#it really looks like I changed the hair color here

[sam-dugesian]

[chugs energy drink]

okay, here we go.

-

👕Appearance

What is your character's favorite physical trait they possess?

their false eyes. (i'm not going to say the rude response. i know my followers want me to. but that wouldn't even be the right answer to this question)

What would your character wear if they were told they had to gussy up?

smart shoes (ankle boots), woolly ankle socks, work/casual shirt rolled up to the elbows, steam pressed dark grey smart trousers, and a smile that shifts type depending on how they wish to portray themselves.

Is there something about your character's appearance that they would change if possible?

hair, could do with some.

Does your character have a favorite material they like to wear?

cotton when in public, wool in private.

What are your character's opinion on scars?

every scar tells a story. yes, i'm aware my oc has no scars because they have a healing factor.

How much interest does your character take in trends?

none. in fact that's kind of the point.

Is there someone your character tries to look similar to?

i don't think so.

Does your character have a physical trait that they're known for?

they are hollow inside like a balloon. they can go flat and slot into places.

What does your character smell like?

petrichor. it's often mentioned.

If your character could splurge on a particular garment, what would it be?

cycling jerseys.

Is your character's favorite color a color they wear often?

yes.

Has your character gone through major stylistic or physical changes?

yes.

What is something your character would refuse to wear?

honestly, they have no shame. they'd wear anything if need be. when actively trying to work on manipulating people though, they tend to wear a chosen outfit for that.

Is there a style your character is afraid they can’t pull off?

i don't think they can really pull any style off. i don't think they even care.

Would your character wear something someone else picked out for them?

always.

Is your character's appearance more telling or deceiving?

BOTH! depends on who he's targeting.

What are your character's thoughts on wearing costumes?

preferably not hide the face, but anything goes.

Does your character have a favorite outfit?

sweater, pajama pants and slippers.

If your character had to get a tattoo what would it be?

if they didn't have a healing factor, it would be this.

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📦Objects

Is there an item your character doesn't like to leave without?

nope. they pretty much just wing property in general. possibly just a bag to carry things in.

What gift would your character give to someone they didn't like but felt obligated to?

themself.

What type of object is likely to catch your character's attention?

people's shoes.

Is there an item your character liked that they can’t get back? 

that's the plot of a future story.

Would your character ever try to haggle?

always. even if the price is clearly labelled.

What is something your character is proud to own?

nothing. literally. he's proud he's not dependant on material possessions.

Does your character ever spend more than they have?

no. they are very savvy with resources.

What would it take for your character to give up an item they really like?

that's the plot of a future story.

Does your character prefer to give or receive gifts?

give.

Is there a type of object your character doesn’t like?

things that are demoralising in nature. not in a sense of losing identity like a costume for kids. but things that say that a person belongs to someone. even a company logo on a uniform is a bit much.

What might an acquaintance think is a good gift for your character?

information about people my character is focussed on.

Does your character personify objects?

yes. constantly. often just to annoy others.

What does your character most enjoy shopping for?

secrets.

Is there an item your character is embarrassed they own or want?

friends.

Would your character prefer something bought or made personally?

always the personal touch.

Is your character willing to ask for things?

no.

What is most important to your character when shopping?

what other people are shopping.

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🍽️Food and Drink

What flavor would your character say their personality is?

mint.

Would your character prefer baking, cooking or mixing drinks?

baking.

Is there a food or drink your character is unwilling to try?

salty snacks.

How big is your character's appetite?

they eat very little. their body mass is very low. they're hollow.

Does your character consider eating fun?

no.

Would your character eat or drink something they didn't like to appease someone?

always.

Is there food that has made your character sick?

salty snacks.

What is your character's favorite food group?

shellfish.

Does your character like to try new foods?

yes.

What is a childhood meal your character cherishes?

black pudding.

Is your character food motivated?

not at all. food is just sustainance.

Which mealtime is your character's favorite?

breakfast.

How much does your character care about wasting food?

a little more than he should.

Does your character prefer restaurant food or home cooked food?

home cooked.

What food or drink does your character consider a treat?

that's complicated.

Is there a food texture your character doesn't like?

hard.

What kind of drinks does your character prefer?

vegetable juice.

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🌤️Weather and Nature

What would your character do if they were suddenly caught in the rain?

smile. probably resist the urge to dance.

Has your character had a meaningful encounter with an animal?

always.

What season would your character say they're most similar to?

spring.

Is there a natural phenomenon that scares your character?

droughts.

Has your character ever had an animal phase?

i think he's living one right now.

Would your character enjoy sky gazing?

he already does and far too much to the annoyance of those around him.

Does your character have a good sense of direction?

he has a very clear plan on where he's going. not only can he understand the landscape, he can even predict what kinds of buildings are where in a city.

What type of environment does your character like best?

wet.

Is your character good with animals?

extremely. almost to the point of appearing telepathic.

How would your character react to snow?

think it looks nice, but would rather not.

What part of nature would your character most resonate with?

small rivers.

Could your character survive in the wilderness on their own for a week or more?

where do you think they came from? that's their bread and butter.

What element best represents your character?

air.

Does your character prefer hot or cold weather?

cold.

Is there a creature that scares your character?

cone snail.

What celestial body would interest your character the most?

orion.

Is your character good with plants?

ridiculously good to the point people think he has plant magic.

How willing would your character be to nap outside?

you'd be better asking them to try and nap inside for once.

What animal would your character say best represents them?

human.

-

🤝Community and Relationships

Does your character prefer company or solitude when sick?

company. they like to study people. they get bored when alone.

What is your character's favorite kind of social event?

movie release. get a front seat, sit backwards in their chair, and watch everyone's reactions to the movie.

How comfortable would your character be singing and dancing in front of others?

too comfortable.

Is your character upfront about their feelings?

no, but they lie very well.

Who would your character first seek if they needed medical help?

their friend John. he's a doctor.

How willing would your character be to go to a party with people they don't know?

too willing.

Who is your character most honest with?

i'm still trying to figure that out.

How likely is it for your character to initiate a friendship?

too likely.

Where is your character's comfort place?

someone-else's sock drawer.

Is there a habit your character has that they learned from someone else?

yes.

Does your character have people they think would worry about them if they got injured?

many.

How would your character react to being put in a position of leadership?

they'd probably be the first person to suggest the idea.

Would your character be good at providing medical assistance?

weirdly competent.

Who would your character say knows them best?

they wouldn't answer that question. but they would be thinking of their rival Sam Wamm.

Is there a person your character would turn to for backup in a fight?

you'll have to wait and see.

Who would your character most want to sign their cast if they got one?

Sam Wamm. just curious about what he'd write.

How well does your character work with others?

too well.

What is your character's favorite form of affection?

sitting near someone-else.

Does your character enjoy celebrating holidays?

they can take it or leave it.

What would it take for your character to get into a fight?

not much.

-

💓Mind, Body and Soul

What is a habit your character has that others might find cute?

wiggling his whiskers.

Are there particular sounds your character is fond of?

bass guitar.

Is your character more prone to fight or flight?

fight. in fact that's a serious issue.

Does your character believe in myths and fairy tales?

considering they're a literal mythological creature? they are somewhat of a dreamer, which, side note, is actually really rare for his kind.

What words could tear your character down?

nothing really. in fact that's probably his best asset. he doesn't value language that highly.

How well does your character act under pressure?

he's calm, focussed and practical. it's when things are calm that kills him.

Is your character good at practicing self-care?

i'd say 50:50. it depends on the details.

What scents does your character find comforting?

i.. don't.. know.. i feel like i should. i feel like that's something he's been hiding.

Does your character have any allergies?

salt.

Is your character a light, medium or heavy sleeper?

super light, though he often fakes sleeping.

Does your character have strong willpower?

too strong.

Is your character more likely to give advice or seek it?

neither.

How does your character relax?

leaning over a ledge and watching people go about their lives below.

Is there a secret thing your character longs to hear?

yes.

Does your character have a sleep routine?

no.

Would your character feel confident in a fight?

too confident.

Is your character more energized in the morning, afternoon or at night?

night.

How often does your character have nightmares?

no comment.

Are there scents your character dislikes?

no comment.

Is there a fear your character wants to learn to overcome?

yes. and i don't think it's possible. it relies on others acting a certain way. which i'm sure they won't.

If your character had to act in a play what role would they think they’d best perform?

pretty much any role. they'd prefer one in the background. where they can watch everyone else.

Does your character have a high pain tolerance?

yes. and let me be specific. they don't lack an ability to sense pain. they have just learned how best to deal with it.

-

🎲 Hobbies and Activities

What kind of games does your character most enjoy playing?

mind games. truth or dare.

Does your character have a secret hobby?

yes.

What is a talent your character wishes they had?

the ability to be by themselves.

Is there an activity your character used to enjoy that they now dislike?

most activities.

Which does your character try to prioritize more, work or hobbies?

work.

Does your character work better with creative or technical endeavors?

inter-personal.

What is a talent that your character is proud of?

cloning himself.

Is your character more outdoorsy or indoorsy?

outdoorsy.

What is a topic your character would be excited to talk about? 

you.

Is there a skill your character doesn’t know they’re bad at?

loneliness.

Does your character have any injury stories?

lots.

What kind of music does your character enjoy?

edm.

Has your character ever made something for themselves or someone else?

yes and yes.

What is your character’s opinion on cheating in games?

they like to be challenged.

How good is your character at following through on projects?

too good.

What’s an activity that reminds your character of someone else?

no comment.

Does your character prefer music or silence?

music. but better yet chatter.

What is a topic your character wouldn't want to talk about?

no comment.

🌸My Super Long Hopefully Fun Character Ask Game:

👕Appearance

What is your character's favorite physical trait they possess?

What would your character wear if they were told they had to gussy up?

Is there something about your character's appearance that they would change if possible?

Does your character have a favorite material they like to wear?

What are your character's opinion on scars?

How much interest does your character take in trends?

Is there someone your character tries to look similar to?

Does your character have a physical trait that they're known for?

What does your character smell like?

If your character could splurge on a particular garment, what would it be?

Is your character's favorite color a color they wear often?

Has your character gone through major stylistic or physical changes?

What is something your character would refuse to wear?

Is there a style your character is afraid they can’t pull off?

Would your character wear something someone else picked out for them?

Is your character's appearance more telling or deceiving?

What are your character's thoughts on wearing costumes?

Does your character have a favorite outfit?

If your character had to get a tattoo what would it be?

📦Objects

Is there an item your character doesn't like to leave without?

What gift would your character give to someone they didn't like but felt obligated to?

What type of object is likely to catch your character's attention?

Is there an item your character liked that they can’t get back? 

Would your character ever try to haggle?

What is something your character is proud to own?

Does your character ever spend more than they have?

What would it take for your character to give up an item they really like?

Does your character prefer to give or receive gifts?

Is there a type of object your character doesn’t like?

What might an acquaintance think is a good gift for your character?

Does your character personify objects?

What does your character most enjoy shopping for?

Is there an item your character is embarrassed they own or want?

Would your character prefer something bought or made personally?

Is your character willing to ask for things?

What is most important to your character when shopping?

🍽️Food and Drink

What flavor would your character say their personality is?

Would your character prefer baking, cooking or mixing drinks?

Is there a food or drink your character is unwilling to try?

How big is your character's appetite?

Does your character consider eating fun?

Would your character eat or drink something they didn't like to appease someone?

Is there food that has made your character sick?

What is your character's favorite food group?

Does your character like to try new foods?

What is a childhood meal your character cherishes?

Is your character food motivated?

Which mealtime is your character's favorite?

How much does your character care about wasting food?

Does your character prefer restaurant food or home cooked food?

What food or drink does your character consider a treat?

Is there a food texture your character doesn't like?

What kind of drinks does your character prefer?

🌤️Weather and Nature

What would your character do if they were suddenly caught in the rain?

Has your character had a meaningful encounter with an animal?

What season would your character say they're most similar to?

Is there a natural phenomenon that scares your character?

Has your character ever had an animal phase?

Would your character enjoy sky gazing?

Does your character have a good sense of direction?

What type of environment does your character like best?

Is your character good with animals?

How would your character react to snow?

What part of nature would your character most resonate with?

Could your character survive in the wilderness on their own for a week or more?

What element best represents your character?

Does your character prefer hot or cold weather?

Is there a creature that scares your character?

What celestial body would interest your character the most?

Is your character good with plants?

How willing would your character be to nap outside?

What animal would your character say best represents them?

🤝Community and Relationships

Does your character prefer company or solitude when sick?

What is your character's favorite kind of social event?

How comfortable would your character be singing and dancing in front of others?

Is your character upfront about their feelings?

Who would your character first seek if they needed medical help?

How willing would your character be to go to a party with people they don't know?

Who is your character most honest with?

How likely is it for your character to initiate a friendship?

Where is your character's comfort place?

Is there a habit your character has that they learned from someone else?

Does your character have people they think would worry about them if they got injured?

How would your character react to being put in a position of leadership?

Would your character be good at providing medical assistance?

Who would your character say knows them best?

Is there a person your character would turn to for backup in a fight?

Who would your character most want to sign their cast if they got one?

How well does your character work with others?

What is your character's favorite form of affection?

Does your character enjoy celebrating holidays?

What would it take for your character to get into a fight?

💓Mind, Body and Soul

What is a habit your character has that others might find cute?

Are there particular sounds your character is fond of?

Is your character more prone to fight or flight?

Does your character believe in myths and fairy tales?

What words could tear your character down?

How well does your character act under pressure?

Is your character good at practicing self-care?

What scents does your character find comforting?

Does your character have any allergies?

Is your character a light, medium or heavy sleeper?

Does your character have strong willpower?

Is your character more likely to give advice or seek it?

How does your character relax?

Is there a secret thing your character longs to hear?

Does your character have a sleep routine?

Would your character feel confident in a fight?

Is your character more energized in the morning, afternoon or at night?

How often does your character have nightmares?

Are there scents your character dislikes?

Is there a fear your character wants to learn to overcome?

If your character had to act in a play what role would they think they’d best perform?

Does your character have a high pain tolerance?

🎲 Hobbies and Activities

What kind of games does your character most enjoy playing?

Does your character have a secret hobby?

What is a talent your character wishes they had?

Is there an activity your character used to enjoy that they now dislike?

Which does your character try to prioritize more, work or hobbies?

Does your character work better with creative or technical endeavors?

What is a talent that your character is proud of?

Is your character more outdoorsy or indoorsy?

What is a topic your character would be excited to talk about? 

Is there a skill your character doesn’t know they’re bad at?

Does your character have any injury stories?

What kind of music does your character enjoy?

Has your character ever made something for themselves or someone else?

What is your character’s opinion on cheating in games?

How good is your character at following through on projects?

What’s an activity that reminds your character of someone else?

Does your character prefer music or silence?

What is a topic your character wouldn't want to talk about?

[luvmanifesting]

More information about my world!

(sorryyy for spam post 😓 im just really excited)

yk how earth has a sound around the planet right? and so does the other planets and whatever well for my planet it’ll have like a soft beat around it! (maybe a soft fairy-ish sound idk how to explain it)

my planet is the 4th planet from the sun

magic exists heavily in that world but its controlled magic

time does not exist in regards to my post here where i said everyone is immortal

SOME animals can talk (cats, dogs, foxes, sea lions, penguins, bears, elephants and wolves and bunnies)

ocean animals are friendly to humans (that is unless you disturb them or try to kill them)

the species that exist in this world are called “Liminoids” (get it..? “limi” as in like “limitless?” no? just me?☹️)

yes cars and planes exist but they run solely on like magic energy so it doesn’t ruin the planet

zoo’s will not exist in this world every animal lives in healthy environment thats immune to damage

even though i said time doesn’t exist this planet will traditionally celebrate something similar to new years but instead of like “yayy 365 days has passed!!” no we’ll be celebrating the life this planet has given us and we’ll all do something good to the planet as thankfulness. the fireworks will be used from magic!

the planet is free from any type of universal damage

everyone in this world is born with an element but that element won’t activate until the age of 16 (immortality again, people can still age by numbers but their body will not change. they will still look like a person in their 20s people can select their age here whenever they turn 18)

foods here will not make people overweight or obese (you can gain muscle)

instead of regular hair colors people in this world are born with various colors or 1 color

(im still thinking about it) maybe i’ll add like a special machine to where the people in this planet would maybe like to travel to earth! (they would be given procedures to keep their identity safe)

every country is ran by a healthy, stable SMART and fair monarch. (people still have freedom and equality its just to maintain world order)

cheating isn’t allowed in this planet, if found out; a persons partner is given 2 options. 1 remove this persons immorality and sentence them to death or 2 forever punishment

theres a big dome where certain countries come to entertain other countries with cool events

alsooo if you guys wanna shift to test it out then you can! you’re only given 7 hours though. you’ll be granted a little watch that has a timer. and you can only visit this place 4 times! please be respectful there though. its still in progress! here are some pictures to what the planet looks like from being on it! (some are AI though)

i’m still working on what the PLANET itself would look like :p

[inthedayswhenlandswerefew]

Cannibals [Chapter 9: Blue Jays and Red-Tailed Hawks]

A/N: Thank you so much for your patience! Life got hectic but I am back, besties. Only 1 chapter left!!! 🥳❤️💙🦇

Series summary: You are his sister, his lover, his betrothed despite everyone else’s protests; you have always belonged to Aemond and believe you always will. But on the night he returns from Storm’s End with horrifying news, the trajectories of your lives are irrevocably changed. Will the war of succession make your bond permanent, or destroy the twisted and fanatical love you share?

