#Men'S Quarter Socks

[cyarsk52-20]

let me know when y’all ready to start stoning Da Baby for his involvement in Tory’s harassment again Megan. he willfully still antagonizes her to this day which is weird and obsessive.

[drgnflyteabox]

something to remember you by

pairing: soap x fem reader summary: your boyfriend wants some memorabilia of you to take on his deployments. only, he wants his superior officer to take the photos. w.c: 3.7k tags/warnings: dubcon, cucking, mild degradation, oral (m + f, rough), hair pulling, un-negotiated kink, dom!soap, clothed man naked reader, teasing scent kink (m + f), one (1) pussy slap, crying, squirting, unprotected sex, some anxiety, reassurance mid-fuck, overstimulation, some aftercare, abrupt but open ending, reader has some internal shame around sex/kink, reader doesn't rlly like her bf

At first, it’s nothing. Dirty talk, suggestive texts, passing comments while he’s on his second deployment with a hand around his cock and you pretending to be into it.

"Think about it, babe," he’s panting, but it’s less sexy when you can tell he’s deepening his voice on purpose like Christian Bale Batman. "Don’t you wanna give me something to remember you by? While I’m out here fighting for you?"

Corny. So fucking corny. Your feet are kicked up on your coffee table, fuzzy-socked, face schlopped with a cooling gel mask. Quarter past 8 o’clock, and he’s trying to sell you on letting one of his army buddies fuck you and take pictures of you. The absurdity makes you almost laugh.

"…babe?" Oh, shit.

"Yeah honey, I’m here." You’d kind of feel bad, if it weren’t for the ick factor. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him, he was fine, it was just that since he’d joined the army he’d inched closer and closer to picking up a mic and dictating which body counts were okay to women over podcasts. That, and he’s gotten hornier. Kinkier.

Which is fine, really. Only you don't consider yourself adventurous. Sex is like a chore, something to put you to sleep, to relax the muscles. Relationships are quid pro quo - I suck your dick, you make my parents think I’m succeeding in life, deal?

Not to mention, you've never even considered stepping outside of the idea that sex is between committed couples only, sequestered away and hidden in the closet like old clothes.

"So, are you picturing it?" Schlap schlap schlap. He must’ve added lotion. "You can say no obviously, ughnnn, but I know this guy really well. I'd, ahhh fuck, sit in the other room."

"Thanks for being so considerate," you sound dry, but you’re honestly intrigued. Life has been monotonous since graduation, the transition from study to office… rough.

You aren’t adventurous. But you’re so fucking bored.

"Can I see him first?" On the TV in front of you, muted, Matthew Macfayden confesses his love tearfully in the rain. You want to be bewitched, body and soul. To feel something.

"So you’ll do it? Oh, fuck-" Not what I said, you think. His voice goes high, reedy, trembling with his orgasm. "See how fucking hot this makes me? I’ll send a pic, give me a sec."

It’s a group photo. He’s dressed in his uniform, head shaved, standing next to a group of a dozen or so men. Outlined, at the far corner with a group of guys big enough to dwarf a good third of the rest, is a man with building biceps and a smarmy grin and a confident, wide-legged pose. Hips jutted out. Fuck, he’s hot. You can see his bulge through his pants, through the picture, under a heavy tac vest.

"Get in, get in!" the apartment is clean for once. At least, clean without you getting sick of his clutter and playing maid. Did he do it himself to impress his friend? That makes you snort, but he doesn’t catch it, too preoccupied with his phone.

"Um, woah-" you start, taken aback. It looks like a porn set. There’s a plastic sheet on the ground in front of the couch. "I thought this was supposed to be casual?"

"It is, babe," he’s brushing you off, same as he did the few days leading up to this. You’d gone through some minor confidence and judgment crises, anxiety building like a balloon about to pop. All of which he’d brushed off.

It’s all fun and games, babe. Plus he’s done this before, he’s like a pro, showed me some videos - that was something you hadn't agreed to, just some pictures for him to take on deployments.

Still, trepidation makes you sweat, makes your thighs stick to the brown leather couch when you sit and try to sip water. Your socks crinkle the sheet.

You don’t turn when he arrives, still too nervous, knees stuck together and hands slipping on the glass from condensation when they start talking behind you. There’s too many what ifs - all reasons you’d used to avoid hookups in college, all reasons you wanted to break through your shell now.

Plus, you’re sick of hearing "did you finish?"

"This must be her," says an accented voice, gruff and maybe amused, "ye feelin' shy?"

No. You’re just nervous. Exposed. One of the only conditions you'd pushed was no cuck chair, but now you weren't sure how to feel to be left alone with him soon. This man is so big, so imposing.

"Hi," you say smartly. He looks just like his photo, only bigger. Bulging muscles and the same wide stance when he comes to stand in front of you. It’s only because you can’t stand sitting face-to-face with his crotch that you stand and hold your hand out to shake.

"And polite!" Loud. He introduces himself as Johnny, which makes your boyfriend's eyebrows raise. "So cute." he takes the liberty of bypassing your hand and grabbing your waist.

Oh fuck, he runs hot. His hands burn, even through your shirt. You feel self-conscious, plain, looking up at his probing blue eyes. They’re so intense, captivating, distracting you from the feeling of him getting closer and closer, till your tits are pressed to his.

"Hey-"

The moment breaks. Your boyfriend is looking at you both, unreadable expression on his face. Is he regretting this? Feeling emasculated, maybe? Hard to feel much sympathy when you’re the one about to get fucked.

And it was his idea.

"I’m gonna go to the bedroom," his eyes squint, flitting between the both of you before he scurries away, pants tented.

"Now that that's outta the way," Johnny grunts. "C'mere." And sits down with a grunt, pulling you to him.

You try to pivot, to sit next to him, but he's strong and coordinated so you wind up in his lap, back touching the arm of the couch and your legs slung over his, bum on one thigh.

"That's more like it, no?" there's that wolfish grin again, so close. One hand rests on your knee, possessively, while the other wraps around your shoulders and plays with your shirt. "Why don't we introduce ourselves?"

The hand on your knee moves to your face, gripping your cheeks in a grip hard enough to push your lips out into an embarrassing pout. You struggle a little, pulling at his wrist, but he doesn't budge.

He pulls his phone out, aiming the camera at your face, recording a video through a text-app. You can that it's a groupchat, assured by your boyfriend before that it was totally private, babe. This is jut between us.

"Now say hello," he puts his stubbly cheek next to yours, rubbing like a cat. "And introduce yourself."

"H'llo," you struggle through it, muffled by his grip. Your name is almost unintelligible, and your jaw starts to ache a little.

"Say, can I please suck your cock, sir?"

Your stomach tightens, right down to your pussy, which gushes a little into your panties.

"Cn'I please suck your cock, sir?" he's so fucking forward, just jumping in headfirst. The loss of control, your being told what to do, makes your clit jump. Sex has never been like this - you've never been so acquiescing.

"Of course you can, bonnie!" you're almost tossed to the floor, no gentleness as he pulls you toward him by the hair so quickly it almost makes you dizzy. He scoots to the edge of the couch, leaning back against it, and uses that strong arm to rub your face on his bulge. "Get me hard."

He puts his phone on the arm of the couch.

You flounder, hands finding his knees and trying to pull back. He doesn't let you.

"Use your mouth, kiss me," his hand finds a firmer hold on your hair as you start mouthing against him, tasting denim, smelling his musk, letting it get to your head and make you dizzy. "That's right, kitten."

His cock starts to chub under his clothes, and you almost wish you could feel it in your mouth. Oral isn't your favourite, but the way your pussy clenches around nothing and drips into your panties is making you think maybe you were wrong about yourself.

"Up, up," your face is rubbed a little raw by the time you sit up, looking at him. Waiting for instruction. "Everything off, except your panties."

You obey, stripping your shirt and bra and then your shorts. Your nipples tighten in the cool air of the apartment, goosebumps dancing along your arms and your belly. Self-consciousness almost has you reaching to cover yourself, until Johnny grabs you by the shoulders and twists you just enough that you're back to facing his phone.

"Look at these," he grunts in your ear, fingers finding your nipples. Pulling them, pinching them. It's not for you, it's for the camera. You feel like an object, an accessory, secondary to getting the shot of the rough pads of his fingers teasing you into whimpers.

You've never been more turned on.

"Nice, eh?" he pulls them up and out, which hurts, but draws a line of pure electricity from your nipples to your clit. "Whatd'ye think, L.T?" the name doesn't register. Army stuff, you assume.

You're turned back around sharply again to face his actual cock. He's pulled it from his fly, thick and leaking, while you were getting undressed. It's unfair, really, nice and long and curved.

"Ask me again," a statement. A command, phone discarded.

"Please can I suck your cock, sir?" the words make your cheeks burn, your body quiver, your clit jump.

"Ye can," laughter this time, worsening your embarrassment. His hand finds your hair again, pulling you down when you're too slow to touch your lips to the head of his dick. "I'm gonnae fuck your face, alright?"

Without waiting, he lifts his hips up and thrust into your mouth. It's not as deep as it can go, but you almost gag, unprepared. The next thrust is deeper, quicker. He's letting you build up to it, letting your hands rest on his knees for balance.

Your nose touches his pubic hair, inhaling the scent of him. Any attempt at hollowing your cheeks, sucking, licking, is futile. He's so quick that the best you can do is hang on for the ride, keeping your teeth in check.

Drool builds and spills past your lips, making wet sounds compete with his frankly pornographic moaning. He's a man possessed, using you while you squeeze your eyes against overwhelmed tears.

Finally he yanks you off of him by the hair, holding you up while you splutter from the unexpected change. Your hands go to your face, trying to wipe.

"None o'that, now," he bats them away, giving you a shake when you keep trying. "Leave it." like you're a bad dog.

Strings of spit connect your swollen lips to his cock, thin and gooey, that fall to your bare chest when he sits up.

You're turned, stood up and then guided to the couch to sit. Johnny slaps your thighs to get you to open them, lifting your feet for you so that your heels rest on the edge of the couch cushions.

"Awe, look how wet she is," he holds your legs, exposing your wet panties to him and to his phone, where he takes a few pictures. Again, you wonder about the appeal of this for your boyfriend. It's hot for you. Degrading, but hot. Or maybe more hot because of the degradation.

"Oh god," you say out of shock. You've never been so fucking wet in your life, and god forbid he sees how swollen with arousal you are underneath.

"Naw, just me," Johnny says, rubbing his knuckles over your pussy through the fabric. "She all wet and frustrated?"

You don't answer, hands keeping you sat up, chest heaving. You're still a little dizzy.

Johnny licks over your panties, mouthing over them not unlike what you did for him only a few minutes before. It's nothing, really, but you're so worked up that it startles a long, drawn-out moan from you.

He continues like this, never actually making contact with where you need it, with your skin. Every one in a while he turns his head to the side and grins, taking a picture or a videoclip while you tip your head back and resist begging him to just get on with it.

His nose presses on your mound, where he drags it down to your hole and sniffs.

That's what breaks your resolve.

"Please," you whine. Your voice is rough from taking his cock in your throat.

"Please what?" he opens his mouth and puts his teeth on you, not biting, just letting you feel them. Gnawing gently.

"Please do it," you look down at him, and even though he's on his knees you know you aren't the one in control. "Please lick my cunt."

A laugh, mean and condescending. Your eyes close in shame, pussy burning for attention.

"This cunt right here?" he pulls the gusset aside, whistling. "This desperate little cunt?"

"Yes, please," you curl your toes into the couch.

Something shifts in his eyes, some unrecognizable flash. It feels like danger, like you're in over your head. Johnny takes two fingers and rubs them over your clit, slowly at first, and then quickly when he feels how slippery you are.

Somewhere, a volcano erupts and it isn't comparable to the heat or the feeling of your clit finally getting attention. It zings through you, making you squeeze your muscles, taught and trembling.

The pads of his fingers are a rough sensation on your swollen skin, the worlds best vibrator, ribbed for your pleasure. All he does is rub, up and down over your clit, quickly and until your face starts to scrunch together in orgasm, trembling hard.

Then he pulls back and slaps you so hard on your pussy you scream.

You almost come from it, shocked, legs kicking out, skin burning and clit pulsing with desperation, back bowing. You keep making sound after, a long and drawn out aaaaaahhhhh while he grins like the cat that got the cream. Takes another picture, the click of the camera loud in the face of your disappointment.

The intensity of it almost brings you to tears, looking at him with betrayal and vulnerability in your face. You feel weak all of a sudden, cored, devoured, pulled apart as soft as slow cooked meat.

Your panties fall back over your skin, a minor comfort against the sting.

"Poor girl," Johnny says with false sympathy. "Let me make it up to ye."

Then you're up again, pulled and pressed against Johnny's chest until he pulls your underwear down and rearranges you to sit on his lap over his spread legs, yours dangling on either side.

"Gonna bounce ye on my cock, alright?" you nod. "Sit on it."

You lift your hips, using his knees for balance, and he guides the head of his cock to your hole. Stops you from sitting back right away with a hand on your hip, squeezing the soft flesh there, and holding you there.

"They're kissing," he laughs. You feel it, your cunt mouthing at him like a conscious being, separate from you. "Ye think they want tae meet each other?"

"Can I?" you don't fight to keep the whine out of your voice. You want to come, you want this aching and this emptiness to end.

"Can ye what?"

"Sit on your cock, please."

"Well, since ye asked so nicely," and then he notches himself properly again, and forces you down with two hands on your waist. You shout, arching, head thrown back. "Bounce on it now, kitten. Show me how badly ye want to come."

And oh god, you do. You rock forward, shaking at the feeling of him, no technique to guide you just pure intuition, brain and cunt and body as one. Distantly, the sound of the camera registers, but it only makes you move faster.

He spreads your cheeks, exposing where you're connected, putting the camera close to the wet clench of your cunt around his cock and - oh, he's filming it. There's no click, just the wet sounds of you riding him.

"Thas'right," he murmurs lowly, maybe for show. "You wanna come?"

"Yes!" you lean back, then, sweat slicked back sticking to his shirt, forgetting where you are and why you're here. Everything narrows down to your pussy, but you feel compelled to keep your hands off your clit even though you know it would make you come quickly.

You want to listen to him, to wait for permission. The thought is searing heat through your core.

Fingers find your face, slipping into your mouth. Your lips wrap around them, sucking like you would've his cock.

His other hand lifts his phone in front of you both, snapping shots of your unfocused eyes, your tits pushed into the air, his smarmy expression. He hooks his fingers then into your cheek, pulling back like a fishhook.

"Good girl," his lips against your ear, stubble scratching the hot skin of your neck. "I'm gonna fuck you for real now, alright?"

You nod, desperately. He pushes you up and off of him, face down in the cushion. He's still clothed, for gods sake, jeans rubbing against the backs of your thighs when he drags your ass back toward him.

The mushroom head of his cock finds your cunt again, pushing in, driving you nuts. You're moaning helplessly, letting him take your boneless arms to hold them behind you.

He fucks you like a man possessed, in a short strokes, barely leaving the hot clutch of your pussy. The sounds, if they were bad before, are worse now, wet and humiliating.

Every thrust feels like he's slowly inflating a balloon inside you, like something pulling taut, like pressure about to burst.

"Fuck, wait!" you shout and turn your head. The pressure is insane, mixed up with a building orgasm, twined together. He hasn't even touched your clit, and yet you're on the precipice.

Johnny leans down, lips on your ear. He slows, but doesn't stop.

"What is it, bonnie?"

"I have to pee," you'd have mumbled it before, but the feeling is so strong you can't help but whimper and cry. "Please let me up."

"Ye aren't gonna pee," he laughs. "Trust me, just trust me." Then keeps pistoning into you.

You feel like jello, like mush, the only solid part of you is about to burst and somehow it makes you feel real anxiety, dampening your enjoyment.

"Johnny-" you whimper, emotion clogging your voice. You feel vulnerable, held down and bared.

In need of reassurance.

"You're alright," he leans back down and nuzzles your wet cheek. "Ye can let go, kitten, I've got ye."

You gasp, pulsing hard around him, the feeling back again, before you gush around his cock, a spray so intense you cry as it forces him out of you.

"Good. Fucking. Girl!" he slaps your ass once, twice, on both cheeks. Rubs your flank like a horse and then plunges back into you when you finish dripping down your legs.

This is purely selfish, him fucking you hard now, jackrabbiting his hips into yours. You hear the phone again, just barely, as your ears ring.

You're raw from coming without any touch to your clit, a weird limbo between being on-edge and oversensitive.

"Gonna give me another," he's growling now, getting impossibly faster. You actually really cry when he reaches around to twist your clit, thrashing under him, not sure if you want to leap off the couch or crawl right back into him. "Come for me!" he shouts, pulling up the hood of your clit to really get at you, rubbing rough circles around your beleaguered little nub.

The second orgasm melts your brain out of your ears, so long and drawn out that you're still shivering with the aftershocks as he pulls out of you and paints your back with his release.

You pant, arm one arm dangling over the edge of the couch while you the other covers your eyes.

Johnny rubs a hand on your thigh, light and gentle, patting your bum as he stands. You move your arm just enough to squint at him.

His jeans are soaked.

You laugh, uninhibited, delirious. He laughs with you.

"All you, darlin'!" he takes another shot of you, pulls your legs apart and takes a picture of your wet, sore hole.

"Is she good?" ah, your boyfriend. He has his own wet spot on the front of his pants.

"She's good," Johnny confirms. "Ye need to take care of her now, right?"

Something in his voice changes. A different kind of authority to the one he used on you, one reserved for soldiers. For men beneath him. At that thought, your pussy makes a valiant effort to clench.

"Yeah, yeah," you hear. Your boyfriend has his phone out, his cheeks flushed with excitement. "These are great man, thanks."

You start to sit up, still shaking, but not wanting to have him see you that way.

"Man, you weren't kidding!" he goes on. Johnny frowns and steps forward to clap him hard on the back and grab his nape.

"Run a bath, do it now. Ye got granola bars?"

"Uh, yeah. Hold on."

You're touched by his concern, and wind up soaking in warm bubbles after he leaves. You wonder about the photos, about what you look like. If your boyfriend is satisfied, if Johnny is.

If you were good.

Feels like you were, but somethings changed. Johnny found a soft spot knife-deep inside you and dug himself in, made you fly and made sure you were brought back to earth after, tenderized and then wrapped in comfort.

Beneath the water, you touch your pussy. Not to masturbate, just to feel the soft sore flesh, to remember the feeling of fullness.

Maybe, after his deployment, your boyfriend will want more pictures.

Fresh material.

Beneath the water, your finger curls into yourself and you sigh, satisfied.

[johnbrand]

Updated Employee Handbook

Ding! Ding!

Clark groaned. “Did you just get this email from Corporate?” 

“I think so,” Weston frowned. “‘Updated Employee Handbook’?”

“That’s the one,” Clark confirmed, the pair opening their respective emails. “Ever since this new CEO was confirmed, I feel like he’s been restarting and refreshing everything we do here.”

Weston scoffed, “We can’t even enjoy our 30 minute break outside the office without somehow getting looped back in. 

Click. Click.

“Are we sure we want to read this now?” Clark flicked a blond curl out of his face. “We could just enjoy the remaining minutes of our ignorant freedom.”

Weston chuckled, “I don’t know if we can, man. It’s flagged for mandatory reading, immediately.”

“I just hope they’re not revoking the jeans policy,” Clark commented. “I didn’t bring an extra set of clothes.”

Weston scratched at his man bun with an exaggerated sigh. “I did, but that’s because I knew I’d already be sweating through this shirt by now.”

Fwoosh. Fwoosh.

“Step by step confirmations?” Clark remarked. “This’ll be fun.”

“You know it,” Weston added.

Confirm. Confirm.

“‘The foundations of a man’s future are found in his wardrobe',” Clark began. “‘Traditional, full cut briefs are the center. Their stiff, starchy materials, blindingly white to showcase utter perfection, solidify the role of an employee. Their cotton fabric may appear inconsequential, yet they affirm that the employee is at the very core follwing instruction’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

Weston shifted his bottom uncomfortably. “‘A pristine button-down should expertly cover the upper body.  Depending on the weather, and the corporate setting, the following should either be a suitable pair of trousers or shorts. Trousers shall remain woolen and perched millimeters below the briefs and only be supported by braces. Shorts can be designed of lighter material, but must be of adequate length’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

“At least he’s letting our legs breathe,” Clark commented, itching at his own exposed limbs absentmindedly. “‘While the stiff shirt and particular cut of the trousers will keep the employee upright and tall, the jacket is designed for decorative purposes. The shape will reform the man as thick, strong, and uniform. Depending on the season, colors will remain modest. Blacks, grays, and blues for winter, with simple patterns and refined hues allowed for summer’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

Weston pulled at his striped lapel, thankful that his choice of attire today was not too exciting. “‘Accessories shall follow a similar suit. Silky black socks, generic yet tasteful tie, a handkerchief and or watch reflective of wealth, not personality. A highly polished pair of oxfords should represent every employee’s wardrobe; the gel holding his hair should represent how the employee is held to standards’.”

Confirm. Confirm.

“This better be the last page,” Clark moaned. “This is giving me more of a headache than refluffing my quiff.”

“It’s almost as agonizing as visiting an inexperienced tailor,” Weston quipped, to which both men laughed.

“Alright alright, I got this,” Clark finally said. “‘The foundations of a man are found in his wardrobe. Therefore, what is built upon that foundation should match. After all, the clothes do make the man’. There, that’s it.”

“Thank god that’s the last one,” Weston agreed.

Confirm. Confirm.

“Quite the peculiar update to our terms of service, wouldn’t you agree?” Clarence remarked.

“Well how so?” Wesley questioned. “I maintain that the boss’s wishes perfectly align with the standard workplace etiquette."

“My point exactly,” Clarence confirmed. “What is unordinary is how these quotations were not enforced before. The sense here is that I have already adorned this Cascade green jacket numerous times throughout these last two quarters alone.”

“And I with my own blazer showcasing these off-golden buttons,” Wesley added. “Perhaps our boss is tastefully solidifying our strong, traditional, classic values, even if we were already abiding.”

Meeting Invite for CLARENCE JOHNSTONBOROUGH, WESLEY LAUDER II 

“Bizarre how we appear to consistently be transported back to our duties, even while on intermission, is it not?” Clarence inquired.

“Indeed, it is bizarre,” Wesley replied.

[onepieceisreeeeaaalll]

𝗦𝘁𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗮 𝗙𝗮𝗺𝗶𝗹𝘆 - 𝗭𝗼𝗿𝗼 𝘅 𝗙𝗲𝗺!𝗥𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿

Hey, hey! Here's another contribution from the drafts. I meant to get this out earlier but I've been overthinking it haha. I'm still new to writing smut and I tend to write and rewrite, not to mention I've only just recently picked up writing again after years of doing it intermittently. I'll probably do what I always do and edit it for redundancies, mistakes, etc. This is almost pure NSFW but I did add a little prelude and a fluffy ending. Nothing crazy. Hope you enjoy!

