He hadn’t wanted to find out if she’d care, fearing the worst. “Marsali, I--”

“Ye know what, I dinna care about yer interest in men. At all.” The words hung in the air, and for a moment, he felt he believed her. “What I do care about is ye sneaking around behind my back. I thought we had something good here, Fergus.”

He fought to catch his breath. “We do! Marsali--”

“Fergus, I willna have ye lyin’ to me.”

“Dammit, would you let me speak!” He gripped the edge of the counter tight with rage and fear, feeling everything slipping quickly away from him.

She glowered at him. “Go ahead then. What have ye to say?”

He breathed deep, ran his hands over his face, wanting to pace the small room that was his kitchen, try to gain some traction. “I didn’t tell you about him because I was a coward, Marsali. No one knows!” He took a deep breath. “And I didn’t tell him about you because he’s not important enough to me. I was just going to ghost him. I have no attachment to David.”

“No attachment? Ye seem pretty cozy to me.” She grabbed the phone, held it up again like she was a prize presenter on a bizarre game show he didn’t want to play.

“Put that down! I’m only going to delete it like I have the others.”

“The others? You’ve received other photos from him, or there are others who send photos?”

He had, actually, received late-night texts from Rhona, someone he had been seeing several months ago. He ignored them, but... he hadn’t actually deleted them.

Marsali immediately turned to his phone, beginning to search through his messages. He stood there, feeling trapped in quicksand, unable to move for fear of making the situation worse.

Finding the naked photos of Rhona, Marsali looked as if she was going to explode, a powder keg, set to ignite if he had reached to touch her. Full of disgust, she threw the phone at him, and he had to duck quickly to dodge it. It struck the wall and landed with a sharp sound on the linoleum floor.

“Ye didna delete it, you pig,” she uttered. Her eyes were bright and red, tears gathering in her long lashes. “Am I just another one? Another number for you to call when you’re lonely? To keep dirty pictures of?”

“No!” he reached for her, wanting to pull her into his arms, convey with touch what he couldn’t express in words.

She swiped at him, denying his embrace, and backed away. Without another word, she threw on her coat and shoes, slamming the door behind her as she left. At the sight of the shuddering door frame, his heart ached, his stomach churned, his head swam. Fuck, fuck, fuck his cowardice.

He hadn’t heard from her in several days.

He leaned back against the pier, all the way back, flattening himself, his ribcage collapsing with resignation.

From the beginning, he could have handled everything differently. He could have been upfront with Marsali, upfront with David, and yet hadn’t been. Because he wanted Marsali all to himself because he didn’t want to upend the boat. Because he was scared.

He sighed, lit a second cigarette. Savored it until it burnt to ash and stank of plastic filter. He lay silent, unmoving.

But the spell had broken the spell anyway. She was gone. He had gambled and lost.

The car he had been traveling in, towards his everything, disintegrated around him like the smoke he exhaled. His everything disappeared into the twilight, wafting up and away from the city skyline; it drowned in the water, trapped in weeds, too far gone to cry out to be saved.

She haunted him. Even now, he could hear her chastising him for not contacting her. These days apart were an eternity. If life was fast with her, it was glacial without her.

He ran his hands through his hair, sat up. He pulled the phone out of his pocket, finally able to look at it.

He ignored the notification-- it was just a spam email-- and opened an app to message Marsali, even as he guessed she wouldn’t reply. He didn’t know what to say, or where to start, but he had to try something.

A life without Marsali didn’t feel possible.

I’m sorry.

Immediately, the message registered as read. Bubbles from the other side jumped, stopped. Jumped again. He waited, hardly able to take a breath.

I know. Miss you.

She had been waiting to hear from him. Thank god.

He stood then, brushed the dust from his jeans.

He found his car, scrounged a pen out of his glove compartment. He opened up the box of photographs beside him in the passenger seat, began to write what he could remember about the moment he took it on the back. His heart leaped as he remembered being together in the park. How content he felt when they lay together. The exhilaration that rushed through him when he snuck into the shower to take a picture of her. He wanted to show her how she made him feel, wanted her to know everything, all of it.

