#i feel like this one ends kind of abruptly oops

[chocolatechubby]

Bernie's Big & Tall

By Fatbrwncub

(posted with the permission of the Author)

The biggest problem--excuse me while I finish this last bite of cruller--is where to begin. It all seems to have happened so fast. One minute I'm standing in the unemployment line, trying to figure out where my next meal is coming from; the next thing you know, I'm getting the doors in my apartment widened so that I can get through. Oops! There goes another button.

Let me go back to the beginning--back to that unemployment line. My lover and I had been having problems making ends meet. There wasn't a great deal of a demand for my particular line of work in the winter---I was a lifeguard. At 6' 2" and 180 pounds, I cut a muscular frame, but everyone looks pretty much the same bundled up in parkas. My old job at the "Y" would probably have hired me back, but the pay stunk. And with a new lover, Sean, I had another mouth to consider. Sean suggested that I try modeling --his chosen profession, but as gorgeous as he was, he wasn't getting much work either. Why should we both be jobless cover boys? So, I headed to the unemployment office. Maybe something there would turn things around. Little did I know how right I was.

The place was depressing. Fluorescent light and peeling yellow walls covered everything like a moldy blanket. Cheap plastic chairs were set up for clients to wait for their turn to be humiliated by the next available counselor: "You'll have to take forms 2 thru 26 to windows 5 thru 14. Fill out lines A thru F on forms 30, 31, & 45; have them notarized and come back to me.... THEN I can tell you where the rest rooms are." As much as I needed the money, I wasn't up for that kind of run around. The YMCA was looking really good at that moment. As I got up to leave, I noticed the chair next to me quiver ever so slightly--as if a tremor were going through the building. The little table next to it was moving too. Now being hundreds of miles away from California, I knew it couldn't possibly be an earthquake. I was wrong. It was indeed an earthquake in human form. From around one of the peeling yellow corners, came the largest guys I had ever seen. His stomach seemed to go on forever, riding over his belt and spilling onto his massive underbelly like a tidal wave. Each of his labored steps made it quiver and roll. His arms, chest, and shoulders were so large that he had to twist his body slightly to maneuver the corner, yet each movement had an elephantine grace that was something to see. He was dressed impeccably in a suit that must have been tailor-made for him: it hung gracefully on his gargantuan figure. He was quite handsome, dusty blonde hair and neatly trimmed beard, and the bluest eyes. Growing up, the party queens I hung with always made fun of fat guys. Somehow, I always found something vaguely attractive about men with extra meat on their bones. I absent-mindedly rubbed my stomach as I watched him make his way to a Job Resource bulletin board on the other side of the room. He scanned the whole area carefully--deep in concentration, he seemed to be looking for someone. When his eyes met mine, his mood abruptly changed. His full round mouth had a slight smile on it as he zeroed in on me. I got the feeling he was studying me-not in that "cruisey" way, but as if he were trying to figure me out. He, raised a sausage-like finger, and motioned me over to him. For some reason, I wasn't taken aback at all. Something about him seemed so familiar. "Looking for a job?", he said. "Kinda", I replied. He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a candy bar and a folded piece of green paper. "Wanna bite?", He asked. "No thanks…", I replied "…but I could use work." He unfolded the piece of paper and tacked it on the bulletin board, smudging it slightly with the chocolate from his fingers. "Well then, you might wanna check this out." With that, he took a large bite of candy bar, turned around, and began lumbering back down the hallway. I was about to say something when he stopped and turned around again (no easy feat for a man his size). "How old are you?", he asked. Slightly startled by his abrupt departure, I blurted out "29." Before I could ask him why it mattered, he patted his mountain of a stomach and smiled a knowing smile: "Same age as I was when I started at BB&T. See ya' around Danny!" And with that, he and his tremors were gone.

BB&T? I looked at the piece of paper for a moment. I took it down from the board and began studying it--trying to make it tell me more about the big, mysterious stranger. But all it did was sit in my hand and smell of Hershey's. The only writing was a quickly scribbled address and telephone number: "Bernie's Big and Tall-525-BIGG. The chocolate had formed a ring around the writing so that it looked like a halo. I laughed at the idea of working in a big men's shop, but hell, I needed work badly. Besides, something inside me started recalling the times when I'd been oddly aroused by the large men who were the butt of my friends' jokes. Maybe by working there, I could discover what the attraction was all about. I walked over towards the pay phone in the corner chuckling to myself. That's when it struck me that he'd called me by my name-Danny. Did I know him? He really did look familiar....

The phone rang ten times before someone answered at Bernie's. When someone did pick up, they were so out of breath I had to wait a couple seconds for a "hello". Then I remembered what type of establishment this was---all the employees probably looked like the guy I'd just met. Well, if for no other reason, they could hire me to answer the telephone. I smiled. It turned out to be Bernie himself on the line. Before I had a chance to say "Hello", or introduce myself, Bernie cheerfully announced: "Danny! Joe said you'd be calling! When can you start?" I was stunned. I stammered out, "B-but you don't even know me!" "I don't have to!" was his amiable reply. "Anybody that Joe picks will work out fine!" I didn't have the guts to tell him that I had no idea who the hell "Joe" was, but then maybe he was an old friend of my family's. Who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth? Especially from such a large horse!

Bernie's Big and Tall was in a little strip mall just outside of the city. It took me two maps and three detours to find it. I almost gave up, but something told me to keep looking. A small card shop on one side and a bakery on the other flanked the store, and were the only other establishments in the complex. I was sure the employees at the Big and Tall kept the bakery in business because it was too far away from anything else to have a regular clientele. The store itself was rather unimpressive: a sign painted on the window proclaimed "Bernie's" with a silhouette of a rotund man underneath. A couple of half dummies sat dejectedly in the window--the clothing which covered them obviously too large for their frames. The one rather curious and slightly impressive item was the door to the front of the shop. It was huge. Much larger than the doors in most retail establishments, it must have been custom made for Bernie's king-size clientele. What did it feel like to need extra room for everything? When I put my hand on the handle to push the door open, I got the strangest feeling that if I stepped across the threshold of this place, my life would change forever. "This is ridiculous!" I remember thinking to myself "It's just a job for goodness sakes!" I pushed the door open and went in.

Lone Star's "I'm Already There" was playing on a far off country music station as the bell over the door gave a little tinkle. The place had that slightly musky perfume of your grandfather's closet-that subtle scent of fine pipe tobacco and Old Spice. The shop was much bigger than it seemed from the outside, and had a second level with a balcony and offices that overlooked the showroom floor. For a moment, I felt as if I was on a sound stage for "Land Of The Giants"-everything seemed oversized. From the racks that were set up for the tallest of the tall, to the suits that looked like they were made for Guinness Book Fattest Man nominees. All were neatly hung on rotating racks or show room displays. I'd never worked retail, but somehow I felt right at home. From above boomed a lusty voice: "Danny!". I looked up to find a large man leaning on the steel railings of the balcony. It didn't seem possible, but he was even bigger than Joe from the unemployment office. Every part of him was fat-from his puffy hairstyle, to his big feet. He looked like a balloon character from the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I half expected to see wires attached to him with people below maneuvering him. "Bernie?" I queried and his hearty laugh confirmed it. "None other my boy! Come on up!"

Bernie's office was at the top of the stairs. As I bounded up, two at a time, Bernie let out a chuckle "That's something you don't see many of our salesmen do!" He ushered me ahead of him and I walked through another enormous door to find myself in a small room, made smaller by its furnishings. It consisted of a small oak desk, and a computer-standard office fare. However, the large refrigerator, stand-alone pantry, coffee maker and microwave were not. "Before we begin, may I offer you something to eat?" Bernie asked, already carefully maneuvering his way around the desk to the refrigerator. It was somewhat surreal watching this super-sized man practically squeeze his way through the cramped quarters. He opened the refrigerator to reveal a small deli: meats of all kinds, exotic breads and cheeses, beverages ranging from soft-drinks to fine wines, all carefully stocked within its quarters. Bernie rummaged through, and pulled out an overstuffed submarine sandwich and began munching. His grunts of pleasure permeated the office, and instead of revulsion, I actually enjoyed watching this man eat with such gusto. For so many years, I had deprived myself of some of my favorite foods in exchange for the washboard stomach that I possessed. Maybe, if I worked here, I could live vicariously through these guys. My internal reverie ended with Bernie's voice. "Well at least share a cup of coffee with me. I hate nourishing myself alone." I smiled my assent and Bernie squeezed his way to the coffeepot. I was not a big coffee drinker, but I figure a little kiss up wouldn't hurt my job prospects any. Besides, for some reason the coffee smelled particularly delicious.

Bernie produced two mugs-each with the Big and Tall logo I had seen on the front door of the shop. "How do you take yours?" he cooed. "Black" I answered. "Well you must indulge me one small addition to your mug…I make my own blend of spices that seem to really liven up the coffee-nothing much, just some cinnamon and vanilla. Stuff like that. You're not allergic to anything are you? I told him no, and he took a small packet from the standing pantry, tapped it lightly on the desk, tore the corner and emptied the contents into my cup. The granules looked like Folgers Crystals-little flecks of something shiny danced and fell gracefully into the mug. Bernie took a small silver spoon and began stirring the coffee. The aroma was like nothing I had smelled before. Memories of big Sunday breakfasts and hearty Thanksgiving dinners suddenly became as vivid as if they'd happened yesterday. Nights spent eating cotton candy and funnel cake at the local carnival-laughing with my friends and gorging on hotdogs-all seemed palpable. Bernie brought the mug close to my nostrils and placed my hands around it. "Drink, my boy. And then we can talk about your joining us at BB&T."

Almost mesmerized, I brought the cup to my lips and took a sip. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. The beans of the coffee blended with the spices and my taste buds seemed to spring to new life. The thoughts of all of the goodies I had denied myself over the years began to turn into a craving, then a hunger. I could feel my stomach began to growl for food. I had grabbed a McMuffin when I'd left the unemployment office, but that had been several hours ago. It was natural for me to feel starved. But in the middle of a job interview? I had to eat something. As if on cue, Bernie produced an enormous plate of chocolate chip cookies. "Have one?" Bernie again cajoled. "I--I--…" I stuttered, but no other words would come out. The cookies looked like manna from heaven. I could feel the drool forming on my tongue. I grabbed one and placed it in my mouth. It melted like butter, blending with the coffee and exploding my senses like an orgasm. My crotch leapt, writhing with the rise and fall of my breath. I came up for air, took another cookie and a sip of the coffee. Again, the exact same sensation-yet more intense. I thought I was going to erupt right then and there. I gulped more of the drink and began inhaling the pastries with lightening speed. In less then ten minutes the entire plate was empty. The wildest thing of all…I was still hungry!

I looked up at Bernie, who was standing over me with a knowing smile. "It's always better to talk on a full stomach." He went to the refrigerator and pulled out another overstuffed submarine sandwich-twice the size of the one he'd just eaten. "Are you sure I can't tempt you with one of these?" My mouth opened automatically, and Bernie floated over and placed the monstrous hoagie in my hands. I tore into it as if I hadn't eaten in weeks. In between bites, Bernie suggested that we carry our meeting to The Blue Whale, a restaurant frequented by he and his staff. As I rose to go, onions and lettuce falling everywhere, Bernie touched the intercom on his desk. "All right boys…" the echo of his voice could be heard in the showroom below "…time for our foray to The Blue Whale! Close up shop!" In between munching, I could hear, and feel great activity from the floor below. The floor vibrated much like it had done in the unemployment office. We moved out of the office and onto the balcony to a sight that would have sent my old faggy friends into a tizzy. Below were five of Bernie's staff-each one plumper than the next. They stood at attention as we came down the stairs. Bernie introduced me to each, ending with their newest salesman, Dominic. He had to weigh at least 350 pounds. "This is our baby!" Bernie gushed, pinching Dominic's flushed cheek. "Been with us about a year" he poked Dominic's round middle. "He's starting to fit in quite nicely." Bernie lumbered towards the door, pulling me along with him. "Daniel here will be joining us for lunch-and hopefully more. Make him feel at home." And still in a spin from all that had happened since walking through the doors of Bernie's Big & Tall, I was off to The Blue Whale.

The Blue Whale was quite nice--muted tones of aqua and gray gave it warmth and style. A Bach concerto whispered softly as Bernie and the other salesmen took their seats. We had been ushered to a table in a private area of the restaurant--one large enough for the substantial girth of our party. It was obvious that Bernie and the gang were regulars, because all of the wait-staff knew everyone by name. It was also pretty obvious that time that the entire staff of Bernie's was gay. Underneath a curtained archway, a cadre of handsome waiters looked ready to break into a chorus of "Hello Dolly". They giggled and whispered as if they were dance hall girls anxious to see which gentleman would pick them out of the crowd. The headwaiter, who looked to be about Bernie's size, clapped the others to attention. "Don't just stand there like a bunch of schoolgirls! Take these gentlemen's orders!" he barked. "Oh Jacques," Bernie cooed "...just bring us our usual!"

I was returning to normal, my appetite assuaged and my pants screaming to be unzipped-my distended belly playing hide and seek with the buttons on my shirt. It was time to ask about hours and pay, and all the standard stuff. As I opened my mouth to get down to business, the first of the waiters arrived with the appetizers. There was enough food to feed a small city. Plate upon plate of mouth watering delicacies passed before the table: shrimp wrapped in bacon, small puff pastries stuffed with creams and cheeses and meats-anything that I had ever seen at fancy buffets was now being placed under my nose. I thought of the spectacle I must have made in Bernie's office, and my stomach began to turn. The thought of more food was making me nauseous. And then the coffee arrived. Jacques himself brought out the ornate samovar and ushered it towards Bernie. "Monsieur Bernie" he chimed. "Ze coffee wis your special mix eez ready". As Jacques opened the spigot and poured the first cup, the table went silent. Unbelievably I could feel my stomach loosen. I could feel the insatiable hunger I had felt in Bernie's office return. It was as if I had never eaten the mound of cookies. Just the aroma of the incredible liquid wafting into my nostrils was enough to make me want to stuff something in my mouth. All around me, the other men were having a similar reaction. I remember seeing episodes of "Wild Kingdom" with sharks or packs of wolves in a feeding frenzy. There was a primitive ritual about to happen, and everyone knew it. As the coffee was passed around, Dominic, began to sweat. When a cup made it to him, he grabbed it, and chugged down the hot liquid as if it were the first drink of a dehydrated man. He then grabbed the nearest tray of hors d'oeuvres and began shoveling them into his mouth. Sweat glistened on his brow as he tipped the tray up and up until he was literally swallowing and chewing almost simultaneously. A waiter quickly scurried over and began wiping his brow and massaging his hardening belly. I sat in awe as I watched each of the sales guys fall into the same kind of trance-that is until my cup reached me.

I recall one of the adventures of Homer's "Odyssey", in which Odysseus and his men encounter the witch Circe. Once on her island, she turns most of the men into animals. Bernie had led his men into the modern day version of that adventure. I don't remember much about the rest of that meal. As my haze parted from time to time, I was aware of grunts and moans of pleasure coming from around the table. Slurping and guzzling and licking were followed by burps and the occasional button pop or zipper pull being loosened. Halfway through the fourth course, everyone abandoned silverware and began eating off of plates and trays with their hands and mouths. I found myself caressing and licking the gravy off of plates as if it were a lover. No mouthful seemed enough-I couldn't get the food in fast enough, and the sounds and sights around me seemed to urge me on. By dessert, each man was no longer able to feed himself. The waiters took over and began shoveling whipped cream, cakes and pies into our dazed faces. I can't tell you how much I ate, but I literally couldn't move. My belly was as hard as a ripe cantaloupe and I closed my eyes and slept.

When I awoke, the entire table had been cleared off. Any trace of the feeding frenzy had been wiped away, and all of the men had been cleaned up and were groggily coming to themselves. If it weren't for the screaming pain coming from my stomach, I would have thought it all a dream. Standing above me was a beaming Bernie. "I hope you got enough to eat." The boys and I do this at least three or four times a week. Don't worry about the bill…I take care of that." I sat up and blinked. I couldn't believe this was happening. Bernie handed me a packet of papers-the standard Human Resources forms to fill out along with information about my salary and benefits. My eyes almost popped out of my head when I saw how much I'd be making. It was at least five times what I would have made at the "Y". How could he afford to pay for all of this? Bernie saw my reaction. He said "Don't worry, this salary is only temporary. With raises and incentives you'll quadruple it in no time. So do we have a deal?" Was he crazy? I propped myself up on my swollen stomach and shook his hand. "On one condition" I said. He cocked his fat head and his chins wobbled. "What's that, my dear boy?" "That you give me some of that coffee to take home"

In the beginning, everything went along pretty normally. The store practically ran itself. And I was more than content--I was happy. The first time I noticed something different was after my initial lunch with the guys. The next few days, I was ravenous. I ate from morning till night. And I craved the coffee with the secret ingredient introduced to my by Bernie. One morning, about a week after I had started working, I rolled out of bed and began getting ready for work. Sleepily I showered, shaved, and stumbled into my clothing. I stepped into my dress slacks and pulled them to my waist. They wouldn't close. With my swimmer's lifestyle, I had been a perfect size 32 for years. I never had to worry about putting on weight. I went to the scale in the bathroom and stepped on. Since I had begun working at the store, I had put on ten pounds! "Not acceptable." I thought to myself. I sucked in my stomach, fastened my pants and made a mental note to go to the gym more often and most importantly--to cut out lunching with the guys. But somehow neither thing seemed to happen--I was constantly working until after the gym closed. And not going to lunch with the Bernie and the gang became as unthinkable as not having cup after cup of the delicious mysterious coffee. I began to have strange dreams: I would dream I was in the middle of Africa in the bush country, taking pictures of wildlife, when the earth would begin to shake. Suddenly an enormous Bull Elephant the size of a building would come crashing through the tall grasses and block the sun. I was terrified until it would dawn on me that I was the Elephant! Then, understanding my power, I began breaking down trees, even mountains--growing more enormous with each new conquest. After one of these dreams, I would always wake in a sweat, run to the kitchen, and raid the refrigerator--absent-mindedly eating until I was sleepy.

After about three months of this, I could no longer hide the results. I tried to wear my size 32 pants until they had all systematically exploded off of my frame. My suit jackets had begun cutting off the circulation in my arms, and my old shirts were laughable on my new frame. Between the daily lunches, midnight binges, and very little gym time, I had gone from 180lbs, to 230. My pants size had gone from the perpetual 32 to a 42.

One night, about a week before my 30th birthday, I tiptoed into the bathroom when I thought Sean was sleeping. I took off my clothes and stepped in front of the full-length mirror. My face was so round! I was beginning to develop a pronounced double chin. My thighs and ass were full and big, and my stomach was beginning to grow into this ball of soft flesh. And my tits! I remembered my high school gym teacher teasing Jeffrey Lowell and Scott Taylor: two fat kids in my class. He used to call their soft round mammaries "man-tits", kidding them about having bigger ones than most of the girls, (which was true). I used to find those two guys fascinating: the way they lumbered onto the field for class, the way they looked in the showers. I knew I was gay back then, but it was something more than that. And here I was with my own set of "man-tits". I touched the right nipple, and then the left--crossing my arms and inadvertently giving myself cleavage. Electricity shot through my entire body. My nipples had become so sensitive! Caught in my exploration, it took me a moment to realize that my lover Sean was standing behind me. He had come in to use the toilet and noticed me in the mirror. "You're fat," he said as he sleepily relieved himself, kissed me on my chubby cheek and padded back to bed. He was right. I WAS fat. But looking in the mirror, I wasn't sure that was a bad thing. I touched my nipples again and headed for the kitchen.

The next day at work, Bernie and the guys threw me a birthday party and presented me with two gifts. The first was a container of the special ingredient for my coffee, and the next was a new suit from the store. It was the first size that we carried for big men. I was still a size or two away from needing to shop at Bernie's and had decided to keep it that way. "No offense guys...", I said, "...but I plan on never wearing clothes from our store!" "Well we can always get it taken in." Bernie quickly replied. "We just wanted to show you how glad we are that you're here. Now cut the cake and have some coffee!" I declined the cake, but I had 3 cups of coffee. That evening determined to change my eating habits for my 30th year on this planet, I took off early and headed for the gym. On the way, I passed restaurant after restaurant, fast food joint after fast food joint. I kept thinking to myself, "You've got to lose weight." Yet every time I would ask myself "Why?" I couldn't come up with a good enough answer. Until I thought of Sean's comment in the bathroom: "You're fat!" "You could lose him", I thought. I steadied myself and pointed the car in the direction of the gym. When suddenly, a little voice spoke to me: "But if you go to the gym right now, you could lose YOU." Suddenly I was starving. I turned into a Kentucky Fried Chicken, ordered a 20-piece bucket, and ate the whole thing in the car.

When I got home, Sean had prepared a huge meal of pasta, fresh bread and salad. Even after my trek to the Colonel's, I wolfed down plate after plate. Sean announced that he had news--good and bad. The good news was that he had landed a choice modeling assignment with a top agency. The bad news was that the agency was out of the country and he would be gone for at least 5 months! I felt like I was going to die. I wanted to scream, "It's me isn't it? I'll lose the weight! Don't go!" But instead, I stuffed some more food in my mouth and hugged him tightly. I loved him too much to stand in his way. And if he found someone else with a swimmer's build who made him happy...so be it. Sean had to leave the day before my birthday. As he hugged me before he boarded the plane, he whispered, "See you later fat boy", in my ear and walked away. And I knew I'd never see him again. When I got home, I pulled out the suit Bernie and the guys had given me and put it on. I looked like a kid playing dress up. Even though I was working on a size 44 waist, the pants had to be at least a 46. I thought of Sean and suddenly felt free. I sat down with a mixing bowl of Captain Crunch and heavy cream and imagined myself filling out the pants.

What happened next is all a blur. Knowing that I had lost Sean, I poured myself into my work and my food. Both satisfied me intensely. The store was doing great business. It seemed that the more I ate, the more productive I became. I was growing daily. Every time I turned around, a button would pop or a zipper would break. I began to carry around safety pins to keep my clothes up--it became a running joke around the store. The guys who used to seem enormous to me suddenly began to look average. I became the star at the Blue Whale. The waiters would line up to be my encourager and with Sean gone, I used their attention to help me forget about Sean. Bernie, who was no slouch at the dinner table, would watch me in amazement as I polished off plate after plate of entrée after entrée with all the trimmings, the servers massaging my distended belly and cooing at my appetite. Then go to work on the dessert cart. I stood in the mirror more often now. I was officially fat by anyone's standards. My face was so round that sometimes I wouldn't recognize myself. Because I was constantly lifting heavy boxes, my arms were huge and firm, as was my chest. But my stomach became my favorite area. I would hang out at the bar around the corner from my apartment and drink beer after beer to the amazement of all the guys. I started wearing suspenders because no pants it seemed would hold my ever growing gut.

In the first month after Sean left, I put on 35 lbs. I tipped the scales at around 265. From then on, not a waking (or sleeping) moment went by that I didn't eat something. I even took food breaks in the store. Bernie was right about the suit I was given for my birthday--I DID have to have it altered...eventually it had to be let out--twice! Sean would call and we would have stilted conversations. He would ask me if I was still gaining weight, and I would avoid talking about it. He would tell me he loved me, but I knew it was just talk. The company had extended his contract--he didn't know when he'd be back. Every now and then, I would get a postcard from some exotic place saying, "Having a Wonderful Time, Wish You Were Here". But I was too busy to notice. I was becoming the Elephant of my dream. I could feel my power.

In the next few months, I surpassed all store sales records, and there was big talk of a promotion to store manager. Except for the prospect of leaving this location, I couldn't have been happier. At least, when I wasn't thinking about Sean. The 5 months had quickly become 8 and then 10. In that time, my physical gain had become as impressive as my professional one. In the year since I had begun working at Bernie's, I had gone from 180 to 380 lbs. My waist had gone from a 32 to a 62. I was beginning to make earthquakes of my own.

One night I awakened from a dream (in which my stomach broke through the walls of the Empire State Building) by a voice in the darkness. "My God! You're huge!" it was Sean's voice. He was standing over the bed. He sounded different somehow. My first instinct was to grab him with my big arms and engulf him in my newfound mountain of flesh and warmth. But anger quickly welled up inside of me and I sat up in bed--the third empty large pizza box falling off of my stomach. "Yes I am." I said proudly, "You got something to say about it?" "Yes..." he said-I could hear the smile in his voice as he moved closer. "We are going to need a bigger bed." And with that, he turned on the light. My mouth dropped. When Sean left, he had been a 6 foot 1 inch, 170 lb. cover boy: now standing before me was a 6 foot 1 inch, 285 lb. (he told me later) gorgeous Buddha. His round face now covered with a lush beard. It was obvious that he was gaining weight faster than he could buy clothes to fit him: the T-shirt he was wearing wouldn't fit over the big round belly protruding over his tight size 48 jeans. "How?!...Why?" I stammered. "By eating dummy!" he laughed. "And I have a feeling that the delicious stuff I borrowed from you to put in my coffee helped". "But I thought you didn't like me fat!" I was almost crying now. Sean sat on the edge of the bed--which groaned under the over 600 pounds of us. I could see how horny he was as his great stomach heaved. "You never asked. You just assumed I wouldn't want a fat lover. I loved watching you pig out. I'd come in the bedroom after you'd gorge and jack off. Didn't you notice how intense our love-making got after you started putting on weight?" "I thought you were over-compensating because you loved me." I said. "Of course I love you Danny, but not in spite of how much you weigh-your size turns me on! I want you as big as a house!", was his breathless reply as he kissed me full on the lips. "And I hope you're ready for me to join you." He took off his shirt to reveal burgeoning man-tits and the most beautiful belly I had ever seen. He straddled me, opened my robe and began exploring my under-belly, kissing it and licking lower and lower. I felt hungry and horny at the same time as I pulled him to my crotch. We broke the bed that night.