Chapter warnings: Language, mentions of sexual content (18+ readers only), blood and violence and warfare, character deaths, chaotic giant lizards.

Word count: 5.5k

💙 All my writing can be found HERE! ❤️

Tagging: @themoonofthesun @chattylurker @moonfllowerr @ecstaticactus @mrs-starkgaryen, more in comments 🥰

🦇 Let me know if you’d like to be added to the taglist 🦇

He reaches for his game piece, the shadowcat, although it isn’t purple but only a plain, crudely-carved chunk of oak wood, a makeshift imitation of its twin back in the Red Keep, assuming that Rhaenyra hasn’t stumbled upon and destroyed it. Daeron has sculpted the beast himself; he used a dagger that Aemond gave him as a gift before he was sent away to Oldtown, its hilt embellished with dark blue stones the color of Tessarion’s scales. He has made dice and a board too, and the other four pieces, homely little animals, proxies of his long-lost siblings. Daeron wonders if they miss him as much as he has always missed them. None of them ever said that in their letters, not in words so explicit. Aegon never really wrote at all; instead, he would scrawl barely-legible postscripts at the bottom of other people’s letters: Don’t drink too much, Learn some High Valyrian, Try not to get anyone pregnant.

“I am always the shadowcat,” Daeron explains, grinning. He shows the talisman to his companions, four soldiers fighting in the Hightower army, his closest friends. Then he places it at the starting line he has etched into the board.

“Why do you get the best one?” says Anthony of House Ambrose.

Daeron blinks. This has never occurred to him before. “Is the shadowcat the best piece?”

“Obviously.”

“I don’t know,” teases Josiah of House Roxton of the Ring, scratching his beard. “That butterfly is mighty fearsome.”

Now they’re all laughing. “Then you shall have the butterfly,” Daeron proclaims, handing it to Josiah. “That was my gentle sister Helaena’s piece. And you will never be as good as her, not if you pray to the Seven for a thousand years.”

“No,” Josiah agrees somberly, bowing his head in the firelight. It is just after dusk, and even here in the south, even within the cloth walls of the tent, the metallic chill of winter is creeping into every room like a vermin, like a spider or a rat.

“And Anthony, because you are clever yet envious and ever-grasping, I bequeath you Aemond’s wolf.” Daeron drops it into his open, calloused palm.

“I hope he doesn’t come looking for it,” Anthony chuckles. “I’m quite skilled with the sword, but I would be loath to meet the prince in combat.”

“I don’t want the worm,” slurs Oliver of House Fossoway of Cider Hall. Oli is quite drunk.

“It’s a snake, you idiot,” Josiah says.

“And it’s yours, Oli.” Daeron gives the tiny wooden snake to him. Oli accepts it reluctantly. “The snake was Aegon’s piece.”

“Long live the king!” Oli bellows with sudden fervor, and raises his cup of ale. Everyone toasts to the king’s health.

“Wherever he may be,” Daeron says before draining his cup and sweeping his silver hair out of his eyes, blue like a Targaryen’s, large and expressive like Mother’s. He feels that Aegon is still alive somewhere. He believes that if his eldest brother was dead, he would know it in his bones; there would be invisible, unbearable wounds like the ones that opened up when Helaena and Dreamfyre fell from the sky, days before Daeron received a raven carrying the news.

“What about my game piece?” asks Laurence of House Redwyne of the Arbor. He is a bowman and a healer as well, adept at herbal remedies and stitching. He would have preferred to be a maester or a septon, but as his parents’ only son he was compelled to endure the life of a lord. A squire arrives, refills all the cups with ale, departs with a swift bow.

“You are a Redwyne, and so you shall have Red’s bat,” Daeron says, entrusting the inanimate beast to Laurence. They know who he is talking about; they have heard more fireside stories of Daeron’s siblings than they could count. “And you are nothing like her. You are pious and poised, and you have never made your parents blush with shame. My Mother would have loved to have you for a son.”

“I’ll take your place,” Laurence says mildly, smiling. “You can be my parents’ dashing warrior, and I can accompany Queen Alicent when she prays in the sept.”

Daeron rolls first. He reads the dice and moves his shadowcat forward seven spaces. His brow knits together with determination. “I’m not leaving my mother there.”

“What? In the city?” Anthony asks, startled but not opposed. He is not one to shy away from battle. He believes that is where men find glory, where they ascend from mortals to something more, legends, heroes, gods.

Josiah snickers. “Not going to wait for Prince Aemond’s permission, huh?”

“The people of King’s Landing are in rebellion,” Daeron says, firelight flickering on his face. “Rhaenyra is desperate, and she is grieving Jace’s death, and she has my mother, Jaehaera, and Maelor in her grasp. What if Rhaenyra flees the city on Syrax and evades punishment for her treason? What if she executes my family, or if they are killed somehow when mobs overrun the Red Keep? I will not wait idly. Tessarion and I will recapture King’s Landing for the Greens.”

Oli raises his cup of ale again. “And we will fight with you!”

All five men toast, drink deeply, resume the game. Daeron wins; he has always been lucky.

~~~~~~~~~~

You stumble upstairs together, you supporting Aegon’s weight as best you can, tripping on the stone steps as lightning flashes outside the windows. Rain pours in sheets, wind howls through the cracked walls of the castle, and for a moment you think you are back at Heart’s Home, and that at the top of the tower you will find Luca waiting for you, safe and without pain and grinning his toothless little smile at you over Jace’s shoulder. Then—through the wine, through the torchlight and the thunder—you remember, and you feel the loss of them all over again, and when your knees buckle on the staircase Aegon drags you to your feet. You can sense that Alys Rivers is following you both, sweeping near-silently in her mossy green gown, peering fixedly with those strange silvery eyes like mirrors, haunting doorways and corridors. When you look back you catch glimpses of her, deformed shadows with long white fingers like the skeleton of a bat.

“I’m not a man anymore,” Aegon is blubbering as he collapses into his bed. His half-unbuttoned shirt is damp with spilled cider; tears gleam on his disfigured face.

“Shh, yes you are,” you soothe, lying down beside him. You rest a palm on his chest, gnarled grotesque scar tissue the color of a flayed man. Hazily, you think of the Bolton soldiers who must have marched south with Cregan Stark, and you wonder if when they sharpen their knives they are thinking of Aegon, or Daeron, or Aemond, or Mother, or maybe even you.

“I used to be,” Aegon sobs. “Now I’m just a useless, mutilated, flaccid freak.”

You burrow into him, drunk and drowsy. “Whatever you are, I’m glad you’re still alive.”

Aegon slings a scarred arm over your shoulder. Your ribs throb, your skull aches. “I used to love whoring,” he says miserably.

“The sport is not lost to you entirely. A working cock is not required to satisfy a woman.”

He laughs. “No, I suppose you’re right.”

“Perhaps you will recover. Perhaps you will find new ways to experience pleasure.”

“Perhaps,” Aegon agrees in a soft murmur, and then he dozes off.

And as the room spirals around you and thunder booms outside, you are carried back to other times and places, fleeting visions like the windows you once peered through into Aemond’s mind. You are a child being shoved into a wooden trunk and entombed there. You are tapping your little red bat around the game board. You are under the arbor grown over with roses and thorns, sunlight bleeding through the leaves in golden trickles. You are watching blue jays flit through a blue sky and bathe in the water of the fountains. You are playing with Jaehaerys, Jaehaera, and Maelor, building fortresses of stones and sticks, collecting seashells with them on the beach. You are catching your bats when they soar in through the open window to land in your palms. You are watching Aemond ride back from hunting with one of his red-tailed hawks still perched on his glove. You are feeling your mattress shift beneath his weight, his hand on your thigh, his teeth on your neck; you hear a reverent whisper of High Valyrian. And then you hear the blistering shrieks of all the people he has killed, and you are reminded of Mother’s words about what you once shared with him: It’s strange, and violent, and obsessive and profane and…and…unnatural.

Was she right? She must have been. All it has led to is suffering.

If I had never loved Aemond, Luca and Jace would still be alive. If I had married some ordinary nobleman like Mother and Grandsire always wanted—his bloodline an inheritance from the Andals or the First Men, not the treacherous smoldering embers of Old Valyria—my children would be safe, and Helaena never would have tried to escape King’s Landing, and Aemond would have wed a Baratheon girl and perhaps accepted Lord Borros’ offer of dinner and rest that night in Storm’s End, and maybe Luke wouldn’t have been killed over Shipbreaker Bay, and there is a chance the war would never have happened at all.

But you didn’t listen to Mother and Grandsire, because you have never been tame, gentle, dutiful, ladylike. Jace saw this clearly; you were hungry.

You don’t fall sleep until dawn, and when you wake it is night again. The maids bring food, bread and butter and stew thick with fish and crab, but neither you or Aegon want it. You are marooned here together, not useful like Aemond or Daeron, not holy like Helaena, and the only remedy is cider that flows like molten gold, heat that burns in your throat like the fire of a dragon.

Now there is bleak grey midday light streaming in through the windows, and Aegon is screaming downstairs. You sit up, startled and bleary-eyed, your tangled silver hair strewn carelessly all around you. Alys is standing beside the bed. You yelp in alarm when you see her.

“A raven has arrived,” Alys says tonelessly. She has a red ribbon laced through her moon-white fingers and is toying with it.

“What? Why are you in here…?”

“I think it’s bad news.” Then she floats to the doorway and turns back to make sure you’re following, her hand with the ribbon resting on her rounded belly.

At the bottom of the staircase, Aegon is writhing on the stone floor, a piece of parchment—doubtlessly sent by one of his loyalists on the mainland, one of the very few who know where he is now, perhaps somebody at Rook’s Rest or Crackclaw Point—crumpled in his fist. Several maids are trying futilely to comfort him. You take the letter from Aegon so you can read it.

What is written there in black ink is a tale of triumph and ruin. Under the cover of darkness the Hightower army marched on King’s Landing, and the smallfolk rose up to join them when the soldiers breached the city walls, and the capital has been retaken by the Greens and Mother freed from her cell. Ulf the White was found drunk and senseless, and promptly murdered. Silverwing fled from the Dragonpit in the midst of the chaos. Daeron and Tessarion flew directly to the Red Keep and attacked Syrax where she had been kept in the courtyard, killing the dragon and thus destroying Rhaenyra’s chance to escape. The woman the Blacks call queen was captured and imprisoned, and the men of her council executed; but not before her bowmen shot Daeron through the chest and throat and he tumbled from the saddle and died alone, bleeding to death within the castle walls he once called home. Tessarion screeched in grief and would not leave his body, incinerating the archers when they dared to shoot at her next.

It’s in your pounding skull, a memory that fills your vision, harsh and luminous like lightning: Daeron as a child moving his little purple shadowcat around the board, how the rest of you packed up the game and never played again after he was sent to Oldtown.

“He was supposed to wait for Aemond,” Aegon is sobbing. “He wasn’t supposed to try to retake the city alone, he knew that, he was just a kid…”

You see Daeron falling from the sky, riddled with arrows and stained red with blood. You see Helaena and Dreamfyre plummeting down towards the beach where you once played with her children. And then you see Aemond plunging into the Gods Eye and being swallowed up by cold dark currents, sinking to the floor of the lake, dissolving into silt, disappearing from history.

I love him, you realize, an abrupt and agonizing laceration down to the bone. I might hate him, but I love him too. And hasn’t it always been that way?

You feel the heat of blood drawn on your cheek, taste the iron and copper of it on Aemond’s lips. Your skull aches, always on the left side.

“Why are we the ones still alive?!” Aegon wails at you. “You and me and Aemond were the monsters. But Helaena and Daeron, they were good, they were pure, they deserved to be here when the war is over!”

“It’s not over yet,” Alys says ominously.

“Go away, witch,” Aegon moans, covering his face with his hands. “Go away, go away, go away…”

Outside where soft rain is falling—you can see droplets on the windows and endless opaque fog—you hear the distant snarl of a dragon. And you have the overwhelming sensation that you are being called to.

Above the Gods Eye, the red and the blue, Alys had said. Aemond was blue…but who was red? Caraxes, Daemon, me?

The dragon growls again, not Sunfyre or Grey Ghost or Vermithor the Bronze Fury but the Cannibal, never ridden, never tamed, always hungry. Alys Rivers is holding something out to you. It is the red ribbon.

“He flies to his death,” she says levelly. “Unless you are there to catch him.”

Luca and Jace are gone. Helaena and Daeron are gone. Jaehaerys and Grandsire are gone. But I don’t have to lose Aemond too.

You take the ribbon and swiftly weave your hair into an untidy braid, then tie it off at the end with the strip of red. It is the first color besides black you have worn since you left Heart’s Home. Then you pad towards the castle entranceway in your bare feet.

Aegon is sniffling as the maids try to console him. He peers up at you from where he is still collapsed on the floor, a heap of marred skin and weak bones. “Where are you going?”

In answer, the Cannibal roars outside, immense and gravelly and malevolent.

Aegon says again, frantic now: “Red, where are you going?”

“To claim a dragon.”

“You can’t,” he says, stunned, petrified. “They all refused you.”

“I’m a different person now.”

“No!” he shouts as you turn to leave, lunging and wrapping his arms around your legs, trying to keep you here. “Please don’t go. Please stay. I don’t want to lose you too.”

Tenderly, you touch his tangled locks of silver hair, his mutilated cheek, his slumped shoulder. “If I don’t go, you might lose all of us.”

“It’s suicide. The Cannibal can’t be ridden.”

“But I know what he craves,” you say, and from across the room Alys smiles at you, her pale eyes glinting and her hands stroking the small globe of her belly. “And I want the same thing.”

You pull away from Aegon and escape into the mist, the rain, the cold wind and sea spray that burns in your lungs. He hobbles after you with his walking stick, pleading for you to stop, but he is too slow to catch up. Behind Aegon, Alys trails at a distance, meandering over the rocks. The magma trapped beneath the surface of the island flows like scorching blood through the arteries of the earth; the heat radiates up through the soles of your feet. The marrow glows hot and red in your bones.

You follow the Cannibal’s grunts and snarls and find him down by the water, a shore of jagged volcanic rocks and no sand, volcanic glass, fury hardened and cooled. But yours is still fresh. The Cannibal is feasting on the corpse of Grey Ghost. Gore hangs in crimson shreds from his craggy teeth; he has too many of them, they grow in rows like a shark’s. Frothing seawater laps at his claws. He raises his massive head—black scales and barbed spines, mindless primordial eyes green and luminous—and growls, steam rising from his flaring nostrils.

Fear strikes you, sharp and sudden. Your hands and knees are trembling.

“Let’s go back to the castle!” Aegon yells over the sounds of the sea and the gales of wind.

But you can’t stop now. The Cannibal called and you answered. And here, nineteen years late, you will have the dragon you were denied from birth.

You speak in High Valyrian as the wind gusts and rakes, your black mourning gown billowing, strands of silver hair ripped from your braid. “You hate your kind,” you say to the Cannibal, showing him the empty palms of your hand as you approach, cutting your bare feet on the rocks; and he watches you, eyes blazing, fangs revealed. “And I do too. I hate Rhaenyra for ordering the deaths of Helaena and Daeron and Grandsire. I hate Daemon for sending assassins into my home to murder Jaehaerys. I hate Aemond for killing Luca and Jace. And I hate myself for not being able to stop any of it.”

The Cannibal roars and his jaws open wide, revealing a gaping blood-red throat. From deep within him, lethal flames are building.

“I told you!” Aegon is shouting. “He can’t be tamed, get away from him! Red, come back, please don’t die, please!”

“I was weak!” you scream at the Cannibal in High Valyrian, stumbling over the rocks as you move closer. You bare your teeth at him like you did to Jace the night Rhaenyra took King’s Landing. “I was useless without you. I tried to forget my inheritance as a Targaryen, but it found me. It found me in the Vale, it found me as my son died in my arms. I cannot be gentle and toothless. I can only be the blood of the dragon.”

The Cannibal snaps his jaws shut and stills, his green eyes alight and fixed on you. Aegon and Alys say nothing; perhaps they are afraid to break the spell. You reach out and press your hand to the Cannibal’s muzzle; it comes away covered with Grey Ghost’s blood. You drag your tongue up the length of your palm and drink it. Dragon blood tastes like metal and smoke and the verdant rot of a swamp. The Cannibal growls from low in his enormous chest, but now his radiant eyes are curious.

“Help me kill Daemon and Caraxes,” you say as the wind howls and raindrops run in rivulets down your face. You place both hands on the Cannibal’s bloodied muzzle now. “You’ll kill your kind and I’ll kill mine. Together we will consume them. And I swear to you, my hatred burns every bit as hot as yours.”

You show the Cannibal, picturing it in your mind and knowing he can see: Aemond confessing that he murdered Luke, blood spurting when Jaehaerys was decapitated, Helaena and Dreamfyre crashing down to the beach outside the Red Keep, Jace lying dead in a crumbling stairwell, Luca’s blanket spotted with scarlet and his cries going silent, Daeron pierced with arrows, Aemond disintegrating in the depths of the Gods Eye if you cannot save him.

“I have all this hatred and no way to satisfy it. Let’s fly. Let’s devour.”

The Cannibal wears no saddle and never has. He is wild, and even now you will never own him. What you share will aways be a fight, a push and a pull like the tides, brutal and beloved, but isn’t that how you like it? You move to his side, wading in the shallow water on the shoreline, and hook your fingers around the spines that jut out of his thorax like thorns. His scales gleam like obsidian; he snorts tendrils of searing stream. He does nothing to help you, not stooping lower to the ground, not nudging you along with his snout as you’ve seen Sunfyre do for Aegon. The Cannibal only looks to Grey Ghost’s tattered corpse and takes another bite, crushing the ribcage between his jaws, ropes of gristle and deflated pink lungs gulped down.

Faintly, you hear Aegon say as he whirls to Alys: “Seven hells, I think it’s working.”

You heave yourself upwards and climb until you reach the Cannibal’s knobby spine, and nothing hurts, not your head or your ribs or the cuts on your feet or the scar that begins at your collarbone. As you are still searching for good spots to grab onto so you don’t slide off, crawling over the terrain of his back like stones, the Cannibal jolts forward and you scream when you nearly tumble head-first off of him and into the ocean. You grapple for purchase, eventually finding several large spines near his shoulder blades. You grip these thornlike appendages—your hands are too small to close around them completely—and now the Cannibal is diving into the Narrow Sea.

Aegon shouts something you can’t decipher, and then you are underwater and the world outside is muted. The ocean is ice cold and thrashing violently with the force of the Cannibal’s movement, and you hold on with your eyes squeezed shut, the currents wrenching you roughly, waiting for the dragon to resurface. But the Cannibal plunges deeper and pressure builds in your ears until it feels like they will rupture open and hemorrhage.

Is he trying to drown me??

You consider releasing his spines and paddling blindly for open air, but that would be a surrender. You would be unworthy. You would have no dragon. And the Cannibal would devour you like he did Grey Ghost.

You think in High Valyrian as loudly as you can: I will die here before I let go. I am not afraid of the afterlife. Half of my family is there already. Jace is rocking Luca in his arms, Helaena is placing ladybugs in his tiny wrinkled palms, Daeron is telling him that I’ll be home soon.

And then the Cannibal ascends, and through your eyelids you can tell there is light again, and he bursts through the surf and onto a rocky beach. He scrabbles over the ground, you lurching and blinking seawater from your eyes. The Cannibal’s black wings, ragged from battling other monsters, open like the wings of a raven or a bat. You peer down and the island is growing smaller and the wind is forceful, the ocean rippling under the gusts from the Cannibal’s wings.

You look over your shoulder, and for only a moment you glimpse Aegon standing on the shore and cheering, waving, whistling, and Alys watching with a smile. Then the Cannibal banks and carries you higher into the grey clouds. The air is frigid, and you can’t see anything through the fog, but you are grinning as the wind stings on your teeth. At last, you know what it is like to fly. Dreamfyre bonded to the gentle, Vermithor to the powerful and ambitious, but you were made for a different sort of beast. Your dragon is hateful. Your dragon is hungry.

The Cannibal circles back to Dragonstone, breaks through the sightless mist like a blade through flesh, and lands beside Aegon and Alys and snarls at them, gnashing his gore-stained fangs. Steam blasts from his nostrils and blows through their hair. Alys shrinks away from him, her hands cradling her belly protectively.

Aegon is laughing hysterically. “What now?” he says, marveling at the Cannibal, awed and horrified in equal measure. “All these years you thought there was something wrong with you. Thank the gods your egg never hatched.”

“Aemond is meeting Daemon in battle above the Gods Eye. That’s where I’m going.”

“Do you even know how to get there?!”

“It’s west of here. That’s a start.” But you see a mirage through the Cannibal’s ancient green eyes: a time years ago, decades, centuries, when he flew over the Riverlands and felt the foreign magic of the Old Gods, natural adversaries to Valyrians. He flew away from them then. He can find his way back now.

In High Valyrian, you think: Take me there and we will kill our own.

Yes, an ancient voice rumbles in your skull, wrathful black bottomless gluttony. Yes, yes.

