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meiieiri · 10 months ago

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𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐞 [gojo satoru]

synopsis: in every other universe and lifetime he has yet to lead, megumi will always cherish the painfully brief time he felt the warmth of a proper family and would have gladly referred to himself as the son of the strongest.

pairing: gojo satoru x f!reader | song inspo: chemtrails over the country club, scott street | visuals: megumi’s jacket

warnings: angst-ish, canon-compliant violence (mostly caused by our pookie wookie megumi who doesn’t tolerate scumbag bullies), mentions of bullying, and possible (bc i’m delulu) character death. | a/n: i just want megumi to have one last moment with his dad please, gege, i’m on my knees here. also hehe, get the title? ya’ll get it? someone please shove that arctic-haired freak to the NORTH! 🥹

Nobara Kugisaki is the classic definition of an Instagram girlie with a passion for fashion.

Honestly, she could appropriately appraise clothes without a second glance, and she could differentiate big fashion brands just by the fabric and silhouette alone even without a brand logo.

It happened on a Monday afternoon while she and Yuji were having a quick coffee in the lounge. Yuji is currently playing one of his Nintendo Switch MMORPG games that he bought from the mall last Saturday while Nobara was scrolling through her phone, swiping left as she watches her mutuals’ Instagram stories. The trio is incomplete today since Megumi mentioned he’ll be running some errands with you and Satoru today.

After positively getting envious of Mei Mei’s supposed extravagant shopping trip in Ginza today, Kugisaki promptly mutes any stories from her for a full twenty four hours. Then, as she swipes left yet again, she nearly drops her phone on the ground which would pretty much set her off on a rampage because she just got its LCD screen fixed. But luckily, she holds onto it.

“Fushiguro has an Instagram account?!”

Yuji himself hits pause on the game he’s playing and leans over the table to see what Kugisaki is talking about. No way. Fushiguro? That sulky, couldn’t-be-bothered-to-care-but-I-actually-do-care embodiment of teenage angst having an Instagram handle? What would he even post on there?

Their questions are answered as Fushiguro’s feed pops up, and it’s filled with his pictures, but that’s not the issue. The two dunderheads didn’t seem to mind that in every photo, Megumi looked like a magazine cover boy, what caught their attention is the apparel he’s wearing.

“What the hell?! He’s wearing Arc’teryx?” Kugisaki couldn’t believe it. She zooms in on the candid shot of Megumi in what looks to be a ski resort and an audible gasp escapes her throat. No way. No frigging way. She does a quick image search and sure enough, she is redirected to Arc’teryx’s official website. See? Kugisaki never misses when it comes to fashion.

Yuji’s eyes nearly pop out of their sockets when he sees the price tag. “One thousand five hundred US dollars?!”

“And look at this! He’s literally tagged in Gojo and Y/N-sensei’s stories.”

Sure enough, the first they see is Satoru’s story which has a video of you picking out new clothes from the rack for Megumi to try on in the fitting room. You looked so cute and teeny tiny next to the teenager and Kugisaki giggles at the thought you walking around with two literal giants in the mall, one of them being your ward and the other, your arctic-haired husband of three years.

“There’s another one!” Itadori says excitedly. The next is a story you took, it’s a photo of Megumi and Gojo, their backs turned and their hands fully occupied by shopping bags, seemingly unaware of the camera. In the photo, they’re checking out new sneakers in Onitsuka Tiger’s storefront window. In a flash, Kugisaki switches off her phone, and immediately begins to head out the door. “Hey, where’re you going?”

Nobara knows that particular galleria, it should be in Tokyo Midtown. “Out, maybe I could borrow Gojo-sensei’s or Y/N-sensei’s credit card!”

“Are you sure you don’t need me to come along?”

Gojo chuckles under his breath. It’s honestly amusing how you won’t normally ask that, given his newfound title as the strongest Jujutsu sorcerer of this generation. A skirmish with a grade two cursed spirit? Pfft. That’s practically child’s play to your white-haired boyfriend. A rogue grade one cursed spirit that turned out to be a special grade? Maybe you’ll sneak some bandages in his bag just in case. Bottom line is you wholeheartedly trust Satoru will always make it out of a mission in one piece.

But here you were seemingly more tense than usual which is incomprehensible because today’s hardly dangerous mission is simple.

Track down the son of Toji Fushiguro.

“I think I got it, babe.” Satoru leans his head in through the rolled down car window to plant a kiss on your forehead. He pats your cheek lovingly, setting off in the direction of the house after taking one last confirmatory look at the address written down in the file sheet. “Well, let’s hope he’s nothing like his dad. Promise you’ll check on me if I don’t come back in an hour?” he teases.

You lightly slap his wrist. Sometimes you wonder how you fell in love with this literal man-child. He’s just so insufferable. Gorgeous in every way but insufferable all the same. “I’m pretty sure a six-year-old boy isn’t gonna try to murder you. If he does, let the record show that I sympathize with him completely.”

“You meanie!”

Sticking his tongue out at you when you blow him a kiss, he disappears into the small street adjacent to the neighborhood’s main road. Coming here, Satoru was uncharacteristically nervous. At the rest stop earlier, you watched the scene tensely from the convenience store window. For once, the obnoxiously loud sorcerer was quiet, hands in his uniform pockets, his cerulean orbs trained on the pavement, his foot kicking the asphalt pebbles on the ground, deep in thought.

To be honest, he had no obligation to make the journey here even if this entire affair was born from Toji Fushiguro’s final words that sounded almost like a desperate plea. “In two or three years, my kid will be sold off to the Zenin clan. Do whatever you will with that.” Satoru doesn’t know why — he’s not exactly the brightest when it comes to his interpersonal relationship skills so he could be wrong about this — but those twenty one words sounded more like four simple words: “Please save my son.”

And so, in a matter of only thirty minutes, you spot Satoru from afar, his hand protectively around his would have been assassin’s six-year-old son as they walk back to the car. Looks like the little boy had made his choice.

And you could see with the way Satoru protectively held Megumi back from crossing the street on a green light that he has also made his choice. Just thirty minutes ago, you were bantering with the version of Satoru that would be reluctant to go out of his way to help someone, now, you were face to face with someone new, someone who has been changed almost in a blink of an eye.

Stepping out of the car, you make your way towards the pair, a faint smile on your lips at the sight of Megumi’s tiny backpack slung over Satoru’s shoulder. Your boyfriend gently nudges Megumi over in your direction, introducing him and you crouch down to meet the little boy’s hesitant eyes. “Hi there, Megumi.” Your voice is as carefully gentle as a psalm, you didn’t want to overwhelm him more than he probably already is. “I’m Y/N.”

“Hello.”

“Ice cold,” Satoru whistles, ruffling Megumi’s hair. But you figured that would be the case. A quiet breath of laughter comes from Satoru when you smile endearingly at the kid’s curtness.

As the three of you settle into the backseat, you and Satoru share a fond look when Megumi who has acted all guarded and silent the entire ride home from Chiba begins to drift off to sleep, his arms hugging his backpack but he was dangerously teetering off the seat, so Satoru gently picks him up, allowing him to lay his tiny head on his shoulder.

“He’s gonna stick around with us for a long time, huh?” you whispered, rubbing Megumi’s back as he slept soundly in Satoru’s arms, the three of yu blissfully unaware of just how much your life has changed. You came to Chiba and there was only you and Satoru, now, you were three. And though you know Satoru doesn’t intend to step in as a guardian, you could tell he was slowly settling into the inevitability of that fact. This boy needed a new start, a home, and people to guide him as he grew.

“…Yeah, he will,” Satoru answers, his eyes filled with wonder himself. Earlier when he first met Megumi, he told him to become strong enough to keep up with him.

But for now, maybe this was enough.

For the most part, Megumi is a good kid.

He diligently helps you with the housework without needing to be told twice the same way he diligently trains under Gojo’s tutelage. He studies hard despite only being in primary school, and he’s well-mannered in every way…at least to you, the kid won’t pass up the opportunity to scowl and call Satoru a lanky freak when he’s being pestered by him.

Because he’s so young to be sleeping in Tokyo Jujutsu High’s dormitories, you and Satoru settled into the idea of renting an apartment near the campus premises. Since you and Satoru are eighteen years old now, it was high time that the two of you start growing into your roles as functional adults which means leasing an apartment, paying the bills, growing your careers and taking your relationship to the next level.

Of course, you and Satoru both piled in cash when it comes to raising Megumi. Satoru mostly shouldered rent, monthly utilities and Megumi’s tuition, being a rich guy like him, those were practically small beans to him. You, on the other hand, shouldered the groceries, Megumi’s clothes and other needs.

One day, while on your way to pick up Megumi, you pass by the trendy Daikanyama district due to a road closure leading to the Ebisu district where Megumi’s primary school is. The inconvenience is nothing short of serendipitous as you and your boyfriend really did need a quick breather and some time for yourselves.

“I feel like I’m gonna turn into a wine dad very soon. Who would have known enrolling a kid would be that tough?” Satoru huffs, his hand protectively around your waist as you walked past boutique after boutique. “Like how am I supposed to know what his blood type is for the school clinic record?”

You hummed, sneakily stealing a kiss from him to which he responds to by pulling you closer, and pretending to bite off your ear. “For all the school knew, Megumi is ours. That would explain why they felt a little icky towards us when they saw how young we are back in that parent-teacher meeting.”

“Mmph, fair point. A cute son will come from a handsome father after all—“

“—Oh please. You’re okay at best.”

“You didn’t say that last night when I had you all folde—“

“—Please do not finish that sentence in public.”

Digressing, Satoru sighs, planting a contrite kiss on your warm cheek as the two of you leisurely walk down the picturesque lane of Tokyo’s very own version of Soho. Once you reach the main road, a certain outerwear apparel store catches your eye. You stop in front of the store window, looking curiously at the displayed winter items. “Megumi’s birthday is coming up soon, no? We should get him something nice.”

“Hmm? Oh right, the 22nd is coming up,” Satoru hums thoughtfully, leading you inside the store. There, the two of you split up to look for a nice gift for Megumi. There, he is approached by a staff member who asks if he’s looking for anything in particular. Satoru clears his throat, nodding. “I’m looking to buy a gift for my son.”

Somehow, you heard that from across the store and you shoot Satoru an amused look when he refers to Megumi as ‘his son’.

“Right, and how old might he be? We have a batch of new arrivals that came in today. They’re perfect for kids aged four and above.” At that, you rejoin Satoru and the sales staff leads you to check out the items at the front of the store. You and Satoru sort through the rack and find one that the two of you agree on: a fleece two-toned gravel winter jacket.

After paying for it, the two of you rush to get to Ebisu elementary school. Making your way to the gate, Megumi instantly spots you and Satoru, the latter being very difficult to miss since he pretty much towered over everyone else.

“Hi, kid, d’you have fun today?” you crouch down to give Megumi a hug. Between you and Satoru, you were the more clingy one towards Megumi, there’s hardly any hesitation in your heart when you pull him in for a warm embrace or carry him in your arms. Luckily, he didn’t seem to mind one bit, but if Satoru did any of the those things to him, he’ll probably headbut him.

“It was fine,” Megumi says shyly once you pull away. “Oh and I got a hundred on the math homework you helped me with.”

“You did?” you smiled. “I’m so proud of you, Megumi.” Satoru smiles, going to ruffle Megumi’s hair only for the little boy to duck away from his hand and hide behind you.

Chuckling at the kid’s antics, Satoru concedes, putting up his free hand in surrender while his other one held onto the gift bag you got. Megumi reads the name of the store: “The North Face”. Following Megumi’s gaze, Satoru grins, handing Megumi the bag. “Here, we got you something. Call it an advanced birthday gift.”

Megumi’s expression screamed: “You didn’t have to.” but you don’t miss the look of surprise and gratitude that shined through his features. You gently nudge him to open it and his breath hitches in his throat when he sees the gift you got him — the first gift he’s ever received.

“Happy birthday, Megumi,” you and Satoru greet the little boy, with Satoru helping Megumi to try it on.

That was the first time Megumi initiated a heartfelt hug and the first time he ever included Satoru, his little arms trying their hardest to include the two of you, so you decide to help him out, and your and Satoru’s arms engulf the little one.

“Thank you.”

“I don’t know what happened, but I’m headed there now. Alright, see you soon. I love you.”

Everything happened so quickly. One minute you were in Tokyo Jujutsu High’s teacher lounge organizing the first years’ missions for the next few days when you receive a call from Ebisu elementary school, informing you that Megumi got into a horrible fight and was now in the school clinic ready to be picked up, the next you were dashing out the door hurrying over to the school with your heart pounding in your chest.

There, you are the quintessential picture of a frazzled mother looking for her son in the school clinic.

“Y/N!”

“Megumi,” you breathed, your eyebrows knitting together in worry. Gathering him into your arms, you sit on the tiny hospital bed. “What happened? They said you got into a fight? And where’s your jacket?” He was wearing the jacket you got for him this morning when you and Satoru dropped him off, actually, he’s been wearing it a lot, indicating it’s one of, if not his favorite jacket.

Before Megumi could even speak, it looks like the kid that he got into a tussle with had already tattled on him to his mother and now said mother is furiously berating you and Megumi, not caring if anyone else in the clinic could overhear the scandalous remarks she’s throwing your way.

“I want full disciplinary action against this boy!” the middle aged woman all but screeches to the school’s principal, pointing an accusatory finger at Megumi who doesn’t flinch but you hear him sniffle. He’s never been yelled at like that before.

“Ma’am, please, let’s settle this like two rational adults—“

“—Oh I will, I can’t say the same about you! Are you not the least bit ashamed that you couldn’t teach your son good morals?” She then theatrically goes to place her hands on her son’s shoulders. And you have to be honest, with that bruised lip of his alongside his bleeding nose, Megumi had done some serious damage to the boy.

“I — Megumi is a good kid, not once, have we ever seen him hit someone for no reason—“

“—So you’re saying it’s my son’s fault yours is emotionally unstable? This boy doesn’t need a good talking to, what he needs is psychological intervention!”

“Alright, can everyone just please calm down?” The principal, too, seems visibly uncomfortable with the vile words the other parent was spewing at you like machine gun fire. “We’re all here to fix the problem, not make it worse.”

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you could tell this conversation has reached an impasse. Clearly, there’s no way you could reach a mutual understanding of what should be done to resolve the issue.

The older woman looks at you in disdain, grumbling under her breath at the humiliation of being scolded, “What should I even expect from an irresponsible woman who got knocked up before she was even an adult?”

“Don’t you dare talk about my wife or my son that way.”

Megumi looks up, tears in his eyes when Satoru strides in, his normally shining blue eyes dark with a fury that cannot be quelled. You can’t even feel the butterflies that went wild in your stomach when he accidentally referred to you as ‘his wife’ without so much as a stutter because you’re honestly this close to chewing the vile woman out. It didn’t matter if she insulted you, but if she does so much as insult and make your boy cry, you and Satoru will give the weasel a matching patch on her scalp where there should have been hair had you not ripped it out.

But now was not the time to prove her right.

People have always judged you and Satoru for being acting parents at such a young age, often giving you rude stares when you’re out and about doing the most menial of things like shopping at the supermarket or spending some time in the kōen, people found your current situation disgusting, borderline immoral, which is why you initially had trouble looking for an elementary school that would properly entertain you, Satoru and Megumi and not dismiss you three as a bunch of kids playing house.

“Satoru…” you rub your boyfriend’s arm soothingly.

“Babe, she insulted you and ‘Gumi,” Satoru whispers sadly. “I can’t just let her do that.”

All of a sudden, Megumi’s voice cuts through the tension in the room. “Daisuke was being mean. He ruined Hana-chan’s project and made her cry.” At that, the kid named Daisuke bites his lip, his skin turning pallid at the revelation. “And when I told him to apologize, he and Kaito…” Megumi whimpers, trailing off. He averts his gaze from your and Satoru’s, feeling guilty.

And right then and there, the story becomes even clearer when an unexpected witness comes to Megumi’s defense.

“Megumi-kun? We found your jacket, it’s not too damaged, but you may want to have your mama and papa wash it when you get home.” The school nurse walks in and hands you the ruined jacket, it had been cut all over but since it’s fleece, the damage isn’t too bad, not only that, it had crayon marks all over it and it smelled of the dumpster.

“…Daisuke and Kaito ruined my jacket and I punched him,” Megumi sniffles. “I’m sorry.” He wasn’t apologizing for punching Daisuke, that much you could tell, he was apologizing to you and Gojo for supposedly not taking care of the gift you two got him just last week.

The vile mother scoffs at your son’s apology. “Save your breath, you little liar—“

“—He wasn’t talking to you,” Satoru glares at the woman, effectively shutting her up. “Come on, we’re going home.” With that, Satoru, being careful with him given his sprained wrist, carries Megumi out the clinic. You offer the principal a polite nod, indicating that you’ll cooperate with any sanction she seems fit for Megumi, Kaito and Daisuke, before following Satoru and Megumi to the parking lot. A melancholic smile appears on your lips when you hear Satoru reassuring Megumi that you’ll just wash and mend the jacket once you get home to which, Megumi only buries his face in the crook of his father figure’s neck.

If there is one good thing that happened today, it’s the fact that you proved to yourself and to each other that, no one in this world is allowed to hurt or insult your family.

Satoru wakes up to an empty bed and he doesn’t pretend to wonder where you are. He stays like that for a full minute, simply staring at the ceiling while your side of the bed slowly loses its warmth. He knows you’re hurting, and he knows just how much this entire ordeal has taken from you. First, you had to deal with him being sealed in the Prison Realm, now this…

You really just couldn’t catch a break, could you?

Slowly, Satoru gets up and pads across the hallway, entering a painfully familiar room. The owner of the room has only since recently moved out, but for ten years, this room is one he normally frequented with you, whether it be on Christmas mornings to greet the little prince that occupied such a special place in your heart or on nights when the three of you just simply needed to hold each other, searching for comfort, while you slept.