T hat was three years ago. When I waddled into work the next day, I was beaming. Sean and I made love all night, and then spent the entire morning eating the breakfast to end all breakfasts. During which, he told me of his adventures in Europe. He spent the first few months pining over me-not eating, not sleeping. Once he began drinking the coffee, his appetite returned and he immediately found solace in food and proceeded to eat himself out of his misery. Of course this began to show on his waistline, and after a month, he was let go from his modeling contract. As luck would have it, a photographer on the shoot also worked with a new European catalogue designed for big men. He introduced Sean to the head of the company and the rest was history. Sean spent the remainder of the tour eating and posing in the finest cities of the Old World. He really had a wonderful time and wished desperately that I had been there. We decided to get married and spend our honeymoon eating our way through all of the spots he had discovered in his travels.

When Bernie saw me, he sensed the change immediately. "My boy, either you had sex last evening, or discovered that Little Debbie delivers-which was it?" We were in his office, munching on crullers. We had positioned ourselves so as to be able to reach the refrigerator and standing pantry without moving: we had become so large that it was impossible for the two of us to move around. "Both" I laughed. I told him of Sean's return, and of his amazing transformation. I told him that my life was complete: I had a job I loved, and a partner whom I adored. Bernie smiled, and in it, I thought I caught a hint of bittersweet sadness. "Well then," he said. "…my job is done." And he immediately began opening drawers, removing papers and stuffing them in a nearby briefcase. Stunned, I spattered out "What are you doing?"- crumbs spewing across my white shirt. Bernie smiled, and calmly explained. "I am a business man my dear. I have many other BB&T locations to check on. Joe, the man you met at the unemployment office, is my lover. He's already gone off to our store in Portland, and now I can join him. We needed to find a manager for this store that we could depend on and trust to carry on my traditions. We found him." He reached over and patted my stomach, which was wedged against his desk. "But…but…" I searched for words. How could I tell this man that he had become my mentor, my father-my friend! I blurted out the first thing that came into my mind. "But where will I get more of Bernie's Secret Mix for my coffee?" Bernie laughed "make it yourself darling-I told you, it's just cinnamon and vanilla." I stared at him blankly. "But what about the secret ingredient? The stuff that makes us so ravenous?" Bernie chortled "The secret ingredient my boy, is you."

I looked down at myself. At 400 lbs., my 4X dress shirt was already gapping in the front around my stomach. People moved out of my way when they saw me coming because of my size. My whole world had become food-I expressed myself in how much I indulged. Was Bernie saying that this had been my destiny all along. I thought back to High School-to Jeffrey Lowell and Scott Taylor-to the big men who would intrigue me when I was with my friends. I realized, not only did I want to HAVE them, I wanted to BE them. And now I was. I guess he was right: it was in me all the time.

So now I run Bernie's Big & Tall Store #836. We consistently bring in the highest revenues of any in the chain. We also have the fattest staff. I've had my offices expanded to include a full kitchen, and have hired my favorite chef and waiters from the Blue Whale to prepare in house meals for my staff. I surpassed Bernie's weight about a year ago, and am so fat that I had to install a freight elevator to get to the second floor, because the steps are impossible for me to maneuver. I am fast approaching Guinness Book proportions. As for Sean-he now models for Bernie's catalogue. He quickly outgrew the standard sizes, and a new super-size line was developed. Sean also recruits new employees for the store. He now tips the scale at over 500lbs., and is the most beautiful roly-poly thing I've ever seen. So you see, dreams come true in the strangest places. Who would have ever thought that I would find my life's calling in an unemployment line? Now if you'll excuse me, I'm about to interview a potential salesman that Sean found, and I have to brew some coffee.

By the way…are YOU looking for work?

The End.

copyright 1998 by Fatbrwncub

#CCstories #f #fatbrwncub

[gabessquishytum]

Okay, but the 1389 amnesiac Hob made me think of the sensibilities of medieval era vs now and how that would affect him. I mean, clothes are so revealing now!!!!

I can see his eyes bugging out of his head when he wakes up, being around his friends who are all wearing shorts and t shirts or something. Completely ignoring everything else going on (and even the fact that these clothes are nothing like he’s ever seen before) because he’s so stunned by seeing that much skin on so many people at once when not at a pond or river. He then freaks out MUCH more when he processes everything else that’s off.

Things are thrown very abruptly into chaos again when he falls asleep that night. Dream comes to collect his friend like he usually does, wearing his flow-y fabric thing that barely classifies as clothing. Hob, the pre any kind of self-reflection on any front, bastard that he is almost immediately jumps the very hot, very slutty man in front of him. I mean, Dream is slutty in that outfit by 2023 standards, just IMAGINE how it would feel for 1389 Hob?

On a slightly unrelated note, 1389 Hob being thrown in front of a TV by Johanna. He’d be glued to that thing for weeks on end

- 🎮 anon

Aksjsjsjsj poor Hob. Being thrust into the modern world with a 1389 mindset would be so crazy!! Just imagine - as far as he knows he's never even felt synthetic fabrics before. He's sitting there wearing polyester mix clothes that feel weird as hell, AND they don't even cover him up that much! He's blushing and covering his chest because his nipples show through his t-shirt. Where's a nice thick woolen cotte when you need it?!

But yeah I think he probably gets over his embarrassment very quickly and enjoys the fact that he can openly stare at people's bodies. 1389 Hob is an unrepentant manwhore so he's absolutely ogling everything and everyone. Jo quickly beats the feminism back into him before he can take that (literal) medieval attitude too far though.

Dream still gets an armful of horny, overwhelmed medieval mercenary when he goes to visit his friend though. Hob sees tits-out Dream and loses his very small amount of self control immediately. He's getting his mouth on the titties one way or another. And Dream doesn’t exactly discourage him (the robe disappears completely and Hob gets a nakey Dream - this probably cures his amnesia and any other problem he's ever had in his life).

And yes, 1389-mindset Hob watches the footie on TV one time and develops a slight addiction. Jo accidentally turns him into an ipad kid, oops.

#🎮 anon #the sandman #dreamling #nsft

[distant-velleity]

the true you

Summary: Chrysos sees Santiago's wings for the first time. It's your standard Chrytiago "they DEFINITELY have some kind of feelings for each other but won't admit it" fic. Word count: 2.4k+ A/N: Um so I may or may not have, to the detriment of my homework, had a burst of inspiration and written all this yesterday. O. Oops? Whatever <3 No beta we Overblot like pretty anime boys This takes place during Book 5 (bc haha themes of accepting and loving urself am i right) but the timeline is pretty muddled otherwise so. That's why a lot of usual characters aren't present and other things. Enjoy :)

~

Chrysos glares down at his phone, as if subjecting it to his scathing wrath will make a reply come any faster. He’s well aware of the awkward looks Yu and Jack are giving him and each other, but quite frankly, he doesn’t care. 

where are you? — Sent right before classes started.

hello? — Sent between first and second period.

are you sick?? — Sent during third period.

i swear to the seven if you don’t respond im gonna hunt you down. consider this your warning — Sent as soon as lunch break started.

It’s already halfway through lunch. Where the hell is he?

“Um, Chrysos,” Yu starts, reaching across the table to tap his shoulder. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Chrysos mutters angrily, not looking up.

Jack crosses his arms. “No need to be like that. He’s just asking a question.”

“Says you—” Chrysos inhales sharply, holds it, and then exhales. Deep breaths, now. Jack’s unfortunately right. “S…Sorry. It’s simply that Parro hasn’t been here all day, and he isn’t replying to my texts. He’s read them, but he isn’t replying.”

He looks up and sees Yu fidget, a telltale sign that the TA knows something. 

Chrysos narrows his eyes. “Are there circumstances I should be made aware of?”

“Oh… yeah.” Yu frowns. “There’s, um… a bit of a situation right now.”

“What?” ask Jack and Chrysos in unison.

Like a fish out of water, Yu opens and then immediately closes his mouth. He thinks deeply for a second, and then shakes his head. “I promised not to talk about the details,” he says, both apologetic and uncomfortable. “Santiago… really isn’t feeling it, so. You know. He’s still at Ramshackle until we can quote-unquote ‘get the situation under control.’”

“Right, but then he could at least—”

At least get over himself to tell me?

Chrysos stops himself, struck by shame. Isn’t he just taking Santiago’s usual enthusiasm for granted? It’s difficult not to, but if he were in Santiago’s position, then…

Being taken for granted really isn’t easy. He should know…

“Twisted Wonderland to Chrysos?” Jack asks gruffly.

Oh, he’s been quiet for a little too long.

“There’s no use in me just texting him,” Chrysos decides abruptly, turning off his phone. “I’ll seek him out once school ends. Then I’ll find a way to get answers, if I can’t get them out of you.”

He doesn’t miss the way Yu grimaces and shares a look—that he’s too stubborn to admit he cares, isn’t he one—with Jack. “Good luck. If anyone can get through to him… it’d better be you.”

…

“So, this is his room?” asks Chrysos.

“Yep. I’ll be at Pomefiore if you need me,” Yu tells him, and then leaves him alone in Ramshackle’s second-floor hallway. 

As much as Chrysos wants to just barge right in and demand answers, there are certain sensibilities he has to accommodate for. He sighs to take a moment for himself, observing—there’s a tray of food left by the door, on the ground, and totally untouched. Perhaps, if Santiago was holing himself up as reported, the rest of the NRC tribe had tried to offer him food…? And then he simply didn’t accept it, for whatever reason…

Chrysos’ frown deepens, and he knocks on the door.

“Santiago?” he calls, making sure to project his voice enough for the beastman to hear.

There’s a soft thud, a string of surprised curses, and what Chrysos swears is the sound of something flapping. 

“Chrysos?!” Santiago basically squawks. “Were you serious about hunting me down?”

“Oh, so you did read every single one of my texts!” Chrysos retorts. “I think I’m owed a bit of an explanation here.”

“Er, well…” Santiago’s voice grows small. Inside, something seems to rustle against the walls. “Um—it’s…”

Chrysos closes his eyes briefly. Stupid bird making me feel stupid feelings. “Listen,” he says a little more softly, though still firm. “I—” 

Missed seeing you in class? No. Nope. It’s only been a day. 

“...It’ll be better if you just rip the bandage off and tell me. Think about it, how many more classes can you miss like this?”

Santiago is quiet, and more fluttering noises come from inside the bedroom. “I don’t know how to explain it. It’s… probably easier if you come inside first and see it for yourself,” he says reluctantly. “But—don’t judge! Please.”

Honestly, Chrysos has never heard Santiago—confident, flamboyant, mischievous Santiago—sound so insecure. Not even when their lives were actually at risk. It’s… odd. “Alright.”

Not really sure what to expect, he grabs the (unlocked, somehow) handle and pushes the door open—

Chrysos’ eyes widen.

Santiago is huddled on the bed by the window, the pale winter sun illuminating his hair. Wrapped tightly around his body are wings, red-and-blue feathers in shades that are just slightly duller than his hair. They’re lined a little oddly, though, messy and un-preened, and several lone feathers are scattered about on the floor. 

Frankly, though? Chrysos is in awe. “You… You have wings?” he asks, and immediately regrets how stupid he sounds.

“I’m a parrot beastman, Chrysos,” Santiago almost whines. “I can’t help it. They don’t normally look like this, I promise! Not all awkward and unclean and unnatural and—I don’t even have them at all, generally, but I ran out of the transformation potion and—”

“Hold on,” Chrysos interrupts, back to seriousness. “You take a transformation potion? Regularly? And no one’s noticed?”

Santiago wilts, nervously plucking at his own feathers. “The doses last really long since it’s a pretty weak potion, just enough to make me look relatively human—and I was supposed to get a refill over break, but the whole training camp thing happened, so I couldn’t—and now I’m out, so… hnnggh. Can you close the door already?”

Chrysos shuts it behind him without a second thought. Mostly because his brain is piecing together other, more significant matters—the fact that Santiago had mentioned never really having many friends, the diction he uses to describe his wings, the insecurity… 

Do you not see how gorgeous you are? Who the hell did this to you? 

Not that it’s hard to guess; society and the people it produces are vicious. Regardless of whether you’re on land or under the sea, it seems. 

Something must show on his face, because Santiago presses himself even further into the contradictory shame and safety of his wings. “You’re smart, you’ve probably figured it out already,” he mumbles. “I can’t stand the thought of… of everyone seeing me with my wings. I don’t care if it’s just my ‘human’ form, or when I’m using my signature spell, but”—he shudders—“people think it’s weird when I’m not visibly one or the other. Or at least they used to. And I don’t wanna have to deal with that here. I mean, can you imagine? I was doing just fine and getting along with people and then—”

The more Santiago rambles nervously, the more enraged Chrysos feels on his behalf. Maybe, it’s subconscious empathy from his own childhood, where his status protected him from fellow students at school but not from the arrogant mers of the aristocracy—

Inhale, exhale. Don’t give into your own grudges. Think about this rationally.

—okay. As furious as Chrysos feels, Santiago is being vulnerable with him, and for once he can’t just take advantage of that. With many others, he would—but in this case, he can’t. He just can’t. 

“So,” Santiago stammers out finally, “I don’t know if I can go back to class soon. Vil said he might look into brewing a temporary replacement, but he didn’t look too happy with my decision to hide my wings, so—you know. I just. I don’t think I can do it. I…I think I’ll just call in sick for a bit.”

He manages to pluck a feather from his wings, fidgeting out of stress in the silence Chrysos is leaving. If there’s any blood coming out, then it’s hard to tell through the matte crimson of his wings.

Shit.

Chrysos takes another deep breath.

Don’t make an impulsive decision. Don’t make an impulsive decision. Don’t m—

“I’ve heard enough. Come to Octavinelle with me,” he declares.

Santiago blinks at him. “Huh?”

Well, he’s said it already. No way he can back out now. Chrysos swallows. “I’m going to show you something.” And hopefully convince you of… something.

He watches the hesitation emerge clear on Santiago’s face. “But… I don’t want to go out—if people see me, then—”

“If they say anything out of line, you can ignore them, and I’ll teach them a lesson.”

Santiago worries his lower lip with his teeth, and doesn’t reply.

“As you said,” Chrysos says, “‘it’s best if you see it for yourself.’”

…

“What are you doing?” Santiago asks, incredulous, as Chrysos starts taking off his own uniform piece by piece.

“I don’t know why you’re looking at me like that” Chrysos mutters, carefully undoing his bowtie so his necklace stays on. “It’s just easier to transform with less clothes on.”

Santiago’s eyes light up with a realization, and he almost stands up from where he’s sort of just perched on a bench. “‘Transform’? So, you mean—you’re showing me your mer form?”

“Mm-hmm. Hold this.” Down to basically just his shirt and slacks, Chrysos hands Santiago the articles of clothing he’s shed, and steps out of his shoes. 

“I thought…” Santiago’s lips press into a line. “Honestly, I thought you were just never gonna show me. Or that you didn’t want to.”

Ah. There it is.

Chrysos stares at the water of the pool—pristine and free of chemicals, since it’s made specifically to accommodate merfolk. “Well… I’m not sure if I’m as ashamed of my true form as you are.” Thinking about it now, though, he probably wouldn’t have shown it to Santiago unless it was necessary, like that time at Camp Vargas. Maybe that makes him a hypocrite. “But we’re not here to talk about ‘would have’s and ‘could have’s. How much do you know about merfolk culture?”

“Oh, uh…” Santiago seems surprised by the sudden topic redirection. “Not a lot, actually. It’s mostly only what I’ve heard from you.”

Chrysos sighs—not at Santiago, but at the facts he has to remind himself of. “Merfolk tend to value more human-like appearances, especially those who come from more populated settlements. I’m sure you’ve seen the stereotypical half-human, half-fish depiction of our kind; those are the kind of merfolk who are considered attractive and worth people’s time.”

He turns his back on Santiago to step over to the pool’s edge, sit down, and let his feet enter the water. Almost immediately, as soon as he starts imagining it, they start merging back into his ever-familiar tail. Magic takes care of the whole clothing issue, and consequently, he starts feeling the weight of his fins and spines.

Behind him, Chrysos can hear his uniform being put down and Santiago excitedly scurrying over.

“W-Wait—” He holds up a hand, conveniently hiding his face since he’s not ready to be perceived like that—not in the middle of his transformation—and stopping Santiago. “Let me… finish,” he says, a little lamely and clipped.

Chrysos eases himself down into the water, letting himself fully shed his ‘human’ appearance. When he’s fully submerged, he gives himself a few moments—looking down at his webbed hands, his scales, his angry red patterns and venomous spines…

(“Of course, what else could you expect from a monster like that?” — Said one of the king’s associates.

“Positively magnificent!” — said Rook and Vil when they caught a glimpse of his mer form.)

…Well, now Chrysos is pretty sure what message he’s trying to get across to Santiago. 

He swims back up and resurfaces, holding onto the pool’s edge; right next to where Santiago is sitting, posture more relaxed, as if he’s temporarily forgotten about his wing predicament.

“Woah,” Santiago breathes, looking… awestruck? “You’re so…” He gestures vaguely with a hand, wings fluttering. “...beautiful, I don’t know. Like—Seven, I know that sounds weird, and I hope you don’t tell anyone I said that aloud, but.”

Chrysos opens his mouth, closes it, and looks very intently at the tiles. I could say the same for you, he thinks, but immediately shuts that down. Don’t get distracted. “Well, that’s… not what I was taught to think. Merfolk like myself, and the Leeches—we aren’t exactly viewed favorably. I suppose it was the same for you. People are so shallow sometimes.”

Santiago’s wings droop. “...Yeah.”

“But,” continues Chrysos, “I—I wasn’t trying to make this about me. What I’m saying is—you showed me the you that you’re afraid will be criticized, so the favor should be returned. And it’s a reminder that it’s stupid to just go along with the standards other people think you should adhere to. If everyone under the sea was exactly 50% human-looking and 50% fish, then it’d just be… well, I’d rather live the rest of my life enduring Trein’s lectures.”

“At least it’s balanced.” Still, the witty comment has Santiago snickering genuinely. 

Chrysos ignores the way his heart skips a beat from the sound of it. “Riiight. Anyway, if everyone on land looked wholly human, then it’d be ridiculous too. Wouldn’t it?”

“I guess, yeah,” Santiago admits. He looks over one shoulder to examine his wing, back muscles flexing. “When you put it that way, it’s kinda like…” He glances down at the ground. “...this is all kind of pointless. There’s people who aren’t gonna be happy about my existence anyway, so I might as well embrace it.”

“So I’m finally getting through to you,” Chrysos deadpans. 

Santiago kicks, playfully splashing water at Chrysos. “Let me have my epiphany in peace! When I preen and get my shine back, you’re gonna regret talking to me like that.”

He doesn’t say it, but a part of Chrysos is glad that this part of their dynamic isn’t changing. With any tension having already faded like bubbles rising to the distant surface, he smirks. “You’ll be taking my words to heart, then?”

“Honestly, I’m, uh, not sure how I’ll handle sitting in class with my wings,” replies Santiago, “but I’m just gonna have to deal with it. Using all those transformation potions is… I knew it for a while, but it was just the easy way out. I’ll tell Vil he doesn’t need to brew anything for me.”

If nothing else, it’s a start.

“In that case”—Chrysos points a clawed finger at Santiago, a mock warning—“I’d better see you in class tomorrow.” 

“Aww, you missed me that much?” 

Santiago smiles back at him. 

“Don’t worry—I still wouldn’t miss annoying you in the middle of a lecture for the world.”

~

taglist (ask to be added or removed!): @thehollowwriter @theleechyskrunkly @casp1an-sea @elenauaurs @nahelenia

(for some of you guys on my normal/art taglist, i didn't tag you bc i don't know if you want to be tagged in fics, so 😭if that needs to be changed let me know)

#kai's writing #twst oc #chrysos pendentif #santiago parro #wowww i havent posted a chrytiago fic in how long? feels like it's been forever #i miss them i miss their banter #sighhhs im sad that they went to different vargas camps but this way i have plot-supported reasoning for this fic

[koffing-time]

\\Hello! My name is Brandy and i‘m here to make everything better! I am a RRRRROTOM and I live here now. Let me show you around! It‘s actually a really nice place.//

[a video file. The camera has a slight sway to it, as if it‘s not being held by a person but instead floating.

The video shows the Koffing-Time café, which is completely empty and dark. It seems to be nighttime, but a flashlight is illuminating enough of the place. The camera pans upwards to show a large ventilator on the ceiling. A Text-To-Speech voice says: „Well, first i have to mention this big and beautiful piece of disappintment over there. Mr. Olivia has forbidden me to posess this ventilator. I bet it would be very funny to spin around in it really fast.“ After a short pause the voice adds: „I actually don‘t know if Olivia wants to be called „Mr.“ but he had a pin saying he/they on their apron today. I think i‘ll just drop the title.“

The camera moves to show a large coffee-machine with a lot of different functions. The voice explains while the view shows the machine from all angles „This is a very weird machine. It FEELS so inviting but i can‘t really posess it. I wil keep trying. It is so beautiful and i want to explore it.“

The shot changes again and the camera moves through a backdoor behind the counter through a dark hallway. The next room is a large pantry with a large oven, almost industrial in size and many many shelves with all kinds of bags, jars and boxes on them. There is also a large metal door. The camera focuses on the oven while the voice speaks up again: „Here we have this wonderful wonderful oven! Just look at the SIZE of this thing! I love it! The place where i was before only had a tiny microwave, very boring very boring. I hope Tix lets me use this sometime. They seemed hesitant so far but i will convince them sooner or later!“ The camera pans towards the metal door and the voice continues: „And here we have an enigma! This feels so strange! It is cold, like a freezer but it is also just a room! And i can feel the electricity calling me, but there is no place to get in! There is also a small fridge in the other room, but it‘s so tiny it‘S not worth showing. I want to know what is up with this one here instead!“

The video continues for a little bit, showing all kinds of electric gadgets and household items like a blender, a flashlight or a TV remote, all being thoroughly judged about how fun they are to posess. A milk frother in particular seems to excite the person speaking a lot.

The camera floats towards the staircase to the upper story but suddenly the shot freezes. The voice is heard once again: „Oops. I forgot i‘m not supposed to show the upstairs. Sorr-“

The video ends abruptly]

\\That‘s it! I hope i can have a lot of fun here! Come visit me sometime! Please!//

#brandy boasting #pokeblogging #pkmn irl #pokemon irl #Koffing-Time-1.0

[skygodtraumabond]

<Oops! This video file appears to be corrupted! Don't worry, I will provide alt text!>

<The video appears to have been taken on a boat somewhere in the middle of the ocean, prior to the Shadow Sky. The camera is peeking from around the corner of the cabin, watching Ray as they lean over the portside guard rail and grumble incoherently. The sound of a pokeball being activated is heard shortly before a red beam shoots out from the pocket of their cargo pants, visibly startling them as Scorchovia let's himself out and stands next to them with concern in his eyes. Ray seems to breathe a sigh of relief, then reaches up to scratch the Blaziken's head.

"You don't have to do this. I know you don't like the ocean, and you know I'll live."

Scorch makes a few soft cooing sounds that are hardly picked up by the camera, scooting closer to his trainer in insistence. Just as Ray said, though, he is showing visible signs of distress at the sight of the open ocean, his head feathers puffing up and tail feathers fanning out slightly. Ray briefly reaches into their pocket, likely for Scorch's pokeball, but then seems to change their mind and put their arm around him instead.

"Alright, alright. Stubborn old thing..."

There's a moment of silence between them as they stare out onto the horizon, Ray's breathing seems to slowly even out with their partner pokemon by their side.

"... Guess that makes one more region I can't go back to, huh? Not much of a loss, I guess. Can't say I wanted to end up in Galar in the first place. Still... Can't believe I let that happen. I feel like I'm slipping. Am I even cut out for this life anymore? What kind of champion level trainer just lets one of their first pokemon get stolen by a—"

Scorch gently puts his hand on Ray's head, snapping them out of their spiral. They visibly take a deep breath, leaning into Scorch a bit.

"You're right, you're right. I shouldn't dwell on it... Besides. I think we brought fair judgement down on them for what they did. I've gotta properly thank her for her help later, though... Hey, do you think that guy's ever gonna grow hair again? I mean, I've never seen anyone's scalp just—"

They're interrupted by a noise somewhere else on the ship, and the camera is dropped. The video ends abruptly after.>

<This alt text was provided by

Sorry, force of habit. You know it's me.

I know this won't help find them, I just thought I'd share it anyway. It's been a while since we've seen them, and even longer since we've seen them that calm.