It was her birthday tomorrow, dammit, and he wasn’t going to let cowardice or fear, or weakness, stop him from celebrating her.

#outlander fanfiction #otheroutlandertales #mod muy #pair: fergus x marsali #ch: fergus #ch: marsali #modern au #category: mf #queerlander #fersali #oot #*

42 notes · View notes

phoenixmakeswords · 5 years

Text

Dented AU

Chapter 4 of the AU. Gotta say Kris is generally less of a butt.

Ransom’s already waiting at the Cajun place for me. It has the best crawfish etouffee in the city, and it reminds me just enough of Home to be nostalgic without being painful.

“You had a bad day. It’s all over your face,” he remarks by way of ‘hello.’

“Horrible. How was yours?” I pad after him into the restaurant. There’s no point in trying to keep up with him.

“It was good. I, um, I have something to show you when we get inside.”

“Do I wanna know?”

“I got my first tattoo.” He pauses at the hostess station. “Booth for two please.”

The hostess leads us to a booth near the bathroom. I don’t miss the way she ogles him. He doesn’t notice.

“What’d you get?” I ask, sitting across from him.

He holds his right wrist out, letting me see the black bird cage with a bird in flight leaving it.

“I like it. Who did it?”

“Kaiden. It’s to symbolize coming out.”

“Your family knows now?” I know he’s been waiting to tell them. He’s been afraid to tell them. Being adopted means he’s afraid of disappointing them.

“Yeah. It went over decently. I need to have a talk with my mom, though. She, uh, has the mindset that my being gay means instant shopping buddy. And girl talk. And that I'm automatically into any other gay or bi guy. She does not know about you or any other guys. As far as she’s concerned, I'm still her innocent little boy.”

“She does realize you’d rather have teeth pulled than go shoppin’, right? And that attraction doesn’t work like that? Your mama’s gonna kill you when she finds out you lied.” I tap my short nails lightly against the tabletop. I do everything in my power not to lie to Mama. She’s very scary when she’s mad.

“I think she forgot that. I know, right? I mean, she’s not into every guy she sees, so why would I be? What she doesn’t know won’t hurt her.”

“What she doesn’t know might put you in an early grave.” I nudge his hand playfully.

“Kristoff, what’re you doin’ here?” Mama calls, startling me. “Is this your friend?”

I might be imagining the extra emphasis she puts on ‘friend,’ but, judging from the way Ransom arches a thin brow at me, I don’t think I am.

“He’s my tattoo artist,” I explain. “Ransom, this is my mama, Elena.”

Mama grins like the Cheshire cat as she shakes his hand.

“So, where’s your person?” I ask before she can say something embarrassing.

“Bathroom. If things go decently tonight, we might have a dinner with his kids and you three.”

“Family dinner? With Regan? I thought I was good son.” Why am I being punished for her finding a guy?

“You can bring a date. She’ll be bringing her boyfriend.”

Oh, yeah, bring Ransom to family dinner with my sister who went off on him and called him a racial slur. Even if Ransom was my least favorite person, I wouldn’t do that.

“Um, I'm gonna be out of town that day,” I tell her quickly.

“You don’t even know what day it is.”

“Put me and Regan in a room with knives right now and one of us is gonna get stabbed and it ain’t gonna be me.”

“Kristoff, that’s your sister!”

“Not accordin’ to her.”

The waiter’s arrival pauses our conversation. I order the same thing I always get: Cherry Pepsi, the shrimp and grits appetizer, and the crawfish etouffee.

“I’ve never been here before,” Ransom whispers, glancing hurriedly over his menu.

“D-did you pick this place ‘cause of me?” I ask. I don’t have words for how happy his slight nod makes me. “Um, they have really great gumbo. The jambalaya is good too.”

He orders the vegetarian jambalaya.