The door creaks open and Satoru’s eyes well up with tears, his heart plagued by the same emotional turmoil that was haunting you day in and day out. “I just want our boy to come home…I want our son back,” you cried as you held the jacket Megumi had outgrown, the same one he wore almost everyday that winter when he first came to live with you and Satoru.

Instantly, Satoru sits next to you on Megumi’s bed, hushing your cries, kissing away each agonizing tear that slipped from the confines of your sorrowful orbs.

“He must be so scared,” you sniffled, picturing Megumi in the darkest crevices of Sukuna’s soul, trapped and alone. “I don’t even know if he’s alright, if he’s even slept at all or if he’s being tormented by Sukuna day in and day out. What if he’s in pain? What if he’s cold?” you sobbed into your husband’s chest, your cries growing more desperate with each hour Megumi isn’t home safe.

“Shh, shh…I know, sweetheart…I’ll get him back, I promise I’ll bring him home.”

Or he’ll die trying.

Somewhere in the void, Megumi Fushiguro is in a state of catatonic stasis. Is this what limbo feels like? He just wants to sleep, to give in and let Sukuna’s soul consume him.

It’s so cold…so…cold.

No! He can’t give up, more than his desire to tap out and just live and let die…he wants to go home where he belongs.

You and Satoru must be so worried about him and he was worried too, what if something had happened out there while he was here? What if…something happened to the two of you when he hasn’t even done a thing to thank you both for all the love you’ve given him throughout these years? So with his last inch of consciousness remaining, he spends it on a silent plea.

“Mom…dad…please come find me.”

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komelliko · 1 month ago

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manipulative!boss!sunday x timid!secretary!reader (& aventurine!)

summary: You get drinks with Aventurine, only to be interrupted by a rather cross Sunday. wc: 1.7k - cw for drinking, stalking... and heavy worldbuilding. oops! a/n: The guillemets «» are used to indicate Sunday's telepathy!

part 4 / part 5 / part 6 (nsfw) ---

Most bars and hostelries in Golden Hour had been established long after the rebellions has ended and the prohibition on alcohol was lifted. The Pendulum Speakeasy, however, was an exception. You had no reservations in believing that Aventurine had every inch of Golden Hour memorized—gambled at every table, met every bartender, sweet-talked every showgirl—so when he leads you to The Pendulum without even stopping to check for directions, it only feels fitting. "You go out drinking often, doll?" You shake your head bashfully, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. "No, that's never appealed to me. Sunday took me to dinner earlier this week, but other than that... I just sort of like to keep to myself in my free time." You look down, knowing full well your outfit corroborates this—Other than the dress Sunday had delivered to you, the only things you can wear out are your work clothes. Fitted white pants, structured blazers, things of that sort. Aventurine's interest piques. "Oh, he took you to dinner?"

"Well—Yes," you concede. "-No? ...Yes. It was a work meeting." "Yes, but still. Never took him as the type." Aventurine wraps one arm around your waist, headlines flashing in his head: 'Stoneheart Missing After Scandal In Penacony', 'Rendezvous With The Family Gone Wrong'. He'd previously assumed that his plans would involve catching Sunday's ire somehow, but not yet considered to this degree.

Still, he surmises, he has faith in his odds. "Ah, but don't you worry your pretty little head about work tonight," he adds. "What I care about is you having fun." Finally winding the final turn into The Pendulum's alleyway, Aventurine thrusts his other hand into his pocket to pull out a small poker chip. You assume by the logo in the center and the golden sheen on its edges that Aventurine had stolen it—Maybe he'd slipped it into his sleeve after a game to take as a trophy. You'd heard of his exploits from time to time, and you can only assume the usual prizes of victory has lost their luster in his eyes. Perhaps he wishes to gamble for more unconventional things: Favors, promises, human lives. Aventurine knocks on the door, and a small set of twinkling Pepeshi eyes peers back at him from an open slat. You're sure the Pepeshi must be standing on a stool of some sort for them to be at Aventurine's eye level. "Are you welcome?" a squeaky voice asks. Aventurine smiles, flipping the poker chip in his hand up into the air one more time before catching it in his palm. "Very. 'Lady Arctus has saved me a table'." There was no need for any speakeasy in Penacony to still work on the password system—especially for one as well known as Pendulum's—but you assume that requiring it lent itself to some atmosphere. The atmosphere of a place like The Pendulum was its primary selling point, after all. When all of the drinks came from the same suppliers and every band played in whatever bar had an open stage, there was nothing else they could use to distinguish themselves but looks. Aventurine led you through The Pendulum by the hand, the two of you passing under a large chandelier decorated with fifty or some Halovian statuettes, each static crystal figurine draped in flowing cloth and ebulliently presenting sparkling glass bulbs of lights to the crowd of guests below them. The chandelier shook and twisted from the rumble of a car passing over the Speakeasy, sending an explosion of reflected rainbows around the room like a burst of confetti. As the two of you reached the bar, Aventurine lets you take your seat first, the barstool squeaking against the wooden floorboards. Once he takes his own seat, Aventurine raises his hand to call the bartender over. “An Interplanetary, if you may,” he asks. “And for my guest here—“ Aventurine looks back to you, his tongue tucked into his cheek as he stalls for your answer. “Pika White with an olive.” “Pika White with an olive,” he emphatically repeats to the bartender. Once the two of you are alone, he turns to add “My, how distinguished of you.”

You flush, eyes down looking at the velvet carpets over the floor. “Oh, no, that’s just what I got used to ordering for lunch meetings. Back when I started out at The Family, the easiest way to get people to like you was to drink with them.” You laugh under your breath, commenting to yourself “You know what they say, ‘Penacony is just one big party’.” “Indeed I do.” Aventurine’s own gaze is caught by the gleam of the poker table in the center of The Pendulum, itself swarmed with a small crowd of betters. He leans in to you, pointing towards the table. “—How’s about I show those guys what a real game of poker looks like?” Aventurine gets up before you can even truly answer, but you follow anyways, adding “I don’t think anyone here hasn’t seen one of your games.” He shoots back a smile. “They could do with a reminder.” … … … … Aventurine wins nearly 40,000 credits before finally backing out, and you can’t stop yourself from hanging your head low in embarrassment on his behalf as he howls with laughter at his own victory. While the group of incensed Pepeshi that lost to Aventurine mostly sent him his winnings digitally, Aventurine finds a way to slip an extra 100-credit bill or two into your back pocket amidst the chaos anyways. “What a scene,” he remarks to himself, taking a sip of his Interplanetary. “Wouldn’t be a night out without a good game, would it? You saw that one guys’ face when he saw I still had a straight flush.” You cradle your glass of Pika gingerly in your hand, smiling into it. Between it and the sweet sound of the trumpet from The Pendulum’s stage, your mind is drawn between too many things to respond with more than a good-natured sigh. That is, until a noise cuts through over the sound of the big band and the chatter lingering around the bar. « ♪♫♪♫♫♪ » "Did you hear that...?" you ask, almost speaking it under your breath. "Hear what?" The whistling was probably in your head. It was the same melody you'd heard the other night while at dinner with Sunday, after all. « [Y/N]? Is that you? » You whip your head around to find the source of the voice, only to realize you can't tell which direction it came from. Unfortunately, its owner makes himself known quickly enough. "Aventurine of the Interastral Peace Corporation," your boss says. "I'm not shocked at all to see you here." Aventurine leans over in his seat, putting himself between you and Sunday. Maybe even... shielding you? Still, there was nothing in his voice that makes it seem like he finds Sunday a threat. "Been a while, Feathers," Aventurine grins. "Had to make sure you're not working your staff to the bone." Sunday smiles in a way that almost looks forced. "Never," he replies. "Though, I should warn you. It's against policy for Oak Family employees of a certain rank to consume alcohol of any kind. As the law that upholds Penacony, we must never let ourselves be of ill-affected mind." "That's never been enforced, sir." You feel a sense of shame splash over you the moment you finish your sentence, clasping your hand over your mouth as if you'd just cursed Sunday in front of his mother, or even broken a child's toy. You look back up to him to see if he would take the correction in stride. "Perhaps because until now, it has not been necessary to enforce it." Sunday inhales, his smile squinting his golden eyes as he looks back down at you in what you could only fear was contempt. "I don't want to have to report one of the hardest working people in Penacony for such negligence in following the rules."

"Sunday." Aventurine has fully moved in to separate Sunday from you. "I'm the one who invited [Y/N] out for drinks. They're not the one you should be having problems with here," the gambler sneers. "And what does it matter to you if your beloved secretary spends an hour or two in other company? Scared they'll share a bit too much?" Sunday's smile drops completely. It almost feels crazy to say, but you start to wish he was back to that unprofessionally-touchy, overly-sweet self you were used to seeing. You were able to ignore it because you were used it to it: You're not used to this. "If you think you will achieve any of your ends through [Y/N], Aventurine, you are sorely mistaken," Sunday scowls. "My employees are not playing chips for you to leverage at your behest, especially not my secretary." His golden eyes seem to pierce right through Aventurine's own as he asks "Have I made myself abundantly clear?" "That you have," the gambler replies through grit teeth. "Just let me finish my drink in peace, Feathers." Sunday finally shoots a glance to you before exiting the bar. You push your drink away, having lost all desire to finish it. "Sorry, Venny. I didn't even consider..." "Aw, doll, don't sweat it. Just not your lucky day," he shrugs. "But I'd be a chump to let him walk all over you." His voice lowers to a mutter as he adds "—Fuck, where's Gallagher when you need him? That boss of yours needs a good kick in the pants. Maybe his pretty face, too, if the first doesn't hit him right." "Aventurine, don't." Aventurine sighs, his grip on his glass tightening. "...Sorry, doll, what am I thinking? Not awfully nice of me to being speaking ill of the handsomest, most powerful man in Penacony." He downs the rest of his drink in one fell swoop. "If he's still hearing me, I'll get the sweep from him for sure. Then I'll really need a drink."

--- a/n: Arctus is the 12th of the The Hours in Greek Mythology, so I thought a reference to her would fit well in a Moment that's apparently one before midnight. tag list: @j1yu425 @crepezinhos @i-am-tiredd @8x9d @ruruize @herrscherofprocrastination @khxii-i @moonsaver

#shocker: sunday rules that queening out with aventurine is FORBIDDEN!!!!!#sunday's secretary #hsr sunday #sunday x you #sunday x reader #sunday x y/n #honkai star rail #hsr x reader #hsr x you #manipulative yandere #sunday hsr #hsr aventurine #aventurine hsr

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moondustwritesblog · 5 months ago

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shaw pack headcanons

darlin would hug sam’s pillow whenever he would go to clan meetings. he would come home to them sleeping, hugging it and just looks at them looking so peaceful until they would turn in their sleep facing away

david likes donuts, the expensive kind. when angel came home from a business trip and have a box full of them, they thought it would not be even touched. that mf was half empty the next morning

angel: i thought you were going to work last night?

david: i was

angel: by eating my donuts?!

david: i got hungry

angel: david!

sam likes looking at darlin when they’re doing domestic things and they would always catch him. he would make excuses. they won’t mind it. and it has actually become a habit (or maybe because it’s a nice contrast to whatever other things that sam would need to look after them for and them not even noticing while doing it but that’s just me)

darlin, folding the bedsheets: you’re staring, cowboy

sam: can’t help it, you’re wearin’ my flannel

darlin: it’s our flannel now

angel likes wearing sweaters, baabe likes wearing cardigans, sweetheart (milo and david) likes wearing leather jackets and darlin (and sam) likes wearing flannels

asher likes wearing hoodies but not the one with the shaw security logo on it. he feels like his still at work

angel likes how to train your dragon and asher likes the loud house

under the cut due to weapon mention

if the listeners would wield a weapon, angel would be on explosives, baabe on bow and arrow, stealth on guns and darlin on knives (and they would be like that character who would take a while to actually unload all of it in a comical way no matter how big or small it is)

david: tank, knives on the table. now.

tank: ugh, fine *takes one out*

david, raising a brow: is that all?

tank: give me a minute *takes out all of them, some not even supposed to fit in their clothes or pockets* there

david: you finished?

tank: oh, almost forgot *puts either the biggest or the smallest knife in existence on top of the others, overflowing the table* now, i’m done

the pack: what the fuck-

#redacted david #redacted angel #redacted asher #redacted babe #redacted milo #redacted sweetheart #redacted sam #redacted darlin #redacted tank #redacted shaw pack #redacted audio #redactedverse

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oneforthemunny · 9 months ago

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a teeny tiny modern!eddie blurb i had rattling around my noggin. loosely based on real events (my ex is a pos and modern!eddie is an angel lol), but made me giggle when i thought about it. kinda smutty but nothing graphic more-so just alluded to. enjoy <3

“Hey, pretty girl.” Eddie grinned, half-lidded hazy eyes lighting up when you walked through the door.

“Hi,” You mumbled, hip bumping the door to push it closed, shoulders heavy after the exhaustion of the day.

“Did you have a good day?” Eddie chirped, flicking his mic up on his headset, pulling it off his messy curls. “Sell lots?”

You snorted lightly, purse sliding off your shoulder onto the coffee table. “Oh, yeah. Dealt with ten year olds wanting foundation matches all day.”

“Ten?” Eddie frowned. “Can ten year olds even wear makeup?”

“Apparently they can. And they’re very particular.” You rolled your eyes, rubbing out the growing knot in your shoulder that was beginning to ache. “Did you empty the dishes?”

“Yep.” Eddie nodded. “Loaded them up for you too, baby. Got you another one of those candles you like. Your stash was runnin’ low.” He smiled proudly.

Your lips twitched, trying to fight back your own flustered grin. It did make your heart flutter, Eddie always did. “Thank you.” You muttered instead. “I’ve gotta get out of these clothes, and I’ll-” You started to lean over the couch, lips hovering over Eddie’s, his parting lightly to fit yours before you stopped. Halted by a familiar smell.

“What- What’s that smell?” You sniffed, turning in the air before your nose found the source. “Are you- Why do you smell like that?”

“Shit, is it bad?” Eddie tugged at his t-shirt, nose pressing towards the underarms of his shirt. “I took a shower today, but then I had to meet up with some people. I didn’t think it was bad-”

“-No, it’s not that.” You snapped, eyes narrowing down at him. “Why do you smell like Bum-Bum Cream?”

Eddie paused, blinking at you. “Bum-Bum?” He repeated, brows lifting. “Is this a joke? Like Up-Dog-”

“-Eddie,” You huffed. “Don’t fuck with me right now. What? Did you have another bitch here?” Your teeth gritted, gaze flickering in seething fury around the apartment for anything- any sign of infidelity.

“What?” Eddie gaped, turning to look at you. “No, c’mon, you know I wouldn’t do that-”

“-Then why do you smell like that?” You screeched, throwing an arm out at him.

“Smell like what?” Eddie countered, voice raising in defense.

“The most recognizable smell in the world? You couldn’t tell your bitch not to wear that-” You smacked the door to your shared bedroom open, halting in the doorway.

“I didn’t fuck anyone!” Eddie followed, throwing his hands up. “Why do you always start this shit? I’ve never-”

Your eyes narrowed, stomping towards the bedside table. There, on Eddie’s side, amongst the phone chargers and empty carts sat a box of tissues next to the familiar yellow tub of cream. Half screwed on, greasy on the lid- recently used.

“You’ve got to be shitting me.” You huffed, snatching the jar, grimacing at the slick, greasy substance still left on the lid. Pivoting, you turned to Eddie, hoisting the jar towards him.

Eddie blinked. “What?”

“This is what I’m smelling.” You snapped. “This is Bum-Bum Cream. My Bum-Bum Cream.” You jabbed a manicured nail onto the logo.

“Oh,” Eddie quipped. “Yeah, I did use that.”

“Used it?” You growled. “You used my fucking expensive lotion to jack off?”

Eddie’s cheeks tinged with pink embarrassment, eyes wide and round like a child caught, still with some mischief that made your skin crawl with irritation. “Well,” He started.

“Well?” You gawked at him. “Eddie, this is- You can’t use this!” You unscrewed the lid, mouth falling open at the large scoop that was now missing from the middle. “Are you- Do you know how expensive this is?”

“No.” Eddie admitted, swallowing a smile. “I just thought it was lotion-”

“-You have lotion!” You snapped. “You have your Nivea or whatever-”

“-I ran out!”

“So you use this? My lotion? My expensive lotion?” You growl. “How- How does this not burn your dick off? It’s a fucking fragranced lotion.”

Eddie shrugged, lips curling in a shit eating grin. “It felt kinda nice, actually.”

Your nose curled in disgust. “You’re fucking sick, and you’re buying me a new one.”

“Fine.” Eddie’s hands slid down your arms gently. “I’ll buy you a new one. I swear. I’m sorry, I didn’t know I couldn’t use that one.”

“Don’t use any of my lotions to jack off.” You glared at him. “And put it back when you’re done.” You shove the lotion back at him.

“Alright, alright, hey- look at me, baby, please?” Eddie cooed, lips still curled with a smile you wanted to smack off his face, nerves rattled with annoyance. You glared at him, shoving your work jeans down with a huff, not missing the way Eddie’s eyes lingered.

“I’m sorry, ok? I didn’t mean to. I’ll buy you a new one. We can go right now if you want.” He muttered sweetly, his soft tone making your heart swell.

“No, it’s fine.” You huff, rolling your eyes, pulling your top off. “We can go later. Just don’t do it again.”

“I won’t.” Eddie lifted his hands playfully. He waited a second, turning the yellow tub around in his hands. “It is good stuff though. Can see why you like it so much-” He dodged your balled up shirt you flung at him with a loud cackle, scampering to the bathroom to put it back on the counter.

also this is the lotion / sol de janerio's bum bum cream referenced lol. a very canon event i fear. hope you enjoyed!