I think they deserve to be remembered for more than their fear and anger.>

#raytalk #techietalkie #pokeblogging #pokeblr #pkmn irl #missing in action arc

[all-pacas]

i am BORED at WORK, doing this one too, also for my fanfic's version of durge.

1: Where in the Faerûn is your Tav from?

Baldur's Gate. She looks Drow, but thanks to the whole "born of the discarded flesh of Bhaal" thing, she's never even been to the Underdark. She has a very recognizably Baldurian accent, which most of the party probably takes in stride but Minthara at least would find Weird.

2: What is your character's alignment?

Neutral Evil as Durge. As Tav, she's trying her best to at least hit Neutral Good. Probably more like Lawful Neutral.

3: Race and subclass?

Drow. She'll say Selardine if asked, but she has no clue. Just knows she doesn't worship Lolth.

As Durge she was an Oathbreaker Paladin. As Tav, she's currently a Great Old One Warlock/Paladin. In a story and not mechanics sense, she's more apt to use swords and armor, but is weirdly good at mind control magic.

4: If your Tav was a companion, where would they be found?

On the little dock by the crashed ship, staring out at the water. Approached, she'd at first seem not to notice you, and be distracted and even seemingly unconcerned about the tadpole -- before abruptly deciding to follow you.

5: Dark Urge or no?

Yessss

6: What companion are you platonically close with?

Shadowheart and Gale, potentially also Wyll. Thanks to the artefact deciding to float on over to Tav, Shadowheart is sticking pretty close and Tav is like "this is friendship?" Gale meanwhile is (going to) give her magic lessons, and Wyll is just someone Tav admires, without seeing any of his faults and downsides.

7: Romantically close with?

Gonna be hooking up with the asshole vampire boy.

8: Who are they suspicious of?

No one. Which is a problem. Tav at her core believes she should be worshipped and feared and adored, and so she also believes that she is treated that way. She takes praise as a matter of fact. She's very easy to manipulate.

9: Is your Tav from Baldur's Gate? Why are they travelling there?

She is. And she wasn't going there in particular, but now that she has Shadowheart's Artefact, she kind of wants to ride that mission's coattails.

10: Are they proficient in playing any instruments?

Not in the least. Can't sing, either.

11: Weapon of choice?

Shortswords and daggers. Much more finesse that way, you want delicate control when you're mangling a corpse in Bhaal's name.

12: What is their orientation?

Pansexual, like everyone else. Specifically "you are into me, so I am into you." Not really uh... sexually outgoing? It's more like she will reflect any affection she's given first.

13: What are their thoughts on killing? Is it a necessary evil or do they enjoy it?

She enjoys it a lot.

14: What hobbies does your Tav have?

She's kind of trying to figure that out. Amnesia sucks! She doesn't really care for reading, she wants to do something with her hands. She could potentially get into something like embroidery or wood carving, if her companions teach her.

Durge's hobby was murder.

15: What NPC's do they like? Which one's do they dislike?

She really likes the Emperor. He seems like a really nice dude. :( None so far that she dislikes, but because of her habit of mirroring, anyone who is rude first she'll probably treat in kind.

16: Do they have a favorite creature in the Faerûn?

Shovel

17: Do they enjoy life as an adventurer?

A lot! I mean, Tav doesn't remember anything before that, but she knows enough to know her past life wasn't pleasant. She was also kind of a workoholic as Durge, you know, always murdering and plotting! Adventuring is kind of relaxing.

18: What would your Tav be doing if they weren't kidnapped on the Nautiloid?

Leading a murder cult and taking over the world. The more aware of this she becomes, the more uneasy she feels.

19: How do you think they'll meet they're end?

In the Temple of Bhaal. :)

20: Would they destroy the elder brain or control it?

Is serve it an option?

21: What is your Tav's favorite spell?

Friends or Charm Person, oops.

22: What languages is your character fluent in?

Common. This is mildly embarrassing to her. She doesn't know anything else.

23: What do they do after the absolute crisis?

Find a new life. Try to find a purpose as Tav, not as the Dark Urge or as the woman she was before Bhaal. Maybe do some good: not in a Wyll heroic way, but as a way of balancing the scales of her bad deeds. Adventuring more sounds fun.

24: Does your character believe in the afterlife?

She's terrified of it.

25: What arcana major best represents your Tav?

Hanged Man / Death. Being trapped, being renewed.

26: What animal best represents your Tav?

Snowy owl. Not for the wisdom tropes. For the unblinking stare and silent kills.

27: What was their life like before the events of BG3?"

She was Durge. She killed people. She fucked Gortash. She was semi-conscious, given entirely to her father Bhaal.

28: Is your character the de facto leader of the party? Or do they consider someone else to be the leader?

Gale's the DEEPLY reluctant leader. I plan for Tav to take over slowly, due to Gale hating the job and her having some type A tendencies. But no one's trusting her with a full time leader position.

29: Does your Tav want to utilize the tadpole powers or not?

Right now she does, because her bestie The Emperor said she should.

30: What's your favorite thing about your Tav?

??? I... like the idea of Tav being just naturally a bit quiet and stoic as a half-joking reaction to the mostly silent protagonist thing. I also think the extreme gullibility will be a lot of fun and lead to a lot of bad decisions.

#my fanfic headcanons

[talenlee]

Playing With Your Food

Playing With Your Food

Do you find yourself doing this thing in games where you can end them, where you know the game is done, but you keep doing things that let you keep playing?

I’m not talking about games like Skyrim where there’s a whole instrumentation of the game being built around giving you more varieties of tihngs to discover and where you can break ‘the game’ apart into lots of smaller chunks of ‘game experience.’ In that case you can view the game at large as an archive, where the conclusion, the ‘end of the game’ is a kind of unimpressive tome in the whole arrangement of these things, but where the driving play experience you focus on is instead all the stuff that builds up to that point. Nor do I mean something like Minecraft where the game’s ‘end’ is very superficial and expects you to return to the play experience over and over inventing new reasons to want to keep engaging with it. They’re not unrelated kinds of experiences, but I really am referring to something that I’ve noticed in myself when dealing with a particular kind of digital card game.

It’s Star Realms, but it’s true of its cousin game, Hero Realms as well.

In Star Realms I’ve noticed that I often find the game ending one or two turns before I wanted it to. What’s more, I notice this because the game’s interface was changed last year to make it so you could no longer accidentally end the turn when you had lethal damage and fail to attack your enemy with it. With the default buttons on the interface, if you have enough damage in your hand to win the game, you can’t just ‘pass’ – you need some reason, something to make a choice about, or to pull open the menu – to finish the turn and let your opponent survive for another turn.

When I find myself doing this, I can attribute it usually to some secondary goal, some greater challenge the game has not assigned me. It’s not uncommon in this game to set things up so that your opponent has to discard one of their five cards every turn. If you thin your deck out right, and get the right pieces, you can make them discard two, or three, or more. If you’re following this track, yes, if you get them to discard five cards, they start their turn, throw out their hand, and pass it back to you, and if you keep slimming your deck down, you might be able to do that every turn.

You will usually do this once if you aim for it. You don’t loop it, with a helpless opponent frustratedly throwing out their hand, because the cards that let you do this are also the cards that kill your opponents. They’re not dedicated to the purpose of killing time and depriving your opponents of choices, but instead do that while advancing a gameplan of killing your opponent and depriving them of choices.

I don’t think this is a bad thing per se but it does make me wonder if the game (in this particular difficulty) is over-tuned. Tabletop games often have this feeling to me where I just start getting to do the thing I enjoy doing but oh no oops doing that involves ending the game really abruptly, or running away with an advantage that makes other players realise what’s happening and promptly surrendering. Which, you know, reasonable, I don’t want to keep them there if they’re not having fun but also: Dangit.

This impulse, to keep the game going, doesn’t seem to be entirely situated in this game, but it’s definitely something I notice when I have more time to play games with more freedom to them. In Commander Keen, I found a point where I could generate more points per life than the lives took to get, and I wound up running a level in a loop, over and over again, trying to build up a stockpile of teddy bears.

I know that in Dungeons & Dragons I don’t bother looking at epic or higher level material just because that’s a play experience I rarely see even discussed. I’m basically completely unfamiliar with the really high level version of play, and that means whatever you can do with an epic level character is kind of purely academic to me. In this case, the game seems to be delivering an exciting thing I want to experience as a play operation after it’s useful, after there’s a reason to want to have it.

Just to be clear there’s no wrong way to play. I’m noticing this pattern of behaviour not in myself to judge anyone for doing it, but to document it and consider how I can avoid creating it in players. I’ve talked in the past about on-ramps in games, where just having a basic idea of ‘here’s how you start’ can be amazingly powerful; whether the hold-down-right or the elf-ranger type combination systems used can be seen as ways to induce players to keep playing with the stuff that’s presented to them.

It presents a question of engagement: What can I do, in my design, that players like to see happening. It’s sometimes described as the mid game, where players have resources enough to enjoy deciding how those resources are used, where they are no longer trying to ‘get started’ and more involved in the experience of seeing results to their play choices. And am I making sure that engagement happens at the right time and in the right way?

I watched a game being played recently that took the entire resolution mechanic it had, and, for the sake of an expansion, basically tripled the game in duration so you instead had to engage with the expansion’s new mechanic. It looked miserable! It served to show me that no, even if I want that midgame to last longer, there’s definitely a problem if it lasts too long.

To this end, when playtesting and talking with players, ask yourself, and ask them: When did you feel the game ‘start’ for you? and then, When did you feel the game’s end starting?

Check it out on PRESS.exe to see it with images and links!

#Games

[quibliography]

Remarkably Bright Creatures by Shelby Van Pelt

Synopsis:  This novel is about the relationship between a giant Pacific octopus and a seventy year old aquarium cleaner. Tova Sullivan is coping with the loss of her family, from the thirty-year old disappearance of her son to the recent passing of her estranged brother. Marcellus having lived most of his adult life in captivity is the only one whom she can open up to. When Tova makes the decision to move to a retirement home, a newcomer to their small town is recommended as her temporary replacement. Cameron Cassmore is adrift again, having recently lost both his latest job and girlfriend. He arrives in Sowell Bay hoping to find out about his past but mostly to procure a financial means for his future. After all, it's the least a father could do for a long-lost son he never knew. But in the end, all three of them discover unlikely connections they didn't expect to find in a small town Pacific Northwest aquarium.

My Quibs: I'll start with that I found it an enjoyable read, for a debut novel. Van Pelt has a good foundation: interesting characters, a structured plot, etc. It just needed a bit more editing and tending to get it book club worthy. Her characters are endearing (at least, most of them) and grounded in a way that I think most readers could connect to. I mean, who doesn't love a giant Pacific octopus. And I found out in the audiobook, Marcellus has a British accent! Not how I read it in my head, but I'm seriously considering going back and listening to it now. My one major flaw with her characters is the pacing of their arc or growth. Especially Cameron... Van Pelt is able to craft a very nice story but it feels like when someone realizes how late the hour is so they rush to gather all their things and exits fairly abruptly. We were having a pleasant conversation and then she's like, "oops let's wrap it up, the end". There were also a lot of nuances and small details that seemed like several scattered ideas that she never followed through on. Details that I and my fellow book club readers snagged onto with interest so clearly we felt there was potential. We were invested in the outcomes of all three characters; we wanted more. What about his mother? What actually happened on the boat? The details there are vague enough that it initially comes off as teasing and then negligence. So, despite my reservations about how she ended it, it was enjoyable and it only frustrates me that I know it could've been even better.

Should you read it? I don't want to dissuade anyone from reading it, just want to give a caveat that it is very much a debut novel.

Similar reads? Ah, I dunno. It strikes me as a book you'd find on that first table as you walk into a Barnes and Noble. Take that how you will.

(Spoiler Alert!) OK. Here's where imma rant a bit about my boy Cameron. He really rubs on my last nerve. And I know Van Pelt did this deliberately, creating an angsty chip-on-his-shoulder "genius"-with-issues man child. And I would've written him off early except 1) I had a whole novel to travel with him so I had to stick with it and 2) I read a comment that re-framed his behavior as grief(?) which gave me more patience to see his growth through. But speaking of growth, Cameron throughout the novel takes the smallest tiniest baby steps in working through his issues until literally in a single-page chapter, Van Pelt literally and literary-ly turns the character around. He goes from running away from everyone, without any note or explanation, to changing his mind halfway to California. What magic is this? That cures selfish broken people so quickly? And after this revelation, we essentially get a "where are they now" ending where everyone has a promising life ever after. Ugh, disappointing. Not that they can't have happy endings but it just doesn't seem realistic when it happens like a flip of a switch. It doesn't feel earned. And also speaking of grief (it was from a "what kind of book club questions" web search), I was really interested in the perspective that what binds all three characters together was coping with grief. Marcellus lost his freedom and consequently a normal life. Tova lost family, piece by piece. And Cameron lost his parents and a childhood. We see the effects of it embodied in their character. Because the actual trauma happened so long ago, I didn't expect to see them learning how to cope with it, but more how they live with it day to day. I get a bit of that with Marcellus and Tova, although I still can't believe that thirty years of wondering about what happened to her son that she's content with a vague story told offhandedly. Like, no follow up questions, really? Agh, the abruptness of the ending still really frustrates me. And poor Marcellus should have been the star of the show, but to quote my fellow book clubber, he "was just a plot device". And to quote another book clubber, "she never really explains how he learned to read English".

What did you think of Remarkably Bright Creatures?

#remarkably bright creatures #shelby van pelt

[lamnwar]

Omg omg can you make a Midorima x f!reader where they go from enemies to lovers. Like Basketball player Midorima is cold and mean to the Team Owner reader (he's still in the team since he's THAT good lmao). They have a really bad relationship but the reader starts talking to the Basketball committee head or something (they're really cousins tho)......where jealous midorima feels insecure since apparently he thinks he's on a lower rank than you and hence distances himself from you. Until one night at a Basketball dinner.......with everyone around. Reader and Midorima dance together (and he can't hold back his feelings anymore) so he abruptly leaves.....the reader follows and we see a mess of a Midorima. Anyways there's a cliche confession which leads to some nsfw things 🤭🤭 with Midorima dirty talking and expressing how much he wanted to do things to the reader from the start.

Pooof thats me 😃, thanks for all the amazing writing you are MY FAVVVV

Heeeeey THANK YOU for requesting something about Midorima because I've been having a Midorima brainrot lately lmao 😩 I really went off on this one (6.1k words oops-), and I may also have gone off script a bit, I hope you still like tho! 💕

You're Something // Midorima Shintarō x Fem! Reader

MDNI 18+

Context: in which your team's star player gets on your nerves; but what can you do about it? All characters are in their mid 20s for plot purposes.

Warnings: Midorima being a bitch for no reason, alcohol consumption, straight out smut towards the end, fingering, Midorima calls reader "princess" and "my love" (I wish that was me 🧎🏾‍♀️), vaginal sex (protected) anywaaays enjoy hihi

It’s not everyday that some rich girl buys a whole basketball team. At first, people thought it was just another spoiled brat whose daddy bought a team for just to please her; but these rumours were quickly shut down when it’s become apparent that you are more than qualified to be a team owner. No one is as good as you when it comes to investing in the team, as you always have the players’ best interest at heart.

Well, not everyone will agree on that. As far as you are concerned, this is a one-side thing. You maintain the most professional relationship with your players, coach and managers, not feeling any specific way towards them. But when it comes to the team’s star player, Midorima Shintarō, you seem to have got in his bad papers. You don’t know if you’ve done anything wrong, not that you care either, but every time you meet, he is incredibly cold. Granted, he’s never been the warm, extroverted kind, but he is particularly distant with you. You’re always met with his stoicism, having him flee your gaze every time you speak, and him only responding with short, monotone answers.

And as much as you like to say that you are unaffected by his behaviour, you can’t fool yourself: he really gets on your nerves. If he’d made clear why he dislikes you so much, it would have been less of a bother – but the fact that you are clueless as to why he is like that irritates you. But it remains that you cannot act on it. If it isn’t for Midorima, your team may not hold its current place in the national league. So, you shut up, and try to reduce your number of interactions with him as much as possible.

However, sometimes it is out of your control, and you still have to face the green-haired man and his mean behaviour. Like today, when you decide to pay a visit to the team during their practice with a couple of people from the basketball association. A routine check on the team that you unfortunately cannot escape. You’re nervous, but you don’t show it – you’re already discredited enough like that as a team owner by the public, you can’t afford to lose your face in front of the important people. As you approach the training court, you can hear your players running, balls bouncing around, while your coach yells out instructions. You open the door, trying to not disturb the training, but you fail. As soon as you enter the court, all movements stop, and they greet you and your guests for the day.

“Hi everyone, please don’t mind us!” you smile back at them.

Yet, some players still come to you, greeting you with their warmest smiles, and you can’t help but laugh a little. When you’ve first bought the team and insisted on meeting all the players as well as the coach and managers, you were told that it was rather unusual for a team owner to take such interest in the people that technically worked for them. But you didn’t want to be bound to the conventions, instead making sure that you knew all of them very well. Paying diners for the whole team, attending as many matches as possible, paying them trips to hot springs after big matches, and occasionally coming to practices to see them in action. The amount of attention that you give your players is highly appreciated, but there’s more to it. As your assistant has once pointed out, some of them are clearly into you. The pretty, nice, and smart owner that treats them so well. You’re tempted to say that it’s an exaggeration, but truth be told you can tell that some of them have a crush on you; and in all honesty, it’s pretty cute.

“To what do we owe your visit today?” asks the coach.

“Oh, these gentlemen from the association asked to see the team practice, so please resume your activities and act like we’re not even here.”

He nods, effectively reprising the training as you and your guests stand upstairs, observing the players. Watching them – even though it isn’t a match or anything – fascinates you. If it wasn’t for a stupid leg injury, it could have been you on the court, a part of a team, giving your all to the sport you adore. You sigh, looking at your boys running, dribbling, passing, jumping, and shooting.

“That’s one hell of a shooting guard you’ve found there” you hear one of the association men say.

You follow his gaze, falling on Midorima standing on one side of the court, while shooting accurately in the opposite basket. A part of you wants to act like it’s nothing impressive, but you can’t help that fascinated expression on your face. His talent is something that you cannot deny, no matter how you feel about him.

“Midorima sure is… something.” You say in a contemplative tone.

Although he is incredibly gifted, the shooting guard always trains harder than anyone else. Every time you visit them a bit late, he is the last one to leave the court. As much as you despise him, you must acknowledge his work ethics. He really is one hell of a player.

“I’m sure other teams have tried to snatch him away.”

Your eyes remain on Midorima when he looks up in your direction, shooting you a glacial look. You exhale, trying to keep your cool. Nothing gets you mad quite like those green eyes staring you down like you’ve committed a crime; but you’re in public, and right now you have to act like the owner of the team, putting your personal feelings aside.

“They sure try, but I’m not letting him go.”

They smile, as you reply to your player’s deadly gaze. He doesn’t give off much arrogance, but you wonder how he’ll react knowing that he really is your biggest investment. Maybe it’ll change the way he feels about you, maybe not. In all cases, your ego will never allow you to tell him explicitly how much you need him in your team. For all he knows, you despise him as much as he does, and that’s all that there is to your relationship to him.

After more minutes of talking with the representatives of the association, they finally decide to go and you escort them back to their car, happy to know that everything about your team is in order and that your place in the league is secure. Though you have other obligations to attend, you still stop by the gymnasium one last time to watch the players during their practice match. You quietly watch as the game goes on, taking in as much as you can. Every time the ball falls between Midorima’s well-cared hands, you witness a true spectacle. He never fails. When the coach blows the final whistle, you decide to meet the team one last time before you have to go.

“You guys keep impressing me every time I come by” you compliment them.

“You’re being too nice!”

“We’re so glad you were here today.”

“Thank you!” they all bow at you, and you let out a soft chuckle.

You are used to be in position of power, but at the same time you don’t want anyone to feel like you are superior to them in any way; yet, your players always seem to worship you, and naturally you are always a bit embarrassed when they do.

“Alright, I’ll see you all at the association ball this weekend!”

You wave them goodbye as they go to the locker room, only your star player remaining on the court to shoot some last hoops. You stand back, watching him. You should approach him, considering that his presence today has granted you a good position to the eyes of the association, but you are reluctant to speak to him. Most of the time, you only interact out of obligation, because you have no other choice. And technically, you don’t have to talk to him today either; but putting your ego aside, he deserves some word of encouragement from his team’s owner. So you gather all your courage and call out for him.

“Midorima… a word, please.”

He looks at you before shooting the ball that is in his hands. Unsurprisingly, it goes right in. He comes to you, as stoic as usual, and readjust his glasses when he stops. He’s immense, as expected for a basketball player, but you insist on looking at him directly in the eyes. Regardless of the size difference, you are still the figure of authority here – well, in some sorts.

“Your performance lately has been impressive” you start, keeping your voice as neutral as possible even though it kills you to compliment him.

“I’m not one to give a mediocre play” he simply replies.

You don’t know how to respond. His tone isn’t arrogant, but there’s undoubtedly lots of confidence in his words. At the same time, can you blame him for that when he has such talent?

“Well, we owe you a lot.”

He nods, and you stay there in silence. You wish you weren’t so honest; it pains to admit that he is one of the main reasons why your team is doing so well, especially when you know that he cannot stand you. It puts you in an unfair position and you don’t like it – not that you can help it, either.

“I’ll see at the ball” you finally say before walking away, letting out the breath that you’ve been holding for so long.

.

Saturday. Your assistant’s got you the best outfit out there, one that signifies your position of power as a team owner, while projecting much elegance. In some respects, it might be too much for the annual ball of the basketball association, but at this point, you couldn’t care less. You’re the only female team owner of the league, so you already attract the attention without trying. If they’re going to stare at you tonight, you might as well give them something to look at. It is only a quick ride till you reach the venue, ready to mingle with players, investors, and members of the association alike.

A glass of champagne in your hand, you find your crowd, making business talk, flattering the right people while selling that image of you that you’ve constructed over the course of the last months as a team owner. As the night goes on, every single person has to mention your star player. It is understandable, but you can’t take it at some point. Maybe it’s related to the glasses you’ve had, but it gets ridiculously complicated to remain professional as soon as one mentions Midorima. If you hear one more person talk about him…

“Excuse me, may I get a picture of you with your players for Sports Weekly?”

You turn to face a photographer, pointing at your players who are standing not so far from you. You smile, nodding and you follow him to your boys. You’re not going to lie; they all look stunning tonight. You are so used to see them in their uniforms or practice outfits that you forget that they’re actually men. Seeing them all dressed up in their fancy suits almost makes you blush. And seeing how some of them look at you doesn’t make your situation any better. As usual, your tiny fan club rushes to greet you, showering you in compliments.

“My boys are equally elegant tonight, it’s a pleasure to see you like that!” you compliment back with a gentle laugh.

Seeing these giant boys flustered by your words makes you grin. You find a place between all of them, ready to show off your pearly whites, when the photographer decides overwise.

“Midorima, can you stand next to her? The magazine would love to see the owner and the team’s star player together.”

It takes your entire soul not to react on the spot. While you may have chocked a bit on your drink, you try your best not to show your discomfort at the idea of having him next to you. You bite your lip, feeling his presence next to yours. His cologne invades your nose, and your heartbeat goes wild. It isn’t him, you think, he’s simply wearing your favourite men perfume so it’s natural, you like it. Right? Right?

“Closer please.”

You inhale as the green-haired boy gets closer, his hand softly grazing yours as you feel the fabric of his luxury suit against your arm. You briefly look in his direction, seeing his Adam’s apple going up and down his throat. Visibly, he must feel the same way as you do right now, though you aren’t quite sure how you’re feeling. You feel hot, and you convince yourself that it is the lights, mixed with the glasses you’ve had, and nothing – or rather, no one – else. Staring back at the camera, you smile, ignoring the fact that you feel nothing but Midorima right now as much as you can. It seems like an eternity before the photographer clicks on that damn button, finally snaping a picture of you and your players.

You finally exhale, getting ready to go back to your night, when a flock of photographers comes your way, and you cuss in your head, hoping that they’re here for your team, and not necessarily for you.

“May we get a picture of just you and Midorima?”

The question strikes you in the wrong place. You are tempted to say no but seeing that some people of the association are looking at you, you cannot afford to refuse. It’d be bad for your reputation if anyone came to know about your not-so-good relationship with the shooting guard. Reluctantly, you stand in place, watching as Midorima does the same.

“I’m sorry” you mutter to him.

“It’s our job” he replies with his characteristic stoicism.

You cannot disagree, mentally motivating yourself to put on your fakest smile for the pictures.

“Can you be maybe less… you know?” says a photographer referring to your posture.

The both of you are indeed standing like statues, bodies visibly tense. You shake your members, readjusting your posture as you turn slightly towards the player. And to your surprise, you feel his arm wrap around your waist, fingers hesitantly resting on your curve.

“Like this?” he asks.

“Perfect!”

You watch him readjust his glasses while you struggle to keep your composure. Your heart keeps beating faster, your whole body finding itself in an unmatched amount of stress. You are powerless, cheeks pink, chest heaving, legs struggling to resist the urge to run away. However, you pull through; at the end of the day, it is for your job, and you cannot lose face right now. You smile the best as you can, given your predicament, waiting impatiently for these pictures to be shot. A few clicks and flashes later, you feel Midorima’s arm unwrapping your body, leaving a strange feeling of emptiness. He clears his throat as you down your glass, both of you standing awkwardly. When you look up to his face, you swear you can see a warm shade on his cheeks.