~~~~~~~~~~

It gleams like a sapphire in the face of the earth, the Gods Eye as you descend through dense clouds that taste like metal when you breathe the winter sky into your lungs. You have flown through the night, and you both would be exhausted if not fueled by hatred the way wood feeds a fire.

The Cannibal shows you things through his archaic reptilian eyes—the Targaryens arriving on the doorstep of his lair after heeding Daenys the Dreamer’s vision of the Doom of Valyria, Aegon’s Conquest and Visenya’s scheming, Maegor the Cruel’s ashes being interred on the island where he was raised, the Old King Jaehaerys fleeing with Alysanne to Dragonstone so they could marry against the wishes of his advisors, Rhaenyra and Daemon’s wedding and happiness there before the war began, dragons coming and going, storms and eruptions and shipwrecks, claws and fangs and raw meat—and so you learn what it means to be a dragon. You show him your comparatively few memories in return, your momentary existence, and he begins to understand you too.

The dark skeletal remnants of Harrenhal, promised to Alys and the son she shares with Aemond, appear as the Cannibal flies lower. On the fields by the lakeshore, armies are clashing in battle; you see the banners of House Stark, House Lannister, and the dual factions of House Targaryen. High above the murky blue water, Vhagar and Caraxes are twisted in lethal combat, flames pouring from their jaws, claws scraping away scales.

Aemond, you think, and you wonder if he has already felt that you’re here.

The Cannibal glides with his vast, frayed wings over the Green soldiers, and you spot Criston among them, astride a galloping white horse and wielding a sword. He stares up as the Cannibal’s shadow falls over him, and he sees what you have brought with you, and he is so staggered he cannot look away. Men are pointing and shouting. The Northmen are pulling up their horses, their infantry bolting for the trees. In front of you are thousands of enemy combatants, anonymous and swarming like ants.

“Dracarys,” you whisper, and the Cannibal opens his jaws and spills a river of fire down on the Northman. Their banners burn, their horses scream and scatter, their men are cooked in their armor and stumble towards the water to extinguish themselves. You feel the Cannibal’s malevolent satisfaction. He feels your hatred turning lighter, anemic, easier to carry.

He swoops up into the sky where Vhagar and Caraxes are intertwined. Vhagar has the Blood Wyrm’s long, serpentine neck clenched between her fangs, but Caraxes is not dead yet; he has clawed through the scales of Vhagar’s belly and opened her, unspooled her, disemboweled her. Vhagar’s intestines cascade from her abdomen and tangle around her kicking feet. She is bleeding to death. She will fall soon.

Daemon knows there is no escape. He has Dark Sister in his fist and is preparing to jump from his saddle and deliver the deathblow to Aemond. You remember Daemon stalking you around the courtyard of the Red Keep with the same sword, twirling it in his hands and fantasizing about slitting your throat. The Cannibal understands this as if it is his own memory and unleashes crimson flames upon Caraxes. In his final seconds, Daemon turns and sees you, and the last thing he feels is not triumph but shock and heat and excruciating, incinerating pain, a fire that burns ruinously clean, leaving not even the bones.

Vhagar is dying. She releases Caraxes and the smoldering, broken dragon tumbles resistlessly into the lake. Aemond is calling your name. The Cannibal soars towards them, almost close enough now. Vhagar goes limp as she exsanguinates, her wings stop flapping, her colossal body spirals down towards the Gods Eye. Aemond unfastens his chains and leaps from the saddle. It is his only chance; if he hits the water with Vhagar, he will be knocked unconscious and drown, sink, vanish. His long hair is a ribbon of silver. His hands grasp for you and the Cannibal, catching nothing but empty air.