CW: NSFW!! Gendered terms for reader (female); breeding kink; creampie; p in v; mention of overstimulation; use of term 'daddy'; actual talk of starting a family

~1.9K words

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Zoro wants kids. You wouldn't think it, given his typical demeanor, the way he interacts with kids, the big goals he has for his life. He's always liked the idea of little children running around, though - sparring with them, arguing, playing games, and telling stories. Yeah, Zoro wants kids. A family.

So, when you laugh at a comment Sanji makes in disgust about ‘a bunch of stupid green-haired babies popping out of you,' you have to do a double-take at Zoro's response. 

“Yeah? What's so funny about that?”

You blink, a stupid smile still stuck on your face from when you were keeling over at Sanji's remarks. The laughter slowly dies, though, as you start to process his words. There’s something deadly serious about Zoro’s tone that makes your smile fade.

“Wait, what?” You ask, your attention fully turned towards the grumpy demeanor of your boyfriend sitting beside you.

You'd both been sitting in the galley of the Sunny, Zoro only following you in because you were insistent on talking to the curly-browed cook to see if he needed help setting up for lunch. Idle conversation and jokes that had been made seemed mostly tuned out by Zoro. You weren't even sure he was listening until the comment he just made.

“I said ‘what's so funny?’ Don't you wanna have my kids?” Zoro retorts. 

Sanji’s just as surprised as you are, but he lets out a small snort before taking a long drag from his cigarette. “Who would want to have your brats, mosshead?” 

“Who asked you, shit cook? Where the hell is lunch, anyway?” 

Sanji grumbles under his breath, something about Zoro being a lazy jackass, but he reluctantly pads back off to the stove where he has food cooking for the upcoming mealtime. Sanji’s reaction isn’t even on your radar, though. You’re still reeling from Zoro’s question and the tone in which he said it.

“Zoro. You're kidding.” You say, your voice even. “What, you mean - you want kids?” 

“Yeah.”

It's so blunt, treated as something so obvious that you almost feel like you’re in a different reality. You stare at each other quietly, and you're not entirely sure but you swear you can see the gears in Zoro's head turning as well. It’s a pretty big step in your relationship, all things considered. You two had barely broached the topic of marriage once or twice, and those conversations weren’t particularly enlightening about what the future holds for you. But…kids. Zoro…wants kids. That much is certain.

With an awkward laugh, you tell him casually that you’d like to talk with him about it another time in an attempt to brush off the topic entirely. It’s obvious by his reaction that he’s not happy, but he decides to drop it at the sight of your other crewmates entering the galley.

So, that’s that. For now.

-----------

Loud moans and the sound of skin slapping leave the walls of the men's quarters, almost making the sock on the door handle obsolete. At this point, the sock was really just a formality to make you feel better. Both you and Zoro knew that if you were going to go at it like you usually did, everyone on the ship would know to steer clear the moment they walked within a fifteen-foot radius. Honestly, it was a joke at this point amongst the crew. Everyone was very well aware of your active - and loud - sex life.

Strong, calloused hands hold your thighs down against your chest, pinning you down into the bed. Zoro's cock slides into you with practiced ease, pumping in a familiar but hungry rhythm. His brows are furrowed as though he's concentrating, and through your sex addled haze, you can see a bead of sweat dripping down from his forehead. 

“Fuuuuck, (y/n). Pussy feels so good for me.” He groans. 

“Zoro, yes!” You gasp. One of your hands grips against his forearm, leaving light clawmarks from your nails against his skin. The sting makes Zoro hiss in delight.

“Yeah? You like that, (y/n), you like that?! Yeah? You want it harder?!” 

Zoro picks up the pace easily, his hands gripping your thighs as he angles and thrusts himself down into you. He loves the fucked out look in your eyes, the way you coo and keen under his touch. It’s something that he’s sure he’s gotten addicted to, and has even gone as far as to tell you on multiple occasions. 

All of this is so overwhelming, agonizingly intoxicating, and the pleasure building in your body isn’t doing much to help placate the frustration. An impulsive horny thought crosses your mind, though. The inkling of an idea. A solution. It could possibly backfire, but you were at the point of desperately needing a release. He had been going at you for almost an hour now, stopping when either of you got too close. Something about ‘wanting to take his time with you.’ You can’t even remember at this point, you’ve been denied that climax so many times that all you can think about is the feeling of Zoro’s cock dragging against your walls and the need to release the aching tension in your pussy. This move was risky, but hey, it's worth a shot. 

“Harder! Fuck-…put a baby in me!” You exclaim.

This sets something in Zoro off, halting him in a way neither of you were prepared for. He pauses all movements of his hips as if trying to process what he thinks he heard you say. It finally seems to click, though. With a devilish grin, he leans forward, his face only inches from yours. His body weighs down on you, pressing you harder into the bed. Without warning, his cock slides into you only once - harder, more deliberate - as his eye flickers over your face. Your eyes are half-lidded, tears prickling just out of the corners, though the way he slams his cock into you widens them.

“Yeah? That what you want? Wanna have my kids?” Zoro asks, his breath brushing over your lips. 

“Fill me up, Zoro…get me pregnant. Please. Need you to come in me.” You sputter breathlessly, your nose just brushing against his. 

Somehow, his grin widens further, and a small chuckle leaves him. You can feel him twitch inside you and you know for certain that this calculated risk has more than paid off.

“Shit, okay.” Zoro huffs, his movements continuing with a new primal urgency. “Yeah, there you go, pretty girl. Take it. Take my cock.” 

There is something profoundly different about the way Zoro is fucking you now. The mating press he has you in seems more firm than before, his hands on your thighs squeezing with the effort of him ramming his cock into you. The head of his length brushes over your g-spot again and again, that perfect amount of pressure causing you to writhe and groan beneath him. Every sound that leaves you, every tremble of your thighs, only makes him double his efforts.

“Yeah, yeah, just like that. Keep going. Take it! Gonna put a baby in you!” 

You can hardly believe the words you’re hearing growled at you, the way they’re cut through with the grunts and moans. Zoro has always put what felt like the maximum amount of effort into sex. It’s just who he is - he doesn’t half-ass anything he cares about, and fucking is one of those things. For some reason, though, every pass of his cock feels like it’s igniting some kind of new energy in him. A desperation - a need - that’s making it hard to even think of anything beyond the approaching precipice of orgasm. Your walls clench around him as though trying to keep him there, and the sounds that are leaving the both of you are nearly animalistic as Zoro fervently picks up his pace.

“Fuuuck, I'm gonna fill you up. Fill you up with my come and make you pregnant. You're gonna - nnng - be so fucking hot all swollen with my baby. Can’t wait.” 

Your hands clench the sheets with the effort of trying to hold steady, to focus on the orgasm that’s getting closer and closer. His words are only amplifying the building heat, that coil getting tighter and tighter in your cunt. With every pathetic whine and cry that leaves you, Zoro’s hips collide into yours, his balls slapping loudly against your skin. You’re so close, have been chasing this orgasm for so long, and Zoro knows it. And now he wants to get you both there. With no effort on his part, he finally relents, moving a hand down to rest against your lower abdomen. 

“Feel my cock in you, baby? You’re taking it so deep. Just a little more.” Zoro groans, unable to hide his own rapid build-up.

He slides his thumb down from where his hand rests, rubbing up and down against your clit in a steady rhythm. It’s his finishing move, the one that always gets you there, and its effects are damn near immediate. The way he’s bullying your g-spot with his cock, railing his hips into yours, and rubbing over your clit causes the sensations to build and build until-! 

“That's good, baby. Come on my cock. Milk me and make me a daddy.” 

You clamp a hand over your mouth as you ride the high, the ecstasy crashing down again and again. As you’re sent firmly over the edge, you clench hard around his cock which elicits another loud groan from Zoro, his seed spilling into you until it seeps out of your pulsing cunt. You groan and pant together, Zoro’s hips gradually slowing down until both of you have been properly worked through your respective releases.

You barely even register his cock leaving you. The bed shifts with his weight where he collapses beside you, an arm thrown over his eyes as he tries to catch his breath. It’s silent for a while, both of you recovering from the intense influx of chemicals and the racing of your hearts. The silence draws on, though, to the point where you're starting to feel a tension settling in your stomach. A conversation needs to happen, that much is clear, and the unspoken words do little to actually let either of you fully soak in the afterglow. It surprises you when Zoro’s the first one to speak.

“You serious about wanting a baby with me?” Zoro finally says, his voice gruff and low. 

You hum as you turn on your side towards him, working hard to find the right words in response. He’s already looking at you, peeking under his thick forearm that rests on his forehead. Zoro looks wrecked, with disheveled green locks poking out in different directions and a thin layer of sweat glistening over his whole body. His chest is heaving significantly less than before, but there’s still a noticeable effort in the way his lungs extend and contract. You find your hand drawn to the broad expanse of his chest, resting gently against his warm skin.

“Yeah. I just didn’t know when to bring it up. Figured in the heat of the moment was as good a time as any.” You reply, a playful smile rising to your lips.

You watch as Zoro grins in return immediately, his eye lighting up in a way that you’ve only seen a handful of times. It’s missing it’s usual devilish charm, instead replaced with a sparkle that shines radiantly. His hand immediately grabs yours on his chest, holding it in place as if intending to keep it. There’s a pure joy growing in your chest that can’t be contained.

“Then you’d better stop taking those stupid birth control pills Chopper gives you. There’s going to be a lot more where that came from.”

[thus-spoke-lo]

Let Me Help // Sanji x afab!reader // NSFW/18+ Kink: Voyeurism

CW: afab!reader [no pronouns used to address reader]; non-consensual voyeurism; masturbation [m]; handjob WC: 2.8k // Kinktober Masterlist

You stand on tiptoes, back arched and tongue tucked between your lips, trying to keep from toppling forward as you struggle to pin another pillowcase to the clothesline, silently cursing whoever strung the line so damned high. A warm breeze gently flutters the fabric, and a gentle wave crashes against the boat—just enough to disrupt your balance, and you tumble back onto your heels, arms outstretched to steady yourself. A quick glance up at the clothesline confirms that everything is still in its place, and you sigh—you’re less concerned about falling on your ass and more concerned with not having to start all over with that damned pillowcase.

“Finally,” you mutter, shoving your hands in your pockets, enjoying the feel of the afternoon sun on your skin. “And now—we start all over.”

You indulge in a quick stretch, your fingers reaching for the cerulean sky, before picking up the empty clothes basket and setting off to gather the rest of the laundry. The hamper digs into your hip as you meander through the ship, collecting errant cloths from the kitchen, grease-stained rags from the engine room, damp towels from the bin that overflowed in the bathroom. Laundry was never your favorite chore, but your generous offer to stay behind and catch up on the washing resulted in a rare afternoon by yourself aboard the ship, allowing you some needed space to roam and be with your thoughts while the rest of the crew went ashore to restock supplies. Time alone was a privilege, one which you were grateful to have been granted this afternoon.

At least, you had assumed you were alone.

You approach the men’s quarters to collect the week’s dirty socks and sweat-drenched shirts, when you stop in your tracks—the door is ajar, barely a crack, offering only a sliver of visibility. A low creaking noise comes from inside, accompanied by muffled grunts and soft whines, rhythmic sounds that you quickly recognize as anything but chaste. You inhale slowly and deeply through your nose, your hands shaking as you set the laundry basket down as carefully as possible beside you, trying not to make a sound. Whoever it is behind that door seems to be under the same impression you had been—that the ship is otherwise unoccupied.

“Fuck.” The word tumbles out of you, almost noiselessly, as you still your breathing, closing your eyes to focus on the lewd noises from behind the door—the squeaking of the bedframe, the rustling of fabric, the guttural groans of someone lost in their own pleasure. It’s obscene, the way you find yourself frozen in place, unable to tear yourself away and get back to your chores; you know you shouldn’t be here, your body leaning towards the crack in the door, straining to hear every soft panting breath, your tongue tucked between your lips in concentration, yet the lure of perversion is far too great to ignore.

And that’s when you hear it: your name being said in between quiet whimpers, in a voice that unmistakably and unequivocally belongs to Sanji. A flame kindles in your core, stoked hotter with every gasping utterance of your name and the way he says it like a desperate plea, a depraved wish for you to be there in his bed with him. It comes as no surprise to hear Sanji panting your name as he pleasures himself, given the way he fawns all over you, the way his fingers gently brush your hand as he hands you your morning tea, how he always has a reason to be pressed against you somehow, his body warm and wanting. But you hadn’t expected to ever hear his desires laid out in front of you as raw and as wantonly as this—and it’s making you insatiable, wondering why you denied for so long that a liaison with the cook might be a satisfying endeavor.

The sound of your own guilty heartbeat rushes through your ears, almost drowning out his panting breaths for a moment, and your fingertips tingle as you do the unthinkable, acting out of some impulsive, aching need: you carefully pry the door open just a little more, just enough for you to peer inside and put an image to the vulgar noises coming from within. Just a glimpse would be enough, you quietly lie to yourself—just a quick glance at how Sanji must look when he’s in the throes of his own self-pleasure would be enough to satiate you, enough to give you something to play over and over again in your mind later in the privacy of your quarters.

The door complains slightly as you nudge it ajar it just a bit more, and you wince; luckily, Sanji is far too preoccupied to even notice the door shifting open, or the corrupt crewmate lurking just outside. He kneels on the bed, his pants pooled around his knees, shoes still on, one hand holding his shirt up and away from his slim waist, only the hint of his abs and a faint trail of blonde hair leading down from his navel visible. He’s thrusting rhythmically into a pillow in front of him—folded in half, as if to mimic a bent-over body, your bent-over body if his utterances were to be believed. He looks needy, even desperate, as he ruts against the cushion, his eyes clenched shut, sweat beading at his temples.

“You like that, sweetheart? Like the way my cock feels, huh?” he murmurs, his thrusting slowing to languid strokes, subtle rolls of his hips, as if he’s teasing the version of you that he imagines before him. “Mm, so needy. Let me take it slow for you, lovely. I know you want to feel every inch.”

You quickly clamp your hands over your mouth, choking back a wanton moan as you watch his hips gyrating, thighs tensing, abs flexing as he makes slow, deliberate thrusts. You feel yourself pulsing the longer you watch, listening to him rambling, hearing the way he praises and compliments whatever lewd vision of you that he must be conjuring, the way he says your name like it’s the most erotic thing in the world.

“So perfect, my darling—your pussy feels so nice,” he whimpers, thrusting hard into the pillow and holding it there flush against his pelvis. “So fucking wet for me, love. Ah, you’re so soft inside—you’re like velvet around me.”

“Oh, Sanji,” you mumble under your breath, trying to keep your hands from wandering, needing to relieve the sudden and pervasive ache that blooms between your thighs. Perhaps you could approach him later—not to tell him what you witnessed, of course, but to see if he would be willing to make his fantasies come true, to have the real thing laying bare in front of him, writhing and waiting for his touch.

“Fuck, you’re taking it so well, angel.” Sanji’s thrusting grows quicker, then slows as he unfolds the pillow and lays it down on the bed. He unbuttons his shirt and loosens his tie, moving to hover above the pillow, caging it in on either side with sinewy forearms. You nearly gasp at the sight of his cock—long and slender, flushed pink with a swollen, leaking tip. It looks even more enticing than you’d pictured in your fantasies—the ones you would never, ever admit to, the ones where he’d secret away into the corner of the kitchen with you and press you against the wall, sweet words of adoration spilling from his lips while he takes you from behind.

“Mm, you look so nice like this,” he says to the pillow as he lowers his hips to meet it, gliding his cock along the fabric. You wonder if this is how he’d look on top of you—how it would be to have him pinning you to the bed, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him deeper with every thrust. “Bet you want me to cum for you, don’t you? You wanna take this cum so much, I know. I’m gonna let you have it all, my sweet—every last drop. You can take it, can’t you? This pretty little pussy can take all of this, can’t it?”

You chew on your tongue, trying to suppress a whimper—he’s going to cum, and he’s going to cum for you. Oh, if only he knew—if only he could see you there, pressing your thighs together to keep the flood of arousal at bay, taking in every movement, every sigh, every salacious word that falls from his lips, all so you could think about it later with your fingers deep inside you, pretending it’s him. As you lose yourself in thoughts of what his soft fingers could do, you lean a little too hard against the door, forgetting how precarious your situation is, distracted by the way his movements slow as though he’s on the precipice. Without any way to recover, any way to save yourself from the inevitable, the door swings open and you stumble into the room with a squeak and a gasp

“Shit, shit, shit!” Sanji quickly clambers off the bed, grabbing the pillow and holding it in front of his pelvis, scrambling to tug his pants back up. “I’m so sorry, my angel, I-I thought everyone was gone, I would never—”

“No, no!” you interrupt, waving your arms frantically in front of you, turning your head away from him. “I’m sorry, I was just coming to get the laundry and I heard something and—”

“Y-you heard what, my sweet?” He holds his pants at his waist, and stares at you, wide-eyed, chest heaving. “What exactly did you hear?”

“Just—just noises. That’s all.” You glance at him out of the corner of your eye to see the way his head tilts to look at you; there’s no way he’s buying your panicked fib, not unless he means to be chivalrous and allow you to escape this situation with some semblance of your dignity intact.

He takes a deep, shivering breath as he carefully approaches you, standing mere inches from you, the heat of his body seeming to radiate from him. He opens his mouth as if to speak, as if perhaps he means to reassure you, buy into your lie and ignore the way your body shudders and the way you cannot bring yourself to look at him for more than the briefest moment. You wonder if he can smell it on you—your shame, your arousal, your latent longing to know what it’s like to have that pretty pink cock buried inside you to the hilt.

“Darling,” he finally utters, the word stretching out and hanging in the air. “How long were you standing there?”

You swallow hard, your mouth dry, the words sticking in your throat. “A little while.”

“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry—”

“No, Sanji, don’t be,” you quickly interject. What did you have to lose now, standing here before him, clothed in see-through lies? “I, um—I liked it. Listening to. And—and watching you.”

“You were watching?” A mix of embarrassment and unbridled lust settles in his every feature, a thin trickle of blood running down from his nose, settling in the crevice at the top of his lip. You nod, steeling yourself—the ship would only be empty for a little while longer, if there was going to be a time to surrender to your most base desires, this would be the time to do it.

“Let me help.” The words come out of you almost a whisper, sticking in your throat.

“W-what?”

“Let me help you, Sanji.”

“I—I could never, I would never ask you to do that.”

“You don’t have to ask. I’m offering.” You push his still-unbuttoned shirt aside and place your hands on his bare chest, running your fingers through the thick patch of blonde hair, silently reveling in how the steely hardness of his muscles feels under your fingers. “You want me, don’t you? I mean, it seemed like it at least.”

“Of course I do,” he mumbles, raising a hesitant hand to your face, gently brushing his long fingers against your cheek. “You know I do.”

“Then let me help you.” You run your index finger down his lean torso as he trembles, trailing down to the front of his trousers. “Please? I mean, unless you’d rather go back to your pillow.”

Sanji closes his eyes momentarily, tilting his head back and letting out a low groan. “You know I could never say no to you, angel.”

He releases the tenuous hold he has on his pants, still unzipped, and they slip down his legs, pooling at his ankles. You start to palm him through the silky fabric of his boxers, feeling him harden under your touch, his body spasming a little with every gentle movement, a moan catching in your throat at how he twitches and pulses for you. Your fingers dance lightly over the tip, tracing the outline of it, smirking at the wet spot that spreads the more you tease him; you bite your lip, feeling your own growing arousal begin to dampen your panties.

But Sanji is impatient, needing more than just the feeling of warmth through the barrier of cloth, and he quickly tugs down the waistband of his boxers and grasps your wrist, placing your hand on his throbbing cock. He holds his hand over yours, closing your fingers around his length into a delicate grip and directing your movements over his shaft, stuttering gasps leaving his lungs as he guides your strokes. He hums softly and moves your palm over the throbbing head, rutting against your hand until your palm is slick with his precum.

“You feel that, sweetheart?” he asks, grasping your cheeks in both hands and tilting your head up so you meet his hungry gaze. “That’s all for you.”

It takes everything in you not to drop to your knees and take him in your mouth, not to push him back onto the bed and straddle him, burying his aching cock inside you and chasing your own pleasure over and over until you’re both sore and spent and collapsing on one another in a sweaty heap. Instead, you press your face against his chest, listening to the way his heart thrums for you, wrapping your free hand around his waist to steady yourself. You stroke his length, slow at first, then building to a faster rhythm, as he pulses under your palm, his hips bucking in response to every pumping caress of his aching cock.

“Oh fuck, your hand is so soft,” Sanji whimpers, wrapping his long arms around you and holding you against him, his words hot in your ear, warm breath ghosting your chilled skin. “So good. Oh god, it’s so good, you feel so good, my darling.”

His breaths come in short, sharp gasps, his rambling praise and hushed words of desire suddenly silenced as his body tenses against you. He reaches an arm behind his back and grasps for your hand, holding on to you as if to ground himself, to find an anchor as he approaches the edge of his pleasure.

“Fuck. Fuck, m’gonna cum, my angel,” he rasps through quick and hallow breaths, the grip on your free hand tightening almost painfully. “Gonna cum for you.”

Sanji abandons himself to pleasure in your sweet embrace, and he groans in blissful agony, his cock pulsing with waves of pleasure, spilling himself onto the floor. He rocks his hips and thrusts into your palm over and over, low whines accompanying every spasm, every tremor of his body as he surrenders to the sweetness of your touch. You stand there with him as his movements finally cease, his grasp on your hand releasing as he wraps both arms around your again, holding you to him like something precious, like something he never wanted to let go of again.

“Thank you, my love,” he sighs, finally pulling away and placing his hands on your shoulders. The desire that burns within you grows even more intense at the sight of him in his bliss—his cheeks flushed, his eyes wide and pupils lust-blown. “I-I don’t know what I did to deserve this—but thank you.”

“Oh Sanji, if you liked that…” you trail off as you lean up and impulsively kiss him on his warm, trembling lips.  You grasp his wrist, leading his unsteady hand down to the apex of your thighs, and he stammers and gasps as you hold him there, his palm cupping your warmth. “…just wait til you feel the rest of me.”

[drinksondaph]

.ೃ࿐𝐖𝐢𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞 » S.H

.ೃ࿐ PAIRING– Steve Harrington X fem!reader

.ೃ࿐WARNINGS– enemies to “lovers”, name calling, slight degradation, choking, finger stuff, nicknames, sexual acts in a public setting, sweaty men mention 18+

.ೃ࿐A/N – uhmmmmm first writing on this account, I've written on here before but wanted to start something new, request if you would like, I'm in a writing mood anddd lmk who else I should write for. Enjoyyyyyy mwah.

Steve Harrington is a pain in the ass

For 1,248 days he has done nothing but torment you, say slick shit behind your back, to your face, and on your fucking locker, how childish!

But for 1,248 days you've done nothing but fight back, called his phone and told him he won a life supply of Farrah Faucet spray (which he didn't) and you dropped off an empty pizza box to his house. Two ways to break a mans heart.

You hated Steve and Steve hated you that as that. It will always be that. Right?