“I… thank you, for putting up with the photographers.”

He nods, and for the first time ever certainly, he looks directly into your eyes. You are taken aback, mind blanking on the moment.

“No problem. You… you look beautiful, by the way.”

Just as these words escape his month, his eyes are back to averting yours. You stay there, speechless. This is the less cold he’s ever been with you, and you are ridiculously unprepared for such event. Before you can think of a thing to say, Midorima is already walking away to join his teammates, and you watch him go, mouth agape. His tall frame is all you see, suddenly taking in his svelte appearance. You want to think that it is the effect the suit has on his body, but even in his uniform, he carry himself with a certain grace. And then, there are those hands, big and strong, yet so soft as you remember the way his fingers felt next yours. You can’t tell if what is happening to you is making you hate him more, but it surely drives you crazy.

Realizing, at this very instant, that Midorima Shintarō is extremely attractive is something that you are absolutely not expecting.

You walk hastily to the bar, hoping that a glass of strong alcohol will help cool you down – even though it doesn't make sense.

“A scotch on the rocks, please.”

You rest your head on your palm, closing your eyes. This night is surely weirder than you’ve expected.

“I see that you’re still into the strong ones” you hear a voice behind you snickers.

You turn around, confused, until you face a familiar face.

“Takao!” you exclaimed, recognizing your friend from university.

He smiles, leaning against the bar next to you.

“Long time no see.”

You smile softly. You’ve indeed lost touch ever since he’s left to join a basketball team in Spain, and somewhat his presence feels God sent. He might help put your night back on the right track.

“Are you playing here now? I haven’t seen you in any team’s line-up."

He shakes his head.

“I’ve been invited by a team to play for them, but I’m not quite sure. I’m just here because they’re trying to make a good impression.”

You nod, taking a sip of your drink.

“Surely, if they sell the league as this glamourous thing, they can convince some.”

“I just came for the open bar, really.”

You both laugh, before he turns towards you, a cheeky smile on his face.

“By the way, congrats on becoming a team owner! It’s even cooler that Shin-chan is in your team.”

You glance at him, confused.

“Shin who?”

“Midorima. We were teammates in high school.”

You look at him, a look of despair on your face. You had hope for two minutes that your night wouldn’t revolve around him anymore, but you couldn’t be more wrong.

“What’s with you?” your friend raises an eyebrow at you.

“Tired of hearing about him” you spit before taking a large gulp of your drink, “he’s been nothing but a dick to me since I bought the team.”

A chuckle escapes Takao’s lips, and you can’t help but send him a deadly glare.

“Sounds just like him, but for all I know, that probably means he’s into you. My boy is good at almost everything but processing his feelings.”

He sighs, while you ponder if you should believe his words or not. It seems like everyone thinks highly of him, except you. It isn’t even quite that either; he’s known to be a rational, collected man, but when it comes to you, he’s shown nothing but unjustified coldness. Him being interested in you but not knowing how to deal with it isn’t a good enough reason, because from the first moment you’ve been introduced to the team as the new owner, he’s behaved like that. Maybe he was on his guard at first, wondering if you were suited for the job and if you genuinely had the team’s best interest at heart or if, like many, you only wanted to make more money on the back of your players. But it’s been long since you’ve proven yourself to everyone, so what is it now?

You clench your jaw, downing your glass before the stupefied eyes of your university friend.

“Doesn’t mean shit to me” you let out, the alcohol having you let lose on the language. “If he feels a certain way about me, I’ll have him say it straight to my face.”

You turn your attention back to the crowd, looking for the green-haired man with a newfound determination to finally address your unsufferable dynamic. It’s just a matter of seconds before you meet his eyes, realizing that he’s been staring at you all along. Not differing from what you are used to, his iris are unkind, expression showing that he is irritated. Instead of silently replying to his unkind demeanour like you usually do, you walk towards him, finding yourself standing right in front of him as the ambient music changes.

“Can I help you?” he asks with his typical monotony.

“Dance with me for a second there, would you?”

Your request catches him off guard; but seeing that the people around you have heard you, he cannot refuse. He timidly holds you, and you let a smile appear on your lips. Not a gentle smile, rather a snarky one.

“Now that I got you, let me get straight to it, Midorima: what’s your problem?” you say low enough so that he’s the only one to hear you.

His green eyes translate his difficulty to understand you. Whether it is your sudden invitation to dance, or that weird question you’ve just asked, something about you at this very moment makes him uneasy.

“I’m sorry but I fail to understand the implications of your question.”

“Let me rephrase, then.”

You take one step closer to him, your hands gripping his shoulders to ensure that he doesn’t try to escape you.

“Ever since I came into the picture as the team owner you’ve been nothing but a massive jerk to me. But then, you’re being all nice to me tonight, so I need to know, what’s your deal?”

You blink, waiting for him to say something. His cheeks are red while he actively averts your gaze. You’re quick to realized that you’ve flustered him. By the way he seems to look for an exit, his brain overheating to find words to say, or something to do – in vain.

“I…”

His mouth closes immediately after, and he stops his movements. You both stand in the middle of the crowd, his fingers rapidly leaving your side to adjust his frames and what he says next has you utterly wordless.

“Sorry.”

You watch as he walks away, quickly escaping the venue. You take a minute before reacting, your legs finally pushing yourself to follow him before it’s too late and that this conversation gets forgotten. You find yourself outside the reception room, easily finding the one you’re looking for in the hallway, seemingly in a state of unrest. Hearing your heels approaching, he turns to look your way, eyes slightly opened wide. For a second there, you can tell that he hesitates to run away, but he stops himself just as you come close to him, cornering him in an empty area of the hallway.

“You cannot run away like that, Midorima. This is unsufferable, what did I do for you to hate me?”

The crack in your voice strikes him directly in his heart, as he hastily says, almost screaming:

“I don’t hate you, but you do.”

You are speechless, not entirely grasping what is going on. It takes a minute for his words to sink in.

“I don’t hate you” you confess with a faint voice.

He looks at you, apparently surprised. You’ve never seen this expression on him before, so used to these emotionless gazes and his reaction has you equally stunned.

“I’d understand if you did. Truth is, something happened to me when we met, and when I realized that I’m not of your world and that I’d never be…”

“What do you mean?” you interrupt him.

“You’re a team owner, I’m a player. Even putting that aside, you’re clearly meant to be with someone like Takao… I had to shut down my irrational feelings. In some ways, the only way I could do so was channelling it into some sort of rage towards you. Now that I think about it, it is unfair towards you. I apologise for all the hurt I’ve caused you.”

Though you are trying to process his words, they fail to make sense to you. Maybe you aren’t in the right state of mind to understand him, or maybe he is really confusing. In all cases, you are unable to receive whatever message he is trying to convey.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand” you honestly say.

He looks at you, this warm shade you’ve seen previously on his cheeks appearing again. Somewhere inside of you, you feel like he’s about to strike you with something you are completely unprepared for.

“I think that I’m in love with you. I sincerely do. And the fact that we’re not meant to be together drives me insane.”

Your gut feeling was right. For what seems like an eternity, your mind is completely empty except for these mindboggling words. I think that I’m in love with you.

Your heart races as they sink in, every cell of your body flaming up like a bonfire. Waves of emotions take over you, the more you come to realise that you’ve heard him right and that none of this situation is untrue.

“Midorima…”

You take a step back, trying to catch your breath. You cannot remain speechless; you owe him an answer. But the issue is that you cannot make sense of your thoughts at all. As you try to put in order the mess in your head, you figure that you should take a minute to calm down. And so you do, remaining silent while you stop yourself from overreacting, and more importantly overthinking this situation. Ultimately, you conclude that the first thought to come to your mind has to be the undebatable truth on how you feel.

“I truly don’t hate you” you mutter.

You lock eyes, and a flash crosses his green iris. You act out of instinct, grabbing his face and leaving a kiss on his lips. The green-haired man takes a second to reply to your kiss, but soon enough you feel his fingers on your cheeks, his lips moving against yours with a sort of hunger, finally getting what he’s always wanted. You let yourself go – months of tension releasing in this contact, both of you letting down your masks as you lose yourselves in this kiss. When your lips separate, your mind is clear of miscellaneous thoughts. In this very moment, there is just you and him.

“I’ve wanted you for so long” he whispers against your lips.

You can’t tell for sure if you feel the same way, but right now you reciprocate his feeling. Some part of you actually does want more of him. It doesn’t matter if things make sense or not – feeling Midorima’s hands cupping your face makes your heart bloom.

“Then I’m all yours” you tell him.

Though hearing you say these words feels surreal, Midorima cannot care less. Before you know it, your fingers are intertwined in his while he walks out of the hallway, taking you to the lobby of the hotel where the ball takes place. The both of you twitch in the elevator taking you to his room, your hand still in his. The next sequence of events is beyond you, but you are now on his lap, on the bed of his hotel room, your fingers delicately removing his glasses.

“You have pretty eyes” you comment.

You’ve never taken the time to observe his face before. Those long eyelashes, this delicate face structure, those pink lips. He is truly gorgeous. You can help but kiss him passionately, your hips grinding against him. You feel the growing bulge in his slacks, grazing it purposely to hear these delicious moans escape his mouth. You smile against his lips, fuelling that flame that ignites inside of you.

“I want to have all of you” he pants.

“All of me?”

“All of you.”

Your entire soul explodes at these words, and you can help that feeling inside of you that urges you to take in as much of him as you can get. Your kisses trail down his neck as you unbutton his shirt, listening to the way you make him feel.

“Please tell me everything you’ve always wanted to do to me” you say against his skin.

His breath hitches, and you can feel his grip on your hips tightening. Something about you turns him into a different man, one that doesn’t think his actions but rather acts on instincts.

“I’ve always wanted to cover you in kisses” he confesses.

You get up, undressing before his lustful eyes before finding back your place on his lap. You give him a look, granting him his wish as his lips lay kisses on your face, your neck, your collarbones, the part of your chest that spills out of your lacy bra. You feel yourself melt under such softness, holding on to him in a way that begs for more. His hand reaches your back, unclasping your bra, and he stops his kisses to look at you again.

“And I’ve dreamed of the pretty sounds you’d make for me…”

His delicate fingers trace their way to your chest, cupping your gorgeous tits before grazing your hardened nipples. He keeps eye contact, watching the way your lips part for him, soft whimpers escaping them as he fondles your breasts.

“What else do you want to do to me?” you ask, the honey in your voice driving him even more insane.

One of his hands trails down your body, finding its place between both of your crotches. At this point, your underwear is a useless piece of fabric, serving no purpose to hide your arousal when he caresses your vulva over the fabric.

“I want to feel you get wet for me.”

“Then, what are you waiting for?”

He lands another passionate kiss on your lips before lifting you up, to delicately lay you on your back. He looks so natural between your legs, parting them easily and leaving wet kisses all the way down to your thighs. He looks up, searching for these eyes that he’s been accustomed to ignore – but this time all he wants is to see the way they look at him when he gets dangerously close to your core. He removes your underwear with caution, though if he could, he would have probably torn them a part. You lay there, exposed to his admiring eyes. Eyes that keep travelling between the prettiest pussy he’s ever seen, and the prettiest face he’s ever seen.

“I can’t believe I make you so wet” he comments, fingers gently grazing your folds to gather your juices.

He lifts his digits to your face, so you can see them glistening. You then realize that some twisted part of you has always wanted to witness this; for all the times you’ve laid your eyes on his manicured hands, you’ve always had that supressed thought, wondering how they’d feel inside you. And here you are, about to know what good they can do to you.

“Touch me, Midorima” you plead.

“Please call me by my first name.”

“Shintarō…”

You believe that it is a smile that appears on his face when he hears his name out of your mouth. He doesn’t make you wait; he doesn't want to. Those slender fingers keep exploring your cunt, gathering as much wetness as possible before teasing your aching clitoris. You sigh, the most adorable moans leaving your throat when he keeps expertly pleasuring you. And then come the moment you’ve wondered about for so long, the moment he pushes his finger inside your hole, your walls welcoming it so warmly. He pushes it further, paying attention to the contortions of your face. You are such a sight, with your lips curving upside, like you are about to smile for how good you feel under his touch. A second finger soon joins the previous one, both thrusting in and out, adjusting to the rhythm at which your hips move, demanding more.

“You’re gonna make me cum” you whimper.

“I want you to” he says, continuing to do what he’s doing.

As he goes, you feel your lower stomach pulse, knowing for a fact that you will reach your orgasm in no time. Watching you go crazy on his fingers, Midorima feels his erection hard against the fabric of his boxer. The more you approach your high, the harder he gets, the sight of you being his aphrodisiac. And then finally you clench around his digit, whining out his name, he realizes that he cannot wait any longer. He wants – no, he needs – to feel you around him.

His fingers leave you as you come down from your high, and he kisses you before standing up, removing all the clothes he has on him. You prop yourself up on your elbows, taking in the heavenly spectacle of his body. Tones muscles, this soft, milky skin, those beauty marks and freckles, and this deep V line that leads you to his gorgeous, gorgeous cock. You crawl by reflex towards him, ready to take his length in your hands and taste it, but as you get closer, he grabs your chin, propping your head up so you look at him.

“Shin!”

He swears under his breath facing your doe eyes. In other circumstances, maybe he’d let you toy around with his dick, but right now, he cannot afford to.

“How do you want me?” he asks you.

“In my mouth, please!”

He shakes his head, lowering his face to the same level as yours.

“I’m sorry princess, but I cannot let you. You’ve made me impatient, and I need to be buried deep inside you. Tell me again, how do you want me?”

You stare at him, a bit stunned by his word, though hearing him call you “princess” definitely has you more needy than you already are. You sit on your heels, thinking of your answer to his question.

“I just want to see your face when you fuck me” you honestly reply.

“Anything for you” he replies, before leaving a kiss on your lips again.

He disappears momentarily to find a condom in the bathroom, and when he comes back, he lays you back down on your back, once again placing his body between your legs. He hovers above you, letting you admire that specific look on his face. You’ve seen it before, that look of confidence he wears when he is on the court, shooting with acute precision. His tip goes between your lips, teasing your entrance. You pull him closer, incapable of waiting any longer to have him in you.

“Next time I’ll let you play with me, I promise” he softly says. “Are you ready?”

You nod enthusiastically, and he finally enters you, inch by inch. You struggle to keep your eyes open, submerged by the pleasure; he feels exactly like you expect him to, almost like he was made to fit you so perfectly. His movements are first slow and suave, and he carefully observes your face, waiting for the moment when he can properly go deep. Seeing how your lips quiver, he takes it as the greenlight to pick up the pace and the depth. You wrap your legs around his dainty waist so you can feel him as deep as possible. The more you go, the more you start to lose your mind. Between your desperate moans and his grunts, the lewd sounds coming from his hotel room can certainly be heard by the neighbours; but you couldn’t care less.

“You’re so good” you manage to articulate.

“You know I always give the best performance ever” he laughs softly.

You smile, your hips starting to move in harmony with his. He stands back for a second, taking in as much as he can. Those eyes, these parted lips, those pink cheeks, these gorgeous tits bouncing with each thrust. Here it is, the sight Midorima has always dreamed to see. After months of trying to repress the way he feels about you, months of unjustified coldness, months of feeling like he doesn’t deserve you – you are finally his.

“Shintarō, I-“

“I know, cum for me again my love, I know you can” he mutters in your ear.

His words go straight to your pussy, clenching around him. He groans, going harder as you see stars. He watches with a tender look on his face as you release around him, riding out your high on his cock. It takes him a couple of more thrusts before he also cums, his head falling in the crook of your neck soon after. You stay here, your hands finding their way to his hair, curling his lock while you lay butterfly kisses on his forehead, temple, and cheek.

“That’s way better than having you stare me down like I’ve killed your grandma” you chuckle.

His laugh echoes against your skin. He gets up, leaving you after one more peck on the lips.

“I apologise again for behaving like I did with you.”

You shake your head.

“It’ll take time, but I’ll make sure that you’re always this sweet to me from now on.”

“Anything for you.”

#when i tell you i'm a simp for that man lmao #took me some time but it was really enjoyable to work on this request #i hope you love it <3 #kuroko no basuke #knb #midorima shintarou #midorima x reader #midorima smut #knb smut

[doctorstethoscope]

Ranked Scale || A. Hotchner x Reader

Hiiii it’s @ssahotchswife ‘s Soft Hotch Saturday again

warnings: slight angst, mention of canon-typical violence and death, light swearing

Reader has a bad day and Aaron comforts them.

wc: 1k

It was a Friday night, and you were going to spend it with a man who loved you-- you were going to cook dinner, share a bottle of wine, and cuddle on the couch. So, essentially, you had no reason to be so frustrated, but you were. Not with Aaron, of course, who rarely had a free night and was choosing to spend it with you, but because of the absolute shit day you’d had at work. 

You were determined not to let it ruin your night, but there was no amount of stress-cleaning that could calm you down. Once the apartment was spotless, you started on dinner. You were giving an onion an aggressive chop before Aaron knocked and let himself in. For Jack’s sake, you had agreed not to move in together until you were engaged, but you had keys to each other’s places-- and you hoped you’d be able to move soon.  

“Hi, angel,” Aaron said, meeting you in the kitchen and dropping a kiss to the top of your head. You melted a little despite yourself-- Aaron’s presence always allowed you to settle, at least a little bit. 

“Hi, my love. It’s good to see you.” You said to the cutting board, focused intently on your chopping. 

“Are you okay? You’re tense,” he says, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. Damn profilers. 

“Better now that you’re here,” You answered honestly, tilting your chin up to leave a kiss on his jaw. “D’you want to get a pot of water started for the pasta?” You asked, hoping to distract him with a task. He gives your hips a little squeeze before he separates from you, a reminder that he sees your emotions and that they’re important to him. 

“Hon, this chicken isn’t defrosted.” 

You absolutely were not going to cry over frozen chicken. “You sure?” You asked with a drastic sigh, your chin already quivering. 

“Yeah, I’m sure. We can just order takeout, it’s not a big deal.”

“You had takeout all week on this case. I wanted to make you dinner. With vegetables.” You complained. 

“It’s okay. You can make me fresh cereal in the morning and we’ll call it even.” He jokes with you, and you absolutely lose it. You’re crying before any cell in your body can tell you to stop, and you watch as Aaron’s face contorts from that silly grin that you love so much, to a picture of concern. 

“Angel, what’s the matter?” He asks, but you’re already taking off to the bedroom, shutting the door behind you. It doesn’t stop him from entering. 

“Can you go for a walk or something? And come back when I’m not acting completely certifiable?” You asked, your words muffled as you had settled into the bed on your stomach, face firmly planted in a pillow. 

“Sweetheart, I know you’re not this upset about dinner, so will you please tell me what’s going on?” he asks, settling himself next to you in bed and rubbing a soothing hand over your back. 

“It’s silly,” you tell him, flipping over so that you’re on your back and he can hear you better. You stare up at the ceiling, not willing to look him in the eye when you know you look like a mess. 

“I’m sure it’s not.” He tells you, taking one of your hands in his.

“I just had a rough day at work. I missed a deadline because a client didn’t get their edits back to me in time, but my boss didn’t even care that it wasn’t my fault. And I’m working on that project with a couple of guys from finance, and they are not pulling their weight at all, and it’s getting overwhelming. And it’s like, really, who am I to complain, because yes, that’s annoying, but I’m not exactly putting on a vest and chasing after serial killers, and I don’t have to comfort grieving family members, or study dead bodies, or--”

“Hey, hey.” He said, cutting you off. “There’s no ranked scale of suffering, hon. There are parts of my job that are hard, and there are parts of your job that are hard, and they are just hard in different ways. You don’t ever have to feel like you can’t tell me about work stuff because you think my job is harder-- I chose my path and you chose yours, and sometimes work just sucks, regardless of what you chose.” 

“I’m sorry. I really didn’t want my bad attitude to ruin our night.” You tell him, sitting up in bed and wiping the tears away from your face. 

“You didn’t ruin anything, and you don’t have a bad attitude. You’re upset, and that’s allowed, and I’d like to help make you feel better if you’d let me.” He tells you, and you take a moment to consider it. 

‘Okay,” you tell him, feeling shier than you’d like. 

“Go ahead and lay back down.” He tells you, pulling the blanket you kept at the foot of your bed over you. You snuggle into both him and the mattress, but he stays sitting up. You give him an inquisitive look and he just smiles at you, lifting a hand to play with your hair. It’s so quiet that you almost miss it, but after a moment, he starts to sing. 

“If I fell in love with you, would you promise to be true and help me understand? Cause I’ve been in love before, and I found that love was more than just holding hands.” 

You were practically beaming now, your head resting on his thigh, his hands tracing relaxing patterns on your scalp, and him treating you to his pretty, pretty voice, which he rarely ever did. 

The first time you heard him sing was on your first date, him lazily singing along to the radio as he drove you home. You told him he had a pretty voice-- he blushed, and you decided that you wanted to marry him. Tonight was the night that he’d realize that he wanted to marry you, too.  

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner fic #aaron hotchner imagine #hotch x you #hotch x reader #hotchner x reader #hotch x y/n #aaron hotch fanfiction #i feel like this one ends kind of abruptly oops

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 13: ...O-OH?

it’s the night of the big stream. y/n uncovers a strange, albeit deep, bond with charlie. corpse interrupts her garden date with sykkuno quite unceremoniously. tensions are high as ever; proximity chat reveals internal monologues and stray thoughts. y/n’s “batshit insane” energy affects everyone. this is, quite literally, the best game of among us bretman has ever played.

─── corpse husband x reader, sykkuno x reader (if you squint, it’s very one sided)  ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 6.1k oops ─── ❥ reqs: sum people requested some interaction w bretman + jealous corpse + flirty sykkuno

author’s note: guys....GUYS WE’RE ON THE 3RD “OH” hope ur excited cus i am!!! this was rly fun to write, but then again, everything is better than writing an essay lmao! this is extremely chaotic and a bit seggsy but like a minuscule bit u wont even notice it i swear xx there’s not much social media in this one, mostly written lol. as always lmk wat u think n thank u for all ur kind words n sooo manyyyy ideassss!!! love u lots

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It’s happening, you think, picking the discreet, angelic white color for your astronaut - with a halo and all, truly, you are a seraph that stepped through the gates of heaven and descended onto earth to grace these morals with your presence...quite literally, you’re not only donning white in game, but also in real life, cute as a button or more like as a bunny. Cat girls are overrated - cat boys, on the other hand, you’ll ardently defend till your last breath - but bunny girls...Safe to say, your chat had been going feral. Your endless ego is fed well. You even swore on your heart that no devilish trickery would follow in this game - you had left your snake ways behind you.

No one believed you. The Roaches know you too fucking well.

The influx of new subs, however, do not. Look at this cute girl! She wouldn’t hurt a fly! You chuckle at the compliments. At the exact same moment, Rae pipes up on the discord call, “Y/n is leering and cackling evilly. No one trust her.”

Demon woman herself must be watching your stream before starting her own. You pout, all adorable and innocent, but your eyes gleam slyly. Truly, a mastermind of manipulation! Look at you go! The chat is swooning. The viewer number steadily climbs past 16K and you hum happily, welcoming all that decided to join your little clan, “Don’t listen to Rae. Wifey is mad because I said I’m not bringing her back a souvenir. Well guess what, bitch, I’m the gift.”

Your perfect image does not quite align with your tone, nor the affectionate nickname you call your roommate (bitch, not wifey). The new viewers are none the wiser though, just like your new stream mates.

There is laughter from people you don’t quite know. The lobby is almost full, but not everyone has trickled in yet.

“Filing divorce papers right now.” Rae mumbles, but you hear the smile in her voice. It makes you crack a grin, too. 

More hello’s and shy introductions to the people in the lobby. Sykkuno’s green astronaut pops in with a upbeat, “Hey, everyone! Hi, Y/n!” as his character circles around yours. A collective awww echoes in your stream chat as you, quite breathless at the wholesomeness, reply with a “Hi! Hi hi!” as well.

Corpse is next to join, mysteriously ominous. The discord call is pure chaos, everyone screaming over the other variations of his name while stressing different syllables. Silent as a grave, he just stands there, his black astronaut seemingly eyeing everyone in the lobby. 

Alas, when the noise dies down, he utters, “Whaddup, baby.” and it’s pandemonium all over again. You are screeching/laughing along with the rest. His astronaut swiftly glides to Sykkuno, still circling around you, “Hey, Sykkuno.” He says. The latter abruptly stops. The game hasn’t even started, and already - betrayal! Sykkuno starts circling around Corpse now, leaving you in the dust.

“Hey, dude!”

“Yo,” You interrupt, “I’m like here too, yeah?”

“Fight, fight, fight!” Pokimane jeers. You can’t see her, but you’re certain she’s pumping her fists in the air. 

“Let’s leave the bloodshed for the game, yeah?” Dream offers past her laugh ridden urging.