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oh-koenig-my-koenig · 1 year ago

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on the phone with 👑

(cw: mentions of ego-shooter video games; age gap 25/41, nsfw, masturbation, dirty talk, praise, MDNI)

part before: painting his nails

I'm tossing and turning.

In my own bed.

Cursing the notion I had, that I couldn't possibly stay for longer at his place.

On Monday morning, I packed up my stuff and hurried to work, after he made me another latte.

Being a good girl, not getting him to fuck me again, even though I would have rather taken him to bed than myself to work.

Texting König about every single minute thing that came to my mind. And him doing the same.

I sent him a pic while I was out getting lunch with a colleague. And he sent me a pic while he was working out. I almost died right there and then.

Firstly, I never would have thought he would do a mirror selfie.

Secondly...

His hair put up in a haphazard way. Damp strands of it hanging down.

The tank top was a tight fit especially for him, showing off his arms. Sweat staining the front of it, the sheen of wetness on his skin...

The shorts. The sight of his burly thighs had me gripping my desk, trying to get a grip.

Thirdly, that goddamned smile. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing.

When I had calmed down, my fingers typed out a message in response.

Me: excuse me??? sir??? 🫠 👑: you are excused

He's gonna pay for that one.

When I came home from work, I thought it was eerily quiet in my apartment. Nobody else being here. I mean, I live alone and Mimi greeted me as always. But it seemed like was something off. Missing.

I thought back to when we got my stuff and König just waited patiently for me while I packed some clothes and other necessities. Petting Mimi, his whole attention on the little cat. His tall stature dwarfed my living room, and I was actually surprised he didn’t hit his head on the ceiling. The Morbid Angel logo on his shirt was hidden by the black furball purring against him. Mimi sitting on his chest, not a care in the world, meowing when she saw me.

But there was no 6'10'' giant waiting for me in the living room then.

I willed myself - even though my fingers itched - to not send him message about asking for him to pick me up or stay over at my place. I wanted to give him some space after I had his place under siege for what feel like an eternity, but realistically was just three days. And I managed fine yesterday, his goodbye kisses still lingering. Today, even with all of the messages we sent back and forth...

Can you miss somebody like that after knowing them for such a short time?

I knew that he most likely spent the whole evening at home. Alone. Because he likes being alone. Probably reading or listening to the new Trivium vinyl he bought that came in the mail yesterday. Or both.

I stayed home as well, playing games on my computer – I actually started up Counterstrike and tried to play some matches –, but my mind always wandered back to him. Mimi came running, pushing her head against my legs, demanding attention. I lifted her off the floor to set her onto my lap and didn't see the enemy which got me eliminated. The irony was not lost on me, as I thought back to our conversation. How worried he seemed with how I would perceive him when he talked about his work. And now I was sitting here, playing a shooter game to try and relax after work.

I shook my head, at the absurdity of it, and snapped a quick pic in between matches to send to him.

My phone ding-ed while I was in a match, and I tried to ignore it.

As soon as I got the chance though, I opened the message and he sent a picture back. From the waist down, a book on his lap, a beer on the table beside him. The wall of books in the background. The whole room dimly lit except for the opened pages.

God damn it, I just want to sit right next to him on that couch.

me: looking comfy, old man 👑: thank you, i am indeed very comfy 👑: brat

I chuckled to myself and played a few more rounds before I went to bed.

And now I'm here, tossing and turning in my bed, without the big guy right beside me.

I pull the chat up again. Looking at the pictures he sent me today.

me: u still awake? 👑: yes, everything okay? me: can't sleep 👑: me neither

While I'm still contemplating my next message, the crown lights up my phone as a caller ID. Surprise spreads through me for just a moment before I pick up.

Hi?

Hi. Uh, I hope it's okay that I just called.

Sure, I can't sleep anyways.

I ignore the little flutter in my stomach.

What is it? Something on your mind?

‘Yeah, you.’ is what I want to say.

No, just restless.

He sighs.

I feel that.

A little silence falls over us, just for a moment.

What was that game you played before?

Oh, uh- Counterstrike. I'm no good at it though.

He laughs.

Why do you play it then?

It's still fun, I guess. Even if I curse at the monitor like a goddamn sailor.

Oh, I couldn't imagine your sweet mouth doing something as filthy as that.

Yeah, yeah. We both know what kind of filthy things you're imagining with my mouth.

Maybe.

I can hear the grin on his face which makes me grin in return.

Have you ever played?

I never played, no. Don't want to spend my free time with...

He pauses.

Work.

Oh right, I understand, sorry. This must be weird then.

No, don't worry. I know that people play those games for fun.

Yeah, I know, still.

You gotta show me some time.

Really?

Yeah, why not.

Okay, then, I'll show you my shitty gameplay with pleasure.

Which makes us both laugh.

I gotta confess something.

What do you have to confess?

I already had my car keys in my hand.

You did?

Mhm. But then I remembered what you said yesterday morning, about needing to go home and you couldn't possibly stay any longer… and I understand if you need some space. So, I wasn't sure if you'd even open the door for me, if I knocked.

A moment of silence.

Can I confess something as well?

Sure.

I have been thinking all evening how fucking stupid that was of me. And I would've opened the door for you in an instant.

Another silence, this one a little heavier.

But a little smile stalks on my face, an idea of what to say next.

What would you do if you were here?

He chuckles.

Kiss that filthy mouth of yours. And then the top of your head because that's closest to your dirty mind.

What dirty mind?

Yeah, yeah, I see right through you, Fräulein.

I don't know what you're talking about.

No? So, you aren't thinking about me fucking you from behind right now? Or maybe about you spreading your legs and me eating you out, your delicious pussy right in my face? Or about my dick pushing into your mouth until you gag around it, hm?

I clear my throat.

Well, now I am for sure.

Good. Because I'm thinking about it as well.

König?

Yes, Liebes?

I- There's something that always helps me sleep better.

His voice deepens.

And what's that?

Oh, you already know.

I need to hear you say it. What do you want?

I hesitate, feeling a little shy now.

I want to come.

He groans.

Fuck, can't deny you if you ask so prettily.

The tone of his voice sends a little shiver down my spine, but I'm unsure what to say now, the words on the tip of my tongue.

What- what should I do?

I can tell you what I would do if I was there, and you can tell me how it feels, okay?

Okay.

Put the phone next to you and put me on speaker. You're gonna need both of those hands.

I do exactly as he tells me, lying back into my sheets.

You're on speaker.

Good. What are you wearing, sweetcheeks?

I giggle a little.

A shirt and panties.

Hmm, my favorite. I would get rid of your underwear in an instant though.

I laugh and follow his suggestion. I already noticed his disdain for underwear, on himself as well.

Then I would slowly push my hand up your shirt, feeling your soft skin.

Until I reach your breasts, squeezing them.

I do as he says, but it doesn't quite feel the same with my hands, compared to his bigger ones.

I would graze my thumb over your nipples, feeling them harden from my touch.

I'd like to lick them, bite them just lightly, until you squirm under me.

I pinch them, his words mixing with the sensations of my touch, until I softly sigh.

Feeling good?

Mhm.

The sound is more a moan than anything else.

My hand would slowly wander down, until I'm there, just were you want me.

I whimper when my fingers reach my clit, swollen and sensitive.

That bad, huh?

Well, somebody sent a picture of them all sweaty and hot after working out. And I still can't think straight, just thinking about that.

He laughs.

You say such nice things, Liebes.

What would you do next?

I know that I sound desperate. But I need more.

I’d move my hand just a little further down. Not pushing into you just yet. Just teasing. Softly stroking over your wet pussy.

I whine, needy, but I don't dare to stray from his order, getting myself worked up with the teasing touches.

Just feeling how fucking wet you are for me, before pushing my finger into you.

I push one of my fingers inside me, the one digit not nearly being enough.

Miss your fingers, they're bigger.

He hums. A soft erotic sound.

I suppose they are.

I’d add a second one, slowly moving inside you, just how you like it. Hitting that spot inside you that makes you moan and roll your eyes back. Just how I like it.

His voice is getting deeper, his breaths a little more labored, as he keeps talking which sends a shiver down my spine. Knowing that guiding me through it like that, hearing me sigh in response, does it for him as well lets a little smile form on my face.

I do as he says, but I also get a little frustrated, because my fingers can't quite reach like his, my hips squirming, desperate for more friction.

Need more.

I whine.

Okay, then. Brat.

I would flip you on your front, so I could look at your ass.

I can't help the little eyeroll, while a grin stalks onto my face.

But you aren't here, and you can't actually see my butt.

Pssscht, I'm imagining it just fine. Come on, turn around, do as I tell you.

And I do, the rustling of my sheets telling him as far.

Good.

Just this word alone, from his lips, does things to me.

Now, lift up your hips just a little and push your fingers in from behind.

I follow his instructions, lifting my ass, so I can reach a little better, two of my fingers slipping into my pussy. I groan a little bit.

How's that? A little deeper?

Yes.

I sigh.

Good. Now, put your other fingers on your clit.

I push my arm under my body, placing the hand, right between my legs. My fingertips are digging into the sensitive nub and I rub against them needily. I know now why he wanted me to reposition myself.

Oh fuck.

The sounds I’m making are telling him what he wants to know.

Just like that.

Move your hips, fuck yourself on your fingers.

And I do as he tells me, the touches getting me worked up fast, the pressure on my clit changing with every pass, while my fingers are pushing into my pussy.

Hmm, feeling good?

Yeah, just wish it was you inside me.

That little confession dropped out of me before I could think too hard about it.

Fuck, me too. I would bury my dick deep inside you. Fuck you from behind. Hard, just how you like it.

Remember how I fucked you into that bar counter?

How could I forget?

We need to do that again sometime... You took me so fucking perfectly.

I bite my lip, stifling the moans that get louder and louder, the images of us fucking spurring me on, while I finger-fuck myself.

I wanna hear you. Please.

My head turns in the direction of the phone again, making sure he gets to hear all the sounds that are dropping from my lips.

Good girl.

His praise washes over me and I almost choke up when the pull inside gets too much.

Close, so clo-

Fuck, yes. Come. That's what you wanted, isn't it?

The growl in his voice tips me over the edge, moving my hips frantically in search for more friction, when my orgasm crashes down over me.

My moans fill my bedroom, and surely find their way into the phone.

I can hear him groan as well, the sounds from the speaker sounding a lot like a slick hand moving up and down quickly.

Fuck, he’s jerking off too. That thought registers in my brain, before my fingers hit that spot inside me again. The zap of pleasure makes me shake, the waves of arousal washing over me, while my fingers strum over my clit.

Fuuuck…

A low breathy curse that escapes his lips as he comes as well.

Panting, mine and his from the speaker, is all I hear for the next moments.

I untangle myself, my fingers slipping out of me, turning onto my back again. Feeling my own wetness on my hands. I clean myself haphazardly before I grab the phone again.

That was… something else.

Yeah… you drive me crazy, you know that?

I’m still just breathing, trying to calm myself down. My god, I don’t think I ever came that hard with just my fingers inside me. The images he put in my mind… his deep soft voice alone. It does stuff to me. Hearing him say that... how I drive him crazy as well, it makes me all giddy inside.

I feel the familiar fuzzy feeling sweep over me, and I wish I could snuggle into him right now, after he made me come, and my hazy mind is still looking for the right thing to say now.

Feeling better now?

Yes, much better.

Sleepy, too?

Yes, that too. I always get a little sleepy afterwards.

I've noticed.

Like on cue, I yawn.

Thank you.

He chuckles again. And I don't think I'll ever get enough of that sound.

No need to thank me. I'll make you come any day of the week.

I- meant for calling, but that works too.

The grin on my face probably mirrors his, staring off into the distance with our phones pressed to the ear. And he's still not here next to me.

Gotta get myself under the shower, because I made a mess of myself again and I got nobody here to clean me up.

That makes me laugh, the joke and the filthy thought cutting through the sleepiness, when I'm yawning again.

You do that, can't have you all messy like that.

No, we can't.

I can hear the little filthy grin in his voice, and I can imagine how he must look like right now. Sitting on the couch or his bed. His dick still out, all messy and sticky with his cum. His hair hanging over the side of his face, as he relaxes into the cushions. And that god damn smirk of his.

Silence, just two little moments, before I ask what I wanted to ask.

Can you come over tomorrow?

Sure, Kleine, whatever you want.

Okay, good. Good night, König.

Good night, sleep well.

That's the last thing I hear before I drift off to sleep, still gripping my phone tight with my fingers.

next part: gaming with him or more stuff in the Masterlist ~

#metalhead!könig #she likes the dark #könig #könig cod #könig mw2 #konig #konig cod #konig mw2 #könig fanfiction #cod mw2 smut #könig smut #konig smut #cod smut #könig x reader #tw: age gap

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idrawfunkythings · 21 days ago

Text

DCAtober Day 30: Trick or Treat

Words: 1,500+ Summary: Halloween is here!

hi so i literally just remembered this was sitting half done in my drafts, and i think its cute so i'm posting it in january and you can't stop me!!!! also im lowkey procrastinating finishing chapter five of sunshine and nightlights so this works for me

Sun and Moon had been through many a Halloween at the daycare. Moon loved it - Sun, not so much. The kids would come in dressed in their itty bitty costumes, they’d spend the day doing crafts and meets with the Glamrocks, and they’d be sent home with a handful of candy. Unfortunately, the day always invited the extra chaos that had Sun’s wires tight with stress.

So it wasn’t like they were unfamiliar with the holiday.

However, when you had told Sun that you had to buy a bag of mixed chocolates during your biweekly grocery run, for the kids in your apartment block to come by and trick or treat, his rays had spun with such enthusiasm that a cool breeze had graced your face. Him and Moon had been more than happy to decorate the door with cobwebs and plastic spiders, and they’d even whipped up a costume for you with the clothes in your wardrobe.

You are currently sitting on the couch in said costume, Ash from Pokémon. Sun had given you your blue jeans, trainers, a white shirt and red cap, as well as a “vest” (an old blue tshirt he’s cut down the middle). He3giggled like a little kid when you’d emerged fully clothed, before telling you to wait outside and slamming the bedroom door.

You’re scrolling on Instagram, idly liking some posts that your friends from highschool had made showcasing their own outfits for the night, when Sun’s artificial noise of clearing his throat startles you and makes you look up.

“What do you think?” he asks proudly.

You think he looks adorable.

He’s in some Pikachu onesie that you’re 90% sure he got off of Facebook marketplace, judging by the worn condition, but somehow manages to fit his frame. His top rays have been retracted, leaving just the sides sticking out, reminding you of the Eggman logo from Sonic. You giggle to yourself.

“Sun, I choose you!” you say dramatically, grabbing a tennis ball from the coffee table (where Moon keeps it when he’s not bouncing it against a wall) and throwing it at Sun’s chest. He bobs down into a ball and springs forwards, tackling you and pinning you to the couch.

“Hey, you’re meant to fight for me!” you laugh, pushing his face away from yours. Sun shrugs, wiggling his fingers.

“Us Pokémon have decided to rise up against the opressive system of keeping us trapped until a human deigns us useful!” he declares, sitting back to gesture out to his imaginary audience. “No longer can you enslave us, we shall now be free!”

“Don’t Pokémon like their trainers, and get a nice and cushy house out of the deal?” you try, but Sun covers your mouth with a hand and waggles a finger.

“Silence, human! Now, I will electrocute you!”

Instead of actually frying you to a crisp, Sun tickles you until you’re a mess of laughs and gasps begging for mercy. When he finally stops, you collapse back on the couch.

“Oh, Pikachu, thank you for sparing me. However can I repay you?’

Sun tilts his head, pretending to think. “Maybe you could do us the favour of opening the door for the trick or treaters?”

“What tr-” you’re cut off by the doorbell ringing, and the muffled giggles of children. “You and your freaky thermal vision.”

“We prefer to call it useful, but that works too!” Sun bounds off of the couch, swiping the bowl of candy from the bench in the kitchen and waiting patiently at the door for you. “Whenever you’re ready, darling.”

Heat rises to your cheeks, and you roll your eyes at him. “You are perfectly capable of opening a door on your own,” you say, even as you get up and turn the handle.

Instantly, three small children jump forwards, pillowcases raised in greeting. “Trick or treat!”

Sun holds a hand to his chest and gasps. “Oh my goodness, you scared me! What big teeth you all have!”

The children beam even wider. They’re all dressed as vampires, with itty bitty fangs and capes. The one in the middle, a kid of about four, has his hair slicked back like Draco Malfoy in Harry Potter. You pretend to cower behind Sun.

“Oh, please don’t bite me! I’m scared of vampires!”

The oldest, a little girl with pigtails, laughs loudly. “We won’t bite you, it’s just a costume!” She pulls off her fangs to prove it. “See?”

“You look very convincing as a vampire,” Sun says seriously. “Now, I’m sure I have some candy around here. Ah! Do you children like broccoli?”

The three all scrunch up their faces. “NO!”

Sun facepalms. “Silly me! Here, I’ve got some chocolate bars for you. Don’t take too many, other kids will be coming by soon!”

Once the treats have all been doled out, the kids wave enthusiastically. “Happy Halloween!” Just around the corner, you can see their parents watching them, clearly wanting to let them have a chance to feel independant but still making sure they’re safe. You wave to them, and they smile back.

The rest of the evening goes exactly as planned. When kids come past, Sun compliments their costume and does some funny act to make them laugh, then lets them choose some candy. It’s only the kids in your apartment block, all somewhat familiar faces, but you can see how Sun lights up with each new child.

After a pair of twins dressed as Mabel and Dipper from Gravity Falls (you gave them extra candy for the Grunkle Stan they had chaperoning them) you shut the door tentatively. “Sun… would you and Moon want to work with kids again?”