There were twenty minutes until the last basketball game of the season, the last basketball game of Steve's entire high school career before he went off and graduated, doing who knows what after. He was gonna miss his friends, his status, how your legs looked in those knee high socks you always wore—Steve shook his head, fuck, he couldn't go in the game with a hard-on, he splashed cold water on his face, trying to remove the thought of you, you you you

You groaned as Nancy dragged you into the gym—hundreds of your peers crowding the bleachers, she continued to tug on your arm despite your protest, “Nancy, this is so fucking stupid, I don't want to see a bunch of guys running and sweating everywhere” you whined

Nancy gasped, “Are you insane?! Who doesn't want to see sweaty guys running around” she giggled and finally she pulled you into a seat

You can't believe you were here, you don't do basketball games you don't do school sports, especially if those sports consist of a big haired boy with an inflating ego

Just as the game was gonna start there was a commotion behind you, six smaller heads rushing into the seat, Nancy turned around to see her brother and his friends sitting content on the wooden bleachers “Mike! What the hell are you doing here?”

The boy in question scoffed, rolling his eyes, “We came to watch the game Nancy, don't flatter yourself”

You muffled your laughs with your hand as the siblings continued to squabble but soon after an obnoxious buzz interrupted the moment and Hawkins High's very own basketball team ran out to the court

Sighing, you prepared to be in your own personal hell for the next two hours

...

The game got fairly interesting, score coming down to 12-10 by the second quarter. You've made eye contact with Steve a few times each time ending with a sneer, you were mad, mad at yourself for eying Steve's arms as they flexed, the sweat on his skin shining under the reflection of the gym lights

The buzzer did what it does best and buzzed, signaling half time, you rolled your eyes and tapped on Nancy's shoulder, “Hey, I'm gonna go use the bathroom”

she nodded at you, giving you a thumbs up before you slipped out the bleachers, various bodies crowding the hallway, you just made your way to the restroom when you saw a big line forming out the door and along the bricked walls a sigh rolled through your lips before you eyed your surroundings until you you spotted the staff bathroom

scanning your eyes through the crowd, you slipped into the secluded restroom, quickly hopping from foot to foot until you reached the stall, you actually had to piss really bad and you wanted to grab a snack

quickly pulling down your skirt as you hovered over the toilet, finally getting the relief you needed, better than a fucking orgasm

Suddenly the bathroom handle started to jerk, nearly making you fall into the the toilet. Nervously you looked around realizing an actual staff member could come in, there was one stall. You were Fucked.

instinctively you deepened your voice, calling out “Uhm, occupied!”

that's when you heard a deep chuckle that came from a man causing you to panic a bit more—you yanked the skirt back over your hips, was your adult voice slightly convincing? Hell no

You decided to peek through the crack, trying to see how bad the damage would be when you glimpsed at a pair of slender legs clad in miniscule shorts, the ones the basketball team wore, you rolled your eyes realizing who the legs belonged to, “Fuckin' hell, Steven”

you let out a sigh, one you didn't know you've been holding in, you nimbly unlatched the stall lock, not paying attention to the smug boy who pushed himself off the wall, following you to the sink

“I'm honored you recognize me so easily sweetheart, truly”

You scoffed at his faux sincerity “Yeah well, your smell was telltale sign”

“I smell wonderous, thank you very much” Harrington bought his hand up to his chest faking offense once again

“Why the fuck are you here!?” your eyebrows furrowed as you glanced at him through the mirror

Truth be told he didn't know why he was here. He may or may not have seen you slip into the bathroom over the crowd, he can accidentally always notice when you would walk into, and out of a room, even if it was filled with tons of people

“The real question is what are you doing here?” he crossed his arms, leaning on the sink next to you, watching the warm water cascade through your fingers

“I was obviously taking a piss before you came prancing in here with t-those, booty shorts!”

Steve practically shrieked an amused, yet bewildered look on his face as he stared a you “you wish I was in booty shorts!”

you scoffed, the rough paper towel scratching at your hand as you murmured “slut”

Steve audibly gasped—the nerve of you

“you're one to talk”

“I know you're not calling me a slut–spell it!”

You don't know how but suddenly Steve's chest was pressed against yours as your back was pushed into the sink, the both of your breathing got heavier as his brown eyes gazed into yours

That's when he attached his lips to yours and brought you into a heated kiss, his tongue slipping through the small opening of your lips causing you to snap back into reality and push at Steve's chest

“You're a fucking asshole”

He pulled you to his lips again, his hold on your jaw never faltering, his tongue swiped at your bottom lip, collecting the remainder of your chapstick from the plump skin, right before he pulled away, “Don't think I never notice the way you check me out huh?”

His voice, laced in lust, causing you to squeeze your thighs together, attempting to relive the ache between your legs “you're delusional”

Steve brought his hand up to your neck, you attempted to keep an unfaltering composure as he applied slight pressure, but your eyes betrayed you as they began to roll back

He let out a light chuckle “So if I were to reach into your panties right now, you wouldn't be soaking wet?”

You frantically shook your head, not trusting yourself to utter a single word

Steve lifted your skirt and flowingly slipped two fingers into your undergarments, swiping through your folds and collecting your wetness in the process

Fuck you bitch you mentally spoke to your pussy

The pads of his fingers began to circle your clit and his grip on your neck got tighter, the sound of your slick and moans caused Steve's dick to stir in his pants

“You know you never were a good liar sweetheart” he rasped into your ear, pushing his middle finger inside of you while his thumb continued to rub circles on your bud

“M-more, please Steve I need more” your legs started to grow weak as his fingers reached deep parts of you that you've never even touched before

He easily slipped his pointer in next and began to make rapid movements in your pussy

“ Yeah? And you called me the slut earlier, yet look at you,” The sensation he caused in between your legs and the pressure he applied to your throat made you dizzy “Tell me who the real slut is baby, hmm?”

Your wetness coated your thighs as you felt Steve's hard on nudge your leg, you wish you were able to focus so you could pull it out right then and there and have his cum coat multiple parts of your body

“Fuck! I'm the slut baby, I'm the slut”

Damn it.

A smug look danced on his face as your low eyes bet his “Atta girl, I bet that's what the school would think too if they knew you were begging for little ole me”

Steve curled his fingers inside you and sped the movement on your clit up, the knot in your stomach tightened as he continued to whisper dirty words in your ear

“Yeah baby cum alll on my fingers, there you go”

“I can cum from just hearing your sweet sounds”

“You feel what you do to me?”

“Let everyone who's slut you are, go ahead”

“Fuck Steve, I'm cumming” your tongue started to go numb as your eyes rolled to the back of your head, your pussy clenched around his fingers causing his movements to still

You snapped back to reality, your breathing heavy as Steve removed his fingers from you, you feeling significantly empty compared to when he was deep inside you, you watched as he licked his fingers clean of your wetness, a moan leaving his lips as he sucked on the tips of his fingers

“Wow”

You rolled your eyes straightening your skirt as you tried to steady yourself on your feet, still trying to catch your breath, you ignored Steve's eyes on you

“Knew some day I'd have begging for me sweetheart”

You huffed, “Don't you have a game to get to Steven?”

Steve's eyes widen as he stood up straight “Oh shit!”

[sideeve]

ARKHAM KNIGHT THOUGHT

the lock pick in your hand fumbles and falls out of your palm as you crouch in front of the last door until you saw freedom. "what are you doing, little bunny?" you freeze, your whole body suddenly not being able to move.

the heavy footsteps creep up on you. "i know my little bunny didn't want to leave me, did she?" he stops behind you. you slowly turn around, worried as you see a mini group of militia behind him. the arkham knight eyes the lockpick by your feet before picking it up, twirling it around in his fingers as he examines it.

"where did you get this, bunny?" he turns his head to you, his mask concealing his face. "answer me!" "i-i found it in one of the vents." you stutter. "one of my past bunnies must've left it." he pushes it in one of his many pockets, his attention on you again. "i'm feeling generous. don't disobey me again and we'll have a good day." he pulls you onto your feet again by your chin, his gloved index finger curled under your head.

"i have a meeting soon. i don't trust you to be on your own so you're coming with me." you looked down at your attire. you were wearing a red and black oversized sweater with some black socks. you weren't ready for a meeting. "i-i'm not wearing any good clothes." 'it'll do." he yanks you by your arm close to him.

"do we understand the basis of the mission?" the arkham knight's booming voice sounds throughout the whole room. the militia's eyes were all on you. the arkham knight was known for making abrupt decisions but him bringing you was unpredictable.

your plump ass was fit perfectly on his crotch. every time you tried to adjust your bare thighs on his rough military pants, you could feel his cock hardening. "i'm tired of you teasing me." he seethes in your ear before lifting the bottom of your sweater up to your waist. you hated that he never provided you with underwear. you were always walking around the quarters without any panties. but he loved it. he could take you whenever-wherever and no one could say anything.

he didn't care of how obvious he was being with you. he was so quick to pull out his cock from his fly before bending you over, plunging in you. "you see this?" he chuckles as he hears you whine. "this little bunny has tried to escape. we don't want that. do we, boys?" the room fills with 'no's. the arkham knight grips your waist as you grip his arms, needing to hold something as he abused your cunt in front of his soldiers.

"she's mine. if any of you touch her-shit!" he groans, throwing his head back as he slaps your ass. " you're 's fucking tight." he laughs before continuing his sentence. "if any of you touch her without my permission, i'll kill you." he pulls his gun from his side holder, pointing it around the room.

then his attention averts back to you. he would never admit to anyone but he's growing fond of you. every time he took you, he secretly took notes of what sent shivers down your spine, what made your walls flutter around his length. he yearned to make you feel good during intimate acts. so for you leave him after falling for you left a sick taste in his mouth. "say you love me." he begins to thrust harder. "you're-" he seethes, "you're all dismissed." he had taken notice of his men palming themselves at the sight of him taking you apart.

the men beeline out of the meeting room. most likely rushing to their bunkers to relieve themselves, storing this moment in their spank bank. "say it." his mask was now fully off, the 'J' scar saying hello to you. "i love you..." you moan. you felt a ring of arousal around the base of his cock as you both release, streams of hot white cum painting your walls. "kiss me." he pants. he couldn't get enough of you. he was insatiable.

he shoves his tongue down your mouth, the tip of his tongue not letting any part of your mouth be undiscovered. "you're not leaving me. i'm making sure of it." he pants, putting your cheek as he sees you drift off. "understand me?" you nod, your eyelids heavy. "good. 'cause fucking love you." he huffs, rubbing your ass before pulling out.

[revelboo]

I'm always a sucker for heat-seeking cuddling and love how you take advantage of that in your writing- I'm curious though, around what temp do you imagine the various transformers keep their quarters at? It'd be hilarious for one of them to come back to their human in a puffy winter coat

I think it’d vary on temperatures. Outliers and bigger bots would probably run hotter than the average bot would and would keep their hab suites cooler. I’d guess probably lower 50s upper 40s. Cold enough to make a human pretty miserable if they’re not used to it.

Where I Belong Pt 8

Bluestreak x Reader

• Sock feet sliding slightly as you pad across his berth, you make a circuit with your blanket wrapped around you and trailing behind. You’d raided the pile of clothing Bluestreak had provided you. There was no rhyme or reason to what he’d given you. Some of it women’s and some men’s. With how cold the Ark is, there’s not much point in being picky, so you’d layered on whatever fit and had even pulled on an extra pair of mismatched socks to wear as ugly mittens. You look ridiculous, but you’re warmer at least.

• Door wing clipping a wall, Bluestreak grunts and leans harder into Smokescreen as the other mech helps him to get to his quarters. “You sure you don’t need to go to medbay, pal?” Smokescreen mutters as Bluestreak fumbles to get the door open one handed. Knows Smokescreen is probably right, but he wants to see you. Needs to. You’re there on his berth when Smokescreen helps him across the floor to you. “Scoot, tiny,” Smokescreen says as he hoists him up on the berth.

• Heart racing, you dart to the end of the berth and out of the way as a bot you don’t know, but that looks uncannily like him, helps Bluestreak lay back on his berth. He’s obviously beat up and tension claws at you. “What happened? Why isn’t he in Medbay?” You demand as you place your hands on his shoulder and boost yourself up enough to inventory the damage. Not as bad as when you’d first met him, but still.

• “I’m fine,” Bluestreak mumbles, head turning to find you as you lay a little palm on his cheek and then glare up at Smokescreen. “It looks worse than it is.” And he already feels better now that’s he back where he belongs. “Thanks, Smokescreen.” Just wants to rest and let his self healing kick in, drag you up onto his chassis and hold you until the anxiety recedes. Because you’re all he needs.

• And the other one is turning away to leave, just tossing up a hand. Leaving Bluestreak hurt. Temper flaring, you storm to the edge of the berth, running around Blue’s head. “You come back here!” You snarl and the much bigger bot actually flinches and looks down at you in surprise as you slide and nearly fall. Pointing a finger at him as you run with it before he realizes that no, he doesn’t have to actually listen to you. Because Bluestreak not taking care of himself isn’t okay. “He’s going to Medbay right now.” And even though you’re tiny enough they can pick you up and carry you like a kitten, both bots wilt slightly. The stranger’s door wings drooping as he listens, walking back over to help Bluestreak up and pointedly avoiding your glower.

Previous

[archangeldyke-all]

MORE RANDOM SEVIKA HEADCANONS PLS!! i love how you think

more?!!?? okay!!!! :D

men and minors dni

she'd only get on social media to follow you. she'd have to have you help her set up her profiles and stuff, never posts anything (unless she's reposting your pictures with a bunch of heart and flame emojis) and never logs on (unless she gets a notification that you've posted, because of course she has notifs on for you.)

old people LOVE her. she's like catnip to them. some of it is because she's an old grump already, but most of it's just 'cause she's quiet enough to listen to them yammer on about 'the good old days.'

she acts like she hates it-- but you always catch her shoveling your elderly neighbor's driveways during the winter and helping little old ladies cross the road. (she's part of the neighborhood book club too-- just a bunch of elderly ladies and sevika reading trashy smutty novels and laughing over spiked tea once a week. when it's your turn to host, sevika blushes bright red every time you bring her and her friends cookies and snacks: they're all cooing about how sweet of a couple you are, asking sevika when they can expect to have little feet running around the neighborhood)

she quits smoking when you get pregnant with little fucker.

one of her favorite ways to dodge a craving for a cig is to use her mouth for something much more satisfying-- like kissing you, or eating you out, or sucking hickeys into your skin...

every once in a while she'll still sneak a cigarette-- not because she misses it, but because she knows if she goes home smelling like tobacco you'll start peppering kisses on her mouth every ten minutes to make sure she's too distracted to smoke again.

she's sooo frugal. i think the reason she's wearing the same outfit for the whole show is she's just the type of person to be like "it still works?" while talking about her boxers that have a quarter sized hole near the crotch.

it's cute in some ways. she never throws out an old glass or jar-- most of your cups and storage is old pasta sauce and jam jars. each empty bottle of whiskey becomes a vase on a shelf or windowsill-- for little flowers, leaves, and weeds you and sevika always bring home to brighten up your space.

it's annoying in other ways. you have to secretly throw out her old socks and underwear once or twice a year, slowly replacing them with new socks-- but not too quick, or else she'll get suspicious as to why all her socks are hole-less.

she gets a little bit better at spending when little fucker comes around. she just can't say no to her own baby.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@shimtarofstupidity @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@ellsss @sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @realgreeniebeanie @k3n-dyll

@sevsdollette

[soft-mafia]

Request: Buggy and reader having a cute data with Buggy doing magic tricks throughout the data, making the reader to laugh and return making Buggy smile

Magic[Buggy x Reader]

warnings: fem reader, fem y/n, short silly fluff

a/n: THIS IS SO ADORABLE ACTUALLY😭😭I took a few creative liberties bc I love my cringe fail husband.

“Ok… what about this one?” Buggy said, pulling out a flat saltine cracker, “I’ll tell her that I’ll sprinkle some magic dust on it to make it disappear and—!” He turned around, crunching the cracker in his hands, then turning back around and opening his palm, revealing the crushed crumbs of the saltine, “Boom. You think she’ll like that?”

Cabaji and Mohji clapped, however Galdino wasn’t too impressed. He groaned and put a hand over his head, “She’s not a child, Buggy. You’re gonna lose her as fast as you got her.”

“I’m trying my best, damn!!” Buggy growled, throwing the cracker crumbs overboard, then sighing loudly, holding his head in his palm, “I need to impress her somehow… Mohji, can you teach me how to train Richie to jump through a flying hoop or something?!”

“I could… but that type of stunt takes days for someone to master, and your date with her is tonight, isn’t it?” He replied.

Buggy groaned loudly and hid his face in his hands, “It is!! And I have nothing!!” He grumbled, “She’s gonna think I’m pathetic!”

“I’m surprised she already doesn’t…” Galdino mumbled under his breath. Buggy growled and shouted again, “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST SAY?!” Buggy then let out another groan and whined, “Can you guys at least help make me look handsome? I have an outfit picked out and everything.”

After another run through of his cheesy magic tricks and jokes, they helped him get ready, having to help him redo his makeup for about 40 minutes because he was too picky and couldn’t get it exactly the way he wanted. While he was sulking in his bathroom, he completely forgot that it was almost time to take Y/n out on the beach. She walked into the quarters, looking stunning as ever in her bathing suit, even though neither of them could actually go swimming.

“Hey, have you seen Buggy? Is he still getting ready?” She asked, and before anyone could speak, Buggy let out a scream from the bathroom, immediately bursting out, his body parts in a jumble. He put himself back together as he rushed back over to Y/n, putting his hands on her waist. He was wearing a silly flower printed shirt with swim trunks, along with socks and sandals(that made his bounty increase by a billion berries).

“I’m right here baby, don’t worry your pretty little head.” He giggled, then stroked a hand through her hair until he smoothly pulled out a rose, “Oh, what’s this?” He asked, then handed her the flower. Y/n smiled brightly, taking the stem in her fingers before looking up at Buggy lovingly, “Awww! Thank you!”

As he let her back out of the cabin, he turned and flashed a thumbs up and wide grin at the three men.

“Pick a card.” Buggy said, fanning out a deck of cards in front of Y/n as they sat on a picnic blanket near the shore, the sun was nearly setting. Y/n giggled softly before reaching her hand out to grab a card, however Buggy panicked, holding it back, “No- not that one… uhh, pick something else.” He mumbled. Y/n blinked, but then smiled and attempted to pick another one, to which Buggy stammered again.

“No!! No, not that one!” Eventually she picked one, and he grinned widely. Once she held her card, he shuffled the deck in a strategic way, and then he pulled out a 3 of clubs, “Is this your card?” He said proudly. Y/n looked down at her card, then nodded excitedly, “It is!”

The smile on her face, and her giggles of excitement filled Buggy’s heart with not only pride, but a little bit of affection too— actually, a lot of affection. She was laying there looking gorgeous, laughing at his magic trick that he had to try again a few times to even get right. There wasn’t any trace of mockery, she was actually enjoying it. He got increasingly confident the more the night went on, he made coins disappear, pulled candy and jewelry from out behind her ears and from her hair. Once nightfall hit he attempted to do a cool card shuffling trick, however the only light they had was from a small candlelight that was close to burning out, he could barely see anything and before he knew it, the cards just flew out of his hand and right onto that candle.

Some of them caught on fire, to which he panicked and threw the entire picnic blanket out into the ocean on impulse. Y/n squeaked and was flown back onto the sand.

“Oh crap!! The food!!” Buggy screeched when he saw his half eaten hot dog floating in the water, but then he remembered something more important, “OH-! Y/N!!!” He quickly rushed to her side, helping her up off of the sand, a blush spread across his cheeks as he brushed it off of her thighs. After she was fully helped up to her feet, she giggled at Buggy, making him blush harder.

Then, she kissed him on the lips, holding his face. When she pulled away she stroked his hair back, her smile growing when she saw his entire face was blushing bright red.

“I- I’m sorry…” Buggy chuckled nervously, “I panicked.”

Y/n giggled again, wrapping her arms around his neck, “It’s ok. It was kind of funny.” She kissed him again, “This was nice! I loved your card trick.”

Buggy was flustered, grinning like an idiot and quaking internally, “Oh, really?” He grinned, then swallowed to regain some of his confidence, “Well… I have a few other tricks up my sleeve, if you’re up for it.” He leaned in close to her, holding her chin up with one finger. Y/n smiled and blushed, looking away as it spread across her cheeks, that made Buggy laugh, he swung his arm around her shoulder as they walked back to the ship together.

Galdino, Cabaji and Mohji were all watching from the bushes, Buggy had instructed Mohji to tranquilize Y/n if anything went wrong, then convince her that it was all a dream when she woke back up— and he almost had, however Buggy held her at just the right moment.

Even during their panic when Buggy was bombing half of his tricks, what surprised them the most was how entertained Y/n had been, and that dreamy look in her eyes whenever she would look at him.

Buggy was clearly a stupid clown, but Y/n loved him nonetheless.

[originalfatfiction]

Das Badehaus

“Welcome back, my friend,” Papa said, greeting another customer in his deep, booming voice. He smiled wide at the man who had entered, appearing genuinely pleased to see him again. Alphonse, who was one of the few men in the house unable to earn enough to be in Papa’s good graces, cleaned the floorboards near his employer’s feet. He looked up to see what he considered to be an abnormal expression on Papa’s face. When not in front of patrons, Papa was a domineering tyrant.

“Hello Deidrick,” the man, a coal miner, replied. 

“Would you like a bath? Or are you here to see one of my sons?” Alphonse rolled his eyes every time Papa referred to the men who worked in the bathhouse as his sons. No real father would sell his children to horny men day after day, happily hoarding the earnings and keeping his offspring in servitude. Alphonse continued scrubbing, his arms somewhat sore. He’d been at it for nearly an hour. There was soot everywhere. The late-night rush had brought the men who worked the second shift in the mines.

The coal miners always had soot and other debris on their boots and uniforms. Alphonse detested these men not only for the messes they left behind, but also for the ill-mannered dispositions they possessed. Al thought there was no worse customer than a miner; they were loud and aggressive, hitting the workers when the mood struck them. He hoped that when he was put on the market, he would catch the eye of a higher caliber of customer, like a baron or businessman.

He scrubbed at the floorboards more vigorously, wanting to be finished for the evening. Papa wouldn’t allow him to go to bed unless all of his chores were completed. He’d already mended Papa’s socks, done the washing, and helped prepare supper. He looked up at Papa again, who continued to entertain the grimy miner standing in the foyer. Papa had short, salt-and-pepper colored hair. It looked dignified, which was funny considering the fact that he ran a male brothel. He also had a mustache that was neatly trimmed and thick. His eyebrows were unkempt and always furrowed in disdain, even when he was smiling. Papa wasn’t an exceptionally tall man, standing quite a few inches below six feet.

Papa made up for his shortcomings with a solid, beefy body. He used his size to keep his sons in line. He’d had to strike Alphonse on more than a few occasions; the young man mouthed off quite often, a habit that still hadn’t been broken in the three years he’d been in Papa’s care. His russet-brown skin thankfully didn’t bruise too easily, and Papa made sure to administer punishment in areas unseen. The blows didn’t really hurt Alphonse anymore; nothing really seemed to hurt him anymore.