You reach for him as he falls and the wind rushes through your fingers, grey as steel and cold like the descending winter.

~~~~~~~~~~

A year ago, twilight in the garden of the Red Keep, the fountain trickling lazily as you perch on the edge with Blue Jay clinging to your forearm. High above, silver glints of constellations are burning through the indigo sky. On the ground, you kick pebbles around aimlessly with your bare feet. You avoid his gaze because you’re trying to pretend you’re teasing; you don’t want him to see how upset you are. “They’re going to make you marry a Baratheon girl.”

“No they aren’t.”

“Yes, Aemond, they are. I understand that. You don’t have to lie to me.”

“They’re going to try,” he purrs into your ear as he sits down beside you, petting Blue Jay with one lithe hand. “But I won’t do it. If Borros Baratheon needs a marriage to seal his alliance, then Daeron can wed his youngest daughter. I’ve already written to Daeron, and he agreed. He was willing, in fact. If it means he would be coming home to King’s Landing at last.”

“Lord Baratheon will want you,” you insist. “You are older. You are closer to the throne.”

“I’m very close to it,” Aemond agrees, kissing the apple of your cheek and then biting you there, the sharpness of his teeth, the pink warmth of bloodrush. Blue Jay swoops off into the dusk to devour the wheeling white specks of moths and lacewings.

“He will try to tempt you, he will offer you a beautiful bride.”

“Oh, yes, she will be beautiful,” Aemond murmurs, and when you strike at his chest he catches your wrists and yanks you in closer. “And she will be meek, and compliant, and ladylike in every way, and if she was mine she would lie down and spread her legs for me whenever I asked, because that is what is required of a dutiful wife. She will be devout…and decorous…and sinless…”

“Then marry her instead,” you hiss as you battle with him, fighting to get away, not wanting to win. Aemond drags you off the ledge of the fountain and into the cool shallow water. You splash as you struggle, your fingernails raking against his throat and the blind side of his face where he can’t see to defend himself, your long silver braid heavy and sodden, your blood-colored velvet gown drenched and clinging to you like muscles to bones.

“But the Baratheon girl wouldn’t be like me,” Aemond says, grabbing your jaw and forcing you to look at him, and while his hands are rough his voice is soft, almost like a whisper, almost like the prayers that Mother sighs in the sept, pleading for the gods to tame her children. The thrashing water goes still. Your heartbeat is slowing. You gaze into the crystalline blue of his eye and are trapped there like a sailor sinking to the bottom of the sea. “And she wouldn’t be like you either.”

You grin—relief, triumph, hunger—and Aemond kisses you, not like how a lord kisses a lady but how animals devour each other, fierce and biting, insatiable, unashamed.

Aemond says as he kneels in the water of the fountain, bats you named after him flapping overhead in a darkening sky: “I have to leave for Storm’s End at dawn. I won’t be gone long, I won’t sleep there even if I’m invited too. Wait up for me tomorrow night.”

“No,” you answer, taunting him; but you will.

[247-diaperboy]

All the way, Daddy’s Boy

The room was small, but quaint, with pale blue walls that reminded Max of the color of the sky in august, misted by hazy clouds. He smiled at that. The color was a little boyish. But, he hadn’t been able to repaint. Tom and Greg had been clear on that. They said that Mr. Jeremy Butler, the landlord, was very strict. Two months extra rent for repainting! And, they argued, Max was the youngest and newest – still a sophomore - so he chose last.

He had moved in last week, joining Tom and Greg, Seniors who had been there for 3 years. He had lived in Chandice Hall last year, a dorm building from the 1940s that could barely be called a dorm. Honestly, if it wasn’t torn down within the decade, it was in danger of falling down. By spring Max had decided to move off campus, and he heard that Tom and Greg were looking for a new roommate. They lived in an enviable 4 bedroom on a cul-de-sac a couple miles from campus. It was a ranch, all brick, in the post-war style. The house was low and flat, with a large yard and big, towering pines. The guys held barbeques in the summer.

Max stood up from his twin beg, stretching out his torso into a long sinuous arch, curling his toes and fingers. Just as his fingers hit their apex, his right hand rolled down brushing the top of his short cropped hair, and he rubbed his neck. He hitched his left hand in his boxers, which were loose and low. What a fucking color. He thought for the 100th time. Pale, baby blue. Oh well.

He looked morosely down at his short twin bed. Not much better. But, a twin was the only think that would fit in here, and it was a modified twin. Coated with annoying, crinkling, plastic! His dresser hadn’t fit, either, so he was using the built in wall drawers which lined one side of the room. Oddly, above these there was a seem in the wall, and a large thick wooden slat flipped down as a desk. A super long desk, Max thought again. Whatever. Greg had told him this was the office and the owner was an architect. He shrugged mentally. Max stripped, pulling on a pair of tight spandex briefs. He cupped his goods. Nice package, he thought and smiled to himself, my body is amaaazing, and he giggled at the self-flattery. He slipped on his jeans, and pulled on a faded green t-shirt. He stopped by the hall bathroom to brush his teeth and wash his face on the way to the kitchen. He arrived to find Greg standing on the table. He looked up in consternation.

“What the hell is going on in here” he grumbled, with the tones of sleep still rounding the edges of his words.

Greg looked back, turning his muscled torso 90 degrees left, and flicked his head, and caught Max with his eyes. He was wearing only cut off painters shorts he had created from last year kakhis. He tilted his head, his floppy brown hair tilting to the side.

“Yeah. Light needs changing” he stated matter-of-factly. Greg was a no-nonsense guy. “Hand me that wire, would you Max”

“Sure” Max responded, picking up the wire and passing it up. “Where’s Tom?”

“Oh. He went to class about an hour ago. That history class he, um the …” Greg paused as he stuck out his tongue in concentration, wiring a connection while balancing the light. “ahhh. Got it. Um, the one he needs for his major. the one he’s always complaining about…. Italian history, I think”

“Oh yeah, yeah” Max paused, pouring himself a bowl of cereal. “Hey, Greg, you know that mattress of mine is really annoying. I mean it could wake the dead, man. And, it feels like I’m sleeping on a stiff plastic tarp – you know the camping ones? Its slick, crinkly. Super fucking annoying. I gotta change it.”

Greg stepped down from the table, having completed his task. On the ground, the height difference between Greg and Max was more obvious. Greg was 6 foot 2 inches, 190 lbs with broad shoulders. Max wasn’t tiny. He wasn’t! Max frowned at his own thought, and looked down at himself as if to re-enforce this. His Dad always said he was the tallest in their family! But at 5 foot 6 inches, and 150 lbs, he was slim and small compared to Greg. It made their 2 year age difference – 22 to 19 – seem much greater than it was. Although, he had heard rumors that Greg was older, he couldn’t confirm it.

“Max, buddy. You know we can’t get rid of Jeremy’s stuff, and we cant store it.” He glared “That was a condition of moving in. And, that’s part of the reason you’re paying so little”

Max sighed, and rolled his eyes dramatically. Whatever. He was never going to be able to find such affordable housing near campus. He grabbed his green book bag, slung it over his shoulder, and headed out, calling bye to Greg as he scampered out the door. Greg smiled faintly at the back of the closed door, and headed down to the 4th bedroom in the basement to get some supplies. The beginning of the process was always so much fun, Greg thought.

Max returned home to see his Dad in Septermber for a long weekend. The bus sucked. It was long, boring, and the guy next to him smelled like a garbage bag! Yuuuuuck. And, the bus had no bathroom, so the last 2 hours of the trip Max was certain he was going to piss himself. He sprinted off that bus and straight to the restroom. He had never been so happy to see a urinal in his life!

Weekend with Dad was great, but oddly, he didn’t sleep so well. He had started sleeping naked most nights in the last month depending on the temperature. It seemed that his room was really hot; much warmer then the rest of the house. And, somehow the fucking slick, crinkly, plastic sheet on his mattress stayed a little cooler, and so if he had his skin on it, it felt a little better. Max imagined he was quite a site: sleeping buck naked with no sheets on the plastic lined mattress. Oh well. It felt good. Anyways, at Dads the mattess just felt hot and soft. Weirdly, he had trouble sleeping on it.

On Sunday night, his Dad had noticed his fatigue, and asked. He reported dutifully about his new mattress in his rental room, and how it was odd to sleep on this one.

“You mean, plastic? Like, slick thick cold plastic encasing the mattress?” His dad asked, enthusiastically, his voice brimming with containing mocking humor.

Max answered slowly, fearing a trap “Uh, yeah. Just like that. It covered the whole thing. You cant even get it off”

His Dad threw back his head and laughed uproariously, a loud booming laugh. When the laughed turned to a chuckle he started: “That’s a mattress protector.” When Max looked over blankly he continued “Like, for a kid who wets his bed. Like pisses in it. You know, like pees in the bed…. so the piss doesn’t soak in just runs…”

Max cut him off “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Thanks. I get it” he simmered. I guess for some reason Jeremy had a bed wetter mattress installed in his rental house. Fuck. And, Max couldnt get rid of it. Max groaned inwardly as his dad continued giggling. It didn’t occur to either of them to wonder if Greg or Tom know the purpose of the mattress.

The next week proceeded uneventfully. Max resigned himself to sleeping on the mattress, and strangely he enjoyed getting back to it. “I liked it before I knew its purpose, why should I change now?” Max thought.

It wasn’t until the start of October that things began getting weird. After it all went down, when Max became thoughtful, indeed, when he thought at all, he would think back to that week in particular. A cascade of events can start from such a random, little thing. Or, was it random?

In late September, Toms Grandma Jean came to visit them for a week. It was torture. Jean was 82, imperious, demanding, and set in her ways. Tom was running around the entire week. Max tried his best not to be at home at all. He would arrive late at night, drinking, studying, whatever. He would enter the house quietly and approach the fridge, quickly stealing food and drink, and taking it back to his room.

It so happened that on Monday he took a water bottle with an “JS” on top – or so he was later told. Grandma Jean apparently had trouble swallowing pills, and would melt her medications in water, and then drink the bottle.

It doesn’t matter what was in the bottle; Tom was never able to tell him that, and Jean didn’t really know. Some combination of her meds she said. Max went to sleep that night, and when he woke up next, he was naked, cold. Tom and Greg were both standing over him. He felt the air on his skin. As usual he was on his bed, naked, lying on the plastic coated mattress. He squirmed, and looked up at them. “Stop it!” Tom ordered, looking down, his blond hair spiked.

“Not again” Greg groaned simultaneously, sticking his hand under Max’s cold butt and tilting him to the side. Max barely reacted, but groaned. His hand feels so warm. Max could tell that Greg’s hand emerged glistening, wet, and a dribble ran down his forearm. He cursed loudly “Fucking piss soaked” and ran out of the room, while muffled the rest of his sentence.

Max struggled for coherence. His brain wrestled to make sense of the situation.

He hesitated and then lifted his head and looked down at his thin, tanned body. His lower abs and crotch and upper thighs were wet and shining, and there was a small puddle under his butt. He could smell it clearly. It was the shared smell of a urinal, a boy’s locker room, and a baby’s used diaper; it was stale urine. He groaned. The urine puddled under his butt, held out of the mattress by the plastic protector sheet. He lifted his hand to his chest, and unknowingly, he brought piss with it, and felt the piss run down his chest. Max was groggy. He wanted to cry. He looked up at Tom, who smoothed back his hair in a protective gesture.

“Let’s get you cleaned up” Tom declared. He began to roll Max to the side and toweled off under his butt. Max fell in and out of sleep, eventually waking up again in the morning. He could barely tell if that nights activities were a dream or not. But, from the smell of his room - still vaguely urine-tinged - he knew it was no dream. Remembering Tom and Greg seeing him piss-soaked and naked, he blushed red as he stood up and pulled on his boxers.

For several days thereafter, Max was groggy and tired. He was almost too sick to think. Greg threatened to take him to a doctor, but he just shrugged it off. The meds will pass he thought. Jean had long since left.

To his dismay, he continued to wake up in a wet bed. And, he was not pissing a little, but a lot. He would wake up with he naked butt in puddles of hot urine on the mattress. The air fresheners that Tom had strung up in his room did little to cover the scent. Greg and Tom were real sports about it. On the 5th day, when Max ran out of boxers, Tom lend him a small pair of his. On Friday, he woke up in the early morning hours, feeling again the piss around his crotch. He was laying face down on his mattress, and the piss extended up to his chest. He started sobbing. How had this happened to him? He had never pissed the bed! He sat up, and some of the urine sloshed onto the floor, which made him cry even harder.

That was how Greg found him, crying, naked, half covered in piss. Greg said nothing, but, walked slowly towards him and enfolded him in a powerful hug apparently disregarding the fact that urine was now covered Greg too.

“Shhhhh. Don’t cry Max. Shhhhh” he cooed as Max sobbed against his chest, heaving and shaking. “We’ll fix this buddy. Don’t worry” he continued in a low, calm voice, as if soothing a puppy. At some point he began to stroke the back of Max’s head, and Max’s sobs trailed off as he nestled his head against Toms warm neck. That morning, he followed Toms instructions as he was told to shower and get dressed. Maybe Tom could fix this mess, Max thought optimistically. Tom and Greg seemed like such good guys.

Weeks later, Max would have trouble recalling who first suggested the diapers. In truth, it may have been no one, or anyone. One day, he woke up in his puddle of urine, cold, shivering. And, the next day, in the afternoon, he found, at the foot of his closet, an unopened pack of adult diapers. He torn open the pack, and unfolded one. It was large (larger then he would have expected!) and thick, but soft. He needn’t have opened the pack. His underwear drawer was generously stocked with the folded diapers. The filled most of his underwear drawer, and his boxers had been stuffed in the side and in the next drawer down.

He mentioned these in passing to Tom and Greg; it was not a conversation really, but more of an acknowledgment; as if to say, I found these. The both nodded, studiously avoiding the issue. Only that night while they were all seated in the living room watching TV, did Greg say, “Remember to get one of those diapers on before bed, Max” Max looked over, but Greg had gone back to watching the show, as if the issue deserved no more comment. And, maybe it didn’t. Max had a problem, and the diapers were a simple solution. He tried to be a man about it.

That night, he put one on for the first time. He had unfolded one on the bed, fully open it took up a fair portion of the twin bed. He stripped to nothing and laid down butt first on the diaper. It took some doing, but he folded it up in place over his dick and crotch, securing the tapes. He closed his legs slowly, feeling the dense mass of stuffing that covered his butt, balls, and cock keeping his legs apart. It gave some when he brought his legs together, bunching and pushing out in the front. But, the mass was still present. He could almost feel how dry, and thirsty it was.

He stood up gingerly, feeling the diaper move with him. He moved carefully to his closet, as if the thick bundle around his crotch could break, but really, he moved slowly to lessen the creeping humiliation he felt. It is this way when a toddler first walks? He thought, the thick diaper making the act awkward and halting. Max was surprised but pleased to find a pair of baggy PJ bottoms to pull over the diaper, even if they were covered by baseballs in a too-boyish style. He hadn’t worn these in years.

When he emerged back out to sit on the couch and watch TV, the only mention of his new attire was a jest: “Max, you take the seat with the warn out cushion – you got extra padding!” Tom cracked, to Greg’s delight. The next morning, no one was surprised to find that Max had wet himself at night. Tom and Greg were up remarkably early, and Max’s door was open when he awoke. His stirring brought Tom and Greg both to the room, to stand over his bed. That would have been more unusual a couple months ago, but given his recent bed wetting, they seemed to be in his room nearly every morning. They stood shoulder to shoulder at the foot of his bed, both shirtless, as they often were; Greg had his fingers lightly on Toms waist.

Max’s PJ bottoms has slipped low in the night, and his diaper was mostly bare. Before Max could ask why Greg was touching Tom, Greg reached down and used one of his index fingers to tug them down the rest of the way, revealing the diaper totally. It was a mottled grey-yellow, indented and deformed. It looked nothing like the night before. Although none of the boys were used to seeing wet diapers, they knew that was what this way: a diaper used to capacity. Tom’s lips turned up in the corner, an almost smile.

“Looks like that diaper did its job chief” he declared. With that, Tom turned and walked out. Greg lingered, watching his diaper crotch just a little too long. Max looked at Greg awkwardly.

“Greg, do you need something?” Max asked quietly. Greg started.

“No, no” he said as he walked out of the small blue room.

At first, the used diapers went in the bathroom garbage. But, Greg soon complained about the smell. Even when Max folded them up well, they did smell. Soon, there was a garbage, really a diaper-pail, in the corner of his blue bedroom. At first, it was odd for Max to see his used diapers day after day. They were balled up tight, but yellow, used. They smelled faintly of piss, and his room did too. Nothing severe.

Max couldn’t tell if it was better or worse when he found a nursery-sent nightlight in his room after returning from class. Tom had good fun with him about it, but defended it by saying that Amazon had only small repository of get-rid-of-diaper-smell items, and they all were babyish. Indeed, Tom said he had tried to google “get rid of diaper smell” and “adult” in the same sentence, and got nothing. Oh well.

By that Christmas break that year, Max was wearing diapers every night regularly, and without thought. A couple times he stopped to wonder if the meds that he had involuntarily taken from Jean would wear off, or why they hadn’t. But, he didn’t dwell on this too much. Whenever he got the thought in his mind, it would slip away, fleeting.

The last order of diapers had been 2 cases – 100 in total. He had blanched slightly when they arrived, but they were cheaper this way, and Greg had helped him split the cost. Those diapers, when unpacked, had filled a couple drawers and lined several shelves extra.

Max decided to stay in town for Christmas while Greg and Tom when home. He hadn’t wanted to confront his Dad with his night-time-diapers. It seemed simpler this way. Those were the first days he started wearing diapers during the day. It started simply. One lazy morning he decided to eat before changing out of his diaper. Being familiar with the capcity of these diapers, he could tell now that this wet diaper could handle more. And, he had recently wet. It was warm, almost cozy. He squirted a little more piss into his diaper during breakfast. He thought about his diapers more recently. While at the kitchen table eating his oatmeal, he rubbing himself through the front of his diaper, feeling the soggy warm heavy diaper rub against his hard dick. Damn, he thought. That felt goooood. Pretty quickly, while eating, he cam into the front of his diaper. He rocked his crotch forward, clamping down on the spoon in his mouth. He felt the hot cum squirt out in his wet diaper. When he was done he panted slightly, and began to get up. He stopped, and laughed. There was no reason to get up. No cleanup. Oh shit; that was certainly a benefit to wearing diapers. He thought, remembering normal clean-up when he used to jack off. He careless rubbed his post-climax dick again through the diaper, shuddering.