“No, fuck that, let’s start this shit right now,” Charlie declares - his monotone is strangely pleasant to the ear, and you lean back in your chair with a thoughtful hum. Something about his energy just clicks with yours instantly, but perhaps you’re judging too quickly- “Got my fucking knife ready to slit some throats. You can all pretend you aren’t ready to kill on sight, but that’s not me. I’ll teabag your dead fucking body.”

-yeah, no, your initial estimate had been correct! What a pleasant surprise, you feel like you and he will get along beautifully. 

“Way to be subtle, Charles.” Rae snorts.

“Subtle doesn’t make an interesting game, Rae,” He’s quick to bite back, “and if I’m Impostor, you bet your fucking ass I’m going after you first.”

“Noooooo!” She shrieks, rushing to your astronaut, which is still just standing there, abandoned, like the equivalent of that one emoji, “Y/n, protect me.”

“Of course, baby.” You purr. 

There’s mumbling in the discord call, though it’s barely audible. Corpse seems to be repeating the word to himself: Baby...Baby?...Baby...

“You’re gonna stab me in the back the first chance you get, won’t you?” She questions, already painfully aware of the answer.

“You know it!”

“Finally, someone that’s not fucking cowering in their boots and flaunting their real nature.” Charlie says, “Y/n, form a Big Dick Alliance with me.”

“Oh for sure, man.” You agree immediately, trailing to his in game figure, “Let’s show these virgins how it’s done.”

“This is going to be a mess, isn’t it?” Sean’s voice rings with a cheerful laugh, making you flustered. Yes, you’re actually playing with THE JacksepticeyeTM. You still haven’t fully wrapped your head around that part, “I’m very excited to see where this will go.”

“Nowhere good.” You say with unparalleled sincerity - every word you speak to him, the icon, the legend, the one of the few youtubers you actually actively follow, must be genuine. You doubt you can lie to him. He’s too good of a person. You admire him too much. Stuck between wanting to be a shady bitch and an absolute saint, you refrain from addressing him more - you are simply not worthy.

its the y/n trying to act like a normal person in front of jack for me

ikr she looks ready to join the monastery

each day we stray closer to gods light???

Your viewers are snide as always. Gosh, you love them.

The last player pops in, fashionably late, “Hey, y’all.”

“Hey, Bretman!” The call choruses somewhat harmoniously.

“Hi, daddy.” He’s speaking to Corpse now, a smile in his voice - you can hear it even past the static of his atrocious mic. Your eyes widen, eyebrows shooting up. Your friends are cackling, but confusion refrains you from doing the same - were you not the only one Corpse offered, seemingly so long ago!, to be his sugar baby? 

One betrayal after the other. You’re glad for the Big Dick Alliance. The name has a nice right to it, too. 

Corpse laughs, “...Hey, Bretman. How are you today?”

Damn, two sentences for him, but not even a word spoken to you!? You’re already scripting a very melodramatic paragraph you will text him after the stream. With poorly masked discontent, you mutter, “Wow, thanks for such a warm welcome, Corpse, my day’s going great, yeah, loving the company.”

“Now now miss girl,” Bretman chimes, “we can’t be all daddy’s favorite.”

“Careful,” Charlie drones, “I think you just got yourself onto Y/n’s shit list.”

“Right next to Corpse Husband and Valkyrae.” You agree, “Sykkuno!” You suddenly call him.

“Uhm-Uh-Yes?” Is his nervous reply.

“You’re safe.” You state coldly, “For now.”

“You are not going after Sykkuno on my watch.” It must be a belated holiday miracle because Corpse finally decides to address you. His words seem to awake something in him, “Hey-Hey-Hey-” He swiftly glides to you, standing right next to your minute virtuous angel, “When are you coming back to Cali?”

corpse stop acting weird challenge

literally omg lmao

he does bring up a good point y/n y u not in cali yet?!

^pack it up corpse simp he disrespected the queen when he didnt say hi

“Back off, buddy,” Charlie interjects, “this spot is for Big Dick Alliance members only.”

“I’m never returning.” You inform him, your voice cold like the Arctic snow, and the look in your eyes is no kinder. You feel like you’re having a stare down through screen. 

Silence stretches. Is this an intimidation tactic? Because if it is, it’s a paltry one. Your conviction to be petty is stronger than any vulnerability you might feel.

“Then I have nothing to say to you.” He admits and fucks right off with that. Fine, go join Sykkuno and Rae in their little corner of betrayal! Friendship ended with Corpse, now Charlie is your best friend.

“Okay, guys, guys, guys-” Toast, noting this is going to spiral any minute now, tries to catch their attention, “Let’s start?!”

You look into your camera, and the roaches know what you’re thinking. You’re twins like that, communicating telepathically. You are taking back your tender promise of not being a conniving bastard. It’s fucking on. You will destroy everyone in your path, starting with the guy you have a stupid crush on - maybe?! Feelings are confusing, you’d rather just not think point blank period.

With no objections from the cast, the counter ticks away seconds and, for the first round, you’re stuck as CREW MATE.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

Charlie is a gift. Truly, you had not expected such a sudden, wonderful relationship to bloom. How have you not known of him sooner?! It’s a crime that you hadn’t spoken to him earlier. You are a 100% certain if you had found him before you started streaming, he would’ve been a big inspiration. 

The two of you do your silly little tasks and curse like sailors, commenting about this and that thanks to proximity chat. You wouldn’t have been able to stand the claustrophobic silence if it was just a normal Among Us game - to think, missing out on all his foully worded quips! It almost springs a tear into your eye. He’s just as unhinged as you.

worried about this dynamic 

its a trainwreck lol i love it plz collab more plz

Caught in a headed discussion in Electrical - TikTok trends, or audios specifically - you defend the app the best you can. Charlie thinks it’s super cringe, and you insist it’s part of the charm as you connect wires.

“I mean, have...-do you know that one audio, the one that goes, like,” You’re spilling your words, heated, frustrated that he’s so dismissive of the app that literally saved 2020, “it goes like, uhm,” You clear your throat, prep your voice - even take a sip of your favorite drink. Drawing the syllables, you try your best to make it drop an octave - it must sound like you’re doing an atrociously bad and nauseatingly scratchy Corpse impression with an extra dramatic flair, “My assssssss, your cockkk, you do the mathhh.”

“Did-Did I just-” You freeze hearing Corpse’s voice, finally done with your task. Charlie is muffling his laughter behind his palm; Corpse’s astronaut stands in the doorway, “What the fuck did I just walk into?” He seems genuinely confused, though a strangely winded. You’re mortified. Your shoulders are shaking. You look at the stream chat but it’s going too fast for you to follow. Manic laughter bubbles in your chest and you squeeze your eyes shut, mouth split into a toothy grin, lowering your head and trying to hide the blush dusting your cheeks.

“Hey? Guys? What the fuck are you talking about?” He questions again.

“Honestly?” Charlie chimes, “No fucking clue. TikTok, I think. Ask Y/n.”

You can’t reply. You’re crying. You cover your face with your palms, muttering a soft oh my god before bursting into a full blow laugh, throwing your head back, the motion accidentally knocking your headphones off.

“Y/n.” Corpse calls you, “Fuck was that?”

You’re howling. Your stomach hurts. There are literal tears in your eyes. You think Charlie might be laughing too, but you can’t really tell over your loud screeching. Hastily fixing your headphones, you wipe away the tears stuck to your lower lashes, heaving, “S-Sorry, I-” You stutter, breaking into another fit of giggles. Corpse patiently waits you to calm down. Catching your breath, you start again with a sniffle, “TikTok, yeah.” You idly fix your hair, trying to bite down a smile, “It’s an audio.”

“What- What kind of videos are you watching?”

“The good kind.” Your reply is instant, merciless, “Also, why are you here? We’re having a BDA meeting, you know.”

“I-I...” He trails off, “I...I heard people talking and...I just came here to check it out, but...I’m regretting it.” There’s a lilt in his voice, and you know he doesn’t regret jack shit. You bet he’s smiling. You wish you could see it.

“Bitch, then leave!” You huff. You aren’t sure what is with him today, and you don’t want to stick around and find out - his playfulness makes your stomach flip at the most inappropriate times! Like when you’re trying to sound threatening. You must retreat posthaste, “No, wait, I’ll do it for you.” You say, brushing past his character. Charlie follows after you.

“Dude, you’re so fucking lucky neither of us are the Impostor because you’d be deader than I’ve been feeling since I was 10.” Your favorite companion comments. Charlie is truly a modern wordsmith. You’re pretty sure you adore him, because you’re nodding your head, so quick to agree with him that even you’re surprised. 

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

A meeting is called. You spare a glance at your fallen crew mates. They will be missed. Sean most of all, God, why does heaven always take the good ones?! The game feels emptier without him, even if you really only passed him once on your trek to Cafeteria with Charlie.

You may or may not have been avoiding him, afraid you’d accidentally say something horrible and he would hate you. It’s a silly fear, though a deep one. And with Charlie keeping you company, you had not uttered a single objectively  good, or even coherent, sentence. Your parents can’t watch this stream once it’s uploaded onto your Youtube channel. They know you’re barely keeping it together in most of your videos, but here, now? Yeah, no. Charlie is already hard to listen to on his own for sensitive viewers, and hearing you agree with literally everything he says with your own chaotic ideas? Your dad would stumble into an early grave.

Mom probably wouldn’t mind too much, but you’d have to explain your relationship status again. She is under the assumption that everyone you collab with is your significant other. You’d say it began with Sykkuno, though the exclamation of “Finally! My daughter isn’t pathetically single! We need to celebrate.” had started with Rae. Truly, a scandal.

Speaking of which, Sykkuno is gone, too, but you had time to mourn him already. You found his body roughly ten minutes ago; so torn with the fresh agony of heartbreak, you could not do anything else but cry. It was Charlie, bless his heart, that reported it.

“Someone killed Jack,” You say, voice dripping with venom, “court is now in session. I’m ready to vote the fucker out.”

People speak all at once. Toast roars over them, “ORDER! ODER IN COURT!” as he slams his hand onto his desk repeatedly. That seems to work, though briefly.

“I think it’s Y/n.” Corpse says. You stare at him, hand gripping your heart, mouth falling open in surprise.

flame him

corpse boutta be a corpse fr

beat his ass queen!!!!!

“Pardon my french,” You grumble, “but nani the fuck?!”

“It’s definitely Y/n, I found her and Charlie conspiring in Electrical. Surrealist experience of my fucking life, but it’s definitely her.”

“Dude, we’ve been over this,” Charlie sighs, shushing Rae who was about to comment something - knowing your luck, it was probably in favor of the man throwing you under the bus, “we would’ve snapped your fucking neck the moment you walked in. But we didn’t.”

“Yeah, we didn’t.” Corpse notes, “I said nothing about you, I’m just saying it’s definitely her. She probably didn’t kill in front of you because of your stupid alliance-”

“Someone sounds salty because he wasn’t invited.” Pokimane snickers.

“-or possibly she did tell you and you won’t betray her for the exact same reason.”

“That’s some big brain logic you pulled there, genius,” Charlie says, absolutely unimpressed, “sure you didn’t have an aneurysm trying to connect all of that together?”

“Well,” Rae pipes up, “Y/n and Charlie did say they will kill right before the game started. If you ask me, it’s not unbelievable. And Sykkuno was sorta on the shit list.”

“I’m writing down your name twice, Rachell.” You spit.

“Not helping your case at all, Y/n...” Dream worries, “And Rae makes a good point. Charlie and you have professed desire for murder. I’m just saying! It’s a bit suspicious, you know?”

The next words to leave Corpse’s lips sound incredibly smug, “See?” He drawls.  The pressure is getting to you - you don’t understand where this beguiling talent of his to convince literally everyone comes from, but it doesn’t inspire any confidence. Your fist suddenly feels incredibly lonely, so useless - oh, how you long to swing at him, “It’s definitely Y/n.”

“I dunno...” Toast mumbles.

“It’s Y/n.”

“Corpse-” You try, but he's ignoring you - shocker, as if he hadn’t been doing that from the very start of this stupid game - and chanting your name like it’s a fucking mantra or something, a smile in his voice, knowing, relishing in the fact that he’s grating on your nerves, “FIRST OF ALL,” You scream into the mic, successfully cutting him off; catching your breath, you exhale, and continue, calmly, lowly,  “get my pretty name out of your mouth.” 

There’s a pause full of tense silence. 

Then, there’s a sound, seemingly stuck in the back of his throat, “...O-Oh...?”

“Second of all,” You continue, words like honey dipped in arsenic, “This is the clearest smear campaign I have ever witnessed. By how hard you’re trying to frame me for fuck knows what reason, I’m led to believe it’s you that killed them. You’re the Impostor.”

“Corpse wouldn’t kill Sykkuno, though.” Rae comments, skeptical.

“Then the other Impostor did it.” You counter.

“Maybe you’re both Impostors.” Pokimane chirps.

“Y/n would never betray the Big Dick Alliance like that.” Charlie states.

You grin, “Charlie, I literally love you.” 

“Wait hold up now,” Corpse seems to get his bearings together, “what’s this about love I’m hearing?”

“I have none for you, dick.” You snap, flipping him off. Your chat cheers. While he can’t see it, you hope he senses it through the screen, “I officially hate you.”

“No, wait-”

“Boo, Corpse, you suck.” Toast laughs.

“Y/n, please-”

“Let’s all vote for Corpse Husband, okay?” You say it like it’s his full official name with an encouraging smile and multiple soft nods. Sykkuno can’t be here to nod, so you’ll do it for him. You eye the rapidly decreasing timer before clicking on Corpse’s figure and voting for him. The VOTED icon instantly pops up beside your adorable astronaut.

“Baby, I-” It slips past his lips so easily, as if he’s not even thinking about it, like it’s only natural to call you that and a spike of anxiety shoots up, making you glare. It’s only halfhearted. You try your best to ignore the rapid and uncoordinated pulses of your heart. Replace unwanted feelings with anger and hate - works like a charm, every time.

“You are not allowed to call me that.” You hiss. The chat spams snake emojis. 

“Wait-” Bretman chimes, “Hold up, y’all, slow down a minute. Why does Corpse never call me baby?”

“Yeah!” Pokimane agrees, “I want to be baby, too!”

Pokimane may not have been called baby, but you just single-handedly decided her nickname for her - Target 4. Welcome to the shit list, she is officially your public enemy number 1. You aren’t sure why the thought of Corpse ever referring to anyone else as baby makes you sick to your stomach (you actually do know why, but brain no think at the moment), but you wish this whole conversation never happened. You don’t like it.

20 seconds left. More VOTED icons appear by your friends. Corpse is the last one to cast his ballot at, you assume, you, as the rest wait for his quick explanation before everyone (or not) returns to the game, “...Because she’s my baby.”

Goodbye. Life had been sweet, and there was sorrow, though the amount of embarrassment you feel now is worse than when the internet found your cringe worthy high school pictures on your mom’s Facebook. It’s a mixture of dread and excitement - the pleasure of being noticed, cherished even, though anxious from vulnerability. Someone is screaming a very prolonged “WHAAAAT?!”, or maybe multiple people are, you aren’t sure, your ears start to hurt from the loud, conflicting cacophony of voices as you stare blankly at the screen. You received two votes, just like Corpse, Charlie got one, the rest skipped. With no one flung out, you all find yourself back in Cafeteria again.

Baby. My baby? My baby. My baby. The sentence is playing ping-pong in your mind, reverberating louder each time. You’re actually speechless for the first time in your life; your chest hurts, your heart beating so fast your hands start shaking. Had he meant it? Or was this a some joke? Was he trying to get a rise out of you again? You might just go insane from so many questions. My baby. Holy shit, this is a heart attack, this is what a heart attack feels like, dear God, you figured you at least had ten years before you get one!

  ✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

First round ends with IMPOSTORS raining victorious. Your sixth sense had been working wonders since, true to you previous estimate, it had been Corpse. His companion was Pokimane. For absolutely no reason what’s so ever, you change her name once more from Target 4 to Target 1. Normally, you’re all for girls supporting girls. Men don’t deserve anything, really, but now you’re so flustered and still reeling from what you are 80% sure was cardiac arrest that you genuinely don’t care about your established morals.

Round two starts without much deliberation. You get CREW MATE again; the game must sense your growing bloodlust, making sure that once you do get IMPOSTOR, you will not hold back. True power is granted to those who are ready and strong enough to wield it. You wait for your moment with bated breath.

Charlie is taken from you too early. The two of you were once again caught in a discussion - God knows about what, Minecraft, hentai, oh! your server! - as you tried to card swipe for the umpteenth time. The lights blew out and you just knew one of you was getting murdered there and then. Charlie’s voice abruptly cut off, and you think a part of you died with him.

It’s a cold meeting; with your new best friend being the first to go, everyone decides to skip. You proclaim you seek vengeance. When the meeting comes to an end, Sykkuno is the first to offer his condolences.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” He says, and while he’s not in Brooklyn, you somehow feel him patting your back. You feign a sniffle.

“There’s nothing to apologize for...” You murmur sadly, “Unless...” Your voice turns sharp as the knife that was surely twisted into Charlie’s back, “It was you?”

“NO!” He exclaims, “I would never-you gotta believe me! I would never kill him. I know he’s important to you. I wouldn’t do that, I swear.”

“He was like a brother to me.” You admit, solemn, “Charlie, if you’re haunting me right now, know I will avenge you. I will not let this go.”

Sykkuno hums, circling around you, “Hey, I have a task in Greenhouse. Would you, uh--Would like to, uhm, join me?” Despite the shaky start, he finishes on a firm, pleasant note. He’s trying to cheer you up. Having lost your closest friend, he’s offering you his company. You accept with a soft smile and a cute “Yes, please!” and he releases an airy little laugh. The two of you make your way to your favorite place in map MIRA.

It’s difficult to stay sad for long when Sykkuno’s so sweet; the atmosphere of the Greenhouse is strangely calming; your problems seem to be left behind the shut doors. If you tried hard enough, you could imagine being in an actual Greenhouse - the warm, damp air clinging to your skin, the unmistakable smell of earth and vegetation, the pleasant silence broken only by yours and his hushed voices and clumsy footsteps.

The two of you are talking. Mainly about your choice of attire. Cat first, Sykkuno ponders aloud, doing his task as you watch the plants grow, now bunny, what’s next? You affirm that you will most likely dress up in cow-print next, or as an adorable sheep. He laughs, admitting you’ll look good in anything before he trails off. His awkwardness is really endearing. 

“Or!” You chirp happily, content with being locked away with him for the whole game. The idea must be playing in his mind, too, because he seems in no rush to leave, “I could, like, dress as someone from My Hero Academia. I watched the stream you did with Stella, the one where she made you look like Todoroki. It was really cute. You were really cute.”

“Oh, uhm-well, uh, thank you, thanks, I, uhm-” He clears his throat, and despite his stutter, you hear the smile in his voice, “I-I think you’d look better, though. Not as Todoroki. Or, probably as Todoroki, too. But, uhm, what character are you thinking about?”

“Maybe Momo?”

“Momo!” He yeps, “Momo is good. Yeah, she’s great. You’ll-uhm-you’ll look amazing. Really. Momo is awesome. Very pretty. Just like you.”

You are blushing. A stupid, toothy grin makes your cheeks hurt. Your eyes flicker to the chat, but again, it’s going wild. Giggling, you thank him for his sweet words, so giddy it’s honestly embarrassing. Why can’t you stop smiling? This is incriminating. You hide your lips behind your palm.

“...What’s this?” Corpse question. You had failed to note his sudden appearance, too busy gushing. “Am I interrupting?”

“Hey, Corpse!” Sykkuno greets. For someone so awkward and shy, he sure is good at hiding it when he wants to. Perhaps it’s all an act and you had been deviously tricked! Probably not, but you can’t help but narrow your eyes suspiciously, finally able to calm down. You definitely underestimated him, you just haven’t figured out how yet, “Not really! Y/n was sad Charlie died so I took her here.”

“You interrupted our date, dipshit.” You deadpan. 

“...Fuck you say?” Corpse dares, his voice low and somewhat menacing - for someone who exclusively portrays his emotions through only his voice, he’s incredibly hard to read. This is payback. Your love for wreaking havoc resurfaces suddenly. Serves him right for pulling all this ignoring shit at the start. Maybe you’ll make him say oh again.

Your sly smirk is promptly wiped. Fuck. He said oh, he literally said oh out loud. The Teruhashi fangirl in you is screaming. You had been so caught up in defending yourself you didn’t even register it at first. Alarmed, you look at the camera, then at the chat. First oh, then my baby. There’s no way he had been teasing you, and this proves it. Holy shit. You mouth the words “HE SAID OH!” for your audience only.

now she notices

snail pace baby we’ve been loosing our shit for the past hour 

corpse x y/n saikik au enemies to lovers 500k words slow burn im here for it

opening wattpad rn^

Your heart races in your chest - it might be considered an Olympic medalist at this point; flustered yet again, you wish you could cave into yourself. You should’ve brought your bright blue wig with you to Brooklyn. Turns out it would have been perfect for this stream. Yes, yes thinking about unnecessary details always works in distracting you from the butterflies throwing a fucking rave in your stomach. 

“I guess it is a date!” Sykkuno admits, “Kinda after a funeral, but still.”

Corpse hums. You’re still too stunned to say anything. The black astronaut with adorable cat ears approaches Sykkuno. 

“It’s not.” He states. Your mouth falls open in shock as your date, your companion, the Shoto to your Momo is murdered in cold blood right in front of you. His lifeless body, cut in half, lays on the tiles by the growing flowers, right beside you, “You didn’t see shit.”

“...I didn’t see shit.” Is all you can utter, breathless and terrified.

“Thaaaat’s fucking right, baby.” Corpse coos, “Now I’m gonna report it, and I’ll say we found Sykkuno together. Better stick close to me after the meeting, got it?”

If Sykkuno is Shoto, then Corpse is definitely Dabi. 

why is that kinda hot tho omg

didn’t know i needed dom corpse since now but i do

y/n looks like shes boutta throw up lmao 

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You follow him around like a lost puppy - because what else is left for you to do!? You’re helpless in this situation. He’s got you in the palm of his hand, successfully eliminating everyone you had previously interacted with. First it was Charlie, then Sykkuno, even Sean, who said hello in passing, was shot instantly. Real Sangwoo behavior. You almost want to scream warnings at everyone to not approach you. You cannot mourn another lost crew mate, you don’t think your conscience can take it. But words fail to form. You’re too weak. You fake cry to your audience. They’re quick to remind you to stop acting like a little bitch.

“Mean.” Is all you say, eyeing the comments.

“Hm?”

“Was talking to the roaches.”

“What are they saying?”

“That I should betray you.”

“...Better not.”

A shiver shoots up your spine and you half believe he will bust down your door and drag you into his basement for real. A nervous laugh slips past your lips, “I won’t, I won’t.” You reassure him, “Don’t worry, I’m sticking with you. I haven’t seen shit.”

“I like that you listen to me. You always this agreeable?”

“You’re kinda not giving me a choice right now.” You grumble, vending yourself a drink while he looms behind you, protecting you. From who?! Himself?!

“Oh my fucking God, finally,” Bretman exclaims, “girl, I’ve been running around the whole map trynna find someone, is everyone like, dead?”

You’re scared to reply. Corpse does it for you, “Uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, maybe? Not sure. Where have you been?”

“Oh you know,” Bretman grins, “doing tasks, talking shit, the usual. You two are not, like, Impostors right?”

You shoot a look at Corpse, but he obviously can’t see it. Biting your lip, you murmur, “Nope.”

“Just your regular crew mates doing regular crew mate things.” Corpse says, no, purrs. Because that’s not suspicious at all. You’d recommend Bretman to run, and not only because that sounded shady as fuck. But he seems to enjoy danger, or he just doesn’t care.

“Hmmmm, crew mates, sure. Miss girl Y/n,” He’s addressing you now; you smile anxiously, “How come every time I see you, you’re with a different man?! Like damn, leave some for the rest of us, for real!”

You like Bretman. You like his high-pitched whine and drawl. You would like him even more if not for the complex situation at hand. You fear for his life. Chewing at your bottom lip, you snicker, “Sorry, Bret. I can leave you Corpse if you want?”

He laughs, “Girl, I’d say yes so fucking quick, but I know he wouldn’t want that. Normally I wouldn’t care, but y’all are such a cute couple it’s making me not want to be a shady motherfucking bitch. Changing my ways, embracing the lord. Love it.”

 Corpse doesn’t correct him that you are, in fact, not dating. His lack of reaction unnerves you slightly. Does he...? No! No think! Only exist! You catch that train of thought and steer it away from forbidden territory. Looks like it’s up to you to clear the air, and that is exactly what you do after trying to swallow down the lump in your throat, “Uh, we’re not together, actually. We’re just really good friends.”

“Bitch, then move over,” Bretman says snappily,”go like, back to your other boyfriends. Or find another one. I think I saw Dream near Navigation.”

“Near Navigation, huh?” Corpse hums thoughtfully. It’s a subtle warning, but you catch it. Yeah, even if you try running, Dream’s going to join your other ‘boyfriends’ in the afterlife. Granted, killing someone by just talking with them is kind of cool. Or maybe Stockholm Syndrome is finally kicking in, “Bret, the thing is, Y/n’s scared of dying, so she asked me to stay with her.”