“I think you’ll find what you’re looking for in room six,” Papa said, before turning and pulling a cord that would ring a small bell letting the son on duty in that room know a customer was on his way.

“Much appreciated.” The man walked off towards the staircase that would lead him to his happy ending, leaving a trail of sooty footprints behind. Alphonse looked despondently at the new mess he’d have to clean. For another half hour he continued his work in the foyer.

A customer entered. From the look of his shoes, he was no coal miner.

“I take it you are here to see Dorian,” Papa said to Mr. Pfeiffer, a prominent lawyer in the city. He was always at the bathhouse to see Dorian, the best earner in the entire house. Dorian was incredibly handsome. He had wavy brown hair and blue eyes. His body was long and lean, his skin smooth.

“Yes,” Mr. Pfeiffer replied stiffly. “I’ll see myself to his quarters.” The unsmiling barrister left Papa and Alphonse in the foyer. He had a standing appointment with Dorian every Wednesday evening. Papa just laughed to himself, turning to pull the cord that would alert Dorian of his visitor, knowing this appointment was just padding his already hefty pockets.

Dorian was exceptional at what he did. He knew how to entice his clients, to make them feel special and catered to. He used his sensual wiles to ensure his suitors returned time and time again. However, just like Papa, Dorian’s courteous façade did not extend to his contemporaries in the bathhouse. He looked down on the other men because of his status as the highest earner. He was Papa’s crown jewel, and it was implicitly understood no one should cross him.

Alphonse knew he did the same things as the other men, taking and giving cock, but he’d heard Dorian actually enjoyed the work. Alphonse wanted to ask him about it, hoping to learn more for when he needed to service a customer, but Dorian just laughed and told him that he couldn’t reveal his secrets.

The debt Dorian’s family owed to Papa had been paid off nearly nine months prior, but he was still working in the bathhouse. Al couldn’t believe it. People wanted to leave the bathhouse more than anything. None of the men had come to work at the bathhouse because they wanted to.

Papa would give money to poor families, warning them of what would happen if the debt went unpaid; they were to provide a son to work off the remaining balance in the bathhouse. Alphonse speculated that Papa spent his Sunday mornings combing through the obituaries in the newspaper, searching for easy targets.

Alphonse’s mother, a widow, fell prey to Papa’s methods, needing money to feed her son and two young daughters. The mustached manipulator had shown up on the doorstep of Al’s family five days after his father had died in the mines, a wad of bills in his hand and a sly smile on his face. They couldn’t pay what they owed, so over three years later, Alphonse was still in the bathhouse. Once Alphonse started working as an official son, he would still be two years away from his freedom.

Many of the young men in the house never spoke positively of their experiences in the private rooms. Some told Al it was painful and vile. Some said their bodies reacted even though they didn’t want them to. Some even cried at night.

Alphonse sometimes cried as well—for he felt he might enjoy the rough-edged touch of a man. There was no chance at an easy life if he was truly homosexual. When Alphonse considered how looking at men made him feel, he understood he was likely the same as Dorian. He’d observe the various men that frequented the bathhouse, finding a great deal of them attractive. Some were even so handsome, he couldn’t speak when they addressed him. He’d take the mental images of these men with him into a secluded closet or unused room and touch himself, thinking about what it must feel like to be taken by one of them. He’d picture their broad shoulders and thick torsos, but it didn’t stop there. The closer he got to climaxing, he would visualize the bulges in their pants, in both the front and rear. He wanted to grab another man’s ass, another man’s penis, to feel how they differed from his own body.

“I am many things, but I am no child abuser,” Papa had told Alphonse when he first started work in the bathhouse three years ago. “I’m in the business of selling men, not children. You will be cleaning and preparing meals for my sons until you are old enough to make real money.” Alphonse cringed at the memory of those words. He would be nineteen in two weeks’ time. He scrubbed harder, trying to distract himself from his impending debut. There was only fourteen days until he’d be done with housework for good. Only fourteen days until he experienced what he’d only been able to fantasize about.

“Alphonse, go to your room.” Police Chief Claggett had entered. He looked grumpy, almost as crabby as Papa. Al stood up, pushing some stray curls from in front of his face, and walked out of the room towards the staircase. He already knew Papa was giving Chief Claggett a cut of the money they earned so he wouldn’t be arrested. Everyone in town knew that. It was not like people were ignorant of what went on in the bathhouse.

And no, it wasn’t just the fact that Papa was selling sex. The red-light district was perfectly legal, but Papa’s means of acquiring employees was definitely criminal. Extorting these families and threatening to seize everything they owned was not morally or legally sound. Alphonse had been a child when he was taken from his mother. Many of the others started out as servants in the bathhouse until they were old enough to be forced into prostitution.

Chief Claggett knew many men who frequented the bathhouse. Even some of his officers enjoyed rough sex with Papa’s sons. There were certainly those who were homosexual, but a large percentage of customers had wives and children. Their dalliances with these sex workers were opportunities to explore their repressed sexualities without disrupting the status quo.

Alphonse climbed the stairs to his room as Dorian exited his bedroom, face flushed, clothes disheveled. “Looks like Mr. Pfeiffer really gave it to you tonight,” Al said, suppressing a grin.

“Oh, be quiet Alphonse. Burgess had a very stressful day at his firm,” Dorian replied, a coy smile on his lips. “It’s good that you’re here. Go and get us two glasses and a bottle of wine.”

Al wished to say something smart, but he was too exhausted to trade quips. He turned and made his way down the stairs, all the way down to the basement. He grabbed what was asked of him and returned to where Dorian stood waiting.

“Will that be all?” Alphonse asked.

“Yes, young Alphonse, that’ll be all.” He gave one final smirk before returning to the lawyer. Alphonse continued to his own sleeping quarters. He shared a room with Alvin Baum. They called them The Two Al’s. The pair had been there almost the same amount of time. Alvin, however, had started working with the men before Alphonse because he was two years older. Alvin was sprawled out on his mattress, face worn and tired.

“Rough day?” Alphonse asked.

“Every day here is a rough day.” That could not have been a truer statement.

Two weeks came and went faster than Alphonse could have ever imagined. Papa was always more cheerful on days with an auction. These were the days where he made a large sum without having to do much of anything. “Alphonse! Alphonse!” Papa bellowed from his position at the front door. “Where are the wine glasses for this evening?” 

Alphonse brought a box of wine glasses to where Papa stood.

“Here they are,” he said in a somewhat sharp tongue.

“Hee-hee ho-ho ha-ha,” Papa hooted, his laugh like an avalanche, taking over everything in the room. “This evening is your first night as a real earner! Nothing can spoil my mood!” Alphonse winced at the reminder. Who would be the man to deflower him? A coal miner? A lawyer? An officer?

“Who has purchased my virginity?” Alphonse asked. Papa laughed again. He was absolutely giddy on these days of transition. All he could see was currency. Alphonse likely looked like a giant gold bar to him.

“You know there will be an auction as there is for any man’s virginity here.” Papa smiled and touched Al’s face tenderly, looking up at the young man. Alphonse was nearly six feet tall, towering over the stout older man. “If it wouldn’t set me back financially, I’d gladly shell out the money to make you mine.” He jerked his head away from Papa’s fingers. Papa laughed again and began to whistle a jaunty tune.

Later that evening the auction began in the large sitting room to the left of the foyer. Oskar and Moritz, two of Papa’s underlings, stood off to the side. They were there to make sure things didn’t go sour. The whole thing frightened Alphonse. Men in the house had described it before, but nothing they spoke of was as unsettling as what he was experiencing. The curtains were drawn, and the room was incredibly dim. Alphonse stood in the center of the room under a small overhead light fixture. The light shining above him made it difficult to make out just how many bidders were present. He could hardly see their faces. He stood naked, covering his manhood with shaky hands.

He’d bathed using expensive soap and washed his long, thick hair. Papa directed him to wear it down and he did as he was told. His shiny, tight coils were nearly to his shoulders. His mane added immensely to his sex appeal, and his beautiful dark hair was a talking point amongst the bidders.

Men yelled out monetary amounts. The numbers climbed higher and higher. Papa told him that he needed to turn around and he complied. His back was now to the group. Someone whistled. The numbers continued to rise.

“What an ass,” someone said loudly.

“And it is untouched!” Papa added, doing his best to make Alphonse enticing to the crowd. “I guarantee it! Turn back around Alphonse!” The young man did as he was told, facing the crowd once more. He wondered how long these auctions tended to last. He wanted nothing more than for the whole ordeal to be over.

Papa continued to encourage the men to bid more. “This virgin boy of nineteen is worth more than that!”

The numbers soared.

“Fifty thousand,” one man said, his voice louder than all the others. That was nearly triple the last amount offered. The voices hushed and everyone looked at the tall, sturdy stranger who had just placed an unmatchable bid on Alphonse’s virginity.

“Fifty thousand, going once!” Nobody said anything. Nobody would. This was the highest bid ever placed on the virginity of one of Papa’s sons. “Twice!” Alphonse did his best to make out the stranger in the crowd. He hadn’t come forward and the others blocked Alphonse’s line of sight. “Sold!” Papa shouted, sheer joy in his voice, nearly foaming at the mouth at the thought of collecting that massive sum of money. That was what Dorian made in seven months.

Alphonse had just become the highest earner.

The crowd parted so that Rudolf Blauvelt could make his way towards where Papa stood. The large man handed him the money in a small briefcase. He looked over at Alphonse, who grinned awkwardly. It slightly tickled Rudolf and made him all the more confident in his purchase. Papa grabbed Alphonse roughly by the wrist and pulled him towards the exit of the sitting room. Alphonse looked back, dragging his feet, trying to get a better look at the man who’d just dropped a small fortune on him.

Papa tightened his grip and pulled Alphonse more aggressively. He led him to a large room towards the rear of the bathhouse. This room was only used for special occasions such as this one.

“You’d better not fuck this up with that mouth of yours,” Papa said, opening the briefcase and taking in the money. Everything seemed to be in order, and after he got the opportunity to count the bills, he’d bring Rudolf Blauvelt to claim what he’d paid for. “You’re to be hospitable, you hear? Offer him refreshments. Make him feel good. If he has any reason to ask for this money back, I’ll kill you.”

Papa left the room and Alphonse stood frozen in the middle of it. Things were happening so suddenly. He didn’t know the auction and the copulation would be occurring in the same evening. He didn’t even know anything about the stranger, but then he realized that was a foolish notion. He had no reason to know anything about this man. He was a whore who’d been paid to perform a service. He was not being courted. Thirty minutes passed before the door to the back room was opened.

The stranger—Mr. Blauvelt—appeared.

Rudolf Blauvelt was an intimidating figure. He looked at Alphonse with a severe expression that caused the smaller man slight distress. Alphonse worried he’d already somehow ruined this transaction. Papa was going to kill him. He would die a virgin. Nobody would bid on him again. They wouldn’t believe he hadn’t been with Mr. Blauvelt.

Alphonse took in the imposing man before him. Rudolf was tall, broad, and serious. He certainly did not dress like a coal miner. He wore an expensive looking blue jacket with a black vest underneath. His pants were gray and tailored expertly to his strong legs. His middle was full, and it was more than obvious that he was wealthy enough to eat properly. He had thick well-groomed sideburns that ended at the same level as his pouty lips.

“Would you care for something to drink?” Alphonse offered as he had been instructed. The stranger shook his head. Al took a small step forward towards the man, trying to initiate what had been paid for. He wanted to get it over with. He wanted to get started paying off his family’s debts so he could return to them. “Well, would you like to begin, sir?” The stranger was silent for a moment.

“My name is Rudolf Blauvelt,” he said finally, removing his jacket. Alphonse did not move any further, unsure of what to do next. Introductions weren’t covered in his briefing. “I purchased your virginity, but I do not plan on claiming my prize just yet.”

“Is there a problem, sir?” Alphonse asked. “I am willing to do whatever it is you’d like. I may lack experience, but I promise to do my best.”

“We should begin getting to know one another,” Rudolf replied. He rolled up the sleeves of his white shirt. He had thick forearms covered in dark hair that moved into powerful arms. His chest sat sturdily above his large, hefty belly. His thighs made Alphonse think of the largest of tree trunks, and he felt that Rudolf’s tailor deserved nothing but praise.

“Why pay fifty thousand marks to converse with a whore? Surely I can do something to satisfy you.” Rudolf strode over to him and grabbed his wrist even more roughly than Papa had. Rudolf turned him around, pressing his clothed crotch into Alphonse’s bare behind. He grabbed Alphonse by the throat, holding it with a slight amount of pressure. Alphonse was above average height, yet Rudolf was taller still. If Papa didn’t kill him, surely his new sponsor would.

Al could feel Rudolf’s sizable penis through the fabric and trembled at the thought that he wasn’t even erect. If he were raped by a man with such a substantial member, he’d be in pain for weeks. Besides Rudolf’s cock, Alphonse could feel the businessman’s firm stomach filling the space above his behind. If the situation weren’t so alarming, Alphonse felt he’d be enjoying himself.

“Is this what you want?” Rudolf asked, breathing heavily. “Do you want it to go this way? Painfully, without love? I could rape you and take what I paid for.”

“No, please,” Alphonse managed to get out. “I’m sorry, truly.” He’d been foolish. What did it matter that Rudolf Blauvelt wished to hold conversation before claiming what he paid for? He had a wonderful man pay for his virginity and in moments he had ruined it.

Alphonse whimpered and Rudolf released him.

“My sincerest apologies,” Rudolf offered, his dark eyes filling with sorrow at his impulsiveness. He felt naïve, believing he could build a relationship with this man. What was he doing spending so much money on a man he’d never even spoken to prior to this evening? He’d thought with his heart and not his head, hoping with persistence they could fall in love with one another. He’d been reading too many women’s novels. “I will make arrangements for you to continue living here without having to sleep with any man but me.” 

Alphonse nodded.

“Would that be all right with you?” 

“Yes, thank you,” was all Alphonse could muster, trying to stop himself from crying. Rudolf could tell he’d frightened the young man and hastily gathered his belongings in order to vacate the room, embarrassed and fearful that Alphonse would never see him as anything more than a beastly whoremonger. Before he could even close the door behind himself, he’d heard Alphonse burst into tears.

After abruptly leaving his initial session, Rudolf arranged for Alphonse to be his and only his with the owner of the bathhouse, Deidrick Schroeder. He made it explicitly clear that Alphonse was not to be forced to copulate with any others. He left Schroeder with enough money to cover any sessions Alphonse would be missing for the upcoming week before exiting the bathhouse.

Word spread quickly about Alphonse’s auction and the arrangements Rudolf had made. Some wished him great happiness; others gave nothing but rude remarks. They told him Rudolf would expect special sexual favors and that he wanted nothing more than to hurt Alphonse. Thinking about the way things ended at their initial meeting, Alphonse worried that what they said was true. Rudolf had been quite forceful. If he’d wanted to, he could have seriously hurt the smaller man.

Dorian was the most upset. He had lost the one thing that had made him happy, his title as best earner. “You know you’re not special,” he’d said the morning after the auction.

“I did not claim to be,” Alphonse replied. “I’ll never be able to make as much as you after this.”

“I’m glad that you know it.” Dorian walked away, so upset that he didn’t even want to look at Alphonse anymore. This was all that he had to bring him joy in the world. His family wouldn’t have him back after working in the bathhouse for so long. Dorian couldn’t believe it when they’d turned him away. They were the reason he was there. How could they abandon him after he’d done what he had to do to make sure they thrived? He threw himself into his work at the bathhouse. The sex made him feel good about himself, wanted. Making him feel like he had some sort of control over his life.

It took Rudolf five days before he was able to work up the nerve to return to see Alphonse. He still felt terrible about their last encounter. Rudolf had purchased a silk shirt and a box of very expensive chocolates. These small tokens of affection did not harm him financially, but he’d hoped they would show he sincerely regretted how he’d behaved. He was not an old man, at twenty-seven years of age, but a smart businessman. He’d taken the small sum of money he’d inherited after the deaths of his parents and grew it into a sizable fortune in the oil business.

Alphonse was informed of his visitor and sat nervously in the same room from a week earlier; the only difference was that he was fully clothed. Rudolf entered the room a bit nervously. He knew his size and demeanor made most people feel threatened. They were welcome qualities in the boardroom, but not when looking to build personal relationships.

The businessman placed the presents on a table near the door and walked further into the room towards where Alphonse stood. He reached out his hand as he would in the office; his face reddened noticeably as Alphonse shook his hand. He was being much too formal.

“Would you care for something to drink?” Alphonse asked, his voice trembling. He could not afford to mess this up like he had last week. Rudolf nodded. “What would you care for? We have wine, tea, and water.”

“Water would be fine.” Alphonse scurried about getting the beverage prepared. He grabbed a silver pitcher and poured cool water into a large glass, filling it a little more than half way. Rudolf wouldn’t have asked for anything if he’d known it would have caused such an ordeal. Alphonse held the glass of water as still as he could in his shaky hand and walked it over to where Rudolf stood in the middle of the room.

Alphonse lifted the glass, trying to hand it to Rudolf, but he accidentally tilted it forward, causing the smallest amount of water to spill on Rudolf’s jacket. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” he said in a petrified voice. “I—I am sorry.”

Alphonse could only think about the rough way he was reprimanded last time. Papa would’ve launched into a tirade about poise and composure.

“It’s only water,” Rudolf said with a gentle smile. “It’s fine, really.”

Rudolf took the glass from Alphonse, their hands touching for a moment. He drank what remained in the glass, offering a satisfied ahh when he was finished. 

“Thank you for your kindness, sir.”

“I wanted to give you something,” Rudolf said, trying his best to sound pleasant. He walked over to the small table near the door where he’d placed two gift-wrapped boxes. He first handed Alphonse the parcel with the shirt.

With unsure hands Alphonse took the box from Rudolf. He’d heard of people receiving tokens from patrons, but they’d put in the work to receive those gifts. He couldn’t fathom why Rudolf would be so kind. He’d mentioned before wanting to get to know one another, but Alphonse never considered he was being serious.

Alphonse carefully removed the fancy paper, wanting to hold onto it as a keepsake. He opened the box and took in a shirt made of extravagant emerald green fabric. His mouth fell open in surprise. This was the most luxurious thing he’d ever received. He looked up at Rudolf, unsure of whether or not this gift was truly meant for him.

“Won’t you try it on?” Rudolf asked.

Alphonse unbuttoned his white cotton top and stood before Rudolf shirtless for a moment. Rudolf could feel his pulse quickening. This man was absolutely gorgeous, with smooth reddish-brown skin that had been incredibly warm the last time he’d touched it. His broad shoulders and lean arms gave him a statuesque appearance. They couldn’t be more dissimilar. Rudolf thought of his own thick limbs and round stomach.

Alphonse pulled on the silk top. The size was a bit large, as Rudolf had no measurements to give his tailor, but he still looked incredibly handsome in it. It brought out the richness of his skin and made him look truly elegant. He took in his appearance in a mirror positioned in a corner of the room. What wonders a piece of cloth could provide.

“Thank you, sir,” Alphonse said gratefully.

“You should call me Rudolf—or Rudy if you’d prefer. My mother called me Rudy.” He handed him the chocolates. “I hope you like chocolate.” Alphonse smiled brightly, making Rudolf extraordinarily happy.

Alphonse strode over to the bed excitedly and took off the shirt, laying it out to make sure it didn’t wrinkle. He didn’t want to chance a stain. He grabbed the chocolate and walked back over to Rudolf.

“My mother used to buy me chocolate on my birthday.” Al smiled again. “She would say, ‘Here’s a little treat that’s almost as sweet as you.’” He opened the box and ate one. The flavor seemed so foreign to him now. Chocolates weren’t given in the bathhouse.

“Do you like them?” Rudolf asked. Alphonse nodded and took another chocolate from the box. He put it up to Rudolf’s mouth. He quickly realized his oversight and moved his hand. He had just wanted to convey his overflowing happiness. “Can I have my chocolate?” Rudolf asked.

Alphonse placed it to his lips and felt Rudolf’s mouth cover his fingers for a moment, sucking on them gently. “Do you like chocolate?” Alphonse asked, his entire body tingling.

“I love chocolate.” Alphonse laughed in appreciation of their newfound friendliness. He reached into the box and brought another to Rudolf’s lips.

“I bought these for you,” he said, laughing softly.

“I like sharing with you,” Alphonse replied. They stood like this, eating the chocolates together. For every three he fed Rudolf, Alphonse would have one. Before long, the twelve pieces of chocolate had been consumed and the fires of lust and romance had been fanned beyond containment.

Rudolf’s visits became more and more numerous. They’d become so frequent, in fact, that after two months of being on the market, Alphonse had repaid his debts to Papa. One afternoon in early December, Papa stormed into the room Alphonse still shared with the other Al.

“Pack your bags.”

“What do you mean?” Alphonse asked in disbelief. “I’ve only been on the market for a little over two months.” Papa grunted angrily at the statement. It wasn’t just that Rudolf Blauvelt had been purchasing sessions with Alphonse, it was the fact that he’d been paying for exclusivity. He’d invested quite a sum in his pursuit of Alphonse’s affections.

“Your debt has been repaid courtesy of Mr. Blauvelt.”

“I have an appointment with Rudolf this evening,” Alphonse said, wanting to reunite with his family, but not wanting to stand Rudolf up. Maybe now that he was no longer employed at the bathhouse, they could spend more time together free of charge.

“I’ve called and cancelled said appointment,” Papa said angrily. “This isn’t some café. If you want to meet with him, make those arrangements outside of these premises.” With that, Papa left the room, slamming the door on his way out.

“You—you’re free,” Alvin exclaimed, a small jealous feeling in the pit of his stomach. “You can go home to your mother and your sisters. Hurry before he fabricates a reason for you to stay!” Alphonse moved quickly, collecting his few belongings and placing them in the single suitcase he owned. It was the same suitcase that had brought him to the bathhouse. One thing stayed on his mind as he finished gathering his things—Rudolf. Would they see each other again? Did Rudolf even know he’d been relieved of his duties at the bathhouse? He couldn’t just leave without telling him where he’d be.

He and Alvin stood in the doorway and embraced one another for a moment. “I’m a little scared,” Alphonse admitted. “What am I to do?”

“You must go and find your family,” Alvin replied. He had tears in his eyes, and it pained Alphonse to leave his friend behind. “Hug your sisters for me.”

Alvin didn’t have the strength to see Alphonse out of the bathhouse; it would take too much of an emotional toll. After they said their goodbyes, he re-entered the bedroom they’d shared up until moments before and closed the door. Alphonse made his way down the hallway towards the stairs. He encountered Dorian at the stair’s landing near his bedroom.

“Come here a moment, Alphonse,” Dorian said, entering his sleeping quarters. Alphonse followed.

“Do you wish to chastise me some more before I go?” Alphonse asked.

“Quite the opposite.” He sat on his bed and crossed his legs. He wore an oversized white shirt and a baggy pair of slacks. Even in these items he emitted an aura of intense sex appeal. “I have questions about Rudolf Blauvelt. What is it you did to make him spend so much on you? What is your technique?”

“I don’t understand.”