That morning, at almost noon, he changed out of his wet diaper and into a dry one. He defended it to himself. He was going to be home all day. It was like wearing at night. And, there were so many diapers in his room, who would notice a missing one.

By the time Tom and Greg both returned from winter break, Max had been wearing diapers non-stop for almost 2 weeks. He would push them down to shit still, but wouldn’t really even clean himself up as much as he used to. It was a diaper, right? He’d think as he pulled the wet diaper from around his ankles after he shit. The guys got home at night, and it was not unexpected that Max was wearing, although he greeted them in just his diaper and short socks, which made them both grin broadly.

But, Max had not counted on how many diapers he had gone through. The next morning, Greg noted that almost 60 diapers had been used since before they left.

“Max, that’s like 4 per day, buddy” Greg said sternly for the 4th or 5th time. Max looked down. He had used every excuse he could think of, and the only thing left to him was the truth.

“Well, I’ve been wearing the diapers during the day. All day.” Max intoned, very slowly, pronouncing every word as if they were fragile strange things. Greg looked at him, sitting on the side of the bed – the sheet crinkling with his movements – his diaper wet, bulging at his crotch. It did not occur to Max to be embarrassed at his used diaper.

And, surprisingly, Greg smiled. He ruffled his hand through Max’s hair. “Look. Diapers are cheap. We can get more. Use as many as you want. If you want to wear all the time, Tom and I will totally support that” Greg said. As if on cue, Tom peaked his head it, and yelped “We sure will!” and then continued down the hall.

Max realized two things that day. He did feel more comfortable wearing diapers during he day. But, his clothes did not fit well over them. He had spent the holiday break at home, and now he was confronted with the prospect of going to class in diapers. He went through jeans, khakis, shorts. In all of them, the diaper was woefully obvious at least to his nervous eyes. He examined himself in the mirror again, his j-crew Khakis over his diaper��� the diaper contour stretching the confines of his crotch and butt, and worse still, it rustled loudly, and peaked up above the too-low waist band.

Max eventually settled on sweat pants, through which the diaper was somewhat concealed in the folds of extra cloth. To his surprise, when he arrived in the kitchen that morning, Tom had packed him a lunch for class in a paper bag. He stuffed it into his bookbag and grinned as Tom slapped him on his diapered ass. He barely registered that Gregs hand came up and cradled Toms neck as he was walking out the door.

Those weeks, in the early winter were both easy and careless. Max was often seen around campus in his navy blue sweat pants, paired with all manner of t-shirts or Henley’s and an accompanying jacket. Some students who sat beside him swore he smelled odd, musky, stale. Others noticed nothing. Similarly, some talked about his growing crotch or enlarging butt. There were rumors, but they only skirted the truth. The rumors rarely reached Max’s ears. When Greg or Tom heard about them, they fed the rumors slightly, obliquely. The word diaper was only mentioned in passing, hushed whispers.

For himself, Max slept soundly at night and romped during the day. He was surprisingly happy. His thoughts had become strangely simplified. Sometimes he almost thought that his thought-process had become more child-like. He had altered his routine somewhat to accommodate the diapers, but that was greatly outweighed by the added security and comfort he got from them. This joy was not lost on Greg and Tom.

It was early in March when Max noticed that his closet was strangely empty. It was true that he was wearing only a small selection of clothes, but still, he was momentarily taken aback by the empty shelves and naked hangers. He was back early. He has stripped out of his sweats to get them a much needed wash, and was in a white printed t and his diaper, which was slightly used, and hung a little low on his waist. Greg returned from class first to find Max in the living room watching TV and having a beer.

“Hey Greg” Max voiced “What’s with my closet?”

Greg barely noticed Max as he was unpacking his book bag. “Tom and I took the clothes to good will this morning. You cant wear most of them anymore. The better pieces Tom took to consignment to get some extra money to buy you new shit.” He reported matter-of-factly as if stating a fact that did not concern Max.

“Oh” Max paused, taking in this news. “Well, I guess I could use some new clothes” he looked up at the TV as if nothing had happened, and took another sip of his beer. If Tom was going to get him a new wardrobe, great. Nice to have some more pants, he thought philosophically while looking down at his bare legs and exposed diaper. Prior to dinner, when Tom and Greg were in the kitchen, Max was sitting at the table chatting with them. He stood up slowly, and began to walk to the bathroom. Something in the way he walked, slightly bow legged, set Tom off. He walked so much like a toddler.

“He buddy” Tom called conspiratorially “Where you going?”

Max looked back. Strange. The hadn’t been this interested in his comings and goings before. He rubbed his flat stomach absent mindedly, and ran a hand along the waist band of his diaper. His stomach groaned, and he felt the familiar pressure building. “I’m heading to the bathroom Tom” he reported, turning to walk. “Stop!” Tom ordered, brokering no argument. “Greg and I have been talking. We think we’re spending almost $300 per month on your diapers. And, we think you should use them fully. Its just not fair” he reasoned “its like you’re throwing away half our money”

Max stopped, puzzled. Weird argument. He dismissed them and turned to head to the bathroom. He didn’t expect Greg to tackle him, pushing him onto the plush carpet, wrestling him to the ground playfully. They tousled for a couple minutes, laughing at the unexpected physicality of it.

Max was abruptly brought to the present when he felt the pressure in his stomach surge. He had a critical need to shit. He yelped this to Greg in a semi-strangled voice. Greg remained straddles across him, holding his arms to the floor. “Let me up Greg, I really, really gotta go” Max whined again, high pitched, which squirming. Greg paused, looking down. He mercilessly pressed a fist slowly into Maxes flat stomach. Max groaned audibly. Greg jumped off him as Max flipped over to his stomach and got himself up on his knees. His lips drew back from his teeth in nether a smile nor a grimace. Very slowly, he levered his butt out and up, his head down but his face out. Greg was kneeling beside him, and slipped a hand under the back of his t-shirt, rubbing his back from neck down to diaper butt.

He locked eyes with Max and spoke carefully. “Don’t hold back Max. It’s OK. Do it.” In that moment, Max didn’t push – no – he simply let go the effort of holding back. And, with that, his bowels rumbled out into his waiting diaper. They filled his diapered seat. This was so much more then wetting. He thought as he felt the hot slimy mess fill his diaper and felt it continue coming out of him. Some part of him was conscious that he wet at the same time. As he continued soiling himself, he broke eye contact with Greg and closed his eyes. His diaper butt felt heavy, and sagged low between his legs.

He eventually laid down on the floor, somehow exhausted. He was all too conscious of the full diaper he wore. Full in every sense. He felt it – warm, wet, and heavy. He smelled it. When he moved it shifted. His cheeks blushed bright red as he thought about what he had done, what he was wearing. He looked up at Tom and Greg who now stood over him… his voice was almost tearful, “I shit in my diaper” he whispered, voice quavering.

That was when he discovered another use for the large levered desk in his room. Greg took him there, walking him gingerly. Tom and Greg had made clear he could not change himself out of this diaper. The “desk” flopped down out of the wall, and Max was stunned to see Tom quickly unfold a cushioned printing plastic mat. Even in his shocked state, standing in his full diaper, he looked at the board, covered in the white plastic mat printed with baseballs, mitts, and bats,

His eyes widened as he looked at Greg, “This is, uh, this is a baby changing table” He said. The sheltered cubbies in the wall were filled with diaper changing supplies; baby oil, and baby powder. Pampers wipes.

Greg paternalistically rubbed Max on the head. “No, buddy, its not a baby changing table. Its a changing table for adults who wear diapers” He reported. With that, he put his strong hands at Max’s waist and hoisted him onto the table, plopping him down on his butt. Max started. The force of him landing pushed his shit all over his backside, making him newly aware of his diaper. Strangely, his cock became hard.

Tom appeared, and pulled off his shirt, and pushed him flat onto his back. In the hours after, Max tried to forget the humiliation of that 15 minutes. He laid on that table with his butt in the air, and the smell of his shit, while Greg cleaned his butt and Tom rubbed his chest and soothed him. He cried softly through much of the change, but his dick remained hard. Greg teased him as he put him back into a dry diaper, this time liberally applying baby oil. When he stood up, he noticed that the baby oil and powder lent him a much more infantile smell.

It was no less then 2 months later that the first diaper-messing seemed a distant, foreign memory to Max. He tried to remember how and why it had felt so strange; this was the most natural of impulses. Letting go. He did it easily now. It just came out into his diaper. Wetting or messing. It was a diaper. It was to be used. He has wet and messed himself at breakfast yesterday, and told Tom this thought. Tom had praised him.

“Yeah, of course, Max. For you, using you diaper is and should be the most natural thing in the world. Its the same way for all little boys” Max lifted up his chin and grinned at Toms praise. It meant a lot to him, to have Tom or Greg praise him. He would glow for hours afterwards.

True to his word, Tom had stocked his closet with clothes that were much better suited to his attire. His jeans now were double stiched with a wide crotch and elastic waist. He had a couple pairs of overalls. Greg had even bought him a onsie recently, saying it was like an undershirt, but better for hiding his diaper. He cringed a little at that recent memory. It seemed more than a little infantile when Greg had snapped that onsie over his diaper. But, he did enjoy the way it had pushed up the diaper against his cock. He became hard just thinking about it. And, the diaper didn’t peak over his pants when he wore them. Practical, Max thought.

Around the house, Max had noticed small changes. Nothing he could put his finger on. He complained to Tom once, and even to his own ears, it sounding like the whining of a spoiled child. The chairs in the kitchen were being changed out, and while Tom and Greg used the two remaining wooden ones, Max was stuck with a smaller plastic one that had a seat belt in it. Of course, the guys never used the belt on him. But, the chair was small, blue and red, with high arms. And, it took him a couple days, but he noticed that he was always drinking out of plastic cups now with lids and straws.

When he mentioned it, Tom laughed “Its nothing. We’re just short on glass cups.” He almost complained when Greg wiped his mouth after dinner, but held himself back. Greg was so gentle with it, so caring, cupping the back of his head and gently wiping the wet wipe over his mouth. And, it felt nice to be touched like that by Greg.

Also, he couldn’t tell if it was just him, but Max noticed that Tom and Greg were increasingly touching or holding each other. Simple hugging, or having arms around each other. The other night, on the couch, Max was in his new onsie and diaper, and sitting on the floor with his back to the couch, and he looked up to see Tom lying with Gregs legs straddling him. When Max looked at them, they smiled and Tom winked. He shrugged, and went back to watching TV.

Max’s last day of class was in the first week of June. He was in his overalls, which he liked wearing now. They were blue-jean color, and cut slightly large. He wore a red onsie underneath them. Tom came with him to class sometimes now, and was with him today. He sat beside Tom in the back row. He set his backpack down by his feet. His sneakers were big, white hightops. He was quite wet, and knew it now that he felt his diaper, although he barely remembered wetting. He whispered this to Tom, who shrugged. He knew that the bathroom in the Carmichael building was a pissing trough with no privacy, and a couple small stalls. There was no place to change a diaper. Max silently cursed when he felt the need to mess half way through lecture. He tugged on Toms sleeve.

It was no use. While the professor talked about early agrarian economies, Max succumbed and soiled his diaper badly, feeling the hot mess and squirting piss assail his diaper simultaneously. Soon, the dirty diaper smell became obvious.

“Did you mess?” Tom queried, grimacing “Phewy, that stinks. Lift up, stinky butt, let me see. It smells like you leaked.” Max lifted his butt slightly for Tom, who saw the damp crescents across the back his butt. “Damn it! I knew we should have switched to those other diapers. Greg was right” Max dropped his head onto the desk, as nearby students started turning. In the preceding months, the rumors of a diaper-wearing student had solidified, and were now commonly known.

“Max, did you fucking mess you diaper again, baby?” a loud mouthed frat guy hooted from 2 rows in front. “I can smell that shit from here. Daddy’s gonna have to get you changed” he laughed, as a chorus of other students joined in giggling nervously and looking at Max. Kyle a sophomore seated beside Tom, was less forgiving.

“Damn it. It smells like a diaper-baby-fucking-nursery here. If you’re still wetting and shitting your diapers like a baby maybe you should be in nursery school and not a college seminar, and let us adults concentrate?” Kyle lectured.

To the sound of laughs, Max walked out of the lecture hall, his wet and messy diaper obvious as Tom walked beside him.

After that episode in lecture, the changes came quickly for Max throughout that spring and summer.

He was already diapered all the time, and, after his original diapers leaked occasionally, Greg had switched him to thicker diapers. He had seen the ordering site; these were diapers only worn by completely incontinent men. They were loud, thick, and impossible to hide. In order to compensate, his wardrobe had changed radically. The onsies had multiplied. They were perfect for fitting over the thick diapers. They held them up, and in place. And, Greg liked to say, they prevented Max from tampering with his own diapers. As if Max was going to. He was perfectly content with Greg and Tom handling that.

The story of his soiling his diaper in class had become common knowledge. Their school was not large, and now it seemed that every student knew that Max wore diapers. This was a blessing and a curse. After initial mocking and taunting, students seems to let him be. It was for the best, since his diapers were not easily concealable under his clothes. He was mostly in overalls now when he went out. On some of the overalls, there were leg snaps so that Tom or Greg could get to his diaper easier. With the leg snaps and the onsie, he was surprised to realized they could change his diapers without undressing him.

In addition to his onsies, he had sleepers for overnight – long tight playful printed things which exaggerated the contour of his diaper butt and his thin toned limbs. For the day, he had slowly built up a collection of toddlerish clothes: rompers for in the house – loose garments in which he could play. Greg had also bought him some shortalls, which were mostly for inside, but he had endured an embarrassing trip to the park in them once, where, blessedly, he had not been seen. But, often, he was in just a diaper or a t-shirt and diaper.

The other changes were incremental. The desk-changing table came down permanently, with a baby-boy printed covering, and became a changing table in truth.

He first had a towel around his neck, then, when the towel grew dirty with his food, he was given a bib. His plastic chair with a belt became a larger chair with a tray, and then a lockable high chair. His plastic-covered cup became a sippy cup.

It was this way that Max found himself near the end of the summer. He had been home from classes for 2 months, and his life had become, in reality, that of a kid. Maybe even that of a toddler he thought. He still had say over his actions. But, he was, in some ways confined by his diaper and clothing. And, in truth, he needed the diapers now, and had come to enjoy them.

It was a morning in late summer when Max stumbled from his bed – still plastic sheet covered, but now with short railings. He was clad in a tight white onsie which had small barely visible soccer ball prints. This onsie covered his engorged diaper. He waddled more then walked into the hallway. Sounds down the hall caught his attention and he wandered to them, opening the door to Greg’s room. He paused at the door. Greg and Tom were both naked, kneeling, Greg straddling Tom from the back. Toms dick was hard. Greg was behind him. They both looked up at Max. Their skin was glistened with sweat.

“Hi boy” Greg voiced, throaty, husky. “You come to play with your daddies?” he asked. Max looked over, and felt his cock hard in his diaper. Greg looked at Max “You know that inflatable stuffed horse we got you? Go get it, come back” Max scampered through the house, returning moments later. “Mount it at the foot of the bed” Greg ordered, while Tom moaned.

Max sat down at the foot of the bed and straddled his horse. His wet diaper, bound by his onsie, pushed up mightily against his cock.

“Now ride it until you cum” Greg ordered, and he continued taking Tom from behind. Max moved his hips back and forth, while looking at Tom and Greg, and feeling his cock trapped, hard, in the wet diaper. He was about to cum when Tom reached forward and slipped something into his mouth. It was long and plastic, and Max felt the guard around his mouth. It was a large pacifier. He sucked and sucked and watched the men above him gyrating as his dick exploded into his waiting diaper. He continued humping and moaning as he fell forward.

[snailsgoingdowntown]

Help, I Reincarnated as the Female Lead’s Sister-in-Law!

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Chapter 10

‘Slight’ Yandere! Dion Agriche x Fem! Reader

Arranged marriage AU

Warnings: slight blood, mention of past self-harm (biting thumb on purpose), accidental self-harm(? + biting thumb without meaning to, biting lip hard enough to make lip bleed without meaning to), mention of injuries (thumb, bruised knees, knee injury from falling off a bike with a rock lodge into it because of horrible luck), near panic attack(s), one or two (1 or 2) suggestive lines but not for sexual gratification,  Zac making fun of the Reader in the stereotypical sibling way, Reader is NOT having a good time, slight sadistic themes, implied/slight themes of possessiveness and obsessiveness from Dion, Dion sucks at causal and healthy communication do not be like him. Please tell me if I missed any. 

DISCLAIMER: I DO NOT CONDONE ANY OF THE HARMFUL AND/OR DANGEROUS ACTIONS AND/OR BEHAVIOR THAT MAY TAKE PLACE IN THIS PIECE OF FICTION. THESE ACTIONS/BEHAVIORS SHOULD NOT BE NORMALIZED NOR ROMANTICIZED AS THEY ARE BOTH EXTREMELY TOXIC AND DANGEROUS.

MINORS/BLANK BLOeGS/BLOGS THAT DO NOT INTERACT OR REBLOG ANYTHING FANDOM RELATED (FICS, ART, ETC.) DNI. 

NOTE: work got canceled due to snow so I was able to work on this for almost an entire day (5pm to 11:38 pm at the time of writing this).

= = =

“What happened here?” 

His tone is demanding for an answer, not asking for one. His grip is tight and you can’t help but wince as he squeezes it further. Should you answer him? Or change the topic?

Lie or tell the truth? 

Hide or stay?

Gulping, you weakly try to pull your hand back, averting your gaze as your voice disappears. 

You hate the color of his eyes, they remind you of the blood you drew from your own person hours ago. You hate the blackness of his hair, it reminds you of the last time you closed your eyes in your previous life. You hate his figure, it makes you feel small. 