It’s disturbing how good at lying he is. It is also really really attractive, as bizarre as that is.

y/n stop being in a toxic relationship with corpse challenge

making fanart of this omg her face

its the blushing for me girl get your head outta the gutter!

^she cant, it lives there

“Baby, you’re gonna fucking die if you stick with her,” Bretman points out, “have you noticed the mortality rate of her partners? Rest in peace, daddy.”

“He’s right, you know.” You mutter, dramatically looking to the side, “I’m no good, Corpse.”

“Not leaving you, end of discussion. Bretman, join us?” Corpse offers, catching you by surprise. He might still be lying, though. Creating a false sense of security before eliminating Bretman. Probably would laugh while doing it, too. Wow, he truly is evil.

Turns out he doesn’t have to do any of that, because when Dream strolls into Cafeteria, he kills Bretman instead. The two Impostors are finally revealed. You promised not to snitch on Corpse, but you didn’t say shit about not exposing Dream. You press the REPORT button and say just that: “Dream just murdered Bret right in front of me and Corpse.”

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The last meeting is called. Dream had been voted out with the help of Corpse, and now only you, he, and Rae remain.

“Baby, you know what to do.”

The VOTED icon pops up beside Corpse’s astronaut. Rae wheezes, “No! Y/n, it’s not me, you gotta believe me, I swear it’s not me!”

“...I really don’t know,” You murmur, “I’ve been with Corpse a lot, and...Rae, I’m not sure...”

“Please! I swear it on my Kagayama cardboard cut out, I’m not the Impostor, please! You know me, I’d never lie to you like this.”

“She’s definitely lying.” Corpse says, sounding pleased.

“Don’t listen to him! Remember, during the first round, when he tried to convince us that you were the Impostor? He’s doing the same shit to me!”

“I also remember you agreeing with him.” You remind her.

“I was stupid! Small dumb brain moment! He was using us to win! He’s using you right now!” She votes, “Please, Y/n, make the right choice.”

You’re silent for a moment.

“I’m gonna...I’m gonna vote for who I think it is.” You lastly say.

A slow, lazy grin makes it’s way onto your lips, eyes gleaming mischievously. You had not forgotten your promise to your brother from another mother, you had not forgotten the pride of the BDA, you had not forgotten your beautiful friendship. Two miniature astronauts pop up by Corpse’s at the exact moment Rae screeches “YEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEES!”

“Fuck.” Is all Corpse says with a laugh.

The screen changes, informing of the first CREW MATE victory.

Your ears are assaulted with different voices as you appear in the lobby.

“Now that’s what I’m fucking talking about.” Charlie raves, “I swear to fucking God, Y/n, you even got me going for a second. Pulled some 1000 IQ shit right there. It was fucking amazing. Best back stabbing I’ve seen in a while, and I’ve seen a lot.”

“That was absolutely fantastic, Y/n.” Sean applauds, “I really thought you joined Corpse like some crew mate accomplice or something. Can’t believe you switched on him at the last second.”

“That’s my wifey!” Rae cheers, strolling to you, “Love you, mwah.”

“Hey, Corpse,” Charlie calls him, “How does it feel to be a fucking loser?”

“I’m surprisingly fine with it.”

yeah he would be lmao

mom is the best snake ever i love you sm y/n

rae and y/n’s friendship....the feeeeeels

As the rest sing your praises for another solid minute or two, the third round begins. CREW MATE again. Though, just because you’re stuck as an underpaid worker in a dying spaceship, it doesn’t mean you’re innocent. Your last round proved that quite well. You can’t help but silently snicker.

✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼　 ҉ 　✼

TAGLIST IS CLOSED!

tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @bingusmode - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury--moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

#corpse husband #corpse #corpse husband x reader #corpse x reader #corpse social media au #corpse husband x y/n #corpse husband fanfic #social media au #corpse husband imagine #myso #make you say oh #sykkuno x reader #if ya squint #imagine #imagines #reader #reader insert

[babyboibucky]

The Match - Part 8

Pairing: CEO!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 2.7k

Summary: You get a preview of what it’s like to be working with Mackenzie.

Warnings: I apologize as there is no smut in here lmfao but there is a stubborn Bucky lols

A/N: The jitters just never go away whenever I post a new part for this ajkcnjasncakjcnakj I find this part boring tbh but uhh things will start picking up again in the next part I promise

The Match Masterlist || MAIN MASTERLIST

Bucky decided to push through with his partnership with Wilson Enterprises. It was a big one, so it definitely required the entire team's effort and perseverance. Apparently, this is the company's biggest, most major project yet so this was going to look really good in your resume. It would also provide you with more credibility to further excel in your career.

Except that Bucky actually hired a marketing consultant to take over the entire project as his revenge.

"Any questions? About the project or about Kenzie?" Bucky asked, standing in front of the conference room, next to Mackenzie.

You confidently raised your hand when no one else did. Bucky tilted his head, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He knew you were affected, of fucking course you were!

"Yes?" he called out.

You stood up and sighed softly, "I mean this in the most respectful way, Mister Barnes." you said, emphasizing his name. "But as the head of marketing, what exactly is my role here? Given that Mackenzie was hired to spearhead the marketing aspect of this project." you said, giving Mackenzie a passive aggressive smile.

"I don't want to overstep on some boundaries here, that's why I'm asking. I just want clarity, that's all." you said.

Bucky was about to respond when Mackenzie stopped him, grabbing his arm and squeezing it before taking over the floor. You narrowed your eyes at how her slender fingers were wrapped around Bucky's arm.

"Honey..." Mackenzie started. "There's nothing to worry about, this is a collaborative work between you and I. So think of yourself as my assistant, someone to help me out with the project." she responded.

Bitch.

"I'm not an assistant, Mackenzie." you said, smiling at her.

Mackenzie laughed, "I'm sorry, my bad. I shouldn't have used that term. Oops." she said. "Although, I believe I have more experience in this area so maybe consider me a mentor?" she suggested.

Bitch!

Bucky cleared his throat, "If you have certain ideas, you can discuss it with her. She is a consultant after all. Given her impressive experience in the field, I'm sure you'll learn a thing or two from her."

The meeting was wrapped up by noon and you simply couldn't wait to get yourself out of the conference room. You didn't feel like talking to Bucky anymore in all honesty, not after what he was doing. You knew this was just to spite you, get you to cave in first and give in to him.

All the more that you wouldn't, especially not when he actually used your job against you.

Everyone started rushing out of the conference room, ready to head out for lunch. As soon as you reached the doorway, you overheard the short conversation between Bucky and Mackenzie.

"Hey Bucky, we still up for lunch?"

-

The bathroom was empty when you stepped inside and thank god for that because you couldn't hold back your emotions any further. Tears gathered in the corner of your eyes, not because you were hurt. Fuck no, you were angry and frustrated. So fucking angry at yourself for getting into this mess, at Bucky for being such an entitled prick, at the entire world for plotting against you.

You groaned in irritation as you wiped away your tears, sniffing as you looked at yourself in the mirror.

You worked your ass off for this job, for your position. You risked your dignity when you let Bucky fuck you. You weren't going to let someone take that away from you.

You quickly fixed yourself when the door opened, followed by the loud clacking of someone's heels.

"Omg, are you crying?" Beverly gasped, rushing over to you.

You snickered, "No." you lied, "My eyes are itchy." you huffed out before noticing that Beverly was holding a sandwich in her hand.

"Why did you bring your sandwich here?" you curiously asked.

Beverly shrugged, "The pantry's full and the other girls don't exactly seem to like me...so..."

You shook your head and sighed, "Come with me, let's have lunch out. I need to get out of this fucking place anyway."

"Yay, omg! I knew you were nice! You're like, the only girl who actually talked to me nicely." Beverly said, tagging behind you as you exited the bathroom.

"Oh, there you are!" Mark called out. "I was looking for you. Wanna grab lunch? Oh...who's this?" he asked, noticing the blonde girl trailing behind you.

"I'm Beverly! I'm Sir James' new secretary." she introduced excitedly.

You sighed, "Don't ask me why." you said when Mark turned to you with a confused look, still not sure what happened to Bucky's previous secretary.

"So, lunch out? With Bev?" you asked.

-

You were completely zoning out during lunch despite the ongoing conversation between Mark and Bev, something about yoga? You honestly couldn't care less, not when you were feeling so conflicted about your current situation.

Would Bucky actually go that far just to get you back? Or does he actually hate you for saying no to him and is basically using his authority to make your life a living hell?

"So I heard about the new girl." Mark said, that snapped you out of your trance.

"Huh?" you asked.

"I find it weird for Mister Barnes to hire someone when you're here." Mark pointed out. "I mean, are you okay with that or..."

You snorted, "Fuck no. Look, I'm not gonna be the bigger person here. I was offended as fuck." you admitted.

"Yeah, it's super weird because she was hired through Tinder or something. Is that even legal?" Beverly pointed out as she scrolled through her phone.

You and Mark turned to her abruptly, "Tinder? Wait, what?" you asked.

Beverly chuckled, "I heard them talking this morning and Kenzie was like, 'It's so funny that we matched on Tinder and ended up doing business there you know' and I'm like omg Sir James has Tinder and I have one too but I never saw him there, bummer."

"Motherfucker." you hissed out.

Mark made a face, "Are you okay?" he carefully asked. "You've been really tensed since last week."

Apparently, Bucky never deleted his Tinder and have been swiping right on women. And that's how he met Mackenzie who just happened to be a marketing consultant. Now you were just furious, was he fucking her too? Has he been fucking other women this entire time?

"Hey, Bev..." you said, a plan hatching inside your mind. "Can I ask you a favor?" you asked nicely.

Beverly nodded, "Um duh, you're basically my office BFF now."

"If you ever hear Mister Barnes and Mackenzie talk about hmm, I don't know...something interesting. Maybe about the project...me 'cause you know, I'm the head of marketing and Mackenzie’s in the same field...let me know, will ya?" you asked.

Mark chuckled nervously, "I don't know what's going on but isn't that an invasion of privacy?"

"She's not going to eavesdrop, Mark. She'll just...listen closely." you explained.

"Bev might get in trouble if Mister Barnes finds out." Mark warned.

You waved a hand, "She'll be fine, Mark. She's his secretary, she has to know everything. Besides, I'm not going to let her get in trouble, if she does then I'll take care of it."

Beverly squealed in delight, "Omg, you are not my office BFF. You're like my office mom! You and Mark are literally my office parents." she said, lifting her phone up in the air.

"Selfie! This one goes to the 'gram." she said, taking a quick photo of the three of you.

She then proceeded to edit the photo while you and Mark continued eating lunch.

"Bev, you should really put your phone away and eat first. We have less than half an hour left for lunch break." Mark called out.

Beverly groaned and rolled her eyes, "Way to get into the role, Mark. You're such a dad."

You snorted, "Yeah. Loosen up, daddy." you teased.

"Playing family after just one date, huh."

Bucky's presence in the same restaurant should've really intimidated you, most especially that he just witnessed you tease Mark like that. But you were too mad at him to even care, what was the point even? He didn't believe you even when you told him the truth that Mark was just a friend.

Why even try now?

"Hi Sir James." Beverly greeted happily.

"Mister Barnes." Mark acknowledged.

Bucky ignored them and kept his eyes on you. You didn't falter under his gaze and simply stared back at him with blank eyes. It's as if a staring competition took place when the both of you merely looked at each other, neither of you looking away nor attempting to do so.

"How was that date last Friday, Jim?" Bucky asked, his eyes still trained on yours.

Mark made a funny face at the name that Bucky called him but shrugged anyway. Before he could even respond, you decided to answer on his behalf. If Bucky wanted to spite you, you'd give him a taste of his own medicine.

"It was actually great. We might go on another one this Friday." you said.

"We are?" Mark asked in a whisper.

Bucky's hand landed on Mark's shoulder, "Don't count on it, Andrew. She's going to be doing a lot of work on Friday due to the project." he said through gritted teeth.

You shrugged, "Oh, but I thought Mackenzie's doing all my work?"

"I'm ready to head back, Buck."

Speak of the devil herself. Mackenzie weaved through the tables and approached Bucky, her face brightening up when she saw you, Mark and Beverly.

"Oh, hey you." she greeted you. "Look, I think we may have started off on the wrong foot earlier. I'm not here to take your job, just here to spice things up a bit. Improve your ideas, give Bucky some assistance." she chuckled, holding onto Bucky's arm yet again.

You fought back the urge to grab your glass of water and throw it at her face. As the saying goes, kill them with kindness. So you merely shrugged and extended an arm for a handshake.

"Of course. I would love to improve your ideas as well, you know. Just a healthy discourse between two marketing professionals. We good?" you said.

Mackenzie forced out a chuckle and reached for your hand, "We’re good. I look forward to working with you." she said before turning back to Bucky who was still gazing at you.

"Let's go?" she asked sweetly.

Bucky smirked at you before wrapping an arm around Mackenzie's waist, guiding her out of the restaurant the same way he did to you. You were too focused on Bucky's body language around Mackenzie that you failed to notice that Mark was watching you closely, your expressions and how you reacted towards Bucky.

"I think I know what's happening."

-

"You what?!"

"Shhh!" you hushed Mark and peeked out of the empty pantry to make sure the coast was clear.

Mark noticed the tension between you and Bucky and he came to a conclusion that the both of you dated at one point. He wasn't really wrong but he wasn't right either. So you decided to tell him everything, from the moment you matched with Bucky on Tinder until your last conversation with him last Saturday.

"I honestly thought you were dating, I didn't know there was sex involved. No wonder he had been calling me weird names." he said incredulously. "Was that you and Mister Barnes that Janet reported to the HR?" he asked, stifling his laughter.

You groaned, "Yes. Ugh, gave me a panic attack when I found out about that incident report." you said.

"Hey..." Mark called out. "Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me this. Your secret is safe with me." he reassured.

You nodded, "I think it was about time that I told someone about us anyway. This whole situation is driving me crazy and I don't know what to do next. And I'm sorry for dragging you into this mess, I shouldn't have said that we were going out again. I don't want you or your job getting compromised because of our petty fight." you exhaled.

You had to admit, you felt so much better now after confiding with Mark. It somewhat alleviated the weight on your shoulders, knowing that there was someone aware of what you were going through. Who would've thought that this person would end up being Mark? You did have friends outside of work of course, but you felt like they all wouldn't really understand the situation.

Half would hate you for rejecting Bucky and the other half would hate you for even swiping right on him.

"Do you mind an unsolicited advice?" Mark asked.

"Not at all." you said.

"Ignore him. Don't let him or Mackenzie get to you. Do what you do best, you're great at your job and you'll be fine. That might get him to realize that you're not a prize to be won. And if he still doesn't see that, then that's his loss. You're more than just that hot marketing girl at work." Mark said.

You laughed at his last statement, "Hot marketing girl at work?" you asked, shaking your head.

"It's true. So if in any case you decide to ditch the CEO and move on, you know where to find me." he joked, throwing a wink your way.

-

You wanted to finish all your reports so you could focus on the huge project so you decided to work until around nine in the evening. The floor was already empty by the time you were done. Bucky seemed to be working too, given that he was still replying to e-mails at this hour. Wanting to get all the reports over with, you decided to submit it to him before going home.

During the elevator ride to Bucky’s floor, you couldn’t help but wonder whether he was alone in the office. Would Mackenzie be there with him? Even at this hour? Your grip on the folder tightened at the thought of catching them in the act.

But did you have any right to feel this way though?

Brushing off the thoughts, you exhaled loudly and prepared yourself for whatever it was you were to witness. Upon reaching the door to Bucky’s office, you slightly turned your head to listen to anything. It was quiet. No hushed whispers nor strained grunts-- they weren’t fucking, thank goodness for that.

You decided not to knock and just walk inside like you used to, reminding yourself of Mark’s advice.

Don’t let Bucky get to you.

When you saw Bucky hunched over his desk, typing away on his e-mails instead of bending a certain brunette somewhere in his office, you had to admit that you were relieved. He looked up and his eyes looked dead tired, you almost felt sorry for him. Almost.

“You should really learn how to knock.” Bucky called out, slamming his laptop shut.

“Look, Bucky. I was just rushing to submit these reports so I can go home.” you explained and placed the folder on top of his desk.

Bucky frowned, “I said to call me Mister Barnes.”

You huffed out, “I honestly don’t care, Bucky. I’m not playing your damn games anymore.” you said and turned around.

A hand on your arm pulled you back, harshly turning you around to face Bucky. He was fuming, as usual. At this point, you were no longer fazed.

“You think I don’t know what you’re trying to do?” he asked.

You clenched your jaw and pulled your arm back, “I’m not doing anything. You bring in Beverly or Mackenzie or whoever it is that you have up your sleeve. I don’t fucking care. I just want to focus on work.” you said and stepped away.

“And you should too, Bucky.” you added.

“I don’t believe you.” he said.

You sighed, your shoulders dropping from exhaustion at this whole shenanigan. “I’m done, Bucky.”

And with that you turned around to exit his office, leaving Bucky unsure whether you truly meant what you said. A victorious smirk graced your lips as you walked back to the elevator.

You were far from done.

-

The Match Special Tags:

@marvelslag​​ @weird-mumbling​​ @propertyofpoeandbucky​​ @lostinthoughtsandfeelings​​ @mostly-marvel-musings​​ @squishybabies​​ @megzdoodle​​ @suchababie​​ @annathesillyfriend​​ @xhollycowx​​ @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog​​ @5-seconds-of-mendes​​ @gogolucky13​​ @countonthesun​​ @iloveshawnieboi​​ @learisa​​ @borikenlove​​ @scarlet-natasha89​​

Everything Bucky Tag List:

@ddowii​​ @jessou893​​ @stealapizzamyheart​​ @bagelofthelord​​ @mxnt​​ @dontputyourfckingdrinkonmytable @jeeperky​​ @ohladymacbeth​​ @wildflowergubler​​ @supraveng​​ @twinerd14​​ @buckysmar @bakugouswh0r3​​ @sweetcoldharmony @wintersfilm​​ @charminivy​​ @amelia-song-pond​​ @iamvalentinaconstanza​​ @mcubqrnes @im-squished​​ @tcc-gizmachine​​ @sipsteacasually​​ @prettyintopeerpressure​​ @weloveyasmin​ @est19xxshit​ @bloodhon3yx​ @dressed-in-prada​ @lizette50​ @thatfangirl42​ @sunflowerbunny2​ @unmagically​ @okiegirl24​ @sugarpunch-princess​ @enlyume​ @vvipgotbb @slimeyderp​ @lyoongx​ @just-deka​ @nobody-will​ @jaziona92 @elisebuitron​ @dpaccione​ @suvikamahes98blr​ @buckybarneshairpullingkink​ @earthtonav @x-judyjude-x​ @nani-kenobi @just-here-to-escape-from-reality @belladonnabarnes​ @iloveangstposts​ @weenersoldierr​ @asemistablehundredyearoldman​ @reidbuck​ @lizzarooni​ @girlfriday007​ @bonkywobble​ @lost-in-the-stars03​ @its-yasbxtch​ @whoth3hellisbucky​

#bbb writes #the match #bucky barnes #bucky #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes smut #bucky smut #fem!reader #sebastian stan

[littlefreya]

Vanilla Milkshake

Summer: Henry and a long time friend hangout at their usual spot when things turn chaotic because of an innocent misunderstanding...

Prompted by:  

 Oooh Freyaaaa I just *need* some scene featuring Henry and ofc drinking milkshake. 

Pairing: Henry Cavill x Unamed OFC (no description of ethnicity or body type).

Word count: 1.7K

Warnings: RPF, major fluff, friends to lovers, sexual innuendo, mild seduction, sex talk, an unwanted boner, Henry being a boomer, Henry having a meltdown. 

*No permission is given for reposting my work, copying it, ideas or parts it and claiming it as your own.*

A/N: So, first thing first, thanks @agniavateira for quickly beta’ing my work! And of course thanks @the-soot-sprite for bouncing ideas with me and being an emotional support. Decided to go with friends for lovers because I live for that stuff. Also, I am aware that “Milkshake” can be interpreted in several ways but for the sake of the story I went with that particular reference. Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics

Please comment and reblog if you enjoyed.  🖤

Title: Vanilla Milkshake

“I swear, this diner looks like Barbie had an orgasm all over the place.” A whimsical grin sliced between Henry’s marble cheeks. Eyeing the pastel-esque surroundings, he huffed scornfully and adjusted the cap over his nest of unruly curls. 

“Remind me again why we always meet here, young lady?”

Staring at the beastly man who barely managed to squeeze into the plastic-pink faux leather booth, she couldn’t help but chuckle. Henry carried himself with something that was both eloquent yet unmistakably feral, reminding her of a burly forest creature. Sturdy tree trunks stood for limbs, torso, and shoulders—the widths of icy mountains and a blanket of thick fur coated the entirety of his body, deeming him a dangerous bear. 

No wonder he preferred himself clean-shaven. The sharpened edge of a razor kept him a cut away from becoming ‘Henry the Barbarian’. 

Seeing him surrounded by pastel and sparkly fairy dust brought far more joy than she could ever imagine. The utter look of contempt gleamed on the surface of his shifty eyes. 

Oh, by God, how much he hated glitter!

“And what would you know about Barbie’s orgasms?” she teased with a crooked eyebrow and a comical suspicious glare. 

Readjusting his cap over the messy mane of chocolate curls, Henry offered a terrible wink and shrugged, “a gentleman never tells.”

Her fingers rapped on her thigh while she contemplated whether to allow this naughty joke slide, but then the urge to provoke him was far too great. After briefly chewing on the inside of her cheek, she broke into a wicked grin.

“Is that… like a role play you have with the missus? She’s Barbie, and you’re G.I.Joe? Because I kinda don’t want to hear about it, but then I kinda do.”

Henry’s smile gradually faded along with the playful glee in his eyes, his melancholic gaze dropping to the sparkly table. He slumped into a heavy sigh, “If by missus, you mean ‘Miss Hand’, then no… not really.”

Dumbfounded, she frowned at Henry with confusion when then it struck her; a sense of incredible embarrassment drained the blood from her head to her gut.

“Oh…”

“Yep.” Henry blurted and grabbed the menu, pretending to be incredibly interested in the kids’ meal options. 

Just in time to rescue them from a prolonged awkward silence, the waitress arrived with their order, serving Henry a hot cup of double espresso while she received a tall glass of a luscious vanilla milkshake. 

“Enjoy your drinks, guys!” the waitress smiled sweetly and kept her eyes glued to Henry as she walked away. But the gloss of the waitress’ flirtatious excitement was lost on him; drenched with greed, Henry’s blue sapphires were fixated on the generous scoops of ice cream and the dark chocolate swirls that decorated his companion’s dessert. 

“Henry, my eyes are up here!” she provoked and grabbed the straw between two fingers while throwing an amused glance at his simple cup of coffee. Henry followed her gaze and scoffed before raising the cup to his mouth and blowing to cool his drink.

The way his lips pursed together and his finger stroked the ceramic surface did not escape her observation. A sudden tingle swam down the length of her spine once it resonated in her mind that kind, charming, and beastly Henry was now single. Here they were, long time buddies, but now sitting together felt less comfortable than before. Her limbs felt like pins and needles while staring directly at his eyes was as risky as staring at the sun.  

“Cheers,” Henry mumbled and took a sip from his cup. 

Almost jolting in her seat, she stiffened and then grabbed her straw.

“Cheers.”

Giggles came from the other side of the diner. Among the retro gumball machines and rounded plastic bar stools, the waitress and a colleague leaned against the counter and stared at Henry, who turned his head for a brief moment and tipped his head.

Their giggles turned even louder.

She frowned. 

“So, have you been single for a while?” she heard herself asking with a rather urgent tone. Right away, a look of contrition crept on her face as she regretted her verbal onslaught and lack of sensitivity. 

Henry directed his gaze back to her and watched as she slowly sipped from the milkshake and then suckled the cream off her mouth. 

Absentmindedly, he licked his lips. “Since May. How about you, weren’t you with…?”

“No, ended, dodged a bullet.” she spat and pumped the straw up and down the thick beverage. “My milkshake brings all the boys… except it doesn't.” she sighed.

Henry frowned and shook his head with confusion. “What? You never told me you make your own milkshake. How come I never had some?” 

Her face abruptly froze, her eyes rounded with surprise before she snorted so loudly the waitresses stopped their whispering.

“Umm… Hen?” she called out, trying to hold herself from bursting into chuckles as her friend accidentally asked for a very sexual favour, “you honestly don���t know what ‘milkshake’ is slang for...?”

“Uh…”

“Omg, you’re such a boomer.” 

“No, I was born in ‘83! I’m a millennial. But please, indulge me.” he begged and crossed his arms together.

Clearing her throat loudly, she did her best to fight the wicked grin that stretched on her already painful cheeks and wrapped her fist around the straw. “So you know... how… certain male bodily fluids are sometimes white and creamy...? And when you perform a certain motion it’s like you’re shaking it…?”

Henry blinked and became silent. An unbidden rush of blood pooled at his groin as he watched her thumb graze over the tip of the straw and her fist pumping it into the smooth liquid in a slow, gentle motion. Wickedness glazed her eyes, but he tried to dismiss it as nothing but their usual playful banter; yet his adam’s apple bobbed up and down while his shoulder tensed at the oddly arousing sight of her performing a sinful act on a milkshake. 