“What did you do to bewitch him so? Do you have some sort of method to enrapture a man so completely that he spends a fortune for time with you?” Alphonse stared at Dorian with a confused look in his eye, causing the more experienced of the pair to be more direct. “How did you work his cock?”

“We’ve just talked,” Alphonse said. “I offered myself to him, but he said he wanted to get to know me first.”

“It doesn’t take two months to get to know a man,” Dorian scoffed. “The men who frequent this place are easy to read. They’re either homosexuals who have no appeal or married men with homosexual tendencies but no desire to leave their wives.”

“I don’t think Rudolf is either of those things.”

“So, you haven’t even seen his cock?”

“No.” Alphonse wondered why this was embarrassing him so intensely. Why hadn’t Rudolf made his move yet? Al considered the possibility that Rudolf was hiding something about himself.

“If he’s a homosexual and not just a married man blowing off steam, he’ll be willing to do things the others won’t.” Alphonse held the handle of his suitcase tightly. He wanted to know Dorian’s secrets. If he were to see Rudolf again, he wanted to make sure the businessman was properly compensated for his generosity. “I assume you’ll be on the receiving end of that mystery member. If he puts it in right away, you’ll be in a world of pain. Ask him to loosen you up with his fingers. Have him kiss you and caress you. He should have you begging him to fuck you.”

“Does Mr. Pfeiffer do these things for you?” Alphonse asked, intrigued by all of this information.

“Most certainly, when he’s feeling especially dominant, but usually it is I who does these things for him,” Dorian replied, smiling. “If you really want to push Rudolf Blauvelt, see if he’ll even loosen you up with his tongue. It works wonders.” Dorian stuck his tongue out for effect, licking the air between his pointer and middle fingers slowly. Alphonse’s eyes widened in surprise causing Dorian to fall back on his mattress in a fit of giggles. “You really are a virgin, young Alphonse.”

“Would he really want to do that?” Alphonse asked, ignoring Dorian’s laughter at his inexperience.

“You take a long hot bath and scrub yourself clean beforehand, and he won’t be able to stop. Have him rub some olive oil on his cock and your hole before he puts it in, and things will go smoothly, literally.”

Alphonse paused, looking at the bathhouse’s highest earner, and felt himself getting sentimental. He had a feeling that he might not ever see Dorian again and it made him somewhat melancholic.

“I really appreciate you telling me all of these things,” Alphonse began. “I—I know you’ve hated me because of what happened, but I’ve always kind of admired you. I always thought we were similar, different from all the other men here. I still do.”

“Well, isn’t that sweet,” Dorian said, standing. He was just a hair taller than Alphonse. “I hope you and the rich man are very happy together. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have an appointment to prepare for.” Alphonse nodded and left the room. Dorian smiled to himself, touched slightly by Alphonse’s words, but also at the thought that the number one spot would soon belong to him once more.

Alphonse hesitated in the foyer for a moment. How would he find Rudolf? Would this be the end of their relationship? Papa shouted at him to get out, pushing him into the street outside of the bathhouse entrance. “Feel free to come back when you’re ready to make me some more money.”

Outside, he could feel all of his blood rushing to the pit of his stomach. His limbs suddenly went cold as he stumbled down the street towards his childhood home. He hadn’t heard from or seen his family since he was taken in by Papa. The workers were unaware, but Papa made sure any parcels or letters sent to the bathhouse were destroyed. He didn’t want his sons to be distracted from their work. He also found it easier to break his sons if they believed nobody wished to contact them. It was a powerful tactic, isolation.

Things in the red-light district were familiar to Alphonse, as that’s as far as the sons were allowed to travel, but as he got farther away from the bathhouse, things became unrecognizable. There were new buildings and different avenues he hadn’t seen before.

He wandered the streets for nearly two hours when he finally found landmarks that he could recall from three years ago. He ran excitedly down the street, his suitcase bobbing in his hand. He passed a row of shops that hadn’t changed at all! He encountered the large tree that the neighborhood had fought the city to save. He was almost home! They had lived in a small duplex, the other half occupied by a family even larger than his own.

He arrived where his home should have been. He should have been looking at a dingy maisonette with blue doors and crumbling brick and children’s toys scattered about the stairs. But he saw no such things. He saw a large vacant plot of land with remnants of what had once been. 

The small duplex had completely burned to ashes.

Alphonse dropped his suitcase and walked into the rubble, where their kitchen should have been. He knelt and grabbed an old hand mirror. The handle was snapped and the glass shattered, but he knew this had once belonged to his mother. Where were they now? He had to find them. He’d talk to the neighbors. He’d find out their new address.

“Shame isn’t it?” Al looked up at a man he remembered lived next door. “Those three fine ladies were left alone by that riff raff boy.”

Alphonse knew he was that riff raff boy.

“Where are they now?” he asked. The man’s face was suddenly sympathetic.

“Well, you see, they died trying their hands at being laundresses. If it wasn’t bad enough, they managed to take out the family next door as well. Thank the heavens the fire brigade was able to contain the blaze to this one plot of land.” The neighbor sighed. “Aye, but still, I can’t believe it’s been nearly three years since then. Real tragic, ain’t it?”

Alphonse’s entire body was shaking. He began to sob and the man who’d informed him of what had happened went on his way. Alphonse was all alone. He’d have to return to the bathhouse and beg Papa to hire him. Papa would charge him outrageously for room and board, never allowing for his debt to be paid down. He’d spend the best years of his life a whore, before being tossed out on the street when he was no longer profitable.

He sat amongst the rubble for an hour, before the cold became too much. He began his journey back to the bathhouse, the only thing keeping him from utter despair was the thought that he’d be able to see Rudolf again.

Papa had telephoned Rudy and told him not to return, for Alphonse would not be there. Thankfully, Rudolf Blauvelt was not the type of man to take orders. He spent the afternoon driving around their town in his motorcar in search of Alphonse. He found him shuffling along with his suitcase about a mile from the bathhouse. He parked his car quickly and got out.

“Alphonse,” Rudolf called.

“Rudy!” he exclaimed, his heart struggling to process the conflicting emotions of grief and joy. His family was gone, but the man he’d begun to love was standing before him. He dropped his suitcase and hugged Rudolf happily. Tiny snowflakes had begun to fall and as they spoke to one another their breath made small clouds of frost. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Rudolf smiled; he was in disbelief that another person could be so grateful to be in his presence. He worried that all the time they’d spent together meant nothing to Alphonse. Rudy understood that their relationship had been transactional. He knew that Alphonse had to entertain him and treat him with kindness or Schroeder would abuse him.

“I don’t know if you can believe this,” Alphonse began. “But you single-handedly purchased my freedom. I have nothing but the utmost gratitude for you, Rudolf.”

“That’s wonderful. Where are you going now?” Rudolf asked. “I can take you.”

Alphonse was silent a moment. All of the money Rudolf had spent on him was wasted. Rudolf placed his hand underneath Alphonse’s chin and lifted his head so that they were looking at one another. He could sense that something was amiss with the beautiful younger man. He asked him what was wrong and for him to be honest.

“I was on my way back to the bathhouse,” Alphonse replied finally, looking away from Rudolf. “I—I have nowhere else to go.”

“What of your family?” he asked. “Your mother and sisters?”

“They’re dead,” Alphonse said aloud for the first time since hearing the news. “There was a fire. Nearly three years ago. I was stuck in the bathhouse dreaming of the day I’d be free, and I had no idea that what remained of my family was already gone.”

Rudolf felt deep pain for Alphonse. They’d spoken of his past during one of their many sessions the past two months. His mother was mentally unstable and walked into a pond until she was completely submerged and drowned. His father couldn’t take the loneliness and shot himself. He was heartbroken for Alphonse and hated that the young man had to endure such sadness.

“I know it’s a lot to ask of you,” Alphonse said, mustering a smile, “but I hope to see you again at the bathhouse sometime.”

“That notion is absolutely ludicrous,” Rudolf replied, bending down to grab Alphonse’s measly suitcase.

“I’ll take my bag and be on my way,” Alphonse said, feeling defeated. Was Rudolf saying he’d never pay to visit him again? Al didn’t want Rudy’s money, but what other option did he have? He needed a place to stay out of the cold.

“You will do no such thing. You shall stay with me.”

“I couldn’t impose on you in such a way,” Alphonse replied, reaching for his suitcase. Rudolf was just being a gentleman. There was no way he’d want a former whore in his home.

“My motorcar is this way,” Rudolf stated plainly, ignoring Alphonse’s polite refusal. Alphonse had never ridden in a car before and the idea excited him. He walked along next to the large, serious man until they came to his car. It was a large machine and truly a testament to the ingenuity of humanity. “Let’s go. Come on then.” Rudy opened the door for Alphonse and helped him into the car before handing him his suitcase.

“Thank you,” Alphonse managed to get out before he began to cry silent tears. He cried all the way to Rudolf’s townhouse.

When they arrived, Rudolf busied himself in the kitchen, knowing that in times of grief it was important to eat a warm meal. He allowed Alphonse to freshen up and take a moment to himself. He didn’t employ any help. He cooked his own meals and cleaned his own home. Though Alphonse noticed that Rudolf must have pushed housework until it was absolutely necessary. His home could use a good scrubbing, but the townhouse was absolutely gorgeous underneath the clutter. The home was four floors, with the kitchen and dining room on the lowest level. The second floor had multiple bedrooms and the master bath, the third floor a study and home library. The fourth floor contained a solarium filled with many different plants that had seen better days.

Rudolf chopped onions and potatoes. He seared a cut of beef on the stovetop before plating it and allowing it to rest. He’d gotten this recipe down to a science and it was actually quite flavorful. He only knew how to successfully prepare this one dish, a skillet meal of meat and potatoes. He cooked quite a grand amount, not much more than what he usually made, but still grand. He set the table and called Alphonse to dinner.

His dining room table was large, but Rudolf made sure to position the chairs so that they weren’t very far from one another. He served Alphonse, filling his plate with a substantial portion. Alphonse found the dish incredibly filling. His appetite had not yet fully returned, so he ate only a small amount of what had been given to him.

He sat as Rudolf continued to eat. The large businessman was finishing up his third helping, having completely emptied the serving dish. This was when he noticed Alphonse had stopped eating.

“Is it not to your liking?” he asked, fearing Alphonse did not enjoy his specialty. “It’s the only thing I ever learned to make. I eat it nearly every day.”

“You made so much, Rudy. It was certainly an exquisite meal. I apologize for not being able to finish it.” Alphonse smiled and stood up from his chair. He took his plate over to where Rudolf sat and scrapped his remaining food onto his dish. “You’re such a large man, Rudy. Surely you must need more to eat, yes?”

“Well, I guess you’re right.” Alphonse smiled again, feeling less anguish at the loss of his family. Rudolf dug into his now fourth helping as Alphonse watched him consume the large amount of food. As turbulent as the last three years of his life had been, being with Rudolf in this moment made Alphonse feel incredibly warm and secure. It was something that he’d greatly desired.

“From now on, I will do the cleaning and prepare your meals,” Al announced. He had told himself the moment he walked into Rudolf’s home he was not going to be a bother. He was going to make Rudolf happy. He was going to repay Rudolf for all of his generosity.

“Really that’s unnecessary,” Rudolf said, smiling. “If you think we need to hire some staff, I have the means to pay for it.”

“I’d like to do this for you,” Alphonse said. “It will give me something to focus on, please.”

“If it gets to be too much of a burden, please don’t hesitate to let me know. You’re no servant here.”

After their meal, Rudolf asked Alphonse where he wished to sleep in the house. He didn’t intend to force him to sleep in the same bedroom. There were five of them in his home. “I can’t stay with you?” Alphonse asked nervously.

He had expected Rudolf to collect what he’d paid for long ago and wondered what it was that was keeping them from having intercourse. Did he not care for a sexual relationship? Maybe Dorian had been correct in his assessment of the situation. Maybe Rudolf was hiding something.

“You wish to stay with me? In my bedroom?” Rudolf asked, his face reddening. He wanted nothing more than for Alphonse to stay with him. But he wanted him to do it freely, without having to be paid or coerced.

“Of course, unless—” Al found himself at a loss for words, which shocked him for he usually had too many. “I think that I have possibly misunderstood our relationship. Do you like men? Or are you just, perhaps, an exceedingly kind businessman?”

“I do prefer the company of men, but I, as yourself, have never engaged in—”

“You’re a virgin!?” The words echoed throughout the entire house. Alphonse couldn’t believe it. He didn’t feel the word virgin and Rudolf Blauvelt could ever coexist in the same sentence. He coughed slightly. “My apologies, I was quite loud.”

“You see, I have not had many opportunities to lose my virginity. No man ever responded to me and I hadn’t wanted to sleep with any woman. I was going to get it out of the way by purchasing another virgin, so I wouldn’t feel so—so inexperienced.”

Alphonse could barely believe what it was that he was hearing. Surely there were men interested in Rudolf. Alphonse’s eyes traveled to Rudolf’s masculine belly, whilst he attempted to suppress a stirring in his groin. The businessman was larger, yes, but also incredibly handsome. His dark brown hair was full and long, usually combed back out of his face. He had a strong jawline and a prominent nose. His lips were full and well moisturized. Alphonse knew precisely what had happened; Rudolf Blauvelt was unable to pick up on flirtations.

“I hope when the time comes, we can be one another’s firsts,” Alphonse replied, actually quite glad that nobody had gotten to copulate with the sexy businessman. They smiled at one another and enjoyed a hearty laugh.

Alphonse’s first month living with Rudolf was a busy one. The younger man spent his days doing exactly what he had been doing in the bathhouse, cooking and cleaning. Things weren’t exactly the same, however, as he was actually enjoying the work. Seeing how impressed Rudolf was with his progress each evening filled the younger man with joy. Al made sure to have a warm meal waiting for the businessman every night when he got in from his office in town. Rudy hadn’t eaten such a variety of foods in years. Alphonse had purchased a new cookbook and dedicated himself to improving his culinary abilities.

There were small things about being around Rudolf that would push Alphonse to the brink. Watching Rudolf dress himself for work in the morning was Alphonse’s favorite part of the day. As the weeks went by, there’d be more of a struggle to do up the buttons on his shirts and trousers. Before he could start his day, Alphonse would have to touch himself, thinking about Rudy’s masculine frame lumbering out of their bedroom on his way into town. The businessman was naturally large, with the biggest hands and feet Alphonse had ever seen. But recently, the floorboards had begun to creak more with his steps and the bed would sink a little bit lower when he laid down. Alphonse took note of all of these things, becoming more and more sexually frustrated the longer he stayed in Rudolf’s home.

One evening, Rudolf ripped his trousers right up the back. His meaty backside had caused him great difficulty getting dressed that morning, and he had yet to see his tailor. Most of his clothes fit a bit more snuggly in the month Alphonse had been preparing the meals. He noticed his weight gain and tried his best to keep it hidden from his almost-lover. He slipped away and changed his pants before returning to the dining room for dinner.

He had news to share.

Rudy sat at the dining room table, and they ate a plentiful meal. They spoke of their days and how they were feeling. Alphonse made sure Rudolf had generous helpings of braised beef, white bean stew, and freshly baked bread. There wasn’t much of anything left over and Al felt good about making food that Rudolf enjoyed so thoroughly. Alphonse began to clear the dishes and platters that still covered the table.

“Al, I’ve been invited to an opera and was informed I could bring one guest,” Rudolf said, feeling this was the appropriate time to bring up the news he hoped would excite Alphonse. “Won’t you join me?”

“Me?” Alphonse asked, stacking the dishes on top of one another. “I’ve never been to an opera before. Don’t you think it would be best to take someone else?”

Alphonse knew he did not understand the high-class lifestyle Rudolf and his colleagues enjoyed. He had been poor his entire life. He wasn’t well educated and knew nothing of world affairs. He wouldn’t be able to live with himself if he embarrassed Rudolf in public. He figured it would be for the best if things continued on as they had been, with him remaining behind, doing what was useful to Rudolf at home.

“I wish to take the one who has been taking such good care of me.” He smiled at Alphonse.

“Surely you could attend with a colleague from the office. Perhaps make it a business meeting.”

“Do you not wish to go with me?”

“I never want to leave your side,” Alphonse stated honestly. “It’s just—I don’t want to make a fool of myself. I don’t want to do anything that might make you look less than. Opera houses aren’t for people like me.”

“You shall never think that way again, do you understand?” He looked seriously at Alphonse, who stood with the stack of dishes in his hands. “You are just as important to this world as any other man. You being yourself will never embarrass me.”

“Rudolf, I—”

“Won’t you join me?” Rudolf asked once again, unwilling to take no for an answer. “I will take you to be fitted for a suit and it’ll be such fun to enjoy your presence outside of this house.”

“All right, if you insist,” he agreed, nodding, trying to suppress an overly enthusiastic grin. Alphonse went into the kitchen to fetch dessert. He paused for a moment when he was alone. He knew that he’d recently faced a sizable hardship, but he hadn’t the time to feel melancholy. Being with Rudolf raised his spirits immensely.

He allowed himself a wide smile, feeling embarrassed at his own glee. He’d be attending an opera with a man he was falling in love with. Three months ago, Alphonse was certain he’d never work his way out of Papa’s clutches, but here he was enjoying life despite its setbacks.

Everything about Rudolf had Alphonse in a state of constant arousal. The way Rudolf smelled after a shower was just as appealing as the slightly sweaty smell he’d have after a long day of work. He appreciated Rudolf’s shy smiles and calm chuckles. Al was especially excited by how some of Rudolf’s garments tightly encased his large, powerful body. He feigned obliviousness that very evening when Rudolf split his pants in the back, his penis standing at attention as he watched the businessman shuffle off to their bedroom with nary an excuse or explanation.

Al took in the cake he’d prepared that afternoon, continuing to smile to himself, knowing it was the perfect way to celebrate their plans to attend a function together publicly. He held it carefully in his hands as he returned to the dining room.

“What’s this now?” Rudolf asked, amazed at the confection before him.

“We almost forgot dessert,” Al exclaimed. “In the market today, cocoa was on sale. I’ve wanted to make a chocolate cake for a long time. I do hope you’ll enjoy it.” He excitedly cut a slice for Rudolf and set it in front of him. He remembered the day where their relationship really began to develop, with that box of decadent chocolates. Just thinking about how Rudolf sucked on his fingers was getting Alphonse excited.

“Mmm, this is delicious Alphonse,” Rudolf said as he finished his first slice of cake. “Your food is the best I’ve ever eaten. You’d think a trained patisserie had baked this.”

“Really? That’s fantastic.” He grabbed Rudolf’s empty plate and put another substantial slice on it before placing it back in front of the businessman. “Please, have some more.” Rudolf happily dug into this piece as well. He never ate dessert when he lived alone.

Alphonse enjoyed cooking for Rudolf almost as much as he enjoyed his growing stature. He’d always had an eye for the larger patrons in the bathhouse, and as nervous as he was during his auction, he was silently happy his virginity was purchased by such a handsome man.

Al saw Rudolf’s growth as a sign. It was a sign that he was doing something that created progress. He was able to give something to Rudolf, who had given him so much. The larger Rudy got, the more Alphonse saw him as a strong, intelligent, powerful man, who would always need someone to prepare his meals and—hopefully—make love to.

After most of the cake resided in Rudolf’s stomach, Alphonse went to start on the dishes. He stood at the sink in the kitchen and did his best to calm himself. He hadn’t been able to relieve himself this morning, having had errands to run outside of the townhouse. All he could think about was the look of pleasure on Rudolf’s face as he ate the cake, as he consumed the meal. He had caused that look with the food he prepared, and he wanted nothing more than to cause that same expression using his own body. He couldn’t focus on the dishes. His mind wandered to what Dorian had told him.

He wanted to feel Rudolf’s hands and mouth on his body. When the foreplay became too much to handle, he wanted to beg Rudolf to fuck him. Their courtship had lasted long enough. Tonight would be the night.

Alphonse left the dishes in the sink, grabbed the olive oil, and ran to the bathroom. He hurriedly ran the water, filling the tub. This feeling, it was consuming him. He could wait no longer. He needed Rudolf. He needed to feel the larger man inside of himself. He tied his long hair up with a ribbon. He removed his clothing hastily, stepping into the clawfoot tub. He added generous amounts of soap and peppermint oil to the water. He began to scrub his body vigorously, paying close attention to his asshole.

He touched his hole, his eyes closed. It pulsated gently, demanding to be played with. He scrubbed it again, adding more soap to his washcloth.

He bathed for nearly thirty minutes before he drained the water, wanting to make sure he was absolutely pristine. He got out of the tub and dried himself hastily, not any less aroused. His penis had been stiff since dinner, and it began to ache. He walked from the bathroom in the nude, olive oil in hand. He found Rudolf in his pajamas, reading in bed.

“Alphonse,” he said in surprise, unsure of what was happening. He set his book on the nightstand to his left. He sat up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. “Is everything all right?”

“I can wait not a second longer, Rudolf,” the nude man said honestly. “I need you.”

Rudolf took in Alphonse’s erection, feeling his own member stiffening to its full nine inches. Al walked over to the bed, his long limbs gliding effortlessly. Rudolf thought he looked like a painting, one that belonged in the finest museum. His trim waist and round behind were most alluring. Alphonse set the bottle of olive oil on the nightstand next to Rudolf’s romance novel. He turned his attention to Rudolf, moving to unbutton his nightshirt.

“Things are moving so quickly,” Rudolf said, his face reddening.

“Not quick enough.” The shirt had been removed and Alphonse was able to take in the effects of the evening’s meal. Rudolf was broad shouldered, yes, but everything else about him was just as wide. He had large arms that were soft with fat, which covered the muscles of his teenage years. His chest sagged slightly, and he had substantial pink nipples. His meaty pecs sat atop a bloated middle, which rested in his lap comfortably. Alphonse’s cock jumped taking in Rudolf’s body.

“Dorian said you were to kiss me all over before we begin.” Rudolf nodded, understanding this would be put off no longer. As nervous as he was, he was glad Alphonse had taken the initiative. Alphonse walked closer to Rudolf at the edge of bed and the businessman placed his solid hands around his waist, pulling him closer. Rudolf kissed his middle softly, working his way towards Alphonse’s nipples. He began to suck on them before giving them a few gentle nibbles. Alphonse gasped, never imagining his nipples could make him feel this way.

“What else did Dorian tell you?” Rudolf asked between kisses. He licked Alphonse’s skin, which was smooth and smelled of peppermint.

“He said you had to loosen me up with your fingers and—and your tongue.”

“Get on the bed,” Rudolf commanded, standing and removing his night pants. His own member was now free from the confines of his clothing. Alphonse rested on his arms and knees, arching his back. Rudolf found himself salivating at the sight of Alphonse’s generously proportioned behind. He spread the cheeks, looking at his clean, slightly pink hole. He brought his face close to it and gave it a few apprehensive licks before losing himself to the experience. He worked Alphonse’s hole with his tongue like he’d done it a million times before.

Al moaned loudly, wishing there were some way to repay Dorian for making all of this possible. His toes curled as Rudolf continued to loosen him up with his tongue, some of the licks traveling towards his balls. As Dorian had said, he was on the brink of begging for it.