Sun freezes for a moment, and that ever present panic that they’ve overheated blooms, but he speaks as you’re about to ask if he’s okay. “We… we would love to.”

“Maybe you should.” You point at the door. “I’ve seen how much you miss them.”

Sun holds his hands anxiously. “Robots are not very acceptable as child carers outside of Fazbear, I’m afraid.”

“Who knows? Animatronics have been gaining more rights lately - it’s worth a try, right?”

“We…” Sun trails off, and you’re both interrupted by another trick or treater. Before you open the door, you cast a glance to him.

“Think about it, okay?”

Sun jumps right into his routine when he greets the child, and you don’t bring it up again when they leave.

At 7 o’clock, trick or treating is well and truly over. You bid Sun goodnight and flip off the switches, not at all surprised when metal arms encircle you the moment it’s dark.

“Hi, Moonie,” you say, leaning back against his chest. “Miss me?”

“I always do,” he says quietly, pressing his faceplate to the top of your head. “Nice costume.”

“Oh, you like it?” you twist out of his grip, ready to show off your look, and gasp excitedly. “Moon! You look adorable!”

From his face you can see that is not what he was going for, but you don’t know how else to describe the sight of him in a Snorlax onesie. Yellow peeks out from inside, which you suspect means Sun’s original outfit is reversible.

“Brat,” Moon mutters, but he’s smiling. “Not going to try catch me?”

You shake your head. “I firmly believe in the rights of any non human creatures and that they do not deserve to be kept in inhumane conditions for my convenience.”

It took a lot of effort to keep from stumbling over the words, but it’s worth it to hear Moon’s laugh. He pokes your chest. “Too much time with Sunny. My turn.”

“Well, I’ve heard that on Halloween the best thing to do is snuggle up close and watch scary movies,” you say casually, walking past him and flopping onto the couch. “And if a movie gets too scary, I might need someone to cuddle me and stave off the nightmares.”

Moon looks around the apartment and sighs synthetically. “I guess since no one else is here, I can take on that burden.”

“You’re so noble.” You move over so he has more space, but yelp in surprise when he picks you up by your hips to settle you in his lap. He shrugs.

“Just doing my job.” He pulls a blanket out from the basket by the couch and covers you up, starting up a faint heat within his body. “What are we watching?”

“Hmmm.” You fumble for the remote. “Nightmare on Elm Street?”

Moon makes a face.

“Scream?”

He eyes you in disappointment.

“Hey, these are good movies!” you protest. “Fine, you pick.”

Moon’s eyes flicker, indicating that he’s scanning lists of movies to pick one. When his eyes settle back to their red glow, he grins. “Coraline?”

“Really? I didn’t think you’d be a fan.”

“Sun says it looks good.”

“Oh, well if Sun says.”

Moon flicks your head. “Brat. Put the movie on.”

“Okay, okay! Doing it now!” you pull up the film and lean back into Moon’s chest. “Happy Halloween, Snorlax.”

He laughs quietly and presses his mouth against your head. “Happy Halloween, star.”

#hahaha its totally october 30th right guys #right #pretend this was posted on time #um take it as a new year's gift #dcatober24 #my writing #fnaf security breach #fnaf sb #fnaf sun #fnaf daycare attendant #fnaf moon #fnaf #fnaf fic

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laswells-ashtray · 2 months ago

Note

I'm so sorry if I'm clogging your inbox but I'm nothing but a hyperactive gal with chronic brain rot

Domestic Kate Laswell?

Domestic Kate Laswell who gets into not-so-quiet arguments with household appliances.

Domestic Kate Laswell who sits at the kitchen table and doomscrolls while her wife makes a recipe she saw on Instagram reels.

Domestic Kate Laswell in ratty lounge clothes with her hair pulled in a tangled ponytail, somehow holding a cat, book, and a bag of Lays.

I saw Kate Laswell and immediately knew what I had to do. Not apologising for this, I like Laswell posting so it's gonna be long. Also, when it comes to Station Chief Kate "I love my wife" Laswell, there is no clogging my inbox.

Kate Laswell, the esteemed woman she is routinely argues with their toaster because it's broken but she refuses to get a new one because it was the first ever appliance she bought herself. She and her wife have the money to purchase hundreds of new toasters but she refuses because this one is her toaster. Sarah Laswell has walked into their kitchen on multiple occasions to find Kate talking to this fucking toaster. "You under-toast the bread and then you over-toast the bread. Just toast my fucking bread correctly." "Let's get a new-" "No."

Kate, who has a Pinterest board full of recipes that she thinks Sarah might like to try and she'll send them to her wife only to find that it's the same recipe from the Instagram reel that Sarah had bookmarked last night. So, now she sits and watches videos about behind-the-scenes facts from movies while Sarah argues with herself about how much garlic is too much garlic.

Kate, who spends her day off on the couch with Minnie, their Maine Coon, on her lap with a book resting on Minnie's back and a bag of chips held between her chest and the cat. She's wearing sweatpants that are so old she can't identify what logo used to be on the leg. Her shirt is definitely Sarah's because there's green paint around the collar and it matches the green in the painting above their mantel.

Kate Laswell, who can routinely be heard threatening to put one of her cats in the soup. What soup, you ask? The soup.

Kate, who very `begrudgingly` agrees to let Sarah buy the cat Halloween costumes. And then days later sends John a series of photos. Minnie, their big, glorious, sophisticated girl, is dressed like a hotdog. Borris, her favourite grumpy old man, has a stupid Dracula cape. Dolly, has on a costume that makes her look like Yoda. And John's favourite of their cats, Dot, the little mold spore has tiny ladybug wings because they were the only thing small enough to fit her. Kate makes a photo of the four cats and Sarah her laptop wallpaper. John makes a photo of Dot in her tiny wings his phone wallpaper.

Kate Laswell, the professional woman who after having spent 26 hours awake sits and scrolls through Facebook one night on Sarah's phone. Except she doesn't actually look at any of the posts, she just sits scrolling with her thumb for ten minutes before she realises what she's been doing. Sarah waits until after she's tucked her wife in to lose it laughing in the other room.

Kate and her wife who parallel play on their phone. They'll sit on the couch with a movie they've seen countless times in the background while Kate plays solitaire and Sarah does her daily word search on her favourite app.

Kate, who does that thing I've noticed literally every woman do when they're on the phone at home and they start doodling in the corner of the nearest bit of paper. It starts as squiggles, then they draw black circles and eventually there are various little flowers scattered across the page.

Kate, who absolutely adores the movie 9 to 5 and will throw it on whenever everything in her job starts to become a bit too suffocating. Sarah recognises the action and immediately orders dinner from their local Thai place. The man who owns it knows the two by name, she doesn't have to order, she just has to call up and she hears "it'll be about half an hour" over the phone. More often than not on those days they'll fall asleep on the couch together like they did at the start of their relationship.

Kate and her wife, who like to make gingerbread cookies at Christmas and decorate them. Sarah is amazing at it when she's not giving the gingerbread ladies gumdrop titties. And then there's Kate, she tries, she genuinely does but every year a photo of her gingerbread folks gets sent to a group chat with her, Sarah, John and Nikolai where they are subsequently body-shamed beyond belief. She saves some for Nik anyway and he accepts them gratefully.

Kate and her beloved blue shirt that she wears to work and owns three of because the first one mysteriously disappeared. Coincidentally, Sarah started baking in the kitchen in nothing but a pale blue shirt and Batman underwear around the same time. Her second has a blood stain on the cuff from where John had grabbed her, not knowing his palm was sliced open and he'd stained the light material with blood. He had felt horrible, Kate brought up the time she'd drunkenly thrown up on a pair of his nice shoes years ago when they were younger and more reckless. They moved on. That shirt is now her "Sarah has roped me into helping paint" shirt. If anyone fucks up her last shirt then she's asking Nikolai, John and Sarah separately all to get her a new one for her birthday so she'll have a decent stock of them.

Sarah, who has to keep a stock of Dr Pepper and Mountain Dew in the fridge because Dr Pepper is her favourite and Mountain Dew is Kate's but the other woman would never admit it or buy it for herself because she's weirdly embarrassed by it. But amongst a very small group of people, it is common knowledge, Station Chief Kate Laswell's favourite drink is Mountain Dew.

And lastly:

Kate Laswell, the woman who once snapped a man's neck with his own gun, is also the woman who loves her wife's family. When they get asked to babysit baby Katie [named after Laswell], the two women agree before the question is even half out of the relative's mouth. In fact, you're right, they should keep baby Katie for the night just to give her parents a night off because they're kind like that. No other reason. And this little girl adores her aunts, if Kate is near then the toddler is by her side clinging to her pant leg.

So, they go shopping and get snacks. They also get baby Katie a new stuffed elephant because she really needed one and who were they to deprive her. Then they go home and change into their respective comfy clothes. Katie's is a little shark onesie and the two women take no less than 19 photos. They spend the day drawing pictures with little Katie, and eventually, it results in the toddler colouring in Sarah's tattoos and drawing Kate some of her own. Eventually, they order some takeout from their local Chinese place and watch Zootopia with their favourite niece. Hours later Sarah takes a photo of big Kate fast asleep on the couch with little Kate asleep on her chest. Kate has an arm around the little girl and the toddler has a fistful of her t-shirt. The next day they very reluctantly take their niece home but not without managing to persuade her parents to let them take her in two weeks time again.

#kate laswell #laswell cod #laswell mw2 #laswells wife #call of duty laswell #kate laswells wife #captain john price #cod nikolai #nikprice #kate her wife and their cats are americas happiest family #i mightve went nuts just a little bit #oc: sarah laswell

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lanawinterscigarettes · 2 months ago

Note

I loved what you did with the last one so here we go again with the try-and-fit-as-many-as-you-can-in prompt! 4 Clothing prompts and a one word prompt

- Clara (my Clara - sorry had to make an 11 reference)

- Fem Reader

- ³⁷⁾ a white lace bralette

- ³⁴⁾ doctor’s scrubs

- ²³⁾ a loose graphic t-shirt (bonus points if the person wearing it isn’t wearing a bra underneath and it’s practically hanging off their shoulder as if it couldn’t be more obvious that they’re not wearing a bra - although this point is optional)

- ⁵⁾ a borrowed hoodie

- Word: ²⁵⁷) denial

Have fun!

- ⭐️

this one was a bit trickier than the last I'll admit but I'm nothing if not determined so I managed to make it work! I really hope you like it <3

original prompt lists are here and here for those who are curious btw

Doctor's Office (Clara Oswald x fem reader)

Warnings: SMUT, light nipple play, vaginal fingering (reader receiving), light praise kink, roleplay (Clara pretends to be a doctor with the reader as her patient), both the reader and Clara are teases to each other here, orgasm denial

You were so grateful for the TARDIS and it's ability to make any random room appear in it as you wished, because otherwise how would you ever be able to make your appointment with "Doctor Oswald"?

The room you were in certainly did the job of looking like a real doctor's office, complete with the sterile smell and fluorescent lighting. You were already sitting on the exam table when the door opened, displaying none other than Clara herself. Her hair was pulled back into a loose ponytail and she was wearing doctor's scrubs while carrying a clipboard.

"Good afternoon. I'm Doctor Oswald. You must be my next patient, yes?" Her voice was bright and chipper, her smile friendly and inviting. If you didn't know any better, you'd think she was a real doctor, though you both knew that wasn't the case.

"That's right. I'm in for my standard check-up." It took everything in you not to start giggling, and you could tell she was struggling to stay in character the same way you were.

"Well, then," she cleared her throat, doing her best to wipe the smile off her face. "Take off your hoodie and lie back for me, will you?"

Ah, yes. The hoodie. Technically it was Clara's, an oversized one with her university's logo on it that she used to sleep in, but it was so comfy you couldn't help but steal it every now and then. You were well aware of just how much she loved seeing you wear it, so naturally that was your choice which it came to getting dressed for your "appointment".

"Of course, Doctor. Whatever you say." Upon slipping off the hoodie, the loose graphic t-shirt you had on beneath it was revealed to her, one that hung off the shoulder and made it quite clear you weren't wearing a bra.

She was utterly speechless, her brown eyes widened into large chocolate colored orbs at the sight. You had to clear your throat just to get her attention.

"Is there a problem, Doctor Oswald?" You innocently asked, a feigned look of confusion on your face. She knew you were purposely acting coy, that much was certain, but she had to play along.

"Not at all. Let me, um- let me just get on my gloves, and we can begin, alright?" She set down the clipboard onto the counter and put on a pair of plastic surgical gloves before approaching you. "Lay back for me."

You did as she said, allowing her to feel you up- I mean, give you a check up. Her gloved hands brushed all over your body, moving from your hips to your waist to your torso and then back down again. Her hands casually slipped under the hem of your shirt, caressing the area near your belly button before she retreated again.

"I'm going to grab my stethoscope, you just lay there like a good girl for me, okay?"

A shiver went down your spine at her gentle order, leaving behind a tingly feeling in its wake. You'd be good for her, of course you would. You were quite the obedient little patient.

Putting on the stethoscope, she then placed the piece that was supposed to hear your heartbeat on the center of your chest, right between where your breasts were. You weren't entirely certain if it was real, but given just how quickly your pulse was racing you really hoped it wasn't.

She moved the piece around a few times before casually pulling up your shirt so that your breasts were exposed, your nipples hardening almost immediately due to the cold air. You tried to remain calm and relaxed despite everything in your body telling you to pull her in for a sloppy and passionate kiss.

Her thumb grazed over one of the perky buds as she continued to "listen to your heartbeat", something you couldn't tell if she was really doing or not. After a moment or so, she switched hands, the other now holding the piece belonging to the stethoscope over your chest as her now free hand had the opportunity to give your other nipple a light, playful pinch. How dare she tease you like that when you were trying so hard to stay still.

Finally, she was done, something that had you feeling both disappointed and relieved. She pull your shirt back down as she took her stethoscope off and put it back in its proper place. "Well, your heart sounds good. Perhaps I should check something different next?"

"Perhaps, yeah," you suggested eagerly in response, still laying back on the exam table. "I'm a little behind on getting my pelvic exam done, maybe you could do it for me?"

That was something she hadn't expected you to suggest at all, but she couldn't necessarily say she disliked the idea. "Well, according to your chart info, you are a bit overdue. Let's just give it a little check, shall we?"

You nodded your head, unzipping your pants and letting her help you shimmy them down to your ankles before doing the same with your underwear. It was hard not to feel a little exposed, but you trusted Clara implicitly.

She sat down on the small stool and grabbed a bottle of lube from the drawer of the desk before wheeling back over to you, dolloping a good amount on her gloved fingers while she spoke. "Now, this might feel a tad bit uncomfortable, but I just want you to try to relax and stay still for me, okay?"

"Yes, ma'am," you replied immediately at her words, which made her smile. The power and control she had in this situation was addicting to her, there was no doubt about it.

"Good girl." She carefully inserted her fingers, slowly pushing them in about halfway before checking on you. "How does that feel, love? You doing alright?"

"Y- Yeah," you muttered in response, feeling your walls already begin to clench around her fingers on instinct. "I- I'm doing okay."

"Good, good. That means I can continue." She adjusted her doctor's coat with her free hand, unbuttoning it slightly so that the top of her white lace bralette was visible. "Just keep laying back for me."

A barely audible moan was pulled from you when her fingers moved in a little deeper. The position you were in on the exam table gave you a good vantage point of the way her breasts looked in the bra she was wearing, which did nothing but arouse you even more.

You were getting closer now. You could feel as the coil in your stomach got wound tighter and tighter, almost about to pop- And then she pulled her fingers out all the way.

"Well, I'd say that successfully concludes our session for the day," she casually stated while standing up from the stool and removing her gloves before dropping them in a bin nearby. "If you have any follow-up questions, please don't hesitate to make another appointment."

Follow-up questions. Oh, you certainly had some, alright. "Yeah, thanks," you grumbled while watching her go, your pants still pulled down to around your ankles as you laid on the exam table.

She was definitely going to pay for that, big time.

End notes: dedicated to star anon obviously 🫶 I hope you weren't too frustrated by the ending haha

Likes < reblogs | comments are greatly appreciated | requests are currently open

Main masterlist | Doctor Who masterlist | wanna be added to my taglist?

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#doctor who #doctor who imagine #doctor who x reader #doctor who fic #doctor who smut #clara oswald #clara oswald imagine #clara oswald x reader #clara oswald fic #clara oswald smut #fem reader #x fem reader #doctor who x fem reader #clara oswald x fem reader

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sleekervae · 1 year ago

Text

New York Romantic .3

Masterlist

pairing: Tom Blyth x ballerina!oc

summary: hotdogs in central park

word count: 3441

taglist: @watercolorskyy @carolanns-world @alana4610

October was always an exciting period in New York. The brownstones were decorated top to bottom in thick spiderwebs, glowing skeletons and some of the most incredibly carved jack-o-lanterns one could find. The air had picked up a distinctive chill and many people's denim jackets and summer shorts had been traded for thicker-lined coats and scarves.

And of course with the turning of the seasons came midterms, written essays and memorized monologues that had to hit emotion, rhythm, believability, and of course, a time limit. While Tom had spent his evenings memorizing his lines, Noelle was busy practicing her combinations. She wouldn't come home until seven or eight at night as opposed to her usual four-thirty. Dragging herself through the hallway, bleary-eyed and exhausted, she could discern the sound of preaching through the paper-thin walls. Tom's voice stood out distinctly, booming and self-assured, a stark contrast to his usual timid and bashful demeanour.

Because midterms never held back, Tom was curious when one of his professors instructed them to come in loose-fitting, easy-to-move-in clothing. Their next lesson was on movement, and they were to have the honour of having some training from the second year ballerinas.