There was an unmistakable stir in his cock and for once, he was thankful for narrow spaces as it hid his predicament.

Leaning forward, she opened her mouth and swirled her tongue around the straw. She went deliberately slow, making him watch while she playfully licked and suckled the tip until finally wrapping her lips around it and taking a generous sip.

Henry gawked utterly smitten, unaware that his jaw was nearly at the floor.

And to make things worse, she moaned—not too loud—but definitely enough to make his shaft harden more.

She wasn’t sure what stirred this whimsical boost of confidence, only that seeing the large, handsome man pale at her provocations made her feel like the most powerful woman on earth. She also gathered she’d regret it forever and a day once they’ll part ways, but it was too late for that now.

Gingerly she pulled back, though not before allowing a single drop of cream to trickle down the corner of her lips.

“Oops,” she smirked casually, wiping the cream with her fingertip and sucking it clean. 

“Please stop…” 

It was then when she noticed that Henry’s playful mien was all but gone. Far from amused, he glowered with a clenched jaw. “If you’re going to keep doing that, I’ll have to leave,” he stated matter-of-factly. 

A rush of panic made her freeze in her spot, the same needles that pricked her skin were now setting jolts of electric bursts. “I’m so sorry, I crossed the line,” she said and covered her mouth with shame, “did I offend you? Do you want me to leave?”

“What? No, no, not at all.” Henry’s voice softened right away, and he reached a hand in the air, as if trying to stop her from leaving. The last thing he wanted now is for her to think he is angry with her. If anything, he wished they could spend more time together, not because of his obvious arousal, but because for the first time in a long while, he was having fun.

Still, she looked at him so utterly distraught.  

“Then…?” 

Henry scanned the diner as if trying to make sure no one was staring or taking any photo and then shifted in his seat uncomfortably. His eyes altered between his spread thighs and her several times, trying to signal toward his… trouble.

“Oh...” she gaped. 

An odd sense of pride began to permeate her chest, battling over the burning embarrassment that flamed up her neck and cheeks. At this point, she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to feel, only that it was definitely the most awkward hangout they had to date. 

Problem was, she never knew when to shut up. 

“Is little Henry hungry?”

Hearing those words, his brows dropped to an irritated sulk. “There is nothing little about it.”

“Ha! Prove it!”

It was as if the entire diner and perhaps the world fell into silence. Had the clatter of the dishes being washed in the back kitchen not rung their ears, she would have thought she grew suddenly deaf. 

“I didn’t mean it… sorry, I’ll stop,” she mumbled slowly and pressed her fingers to her mouth while shaking her head at her stupid behaviour. That was it, this was to be the last afternoon she would ever hang out with Henry and right now, she couldn’t even bring herself to look at him.

Henry chewed onto the inside of his cheeks, trying to stop the words that came faster than his thoughts.

“You didn’t?... Because I’ll definitely be up for proving...”

She blinked at his words and tilted her head, hoping that he won’t notice the wild tremors that shook her limbs, “What was that?” 

“I... yes? No?...I… fuck!” 

Henry lowered his head and slapped his palms across his face, rubbing back and forth with an utter meltdown while mumbling, “Forgive me,” a couple of times. He couldn’t care less of what the waitresses or whoever was watching would think of him; all he cared about was to make her feel comfortable around him again and maybe… even make her like him?

“Henry?”

Soft and warm her voice called to him, slowly pulling him from his anguish like a sailor being rescued from a sunken ship. His blue sapphires shone, an ocean of confusion and anxiety still pooling within while he peered back at her face that was now smiling at him a mixture of comfort and exhilaration. 

“Would you like some of my milkshake?”

#henry cavill #henry cavill rpf #henry cavill x reader #henry cavill x ofc #henry cavill fanfiction

[g4rous]

Okay okay so—

Imagine Tareo says that he wants to introduce Garou and his s/o to his new friends (post- monster association arc) and then one of his friends ends up developing a crush on you

(I’m sorry I just thought this was a cute idea and I had to tell someone about it 🏃🏽‍♀️💨💨💨)

I already told you this but

AGSSH THIS IS SUCH A CUTE IDEA YES💕💞💓

I didn't write anything except hcs for quite a bit (oops I should write the next chapter of my fic lol) so this felt hella nice :'0 💕💕 I tried making it lighthearted and the idea made me very giddy sjsjjs tysm for that I hope you're doing good and taking care! 🤧<33

Pride and buffoonery

word count: 1.2K

warnings: none

They say: ‘’If the day wasn’t your friend, at least it was your teacher’’, but upon taking a look at Garou’s face you couldn’t help but laugh.

“It’ll be fun!”- A word you said so jovially half an hour ago, now echoes in his mind like an annoying tease.

Taking a look at the scenery and them himself, your boyfriend ruffled his short silver hair, now covered with muddy snow. To top it off a few tiny branches were sticking out of his hair but you didn’t want to inform him about it just yet.

“Which part of this is fun again?” He asked impassively before flicking off a branch.

Well, you couldn’t help but feel a little bad now despite your fit of laughter. How did he get himself in that state in the first place? Some children’s chatter a few feet away from you brought it back to mind.

Dainty snowflakes gently spread on the stone sidewalk beneath your feet, coloring it white. A sharp gust of wind made its way to your face, causing you to blink abruptly before turning to the man beside you. You let out a giggle upon noticing his face even more frozen in the cold wind and hair vastly disheveled. Be as it may, even cut shorter it’s still standing upright in a sense of way, by some sort of gravity unbeknownst to this world.

“Where did he say he’ll meet us again?”

“Dunno, probably somewhere around here,” the teen paused after shivering for a moment, “but if the little turd doesn’t show up soon we’re going home.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you spoke before pointing your tongue at him jokingly, “you can say what you want but I know you wouldn’t let down your friend just like that.”

He rolled his eyes and just as you thought you saw a glimpse of a small grin behind his annoyed façade, you felt something hit you at the side. Taking a glance at the snowy mark on your jeans, you turned around only to see a gleeful Tareo, his new friends right behind him. Even on first glance you could tell these kids weren’t the same as that group he hung out with before, and much to your relief, these kids quite resembled his kind and innocent demeanor. However, one thing that caught your attention for a brief moment is one particular boy. The timid glances he gave you followed by looking the other direction as soon as you noticed his behavior made you let out a chuckle.

“Adorable,” you thought to yourself, reminiscing fleetingly of all those silly crushes you had when you were that small.

The children huddled closer to you and Garou in hopes of finally getting to know Tareo’s hero, whom they’ve heard about oh so much- and the person endlessly dear to him. Their eyes gleamed as if they were looking at the top of the S-class, waiting in line to get an autograph from their idols. Well, it’s no wonder considering all the grandeur and fabulous tales their friend told them about the legendary “Uncle”.

Just as you were about to smile cheekily at your boyfriend for all the attention he was getting, you noticed him momentarily taking a look at that little boy from before, much to the child’s uneasiness. It appears you weren’t the only one who noticed those small lovestruck glances a minute ago.

Your attention shifted from the child back to Garou again upon feeling his arm around your waist, pulling you closer before asking Tareo if he had something in mind for today’s hangout. With his expression as casual as his voice, no one would think there was something that made him feel somewhat annoyed. You knew him though, and you couldn’t decide whether to make a joke about it or give your dork a peck on the cheek.

The snowflakes just kept increasing in numbers before coming to a halt, leaving the surrounding completely covered in deep snow perfect for messing around. On your left you could see a small, yet steep hill from which people were sleighing, some even accompanied by an enthusiastic dog or two. All around you stood lines of trees, their branches wilted and seemingly lifeless now decorated with the snow. You’d be damned if this scenery wasn’t perfect for a snowball fight, and most of the kids were already on task.

The little boy noticeably enthralled by you couldn’t stop staring at your charming face, nose slightly red from the cold. You wouldn’t have even paid much attention to it if it weren’t for someone’s subtle clinginess. Every time the child wanted to say something to amuse you, your boyfriend on the other side made sure to be holding you as close as ever, and if the poor child even dared to keep on with it he’d only give him a small glare accompanied by a faint smirk.

“Lucky Garou has a soft spot for kids,” you thought before smiling a little nervously.

The next twenty minutes went along a similar pace, with the child giving up on any more attempts at the start. You even had joined in with Tareo and the other kids in a snowball fight, taking every sweet chance you get to land a hit on either one of them or Garou, though the latter would most likely just let you feel like you’ve scored an early victory. Nonetheless, he seemed to be having a fun time as well.

One thing that might make things even jollier however, is a peculiar bag he saw just slightly hanging from one of the trees. Even from the ground its contents were visible- dirty snow from the street mixed with mud from someone’s yard probably.

“So that’s what kids have been using for pranks lately, huh,” he spoke to himself as a not-so-angelic idea came to mind.

Like a scene from a cartoon, he almost felt that little angel on his shoulder telling him to keep out of it and the devil on his other side saying “screw that, it’ll be hilarious.”

It’s just snow, it’s not like anyone’s gonna get hurt or something.

His eagerness to spill a bag of snow at a particular person made seconds feel like an eternity, visible in his eyes just beaming with mischief and anticipation. Even a slight shake of those branches would send the plastic bag of snowy wonders falling.

The target came closer and closer to the tree while running away from your and Tareo’s attacks, but just as the silver-haired teen wanted to initiate his own, a loud, raspy caw was heard from above accompanied by some rustling.

You, who just came to the scene now see a snow-covered Garou, and upon taking a look at the little boy standing a few feet away from him perfectly clean you realized what was the case here. The large, black crow still rustling the branches above only made you burst into laughter.

Tareo accompanied you as you walked towards the sentient snowman, trying not to choke on your cackles. He only looked at you with a faint tint of red on his cheeks whilst shaking off the snow on his head.

“Not a single word.”

“Huh? But I haven’t the brightest idea what happened here,” you giggled, much to his chagrin.

Still, you decided to give your sentient snowman a break. Patting off the last chunks of snow on his shoulder, you leaned in to finally give him a well-deserved peck.

“Let’s go home for some hot cocoa.”

He let out a scoff before forming a light smile. Maybe this wasn’t so bad after all.

#garou #garou x reader #garou headcanons #one punch man #opm #opm x reader #one punch man x reader #garou opm #garo #one punch man headcanons

[hqbbg]

still.

pairing: miya osamu x fem!reader

prompt: “I told you to stay still.”

genre: smut

word count: 5.3K (I got carried away, oops)

warnings: 18+, masturbation, some degradation, oral (f!receiving), fingering, some spanking, vaginal & unprotected s3x (make sure you wrap your presents, kids), like 2 seconds of cockwarming, uhm I think that’s it oop

author’s note: I'm back with another Haikyuu!! Headquarters collab piece! check out the master list of everyone else’s works here ✨ I hope y’all enjoy this!

The air in your room feels thick as you pant helplessly, feeling the familiar ache in your fingers as they begin to cramp up while plunging in and out of your sopping cunt. You feel so close to your own undoing, unable to control your thoughts as they drift to the man whose room is on the other side of your bedroom wall. You can’t help but think that it’s his fingers squelching within your warmth, though you’re sure they would reach much further than yours ever could.

You don’t do this often, touching yourself to the thought of your roommate while he’s out at work or running errands, but lately you’ve been frustrated.

When you had put out an ad for a roommate, you were hesitant. You didn’t have much of a choice, as your last roommate decided to move out in favor of moving in with her boyfriend, leaving you to scramble for a solution in order to continue to afford rent. As a full-time student with a part time job, it would’ve been inconvenient to move out in the middle of the semester, and it seemed reasonable to quickly search for a roommate to help with the bills until your lease was up.

Miya Osamu was hot, to say the least, though it wasn’t the main reason why you ended up choosing him to be your new roommate. On top of having manners and being financially stable, he knew how to cook and respected your space in the apartment. Unfortunately, you’ve been unable to say the same recently. The number of times his room door was cracked open as he changed almost made you consider that he was doing it on purpose, as if encouraging you to take a peek.

As you recall the way his back muscles flexed as he pulled his shirt over his head all those times you’d told yourself that you were just walking by, you let another moan slip past your lips. Your fingers begin to move quicker, toes curling, and you can feel your arm beginning to tire out. Your back arches as your other hand quickly moves to massage your neglected clit, rubbing harsh circles until your vision flashes white.

You fail to hear the front door open and close as your moans continue to fill the room. The memory of seeing Osamu stepping out of the bathroom in a simple pair of grey sweatpants with a towel around his neck is still fresh on your mind. You feel yourself clench around your own fingers as you recall your eyes briefly catching sight of the outline of his cock, the image practically ingrained within you. Too many times have you thought about how it would feel inside of you.

Another moan resonates on the walls and you bite your lip, though it does little to stop you from moaning Osamu’s name. Before you know it, you’re overwhelmed by pleasure and your whole body tenses before it relaxes. Your chest heaves as you lay there, trying to recover from your intense orgasm and you want nothing more than to sleep now. You hardly notice that your door is open.

Over the next few days, you can’t help but feel that something is off with Osamu. Though you aren’t particularly close, you’d like to think that you two have developed some sort of friendship with all the shared meals and evenings spent in the living room just chatting about life.

Did he hear you the other night? There was no way; you made sure to give yourself enough time before he was supposed to come home. Then again, you didn’t hear him come in…

Your cheeks begin to burn at the idea that he’d heard you. You let out a groan as you bury your face in your hands, leaning onto your desk. The little motivation you had to study has effectively disappeared and an unsettling mix of nervousness and shame begins to stir in the pit of your stomach.

Taking a deep breath, you try to push the dreadful thought out of your head and sit upright. An idea suddenly pops into your head and you abruptly stand up. You walk over to your door and poke your head out, scanning the area to locate your roommate. He’s conveniently in the kitchen, snacking on some leftovers he’d brought back from his restaurant the previous night.

“Hey,” you say awkwardly as you step out. He looks over at you and hums in acknowledgement, his mouth full. You decide to go ahead and speak, though your fingers fidget with the hem of your oversized shirt. “You’re not working tomorrow night, right?”

Osamu shakes his head, swallowing his food. “What’s up?”

“Well,” you hesitate, trying to find a way to come off as casually as you can, “I saw this recipe online for some salmon and vegetables, do you wanna be my guinea pig?”

“Sure,” he nods as he shrugs. “What time?”

“Dinner time,” you say, a little too eagerly. “How about seven?”

His lips quirk upwards into a small smile. “Sounds good to me.”

You watch as he takes another bite of his food before you realize you’re staring, clearing your throat.

“Okay, well, have a good night,” you say and quickly scurry back towards your room. Once you shut the door, you release a breath you hadn’t even realized you were holding in. You swiftly move back to your desk, your forgotten notes pushed even further aside as you begin to look for that recipe you’d seen all those weeks ago.

The following day, you make a quick trip to the store to buy ingredients and find yourself nervously counting down the hours and minutes until it’s a reasonable time to start making dinner. You step out of your room to see Osamu already perched on a stool at the small island in the kitchen. He’s slouched over, scrolling through his phone when you walk up. He glances up and greets you with a small smile as you place your phone down near the center of the island countertop.

“Okay, so before I start, I just need to say that I’m definitely not a professional chef in any way,” you say as you move to wash your hands. You can feel his eyes on you as you move around the kitchen, pulling the vegetables from the fridge. You grab the apron hanging on the pantry door and sling it over your head, tying it behind your back.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen ya wear that,” Osamu muses as he leans his cheek on his palm. His elbows are both propped up on the counter and you resist the urge to playfully roll your eyes.

“I have to make sure my shirt doesn’t get dirty,” you say, “it’s one of my favorites.”

He says nothing in response, opting for a light chuckle as you begin to wash the vegetables. Once you finish, you pull out the cutting board in front of him on the other side of the island, placing a carrot in the middle.

You open a cabinet and pull out a knife, giving it a quick rinse before positioning the blade to cut through the vegetable. Placing your fingers on the edge, you lift the knife just slightly.

“Hey, be sure to cats paw,” Osamu pipes up, pointing to the hand that’s on the carrot, “If yer not careful, you’ll knick yourself.”

“Huh?” You blink your eyes at him, trying to prevent yourself from sounding like an idiot.

“Like this,” he says, lifting his hand up and curling his fingers inward into a loose fist. You try not to focus on the veins lining his hands, tearing your eyes away and mimicking his motions. You see him drop his hand from your peripherals and finally attempt to cut into the carrot.

Before you know it, the knife slips from your grasp, making a shallow but clean cut across your index knuckle. You let out a curse and hiss as you drop the knife.

“Whoa, are ya okay?” Osamu stands as you begin to make your way to the sink, blocking your path.

“It hurts, but I’m fine,” you reply, looking at him curiously before glancing at your finger. You examine it for a moment, seeing the familiar crimson begin to bead.

“Let me take a look,” says Osamu, gently grabbing a hold of your wrist. He lifts your hand up closer to his face, his eyebrows slightly creasing as you do your best to resist the blush creeping up to your cheeks. “You should be careful.”

“Well, it’s not like this was intentional,” you grumble, unable to meet his eyes. He sighs softly and you glance at him, opening your mouth to say something. However, your train of thought is  completely derailed when his lips wrap around the small incision.

You feel his warm tongue gently lick around it and you can’t help but stare at the way his lips look around your finger. He catches your eyes and pulls away.

“I used to do this to my brother whenever he’d get hurt or something when we were little,” he says, letting go of your wrist. Your face is burning as you drop your hand back down to your side. “Wait here, I’ll go grab a bandage.”

You nod wordlessly, mind still reeling as you try to figure out and process what exactly had just happened. You watch his retreating figure head towards the bathroom, disappearing for only a moment before resurfacing with a familiar pink wrapper with Hello Kitty’s face scattered across the outside cover, a gift he had received from his brother. He makes his way back over to you, pulling the tabs apart and plucking out the bandaid.

Without prompting, you lift your hand up towards him and watch as he moves your hand towards him with his pinky, wrapping it around your finger.

“There, all patched up. Is that too tight?” He asks, picking up the trash and crumpling it in his fist. You lift your hand up and examine his handiwork, nodding in approval.

“It’s perfect,” you say, feeling your stomach flutter at the self-satisfied smirk that’s found its way onto his face. “I still have to cut the vegetables, though.”

“Hand it over; I’ll do it.” He motions towards the knife.

You pout, making no indication to hand the utensil over to him. “I kind of wanted to cut the vegetables though.”

He raises a brow at you. “Are ya sure? Ya already butchered yer first chance; I don’t want blood all over my kitchen.”

“Your kitchen, huh?”

Osamu shrugs. “I hardly see ya in here, so it might as well be.”

“So are you gonna help me or not?” You raise a brow and choose to ignore his statement as you cross the kitchen to grab your phone, pulling up the recipe to skim through the instructions before placing it back down. “I’m supposed to Juliette these vegetables.”

Osamu stays quiet for a moment. “Do ya mean julienne?”

“Yeah, same thing,” you wave your hand dismissively, walking back over to the cutting board. You pick up the discarded knife, giving it a quick rinse. Upon returning to your original spot at the island, your hands position themselves once again, curling your fingers like Osamu had previously shown you.

“Wait, yer gonna end up hurting yourself again,” he says as he walks up behind you. “How thin are ya trying to cut this?”

“About this much,” you reply, positioning the knife towards the edge of the carrot.

“Okay, first things first,” he says as he wraps his arms around you. Your eyes widen as you feel his chest press against your back, his hands moving to hold yours. “Ya have to cut it in half and get a flat surface.”

He grabs your hand holding the knife and moves it to the middle of the carrot, wrapping his thick and long fingers around the handle, completely swallowing yours. He ensures that his grip is stable before pressing down, the blade making a sharp cut.

“Okay, so now that ya have this, ya said ya want to make them look like noodles, right?”

You can only nod your head, afraid that your voice will crack if you choose to speak. Your head feels fuzzy, your senses overwhelmed by the scent of his musky cologne hitting your nose and the way his strong arms continue to guide you. The heat radiating off his chest envelops you in an oddly comforting embrace and something about it feels very domestic. You try hard to keep your knees from buckling under you, shifting your weight between your feet. You immediately tense when you accidentally press your backside against his hips.

Briefly scanning the island countertop, you see that his phone is on the other side where he’d originally left it when you began cooking and try to ignore the sinful thoughts threatening to infiltrate your mind.

“Makes sense?” Osamu says, his lips dangerously close to your ear.

“I-I think so,” you stammer, though you bite your lip and mentally scold yourself for your faltering voice.

“Alright,” he says, taking a step back. You exhale slowly, trying not to think of the loss of warmth. “While ya keep doing that, I’ll prepare the salmon. Where’s the recipe?”

“It’s on my phone.” You nod towards it, setting the knife down. He walks over to the side of the counter you’d left your phone at and brings it over to you. “What’s yer passcode?”

“That’s classified information, sir.” You see his eyes darken for a moment as you pluck your phone from his hand, typing in the digits before placing it in his open palm.

“Never thought you’d be callin’ me that so soon,” he says offhandedly, locating the recipe in your browser. You feel your lips part to say something, but no words come out.

You simply resume cutting the carrot and grab more vegetables, shaking your head to clear your wandering thoughts. You see Osamu grab the salmon from the fridge, pulling it out and getting some seasonings you’d bought earlier.

“Hey, can ya grab a pan from that cabinet there?” Osamu asks as he points to one of the bottom cabinets in front of your legs.

“Sure,” you nod and take a step back, opening the cabinet door and bending over at the hips. You rummage around for a decent-sized pan, feeling Osamu’s eyes on you before you straighten up. He’s quick to avert his eyes as he holds his hand out to you. You place the handle in his open palm and he takes it, setting it on top of the stove.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence as you prepare your own things, with you seasoning and cooking the vegetables while Osamu prepares the fish, searing it on the pan. As you both finish your portions, you decide to bring out your nicer plates for the occasion.

Opening one of the top cabinets, you stand on your toes to reach for the plates, wondering how they ended up so high to begin with.

“Need help?”

You jump slightly, startled when you feel his body pressed flush against yours with a hand on the dip of your waist as the other reaches above your head to grab two plates, placing them down onto the counter. You turn your head to look at him and realize just how close he is, his face merely centimeters away. His eyes are on your lips as you tongue pokes out to wet them before they flicker upwards to meet your eyes. You look up at him, anticipating his next move with bated breath, and feel his hand that had been holding the plates move to gently hold your jaw. He leans forward just slightly and your eyes flutter shut as your lips meet.

His lips move slowly against yours, though it’s nothing short of passionate. You feel his hand on your waist pull you closer to him and you lean into the warmth. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip and you open your mouth to welcome the warm muscle inside, letting him explore freely.

The both of you seem to run out of air at the same time, pulling away breathlessly. Before you can say anything, he kisses down your jaw to your neck as you crane your head just slightly so he can have better access and you’re not straining your muscles. He nips gently at the skin before dragging his tongue along, finding a particularly tender spot to pay special attention to. A hiss slips past your lips and you’re reminded of how close he is to you when you begin to feel something hardening against your backside.

“If ya wanna stop, ya have to tell me now,” he mutters against your neck as both of his hands settle on your waist, thumbs playing with the hem of your shirt.

“I’d rather not,” you admit rather shamelessly. You can feel Osamu’s lips curve upwards against your skin as his hands give you a slight squeeze.

“If ya say so,” he says before one of his hands reaches between the two of you to untie your apron. “If ya ever need me to stop, let me know.”

You nod your head absentmindedly, slightly dizzy from the reality of what’s happening right now. One of his hands begins to slide upwards from your waist, cupping your clothed breast and giving it a squeeze, while the other slips downwards under your apron and pushes past the waistband of your shorts, hovering over your panties. Suddenly very aware of the wetness between your legs, you move to close them a little.

“That won’t do ya any good,” Osamu mutters against the back of your neck. As if to prove his point, he presses his middle finger against your clothed slit and swipes upward, humming to himself. “Yer practically dripping and I haven’t even started yet.”

A moan slips past your lips and you can only bite your lip in embarrassment at your own shamelessness.

“It’s just the two of us; you don’t have to be quiet,” he says, as if encouraging you to be as loud as you want and disturb your neighbors. When you still refuse to make another noise, he nudges your legs open with his knees, almost forcing you to lean over the counter for support. As if to further prove his point, he pushes your panties aside and slips his middle finger in between your folds, causing you to let out a gasp of surprise at the sudden intrusion.

“Osamu,” you whimper as you feel him kiss his way towards the back of your ear.

“What is it, baby?” His finger is still and unmoving inside of you as you try to gain any sort of friction, attempting to grind your hips against him. His hand doesn’t move as you feel his tongue trace the outer shell of your ear.

“Stop teasing me,” you practically whimper as you ball your hands into fists on the surface in front of you.

“What do ya want me to do?” He sounds smug and you can almost visualize his teasing smirk behind your closed lids.

“Just fuck me,” you say. You fight the embarrassment heating your cheeks, too aroused to focus on anything else.

“I know we’ve been living together for awhile now, but let’s not forget our manners,” he says, beginning to slide his finger out.

“M’Samu, please fuck me!” It comes out too eagerly, too desperately, but you want him to just do something to you.

“That’s all you needed to say,” he lets out a soft chuckle before he slides his finger back in. You find yourself leaning completely on the countertop so you don’t buckle under him and moan when he slides another finger inside, stretching you.