“You’re supposed to—to use the olive oil to finger me,” Alphonse said, trying to steady his voice. His breathing was deep and labored. “You should put some on your cock as well.”

Rudolf did as he was told, and slowly inserted an oiled-up finger inside of Alphonse. “How are you?” Rudy asked.

“I’m fine,” he said, burying his face in the bedspread. “Please, keep going.” Alphonse’s hole pulsated around Rudolf’s thick middle finger. He was loosening up nicely and after a few minutes of being stimulated by one finger, Rudolf was able to add another. Alphonse felt his hips moving, trying to intensify the pleasure he was experiencing with just Rudolf’s fingers. “Put—put it in now, Rudolf.”

“Are you certain, Alphonse?” Rudolf asked, wanting to continue only if his lover were willing. He removed his fingers from inside of Alphonse slowly. “If you feel this was enough for a first venture, we can stop now.”

“I don’t want to stop,” Alphonse replied, his voice muffled by the blanket, his face still buried in its softness. He lifted his head, wanting to better express himself. He took a deep breath, looking back at Rudolf’s massive form behind him. “I want you to fuck me.”

Rudolf stood upright and took in Alphonse’s oiled behind. It looked firm and large for his thin frame. The sheen of the oil highlighted his smooth brown skin. Al was near the edge of the bed, his ass close enough for Rudolf to access. The businessman pulled at the ribbon in Alphonse’s hair, allowing the smaller man’s corkscrew coils to fan out in a dark halo. Al flicked his neck slightly, allowing his hair to fall more aesthetically.

Rudolf placed the head of his member near Al’s hole and worked himself inside gently. He couldn’t believe how incredible this felt. Alphonse was still breathing loudly, his entire body reacting to this experience.

“More,” Alphonse cried, feeling euphoric as Rudolf hit his prostate.

Rudolf pushed his entire cock into Alphonse, moving back and forth rhythmically. The sound of his thick upper thighs slamming against Alphonse’s ass as he pounded away was turning him on even more. Alphonse moaned loudly after a few minutes of this, ejaculating all over himself and the duvet. Rudolf kept going, continuing for nearly ten minutes before he filled Alphonse with his seed. When they were both finished, they laid out on the bed together, neither speaking. Alphonse reached out his hand, grabbing Rudolf’s.

They remained like this for some time.

They awoke early the next day, a Friday. Rudolf had already arranged a visit to the tailor before he even discussed attending the opera with Alphonse. Al had never owned a suit and Rudolf knew he’d definitely have to go up a size or two.

“Mr. Blauvelt, it is a pleasure to see you again,” Hans Reinhart, the tailor, said with a slight nod of his head. “What can I do for you?” He noticed Alphonse finally, standing nervously behind one of his most prestigious customers. Rudolf carried a bag of clothes he needed repaired and let out.

“Yes, Hans, it is nice to see you as well. We’ve come today because my friend here needs a suit for the opera opening in the spring.” Rudolf hesitated a moment, lowering his voice even though he, Alphonse, and Hans Reinhart were the only people in the shop. “I also need some things sewn up and, well—let out a bit.”

Hans raised his eyebrows in surprise, but that was only a polite gesture. Rudolf had just purchased new suits for the colder seasons back in September. It had hardly been five months since then, but looking at Mr. Blauvelt before him, Hans thought it was painfully obvious the man had gotten larger. He’d seen it before with other customers, but it was more of a yearly occurrence, not after a few months.

Rudolf handed the bag to the tailor, who took the heavy sack of clothing in his open arms. He wondered how many items Mr. Blauvelt had shoved in there. He propped the bag against one of the walls, turning his attention towards Alphonse, who was still semi-hiding behind Rudolf. “Young man, what kind of suit would you like?”

Alphonse froze; he’d hoped he wouldn’t have to pick for himself. What if he got the wrong thing? As opinionated as he’d been his entire life, this new world was breaking him down, making him overly conscious that he didn’t have experiences like Rudolf’s.

He’d never been to an opera or to visit a tailor. He’d never lived in such a luxurious home or ridden in a motorcar. He felt everything about himself wasn’t enough.

“Go ahead, Alphonse,” Rudolf said gently. “Get whatever your heart desires.”

“Well, something very simple would be nice,” he started, looking Hans Reinhart in the eye for the first time. “Black would be fine—or even, perhaps, a navy.”

“Which is it then? Black or navy?” Hans asked, scribbling down the options Alphonse had just requested. “You’ll want a shirt, won’t you?” He was used to his clientele being more straightforward in their requests, knowing immediately what they wanted.

“I’d like for the suit to be navy, please.” Alphonse grabbed onto Rudolf for a moment, trying to calm himself. Rudolf looked at him with supportive eyes, but Alphonse misread the intent of his lover’s gaze. He quickly removed his hand from Rudy’s beefy arm, forgetting that behind closed doors they could touch one another as they pleased, but in public it was probably for the best to keep a respectable distance. “And a cream-colored shirt would suffice.” Hans continued to write down what Alphonse asked for.

“Come now. Let me get your measurements.” Alphonse stepped from behind Rudolf and walked over to where Mr. Reinhart stood. “Mr. Blauvelt, I’ll re-measure you and take a look at those garments you need mended next.”

He and Alphonse walked off to the back of the shop. Alphonse followed Hans Reinhart’s instructions, as this was his first time being measured by a professional tailor. As a child, his mother used to make all of his clothes. And once he arrived in the bathhouse, he wore hand-me-downs from the other workers.

“Your proportions make very easy work for me,” Hans remarked.

“Thank you,” Alphonse replied.

“Would you send Mr. Blauvelt back,” Hans said, scribbling the last of Al’s measurements on a sheet of paper. “Ask him to bring the bag with the garments.”

“Yes, sir.”

Alphonse returned to where Rudolf stood and gave the directions Mr. Reinhart had asked him to pass along. Rudolf thanked Alphonse and went to the back of the store to be re-measured. He stood as Hans poked and prodded him, wrapping his tape measure around him in various ways. Hans would mumble to himself in surprise before recording Rudolf’s measurements on his note sheet.

“Goodness, all of your measurements have gone up substantially,” Hans expressed in shock, looking down at what he’d written. “Your waist, thighs, chest, all of you! If you keep growing at this rate, you’ll single-handedly keep me in business.” He laughed and Rudolf did as well, although he didn’t find it nearly as humorous.

“Will you be able to fix those items?” Rudolf asked, watching Hans paw through the numerous garments he’d brought to be let out.

“Honestly, Mr. Blauvelt,” Hans began. “I don’t think I can let these items out any more than I already have. I also don’t think mending these pants and shirts will do much good if you aren’t trying to slim down any time soon.”

Rudolf looked at the tailor seriously, embarrassed at what he was being told. He was only glad Alphonse was not around to witness his great shame.

“I mean no disrespect,” Hans continued, clearing his throat. “I’m speaking to you honestly when I let you know I could fix these items, but that won’t extend their lifespans long enough to the point you’d be getting your money’s worth. Perhaps I can construct some new items for you?”

Rudolf considered this, thinking about how much Alphonse enjoyed cooking and spoiling him. He could ask the smaller man to cut back on the quantity of food he prepared, maybe limit desserts to special occasions, but he didn’t want to take away something Al found purpose in. Rudy also considered how much he enjoyed eating the food Alphonse prepared. They were happy the way things were. Why would he want to disrupt that happiness?

“Well,” Rudolf started, “I think it’d be for the best to construct new garments. I’ll need them as soon as possible, considering a majority of my wardrobe is unusable.” Hans nodded, writing on his note sheet. “I’ll need five suits, ten shirts, and five pairs of trousers.”

“I will have these completed two weeks from today,” Hans said. He’d make sure his seamstresses worked diligently for one of his best customers.

“Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yes, Mr. Blauvelt?”

“I’ll probably end up carrying some more weight this winter. I’d like for these items to be a few inches larger than the measurements you have recorded.”

“Of course, Mr. Blauvelt,” Hans replied. “I’ll see you and your, erm—assistant in two Fridays when you come to pick up your order. You’ll both be the best dressed at the opera.”

“Thank you.”

Rudolf strolled back out to the main area of the shop where he found Alphonse entranced by bolts of fabric. He watched for a moment as Alphonse gently ran his hand over some of the silks and laces. His hair hung down in a thick sheet of tight curls. He wore a simple white shirt and dark slacks, his body alluring even in such plain clothing items.

In that moment, Rudolf was certain he was in love with Alphonse.

“Let’s go home,” Rudolf said, walking to where Al stood. They made their way out of the shop and back to Rudolf’s car.

The businessman had planned to go into the office for the afternoon, but he telephoned his secretary and let her know he wouldn’t be in until Monday. He wanted more of Alphonse’s bountiful behind. His mouth salivated at the thought of burying his face in those cheeks once more. Alphonse had unearthed a beast, who would likely never be satisfied.

“Should I prepare luncheon?” Alphonse asked, hanging up his and Rudolf’s jackets.

“We can eat later,” Rudolf said, sucking his bottom lip as he watched Alphonse move about the foyer. “What I want now is you.”

Alphonse was still riding the high from the night prior. It was almost as if he could still feel Rudolf inside of himself. He hadn’t considered that the businessman would want to have intercourse again so soon.

Rudolf grabbed Alphonse by the arm and pulled him close enough that they could kiss one another. The larger man felt Alphonse’s free hand on his belly, caressing it gently. They broke apart and Rudolf held Al’s hand in his own, leading him up the stairs to the second floor where their bedroom awaited them.

“What’s come over you?” Alphonse asked, watching Rudolf’s wide, powerful behind shifting with each step up the staircase.

“You’re much too irresistible,” Rudolf replied, his voice tinged in desire.

They both removed their clothing once in the master bedroom. They stood naked in front of one another, appraising each other lovingly. They both had strong erections, pointing upwards in excitement. With only a slight awkwardness, they embraced one another.

The pair made love the entire afternoon, Alphonse almost unable to keep up with Rudolf’s enthusiasm. They finally took a break when the businessman’s stomach growled loudly. Alphonse placed his hand on Rudolf’s stomach dotingly.

“You’ve worked up an appetite,” he said.

“I certainly have.”

“Good thing I’ve already done the shopping.” Alphonse hopped out of bed, his legs a little wobbly. He did his best to stand upright. “I’m going to make you the most extravagant meal!”

Still a little off balance, he strolled out of the bedroom to the kitchen, already erect again in anticipation of the faces Rudolf would make while eating the meal he was about to prepare.

As the days rolled by, the frequency of Alphonse and Rudolf’s lovemaking only intensified. They’d built a momentum that would have worn out any other couple. Rudolf would take half-days at the office, arriving home early to surprise Alphonse with bouquets of expensive flowers and other tokens of affection. In the twilight hours before dawn, Alphonse would find himself mounting his lover enthusiastically, wanting nothing more than to feel Rudolf inside of himself after a good night’s rest. Even with the increased exertion the intercourse provided, Rudolf was unable to quell his weight gain. Alphonse had managed to feed him more and more, excitedly cooking to show his happiness.

Al spent his days learning new recipes and keeping up the home. He’d been able to revive nearly every plant in the solarium. He learned new ways to remove stains from clothing items. He made sure every stray item had found a place in the large home. Tending to the home he’d built with Rudolf made him feel complete. He’d become confident of his position in the businessman’s life.

One afternoon in early March, Rudolf hurried through the doors of the townhouse, newspaper in hand. He knew Alphonse would be in the kitchen, practicing some new method for baking cakes or cookies or pies.

“You must read this,” Rudolf exclaimed, slightly winded. He’d rushed home from town to relay this news. He thrust the paper into Alphonse’s hands, ignoring the fact the young man was covered in flour.

Alphonse scanned the front page carefully, his eyes widening in disbelief. He took in the headline again. It read:

Badehaus Has Fallen. Deidrick Schroeder to Stand Trial.

The article wasn’t very forthcoming. It did not go into detail about how the events had occurred, just that Papa was being charged as an extortionist, a kidnapper, and a sex trafficker. Alphonse could hardly believe what he was reading. He thought of Alvin and Dorian and the other sons. What had happened to them? Where would they go? He wanted to find Alvin, but he had no idea where to even begin looking.

“This deserves celebration,” Alphonse said finally, setting the newspaper on the countertop.

“You act as if you need a reason to overfeed me.”

“True, I don’t need a reason, but it’s nice to have one.” Alphonse smiled softly at Rudolf, who wondered how the former bathhouse worker was taking the news.

The fall of the bathhouse stayed on Alphonse’s mind. After the initial news broke, he asked Rudolf to bring home the newspaper everyday so he could check for updates. There’d only been a few. Papa’s trial wouldn’t be until the fall, allowing the prosecution to build the strongest case possible. It would be when all the wealthiest families in town would return from their summer estates in the country. Alphonse wondered if Rudolf had a summer estate and if they’d spend the warmer months away from the town.

Alphonse had been to the tailor’s nearly two months ago to pick up their order. He would try on his suit almost daily while Rudolf was at the office, just for a few moments. In those five minutes, he’d feel worthy of his current place in life, like he truly belonged with Rudolf Blauvelt.

The time had finally come and putting on his suit was no longer a rehearsal. One Saturday evening in April, both Alphonse and Rudolf dressed for the opera. Alphonse stood transfixed by his image in a hallway mirror, like he hadn’t looked at himself in this very suit for weeks. He had a western style tie made of satin fabric that matched the navy suit. Rudolf had even gotten him a stylish pair of leather shoes. He couldn’t believe it. It seemed almost surreal.

As happy as Alphonse was, Rudolf was displeased. Even having asked the tailor to construct his garments with a few forgiving inches, his suit for the evening was not fitting the way he’d like. His pants could barely do up. He’d have to forgo the vest. He’d have to leave his jacket open. He sighed deeply and exited the bedroom.

“Are you ready Al?” he asked.

“Yes,” Alphonse responded, still enraptured by his image in the mirror, his stomach in knots. Rudolf grabbed his hand, gaining Al’s full attention. “Oh Rudy, you look very dashing.”

Rudolf’s face reddened, glancing over at their images in the hallway mirror. How could Alphonse be happy with a man like him? Al’s hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, his face clearly displayed without his hair to distract from its magnificence. His suit fit perfectly. His suit didn’t look nearly ready to burst at the seams.

“You could have any man or woman you wanted,” Rudolf said, still holding Alphonse’s hand. “I may not be your best option.”

“You are truly the only man I want to be with for the rest of my life,” Alphonse said seriously.

“You speak honestly?” Rudolf asked, struggling to meet Alphonse’s gaze.

“I’d never lie to you,” Al replied. “I love you, Rudolf.”

Rudolf brought Alphonse’s hand to his lips and kissed it softly. Hearing those words from Alphonse was nearly enough to bring him to tears.

“I love you,” the businessman replied.

In that moment, they both wanted nothing more than to get undressed and spend the night in bed together, but they made their way out of the townhome and to the opera house. Once they arrived, the pair was surrounded by Rudolf’s associates. They conversed loudly in the lobby, laughing and slapping shoulders. Alphonse stood silently by the businessman’s side, wishing he were able to grab onto Rudolf’s supportive arm.

One of the men spoke to Rudolf in a language Alphonse didn’t understand.

“The boy, are you willing to lend him out for the evening?” Rudolf had been disinterested in the conversation before, but now Alphonse could tell he’d been offended by what the man had said. Alphonse was almost certain they’d said something referring to him.

“No, I am not.” Rudolf grabbed Alphonse by the arm and stormed off to his box in the theater.

“That man thought I was your whore, didn’t he?” Alphonse asked. It was dark, but Rudolf could hear the tears in Alphonse’s voice.

“Alphonse, you are not a whore,” Rudolf said, his voice low and deep. “I’ve never once thought of you that way, even when you lived in the bathhouse.”

They were silent, the murmur of the theatergoers building as everyone found their way to their seats. Rudolf knew their love would never be recognized by the church or state. People would choose to see their relationship in a way that didn’t make them uncomfortable. Alphonse would be seen as a ward. A relative. A servant. An assistant. Never what Rudolf truly considered him, his partner.

“If possible, we’d be married by now,” Rudolf said, expressing something he’d only been able to fantasize about.

“Really?” Alphonse asked. As much as he loved Rudolf, he feared that one day he’d grow tired of their homosexual dalliance and find a wife.

“Yes, really. Even if we can’t express it as we’d like.”

“That’s very romantic,” Alphonse replied, his heart full. “Did you read that in one of your novels?”

“Honestly, it’s as if we already are married,” Rudolf said, laughing gently. “We have a partnership of our own. You cook and clean and you take care of our home. You take care of me. We give to each other.”

“Yes, we do.”

The opera began and Alphonse felt more at ease. If the world was unable to see the value in their relationship, he had to remember that what he and Rudolf thought was most important. They sat back in their seats and listened as men and women gave their all on stage. It was an exciting experience for Alphonse, who would look in Rudolf’s direction every few minutes to see if he too was enjoying this as much as he was.

During intermission Alphonse made his way to the restroom. After finishing, the restroom attendant spoke directly to him.

“Alphonse!” the attendant exclaimed. “How’re you?”

Alphonse looked into the face of Alvin Baum. The Two Al’s were together again. Without words, they embraced one another.

“When did you—? How did you—? Are you—?” Alphonse had so many questions. He didn’t know which one to ask first.

That was when Alvin revealed the information he’d been privy to as a resident of the bathhouse. Papa had arranged for a new boy to take Dorian’s bedroom, moving Dorian into Alphonse’s old room. Dorian and his best client, the lawyer Burgess Pfeiffer, were much closer than many knew. The incident was just the push Dorian needed to leave the bathhouse for good. He and Pfeiffer leaked documents from Papa’s files, as well as written testimonies from a number of the sons and their families. Dorian and Burgess Pfeiffer had not been seen since, allegedly fleeing to a neighboring country. Alphonse couldn’t believe it. This story was more dramatic than the opera.

“That’s wonderful!” Alphonse said in awe. They exchanged addresses and he invited Alvin to come around for luncheon the next week.

“I can’t wait to see where you’re living these days,” Alvin said, taking in Alphonse’s expensive outfit once more.

“I’m very fortunate,” Alphonse replied, smiling at the thought of Rudolf.

The lights flickered, signaling the second act was about to begin. They embraced one another once more and Alphonse made his way back to where Rudolf waited for him. The rest of the opera, Alphonse could hardly focus. He was happy for both Dorian and Alvin, but he felt even more intensely happy for himself. He’d found a great man and the place that had brought him years of pain was no more. They left the opera house in a hurry, not wanting to be trapped in another round of dull conversation.

Once they arrived back at the townhouse, Alphonse’s joy could be contained no longer. He’d had such an incredible evening, he felt as light as a feather. During the ride home, Alphonse relayed everything he’d learned from Alvin. He also asked to make sure it would be okay for Alvin to come to luncheon the next week. “Am I invited?” Rudolf had asked.

“You’d take the afternoon off to entertain with me?”

“Of course,” Rudy responded. “I’m glad you have someone you can talk to.”

Now, in the foyer, he spun around whimsically, humming the opera’s most memorable tune. Rudolf watched with intense amusement.

“You can’t just stand there,” Alphonse said, spinning over to where Rudolf stood watching him. “Let’s waltz.”

“Alphonse, no, really,” Rudolf protested. “I have two left feet.”

“I don’t care,” Alphonse sang, smiling widely. “I just want to dance with you.” He positioned his hand on Rudolf’s waist and draped the businessman’s right hand on his shoulder.

“There’s not any music playing.”

“I’ll hum something,” Alphonse said. “I’ll lead this time.”

Rudolf hadn’t lied about having two left feet, but it didn’t detract from how much fun Alphonse was having. “Dum dum dum dum,” Alphonse hummed to the beat of a four count.

Even though under other circumstances he’d be mortified, Rudolf released his inhibitions and gave himself to the moment. This was actually quite lovely, a memory he’d cherish for many years to come. Alphonse pressed himself against the businessman, enjoying the feel of his slim body against Rudolf’s substantial belly.

They slowed after a few minutes of this exercise. Alphonse looked up into the face of the businessman. His face was so handsome, his strong jawline slightly hidden by a double chin.

“I want to kiss you,” Rudolf whispered gently. “I want to fuck you.”

Alphonse smiled, wanting nothing more than to be with Rudolf in this way as often as possible. The larger man grabbed Alphonse, kissing him as they moved over to the chesterfield sofa in the living room. Alphonse kicked off his shoes and sat on the cushions as Rudolf stood. Al unbuttoned the businessman’s pants. With the pressure of the latch no longer pressing against Rudolf’s meaty belly, it pushed forward freely.

Slightly embarrassed by his ever-growing paunch, his face reddened. “God, Rudolf. I love how sturdy you are,” Alphonse said, looking up at Rudolf’s face. “It makes me want you even more. I adore a man who likes my cooking.”

Rudolf smiled bashfully, placing his hand on the roundest part of his stomach. Alphonse was incredibly hard. He pushed Rudy’s dress shirt up and kissed the top of his belly, working his way down, nestling his nose for a moment in Rudolf’s dark pubic hair, breathing in his scent voraciously.

It was then, after months, Alphonse finally understood Dorian’s secret.

Alphonse pulled Rudolf’s cock from the confines of his undergarments and marveled at its length and thickness. Al licked the shaft before taking the head in his mouth. He held Rudolf’s balls in his hand, gently massaging them. The sensation of Alphonse’s mouth around his stiff penis caused Rudy’s hips to buck slightly. He held onto Alphonse’s hair gently. After weeks of lovemaking, Rudolf was shocked to realize there were still sexual acts to be discovered.

Alphonse stopped teasing Rudolf’s penis and sat up. He went to unbutton his pants when Rudolf simply tore them open. “I’ll buy you a hundred new suits.”

He tore open the jacket and the shirt as well, the buttons scattering across the sofa and hardwood flooring.

Rudolf’s generously proportioned member was slick with pre-cum and Alphonse’s spit. Alphonse rested his forearms on the side of the couch, his knees on the cushions. Rudolf climbed up behind him, the chesterfield creaking slightly. Alphonse looked back at him, his own penis leaking pre-cum. Al’s asshole was already slightly moist in anticipation of Rudolf entering him. The businessman placed the head of his cock near Al’s eager hole. Rudolf’s stomach lightly rubbed against the top of Alphonse’s firm, round butt. “Are you ready, Alphonse?” he asked, unable to wait any longer.

“Yes,” Alphonse said, exhaling in anticipation. Rudolf entered Alphonse slowly, moving his hips only slightly, not wanting to push Alphonse too quickly. “Please Rudolf—more—harder—!” Alphonse moaned. Rudolf grunted as he pushed a bit more forcefully. They were breathing rhythmically, perfectly in sync with one another. Alphonse couldn’t suspend orgasm any longer. He came all over the chesterfield. Rudolf went on for a few more moments before he finished as well. They sat back on the sofa, in a state of utter bliss.

“I love you,” Rudolf said, exhaling slowly, his body covered in a slight layer of perspiration.

“I love you too,” Alphonse said, smiling. He grabbed one of the buttons from his cream-colored dress shirt that was now ruined. “I really loved that suit as well.” Rudolf laughed loudly, incredibly tickled by Alphonse’s comment.