“I accidentally cut it on a letter your mother gave me.” Mentally cringing as you both lie and bring up Maria’s little ‘gifts,’ you offer an answer. A fake one, but an answer regardless. The question is, would he believe it? Or rather, accept it?

“Bad enough for it to be wrapped up?” 

The answer is no.

“Yes. You don’t realize just how sharp paper can be.” When you wearily look at him again, you’re met with an expressionless face. Eyes that hold no joy nor sorrow nor anger. Lips drawn in a relaxed line as he just stares. It’s scary. He’s scary.

Did your mother and sister give you advice for a situation like this…?

Ah, but how could you go against a man who’s hand easily closes around your wrist?

…you could offer yourself, but… 

Your husband’s eyes leave your face and travel to your thumb, his pointer finger tapping where your nail would be. Just how long are his fingers…? 

The question quickly leaves your mind as he slightly bends, free hand tangling itself in your hair as he holds the back of your head. Eye to eye, you fear that the grim reaper is just around the corner, heartbeat loud enough that he could probably hear it. Your hand starts to jerk uncontrollably as your body shudders. 

“Then unwrap it. If it’s just that, then it’s nothing to hide.” 

“...wha… it’s - it’s late - why don’t we just sleep…? You look tired. Really tired.” Just as you practiced, you offer a smile, a wavering one, but a smile regardless. You pull your hand again and this time he releases it. Rubbing your poor wrist with your left hand, body shaking as he continues to stare you down, still holding the back of your head. 

Still in close proximity. 

His gloved hand cups your cheek, and instead of a fluffy feeling you’re met with terror, lips quivering as your smile fades away. Eyes shaking in their sockets, head slightly shaking side to side, bruised knees that seemed to remember they were injured in the first place. 

The pain meds you took twice wore off. 

Your thumb and knees start to ache as your breathing becomes shallow. You should run. 

You should run.

“You’re crying again,” he wipes away a tear that nearly rolls down your cheek with his thumb. You’re crying? Since when?

“...let go…please.”

You beg and your lungs only relax when he does as you plead, but not before swiping your bottom lip with his thumb. But the fear doesn’t leave you. Your survival instincts are still telling you to run. Your injured body parts still dully ache. 

Dion stands tall once more, watching you, his wife, fall apart mentally as you fail to collect yourself. You don’t break down crying but tears still form. They blur your vision. 

“I heard that Hana gave you pain medication. Twice. Was the cut that bad?” 

Your mind lags, not understanding his words. It catches up a minute later, slowly nodding your head ‘yes.’ Questions and thoughts swirl in your mind, blinking as he asks you this. 

Did Hana tell him? 

Did he ask her?

Maybe she was obligated to inform him the moment he returned.

Or maybe she was spying on me after all. 

“I’m…weak to pain. You - you know that…” Your throat is parched as you answer him meekly. Your skin becomes damp from sweat and cold, fingers and toes curling the longer he keeps up the integration. For fucks sake, were you his wife or prisoner? 

“I’d imagine that losing your virginity is a different type of pain.” 

“I-it doesn’t change the fa-fact I’m weak to it… oh, where, um, did the blood come from?” A weak and stupid attempt to change the topic, tilting your head as your eyes zone in on the blood splatter on his cheek. It’s a miracle that you haven’t lost your mind by now. 

That you’re able to talk without becoming a total mess. 

You prefer the perverted Dion from the night before yesterday compared to this Dion who does nothing but integrates  you.

How funny. 

“Work.” Is all he says before wiping it off with the back of his hand. It only serves to smudge red across pale skin. “Where did the bruises on your knees come from?” 

How… How did he know about that? 

Oh -! Right. Hana saw them after checking your body once she noticed you limping. You lied about how you got them - merely acting out your wifely duties, as you told her, unable to make eye contact. She must have thought that the puffy eyes were from the disgust you felt the second you woke up.

She probably told him. 

“I-I… fell off the bed while asleep.”

“That hard? And perfectly on your knees?” 

Why was he questioning you? To further your suffering, face grave as seconds go by? To enjoy how your body stiffens which each word that leaves his mouth? To tear you apart, to see what makes you tick, to see how far he could push you until you lose your mind?

…yes to all of them. 

He was an Agriche. 

“You left… bruises on my hips… they’re still healing. It’s not odd to assume I bruise easily after that.” Unable to keep eye contact, you look past him, at the doors. Could you outrun him? No. But if you try, would he let you?

No. Not when the look he gave you upon entering the room spelled out imprisonment for your future. But for how long?

Your husband has different thoughts.

Dion considers lifting up the blanket, shoving up the hem of your nightgown to see the purple blobs on your knees himself. He also considers taking your hand and forcibly unwrapping the bandage around your thumb to see if it really was a cut caused by paper… or rather, to expose your lies.

Ah, but when you look at him like, like a rabbit shivering in front of the predator like the prey it is, how could he? It should have been a nice sight. Encourage him to take a bite like how he was trained to. 

But it’s hard when it’s you. 

He scowls. The facial expression makes you shudder with dread, thinking he’s mad at you. In reality it’s because he’s disgusted with himself - this isn’t acceptable. He’s too soft with you. 

He craves for your gentleness while installing fear into you, be it intentional or not. 

The night before yesterday had you both acting out of character. True feelings out in the open only to be canned the next day. The cycle always repeats as such. A cycle you’re unaware of and one he can’t forget. 

Even so, he can’t help but be gentle with you.

As gentle as he could and can be. 

He should drop the conversation. 

But curiosity prevents him from doing so, knowing, your thumb had bite marks, that your knees were badly bruised, with Hana telling him with a small flush on her face that your explanation was that you ‘performed your wifely duties,’ despite nothing escalating between the two of you. 

It must have slipped your mind that if asked, she, a maid of Agriche, would report everything; your actions, your behavior, your words if deemed important enough. 

But he didn’t ask her, she told him of her own volition  - most likely concerned that Dion was pushing you past your limits. How sweet of her.

He wonders why you’re so insistent on lying to him.

“If it’s nothing then it shouldn’t bother you to show them.” 

Meanwhile, you’re crying on the inside. Sure, the tears are only building up and not rolling down your cheeks. Sure, he’s not holding a sword to your throat. Sure, he’s not choking you. And sure, after a quick glance at his crotch, there’s no boner meaning that he’s not gaining some twisted sick sexual pleasure from this. 

But it’s - he’s - still threatening all the same. 

The husband from the night before, the one who teased you, the one who was far more lax - you’re starting to miss him. Not out of affection but because he stopped when you told him to.

“Since it’s nothing it shouldn’t matter if I show you or not.” An argument that’s barely above a whisper. Why can’t he just drop it? From the deep and dark circles under his eyes it’s clear he’s tired - shouldn’t he use this opportunity to get some sleep?

Unless… he can’t?

“S- so, let's just sleep. Please?” Maybe if you cry harder he’ll grant you mercy. “Pl- plus the dinner with father-in-law… it’s best to get enough sleep so we -  I mean I won’t feel like a zombie, haha…,” you wipe the tears away before he could even think about doing it. 

You can’t fake a smile and your laugh was so clearly forced. Your blood still feels cold, hands clammy as you interlock them on your lap. Your knuckles turn white from the force, discomfort ignored. 

Your knees and thumb won’t stop aching. Your heart won’t calm down and your mind refuses to stay still. It’s still hard to breathe, lungs working overtime as you force your breath to stay somewhat steady. Time isn’t moving. 

Your concern isn’t necessary is on the tip of your tongue, so close to being said. Courage is only gained when you’re too tired to feel the fear. 

So leave me alone satan.

As a little girl, you wanted a prince. As a younger teenager you wanted, no, hoped for a decent husband. 

Your wishes were denied in the worst way possible as Agriche set their eyes on your family. Denied once you somehow caught Dion’s attention, no matter how fleeting it might be. He considers you his, but it’ll only last for a bit. 

You don’t look at him. “Arguing about this… it’s only wasting time, n-no?” You’re not calm in the slightest - simply weakly adjusting to the situation. You still want to run and you’re still on the verge of having another panic attack, eyes swirling as Dion takes a seat near the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. 

Instead of taking off those ridiculous boots he stares at you. Instead of getting ready for bed, like he should, he stares at you. Instead of leaving you to your own devices, he stares at you.

It’s unnerving. 

“...um, you should get some rest…,” you feel naked under his gaze, deciding to get up from the covers and go to the nightstand, blowing the candle out. Now it’s only moonlight that beautifully illuminates the room. If not for your circumstances, you would have viewed the scenery as romantic. 

Your legs shake under your weight as you aimlessly walk to the dresser, knees begging for rest. Fingers tap against the black surface. One foot tapping on cold tile as you listen for the bed to creak, scared he’ll corner you right here, the possibility of Dion caging you with his arms against this piece of furniture far too real. Subconsciously you bite your thumb hard only to immediately let go once you hear the bed creak. 

“So,” you can feel him closing in on you, skin crawling as a violent shudder overtakes your body. Grabbing your right wrist with his larger hand, you look at him from the side of your eye as he stands to your right. “That’s what happened.” 

You already knew he wasn’t stupid, that he was smart and cunning. Why is he bothering himself with you instead of using that mind of his to fuck with someone else? 

 Is this how Roxana felt when he grabbed her bandaged wrist tight enough for the bandages to come loose and make the wound bleed again? Cornered like a rabbit? 

“...you’re overthinking this.” You fail in jerking your hand away, your husband’s grip firm. He squeezes your wrist before lessening the pressure. You feel like a child being scolded, but instead of being sent to the corner, you feel like you’re going to be sentenced to death. 

A small grin and scarlet eyes filled with amusement as he says, “Am I?” 

Oh. He’s enjoying this. 

You pull again. He still doesn’t let go. Only tilts his head as he observes your reaction. Like he was confused with your behavior. 

Oh, you think, he’s not used to this, is he? Lying to appear strong or get the upper hand has always been normal for the Agriche family, but lying to a husband? None of his stepmother's dared to lie to Lant unless they were stupid or had a death wish. 

Your toes curl, the urge to kick him stronger than what it should be. Assuming he wouldn’t punish you for it, your knees would - stinging in worse pain as you made an unnecessary move. You don’t want to kick him out of anger - you just want some space between you. 

“What about your knees?” 

God, must I pay for my sins like this? Did you make this childhood so innocent and sweet so you could make the impact of this worse?

“Nothing. Just an accident, really.” Words leave your mouth so quickly that it takes him a moment to process what you said. You’re not looking at him anymore, face grave and breathing becoming pants. He sees the way your eyes become saucers and fingers twitch. 

How hard you bite your lip to keep quiet. As the taste of iron spreads on your tongue he sees the red liquid dribble down your chin.

He considers it for a moment - he had no intentions to scare you. While he knew that the you from that night wouldn’t show, this you isn’t what he wanted to see. Face becoming neutral, he decides to let you go, already missing your warmth but doesn’t blame you when you immediately walk past him and return to bed.  

You wipe your chin off.  But like with your husband, the action only serves to smudge red across (s/c) skin. The sight makes him smile slightly; you were matching. 

His faults and flaws are too severe for you to adjust. Yours are innocent and child’s play compared to his - but that difference only serves to make a connection difficult. 

“G-good night,” quickly stumbling out the phrase as you hide under the covers, unwilling and unable to look at him for another second. 

- - -

You’re back to being thirteen in your previous life.

“Ow!” 

“Careful, silly!” 

Falling off your bike, you skin your knee, jeans ripping at the area of impact. There isn’t much blood but it hurts enough for your eyes to water. It hurts to bend it to see it, so you choose to sit down flat on your butt instead, laying your injured leg straight. 

Oh. Is that a rock sticking out…?

“Um…,” you start, gently poking the small intruding and foreign object only to grimace as it moves against and within the wound. “There’s a rock in my knee.” 

“...What?” 

Your friend laughs, thinking you’re playing around. Only to hop off their bike when you look at them blankly from over your shoulder, a lone tear rolling down your cheek. When they reach you, they suck in a breath through their teeth, kneeling so they could get a better look at it. With your permission they slowly and gently sway the tip of it back and forth, stopping once you yelp in pain. Your brows furrow as the pain slowly starts to worsen. 

“I uh… I think this might be an ER visit…” their suggestion you rapidly shake your head. 

“I am NOT paying six grand just to wait for hours on end.” You remember your mom commenting on the price after bringing your dad back home for a broken leg. You don’t want to add another unneeded bill.

“Well, seeing as how it’s quite literally sticking out of your knee… and that it’s a decent size, you might have to, (Name).”

“I refuse. I can just pull it out.” The rock starts to dig deeper when you slightly shift your body to get more comfortable. You keep quiet.

“And if it gets infected?” 

“I’ll just die.” 

They flick your forehead. “Dying isn’t an option, especially over this.”

“How about we hire an underground doctor?” You suggest, eyes glued to your knee and how it’s starting to bleed more. Red soaks into demi blue, the sight making you queasy. Were you always this weak at the sight of blood? It’s getting harder to stay calm.

“Underground doctor? Do you, my sweet friend, even know one?” They inquire, raising a brow in mild amusement and annoyance. 

“Well… no. But-!”

“But you’re going to the ER since you don’t.” Their decision is final as they call their older sister. It would take her thirty minutes to get here. Enough time to change your friend’s mind. 

But the pain becomes smothering, teeth clamping down on your bottom lip. Your fingers curl into your palms until they clench hard enough to draw blood.

“Guh…, it’s starting to feel worse…” 

You don’t remember what happened after that, not until you get a room in the ER six hours later. 

- - -

‘Dear (Name), 

I know it’s only been two weeks since you got married and moved out. But I miss you. Father and mother have been busy lately; Father striked a business deal with someone. I heard a rumor that it’s someone from one of the five ruling families, most likely your new in-laws. 

Guess that means you’re super important or the second eldest fell in love at first sight.

Just kidding. 

I can’t see anyone falling for you. But hey, maybe that’ll mean you can get a divorce sooner or later! While it might make you less than desirable to others, or make it harder to get remarried, at least you got to experience being loaded for at least seven lifetimes! Maybe eight if we count this one. 

Anyway, as promised, I’m not skipping any of my classes. They’re so boring and I have a hard time staying awake. I wish they would give me new lessons and not these, I’ve memorized them to the point I could recall them in my sleep.

My grades are also good. The best. I mean, it wouldn’t make sense otherwise - after all, I, the great Zac, am too good to perform below average. I refuse to tarnish my good name with something as a measly test tries to break me down. 

I’m going to get smarter than that ‘husband’ of yours too. 

Speaking of which, I’m sure he’s taking decent care of you. And I’m sure that in spite of that you’re crying your eyes out every night, missing us and wishing you would wake up to another bug on your face. Come on, it wasn’t that bad. 

How does he wake you up? Or do the servants do it? Oh, or maybe you sleep in until midday? 

Don’t turn into a bum just because you’re extra rich now. 

…I do miss you. I wish I could see you, but the journey is kind of long. If I was older or didn’t have class, I would have visited you earlier. I overheard our father tell our mother that we might attend an event near the Agriche’s. Maybe. 

If we do go, I hope I get to see you there. 

Anyway, that’s enough sappy words. I’m already cringing.

We’ll meet again soon. 

Your brother, Zac’

P.S: Father cried for two hours after you left for your new place. There was a lot of snot and he could barely breathe. Oh, mother and Elena didn’t get to see it - he only broke down once the two of them went to speak with Maria Agriche. 

I only know because I walked in on him while finding a place to nap. I stayed the entire two hours in the corner since it didn’t feel right to interrupt him.

I’ll sound horrible saying this, but; his reaction after seeing me was funny. Maybe I’ll tell you all about it if you beg in your reply letter.'

“...Did Dion read this?”

“Yes, with your permission that you gave earlier, my Lady.” 

“Remind me not to do that again.”

[thatguythatdrawsalot]

Blake - Menagerie Design Critique.

Hiatus is over and I fricking missed making posts about RWBY’s outfits along with redesigning them so let’s hop to it! We’re coming back to talk about Blake this time around which is good since the last post about her had no redesign at all which was odd even for me, it was one of the worst outfits and I completely chose to talk bad about it than to try redesigning it.

Don’t worry I don’t like Blake’s Menagerie outfit either and there’s a redesign that I hope will suffice.

RWBY Archives

In my last post about Blake I did briefly talk about her Menagerie design as it was the basis of her Atlas design which was the topic at the time. I still stand by what I said, it was clever for the designer to hide Blake’s signature color of black with other secondary colors to represent her hiding herself. It’s not uncommon for characters who desire to not be recognized do everything in their power to hide the things that make them iconic and recognizable. 

We had Violet from Arcane in season 2 drenched in black than her signature colors of red/violet because she doesn’t want to be recognized, there was also Korra from LoK where she cuts her hair very short and wears Earthbending clothes when on the run in Book 4 to not be recognized as the Avatar. I appreciate them wanting to do something like that with Blake but the way they did it was goofy. A huge white coat on a tropical island would make anyone raise an eyebrow at her, make the excuse that aura regulates body temperatures all you want, it still looks silly. It’s not as silly as a giant purple fur coat like Ghira’s but a white jacket with large coattails is close. 

We had more background characters and actual named characters that look way more appropriate for the island than Blake did.

Hair

The switch to Maya was a change I didn’t mind, I’m aware of the animation software doing phenomenal work, it improved background sets and some of the character models for RWBY… some of the characters. 

They changed Blake’s hair a lot, she no longer has black hair, it's just completely dark gray, her hair also seems a lot more… brushed? I don’t know how to describe it but it just looks smoother than wild wisps like in her Volume 1 version. I also do not like how Blake’s cat ears are animated, I preferred if they just slapped Kali’s ears onto Blake as it looks way more realistic. 

The hair was really the first sign of Blake ditching black and being swallowed up in purple’s.

Primary Color - Black?