Tom picked out a simple t-shirt and some baggy, grey joggers, he felt more like he was on his way to the gym than he was school. He found Sunny was already up, munching on a bowl of frosted flakes while he watched some YouTube videos on his phone. He looked up curiously when Tom walked in, noting his baggy attire.

Tom threw his hands out at his sides, giving a listless shrug, "How do I look?" he asked.

Sunny shrugged back, "Like you should be asking for pennies on the street corner," he replied.

Tom glowered at him, "Are you serious?"

"Well, you don't look professional!" Sunny replied honestly, "Unless that's the assignment, today?"

He shook his head, "We're learning about movement with the ballerinas,"

Sunny stifled a laugh, "You're gonna learn ballet dance?"

"Not ballet, just movement. Posture and stuff,"

Sunny shook his head, "Well, you can't go like that," he scoffed.

"Why not?" Tom asked, glancing down at his outfit, "They just said loose and easy to move in,"

His roommate stood from the table and started for the hall, "There's a difference between easy to move in and wearing your pyjamas to school," and he disappeared into his room, "How tall are you?" he called suddenly.

"Six feet. Six one, maybe?" Tom shrugged back.

Not a moment later Sunny returned with a pair of black training pants. He unfolded them before his eyes, the crisp white Adidas logo on the pant immediately catching Tom's attention before he focused in on the rest of the look.

"Here, I wear these for football. Freshly washed," he tossed them to Tom, and he barely caught them at his chest.

"Are you sure?" he gawked back.

"Sure I'm sure. You wanna' make a good impression for the ballerinas, right?" he patted Tom's shoulder before taking his seat again at the table.

Tom's brows furrowed, "I'm not -- I'm not gonna' be scouting for a girlfriend, if that's what you mean," he said.

"I know, but still -- give them a reason to remember you... that's not those trousers, anyway," he replied simply.

"What's wrong with these?" Tom cried, somewhat defiantly.

"You look like a chav who just finished up at his nine-to-five and's about to settle in for a twelve hour GTA marathon," Sunny explained, "Trust me, mate,"

Tom changed into the training pants nonetheless, and he had to admit they made him look way less baggy than before. With that, he grabbed his notes and bag, his jacket, and was out the door in a split.

"Come in! Come in, everyone! Come have a seat!" the professor for the ballet's morning class, an older man with a moderate Eastern European accent, bellowed out to the acting students as they filed into the studio space. It was a gorgeous, large room with wall-to-wall mirrors, all accept for the window space that overlooked the bustling Manhattan streets below.

Jordan, a twenty-year-old first year acting student, had been bellyaching all morning to Tom about how ridiculous this all seemed. He was nice enough, but he had a proclivity for complaining.

"This is so dumb," he grumbled, falling into line with the others, "They're gonna laugh at us,"

Tom glowered at him, "They're not gonna laugh. We're just here to learn," he whispered back.

"Learn to do what, Swan Lake?" he scoffed.

"Would you just relax, please?" Tom grumbled back.

"We could be doing our monologues, right now," Jordan pointed out.

Tom simply shook his head and remained silent, sitting cross-legged against the mirror as the others filed in. The ballerinas were already here, clumped in their groups and sneaking glances at the actors. A handful of girls and guys, statuesque, lithe, adorned in shiny black leotards, tights, and some of them had leg warmers on. Among them was Noelle, sitting in the corner with Bianca and another dancer while she laced up her pointe shoes.

"Oh look, your ramen buddy's here," Bianca muttered. Noelle caught Tom's eyes when she glanced up, that dazzling, gentle smile pulling at her lips and she gave him a wave. Tom smiled and waved back subtly.

Their friend, Iseul, scanned the faces, "Which one?" she asked.

"The one who looks like he's shitting his pants,"

"They all look that way,"

Noelle rolled her eyes, "Would you guys keep it down?" she muttered.

Jordan spotted the small interaction from the corner of his eye, "You two friends?" he asked.

"She's my neighbour," Tom replied simply.

"You lucky bastard,"

Noelle quickly got to her feet as her instructor, Stanis, began to debrief the actors, "You originally came here to learn about acting. How to show character, evoke emotions, but a major part of theatre is how you use your body to show, not tell. Just like in a good book, you become much better story tellers when your body reflects pain, joy, agony," the man paced slowly across the studio, his hands flourishing with every exaggerated word. The dancers stood at the ballet bar behind him, casually leaning, watching, handful of eyes were passing over the doe-eyed first years some with boredom, some with intrigue.

Jordan leaned over to Tom, whispering, "Is he a ballet instructor or a high school teacher?" he was referring to Stanis' moppy jeans, beaten sneakers and band shirt. Tom hushed him.

"Of course it's impossible to exhibit any of these emotions if you're stiff," he straightened his posture but stood as still as a statue, "Or if you look bored," he slouched outwardly, posing like a delinquent teenager outside a convenience shop, "Or you look like a geek --" he hunched his back and pulled his shoulders in, making his limbs stuff.

A couple students tittered behind him.

"Now, obviously I am a ballet teacher, I am not a theatre teacher. But some of the key principles of dance are posture awareness, balance, coordination, spatial awareness, and physically expressing your emotion. These are principles utilized in ballet, and these are principles you will need if you hope to -- quote-on-quote -- break out in the industry," a hand went up from the end of the actors' group, "You there! Kip Dynamite!" Stanis called on him.

The attention turned to 'Kip', a lanky boy with thin hair and glasses, "I just wanted to ask -- are we expected to learn actual dances? Not many of us have any experience," his squeaking voice traversed the room.

Stanis chuckled, "Don't you worry, I don't expect you to performing grand jetes. You will however be learning these principles over the course of your studies," he explained, "Today we will start with the basics. Everyone please take up a position at the bar. Don't be shy!"

The actors took up spots along the bars against the mirrors. Jordan however raised his hand. Stanis nodded to him, "Ichabod Crane! You have a question?"

Jordan's face twisted momentarily, not quite sure how to respond to the nickname as he spoke up, "I don't mean any disrespect -- but why are they here?" he pointed to the ballet students.

Stanis shrugged simply, "To laugh at you, of course," he replied. Whatever little confidence Tom was struggling to hold on to, figuring there was no way in hell he was being serious. Luckily, Stanis began to chuckle, "No, no. They will be helping you. Directing your posture, your form, and I gave them permission to kick you if you're doing it wrong," he smirked.

"He's joking!" one of the dancers called, sensing the fear within some of the actors.

Stanis ignored her comment, instead he turned to his students, skimming them one by one until he settled on, "Bianca! Come be our przykład!"

The acting students glanced between each other, though Bianca didn't bat an eye as she stepped forward. Her expression was different from when Tom first met her, she had a little more get up in her step, more sparkle in her eye. That being said, her smile was a little too stiff.

"Assume first position," he directed, and Bianca did just that; shoulders back and head poised high, "Now, in this position our heels are touching and knees are squeezed together. Your bottom is also squeezed. First position improves awareness and control in your body, imbues confidence; you essentially feel like you have a string pulling you up. For some of you I imagine this may be the first time you've ever held a proper posture like this,"

He then turned to the actors, "Now, keep your right hand on the bar and assume first," and they did as they were told. Some had more poise than the others, some were loose in their arms or hunched in their shoulders, "My little soldier ants will be coming around to silently judge -- I mean help you,"

The ballerinas came around, some shyer at the approach then others, while Stanis continued to have Bianca demonstrate positions and stretches.

"When we warm up on the bar, we bend our knees into a demi plie, really focus on that plumb line being brought down from your crotch and between your heels, making sure your butt's not sticking out like a chicken," he too paced around the room, inspecting his new pupils one by one, "Keep your shoulders stacked over your hips. I'm talking to you, Kip!"

Tom followed along as best he could, he wasn't the worst but he certainly wasn't the best. He kept his eyes focused ahead, following along to Bianca's changing positions, but now and again his vision wandered to the rest of his classmates.

Jordan was two students ahead of him, and he was as stiff as stiff could be. When the female ballerinas walked by especially. It was then Tom realized why he was so opposed to this in the first place: he was trying to look cool in front of them.

Out of the corner of his eye he spotted Noelle making her rounds. He tried to keep his form as best as he could, realizing that he was suddenly no better than Jordan in the moment. Noelle approached him with curiosity in her eyes, hands clasped behind her back as she inspected.

"Hey,"

"Hi," she admired his dedication to try, but she could tell from his tight grin, his stiff eyes that he was a little uncomfortable, "You doing okay?"

"I'm great," he nodded, "Your instructor seems like fun,"

Noelle simpered, "He's got a zany sense of humour. You get used to it after a while," she said, "You ever do dance before?"

Tom shook his head, "Not as much as I should've," he replied with a sheepish grin, "How bad is it?"

Noelle stood back and looked him over, all in all she thought he wasn't doing too terribly, "Push your chest out," she told him, "And bring your toes in a little more. You'll have better balance when you bend down,"

He did as she told him and she nodded in approval, "Way better. You won't feel as much strain in your arches now,"

"Thanks," he smiled at her.

"No problem. You got any questions?" she asked.

Tom mulled it over, the exercises were the last thing on his mind though. He glanced down at her pointe shoes, the satin a pearly pink and the heels peeking out from under her long leg warmers.

"I have one,"

"Shoot,"

"When you stand in your shoes, are you fully on your toes?" he asked, chuckling, "Sorry -- is that weird?"

"Not at all," she shook her head, stepping before him and placing a hand on the bar, "My feet are fully vertical, no pressing," she pushed herself up on her toes, her long legs perfectly straight and with hardly any shake. It was such a simple move and she made herself look so elegant at the same time. They were just about at eye level.

Tom cocked a brow, "Doesn't that hurt, though?" he asked.

"No. If you stand a long time then they cramp a little but... ya know," Noelle stepped back and forth to make her point, " -- And I gain a couple inches,"

Tom gave a little smirk back, pushing up on his toes and towering over her again. Noelle scoffed and gently smacked his arm as she dropped back on her heels, "Dickhead," to which he only laughed like a rascally child. Her skin tingled at the sound, she picked off how his eyes crinkled and his chest shuddered.

"Noelle!" Stanis suddenly called for her, garnering their and everyone's attention, "Are we giving a pointe lesson today?" he asked, a snide smirk playing at his lips.

Noelle smiled politely, giving a simple shake of the head, "Just previewing what's to come," she replied. Tom simpered beside her.

Another student piped up, "Wait -- are we gonna have to wear those shoes?"

"No, no. It was just a joke," Stanis assured him, "But if anyone slouches or slacks off today, they're going to be laced up and have to work on a solo for next class!" that statement seemed to light a little more fire under Jordan.

Tom's legs burned a little more than what he was expecting, his walk was a little stiffer and his face contorted when he had to go up some stairs. Noelle walked beside him, virtually unscathed by the warm ups and practices from the morning class. She watching him move with a little concern.

"Are you sure you're okay?" she held the door open for him as they exited the campus, eager to get some lunch.

"Yeah, I'm fine," he replied, "Haven't done that much bending since... well I don't know," he shrugged listlessly.

"The more you practice the better you'll feel. Like with any workout," she assured him, "What do you want for lunch?"

Some good food was sure to cheer him up, and he hadn't really had a sustaining breakfast either. He wondered it momentarily, glancing around at the plethora of signs for cafes, sandwich shops, and hot dogs stands. In fact there was one right on the corner, vending just a block away from the gates of Central Park.

"Would I be a terrible person for suggesting a hot dog?" he asked.

Noelle's eyes went wide, "Have you not tried an nyc hot dog yet?" he shook his head with a knowing grin, "Well, c'mon then!"

Fifteen minutes later they'd found a little bench to park themselves up, bags disregarded on the cold cement beneath them as they unwrapped their foil-lined lunches. Tom opted to get the typical New York style dog with mustard and onions, while Noelle just stuck with relish on hers.

"Now -- you gotta promise not to tell my dance instructor, or my classmates, or even Bianca. Because I will be strung up for eating this," she looked at him with a point of pure earnest, leading Tom to panic for a moment.

"Wait -- if this is gonna ruin your regimen or anything --" he stumbled over his words, but Noelle began to laugh.

"I'm kidding! Relax," she patted his shoulder and he settled, "Besides, what is the point to life if you deprive yourself of all the good things it has to offer? Like cat-meat hot dogs," she spoke just as Tom was about to take a bite of his, pausing momentarily and side-eyeing her hard. She was trying to stop herself from laughing.

"Eat your fucking hot dog," he grumbled before chowing down. The meat was perfectly salted and the mustard tangy, the sweetness of the onions and bun cut the edge off of the pure sodium bite.

"Sorry," she giggled, taking a bite of her own. This was the first time she'd ever heard him swear and she wasn't mad about it.

Tom simpered back, "Have you ever eaten anything really weird? Like totally weird? No one would ever think it should exist?" he asked.

Noelle mulled it over, her pink lips pursed and her brows furrowed, "Balsamic vinegar on vanilla ice cream," she decided.

Tom gawked at her, "No!"

"Yeah," she nodded bashfully.

"On purpose?"

"... Kinda," she shrugged, "There's this fancy shmancy restaurant in Soho that has it with strawberries for a ridiculous price, and Bianca and I thought -- what's the big deal?"

"... And what was the verdict?" he asked curiously.

"It's actually really good," she admitted with another giggle.

Tom refrained from making a face, "But it's dairy and vinegar! Wouldn't it curdle together?" he asked.

"I don't know, but it's kinda' good," she replied.

"So, we've gone from 'really good' to 'kinda' good'. I'm not convinced," he smirked.

Noelle rolled her eyes, "Okay smart-ass, next time you come over I'll make it for you," she decided.

"I don't eat desserts,"

"Since when?"

"Since forty-five seconds ago,"

"Oh, please," she shook her head, "Alright, what about you: weirdest thing you ever ate?" his lips curled up, menacing and eager to spill what she only could perceive as some sort of harrowing secret, "What?"

"You're not ready," he told her.

"No, no, I'm ready," she assured him, "What was it?"

Tom didn't even have to think about it, "My mum used to make mashed potato sandwiches," he admitted.

She cocked a brow, "Mashed potato sandwiches? Like -- wait, really?" she set her hotdog in her lap and rested her chin in her palm, intrigued to learn more.

"Yeah, she's psychopathic," he nodded, trying not to laugh himself, "Mashed potatoes -- usually from a packet -- scooped between two slices of bread and some butter. And when she was feeling a little fancy, she'd put mayo on it,"

"Nooo, shut up!" Noelle gaped, "Was it good?"

"It was bread and mashed potatoes, of course it was good!" he laughed, "It was her comfort food, believe it or not,"

"That sounds very comforting," she giggled with disbelief, "Oh, bless her heart! Okay -- if I go to England, I'll visit you, I'll meet your mom, and I'll try a mashed potato sandwich,"

"You got a deal, then," he raised his hand and they shook on it, "You can bring her balsamic vinegar and ice cream and have her throw you out of the house,"

"And why would I want to disrespect your mom in her own home?" she teased back.

"Just forewarning you," he smirked back. She liked that he was opening up to her a bit more, his louder side was coming through and his quirky personality was beginning to shine through.

"How gentlemanly of you," she simpered.

Tom knocked her shoulder with his, growing increasingly at ease in her company with each passing moment. He wasn't an idiot, he could recognize that his feelings for her were starting to spark into a small crush. He found himself hanging off every word she spoke, every time she moved her hair behind her ear or she always found something new or intriguing to talk about. His stomach was flipping at every enthusiastic giggle and reaction he got out of her. It was as if her enthusiasm had a magnetic pull, leaving him captivated by her every word and gesture. The way her eyes lit up and her laughter bubbled forth filled him with an intoxicating blend of excitement and nervousness. His heart raced in sync with her infectious energy, and with each positive response he evoked from her, a cascade of warmth flooded through him, leaving an indelible imprint of happiness amidst the fluttering sensations in his stomach.

#tom blyth #tom blyth x reader #coriolanus snow imagine #coriolanus snow fanfiction #coriolanus x reader #coriolanus imagine #coriolanus fanfiction #tbosas #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #the hunger games the ballad of songbirds & snakes #the hunger games x reader #original story #original character #original series #imagine blog

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chetchad · 9 months ago

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Irresponsibly

(S.T.A.R.S.!Chris Redfield x S.T.A.R.S.!reader)

Summary: After an irresponsible night, Chris and the reader are loosely confused about their friendship.

Warning(s): Referenced sexual content, barely edited.

Words (1529)

Sunlight hazed through the blinds, the beams hitting your face and making you let out a scoff of annoyance. Wait. Blinds? You don't remember having blinds. You have curtains— your thoughts were cut off when you felt movement beside you; you heard shuffling against the sheets and a quiet groan.

You quickly sat up and looked around the room, the room was messy and cluttered, with clothes strewn about and a few posters of half-naked women on the walls, and one thing caught your attention.

A jacket.

Not just any jacket.

No.

A leather one. A brown leather one.

With very familiar detailing on the back, one that made your heart sink, but also skip a beat at the same time.

You looked to your right and stared at the familiar tufts of brown hair that stuck out from under the blanket. You gently grabbed his shoulder and shook him awake.

"Chris? Wake up, it's time for work... I think." You mumbled softly, and resisted the urge to touch his soft, messy hair.

He let out a sleepy hum and turned his body to face you. Your eyes met blue ones, ones that made you feel warm on the inside. His eyes widened, and his cheeks turned a soft, rosy red.

"What are you doing here?" He asked quickly and sat up, the blanket uncovering his bare chest.

You looked down at yourself to make sure you weren't nude, and fortunately, you were in one of Chris's shirts. One of his S.T.A.R.S. shirts, with the logo on the sleeve and where a breast pocket would go, which was a soft white cotton. Chris squinted his eyes and looked around the room with confusion.

"Did we...?" He trailed off and felt his face heat up more at the thought of you and him together.

"I don't think so. God, I have a hangover." You muttered and rubbed your head, the throbbing headache clawing at you.