They gathered their clothing and went up to bed. They spent the majority of Sunday tangled together in the linens, only getting up to eat the meals Alphonse hastily prepared so that they could lay in bed once more as soon as possible.

There were many more events and outings that the couple attended together. And Rudolf had kept his word, making sure to purchase Alphonse the most luxurious clothing items. A year after they met, which was also Alphonse’s twentieth birthday, Rudolf presented the young man with a simple gold band, which matched one he’d purchased for himself. Even if it was only official to the two of them, they vowed to love each other for the rest of their lives, through thick and thin.

It was a promise they’d upheld with extreme veneration.

History books would say they were close friends, but Rudolph Blauvelt and Alphonse Jung were much closer than that. They were lovers. Partners. Husbands.

The End!

[half-oz-eddie]

"I witnessed a murder"

TW for graphic depictions of violence!!

Billy hardly had any visitors since moving to California. When he heard an urgent knocking on the door, all he could wonder was “where the hell’s the fire?”

He swung the door open in annoyance, his mouth falling agape the moment he saw his nearly forgotten little stepsister standing out in a rainstorm, drenched from her head to her canvas shoes.

They stared at each other for a moment, her eyes empty, his full of concern, before he finally invited her in. 

“Gonna tell me what the hell you’re doing here?” He asked.

She remained silent, trembling, shivering. Eventually, he sighed.

“Wait right here.” He stomped off, quickly returning with a towel and fresh clothes. “Bathroom’s over there.” He casually pointed down the hall and to the left. 

Max nodded and stepped out of her shoes, her soaking wet socks sloshing on the floor, leaving behind wet footprints, much to Billy’s dismay.

He liked to keep the place clean, and footprints had no place in a clean apartment. But, whatever. He quietly mopped them up and waited for Max to explain why she traveled all the way from Hawkins to Los Angeles in nothing but a stained, quarter-sleeve tee shirt and jeans. 

Max took a shower and cleaned up her mess. She hung her wet clothes over the shower bar and stepped out in Billy’s old Hawkins gym uniform. The shirt reached her upper thighs, and the shorts were too big. She had to tighten the waist with a hair tie she found on the bathroom floor.

When she exited the bathroom, she searched around for Billy, and found him in his kitchen, at the dining table, setting a place for her.

“Sit. Eat something.” His offer came off as a gentle demand Max felt she had no other choice but to accept.

She joined Billy at the table, slowly eating the spaghetti and meatballs he cooked—he cooked?! Billy doesn’t cook. Max thought to herself. 

“You gonna tell me what you’re doing here now?” Billy spoke up halfway through dinner.

“I…witnessed a murder.”

The fork holding Billy’s last meatball fell from his hand, clanking against his plate. “You what?!” He leaned forward.

“I was skating to The Byers for game night when I saw these two men—“ Max shook her head in disbelief. “They chased me. I skated as fast as I could to the bus depot, when I reached a pothole and my board snapped in half. So I had to run the rest of the way. I spent the last of my allowance on a bus ticket. I was gonna go anywhere, but the bus to LA was leaving in 15 minutes, and there were a few seats available, so…I came here.”

“Did they see you get on that bus?”

“I don’t think so." She shook her head. "I lost them in a crowd on my way to the terminal. I ditched my orange hoodie and let my hair down, hoping they wouldn’t recognize me.”

“And…nobody knows you’re here?”

She shook her head once again. “Not even Lucas.”

Billy heavily exhaled. “This is really fucked up, Max. You know that, right?”

“Yeah, but nobody’ll suspect me of coming here. We haven’t spoken in 4 years.”

“That’s really not the point—“

“I’m home!” A voice announced from the doorway. “It finally stopped raining—oh, hey Max!”

Max turned, her eyes wide. “Steve?” She turned back to Billy. “Are you guys like…friends now?”

“Friends who fuck.” Billy replied nonchalantly. 

“Gross!”

“You made dinner? Is there some for me?”

“Make your own fuckin’ plate.” Billy snapped. “I’m trying to talk to Maxine about something serious.”

“Alright, alright. No need to be so snippy.” Steve grabbed a plate from the cabinet. “So what brings you by?”

“She witnessed a murder and ran off to our house, of all places.”

“Whoa, whoa whoa—A murder?!” Steve exclaimed in disbelief. “In Hawkins? Who was it?”

“I-I don’t know. Some man—“

“Some man? What’d he look like?”

“I could hardly see his face before the bullet went through his brains and he dropped to the ground!”

“Lighten up on her, Steve. She’s freaked out.” Billy spoke protectively, much to Max’s surprise.

“I know, I know. I’m just worried.”

“We gotta tell someone you’re here.”

“Why? I’m 17 years old—“

“And you’re still a minor. Your mom’s probably worried sick. You’re a day and a half away from home.” 

“But—“

“How about this: In the morning, I’ll drive you out to a payphone, and you can call your mom from there.”

Max reluctantly agreed. “Okay.”

“Don’t get too comfortable.” He snatched her empty plate off the table. “Get up and let Steve sit there. We only have 2 dining table chairs.”

“It’s alright, Max.” Steve waved off as he leaned against the counter with his plate. “You can stay as long as you want. We have this really big walk in closet that we haven’t made use of yet—“

“Cause we’re broke and don’t have enough shit to put in it.”

Steve scoffed. “Anyway, we still have the old air mattress we used before we got our bed, so you can sleep there.”

“I dunno.” Max grimaced. “Did you guys…do…it…on there?”

“Are you crazy?!” Billy exclaimed, his mouth full from his second helping. “If we tried half the shit we do in the bedroom on that flimsy ass mattress, it would’ve popped the night we bought it.”

“Ugh! Could you please spare me the details?”

“Ignore him, Max. The mattress is clean, and it’s yours for as long as you need it. But at some point, you gotta go home. There’s only 2 weeks of summer vacation left until school starts.”

“And who knows when those men are gonna come looking for you—“

“Billy!”

“What?! I’m just thinkin’ ahead.” Billy sighed. “Look, I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. Neither will Steve. So just…” Billy turned his head away. “Go to bed.”

“But I’m not tired yet.”

“Well, go watch TV or something. I dunno.”

“Okay.” 

“Want a beer?” Billy offered.

Max wrinkled her nose. “No thanks.” She stood from the table and walked to the living room.

“Why would you offer her a beer?” Steve loudly whispered.

“What’s the problem? That’s how I deal with stress.”

“She’s not you. She needs someone right now. Go in there and talk to her.”

“And say what?”

“Anything. She’s your sister.”

“She’s not my—“

Billy was met by a stern glance from Steve, and he groaned in annoyance. “Jesus, fine, I’m goin’.”

“That’s my baby.” Steve kissed his forehead. 

Billy forced himself down the hall and to the living room, where he sat beside Max as she watched Married With Children. 

“Al Bundy’s an ass.” Billy remarked. 

“He is.” Max agreed. 

“Not a bigger ass than Neil, though.” He chuckled. “Has that son of a bitch been giving you a hard time back home?”

“He left 7 months after you did.”

“Really?” Billy raised his brows in surprise. “Where the hell did he go?”

“I dunno. I don’t care either. I’m just glad he’s gone.”

“Yeah.”

Silence fell between them for the rest of the episode. Billy glanced up at Steve, who vaguely gestured for him to continue trying to comfort Max. 

This was hard. He didn’t know how. Why couldn’t Steve do it? He was better at comforting people. Besides, Max seemed fine—

Or…maybe not. Billy could hear the soft sniffle as he caught Max wiping a tear from her eye. 

Great. Now what could he say?

“It’s uh...it's gonna be okay, Max.” That was a stupid thing to say. Billy berated himself. 

“I’m really scared. I shouldn’t have come here. I don’t wanna put you in danger. You seem like you’re building a nice life with Steve.”

“I’m…trying. Look, you didn’t have anywhere else to go. I’m not mad at you for coming here.”

“You’re not?”

“No. I’ll kill anyone who tries to hurt you, Max. We’re still family. Sort of. I guess.” Billy shrugged. “I don’t care. Either way, if someone comes through that door and tries to hurt you, they’re dead. You understand?”

Max nodded. “Thank you.”

Once it had gotten late, Max fell asleep. Billy carried her to the air mattress and Steve covered her with a blanket. 

Steve then set one chair in front of the door where he sat with a baseball bat. 

Billy set the other chair in front of the makeshift bedroom where Max slept, armed with an axe.

“…We need more chairs.” Billy mumbled.

[popculturebuffet]

Transformers More than Meets the Eye Retrospective: Intermission: Robots in Disguise Season 1 Retrospective (Patreon Review for Brotoman.EXE)

Hello all you happy people and welcome back to my More than Meets the Eye retrospective. Kinda. For those of you just joining us for the past two years i've been doing a retrospective of the Transformers comic More than Meets the Eye, one of my faviorite comics ever. While it is as a patreon review i've been more than happy to and in december we hit the end of season 1.

So now.. we're in a weird in between place, as season 1 for MTMTE is over.. but we still have a big crossover event left. And to judge said event fairly.... I realzied I had to go back and re-read Robots in Disguise to properly gage said event.

Yeah i've never been a huge fan of the 2012 comic Robots in Disguise. See I first read RiD AFTER More than Meets the Eye, having loved what I could read of MTMTE and wanting more. This... wasn't the right mindset in hindsight as the two works are completely diffrent beasts: MTMTE is about a found family of disfunctional robots trying to move on from war, making quips, and dealing with their trauma. It is a LOT of things I love in fiction: a bunch of misfits who don't really fit into the society their a part of, clever jokes, spectacular world building, and minor characters given their day in the sun. It feels at times like the book was made for me, down to repadeatly homaging one of my faviorite covers of all time. It was easy to love it and it only grows as I dig into it.

RID in contrast.. is an attempt at a morally grey prestige drama that on paper is about the sacrifices and compromises the autobtos make trying to rebuild cybertron, and in practice is about a weak willed useless jackass, his jackbooted best friend, a well meaning non combatant who means well but also is judgey as fuck, and Starscream, who easily outmanuvers them because a sock full of quarters with googly eyes on it could out manuver them. Wheeljack and Blur are also there and they are delightful but not used nearly enough . I gave the book an honest chance and was badly disapointed, and I gave it a second chance despite utterly dreading this.. and was once again disapointed. RiD is just not very good.

Now i'll give some caveats: the book DOES get better in season 2, with a fresh cast and premise that work decently. It's not on MTMTE"s level.. but I respect writer John Barber and IDW for seeing what they fucked up and course correcting. Barber's work isn't my forte, but the guy isn't terrible an does have his fans for a reason, I just prefer More than Meets the Eye and Windblade more, with Windblade being a second, much more succesful stab at IDW doing an intrigue on cybertron book, one i'll defintely cover at some point. It helps Windblade got most of the standouts from this book as supporting cast, but it's genuinely good and worth your time. None of this makes season 1 GOOD, by any stretch, but I wanted to get it out of the way that YES the series gets better. But you can also largely skip season 1 or read the wiki without loosing much for either RiD Season 2 or Windblade.

That being said.. Season 1 is a mess. It wasn't that pleasant to re read despite it's bright spots and it took a while to get through, an utter chore to slog through this one. One of the only bright sides is it taught me I CAN review a whole series in one post again.. just probably in smaller doses than my last attempt with new teen titans, which was great but just about killed me. So other series I dislike like All New All Diffrent X-Men, Dan Slott's fantastic four or Jason Aaron's avengers are now more within my grasp to actually tear apart at some point.

For now though let's focus on THIS disapointing series, see why it is and also talk a lot about how much this version of Bumblbee sucks and this version of Starscream fucking slaps.

Do You Have Any Clue What Happens Now?

Like more than Meets the Eye, Robots in Disguise kicks off with the Death of Optimus Prime, a one shot setting up both series and dealing with the aftermath of Chaos, the big event that ended the previous era of IDW and allowed a soft reset for this one.

So as a quick recap since it's been a long time since I tackled this issue: The War is Over. At long lost the Autobots defeated the evil forces of the decpitcons after all of them were combined by an elder god into one giant deciptigod and Megatron disappeared after hyjacking it.

The problem is what comes next which is a great hook and part of what makes MTMTE works: the war is over.. but unlike most transformers stories that get to end the war, we see what happens now everyones free.

The Autobots take command.. but it's not going wella s Optimus Prime finds out: the planet has reverted to a primal state and thousands of civlians, dubbed nails by the autobots and something the nails aren't fond of, have arrived and the vast majority of them want the Autobots to fuck off their planet.

The Nails.. are one of the biggest wasted opportunities of Robots in Disguise. The IDEA is good: a bunch of bots who either fled one of the two sides or managed to opt out entirely return and aren't happy with the planet or military leadership. It's a concept with a lot of depth as on the one hand the autobots have a point

While the Nails had every right to nope out of a war they were tired of, the Autobots fought long hard and lost a lot to get to this point and blaming them for something that's objectively not their fault, the planet going bonkers, isn't remotely fair. On the other.. the nails have every right ot want the planet back and to want a part in it, and to want leadership that isn't just the autobots.

The problem is the conflict is handeled with the subtley of a sledgehammer and thus BOTH sides come off as assholes: The Autobots make up an embarassing faction name for them, push them around and Prowl goes into a creepy tirade about how this isn't "Their" planet and they didn't fight in the war and later sics the deciptcons on them afte rthey agree to get explosives put in their brains.

The Nails Meanwhile spend the start of the sreies, especially the death of optimus prime bitching at the autobots, treating them as facists, and treating them all like they were complicit in the senates corruption, which only gets more galling after season 1 of MTMTE as most were fully against it.. they just couldn't do anything about it. Neither could you guys. It dosen't help they HANG OPTIMUS PRIME IN EFFIGY for the crime of STAYING AROUND ON A PLANET HE JUST SAVED.

The lack of nuance makes me just.. not care about most of both sides: The Autobots come off like their trying to consolidate power and remain in charge because they feel owed it, while the Nails blame them for everything. We COULD have had a good story abotu trying to perserve the past while acknowldging it's flaws and making a better present, but instead it's just the nails either whining or making entirely valid points that the autobots, mostly prowl, try to police brutality away because they can't accept they shoudlnt' be running things.

In the middle of all this Perciptor examines the matrix and finds a map, with Drift seeing it as a map to the mythical knights of cybertron and wanting to go on a quest to find it. Rodimus agrees, while Bee wants them to stay here and be miserable dammit because he is. While on paper Rodimus is running away from his problems in practice.. he defintely is but makes a valid point: Why SHOULD he stay on a planet that doesn't want him. And when Ultra Magnus joins with them, he makes a valid point: finding the knights could find something to fix cybertron. While Rodimus' hopes finding the knights will fix everything is a pipe dream, those are Rodders faviorite kind, their not wrong to want to find a solution that isn't just "Try and make this work" and forcing people who genuinely dont' WANT to help you to do what you say isn't healthy. This isn't a war for all time: it's just a disagremeent about what you want to do now your free of the war.

Optimus ends their squabble by giving them each half the matrix and fucking off, deciding to shed his former mane and his planet. The Lost Light leave despite Bumblebee's bitch crying.. and then seemingly blow up.

And this is where RiD begins, our cast is barely holding Cybertron together, aren't adressing their problem and now they assume the lost light is dead. So what does this add up to?

Okay TECHNICALLY this isn't true: Bumblebee sets up a state funeral for the bots, which is Starscream's first big platform to worm his way into high command, and Wheeljack brings him up once... but really you could take this subplot out and replace the big shindig with something else and nothing would change.

In contrast the messy takeoff... is VITAL to More Than Meets The Eye: the explosion it causes sends a good chunk of lost lighters to the planet bellow, brings skids on board when they investigate the planet, and brings the sparkeater on board to set those up for much later. And that's not even getting into how the opening arc of season 2 follows up on it, which i'll save for when we get there. Here.. they just sorta assume their friends are dead, don't bother investigating or thinking that MAYBE a ship with a quantum engine did some weird shit. It's to the point that when Optimus is told during his sub plot, his response... is to not remotely buy Rodimus could be killed that easy and assume they'll find them eventually. Which.. they do.

There's also just.. legistics. I know this is a pair of comics about giant robots, science isn't strictly followed nor should it be. But if the lost light exploded.. there would be debris. And they HAVE plenty of ships. Someone could investigate. If the Nails think the autobots REALLY commited this sort of execution, as their said to outright suspect including their rep in the main cast metalhawk, then .. why would NONE of the thousands of bots with functioning space ships look into it. Or the deciptcons once their brain explode chips are turned off. It feels like an excuse to just have the two not interact.. which they already had being out of range and with Blaster spending the season getting coms up and running again.

Anyways the series proper mostly follows Autobot high command as they try to run this planet/prevent anyone else from doing so. Like the lost light exploision this is a possibly intresting hook... that's utterly bungled. They do do things with it.. but they don't do them well. And the best way to get into that is with the characters starting with their supreme leader

Bumblebee: He's Tried Nothing and He's All Out of Ideas

The idea of Bumblebee being forced to take charge of the autobots is a great one. Tranformers has gone to this well three times i'm aware of, and it's a concept worth exploring taking what's essentially the team's kid brother and forcing him to take the throne and see if he can make it.

IDW's last attempt before this wasn't great, with Bee making a deal with the goverment that backfired horribly, and generally acomplishing nothing. So trying AGAIN.. was a smart move. It was worth a second try.

Unfortunately... Barber entirely bungled that second attempt. Bumblebee is TECHNICALLY leader of cybertron.. but really dosen't try to lead. He lets prowl do whatever he wants and whatever prowl wants is usually some form of police brutality, he argues with metal hawk but tends not to have an argument other than "the autobots aren't all bad mkay" or "All decipticons deciptisuck", and he overworks poor sweet Wheeljack, fostering all their super science shit on him and being mad when the guy is doing work of his own. It's VERY transparent in every scene he's in Bumblebee wants peace with the Nails not because it's the right thing.. but simply so the autobots can hold onto the planet. While the Nails are often written as overreacting assholes, as the book goes on they mellow out and most of their actions are entirely... justifable. Their horrified Prowl put bombs in the decipticons brains, they don't want police brutality, they want to actually elect a leader.

Every move Bee makes is to keep himself in charge despite not having a single fucking idea what he's doing. I could buy him as a leader if he tried.. leading: Tried finding homes for the Nails, making actual negotations with the decpticons, send out a party to go tame the primal planet so they can expand iacon , actually hammer out a government. There's a LOT to building a whole new world after a war, it's the reason Hamilton got an entire, incredibly gripping act out of all the nation building. But instead RiD just ignores the intresting idea of rebuilding cybertron's goverment and how it governs itself from scratch and just focuses on Bee whining or various things that happen for the plot. And by doing so it makes Bumblbee and those loyal to him come off like power grabbing assholes who care more about being appricated for fighting the war and less about making a better world to live in or even making the world LIVEABLE.

What makes this so galling though is how the narrative treats bee: characters talk about his "great vision" failed or say he might win the election. That last part is Prowl/Bombshell playing Bee, more on that in a minute, but most of the cast talks his ass up when really he's just a guy way in over his head, which could be intresting to explore.. but they just.. DON'T. Instead we just follow a bland dithering jackass as he fucks up till eventually someone smarter, with more charisma and an actual plan takes his place. But before we can get to them.. let's talk about the most punchable face in Autobot high command

Fuck Prowl

Yeah I tried to make a clever title here, I really did.. but most attempts lead to a storm of profanity as I genuinely detest this version of Prowl. And as a reminder like bumblebee it's JUST the IDW comics version. Animated Prowl slaps. Prowl's G1 deisgn is great. I'm sure there are other prowls who don't suck all joy out of a page when they show up or are the poster boy for why we need police reform despite doing a police on a whole other planet. I"d like to meet them. But this prowl is one of my least faviorite characters in fiction. In fact I can't bleivei I didn't add him to my jjall before now.

Welcome Home Prick!

Now I will give one caveat to this character: Part of the problem is the multitude of writers: James Roberts, who wanted Prowl for his cast, wrote prowl as a giant asshole who could never let the war go and got two people killed with his overlord scheme. Nick Roche wrote prowl as a scheming asshole who paranoidly plots. And tha'ts not even getting into his asshole characterization in books BEFORE this era.

John Barber.. dosen't walk either of these back, but wants Prowl to be a complex symapthetic figure, someone who is a calculating draconian asshole.. but who was driven there by his betryal by spike in the previous ongoing, and who badly WANTS to do the right thing. The problem is rather than make prowl a layered intresting character.. he instead comes off as an asshat who constantly tries to justify the horrible shit he does as "for the greater good"

It's not helped that Prowl's first scenes in this era leave a truly terrible first impression: The first things we see from prowl are

Him bitching about the nails and being absolutely LIVID at their suggestion the autobots leave the planet, not because it's a stupid unfair suggestion, but because he feels OWED the planet and was also once nearly one himself.

Conscripting the Decipticons into his own private army he uses to try and supress a riot from the Nails, instead making it ten times worse and only not getting anyone killed because Optimus steps in.

In MTMTE, trying to convince Chromedome to stay so he can use his ex boyfriend to do mnemosurgery, something Chromedome VERY much dosen't want to do, mocking his current boyfriend and then flipping a table like a petulant teenager when Chromedome walks out on his ass.

Using Arcee as his own personal hit squad , having her assitnate ratbat then trying to act like he didn't ask her to do that.

It's.. nigh impossible to come back form all of that and Prowl really dosen't. He spends the season brainwashed by Bombshell, in part thanks to trying to blackmail Chromedome and forgetting "oh yeah he can do mind things to me".. and NO ONE notices. He's horrified by that fact, but it's VERY telling that the only action of his that was hintingly out of character.. was telling bumblebee he could win the election. GENUINELY supporting his friend instead of trying to talk over him... is something that was a HINT he was brainwashed and the only thing people felt off. Said brainwashing also feels like it came out of nowhere, with not the slightest hint, and feels like a way to soft reset the character... which then fails as he spends season 2 once again out of his head... and once again in a way that isn't remotely out of character. I don't blame prowl for what he did under bombshell for most of the sries, he was brainwashed. But it's DAMMING that he did enough in ONE VOLUME before being hypnotized to earn my ire. More than Meets the Eye dosen't HELP nad IS a diffrent writer.. but even under Barber he's just the worst and I don't look forward to seeing more of him during Dark Cybertron and beyond. I DO look forward to seeing him hurled off a cliff.

All Hail Starscream:

Taking a break from pure, unyielding rage for a second, let's talk about something the book does right. I may be giving John Barber a LOT of crap this review.. but I can't deny he writes the best Starscream. There are other great starscreams from the hilarously over the top unsubtle 84 version, to the compitent but still hilarously shady animated verison and i'm sure i'll only find more as I watch more shows. Starscream rocks. But this one takes all that and asks a question: What happens when you take Starscream out of war and put him where his lying and scheming are an asset and his bad past is a non factor if he can lie hard enough: Politics.