Blake fails in representing her color of Black simply because she’s not wearing any black at all. I extracted the colors of Blake’s model in completely flat lighting and it is solely “not dark-enough Indigo” on her. I can’t vibe with the concept anymore of Blake wearing white and purples to hide her signature color which in turn means hiding her true self anymore because she’s not wearing her true color to begin with! She doesn’t even wear her true color at all in the next volume when her running and hiding arc is over!

As she fails to represent black she also fails in honoring Yang’s color, the gold of the look is just so miniscule and it doesn’t help that it’s surrounded by purple rather than black, I felt as though it would have made the color pop. In my recolor version I don’t think I did it justice, the outfit is just that bad that not even color placement could fix it, but I am a little happy that yellow is more visible as it can look good when standing next to Sun or Yang.

Positives?

Yeah, here’s a positive, Blake without a giant stupid coat on her is chef’s kiss. The giant coat gets in her way of combat, I’m sorry but that coat is bad, not as bad as Blake’s Atlas coat but still BAD. When it’s finally gone the ‘not dark-enough Indigo” that looks like black truly pushes the concept of her no longer hiding herself. I cheered when it was gone because this was such good symbolism to show through her outfit, I just wished it was actually black than “not dark-enough Indigo” because it truly could’ve been a good outfit with that very small tweak!

Redesign

When I do my redesigns you guys know I try not to rewrite them, all I want to do is give a character a new outfit, not a complete rewrite of their story. I get Blake is on the run but there was no way for me to think of anything that can hide Blake’s true colors on a tropical island. Not to mention she does a bad job at hiding her true self as she's quick to go to her family’s mansion and right away expose her cat ears and herself to Corsac and Fennec. So, screw it, ditch the concept and let Blake wear black again. It’s not exactly combat ready, but practical enough to fight in if she either wanted a comfortable life in Menagerie to not look for trouble or to do a quick battle against a Grimm or something.

The ponytail is something I always wanted for Blake, I think it would’ve been a neat detail in paralleling her and Yang if they both wore ponytails through their Volume 4-5 journey. You can probably tell the tank top and shorts along with long boots were really meant for Blake taking inspiration from Yang as she misses her and whatnot. 

Do I think it’s too much black? Yeah, I do, I think more yellow/gold or white can help Blake not be a black blob as I don’t want her to fall into the same trap Cinder’s Atlas outfit does. I’m also reluctant if purple should have been added… I do love Blake’s color palette when it’s solely black, white, and gold but maybe I should have experimented more on color placement for this. I might do it in the future-

Conclusion

Blake’s outfit literally feels like an itch that needs to be scratched, I’ve praised the coatless version of the look when she got to Argus but the with-coat version when on the island and in Mistral looks ridiculous. I think it really could have worked if there was the slightest bit of tweaks to it. If the coat was perhaps sleeveless with no huge coattails along with actually having black than a “not dark-enough Indigo” I may have actually loved it or at the very least not mind it.

As it stands it’s just an outfit that has no black at all, isn’t practical for combat, and just a good example of what not to wear on a trip to Hawaii.

But of course it’s just my opinion. If you love this design or hate the design, please share your opinion. I’d love to hear it! :D

[destroyerofgirls]

Im BEGGING for you to write about forcemascing a soft trans guy.. 🙏

Only cause you're begging :)

I'm so proud of you sweetheart, you finally admit that you're a boy. You took your first step. The only problem is how soft you are. No, sweetheart, I'm not mad. I'm just prepared to help you learn how to be more of a man.

I know, I know, guys can be sensitive. You're very sensitive, aren't you my good boy? Yeah you are, but you let people walk all over you, they treat you like shit. And you let them. Why do you let them?

Aww, sweetheart, I'm not blaming you. Really, I blame myself. I haven't taught you how to be a man yet. Everyone sees you as scum, they treat you like a baby, but I'm going to change that.

Be a good boy and take your clothes off for me. There we go. Such a good boy for me.

Y'know, I think it's time we start you on testosterone. Make that dick start growing, make your voice deepen, make you hairy.

You don't want to be hairy? Sweetheart there's nothing to be scared of, you'll still be smokin hot handsome. It's okay to be hairy. Do you know how many people get turned on by body hair? I'm not letting you shave anymore.

How would you feel about topping tonight? You don't know? Here, just use the strap I usually use. Mhm, roll a condom on. Good boy. Here, I'm going to lay down, put my legs over your shoulders. Now, you're going to push in, don't be scared, love, I can take it.

Aw, fuckk, good boy. Yeah baby, you're gonna fuck me nice and hard. We're going to keep doing this until you're good at it, okay?

Nice and slow, there we go. After this, we're going to go and buy you some new clothes. Mhm, we'll get you some more neutral colors, some clothes that fit you, some that are baggy, we'll even buy you some work boots.

Go a little faster. Fuck, that's good, you're doing good. Maybe we should change your hair to a more masculine look. How does that sound? We'll get you some shampoo that doesn't smell like a field of flowers. Replace that perfume with some nice cologne. Don't worry, we won't cheap out.

Faster, God, go deeper, please. Oh God, you got my submissive side coming out a bit, you're such a good boy. You're doing so well. You know what I want sweetheart? I want you to make me feel so so good.

Of course you're so good at it in those other days, but I want you to try it this way. We'll get you a new strap, we'll get you a new cock so you can fuck me. Yeah, you want that don't you? I know you do. Fuck, you want me to feel good. Don't you want to make me a submissive bitch more often? Fuck, I know you do, love, I want that too. We're going to have to practice a lot more. Fuck, fuck, fuuckk I'm going to cum baby. Keep going.

[perfectlysanexd]

How do you do your Final Fantasy edits?

The hard way, my friend. No AI is used here, I do it all by hand. 🥰 I assume you mean the screenshot manipulations I create? I'll try and give a simple summary... First, I boot up Remake on PC and use a "free camera" mod(you can find the links to the mods I use on my archive pages for manipulations, which is on my pinned post) to take a couple screenshots that I think will work well together. Sometimes I change my mind and choose a different one. It can be hard to match the camera angles and lighting, so sometimes I have to mess with that later, as well. But it's easier if they fit together from the beginning. We'll take my current WIP as an example. I started with these two screenshots:

I open them in the free program GIMP (GNU Image Manipulation Program), which anyone can download at gimp.org. Then the first thing I do is choose the base image. In this case, they're both facing the same way, so I choose to flip Sephiroth(you can't really do that with Cloud easily because of his earring, and his hair is less symmetrical). Since the camera was closer up on Cloud, and he's the smaller one, I usually choose Sephiroth's to be the base image. With that decided, I roughly cut Cloud from his background and paste him onto Sephiroth's image as a new layer. Then I position him, resize him, rotate him, whatever I need to do until he seems to be in the desired place, which ends up looking like this: (I ended up adding snow for this preview, so it would look more complete than it is when I showed it to my server, haha)

If you look at Cloud, you can still see a thick outline of his old background around his head. Once he's positioned properly, it's time to remove the rest of his background(I use a size 10 eraser with 100% hardness and zoom in about 5 times). Then I need to think about where they're connected, and how to make them look like they're touching, as well as layering to make them seem intertwined, as if they're truly occupying the same space together.

I cut away some of Cloud's shirt, and the rest of that effect will come with shading later. If I wanted Cloud even closer, I would make a duplicate of Sephiroth and erase his background, so that his lock of hair would appear to go over Cloud's face. I could also make it semi-transparent, so you could see the outline of Cloud's face through his hair. You can see I have some small game defects to fix, such as Cloud's hair clipping through his ear. I leave those tiny details for later, typically. Sometimes, because of their height differences, I have to "rebuild" missing parts of them from scratch, such as I did for this other manipulation:

It's a delicate process that's mostly the clone tool(to keep the textures) and some freehand drawing, but I don't have an art tablet, so I use my mouse for everything, which can be quite challenging. I've had a lot of practice from translating doujinshi, where I'd erase the words, rebuild the missing part of the image, and then place the translated words over that spot.

In any case, I decided I wanted more out of this manipulation than just leaning against each other. I wanted Cloud to be reaching up towards Sephiroth, and perhaps for Sephiroth to be pulling him closer. To do that, I needed pictures of their hands/arms like so:

I've taken hundreds of shots, so I looked through what I had first, but it wasn't the right angle, or was the wrong outfit for Cloud, so...then you open up those images and cut out the parts you want. After that, you work on positioning and things like that again. I haven't finished with that part yet, so it looks a little awkward. (And when you're doing these kinds of things, color matching is very important, but that's a bit advanced.)

I'm not fully satisfied yet, so I'll probably remove the rest of the background from the arms and then mess with the placement. As for Sephiroth's hand, I intend to thread it in Cloud's hair, so Cloud will need to be duplicated in order to create that layering effect, as mentioned previously. Which should end up looking similar to this one:

(I had to draw in most of Cloud's hand because I didn't have the camera mod back then, and the Sephiroth shot was provided to me by Coeurlwhiskers.) After that, it's a matter of shadows and highlights, remaining details, and finishing up the colors, etc. It's a long and difficult process, and can take many hours to complete, depending on how ambitious I get with it. Most of that stuff would be a much longer tutorial, and I did used to do some actual artwork a long time ago, so I...kind of know what I'm doing?? I probably do a lot of stuff the hard way(like not using layer masks) because I just don't have the time to teach myself more than the basics. 😅I know it may seem daunting, but it's really fun! I hope I managed to answer your question properly. Feel free to ask follow ups~

[ktarsims]

This hair I think provides a fairly good example of the way the SAME hair colors can look very different with different retextures. The bottom hair is the original by Newsea, which in this case I ended up keeping.

The top left hair is a very shiny retexture, and in the context of these photos, it seems to make the purple color pop a bit more, but... on darker hairs, those spots are so shiny they no longer look the color they're supposed to look. The one on the top right shows none of the purple at all, while still having tons of shine. These were the only retextures of this hair (YU089 Immortal by Newsea) I was able to find (one by Sunpi, and the other by A Love Like Sims), so I ended up reverting to the original Newsea texture for now.

I found references online to an old Sjoko/Bombsy retexture of this hair which would probably be more matte and to my liking, but it wasn't one of the ones in the archived folders, and I wasn't able to find a viable link for it.

[embryhallowed]

Oh gender stuff

I visited back home for the first time in a while and my parents let me invite some friends for a bonfire in the back yard.

One of my friends is trans and they're probably the first trans person my family have knowingly been around. I told my family beforehand to be nice and respectful or else 🔪 and lo, they were!

Which was a pleasant surprise, because who can guess how an extremely conservative family will behave, but it was interesting to see my mom's reaction to my friend.

She pulled me aside privately at one point and was like, "when you said they were trans I thought maybe they were born male? But s-they don't seem to be? I'm coming from a place of ignorance, can you help me understand?"

Sure, she stumbled over her words a bit, but she seemed genuine about wanting to learn and be respectful, so that was nice, but it was also here that I realized my mom's only perception of trans people was either as trans men or trans women. It was definitely one of those "oh right, I forgot not everyone knows about this" moments for me.

I briefly explained that trans is an umbrella term for many identities, cited a couple of my friends as examples of the spectrum, and assured her that I'd be happy to talk about it with her in depth some other time. She seemed receptive to this, which was really really nice?

And the idea of being able to explain these things to her sounded really good at the time, and honestly still does, but later I had the realization that if I have this talk with her, it will probably give her the power to clock me???

Which. Oh no.

My mom and I have been able to maintain a decent relationship on the basis of denial for at least the last decade or so. If I explain the spectrum of gender beyond the binary, that will probably endanger the denial. And can she handle me without that? IDK.

I don't know if she knows what a binder is, but she saw me wearing one, she knows my hair is super short, and she sees what I post on social media. She even told me that, with my haircut, I look like my most masculine sibling. I can just imagine her connecting the dots as I explain what non-binary is.

I've told myself that if anyone directly asked, I wouldn't deny it, but this also isn't a part of myself I planned on making vulnerable to her/the family at large?

But maybe that conversation would be a good thing? I would get the chance to explain things to her from a perspective that isn't steeped in bigotry, which would be great. But, then she might really see me... But that might not be a bad thing either? I mean, hell, my family was all "people shouldn't marry outside of their race!" for ages, and their opinion didn't change until my mixed cousin was born. Maybe they really do need it to impact them personally before they can care. IDK.

Anyone else had to navigate this sort of thing yet?

[wr3nns]

Thank you for all your lovely tags ❤️❤️❤️

Oh! Hello!!! Hi hello! I'm not sure how exactly to respond to asks yet because this is my first one ever. I looked over at the little blue dot like ???? What's this?? Envelope?? Mail???? And then I realized it was a message and!! Thank you for the thanks I am always thrilled to know people got to see the tags.

I like to let people know about things and features and I think they should know someone noticed. I have some experience critiquing art irl and it's so much fun to look into the details and intent and how did they do that part, how much time did this section take, what were they thinking feeling imagining seeing?? How did they get from there to here?

And it's epic and wonderful and I love art I love artists I love interacting with people with no expectation of return. I get to shout out my little brain thoughts into this space and maybe they even make it back to the origin and maybe they even get to read the thoughts and maybe they even feel nice after! And anyone else reading the tags might just look a little closer at the piece, appreciate it a little more, find all the little intricacies and details and little spots of personality left behind by the creator that says here I am! Hello! I left this behind! It's me! And you found it!

Enjoy the rest of your day!!

[screampied]

you don’t really realize you’re growing old with satoru until you spot a grey tress inside the roots of your hair as you’re looking in the mirror. the thing about marriage and life itself was that time really doesn’t stop—for no one. as you entrap the lock between your fingers, you murmur out to satoru with a cheeky grin. “satoru baby, c’mere.”and as he’s lying in bed with a wrinkled nose, he reads some book titled ‘three men in a boat.’ as he flips a thick page, his cerulean blue reading glasses crook down the bridge of his nose before he turns his attention toward you.

“yesss, honey?” he rubs his eyes, bringing a palm up to his growing stubble. as he got older, you noticed how he moved a bit slower. satoru was still fit as he aged, but he’d have a bit of a waddle whenever he walked. it was cute—how his limbs were getting more and more fragile, but he was still labeled as the strongest despite his inevitable aging.

he makes his way behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. the two of you make eye contact through the mirror that reflects you both, a happy married couple. “look, we’re finally matching now,” and his face softens once you bring the silvery colored strand up to his view. ‘matching,’ because his hair was naturally a snowy white . . almost similar to the strand of hair you just showed him.

although as the years progressed, satoru was growing ashen grey streaks too.

“i guess we are,” he replied in a gentle tone, his hands remaining on your hips. satoru’s touch was always gentle and ginger. he presses his lips near the back of your nape before letting off a soft sigh. “you’d look pretty with white hair, actually.”

“prettier than you?” you hum, glancing at him through the mirror. satoru towers over you as he holds you, the band of his wedding ring grazing against your hip.

again, you watch as the corners of his lips crease into a smile. a toothy genuine one where his dimples show.

“haha, veeeery funny,” and as he buries his face into your neck, he deeply ponders to himself for a moment.

to think . . how much time has passed, out of all the countless tiresome battles he’s had to face—

all those years at trying to keep the world safe and now, he could finally relax. having his arms around you gave him a peace of mind, and in the end it was all worth it because at the end of the day, satoru gojo—the strongest, came back to you. you were his personal safe haven and he was yours.

“but honeyyy,” he yawns with rosy pouty lips, shifting his chin up to rest against your left shoulder. satoru starts leading you toward your side of the bed. “ ‘s pretty late, let’s getcha back to bed, hm?”

“okay,” you mumble, already feeling your eyes starting to get heavy again. satoru’s still got his burly arms wrapped around your waist as he leisurely guides you back to bed. he was clingy, and that never changed. satoru gojo’s always been clingy ever since the two of you met. as he pulls down the cover for you to enter, you crawl back in and he gets beside you.

satoru slings an arm around you, pulling you close as his hooded eyes starts a staring contest with the swaying wooden ceiling fan.

it’s moving slow. . just like time was.

whenever he was with you, it felt as if time stood still. and as the both of you cuddled against each other with your head resting against his beating heart, he sighs. it’s a content happy sigh, and satoru’s hands find their way near the top of your head. his thin fingers maze it’s way near your soft grey growing strand before he leans in, giving the crown of your head a goodnight kiss. “mwah,” and he watches as your eyes briefly widen before glancing away, growing sheepish. “get some rest, my love. i’ll be here when you wake up. promise.”

you nod, too drowsy to reply and he pulls you closer. satoru’s heartbeat was steady and slow, and each pulse that bested against your ear made you felt more and more protected. as he holds you firm and close, a hand of his softly caresses your forehead—brushing against the soft hairs that cling onto your skin.

as your breathing starts to relax and your eyelids finally close, he realizes you finally drifted off to sleep. satoru exhales lowly, almost forgetting to take off his reading glasses. as he places them near the nightstand, he lies back down, giving your sleeping state once last glance.

“i love you,” he whispers against your ear before reaching for the pearled lamp switch. “so much.”your head nuzzles against his chest and he assumes that was your non-verbal way of saying it back, even in your sleep. cute.

the only sounds that could be heard were the faint tick tocking of the grandfather clock that stood near the hallway and your soft breathing as you deeply slept. satoru feels a smile tugging against his glossed lips yet again, but this time it’s different . .