Mama and her date have been seated at the booth behind ours. Great.

“Have they done anything with Regan’s app?” I ask.

“They’re not hiring her. Thankfully.” Relief lights up his green eyes.

“I'm glad.”

“So, what happened today?”

“Eight hours of being harassed. He thinks it’s fun. My boss knows. She doesn’t care. She thinks I'm makin’ it up. That it’s not that bad.”

“You don’t lie about stuff like that. I know you. Are you okay? I mean, I know you’re not in the greatest place right now.”

“Honestly? I wanna move far away from him and start over.”

“Can I go with you? Start my own studio. Be my own boss.” He smiles shyly.

“You wanna run away together?”

“Yeah. Whatcha think?” He grins easily.

“Why does this sound like you’re tryin’ to romance me?”

“Can’t two gay guys run away together platonically?”

“Platonic, huh?”

“We could be.” He smiles pleasantly when the waiter brings our food. “Your shrimp and grits look really good.”

“I’ll share. You can have shrimp, right?”

“Um, shrimp sorta falls under the ‘meat’ category. Thanks, though.”

Their shrimp and grits are like none I’ve ever had before. For one thing, the grits are formed into patties and fried. And the shrimp are breaded and fried. It’s the bomb.

“Okay, how ‘bout I share my dessert?” I offer.

“Which is what exactly?”

“Their hot fudge beignet sundae. With extra whipped cream. Vanilla ice cream, surrounded by fresh beignets, drowning in hot fudge, and with whipped cream and cherries on top. It might actually be better than sex. Well, maybe not sex with you.”

“I'm not saying anything.” He has the biggest grin, though. “I'm completely down to share. Are you feeling better?”

“Fake it till you make it, right?”

I wince when Mama asks the waiter if they can move to our table. I don’t want them to join us. I am not having a double date with my mother. This isn’t even a date! But, if it was, that would be weird. I mean, it’s weird now.

Ransom scoots to sit next to me, leaving the opposite side of the booth for Mama and her date. Ransom looks as thrilled as I feel.

“Ransom, did you say you know my daughter?” Mama asks.

“I, um, I did a tattoo for her.” A careful edge slips into his voice. “We don’t get along.”

“One more kid and you’ll have tattooed all of mine. Not a lot of people do get along with her.”

“I thought we were the only ones.” He gestures between the two of us. “She pushes Kris’s buttons really bad. Which is why his kitchen has been overrun by bread.”

“It’s not that—Okay, it is that bad. But who doesn’t love bread?” I respond.

“You bake bread when you’re angry?” Mama’s date queries curiously.

“It’s cheaper than a punching bag. I'm Kris, by the way. I wasn’t tryin’ to be rude.” I reach across the table to shake his hand politely.

“Grant. I’ve never heard of someone doing that before. Now, what do you do?”

“I work at a bakery. But I might be quitting to work with Ransom.”

“I do tattoos for a living. I, um, I'm not into drugs or anything. I just like making art on people,” Ransom explains. “I’ve done all three of Kris’s pieces. He’s actually my favorite customer. Especially compared with his sister.”

“What’d Regan do?” Mama asks resignedly.

“Your daughter called me a racial slur. Told me I was stupid. My boss stepped in.” He toys anxiously with his necklace.

“She knows better. I didn’t raise her to behave like that. Kristoff doesn’t, I hope.”

“Do you think he would’ve done three tattoos for me and been staying with me if I had?” I retort. And now it sounds like we’re a couple. Or at least having lots of sex.

“How long have you been dating?” Grant asks. He doesn’t sound judgmental, which is more than I expected.

I glance at Ransom, hoping he can come up with something, because I'm freaking out. I feel like they’re all expecting me to say we’re a couple. I'm almost wanting Ransom to say we are, even though I know we aren’t and we wouldn’t work anyway because I'm too much of a mess. But the lie would be better than the truth. I don’t want Mama’s potential boyfriend to know what happened.