While the autobots drown post war, trying to find their place.. Star scream swims like a majestic dolphin. Granted he's a Majestic Dolphin who still gets shit on a lot as it's starscream and everyone knows not to trust him and he has to work hard for his schemes for the most part... but he's still FAR more at home here than he ever was trying to usurp megatron. With the Decpticons, might made right: Megatron was on top because he was a great tactician, sure, but he was also capable of kicking anyone's ass who dared defy him, and had a death squad just for making a gruesome example out of anyone who betrays or tries to leave the cause. While Starscream was strong he couldn't muslce out megs or the various destructive douchebags he hired.

In contrast on Cybertron post war... he simply has to outthink and outspeak his opponents, who even if they weren't mostly fuck ups, still aren't really public speakers. Starscream first weasles his way into command with a few simple moves: He goes to the autobots in good faith, which they rightfully don't buy, tells them about a planned false flag attack by ratbat.. then once he's foiled, steps onto the stage at the funeral the attack was taking place at and boldly offer shimself as a formerish decipticon representive. While Bee never trusts the guy, for good damn reason, from that point on it simply dosen't matter: he's in the room where it happens. And often.. he's somehow the voice of reason. He's always got an angle... but it dosen't change the fact he's right or he gives Metalhawk someone to back him up. Not only that some of the bonds he forms are genuine. Metalhawk genuinely warms up to screamer and Wheeljack is the only one to try and make amends, to the point that after my boy gets horribly injured, Starscream makes sure he's getting healed and genuinely feels bad the poor guy got hurt.

On top of that once the media is restored for iacon, Starscream plays to the cameras, with his biggest play since stepping on stage coming in the annual: The Autobots find a titan in the desert while looking for lost comrades, trying to keep starscream out of it as Bee is deathly aware finding them would be some very easy bipartisan points for Screamer. Screamer shows up anyway... and when Prowl's croney keeps a gun traind on him and metalhawk, Screamer easily turns the situation on them: He invites a TON of Nails to watch and essentially make it so if he gets shot, it's over for the autobots, then goes down himself. It's here he gets a stroke of pure luck: The titan they've found... deems Starscream as some kind of chosen one. This isn't necessarily a good thing long term... but it does mean a lot especailly to the religious. Now normally this would mean nothing or months of trying to find proof.. but because Screamer's crowd crawled down to witness the titan once it was safe.. they all heard it.

At this point.. Starscream's basically won. The only genuine compettion he'd have in an open election is metalhawk, but either way the Autobots have basically lost control and all that's left is to wait for the elections. Sadly for Screamer he soon has a no good very bad day as Megatron comes back and Starscream spends the next arc as a hostage after going to rant at his former boss, with Megatron not remotely interested in compromise.

That said Starscream has survivied being humilaited plenty and while the Autobots are autobusy dealing with Megatron and the decpeticons, not to mention prowl combining with devestator, Starscream reminds us who he is: He kills Metalhawk, later being genuinely regretful.. but acknowledging Metalhawk was, genuinely, the only thing in his way. He was the only oponent in his rise to power left: Megatron was dealt with, the autobots had shot themselves in the foot 87 times, he feels terrible about what he did.. but killing Metalhawk looses him a friend and someone who belivied in him.. but gains him a Martyr. In the aftermath Screamer basically declares himself LEADER OF THE DECPTEICONS.. ER CYBERTRON, everyone backs him and he gets rid of most of his major opposition by casting out anyone who won't revoke their faction. A few autobots like Blurr stay behind... but msot of the cast we know are cast into the wildnerness and it's their own damn fault.

We get one last issue with Screamer , a spotlight that shows this job will be hard as while speeching got him INTO the job, he has to solve actual problems. Three Monologues is the best issue of season 1 as Starscream rants at megatron in stasis, reflects to Metalhawk's corpse and genuinely opens up to an injured in stasis wheeljack. Not only that Starscream also gets his own starscream, Beast Wars Faviorite rattrap. I'm mixed on this version of him: the character is very well written, being a slimy weasel whose looking for an angle and who gets rid of a local altruist for star scream by framing the guy. It creates an intresting relationship too as Starscream recognizes the behavior of his own.. and takes Rattrap into his administration. As Screamer perfectly puts it the guy Rattrap framed.. was a liablity. He liked star scream, genuinely belivied in the titans... but as Starscream brilliantly puts it altrusim.. is unpredictable. Rattrap on the other hand is who Screamer used to be before he became god emperor of cybertron starscream the first: he can not only deal with that, but it gives him a minon.

Before we leave Screamer I also just want to say.. I fucking love that he put on the crown from transformers the movie. I've always loed that he just... had to have a little crown for himself and that even if this version is less of a joke, he's still starscream enough to need a crown. It's also a striking visual in this context: Starscream is in control of cybertron. Primus help us.

Metalhawk: Don't Let him Be Misunderstood

For any longtime fans of this series or MTMTE, this section is probably going to be controversial but on second read.. I didn't hate Metalhawk. He's still obnoxious at first, he is the one saying "oh well you should piss off the planet you just fought hard to save from a giant Decipticon monster god man". It's easy to hate him as he's constantly telling our heroes they shoudl fuck off.

Yet on reread.. him doing that is WHY he's entertaining. See when I first read the books it was a few years ago. When I can't remember, my memory catches a lot of things but some things are lost to the enternal bog that is the back of my head, but it was before 2020.. and thus before George Floyd's untimely murder. As a result a lot of what the autobots do read diffrentlY: what they did ALWAYS came off as awful: even when the protestors are slamming the doors down, sending out jackbooted thugs is NEVER a good look, and the way Prowl talks about nails and treats them as second class citzens for simply wanting a voice is ... all kinds of chilling. Prowl sees himself as a police officer, and he certainly is.. but the worst kind, the kind most are who will gladly do shady shit to persue what they think is justice and oppress civlians because their "above them. "

So while said realizations about policing and the various police beatings of innocnet protestors made Prowl somehow even worse.. they made Metalhawk better as a LOT of what he's asking.. comes off more resonable. His wanting the decpticons free was kinda bonkers to me when i first raed it.. but now I entirely get that maybe putting bombs in defeated enemy combatants is you know.. a war crime. If you really want to put decitpcons who are dangerous away.. use a jail. Give them a trial. It's not great but putting them int what's basically a gheto that also oused to be a gun is horrible.

Metalhawk simply wants a voice and change for his people. He grows out of throwing the autobots out, being far more willing to work with them than they are with him and making plenty of valid points. He evolves as a character from a whiny asshole who disrpescts the autobots to seeing them as fuckups.. but ones who, prowl aside, are GENUINELY trying, with Bee planning to basically let Metalhawk takeover after the big fight at the end of season 1 before Starscream put some holes in that plan and also metalhawk. He's often the only person speaking up for a bunch of people who greatly outnumber the people in charge yet have to listen to thir bullshit, something that's become more and mor erelevant as congress fucks up more and more . It's hard to boo him when he's right: the autobots probably SHOUDLN'T be running the planet. They shoudln't leave, but they shoudln't be in charge. They shoudlnt be using deciptcons as easy soldiers and shoudln't keep the bombs in their heads now their vastly outnumbered. He's the voice of reason in a calvlcade of jackasses and a schemeing asshole. He's still annoying at times.. but it's really hard to hate a guy who grows out of his most annoying traits and ends the comic betrayed by the most obvious cantidate, something he only didn't see coming.. because he genuinely thought his friend had changed.

Wheeljack and the Rest: Robots in Disguise has a large cast, but most of the best players are off to the side, Starscream excluded. So let's talk about them.

My easy faviorite is one I wish Roberts had gotten like he wanted, the man the myth, Wheeljack. now I like Wheeljack in general due to his design, a nice faceplate, a unique head, it helps him stand out among the standard faces most autobots have.

Wheeljack seems to be one of the few Autobots genuinely trying for a better tommorow: he tries to make peace with starscream, and is frequently working on other projects before bee yells at him for not being avaliable to put out all his fires. He's kind, considerate and also a genuius, getting a nice moment in the sun when he sneaks into a decipticon ship and fidns out their up to some shit, then escapes the horde. I mean Metalhawk DOES save him in the end, but the fact he did most of this himself and gets both of them out himself is impressive. Wheeljack sadly just dosen't appear a ton and ends the season getting his head crushed by megatron. He does come back during season 2 and quickly becomes besties with Windblade, something we'll get to eventually, so good for him.

Blurr is a close third in the characters I like and is the only one of the autobots to really explore the ideas MTMTE was, the idea of "what do you do with your life next". Blurr does help out at first but his mounting frustration with prowl leads to him noping out, only helping out to try and find Ironhide. He decides to open a bar, much like Swerve , and his is a nicely diffrent joint: while Swerves is basically the cheers of transformer,s a place to forget your worries, hang with pals and get into hyjinks, Macadams, a regular location in most transformers place is that.. but also a melting pot, as Blurr soon makes a bunch of former decepticon friends including Sky Byte, a nail who has a great outfit, with him gladly defending his patrons with his good buddy jazz, whose barely in this comic for some reason despite, as always, being fucking great.

Next up is Ironhide. Ironhide does get a pretty meaty roll, as his recent ressurection has convinced him he's immortal and he's getting flashes of a possible future.. .one where the autobots are gon by cybertron thrives. Naturally everyone assumes he needs help instead of you know.. remembering that they followed the matrix for so long because it had robot magic or the giant stygian being made out of a dark god and 80 decepticons they just fought a month ago. What i'm saying is "I can see the fuuuuuuttttttreeee" isn't that farfetched at this point. So Ironhide goes to explore the wilderness with my boys the dinobots who sadly are all kinda douchey here.. but they still kick plenty of ass. The group disappears for a while after a signal drives my dino boys mad... but naturally they show up just in time to be the calvary in the finale. Ironhide is great.. they just don't really focus on him and I wish they did. Same with the dinobots.

Finally out of the ones who actually do stuff we have Arcee. Arcee... is a lot to unpack despite her short screentime. If you'll recall, and if you don't i'm so sorry for reminding you, Simon Furman's approach to the most prominent female transformer.. was to make it so she was FORCED to become female by a mad scientest, a tonedeaf, transphobic take brought about because Simon Furman hates the very idea Cybertronians have a concept of gender.. despite writing male prounouns into this continuity, thus showing they do just .. all male.

So how did Barber tackle this transphobic mess Simon Furman had saddled him and other writers with?

Yeah he just straight up ignored tha tpart for the first 21 issues. Arcee does mention killing Jhiaxus, the mad scientest in question, again, and again and again, but otherwise as far as RiD is concerned, Arcee is just an autobot who was tortured a lot by Jihaxius and who Prowl uses as his hit squad. She gleefully agrees to this... but it's clear she has no real sense of purpose. She DOES get a well done spotlight issue after the Autobots are cast out, with her wondering if the endless violence is worth it and deciding to join the autobots, wether they want her or not. It's a BETTER characterizfation than Furman's, a person with clear trauma trying to find out "what now"... but that big black cloud of "I done a transphobia because I hate them girl robots" hangs over it. It's an elephant in the room no one wants to talk about. I don't FULLY fault barber for it as IDW could've wanted him not to and it was a subject that would need a through, out in the open exploration. IDW was clearly willing as they supported Chromedome and Rewind and would continue to support out and out queerness in this franchise, Barber just wasn't ready yet and thus kept Arcee out of focus. He'd TRY to deal with this later at least but it's still super uncomfortable for now.

Decepticon wise.. they don't really get to do much till the season finale of sorts: they mostly stand around in a gun barrel and plot. Ratbat, one of my faviorite casettes of Soundwaves, is very prominent, trying to weasle his way into power early on.. but then Prowl goes and kills him and i'm sad. Soundwave , my boy, does fuck all till the build up to dark cybertron while Shockwave is in the shadows preparing said event , mostly done in optimus primes subplot. It's a real waste too as having more deciptcons actually try to reform or at least integrate into society would be neat, instead their just mostly canon fodder after a whil ewith a subplot about one seeing what prowl did going nowhere.

So speaking of Prime

The Thrilling Tales of Orion Pax

I haven't mentiond it till now but RiD has it's own isolated subplot ala the scavengers, just one that only lasts this season. Optimus left after the one shot and while he calls himself orion pax as does this segment... i'm just calling him Optimus like everyone else: Optimus goes on his own thrilling space adventures with his crew of Garnak, an ork like alien, Wheelie, who met garnak while stuck on a planet where time was constantly in flux and is still traumatized from it and Hardhead, a minor character turned Optimus buddy.

The trio had captured Jhiaxus, the mad science guy but got some criptic info. Jhiaxus quickly breaks free and while Optimus intended to just soft retire, he can't deny the danger he or his apprentice turned master Shockwave presents, and thus teams up with this motely crew. The adventures are only across three issue but each is fun, the characterrs ar eintresting if underdevleoped and i'ts neat to see Optimus like this: Grappling with his past, unsure of his future, and unwilling to be Optimus again despite everything pulling him toward it. His characterization also takes a nice turn as he was a minor prick in the return of optimus, calling the circle of light a cult. Douchebags yes, cult no.

There's really.. not much to say here anyalis wwise: these adventures are well done and I wish they were the main focus, and clearly Barber agreed as Optimus takes over next season, if sadly not bringin most of these guys with him.

THey are vital for the build up to Dark Cybertron, with Jhiaxus and his goons being Shockwaves main minons and hinting at his mission.. which Shockwave happily outlines in a spotlight later.. well happy isn't an emotion he experinces but he still outlines it: He's been seeding 13 powerful ores, tying in previous things like super energon and such, and the final and 13th one.. is ressurection, bringing people back under his control. His plans feel vauge in theis build up, but involve jhiaxus taking a titan right to cybertron, the ores, and beating up soundwave, with Prime persuing.

The only complaint I really have is the art, which isn't bad, it's just dark, cold , and muted, and not really my forte, working better to represent the dark universe during the crossover. It's not bad it's just hard to make out the visuals at times is all.

So with that we have one last bit of pre-crossover buisnes sto attend to

THe Old Man's Back Again

I did mention Megatron came back right? Because he did. And since he has a big roll to play in the crossover and in MTMTE season 2, let's talk about where Megs has been. Megs was left half dead after becoming a giant pile of decpticons, coming back towards the end of season 1, having what's essnetially the season finale early and the rest of the issues are spotlights dealing with the aftermath.

Bumblebee's reaction is exactly what you'd expect

I mean it's not unwaranted: it's megatron. He was a walking death machine and a brilliant strategist. It's not wrong to expect that even shambling and half dead he's plotting something.. because that's EXACTLY what he was doing. Bee DOES decide to spare him for a trial after being talked into it, but reluctantly and with Megatron guarded to hell. Unfortuantely.. the person in charge of his security is prowl who has a bit of a brain bug at the moment, having taken out omega supreme.

Yeah turns out a LOT of the seasons events were Megatron

The field driving people into rages was him, bombshell was working for megs the whole time, and Shockwave was working with him.. if only till it was convient enough to bail and go work on his own scheme. It's a MILD stretch and I wish it'd been se tup better.. but like Starscream it's hard NOT to enjoy Meg's presence: he brings a genuine threat and meanace, pinning our heroess to the wall and barely being beaten. He's not as layered as he was about to become... but he's still a clever villian who scoffs at Starscream's bitch crying, not WANTING a compromised cybertron but an empire. He ends up loosing but barely does, having still caused a ton of damage and left enough of a gaping woom for Screamer to take the crown. While this Megs is pretty simplistic, he still serves as a good foundation for what's next: a man who genuinely THINKS he's doing the right thing and that peace really is possible if you throw away those pesky civil liberties and his plan and near victory underline HOW dangeorus he is, why the lost light needs to nerf him to put him on board... and why Cybertron will BADLY need his help in the mess to come.

So that was Robots in Disguise and this review.. was difficult to say the least. It's not a great book but it has flecks of greatness in it and later seasons of this side of transformers and other series would pick up on that

Next Time in March: DARK CYBERTRON BEGINS. Bumlbee and the Bumblefucks try to protect a cyberton that hates and fears them, Rodimus goes into a stygian hole in space time, and Shockwave's plan hopefully makes sense.

[poisonheadcrabsalesman]

Master Chief drabble inspired by @bloodgulchblog and this post. John doesn't introspect often, but when he does, it's a bit like heartburn.

-

It's late when John heads back to Blue Team's quarters. Briefings, reports, responsibilities; all the things Team Leader is used to shouldering seem to weigh a little heavier these days. Bad news pours in from all sides and allies seem fewer and far between.

Restlessness is not a luxury he can usually afford, but aboard the Infinity is the closest he's felt to safe in a long time. It also still means he'll patrol if possible. Even among his team, John doesn't want to spend any extra time in small rooms, and there's always work to be done.

He's not alone as he travels silently down gunmetal gray halls, but by this time most of the crew is changing shifts or used to Spartans moving. John's aware of how they look at him; the IIs move differently than the IVs but to the techs on their way to the hangars he's just another 7ft tall, 350 lbs of muscle to stay out of the way of.

Funny how being out of the armor helps him stay invisible.

There's movement down an auxiliary hallway that catches his eye, but he dismisses it when he sees troopers huddled together, handing off contraband and the like. John pauses and notes the cameras, the vents, and the blindspots. Not amateurs then, though it's hard to tell these days. They all look so young.

His eyes catch flashes of packaging before it's shoved into pockets or down shirts and the group disperses. Tobacco gum, self-lighting cigarettes, and other nicotine sources disappear along with nondescript datachips and small flasks. They don't notice him - he would have lost his touch if they had - and the group splits off, nonchalance a little too forced.

He'd make a comment, spook em a bit while he's this nameless Spartan who caught them. Some old, ugly sonuvabitch with weird eyes, too many scars popping out of the shadows wasn't a fun encounter or so he'd been told.

At least he would have if he didn't freeze in place as someone lit up and the too familiar smell of a Sweet William cigar hit his nose for the first time in over five years.

The pungent odor - old boot-sock smoked over a dung-fire - hit him full force even if the marine smoking it was down the hall. It sat in his sinuses, and the scar on his chest hurt as he jerked away.

John had known several people to have smoked those cigars - most of them were dead now. And with his luck he was there when it happened.

There were a lot of memories tied up with that scent. Johnson, of course. He had always seemed to have them on him, always smoking so much John often considered commenting about him giving them away. It was a scent that was tied to the man's presence, be it in a dropship, on the ground, or stopping by to drop off a tank. The first time John himself had tried one of the cigar, he had been 15 years old and ended up coughing so hard from the first draw that he reopened his neck wound.

Johnson had showed him how to be a leader then.

Mendez had smoked them too, and Captain Keyes. Mendez had them in his desk in his office on Reach. Halsey hadn't liked them, and like with most things, she would make her opinions clear. But that had been a lifetime ago. John didn't like to dwell on how he became what he was today. It was necessary, but the reminders of the human elements, the smoke drawing up old memories, made him uncomfortable.

He'd lived his whole life around foul-mouthed, paranoid, contraband using marines and ODSTs. He had been honored to serve with those men and women. Tobacco was passed around as often as MREs no matter the campaign. It was familiar even after all this time.

Even Captain Keyes had his pipe, the lingering scent of tobacco on the bridge of the Autumn. Cigars weren't his main staple, but John had come to associate him among the men who smoked them.

It had been forever and only a few short months since he had been in the presence of a lit Sweet William.

His chest burns, something more than regrown skin over the burn scar. He leaves - as silently as he arrived. The crewman continues to enjoy his contraband, smoke rising into the vent above, going to be scrubbed and recycled back.

-

Thanks for reading! There's an updated and finished version of this fic here.

[enigmarain]

FWtB: Revenge on the bully

From White to Black (Chapter 1)

FWtB: Shower (Chapter 2)

FWtB: Body update (Chapter 3)

FWtB: Loving Mommy (Chapter 4)

FWtB: Caring Daddy (Chapter 5)

_________________________________________

Robbie was lying on the bed and resting, his beloved parents were lying with him. His mother was lying with her head on his chest, and his father was lying lower - his head was on Robbie's groin.

The night was really stormy - the guy had to please his parents from below while they were kissing. The father sat with his pussy on Robbie's penis, and the mother on the guy's face while he did cunnilingus with his tongue.

Now Robbie got up and began to get dressed - he put on a white T-shirt, denim shorts and socks. The T-shirt hugged his muscular torso, and the shorts did not hide his big "device" much. He was going to school.

Despite the changes, classmates didn't care about Robbie's changes either, and no one was embarrassed that the 21-year-old was studying at school. He sat down at his usual place and prepared for lessons.

Robbie had an idea. He wanted revenge on a bully. There was a nasty guy in his class-a guy named Rick. He was a typical muscular guy whose muscles replaced brains.

The black guy knew how he could get revenge on Rick. He knew when to take revenge. But you have to wait for that.

***

Now physical education was over. Robbie came to the men's locker room, where his classmates were changing clothes. Rick was among them.

The guy sat down on a bench and began to change clothes too, but for show - Robbie had a plan. He waited until Rick was alone.

He sat and watched intently. When there were two or three guys left, Robbie took out his phone and pointed it at Rick - he was sitting in the distance and putting on sneakers.

The black guy focused the camera on the bully and finally took a picture. He did it without anyone noticing. It was lucky that the last potential witnesses left before Robbie took Rick's picture.

The guy started Chronivak and began to introduce changes. There was an update of the application, where you can save the memory of the changes to the person who was photographed. And the second update made it possible to change people, changing their appearance not just into a person, but into an object or an animal.

Robbie decided to take advantage of this and began to make changes, and then clicked "Save Changes", before putting a check mark on the item "save memory".

Rick stood up, but almost immediately sat back down on the bench. His body wouldn't obey, and then he saw his arms and legs begin to retract into his body.

- What's goin on?! - he screamed. It was obvious that he was scared.

Robbie, on the other hand, sat and continued to watch the transformation. The bully's body gradually seemed to deflate like a balloon. The legs retracted into the body until there were pathetic stumps, which are a quarter of the hips.

The arms were completely retracted into the torso. Rick couldn't make a single sound anymore, as his voice seemed to have disappeared. The head also began to sink, and the neck shortened.

Holes began to appear at the hips, as well as on the forehead, when the head was pulled into the trunk. The skin changed color to glossy black. And here in Rick's place lay his clothes, gradually disappearing into the air, as well as black latex underpants - Rick turned into it.

Robbie came out when only Rick's underpants were now lying on the bench. He took it and examined them with a grin.

"Enjoy your new position," Robbie said, and began to take off his underpants to put on Rick.

He put it on and began stroking in the groin area. The underpants fit perfectly. With a clasp along the penis.

"You're perfect", - the black guy whispered and began to put on clean clothes. He knew that Rick's consciousness was preserved and now he couldn't do anything, feeling how he was hugging Robbie's body.

"Don't worry", - Robbie continued, - "I can turn you into something else later, but you can't be human anymore"

Rick didn't understand what was going on. He couldn't see, couldn't hear, couldn't speak, but he could feel him hugging Robbie's groin, thighs, and buttocks. He tried to at least do something, but he was unable to move on his own.

Robbie made fun of Rick a little bit and still decided to stop torturing him like that when he gets home. He put on shorts, a T-shirt, socks and sneakers and went out with a bag.

"No one knows you're missing somewhere", - Robbie whispered, Rick could somehow hear it.

The guy calmly walked home. He enjoyed his new underpants, which creaked pleasantly.

_________________________________________

FWtB: Ordinary day (Chapter 7)