"Me too," Chris replied, and he stood up, only clad in a pair of boxers. "I'll go get us some medicine." He murmured and left the bedroom, leaving you with your thoughts.

After a few minutes and a few curses, Chris came back with some Tylenol and a bottle of water. He sat on his bed and handed you two of the white pills and the water. Chris opened the bottle of water for you and watched as you swallowed the pills with a mouthful of water. You handed him the bottle so he could take his, and you laid back on the bed. Chris took his and set the bottle of water on the bedside table.

Chris looked at the alarm clock and read the red numbers.

7:13....

"Oh shit. We've got to get ready for work." He huffed and stood up, walking to the mahogany dresser. He opened the middle drawer and pulled out a pair of tan pants. He clumsily pulled them on, buttoned them, and zipped them up. He looked over at you and gestured to the shirt you were wearing.

"What happened to your clothes?" He asked and tilted his head to the side, an adorable, confused expression on his face.

"I dunno. I woke up in this," You answered with a shrug, and you tried to bite back the smile fighting its way onto your lips.

"Do you need clothes to wear?" Chris inquired, and searched around in the drawer. He soon pulled out a pair of pants and tossed them to you. "They're the smallest pair I have. If you need a belt, you can use one."

You grabbed the pants and pulled them on over your underwear. You zipped and buttoned them. To your surprise, they fit. Chris glanced at you from the corner of his eyes, and felt his heart skip a beat at the sight of you in his clothes.

You looked over at the bedside table and noticed your keys, wallet, and S.T.A.R.S. badge. You grabbed them and put your keys and wallet into the deep pockets of the pants while hooking the badge on the waistband of the pants.

Chris just watched and admired you with a big, dumb grin on his face. You walked around the room and looked for your boots. You caught a glimpse of one of them from under his bed and looked.

You grabbed your boot and noticed quite the collection of porn magazines. You snorted and snickered, pulling away from under the bed, flashing Chris a cheeky grin.

"Someone's been busy." You teased and put your boot on, lacing it tightly after.

Chris blushed in embarrassment and nervously toyed with his badge. "I don't look at them often...." He mumbled shyly and mentally scolded himself for his shy behavior.

"It's fine. I'm just teasing." You reassured him and noticed your other boot next to the door. Chris let out a quiet sigh of relief and watched you put on your other boot.

You opened the door and walked into the small, also cluttered, living room. You sat on the couch and tried to ignore the still-pounding headache.

Chris walked out a few moments later and gestured to the front door. You got up and followed him out of the apartment. He slotted his key in the door and locked it. You guys walked to the elevator and went to the bottom floor.

The two of you walked towards the parking lot, and finally, after about five minutes of searching, you came across Chris's beat-up 1990 Honda Accord.

He unlocked the doors and climbed into the driver's seat. You got into the passenger seat. The car smelled like cigarettes and coconut air freshener, while CD cases were all over the floorboards and backseat.

Chris shoved the key in the ignition and started the car. He pulled out of the parking lot and began his route to the RPD. The silence was nice; it was just the sound of passing cars, which would just hum by.

Chris lit a cigarette out of habit, not realizing what he was doing until you rolled your window down passive aggressively.

"So, do you have any idea about what happened?" Chris asked, not taking his eyes off the road.

You tried to think about what might have happened the night before. You soon got a small snippet of the memory, a club.

"We went to the club last night with the team." You mumbled and groaned. "We went to a club last night and got hammered."

Chris cringed and pulled into the RPD parking garage. Chris parked and pulled the key out of the ignition, quietly sighing. He looked over at you with a small smile and opened his door. He took off his seatbelt and got out of the car, you did the same and closed the passenger-side door. The two of you walked into the RPD and began walking to the S.T.A.R.S. office.

Chris rubbed his temples and recoiled at the lights in the building. You and Chris eventually got to the office, and prepared yourselves for the scolding of a lifetime. You turned the doorknob slowly and pushed the door open.

"Where the hell were you guys?" Wesker sneered and rested his hands on his hips, glaring at you guys through his sunglasses.

"Umm...well.. we slept in...? Chris stuttered out and felt fear creep up on him.

"I don't want relations between my subordinates; do I make myself clear? Wesker replied, authority laced in his tone.

"Yes sir." You and Chris answered in unison, trying to hide the fear in your bodies.

Wesker gave you guys one last, icy stare and went into his office, slamming the door behind him. You and Chris let out sighs of relief and quiet giggles.

"I heard that if his shadow falls on you, your heart freezes and falls out of your butt." You whispered to Chris, which made him wheeze with laughter.

"That's amazing." He choked out between laughs, doubling over.

You laughed with him and walked over to your desk, you sat down and used your arms as pillows, trying to get rid of this headache. Chris patted your back and sat at his desk.

Everyone else in the office watched with annoyance, interest, amusement, or confusion.

"What happened last night after you guys went home?" Jill asked, and she swiveled her office chair to face Chris.

"We honestly don't remember," Chris answered honestly, shrugging his shoulders.

"Oh, no sex?" Jill added, sounding seemingly disappointed.

"No. No sex" You mumbled and felt your headache slowly dissipate.

"Damn, Brad, I owe you ten dollars," Jill called out, pinching the bridge of her nose.

"Yes!"

"Shut up..." She mumbled and grabbed a roll of quarters from the drawer in her desk and handed it to Brad, who looked at her with confusion.

"What is this? He asked, sounding so sad, like someone had told him his puppy had died.

"Ten dollars in quarters," she answered with a smug grin.

"You just gave him forty quarters?" You asked in confusion, and lifted your head up to stare at them.

"Yeah, we made a bet. He bet that you guys wouldn't have sex, and I said that you two would have sex," Jill replied nonchalantly, which made you and Chris do a double-take.

"What." You hissed and narrowed your eyes at Brad and Jill, while Chris started laughing.

"Who knows, maybe I'll hit that tonight," Chris teased and pointed towards you, which made your cheeks heat up.

"I'm giving you five seconds to run, Redfield."

#chris redfield x reader #resident evil #chris redfield #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you #s.t.a.r.s.#my writing

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bitchfitch · 6 days ago

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Life changing moments had a habit of looking like every other one that surrounded them until you could see them in hindsight. Adi had never given that idea much thought until he was scrolling through half a year's worth of exchanged messages while sat in a hospital room.

Well-Eadowed tipped 20$

Well-Eadowed: Sent something in advance for your time. What's the brand of those yoga pants you were wearing at the start of yesterday's stream? I've never been able to find any that properly accommodated both a tail and a dick lol.

Adi vaguely remembered that he had been slouched in the back of a classroom auditorium when he got the message. One of his classmates had looked at him weird when he hiked up his hoody and shirt just enough to be able to get a picture of the brand name printed on his waistband.

LilacKitten: Here's the logo, I can never tell if that fourth letter is an O or an A. I think I got them at that boutique on 55th that caters to familiens?

from there their conversation had drifted from the yoga pants to the general difficulty of finding clothes that fit the descendants of the familiars who were turned into people before the practice was banned, to formal fashion and the fact Mr.Eadowed had an invitation to his ex-husband's wedding.

Well-Eadowed: He's being an asshole since we broke up on bad terms and wants to rub it in my face that I was the only one of his cucks that dropped him when we found out about the rampant adaultery. I've already RSVPed to waste two spots at his tables but I don't think I'm actually going.

LilacKitten: It's against site policy to offer a service without being asked first, but I can make time in my schedule if you want an escort for that night. I don't know what he looks like, but I do know what I look like.

LilacKitten: And also what I'm willing to do to screw someone like that over. Seriously what's his problem?

Well-Eadowed: What are you willing to do?

LilacKitten: hm. As much PDA as we can get away with before it becomes a crime. I will also gladly pretend to be your much more adoring new piece of ass or whatever other act you think will get under his skin the most.

Well-Eadowed: Would you be comfortable telling the truth that I was paying you for your time? Part of the reason I didn't give Brice another chance is he treated me like an ATM. I wouldn't have minded if he had actually given a shit about me or did half the labor your offering to do.

Adi had hesitated to respond, both because the professor had finally showed up, and because he hoped to someday be colleagues with the sort of people who had the money to get this messy. He didn't want a potential first-step employer's first impression of him to be him vapidly hanging off the arm of a man who was; A. Willing to publicly hire an expensive whore for a party specifically to piss off his ex, and B. Who would make his username on a pimping platform a joke about his wealth and or his dick size.

Unfortunately the chance for refined mischief had been too alluring.

LilacKitten: I'm in.

Well-Eadowed: You're a gift.

In hindsight, it should have been obvious the fact that the familien who had the money to pull this shit and who would choose a usermame with Ead in it was none other then the only famous non entertainer familien Adi knew about.

Eadwulf Norwich. A short, green eyed ginger with pricked ears and a fluffy tail that seemed to never stop wagging despite him being well into his middle ages. Also known as the man who, through owning the largest realistate firm in this hemisphere, owned most of the state and a good portion of the rest of the country.

Adi had dreamed of meeting him one day. At an interview or during one of the lectures he gave at the college he was alumni too and was Adi was currently attending (He hadn't chosen this college just because of Mr.Norwich's rumoured habit of picking his interns via casual conversations after those lectures, but that had contributed heavily to his decision.) Eadwulf Norwich was a legend in business circles both for how quickly he built his empire and for how he seemed to always be on a new magazine or giving another interview about success like he was a movie star instead of an overly charismatic land lord.

Adi hadn't wanted to meet him like this. He had no shame in doing sex work, it was usually fun, it paid his bills, and gave him all the flexibility he needed to excell in his classes, but that didn't make it prestigious. He got lucky being born pretty. The rest was the same work anyone with half his brains could do and so it wouldn't impress a man like The Eadwulf Norwich.

Adi had arrived at the hotel up the road from where the wedding three hours before it was slated to begin. Exactly on time to come face to face with the closest thing to a hero he'd ever had, before being escorted by a makeup artist to where what looked like a full salon had already been set up in the main bathroom of the suite.

Eadwulf (he had rejected being called Mr. Norwich the instant he heard the words. Said it made him feel dated and like people would mistake him for a Brit instead of the Welsh man he was.) had still been in a T-shirt and jeans while he bickered with someone on the phone about how "this was a great idea" and "none of the caller's business anyways" and "can't he just be a pal and bring a third person by to make sure the party Really got going?"

Adi would later learn that the man on the other end of the line was Alistar Yeats, CFO of Marked Territory Realistate, Eadwulf's best friend, and husband to the demon called Haze. Looking back on it, Adi did wish Haze had come but not everything can be perfect about a day.

When the call ended, presumably because Alistar's patience wore thin, Eadwulf had come into the bathroom to lean on the counter while the stylist worked to color match Adi's pinkish purple skin instead of just using the foundation Adi had brought with him.

"Ok, so when Brice and I got married we both refused to wear white because we'd worn white to our previous weddings and lost those marriages blah blah, point is he wore this greeny-blue suit that looked awful. He had bought it from a sketch and hadn't seen it in person til the day of." he reached into the closet beside the walk in shower. "So I got this made from the measurements you gave me. It's a little rushed, but-" he pulled a satin garment bag out, "- it should still out do his by such a massive margin that the details won't matter."

Adi had had to fight to not snort at the situation, the stylist had been in the middle of applying his lashes and he hadn't wanted to mess her up. "Classy, Eadwulf. Are we going to acknowledge it or let him simmer in it?"

"If he or anyone asks you bought this on your own at Macy's or something."

The tux had been a deep pine green shot with a barely lighter sapphire blue, had a waist coat with a neckline so deep that it only buttoned up to Adi's navel, and which was intended to be worn with a button-less button-up shirt to make a point of how much of Adi's chest and upper abs it showed off on purpose. It was not a garment that came from a Macy's in any dimension that a Macy's might exist.

"Did he really wear this to your wedding?" Adi had asked while he let Eadwulf do the honor of fastening the thin golden choker with its small bowtie charm around his neck.

"Something like it. Yeah. His was supposed to just be a regular cut tux but something got lost in translation and he ended up with the tiny vest and tried to make it work by leaving his shirt open," he steps back with his hands on Adi's hips to scrutinize his reflection from about shoulder height. "Obviously it looks a lot better on you."

"I feel I may have an advantage he didn't," Adi smiled at their reflection. Eadwulf had chosen a deep maroon tweed tux for himself, his nest of curly hair in the same messy bun it had been when Adi arrived, and he had a shiny gold bowtie to match the necklace he'd gotten for Adi.

It was a bit cliche, really. The cat in the forward outfit that pushed the line between white-tie and porno intro, and the dog in a classic New England style that managed to look more expensive despite its comparative simplicity.

But Adi supposed cliches got that way for a reason. They did look very good together.

"Genetics?" Eadwulf had asked like he'd never considered that having a suit made to fit like this would have a very different result from one that ended up like it on accident.

In hindsight he probably hadn't.

The only Wedding Adi had ever been to in his life was that of his dearly disowned sister when he was at most eight. If you counted the half dozen child siblings and the priest as Gem had always insisted everyone did, there had been a grand total of 14 guests. It was held in the local park and ended when the bride and groom found out you had to schedule these things with whoever was in charge of the park instead of just showing up and doing it.

The Wedding he went to with Eadwulf felt like it deserved to be in a different classification of event all together. There were hundreds of guests, maybe well over a thousand if you counted the small army of wait staff that bustled around the sprawling convention hall. TVs hung from the whitewashed brick walls displaying live captioned footage from the party that was caught by whole camera crews scuttling about with gear that looked to weigh as much as Adi did.

Every detail was lux and hand picked, from the legs on the tables being custom welded iron to bare the newlyweds initials, to the meals that were chosen for each individual guest instead of a menu or one size fits all option. (Adi had wondered if that decision was made to justify giving Eadwulf a plate of predominantly over seasoned vegetables, something Brice clearly knew he wouldn't like.)

It was the sort of wedding little kids dreamed about before they knew how money worked, and which bigger kids strived to achieve because obtaining it meant they'd truly made it in life.

Eadwulf was a tad too short in comparison to Adi's 6'4 plus the heels for them to comfortably link arms like many of the other couples that surrounded them, but Adi leaving a hand on Eadwulf's shoulder and accepting his arm wrapped around the small of his back in return had worked just as well. Plus it looked good every time the camera was on them. Eadwulf with his ever present grin would be leaning that little bit forward to talk to the group that congregated around them like iron filings to a magnet, and Adi would be stood straight backed with his face schooled into elegant nonchalance as he looked down his nose at the conversation before him.

A man who had not a single thing to worry about and the piece of art he'd bought to bring along for the night. Exactly what Eadwulf had payed for.

Disappointingly though, it had taken until the very end of the night for anything interesting to happen. The pre ceremony, ceremony, and reception all went seamlessly from the perspective of the guest, but behind the scenes had clearly been some sort of nightmare as Brice hunted them down in the driveway right as everyone was beggining to leave.

"What's Wrong With You?" he'd shoved Adi away to get in Eadwulf's face, something Adi forgave instantly because it meant he had a front row seat and that Brice had already filed him away as a non person he could say anything in front of.

"What's wrong with you?" Eadwulf had returned the accusation, "I just attended a lovely wedding."

"You brought That here," he pointed an accusing finger Adi's way

"His name is Lilac."

"Shut up. Why did you Do this? We're you trying to fucking Ruin my wedding for a Second time?"

"I didn't ruin it the first-"

"All everyone wanted to talk about was your stupid whore and your stupid fucking everything and what we used to have and -and"

"And what?" Eadwulf had his arms crossed over his chest, his ears pinned back in just wrong enough of a position for Adi to know he was faking it. "How much you screwed us out of a good thing?"

That had been enough to get the floodgates open. Brice sobbed as he crashed against Eadwulf's front and wrapped him in a clinging hug that was hesitantly returned.

" 'M sorry- I'm so so sorry Eady. I-" he broke off into another hitch of ugly sobs

"You fucked up, I know," he pet his hand over the back of Brice's hair before nodding Adi towards their waiting car. "I was away too often, you worked too long, temptations were everywhere etcetera. It was easy to keep it a secret since it always happened on the other side of the world.

"But you know what else I'll always know, Bea?"

Brice had looked up from Eadwulf's shoulder with so much hope.

"I will never make another decision as good as the one to leave You." He shoved out of Brice's hold and had taken his place in the back passenger side seat before the newly wed could even process the heart break.

Adi had to bite his lip to muffle his laugh until the door was slammed shut and the driver taking off without questioning that that was what he should do in this situation.

"That was so Mean!" he covered his mouth as he cackled, Eadwulf joining him in laughing a half breath later.

"I promise he deserved it- Fuck that felt good!" he clapped his hands together, "Shame I had to lie for it. Best decision I've ever made was getting you in on this. None of that would have gone half as smoothly if I had to do it on my own or with basically Anyone else."

"Bah, I just stood there and looked pretty-"

"Which is a skill! Your ability to just-" he does an awful job of mimicking Adi's pouty half glare, "At someone until they get self conscious and fuck off is Amazing. I've Never seen half those people look so judged! And Ive testified in court against a few of them!" he worries his lip for a moment as he makes a decision, "I know your schedule is probably packed tight, but if you have the availability I would love to keep this ball moving. I've given up on finding a partner for real since Brice put me off of love in general, so I have no one to go to these parties with or to be seen with when I'm out and about. It'll pay Handsomely, don't worry about that, and we'll get a contract worked out to make sure it doesn't have long term effects on your earning potential and-"

"Deal," Adi cut him off, he knew he was getting in over his head, but at the time it had felt like the best idea in the world.