“Not long. We, uh, kinda rushed at first, but we’re taking things slow now. He’s pretty special to me,” Ransom replies easily, squeezing my hand gently.

“You look good together. Are you happy, Kristoff?” Mama says this like it’s the most important thing in the world. I don’t think she realizes I can be happy and depressed at the same time.

I smile and nod the best I can with a mouthful of grits.

“I thought you guys weren’t going out until Friday?” I ask once I can speak again.

“We were both able to get time sooner. Why’re you leaving the bakery? I thought it was your passion,” Mama replies.

“Because my boss doesn’t care I'm bein’ sexually harassed. And that it escalated today. She laughed at me. Said I was lyin’. Called me an attention whore. Felt like I was dealin’ with my sister.”

“Wait, escalated? You didn’t tell me that.” Ransom touches my hand gently. I don’t like how worried he sounds. I don’t like worrying him.

“I was gonna tell you at home.”

“Are you okay?”

“You’re funny.”

“Do you mind if we stay at my place tonight? It’s the first night of Hanukah.” He smiles uncertainly, like he thinks I might say no. Or might rip into him.

“No problem.” I brush my fingers lightly over his.

It’s a relief when we leave. I’ve never been to Ransom’s apartment before.

“You’re not upset with me for lying, are you? If you are, I get it. Will the futon work? I don’t have a spare room,” he says in his Blazer after picking me up from my apartment. I can barely hear him over the rumbling engine.

“Not really. I can sleep just about anywhere, as long as it’s flat. Bathtub, table, doesn’t matter.”

“What happened today?”

“He assaulted me. And I almost walked out, but I didn’t because I need the job and I don’t want you to think I'm some spoiled, lazy rich boy who doesn’t wanna work.”

“I’ve never thought that.” He grimaces when the car jerks into gear.

“Just put gas in, didn’t you? We could’ve taken my Mustang.”

“Yeah, and I would’ve had a dead battery. Kris, I meant what I said back there about you being special to me.”

“I know. And I know you think us dating would work and we’d be happy and all that, but my life’s never been a fairy tale. Maybe I don’t get a happy ending. I’ve never planned on one.”

“So, what, you’re not even gonna try?”

“Why bother? Hurts less. You’d get attached and I’d fall for you and something would happen and it’d fall apart. That’s what happens when I get settled and comfortable. It goes to crap. And I don’t wanna lose you.” And none of that was supposed to come out of my mouth. It’s all true, but that doesn’t matter. He wasn’t supposed to know.

“Things are falling apart now and I'm still here. I'm not going anywhere, okay?”

“Yeah, well, right now you’re afraid I’ll kill myself. What about when I get through this? When I'm not some tragic excuse of a human being? Because the only time a guy has ever given a fuck about me when we’re not sleeping together has been to play the hero. Because screwing and rescuing are all I'm good for.” My voice trembles with anger. I'm so tired of being seen as pitiful. Of being used and thrown away. I'm not angry so much with Ransom as I am with his idea that he’ll be different.

“I was planning on asking you out when you got through this. I'm not shallow, Kris. You know me better than that. Or you should. If I wanted a guy to boost my ego, I’d be at a bar.” He sounds as angry as I feel, but I don’t turn to look. I can’t look at him right now.

“Why do you want me so damn much? There’s better guys out there. Not-broken guys.”

“I never thought you were broken. More like a dented can at Wal-Mart. You’re a little bit banged-up, but you’re still so good and so deserving and amazing and I’d give you the world if you’d give me half a chance.”

Banged-up fits. I feel battered. Like I’ve been through a hurricane. Made of lava.

“I think you need your eyes checked ‘cause that ain’t what I see.”

“I’m not the only one that sees you like that.”

“Mama doesn’t count.”

“Have you always been this stubborn?”

“Yes. You just haven’t been around me long enough to notice.”

#my writing #dented au #the alternate universe #kris pov #writers on tumblr #writeblr #original fiction #original fanfiction

1 note · View note