You were right; his fingers reach so much further than yours ever could.

His calloused fingers continue to thrust in and out of you at a steady pace as his other hand that had been on your breast moves down to slip under your shirt. You bite your lip as you feel him expertly unclip the bra before sliding around to cup the flesh, nudging your loose bra aside. His fingers pinch your hardening nipple and you breathe out his name.

“Careful there, sweetheart,” he practically grunts, “if ya keep soundin’ like that, I won’t be goin’ easy on ya.”

Part of you has half the mind to take him up on the offer while the other is failing to form coherent words and thoughts.

A familiar tension begins to pull at your lower abdomen as you feel yourself getting closer to your orgasm. It seems that Osamu’s also aware, quickly slipping his hands out from your dripping cunt.

“Why’d you stop?” You whine as you turn back to look at him. He offers a smirk before removing his hands completely from your pants and lifting his fingers to his mouth to lick them clean. The way his half-lidded eyes are locked on yours as he swirls his tongue around makes you clench helplessly around nothing.

“Don’t worry, yer gonna thank me later,” he says, dropping his hand. He begins to lower himself so he’s on his knees on the ground before he pulls your shorts and panties down in one clean tug. The cool air hits your wet heat and you bite your lip at the sensation.

You watch him with anticipation as he leans forward, using both hands to massage your ass a couple times before spreading the cheeks apart. He nudges your feet so you can spread a little wider for him, which you wordlessly oblige, and inhale shakily as he leans forward and licks a fat stripe up your slit.

“Fuck, Osamu,” you hiss as you turn back to look at him. You use one hand to reach around and weave your fingers through his hair, fisting it as he begins to sloppily lap at your cunt.

His tongue dives in and out, the wet squelch echoing around the apartment. You feel your legs tremble as he angles his head to reach a bit further before opting to have his fingers rejoin the fun. Your moans sound nearly pornographic as you attempt to grip at anything, unable to get yourself to properly stand as Osamu wags his head a couple times, swirling his tongue in the process.

A sharp gasp leaves you when you feel his fingers angle themselves and hit a spot you didn’t even know existed, your walls beginning to clench and flutter around him.

“I’m gonna cum,” you moan, pushing his head deeper against you. You feel him hum against you as if to encourage you to release onto his face, so you do.

A strangled cry erupts from your throat as you feel every nerve ending spark up and you come undone above him. He lets you grind your hips against him a couple more times before he pulls away, breathing heavily as he stands up. He turns you around by your hips and you see your slick coating his lips and chin.

“Look at this mess,” he taunts you, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. You don’t say anything and wrap your fingers around the back of his neck, pulling his lips down to taste yourself. As you do so, he makes quick work to get rid of his sweatpants and pulls away to lift his shirt over his head. You go ahead and do the same with your apron, tossing it onto the island behind him and removing your shirt and bra to leave the both of you stark naked in the kitchen.

You take a brief moment to unabashedly check him out, admiring how toned and built he is. Chewing on your bottom lip, you let your fingers trace along the hardened and defined lines of his abdomen, trailing your fingers down to palm him through his boxers. You see the fabric straining and recognize the heat rising to your cheeks as you feel how hard he is, creating a slightly darkened and damp spot where the head of his cock is located. You glance up at him and meet eyes as you hook your thumbs on his waistband, pulling them down. His length practically springs to life, standing proud and tall before you and your mouth practically waters at the sight.

Wrapping your fingers around the base, you bite your lip as you drag your hand upwards to the tip and collect his beading precum, spreading it around generously with the pad of your thumb before using it as lubricant to continue stroking him.

“Fuck,” he moans softly as you lick your lips, getting ready to get on your knees to return the favor that he so generously had given you moments ago. He grabs your wrist to stop you and you look at him curiously. “As much as I’d love to see you suck my cock, I just want to be inside of that pussy of yours right now.”

The hungry look in his eyes is all you need before you kiss him again, this time much sloppier than the previous ones. He maneuvers you around the kitchen for a moment and before you know it, you’re bent over the island countertop with a leg propped up on the cool surface. You hear Osamu spit into his hand and look back to see him give his thick cock a couple generous strokes before positioning himself with one hand while the other holds your hip.

You feel the bulbous head nudge your lower set of lips apart before slowly easing in, your back arching at the pressure already building inside of you. A soft hiss escapes your throat as you try to take all of him, grateful when he pauses once he’s bottomed out within you. You take a deep breath for a moment and feel your muscles relax slightly as you adjust accordingly.

“Are ya ready?” Osamu’s voice comes out surprisingly soft as he leans over you, placing a kiss between your shoulder blades. You nod quietly before feeling both hands on your hips as he slowly begins to pull out. You realize just how thick he is when you feel empty, though it doesn’t last for long when he slams right back into you. A strangled mewl bubbles from your throat as he begins to thrust in and out of you. You lower yourself onto your elbows on the counter and ball your hands into fists, no longer caring how you sound; you’re too lost in your own wave of pleasure.

As Osamu continues his ministrations, you feel the counter buzz slightly and hazily look around with half a mind to simply ignore it. You see Osamu’s phone shaking across the surface next to your discarded apron, the screen lit up with an unfamiliar name.

“’Samu, your phone,” you say between moans, “your phone is ringing.”

His hips slow, though his thrusts continue to hit deep inside of you. He doesn’t have to reach far to grab it and glances at the screen.

“Shit,” he hisses under his breath. “Stay still for me, will ya?”

You halfheartedly nod your head, though you can’t help but whine at the loss of friction as he stills inside of you.

“Hello?” His voice is even as he answers quickly. “This is Osamu, yes.”

It’s hard to ignore the slight frustration bubbling in your chest as he uses one hand to keep your hips still while the other holds his phone. He continues to speak formally, so you assume it’s probably someone important or has something to do with work. You know better than to tease him in the event that this call is actually important, but you can’t resist the urge to just roll your hips a little.

There’s a slight hitch in Osamu’s voice before he clears his throat, though it sounds more like a warning to you than anything. However, that doesn’t stop you as you grow more bold, deciding to create your own rhythm of shallow thrusts. His grip on your hip tightens, though it’s not enough to hurt you just yet.

“Something just came up, so I’m gonna have to call ya back,” you hear Osamu say, his voice becoming more strained as each second ticks by. When he finally hangs up, the phone smacks onto the table, startling you to a halt.

“Sorry, I couldn’t w-”

“Ya think yer so cute, dontcha? I told ya to stay still.” His voice is dangerously low as he hunches over, practically growling in your ear. You whimper softly in response, feeling the heat radiating off his skin. You’re not sure if you should be as turned on as you are right now, feeling your walls clench around him.

He stands upright and reaches around to grab one of your arms, practically yanking you back so you’re also standing up. His other hand reaches around to grab your other arm, pinning your wrists behind your back.

“If yer gonna act like a slut, I’m gonna fuck ya like one,” he snarls lowly and you resist the urge to moan. He manages to reach for your apron and rolls it up, looping it around your elbows.

As one hand holds your newly bound arms behind your back, the other holds your hips before he begins to pull out of you. You feel his whole length leave you empty with the exception of the tip and you’re about to complain again when you feel him slam back in roughly.

“Is this what ya thought of when ya were touchin’ yerself?”

You hardly contain the cry of mixed pain and pleasure as your back arches, his hips snapping against yours at a relentless pace. You can barely process his words, though you know the embarrassment will hit you later; you simply can’t form coherent enough thoughts to care. The hand that was on your hip leaves but only momentarily before his palm claps against your ass. You yelp in surprise as he releases your arms.

“What, did ya never get spanked as a kid?” Osamu taunts as he rubs the reddening skin. You lean back over, supporting yourself on your elbows. His comment barely processes in your head as he does it again.

Coherent words fail to form as you feel your legs begin to tremble. You’re practically running towards another orgasm and you can tell Osamu is too, based on his unstable rhythm and sloppier movements. You feel one of his hands reach around you to play with your nipples while you let your own hand rub your clit, the sensations overwhelming you in a crashing wave of pure bliss.

As your walls tighten and flutter, Osamu pulls out and fists his cock a couple times before you feel hot ropes of cum paint your back and ass, a guttural groan leaving him.

“Holy fuck,” he pants once he recovers from his orgasm. You’re still shaking, bent over the island, breathing heavily.

A dull ringing can be heard in your ears from the intensity of your climax, but you faintly hear the sink running for a moment. Not long after, you feel a warm and damp towel wipe across the mess on your backside and Osamu’s gentle arm pulls you up.

“Hey, was I too rough on ya?” His voice is soft and you shake your head. He presses a kiss to your forehead as he hands you your clothes from the ground. “Do ya wanna eat now and shower later?”

“Yeah, I’m starving,” you sigh as your head begins to clear up. You look over to your forgotten food, your mouth curving downwards into a frown. “Wait, did you not turn off the stove?”

“I was a little preoccupied.”

#haikyuu!! #haikyuu #haikyū!! #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x you #haikyuu x y/n #miya osamu #osamu x y/n #osamu x reader #osamu x you #haikyuu smut #osamu smut #hrnybbg

[hoe-doroki]

On the Job pt. 2

minors do not interact

warnings: 18+, fuck or die sex pollen (which means there are noncon/dubcon elements), reader is a sex worker, masturbation, face fucking, temperature play, (light) pain play, biting

pairing: todoroki x fem!reader

wc: 3.4k

summary: Super human society has a secret. Aphrodisiac quirks aren’t just the things of porn and fantasy–they’re actually quite common and too often fall into the wrong hands. Heroes, of course, do the best that they can, but when they get hit, they must be taken off the line of duty and someone needs to be able to activate the quirk’s release condition. If they’re single, who might that someone be? Obviously, you.

a/n: Half of me didn’t actually think that I would follow up part one, but I feel a heavy obligation towards my fanfic promises so...this is a weight off my shoulders, lol.

edit: I no longer write x reader but here’s my old masterlist - mobile | desktop

You’d gotten the call early today.

Not early in the day—truth be told, you’d hardly known what time it was before picking up the phone. No, you got the call early. As in not last minute. The call saying that your client would have to be transported to the agency from on site and they could tell you the details in the meantime.

The call saying you’d better drive to the agency, because you had to service a hero in an hour.

Now, patience wasn’t usually your virtue of choice—actually you didn’t often tend towards virtues in general. Save perhaps for kindness, which you preferred to deal out on your knees or your back, augmented by praise and the generosity of offering all three of your holes for your clients’ needs. But you were happy to cultivate it today, because an early call meant one thing.

You knew who was coming today.

Your pants were already off and you shirt was pushed up over your breasts as you leisurely played with yourself. You’d licked the tips of your fingers and gotten them started with slow passes over your clit, the other hand pinching your nipple, just a little too hard in prep for a hero who’d probably give it to you rough.

Maybe your reaction wasn’t right. Maybe it wasn’t kind of you to be so relaxed—relaxed and eager, actually—over the news that it was possible that Pro Hero Shouto would die. That he’d been hit with the particularly high stakes brand of aphrodisiac quirk and that if you didn’t trigger the release condition—that was: hot and heavy sex—his heart may very well stop or whatever happened on the other side of these troublesome quirks.

You wouldn’t know. After all, you hadn’t lost a single client yet.

So perhaps that was cold of you. Perhaps it would be more virtuous for you to be worried about him, fretting on the other side of the door with the guards over his ETA.

Then again, as stated: you’d never been one for virtue. Sin was much more fun. And surely it was better to make sure that whenever Shouto did show up, you had a wet pussy that he could waste none of his precious time sinking his cock into.

You groaned at the thought, dipping two fingers from your clit into your cunt and scissoring them. Your head lolled back against the pillows, eyes fluttering closed as you pressed against that front wall the flats of your fingertips, feeling that soppy wetness covering you and beginning to drip down your knuckles.

Yeah, you were ready for him.

In fact, you’d been waiting for Shouto longer than just today. After nabbing the number two pro hero, Dynamight, a few months back, you’d gone ahead and debased yourself  further—how much further was there to go, though, really?—by creating a list of your dream clients. You’d written Dynamight just to check him off, the memory of him cumming in you raw and licking you clean still hot between your thighs.

Your near encyclopedic knowledge of heroes—naturally, you took a healthy interest in your job—had then led you to daydream about Dynamight’s whole hero cohort. You added Red Riot to the list, dreaming of his abs, imagining riding them, teasing sweet whines out of him before backing up and dropping yourself on his cock. You thought of Deku, what it would mean for your ego to nab the number one hero, the flash of jealousy that would rise on his face when you let it slip that you’d already fucked his biggest rival, fucked his goddamn brains out and yours to boot.

Of course, you couldn’t do that. NDAs, after all. You’d already signed away your rights to mentioning anything about what happened to or with Shouto today. Still, you could dream.

Then, of course, your thinking had truly devolved, and you’d thought about the boys being paired up, fighting a villain with an unknown quirk only to be hit by the ever common, ever unknown—thanks to you and your prudence; oops, there was another virtue—aphrodisiac quirk and having to take care of both of them. Spit-roassting, Eiffel Tower, a goddamn daisy chain—anything. Long story short, you’d ended up cumming twice more on your hands before the evening was done.

But also on that list, was Shouto Todoroki.

Who, if you weren’t mistaken, was now on the other side of the door.

After all, these walls weren’t soundproof. It provided quite the show for the lucky guards on the other side, but hey, if you needed to scream for help, they had to be there. By the same coin, you could hear the shuffling on the other side, the footsteps approaching, and the telltale sound of the lock on the door being activated. You pressed your legs together, resting them to the side, hiding your glistening pussy artfully with your legs for the sake of modesty. Everyone knew what was happening here, but you didn’t need to send Shouto’s poor handler back blushing to their colleagues.

Shouto was ushered into the room and, without eye contact, someone yelled to you, “Ready, ma’am?”

“Ready!” you called back, and the door was closed, leaving you alone with the number three hero.

Without modesty, your legs fell open, revealing the mess you’d already made of yourself to Shouto. You dipped the fingers you’d been using into your mouth, and cleaned them dutifully. After all Shouto was still wearing his costume, and you did so hate the agency having to send those to the cleaners with your fluids all over them.

“Hey, bud,” you purred, running a hand slowly up one thigh. “I heard you have a problem.”

Pro Hero Shouto was known for his stoic personality. News conferences and interviews he participated in always consisted of a slow, even tone, and little beyond cold facts. There was something pleasantly mysterious about that, sure, but it didn’t exactly hint that he’d be quick to jump into bed. Sexy voice, though.

But whatever quirk he’d been hit with must have been strong, because the next thing you knew, the index finger from his left hand was tracing down the front of his uniform, cleanly burning a line straight to his already tented crotch. His accessories had already been taken off—his belt, gloves, shoes, even the clasp at his neck had been undone earlier. So there was nothing in his way as he pulled either side of his scorched uniform to the side and off his arms as he approached the bed.

“All business, huh?” you asked, pushing yourself up off your pillows by your forearms, watching as Shouto climbed onto the bed on his knees, finally pulling his jumpsuit down past his crotch.

You’d taken a bet with yourself on the color of his pubes—it’s not like you’d be losing either way if you got to see them. They turned out to be dual-colored, but not the stark red and white of his hair. No, they were more neutral in tone, like yours. Unlike yours, they were nested above a heavy cock, already shining with precum—or actual cum, you didn’t know—at the head.

Shouto didn’t reply to your comment, and you weren’t surprised. Some people went totally nonverbal when hit by sex pollen quirks, and that was fine. You’d rather someone button their lip than ruin the mood by saying something off, after all. All business was fine by you—this was your job, after all. And no matter the size of his mouth, his cock was just fucking right.

You naturally lowered your legs as Shouto began kneeing over you, cock in hand. Your brain only just managed to catch up to what was going on when his legs stopped on either side of your ribs, his leaking cockhead crossing your eyes before you. Automatically, your jaw dropped open, and Shouto’s cock smeared pre against your cheek and the corner of your mouth before sinking deep into your mouth, drawing a first obscene moan out of him.

A humming moan fell out of you too, barely able to take in the taste of Shouto’s cock before it was pressing against the back of your throat, springing tears to your eyes automatically. Something about aphrodisiac quirks so often seemed to play with the taste of these heroes’ cum. No longer was it bitter, but just heady, salty, and more pleasant than it should have been as it coated your tongue and throat. You adored it, and purposefully relaxed your muscles so that you could take more of him in.

Shouto didn’t hold back. With barely half a breath in your lungs, Shouto was thrusting deep in the back of your throat so that your spit dripped from your mouth and smacked wetly between his balls and your chin. You blinked tears out of your eyes and looked up at him to find blown pupils staring back at you, gaze hot and pointed.

There was light behind those eyes. Whatever Shouto was right now, it wasn’t unthinking, not pure instinct. No, the way he was fucking your throat, the way his eyes had you pinned—it was intentional.

Abruptly, Shouto pulled out, a think strand of spit snapping from his dick, cold on your tongue as you panted from the rough treatment. You held your mouth open, expecting him to shove back in once you’d caught your breath, but Shouto seemed to have other plans. He moved down your body, soaked cock again in his palm, and his eyes now set on your pussy. You reached for one of the condoms you’d set out next to you, and held it in front of him.

“Hate to sound like an after-school special, but no glove…”

Shouto paused, eyeing you for just a moment before taking the square and making quick work of it, rolling it over himself.

Then, abruptly, he put a hand on your cheek, drawing your eyes back up to his. “Thank you for your hard work. It does not go unappreciated.”

“What the—”

You were left agog at his statement, wholly unprepared as he swiftly took each of your thighs in one hand, spread them, and plunged in you to the hilt. You gasped high in your chest, your throat still tender from being rawed by Shouto’s dick. He leaned over you, sighing with a relief that doubled then halved the size of his chest. His forehead touched yours in a strange moment of intimacy, and, for a moment, you wondered if that was it. Was that all the release condition took? Penetration? Or had he cum and you just hadn’t noticed?

Were you going to be left to tend to yourself with the bullet vibrator in your glove compartment yet again?

Then Shouto leaned back, looked at you again with those sharp eyes, and began smacking into you with abandon.

“Fuck,” you let out as Shouto’s balls, still wet with your spit, left their mark on your ass with every deep thrust he gave you.

Shouto manhandled your thighs, grabbing them firmly in each hand as he reared back fully on his knees again, taking the lower half of your body with him. You reflexively braced with your arms, and soon they were the only part of you still in contact with the bed, along with your upper back and head still resting on the comfortable stack of pillows.

As was often the case, you’d lost control of the situation. You could barely match Shouto’s thrusts on your own as he repeatedly used his upper body strength to bring you to him, and his lower body strength to send his hips right back in return. If you tried to reach him, your fingertips would barely brush his thighs, much less any other part of him. You were totally at his mercy.

You couldn’t help but eyeball his broad biceps, flexed by holding up the weight of most of your body. And aside from the sweat dripping from his forehead—probably quirk-induced—he was showing little to no strain.

He hadn’t always had muscles like this, you were sure. You couldn’t help but remember pundits sounding off on Shouto’s overreliance on his quirk over physical strength, or the difference between his body and the massive tank that was his father, Endeavor. They’d shown clips of his body—handsome, always handsome—but either Shouto had done a lot of bulking in the last few years or those newscasters had been particularly unkind. Likely both. Because now, drops of sweat were trickling from his body in rivulets; there were no straight paths to go down. A bulging muscle here to dip around, the crease from a flexed ab there to pool in. You were hypnotized by his form, even the thighs straining under the part of his uniform that he hadn’t bothered to burn off.

Your mind was so enraptured by thoughts of Shouto’s body that the sensations happening to yours crept up on you. All at once, you realized that your thighs were burning. Actually, one was burning, and the other was freezing cold, both just under his palms and branching up the fingers currently painting five bruises into each muscle.

A gasp flew out of your mouth and your eyes rolled back as your thighs suddenly began quaking unbidden. Shouto looked down at you, his expression easy save for those passionate eyes, little huffs escaping his slack jaw. “Too much?” he asked.

Your head shook side to side, a vehement no as Shouto dug his fingers even deeper into your flesh, bringing dull throbs of pain so close to where every thrust brought about sharp flashes of pleasure. It felt like a betrayal when he just then loosened his grip to slide his hands up to your knees and hook them over his shoulder. Then those hands, right at the brink of freezing and searing pressed into the meat of your ass as he brought your hips to his with redoubled force.

That first new thrust sent Shouto’s head turning to the side, digging a painful bite into the fleshy part of your calf, making you cry out. A moment later, he let go, his tongue passing over the teeth marks like a salve over a wound.

All the dueling sensations had you close. You’d been teasing yourself for so long before Shouto had even shown up and now he was fucking into you like…well, like his life depended on it.

God, was it wrong to love fuck or die quirks?

You were quick to take a hand and put it back on your aching clit, despite the strain it put on your neck and upper back to lose one arm of support. Part of a good fucking was being folded like a pretzel, and you’d just book a massage appointment tomorrow to deal with it. Surely saving the life of the number three hero was worth a reward.

Shouto’s eyes honed in on your fingers moving rapidly over your clit, and you bet he could feel the twitches of your cunt approaching climax. A hand left your ass and went behind his head to pat your ankles. “Cross them,” he instructed.

Obediently, you crossed your ankles, making your position a bit sturdier as Shouto continued to drive you back onto him with one hand. Then that second hand went to yours, brushing it away with the backs of his knuckles. A surprisingly gentle gesture for the man who was kneading bruises into your ass and biting your leg. Then, with his thumb, he painted one slow, hard, blazing stripe up your clit, and you came instantly.

“Fuck!” you shouted as your back arched in midair, the crown of your head digging into the pillows as your neatly crossed ankles came undone, your thighs shaking and falling from Shouto’s grip. His cock slid out of you as your lower half bounced once on the bed. Before the springs could vault you back, Shouto was on top of you, pressing himself back in your still convulsing cunt.

His thrusts were long, desperate as he breathed into your neck. He mouthed the base of your neck with light bites and suckles—never quite kissing. Your thighs came back up around his hips and his left hand went back to squeezing your thigh. Meanwhile, the right came between your thighs, surprising you as two fingers began prodding at your entrance.

Almost immediately, you could feel the heat of the stretch. Or rather, you would have felt the heat of the stretch, had his fingers not been ice cold against you. You cried out as he curled his fingers forward while his cock kept thrusting straight through you, the hot and cold contrast nearly too much. You wondered how much more intense it would feel if Shouto were unbound by the condom, and you able to bear its full heat.

“Please,” you whimpered as your orgasm began to rise again, too quickly, nearly as sudden as the first one had been, but without all the build up. This one felt like it was going to tear out of you.

Just then, the nips that Shouto had been teasing over your neck went away, and he planted one more good bite on your shoulder as his thrusts became insistent, the fingers petting inside you matched with a cold thumb over your clit. And neither of you could hold on a moment longer.

Shouto groaned low and bone deep in your ear while your voice, still raspy from early, keened in his. Your thighs went tight around his waist and his hand was trapped between you as you both rode out your highs. It took a full minute for your muscles to unwind, and your feet to fall flat to the bed. At that point, Shouto pulled out and rolled over next to you, both of you panting as the sweat dried on your skin.

Shouto pulled the condom off of himself and found a trashcan to toss it into before falling flat on his back again. After a few moments of nothing but heavy breathing, he opened his mouth. “Thank you for your professionalism.”

You snorted. “You’re welcome,” you managed, keeping your laughter at bay. “That’s not what people usually thank me for.”

“Thank you for saving my life?” Shouto tried again, his gaze shifting over to you.

His eyes were still bright, but his gaze less sharp, obscured by dual-colored bangs falling over it. Suddenly, Shouto looked a great deal more innocent than the man who’d been fucking the life out of you just minutes ago. Perhaps an effect of the quirk wearing off, perhaps the effect of unfettered pleasure meeting relief.

“More common, yes,” you replied, unable to keep the smile off your face.

“You’re very good at what you do,” Shouto said, his eyes going to the spot where he’d bitten your shoulder. He circled it with one finger, brows furrowing. “You’re like a hero.”

“Hah,” you returned, looking up at the ceiling. You weren’t going to let this be the moment in your career that made you blush. “Vixen, the orgasm hero. I don’t think it would meet the commission’s guidelines.”

“Perhaps not,” Shouto said, sitting up and pulling up what remained of his costume, frowning at the spot where he’d torn it. You supposed you needn’t have worried about this costume going to the cleaners; the support team would likely toss it and make a replacement.

“There are clothes you can change into in the closet,” you said, pointing to the near invisible door in the back wall.

Shouto waved you away as he stood up. “This will be fine to make it to the locker room with.”

“Suit yourself,” you said as you pushed yourself up, trying to remember where you’d thrown your leggings before you’d started jerking of, grunting as your spine cracked.

Shouto plucked the leggings from near the foot of the bed and tossed them to you before heading towards the door. With his hand on the knob, he turned back and made eye contact with you one last time, the ghost of a smile you’d never seen before on his lips. “Thanks again…Vixen.”

As he closed the door, you could only blame your own impropriety, that utter lack of virtue that you first thought was:

Number two pro hero, Shouto: check.

#todoroki smut #bnha smut #mha smut #shouto todoroki smut #shoto todoroki smut #tw: sex work #tw: sex pollen #tw: masochism #tw: pain play #tw: dubcon #tw: biting #tw: temperature play