#the fact they're a cat boy and dog boy has nothing to do with their story it was just a funny thing to do to them

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russellsppttemplates · 1 year ago

Note

Sebastian and family coming to meet the babies after they are born . Like imagine him and Hanna telling mick to take care of mama and the babies

"Is uncle Sebastian coming herd today?", Aurora asked you while you changed Harriet's diaper, "yes, him and aunt Hanna are stopping by, they want to see you and Seb since they haven't seen you in a while and they also want to meet Harriet", you tapped your youngest's nose, seeing her gummy smile, "That's right, baby girl, we are having visitors, Harriet, yes, we are", you cooed while you finished fastening her popper buttons of her bodysuit, pulling her closer to you and walking dowstairs to meet the other guys, "hello, hello", you greeted Angie and Hazel, their wagging tails showing their excitement as Mick walked up to you, "do you need me to take this one?", he stretched his arms out, pulling her to his chest, "I really need a shower", you blushed, kissing his cheek and heading back upstairs so you could look a little more presentable for your guests.

With having three kids, you had your routine down to the most efficient it could be, showing up in the living room not long later with your hair blowdried and wearing comfy lounge wear clothes, "did you guys behave well for papa?", you asked as your son walked up to you, hugging your legs, "Hi, mama", he said, smiling up at you and asking you to pick him up with his hands, "hello, my love", you cooed, brushing his hair out of his forehead and eyes before kissing his pale skin, "did you guys tidy your toys like I asked you to?", you questioned, seeing Aurora nod along with Sebastian, "we only had to get papa's help because we built that logo tower and we didn't want to destroy it so we can show uncle Seb, but we did the rest", your son defendeded as you saw Mick nod in the background, Harriet sleeping on his chest, "Good job, guys", you complimented, looking to Aurora so she knew you were directing the praise at her, too.

When Sebastian and Hanna arrived, they were quick to put the food they had brought on the coffee table, even though Mick had insisted they didn't need to, and looked for the newest addition to the family, "hey, gorgeous girl", Hanna said as Mick out Harriet in her arms since she had woken up, "We'll be in the kitchen making some tea and grabbing other drinks, okay?", Mick said as he and Sebastian walked to the kitchen.

"So, how are you handling three kids?", the older German driver asked as Mick walked around, boiling the kettle and grabbing what they needed, "we're doing good, and now it really shows how retiring from racing was the best idea. There's no way this wouldn't have fallen all on Y/N and I wouldn't want any of that to happen. Besides, I spend more time with the kids, everything I have work related can be fit into the schedule when they're at school, Harriet is a pretty calm baby, too", he smiled.

"They're family, and at the end of the day, they're our priority", Sebastian said, "we have skills very few have and the privilege to have the best job in the world, but they're your constant. They're always going to be there for you and because of you. Y/N is an amazing woman, I've always told you that, and now she's an amazing mother, and it's your job to take care of them, too. I know you do, but there's never too much reminders, I find", he chuckled, hearing his wife walk inside, "Harriet spit a little on me, bless her, do you have a wet cloth I can use?", she asked as Mick pointed to the sink, "thanks", she said as she asked Sebastian to stretch out her shirt while she dabbed, "you guys are doing so well, Aurora and Seb are such great kids with you two and Harriet, and she's so calm, too", she took the opportunity to praise.

"Y/N has been a champion, as always, and I'm trying my best to keep up with her as well, although I doubt that I'm as good as her", Mick blushed, "trust me, you are. Because you care for them, because you found ways to help and that's all they can ask of you. The other day I was FaceTiming Seb and he was telling me how you had picked him up from school and he was so happy about it", Hanna added.

"You have built a good, strong family, Mick", she rubbed his back, "now I have to go back because Rora and Seb want to show me a Lego tower", she smiled.

(Thank you for submitting an ask 🤍)

#mick schumacher blurb #inês writes blurbs #f1 blurb #f1 x reader

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trashywhiteboysea · 2 months ago

Text

Yeah. Who fuckin cared about them shits anyway. Old clothes. Needed new ones anyway.

And I had a whole room to choose from.

My eyes flickered open as I stepped out of the cum-stained clothes and my hands eagerly dung into the top drawer. Bright red flashed in my line of sight, and I grabbed out a pair of Under Armour boxerjocks. Stretchy, clingy fabric that felt amazing when I pulled it on. The brand’s name was printed in red on a black waistband, easily seen when I shrugged on a pair of Jordan sweatpants, cuffed at the ankle and printed XL on the tag. They fit perfectly, which is to say, baggy as fuck, but not so baggy as they wouldn’t show off my kicks, which is what the whole thing was about.

A black wifebeater, then, for an undershirt - but I stopped short of putting on an actual t-shirt from the second drawer. I needed something that would match my kicks. Which meant I had to pick out a pair.

That was easy. I grabbed for the black and red Jordan retro 11s, the aglets on the ends of the laces frayed and splintered, the leather worn in but still glossy around the toebox. They slid on my feet and I sighed in pleasure - from there, it was easy to go back to the drawer and grab out a XL-tall black t-shirt with the red Jumpman logo on it, bright as a traffic light and as big as my entire torso.

“There,” I said, flicking myself off in the mirror.

I looked dope as fuck.

The lingering, tinny thought that I was standing in a stranger’s bedroom, wearing a stranger’s clothing - intending, fully, at that moment, to steal it and wear it home, carrying my severance package - well, it was like hearing a bell ring from a very great distance. I heard it, registered that it was there, and then it vanished quietly into the murk of my other thoughts.

From the other room, the TV was still shouting. I left my bedroom and went into the living room, sat down on the couch, and took another hit from the bowl.

Shit, I was gettin hungry.

I reached over the couch with a lunge to snatch up my red durag, and tied it around my crown, a little sloppy like I like it, and adjusted it so it came down to about my eyebrows. Had to go take one last look in the mirror, too, before I shrugged on my vest and headed out the door, grabbing up my keys, my phone and my wallet from the coffee table. The door closed behind me as I walked - no, more sauntered, because of the sweats and how they hung on my frame - down the hall.

The outside air breathed cold on my scalp, barely protected by the silky durag. I stood there on the stoop for a moment, reached into my vest pocket, and pulled out the pack of Newports. The click of the flint, the spark of the lighter, and menthol-accented tobacco smoke was rushing into my mouth.

#homie #transformation #white trash #thug

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hoffstrap-yuri · 24 days ago

Text

A Hedonistic Streak

ao3 // masterlist

Art by @dixxiemaegraphics

*Summary: Hoffman didn't mind shutting his brain off. He felt like it was a treat after a day at work as a detective. Apparently, someone else on the internet didn't seem to mind much either.

*Rating: +18 for mature explicit content.

*Content/Tags: Smut, Shameless Smut, PWP, Modern Era, Feeding Kink, Hand Feeding, Slob, Huc0w elements, Alternate Universe

*Status: Oneshot/Complete

Author's Notes: First of all, thank you to dixxiemaegraphics on tumblr this artwork that I commissioned especially for this fic that I put at the end. They knocked it out of the ball park as always, and I hope you all will enjoy the art as well! Second, Happy HalloChristNew Year! This fic is so long overdue, but I wanted to make sure it was good enough to live up to the title of my 100th fic on AO3 before I uploaded it! In the time it took for me to write this, I managed to finish the newest Dragon Age game, start a new job, celebrate the aforementioned holidays, and get a new laptop. So you can say I was a little bit busy xD. I hope you'll enjoy this pure smut because I certainly enjoyed writing it.

Hoffman glanced down at his watch. He had thirty minutes before he’d be going live and still had so much to set up. He quickly threw his work clothes off to the side out of the camera’s gaze and walked into his kitchen. He pulled a liter of soda he’d been saving for this stream out of his fridge and carried the four pizza boxes up to his room. He threw them down on the makeshift table he had before slipping on a tight fitting t-shirt that just barely covered his stomach but would ride up after maybe two slices of his dinner. He didn’t worry about his lower half nearly as much since the camera wouldn’t pick it up. He adjusted his seat, making sure his face was out of frame, and when he was ready hopped online. He’d barely even let a sigh slip past his lips and his most devoted followers were already there to watch him. He let his lower lip dip into the frame as he couldn’t hold back the smirk at seeing these perverts so willingly wasting their time to watch him eat.

“Hi everyone, did you miss me?” He asked. His voice was smooth and warm like he was in these people’s houses with them. “In case you’re new here… I’m the piggy apprentice and I love to eat. Today, I’m going to be eating pizza…” He opened the first box and showed it off to the camera, careful to make sure the logo on the box wasn’t in plain view since it was from a local place and not a chain. “I’ve got three more of these big guys waiting for me after I finish this one.” Immediately, a message from one of the first people to log in:

“Quit talking, stuff your face.”

“I will, I will.” Mark had to laugh, “Sounds like someone can’t keep it in their pants tonight, huh?” He slowly pulled a slice out from the box, giving that viewer blue balls as he waited for the cheese pull to break off on its own. He shoved the pizza into his mouth quickly, talking between bites. “You know, normally, I’d tell you all what I’m eating… how much I plan on eating on the stream, but today I feel like just getting into it. I’m sure I’ve got at least some approval to just go right ahead and make a mess out of myself.” Another message from the same guy:

“You were barely able to handle two pizzas last time you ate, fat ass. What makes you think you can handle two more?”

“That was a long time ago.” He rounded his lips as he blew the steam off his next piece of pizza, “You must’ve been watching me for a long time if you remember the last time I ate pizza. Honestly, it’s real cute of you to keep sticking around to watch me.” His eyes glazed over with lust as the words spilled out without much thought. This is why he did it, because unlike his normal job, Mark didn’t have to think. He didn’t have to find the right words to say to avoid conflict, didn’t have to make himself smaller to impress other people, he could do what he did best: mindlessly eat and flirt. In a blink of an eye his first pizza was gone, he pouted a little bit as he opened up the next box knowing that this would be his least favorite of the pizzas this evening. “You know… I was trying to be a little bit healthy with this one, getting green peppers on this, but now I wish I had just gotten extra sausage instead.”

“Like eating two pizzas in one night is healthy for anyone?”

Mark looked at the viewer count, it was just him and his devoted follower. He bit the inside of his lip before asking, “Were we being too horny for other people? Or did my attention seemed too focused on you?” His bottom teeth showed up at the edge of the screen as he smiled at the man watching him. “I guess… if you’re the only one here with me, I could get a bit messier than normal. If that’s something you want.”

“Be the disgusting, useless pig you were born to be.”

Mark nodded as he read the message, using his shirt as a napkin to wipe the grease off from his hand then diving in to grab more. Instead of one slice he grabbed two. He moaned as he managed to fit both slices into his mouth. He chewed quietly, trying to get his cheeks to deflate before he checked what messages his mystery man sent him.

“Maybe you’re not a pig, but a cow with those huge tits you’ve got.”

“What these?” Hoffman took his greasy hand and purposefully cupped as much of his chest as he could with one hand. He let out a soft moan as he slowly massaged it. “Maybe you’re right, maybe I am a cow…” He used his other hand to throw back another slice while he rubbed his thumb over his nipple under his shirt. Slowly, he snaked a hand underneath the creeping shirt and gave his stomach a quick pat. “Don’t even feel like I’ve eaten anything yet. Look at how soft it still is…” Almost immediately, his viewer responded to him:

“Then finish that second pizza and get on with the third one. Have to tell you to do everything around here, don’t I?”

“You just love how dumb I act while I eat, don’t you?” Mark cooed, “You like mindless cows stuffing their faces for your pleasure?”

“If your fat ass can finish your pizzas in the next thirty minutes, I’ll buy dessert.”

“God you’re too sweet…” Mark replied, tossing the second pizza box off in the same direction he threw the other one to get started on the third. His jaw was starting to get a bit sore from all the chewing but managed to two pizzas down, all the while continuing to flirt with the man. Nobody else dared enter Mark’s stream. Was his viewer his guardian angel? He let out a loud burp as he threw the fourth box on top of the rest and stood up from his chair. He groaned as all the weight in his stomach shifted while he stood in front of his camera, showing off how round his belly had become. He poked and prodded the taut skin, releasing more noises from his mouth while he waited for his man to say something to him. “Like what you’re seeing?”

“Dm your address. I’ll send whatever you want.”

“And if I asked for caviar?”

“You’d get it. You’ve been so good tonight.”

Mark purred as he leaned in, letting his belly droop over the table but careful to keep his face out of frame. He let out a pained little laugh as he did his best to scroll through his computer and get into his admirer’s private messages. He sent the man his address and a teasing little message, “Can you get me a whole cake?”

“Delivery will be there in 30 minutes.”

“Thank you.” He said, plopping back down into his chair. He let a belch out as he settled back into his spot. He quietly turned off his camera before sending another message. “You know since it’s just you and me… we could talk.”

“How was your day?”

“Kind of forward of you.” Mark laughed to himself but supposed it wouldn’t hurt him if he got a little more personal. “Day was pretty good… better now that I got to shut my brain off for a while and eat. Hope you enjoyed yourself.”

“Always do. You do this all day?”

“No. I couldn’t afford to eat that much all the time if I didn’t work.”

“Can’t imagine you working and actually having to use that brain of yours for something other than telling your hands to bring food up to your mouth.”

“Yeah? Would it surprise you if I told you I was actually good at my job?” Mark asked, trying to get under this man’s skin. He slowly started palming the bulge in his underwear while he waited for a response. The man kept typing then stopping, typing, stopping… until he finally came up with something to say.

“Wish I could be there to massage that stomach of yours. Maybe help you make room for that dessert.”

“Don’t worry, babe… working on making all the room for that cake you bought.” Mark had to roll his eyes. Was that really the best his man could do after sitting there and typing for almost five minutes? Not that he was keeping track. He just needed his phone handy for when his food shows up. “Now that you have my address, you could always come and feed me yourself if you’re in the area.”

“Might just take you up on that some time.”

“I bet I could eat even more if you were here.”

“I could make you beg for every last bite you get from me.”

When he noticed that the driver was nearby, he threw on some extra loose sweat pants and a sweatshirt to meet the driver. He got his cake and stared at the box for a second before heading back inside. He waddled back to his computer as fast as he could with his sheet cake in hand and typed to his admirer. “Just got the cake. Might take me a while to eat this… Not even sure I have enough room in me tonight.”

“Have it as breakfast then. Dive in face first so everyone at work can see what a disgusting pig you are.”

Hoffman hummed to himself as he imagined his co-workers’ disgust as he walked in with frosting smeared across his face. They’d already taken to calling him names behind his back when they didn’t think he was listening and he couldn’t deny how hot he found it. “I would love all that sugar to get me going in the morning, but I don’t think my co-workers would find it nearly as cute as you do.”

“Is it too much if I ask for pictures when you do eat it?” He asked, suddenly getting shy on Mark.

“Sure, but I’m not going to show any more of my face than I normally would.” He sent back quickly

“Fine by me. Hear from you tomorrow?”

“You’ll definitely be hearing from me.”

“Good night.”

And like that, his viewer was gone. Hoffman glanced back at his cake before firmly deciding that there was no way he could get a piece down this evening and needed to sleep instead. He flopped into bed and thought about the guy on the other side of the screen. Had he gotten off to Mark eating this time? Was he also thinking about how incredibly full Mark was after all that, but still hoping for more with his cake? He hauled his heavy ass up from out of bad and walked back over to the sheet cake. He opened the top up and after making sure he had his phone ready, took a handful of cake out from the corner. He ate from his hand, savoring the frosting as he let the dessert slide down his throat with ease. He took a picture of the cake, his hand, and the messy corner of his lip that he purposefully smeared with excess frosting. “Guess I just couldn’t wait for tomorrow morning.” and signed it with a heart emoji. After cleaning himself up and stripping out of his dirty clothes he fell asleep with the thought of what his viewer would have to say about the photos in the morning.

After their first stream, Hoffman had basically turned his streams into his viewer’s personal streams. Nobody got the cop by day’s attention like he did. He was crass and seemed like no matter what Mark did, had a stick up his ass. Every one of his messages read like a man so in the feeder closet he lived in Narnia, and frankly it turned Mark on to edge him just a little bit more each time. Tonight, he would binge on some doughnuts and talk. Not that he would see his viewer’s face, but they seemed like they almost had something after all this flirting between the two. As soon as his camera was on, his viewer’s status went from offline to online like that.

“Hello… mhm, we’ve only been going at this for a month or so and you’ve branded me as your cow. What pet name do you like?”

“Whatever you want to call me is fine” his viewer answered with haste.

“Honey feels right on my lips, but if you disagree… you can always come over and take it off.”

“I’m flattered.”

“That’s all you have to say, hm?” Mark raised an eyebrow. Not that he would see, but it made Hoffman laugh. He pursed his lips into an ‘oh’ shape before asking, “Want to know what I have planned tonight or just want me to start eating?”

“Tell me your plan.”

“Well I’ve got about five dozen doughnuts… a little gift leftover from work if you will, that I was going to eat for you. But that’s really all I had planned. I already started on the way home.” He rubbed the top of his growing gut, showing off the room it still had for more.

“Looks like you managed to get a dozen down already.”

“I did, had to break into the second dozen because I was absolutely starving. Don’t worry, eating five dozen doughnuts will be like nothing to me.”

“Shame, I like seeing you with a challenge.”

“Why don’t you set a timer then?”

“Finish it in an hour and a half for me?”

“You’re too sweet.” Mark opened the second of five boxes and immediately finished the last three doughnuts in there before moving onto the third. He was a little bit worried about the fourth box since it was filled with the stuffed doughnuts, but he didn’t need to worry about that now. Right now, he needed milk as the sugar caught up to his taste buds. He knew the man didn’t want to see him pour out a skimpy glass of milk, so instead he twisted the lid off and drank straight from the gallon like the fat ass he was. He cursed under his breath as some of the milk dribbled down his chin and onto his poor stretched out t-shirt that was barely hanging onto Mark as it was these days. “Not that you can see them, but I’ve got cow ears now to help me power through my meals when it feels like I just can’t eat anymore.”

“Bet you look hot with those on.”

“You’re right, I do look hot. I look even hotter when my eyes get all glazed over and there’s food all over my mouth and I’ve got my ears on.”

“Now you’re just teasing me.”

“Mhm, maybe I am.” Hoffman adjusted himself under his table. He finished the third box with almost an hour left to work on the next two boxes. He carefully looked down at his next box before taking the Bavarian crème doughnut out and sucking the filling from the hole it was piped into. He ate the empty shell then continued the same process with a long john. “You’ve been quiet for a while. Got anything to say?”

“Your thick lips look so sensual wrapped around that doughnut.”

“You’re being too nice. I’m a fat ass aren’t I? I managed to eat three dozen in an hour and I’ll have this one down in the next couple of minutes.” He snaked his hand into the fifth box, taking a frosted doughnut out just to change it up a little bit. After all, he could only eat so much filling. His eyes were starting to droop, his brain screamed at him to stop eating about two boxes ago. He looked at the camera then the screen for some kind of validation from his viewer.

“You’re a fucking heifer. Well past a pig, and damn near as heavy as a cow.”

“That’s what I like to hear, honey. Especially when I’ve had such a tough day at work. I bet you’d love to hear about it, huh?” Hoffman palmed his bulge, knowing that his words would probably make the man snap.

“Why don’t you just shut up you sack of lard? After all, your job can’t be that hard. You shut your brain off a long time ago to become the useless cow that you are.”

“Fuck…” Hoffman muttered under his breath, “I mean… moo.”

“That’s right, fatty. Cows don’t use words do they? They just moo and graze. I bet you don’t even have the energy to squeal like a pig if I came over and played with your fat rolls. No, you’re just a fucking heifer in every sense of the word. Can you feel my hands run over your tits as I plow into you from behind? The bites my teeth would leave on your stomach given the chance?”

If Hoffman had a tail, it would be flying right about now. He knocked the second to last box out like it was breathing, and demolished the last box with almost a half an hour to spare. He tried in vain to cover his mouth every time a burp or a hiccup came up his throat but got tired of it quickly. Once some of his brain cells returned to the forefront, he asked his viewer. “Well, did I put on a good show for you?”

“Best yet.” was the short reply he received. He didn’t say anything, but the other man’s curt answer rubbed him the wrong way. Almost as if he could sense his displeasure, the viewer’s typing icon lit up. “Wish I was there to clean those crumbs off your shirt myself. Or help you relieve all that tension in your stomach.”

“You’re too sweet.”

“Want anything? I’m buying.” He offered

“Something super salty. French fries would be heavenly right about now.” Hoffman had to laugh. The desserts would only settle more, like a brick wall forming in his gut and he still wanted to eat something for this man. Was he insane?

“Got it.”

“I could just about kiss you.” Hoffman leaned into his camera, pressing the thick bottom lip over the edge of his computer.

“I have to go for the night.” His viewer typed quickly, “See you tomorrow?”

“I might still be in a food coma tomorrow. But as always, I’ll let you know if I feel like I can get something down.”

“Please do… good night.”

“Good night.” Hoffman let the words trail over his lips as the viewer left. Hoffman didn’t even try to make it to his bed. He took a comfortable nap in the chair for a second before getting up to greet the delivery driver for his fries. He massaged the tight orb at his center and nibbled at the fries. The salt cut the sluggish feeling that the sugar provided him but it wasn’t enough. After finishing his light snack, he passed out on the nearby couch and woke up the next morning. He groggily threw himself into the shower, his stomach still slightly swollen from his previous night’s excess. He didn’t have time to dwell on the session, but he did run his fingers over the tuft of hair just below his belly button. After that moment of something quiet he remembered he had to get to work. After stopping to get coffee on his way in, he tiredly waltzed into work.

“Rough night, huh?” One of his co-workers remark. Mark mimes his coworker’s words behind the co-worker’s back before answering him.

“Yeah. Rough.” He took a sip from his coffee before walking across the bullpen and into his office. Not long after he had settled into his seat, his supervisor came in and told him to get his ass down to a crime scene. Must’ve been something high profile if they needed him on the scene of all people. He shrugged it off and headed to the scene. He stopped by another coffee place on his way to the scene and sat in his car for a moment. He seriously contemplated quitting right then and there, but managed to talk himself back out of it after the first sip from the new drink. Slowly, he got out from his car and walked in to be briefed by someone from forensics. While he poked around the edge of the scene, mostly uninterrupted two agents from the FBI walked in. Hoffman had to roll his eyes. He couldn’t deal with his swollen stomach and their inflated egos today. He really should’ve just stayed home. After that, he finally processed that the two were walking up to him.

“Detective.” The woman was the first to talk to him, “My name’s Agent Perez and this is my partner, Agent… Strahm.” She paused as it seemed like Agent Strahm had an aversion to being too close to the detective. Hoffman shook hands with Perez before leaning in to close the distance between him and Strahm and taking his hand by force. The other man looked down at Hoffman’s hand with a look of disgust that flashed across his face for only a second, but was evident to Hoffman. Mark could confidently say he felt the same way about the agent. Perez snapped Hoffman back into focus. “Why don’t you tell us what you know about this case?”

“There’s been a serial killer, as of right now this murder seems… unrelated.” Hoffman shrugged

“Unrelated my ass.” Strahm muttered under his breath. He crossed his arms in front of him before asking, “There must be something here.”

“If you can find a connection that five of my officers couldn’t, then congratulations. You get to say you’re the smartest man here.”

“Couldn’t be that hard with a guy like you running the scene.” Strahm pushed past Hoffman, brushing against Hoffman’s arm as he stormed off. The agent took a quick look back, maybe to see if Hoffman was phased before turning his attention to the crime scene. Perez rolled her eyes and looked in the opposite direction, politely asking if she could look further into something that one of Hoffman’s officers seemed to be studying intensely. Normally Hoffman would put up more of a fight when an FBI agent felt like turning his crime scenes into a pissing contest, but something about Strahm seemed like he was avoiding Hoffman personally rather than trying to assert his jurisdiction over the case. He slowly walked up to Strahm as Strahm squatted over a blood splatter, eyeing up the pattern and how it could end up where it was. Hoffman leaned forward slightly, his belly straining against the buttons at the front of his dress shirt. Strahm’s eyes darted towards the other man before averting them just as fast.

“Something the matter, agent?”

“I’m trying to think, fa… you fucker.”

“Sounds like you had something else on your mind.” Hoffman kept pressing at Strahm’s already tenuous buttons

“Do you do any actual work at your crime scenes?” Strahm scoffed, once again looking at Hoffman’s center rather than his eyes. Hoffman adjusted himself so that he was standing upright. He crossed his arms right under his chest and let them rest against the top of his stomach.

“I didn’t become the head of the department because my ass looks pretty in a mini-skirt. If that’s what you’re thinking.” Hoffman scoffed right back at Strahm. Strahm turned around fully to face him, only to draw back into himself as he realized his finger was dangerously close to jabbing into one of Hoffman’s pecs.

“I wasn’t thinking about that, pervert.” Strahm sputtered. Clearly Hoffman had touched a nerve. In order to ‘foster a co-operative work environment’ most would back off now, but that wasn’t Hoffman’s goal. He just had to wait for his opportunity. He backed away from the agent for a minute or two but never let him out of his line of sight. Lindsey seemed to be circling the two as well but was pulled away when asked for help by one of Hoffman’s subordinates. Finally, it was just the two men alone at the scene. Strahm walked over to the detective and handed him a small evidence bag. “Only thing I could find that your officers didn’t. Congratulations I guess.” Hoffman practically threw the baggie off to the side and rushed Strahm like a bull, taking the other man by utter surprise. Hoffman only stopped when he heard Strahm’s back make a soft thud noise against the drywall.

“Let’s quit playing games, Agent.” Hoffman slipped into his seductive voice that he reserved for his extra curricular activities. A flush spread across Strahm’s face all the way to the tips of his ear. His eyes refused to meet Hoffman’s, even as one of the detective’s hands took hold of Strahm’s chin and forced his head down slightly. Strahm stared into him, looking past Hoffman’s pupils.

“You’re the one playing games with me… you fucking heifer.”

Suddenly it clicked for Hoffman. Oh, oh this was too juicy for him not to tease him more for.

“You’re the perv that’s been watching me?” Hoffman leaned in, speaking no louder than a whisper into the fed’s ear. Strahm shivered and his face turned even more red. “I knew something was up when you walked in, but I didn’t know that my knight in shining armor would come strolling into my life like this.”

“Can’t fucking believe this…” Strahm muttered, mostly to himself.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” Hoffman’s mouth hovered over Strahm’s neck, aching to kiss the man that had been waiting for him on the other side of his computer screen right then. Goosebumps crawled across the agent’s skin and his breathing became heavy. It sounded like he was really struggling to come up with something.

“You told me you actually had to think at your job, and I couldn’t fucking believe it… no wonder you like mindlessly eating for my attention, you fat fuck.” The bass in his voice echoed through Hoffman as he sat with Strahm’s words. Now it was Hoffman’s turn to be stunned into silence. Strahm’s hands found themselves on Hoffman’s stomach after a moment of hesitation. He gave the doughy skin a firm squeeze before massaging the fat with more care than Hoffman ever thought a feeder would give him. Strahm’s hands continued to roam across Hoffman’s body mindlessly as his eyes fixated on Hoffman’s lips, desperately begging for contact without words between the two. Hoffman smirked and pressed the full weight of his body into Strahm before finally giving the agent what he wanted. His thick lips devoured the other man’s mouth in a kiss. Strahm broke the contact first as he ran his thumb over Hoffman’s bottom lip.

“What if someone sees us?” He asked, eyeing up Hoffman’s lips for another kiss while he feigned modesty.

“If it’s any of my officers, they’ll turn around and act like they didn’t see shit. What about if it’s little miss girl scout?”

“She’ll clear her throat and make it known she’s here. And she has a name, dick.” Strahm took Hoffman’s hands off of him before he started playing with his own shirt collar. “You free tonight?”

“No.” Hoffman rolled his eyes, “I’m eating on camera for this fucking pervert who can’t pick up on any of my hints about how badly I want him to stuff my face.”

“Dumbass.” Strahm hissed, “Fine. I’ll come over and stuff your fucking face, you want that you cow?”

“Great I’ll see you there.” Hoffman walked off with an air of confidence. He had some paperwork to fill out once he got back to the precinct, but he definitely wouldn’t mind filling it out now that he had a date waiting on the other side of it.

Hoffman bit down on his lip. He had no idea what to expect from Strahm and thus didn’t bring any food home with him. God he really felt like he was starving without his after work snack before a proper meal. He wore the loosest clothes he still had left, not bothering with pants that’d be discarded quickly for one reason or another. He heard the knock on his door, checked the peephole and barely cracked the door open to let Strahm in. His hand went immediately to the center of the agent’s chest, and his head titled in anticipation for the hungry kiss he knew Strahm was going to lay onto him. As expected, Strahm’s teeth dug into the skin of Hoffman’s lips and pushed Hoffman back into his apartment. He placed his hands firmly against Hoffman’s love handles and moved his mouth towards Mark’s jawline. Hoffman slid his hand down, teasing Strahm as if he was about to undo the other man’s belt only to wrap his fist around the plastic carry out bag handles that the agent had pressing into him.

“What’d you get me?” Hoffman bit his lip, waiting for an answer from Strahm. Any confidence the other man had was gone now that Hoffman was looking at him with such desire.

“Just… some burgers.” He cleared his throat before continuing. “Thought you’d look cute with grease running down that stupid face of yours.”

“Let’s start then.” Hoffman took his arm and pulled him towards the room he usually stuffed himself in. “Give me one and unwrap the next one right away.”

“Okay.”

Hoffman ate the first one without much hesitation, inhaling it rather than just eating it. He held his hand out for Strahm to give him the second and ate that just as fast.

“At least tell me you got me something besides just the burgers.”

“Yeah, fries too.” Strahm grumbled a little

“You’ve seen me clean up five dozen donuts like it was nothing. Are you really surprised I’d ask if there was more food?”

“No.”

“Good. Give me the fries now.” Hoffman demanded. Strahm put the bag into Hoffman’s hand and pulled another burger out from the bag. Just as Hoffman was about to tell Strahm to give him the sandwich, Strahm shoved the bun up against Hoffman’s lips. Hoffman bit down into the burger and ate as Strahm fed it to him. Strahm brought the next one up to his lips in a similar fashion and Hoffman finished it before mouthing off. “Big ass burgers you got me…”

“Don’t act like you don’t like it.” Strahm rolled his eyes slowly. Hoffman could feel that he was close to his limit. He wanted Strahm to count the wrappers and tell him how many he’d eaten but he wanted to get more in before he was completely full. “You’ve eaten at least six of these fucking things.”

“Yeah?” Hoffman looked up at him with lust filled eyes

“One of those is probably like three burgers for a normal person.” Strahm walked behind Hoffman’s chair. His hand slid under Hoffman’s belly. He lifted the heavy mass up only to let it drop onto Hoffman’s lap with a noticeable thud. A moan escaped from Hoffman’s lips as Strahm’s hand firmly rubbed circles into his stomach. “I could probably fit two more in there and being the stupid cow you are would ignore every other part of your body telling you ‘enough’s enough’.”

That’s right, Hoffman was Strahm’s cow. A greedy, mindless cow.

“Hell I could probably fit a baby in you and no one would be able to tell where your bump ended and your fat started.” Strahm’s hand snuck below the elastic of Hoffman’s underwear. “You’d look so good carrying my calf, you fucking heifer.”

Hoffman’s teeth were threatening to tear the inside of his lip open as Strahm talked to him. With a quick jerk out of the chair, Strahm sat on Hoffman’s bed and ran his hand over the silver belt buckle. Still in a head fog, Hoffman leaned into Strahm and wrestled with the cold metal himself. Strahm used his fingers to force Hoffman’s face to look at him. The detective’s heart caught in his throat as the agent’s lips pressed against his, softer this time for some reason. When Hoffman returned the kiss with a familiar hunger Strahm stopped playing nice and kissed with some passion behind it. He only disconnected from his fatass to pull the struggling shirt off over Hoffman’s head and strip his underwear off.

“You’re even fucking bigger than your stupid little work outfit makes you look.” Strahm’s nostrils flared as he looked over Hoffman. Hoffman hated how much he loved being glanced over by the agent like this. It was completely personal but felt impersonal; like Strahm wanted to distance himself from his creation but if Hoffman was the one to pull away, he’d only be pulled back by his leash harder. “Ride me.”

No ‘please’, no ‘you need a minute?’. This was about what Strahm wanted. Hoffman carefully maneuvered around his full belly to grab the lube and handed it to Strahm. Strahm shoved two fingers up into Hoffman to ease him into this. Hoffman scoffed for a second only to be shut up by the feeling of Strahm shoving himself into Hoffman. Mark couldn’t hold back the moan that ensued as Strahm began thrusting up into him. He wrapped his arms carefully around Strahm’s neck as the man let out grunts from the effort of holding Hoffman upright.

“Making me do all the fucking work, huh?” Strahm’s lips trailed along Hoffman’s jawline. Hoffman slowly bucked his hips up into Strahm’s, desperate for another point of contact between the two of them. Strahm moved his hands down along Hoffman’s back and gave his ass a generous squeeze before bringing them to the detective’s front and pressed down on his thighs to keep him from bouncing down too hard onto Strahm. The agent’s finger tips dug in so perfectly to the plush skin on top of him, it was all getting to be too much. With a couple more firm thrusts up into Hoffman, Strahm finished inside of him. He pulled out slowly, despite Hoffman’s whines.

“You’re really going to fill me up and not let me get off?” he pouted. Strahm leaned in for a kiss that turned into a bit of a fight as Strahm’s teeth sunk into the inside of Hoffman’s mouth. With all his weight, Strahm pushed Hoffman onto his back and ran a hand over the still firm curve of Hoffman’s stomach. He massaged some of the tension away, trailing his hand down to the other man’s dick. He slowly jerked Hoffman off. Already in an overeaten state of bliss, Hoffman didn’t take long to cum into Strahm’s hand as the agent brought the ejaculation up to his mouth. He licked his hand clean in plain view of the detective.

“God you drive me insane, you fat fuck.” He let out a sigh. He used his palm to apply pressure against Hoffman’s belly, rubbing circle after circle into the distended orb at Hoffman’s center. Hoffman was barely able to let words slip from his lips, continuously interrupted by belches he couldn’t keep in from Strahm’s soothing. The agent’s lips connected with Hoffman’s earlobe, kissing behind his ear as they both came down from the feeding high. When Hoffman could finally string his words together, he asked Strahm,

“Was that everything you hoped for?” His eyes were still glazed over

“Yeah… It was pretty good.” Strahm nuzzled into the crook of Hoffman’s neck.

“Just good?” Hoffman rolled away as best as he could, only for Strahm to pull him in closer. “You’ve got some high standards for ‘good’, ass.”

“Can’t let your ego swell as big as your stomach.” Strahm snipped back at him. He only pulled away from Hoffman when he saw that Hoffman’s eyes were growing heavy and went to turn the lights off for the two of them.

“Peter?” He asked in an almost sing-songy voice

Strahm choked a bit on his own spit as he tried to answer Mark in a timely manner, “Y-Yeah?”

“Wanna feed me again sometime?”

“Yeah, yeah I do.”

“Maybe I could stream it. Show off that it’s been you making me fatter this whole time.”

“Or I could just film you, for myself.”

“Perv.” Hoffman kissed his partner and leaned into him. Strahm’s hand ran up the outside of Hoffman’s thigh, rubbing in small circles along the bigger man’s love handles. “Can you promise me something?”

“Probably.”

“‘Probably’? What good are you?”

“Fine, what?”

“Bring me dessert too next time.”

“You got it.”

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