it’s not the same smile from when you showed him that you were graying, it was a more genuine smile that was satisfied at everything—primarily at life. satoru’s long crystalline lashes gradually flap shut as he smiles to himself, a thumb brushing against your forehead. all those battles was worth it in the end, because right now, he’s at the only place he wanted to be . . with you.

life wasn’t a competition, but satoru finally felt at peace, true peace—and that peace was being in your presence. he wasn’t one for believing in good endings, but maybe this particular one wasn’t so bad.

“i . . won.”

[infizero]

gawddddd i love him i love him so much

[drill-teeth-art]

Wow! Here’s something incredibly personal.

This is Good Bi Gender. A comic I made to express some feelings I have about my gender. I don’t really have that much else to say about it. Here it is.

[Image Description: A digital comic made with sharp, angular abstract lines and only the colors white, blue, pink, and black. The featured character is all white, except for facial features and hair colors, which changes from panel to panel. The comic reads: Cover Panel: The text "Good Bi Gender", the words colored with the trans flag. It shows a glitchy person's face, half pink and half blue. Panel 1: White text reads: "Hello. My name is apparently irrelevant. And my pronouns are he/him and she/her. But you can't call me she/her. And here's why." Someone with a half-pink and half-blue shirt looks to the side. One eye is covered with hair, and the other eye is pink while the iris is blue.

Panel 2: The character sits happily, imagining facial hair and a masculine voice. "I don't want top surgery. I love my chest. And I dream about being on testosterone someday soon." The character looks at a phone, frowning. The phone shows the male symbol with an "X" through it. Text next to it reads: “People don't seem to think that the features I dream of are very pretty though... Or they think even worse of them than that…”

Panel 3: The character’s features are all pink, and sits in a blank frame. The character reaches over to a blue frame, frowning. “I don't like the animosity. I really despise it.” A photo of the character shows an all-blue frame and blue hair, with pink outlines and facial features. “To be a boy... I aspire to be one. I aspire to be masculine in all its handsomeness. All its prettiness.” Panel 4: The character sits in an all blue panel, but reaches back out to the pink panel. “And I'm still a girl too. I was so excited to have both. To love both. To have handsome femininity. Beautiful masculinity.” The frames break and connect, and pink and blue swirl together. The character smiles in between the frames, with one pink eye and one blue eye. “So excited. And yet I get asked…”

Panel 5: Two hands hold out two different pills to the character, one blue and one pink. They ask “Male? or Female?” using the male and female symbols.The character, facial features an array of pink and blue, looks between the two hands, distressed. “It's both! I'm both! They're not opposites. Not narrow boxes. I say I'm both despite the insistence that I can't be. And I know what I look like. I know I look like a girl to most. I know that if I say people can call me she, that's all I will get from most. Because it's "easier". It "makes more sense". To have my masculinity, I am often forced to be unflinching in it and it alone. To never use she. Because if I don't, I will never get to have he.” [The words "she" and "he" are italicized.] Panel 6: Text reads: “I'm still very happy to be so comfortable in my identity. To know, despite all that, that I am indeed a boy and a girl and both. But you know. Telling people to only use he/him for me. Guarding my masculinity all just to have it. All at the expense of the part of me who is happily and unashamedly a girl.” The character cries from one pink eye, the other hidden. The character holds a pink girl in a sea of blue, the girl crying out. In the midst of the blue, text reads: “Well, it fucking breaks her heart.” End ID]

Edit: @starberry-skies wrote an ID for the comic, so I added it to the og post with its permission!

[versupital]

run, rabbit, run

JJK HALLOWEEN! nanamixreader

summary ❥ you babysit for the wealthy single dad who lives across the street. it’s the end of october and his halloween party is the talk of the neighborhood. you’re not invited because the kids are out of town, but you decide to pop up on him anyway, and he shows you just how badly he’s been dying to get you alone without the children.

CONTENT: age gap, 86’d sorcery, dilf!nanami, toys, smut, alcohol, dom!nanami, cunnilingus, afab!reader, fluff, friends to lovers kinda, bossxworker, aftercare, slowwwww burn, reader wears animal ears during sex, breeding kink, spit kink, masochism.

word count. 10k

soundtrack 💿: eating - madeintyo

p.s. there’s a joke in here involving the color of 🐱; i know everyone’s is not the same color so , fill in the blank for the color that fits yours if u have one LOL

✩

You give your ass a good shake.

You’re making sure the long, fluffy tail poking out of your blue shorts isn’t going to fall out. It doesn’t.

You’re dressed as a fox, but not just any fox. A fox cop. You have on a short blue collared top, matching shorts, and of course you’d be no real cop without your utility belt housing fake handcuffs and a plastic baton. To top it all off, you’re wearing fuzzy fox ears on your head, and sheer tights to cover your legs.

You nod in the mirror, satisfied. But the real test, to you, is if Mr. Nanami will like it just as much.

Mr. Nanami is your employer, but more importantly, your neighbor. You watch his two young children five days a week; sometimes even overnight when he has a particularly busy work day. You consider yourself close with them, but your feelings about Nanami are a little deeper than that.

You’d seen him the first time a little under a year ago, when he’d been out on an early morning jog. From then, on you’d become disgustingly obsessed ever since.

Your schoolgirl pining only gets worse every time you see him, and recently you've even gone as far as trying to shamelessly flirt - but he seems to have absolutely no idea. That is the less painful explanation, the other being that he’s just not interested.

But you’re planning to see if you can get that to change tonight. You always dress sensible in front of his children; this will be the first time he's seeing so much skin. It has to work, right?

Tonight, Nanami is throwing the party of the century. He has house workers of all kinds who serve towers of food and delicious mixed drinks. The cherry is that his entire gated lawn has been decorated to the perimeter of fun inflatables and spooky decorations. You know it's mostly for his kids, whom he goes nothing short of above and beyond for.

However, he had informed you days ago that they would be out of town this weekend - and, even if they were not, he's off work, so he doesn’t need you. This means he also had not invited you to his party.

You clearly still intend to show up unannounced, a bold move on your part.

You lock up your house - a small, co-owned property that truly looks out of place across from Nanami's home - which he technically pays the rent for. You carefully make your away across the overcrowded street full of cars, decorations, and humans who are already half past drunk.

As you walk up the stone steps that lead to his front door, your stomach is keyed up. You shouldn't feel any different than you normally do when coming over for work, but you’ve really let this highly unprofessional crush of yours get out of control.

You make it to the porch. You're unsure if he will even hear the doorbell, but you press it anyway. The door slides open after about ten seconds, as if he has been standing there watching it. You feel your body freeze immediately upon seeing him.

Nanami is towering over you in the threshold. His face lights up almost instantly, but that's not all that has your heart threatening to crack open your rib cage; it's also his delicious white button down, popped open by a few to reveal tiny bits of blond chest hair, and then of course there are the long, white ears on top of his head.

“Why hello, officer, did we get a noise complaint?” He chuckles at his own dad joke before bowing his head in greeting. “Sorry, I’m just surprised to see you. I figured you would be thrilled to not have to look at these four walls for a few days while my children are with... their mother.”

You watch his face drop in disgust at the mention of his ex-wife, but he’s never said anything bad about her. Whenever you’d asked why things hadn’t worked out, he’d said "they just didn't." And that was that, but part of you aches to know what had happened.

It shouldn’t matter. He is not interested in you. He gives you a paycheck, and that is all.

"Well," you begin carefully, "Who would want to miss out on the most exclusive Halloween party of the year?"

This coerces a deep laugh out of Nanami, then he steps aside and allows you to walk in. He is holding a short rocks glass of unidentified brown liquor, and you can smell whatever it is in a cloud around him.

Once inside, Nanami’s voice is quite muffled from the clank of dishes and bustle of workers. The two of you stop to stand in the foyer, a grand crystal chandelier winking at you from above.

"Exclusive isn't the word I'd use," he says, following your eyes as he takes a sip. "Everyone and their mother is here. Literally." He tilts his glass towards an elderly woman who stands next to a redhead about Nanami's age.

You should be laughing at his joke but instead, your stomach knots grow tighter at the reminder of how many people his age are here preying on him, the neighborhood catch, with careers and homes of their own.

Nanami is seven years your senior, you think. No wonder he wants nothing to do with a young, non career-oriented thing like you when he has all of these sophisticated people crawling at his feet.

You can't think about that now, or the courage you’ve spent a week building will cease to exist.

"Heh - well, either way," you continue, "it's a big party. I know the kids aren't here, but-"

"But I'm glad you are," Nanami smiles, his eyelids hanging a little low from the liquor in his system. "You look very nice, darling. I like your ears."

He grins and points to his own headband. A grown and very, very large man dressed as something as vulnerable as a little rabbit has your nerves aflame.

"Hmm, I bet you do," you tease. “Like it so much you had to copy me?”

Nanami makes a disapproving sound with his tongue, leaning forward a bit to be eye level with you. "Copy you? I was unaware that rabbits and foxes were the same animal. In fact," he adds, "if I'm not mistaken, foxes are a rabbit's natural predator."

You had been trying to look away from him now that he has moved so close, but as the last sentence rolls out of his mouth, you make the mistake of looking directly into his eyes - and what you see makes your limbs jelly. Maybe it's your delusions, but he seems to be drinking you up equally as much as he is his liquor.

You laugh to pop the bubble of tension, but Nanami's face remains as still as ice.

"Well, I certainly don't think I pose a threat to you, sir," you say, voice unnervingly dry. "You are twice my size."

At this, his intense stare transitions into a soft smile. "You just have to get my guard down. Then, I'm sure a little thing like yourself would be able to have your way with me."

You blink quickly, assuming you've misheard him. Then again, though, he tends to say things that could be flirty - but he is just a naturally charismatic man. Means nothing.

"Ah," you mumble out, shifting your weight from side to side. You have to find a way to change the subject, but most importantly, you need get his attention off of you. You’d wanted it so bad, now you don’t know how to handle it. As you scheme, he sips his drink again, eyes still watching you over the rim of the glass.

"So... the kids always go with their mom on Halloween?" you ask abruptly.

Nanami quickly swallows his sip before shaking his head. "Well I had them for the Fourth of July, you recall."

You do recall. A little too well. Nanami in nothing but tight, black swim shorts and his signature sunglasses as he flipped meat over the grill - and you playing in his pool with the kids. He’d invited you to celebrate the holiday with him after his kids had begged, but your mind was definitely elsewhere. The memory popping into your head almost makes you not hear what he says next.

"We alternate holidays. So I will have them for Thanksgiving, she for Christmas," he shrugs a shoulder. "I would have traded Thanksgiving for Christmas, but alas. Christmas is always the busiest day of the year for me, so they would just miss out on time with their father anyway. I couldn't ask you to ditch your holiday plans for us, again, either."

He sighs. You feel your heart ache; he cares deeply about his kids, but he is definitely a workaholic. That is why you spend every chance you get at his house… well, that’s mostly why. But even then, you sometimes wish you stayed more to help, because Nanami works tireless double shifts, then spends his off days trying to make up for lost time with the kids.

"Don't be so hard on yourself," you say, attempting to comfort him. "You're an amazing father who is doing all he can. They love you so much."

He smiles and bows his head politely, so as to say thank you. "They love you as well. Sometimes, I think more than they do their mother."

You swallow a choke, before rutting out, “Surely not."

Before Nanami has the chance to reply, an older woman who you’d come to known as Agnes walks by with a large tray arraignment of bright green cocktails.

“Nanamin!” she shrieks out. “Where would you like me to put these? Very afraid of them falling. There’s drunkards crawling up the walls! I’ve already swept up sixteen broken glasses! Sixteen!”

You and Nanami turn to look at her with an equally astonished expression.

Nanami leans forward a bit to whisper in your ear, “My apologies in advance for her erratic behavior.”

Agnes is still staring wildly between the two of you as you giggle, awaiting further instructions from Nanami.

“Sit them wherever you think is safest,” he says calmly.

She huffs but ultimately takes his word, speeding off with her kitten heels clacking against the marble floor.

Nanami turns back to you and opens his mouth, but another voice cuts him off.

“Nanami, sir!”

You feel a twinge of irritation in your chest, but you really shouldn’t. He is the host and people need his attention. You should have seen this coming.

“Is everything okay?” he questions politely, turning to face the short brunette in front of him, who bats her eyelashes.

“I… I think that someone is fighting outside,” she says quickly, unable to keep eye contact.

Nanami is a smart man, though. “Oh? Well, what shall we do about that?”

“I thought you could run and stop them,” she says, twisting a piece of her hair around her finger, glancing at you out of the corner of her eye.

“I’m in no mood to be in the middle of a brawl,” he says sternly. “Have the butlers stop it, and remove them. You try not to get involved either.”

She huffs and spins on her heel, walking back through the living room with an angry stomp in her step.

Nanami clicks his tongue, “I really need to have her counseled in compulsive lying. She cries wolf so many times a day.”

You’ve never seen her before, she must be new. This makes you jealous all over again. She’s not quite as old as the rest of the workers, but still older than you. The issue is you see yourself in her, the uncontrollable pining over your shared boss. She just makes hers much more obvious.

Nanami clears his throat, and you notice too late how his hand has slithered to the small of your back.

“Perhaps we should escape somewhere more secluded, hm?” he says. “I really am enjoying our conversation. A shame we keep getting interrupted.”

You swallow thickly. The hair on your spine has raised at his sudden contact, making you shiver.

“Yes, that’s a good idea, sir,” you say, trying to hide how dry your voice has gotten.

Not another word is uttered before Nanami is swiftly whisking you off to another room; his hands now free of his drink and instead gently guiding you by his hand placement.

His gaze is not as focused on you as it is leading you both through the overwhelming crowd of people, and to the hall under the stairs that you know for a fact leads to his workspace. He moves his hands into yours as he gently pushes you ahead of him.

You take the lead and find yourself pushing open the big door to his study. Inside is a complete reflection of Nanami, his wealth and his cleanliness. Even his desk is free of papers, or any indication at all that he works in here.

You recall the days he works from home, in this very study, and he'd still be in his work suit, just minus the blazer. You'd let the kids sneak in on him, only once or twice thoughout the day, just to see his smile; and while you’re already there, you'd drop off a cup of hot coffee to help him plow through the rest of his shift.

He shuts the doors behind you both as you run to make yourself comfortable in his desk chair, spinning around like a child.

As you do so, you fail to see or hear his fingers slyly clicking the lock on the door.

“Much better,” Nanami breathes, moving to flick on a floor lamp in the corner, giving the study a soft, warm glow accompanied by the full Halloween moon. “Now, what were we discussing?”

“You, uh,” you clear your throat as you stop spinning in the chair to face him. “You really didn’t have to come in here just to talk to me. You are the man of the evening, you know.”

Nanami rolls his eyes, an out-of-character action you never thought you'd see, but one that looked so tasty, so sultry. God, you’re a pervert in heat - and your sweet, sweet boss is completely oblivious to the kind of horrible thoughts you have daily about him.

Nanami's now staring at you. His mouth is moving, but you have no idea what he had been saying.

"… to spend time with all of those shallow, insolent creatures,” you register, “when I have someone like you here?" He walks over to the desk and leans against it, right next to you now, as he crosses his arms over his massive chest. "We have never just sat down and talked. We always have little people depending on us or wanting our attention. Tonight, I’d like that to change.”

You let his words simmer for a moment. “What is it you’d like to talk about, Mr. Nanami?” you then question.

“What did I tell you about that ‘Mr.’ nonsense?” He frowns. “That makes me feel so old.”

"Sorry, sir," you gulp, not intending to upset him. You just can't help the way 'Mr.' and 'Sir' roll off your tongue, or how bad you enjoy seeing him shift uncomfortably at the use of the names.

"Meanie," he tuts, knocking you playfully with his leg. Another uncharacteristic action.

"What'd I do?" you blink, tilting your head as you look up at him.

"You mean besides drive me insane with your teasing?" he questions, before his eyes widen and he looks as though he's just spilled a secret. "I- wow, I am sorry. That is not what I meant to say."

"I drive you insane?" you echo. "I didn't even think you noticed my… teasing.”

Nanami's face is neutral, but his jaw is working under his skin. "I’m not naive, little fox." He lets out a breath. “This was truly an excellent costume choice.”

He leans forward and flicks the furry ear on your head.

“Thank you,” you smile. “I can’t say the same for yours. You hardly scream innocent bunny.”

“What about me isn’t innocent?” he raises a brow, standing off of the desk.

“I…” you blink as he walks around to the back of the desk chair. “You’re just, um…”

“Fox got your tongue?” he coos, spinning the chair so that you’re forced to face him.

You inhale a deep breath and hold it as heat travels through your stomach and right to the center of your thighs.

“You’re a man who is about his business,” you say. “I imagine you’ve… had a lot of life experiences,” you pause to remind yourself to breathe, but it’s hard because of how ferociously Nanami is staring into your eyes. “So you c-can’t be all that innocent…”

“You seem nervous,” he coos. “Here. Let’s stand up, I’ll sit down. Maybe that will help you to not be so tense, hm?”

Your body obeys before your mind catches on. You’re standing in a beat, and Nanami has replaced you on the chair. Your bottom hits the crease of his large desk, and you slam your hands down on the surface to balance yourself.

“Sorry,” you say, putting a hand up to cover your face. “I don’t mean to imply that you make me uncomfortable, sir.”

Nanami's pupils flash white, but it's gone so quickly, you might have imagined it. "If I do, please let me know immediately.”

“No,” you say, dropping your hand, “I just think we need to get to know each other better, right? Our entire relationship is through the kids. I know that your son’s favorite shade of green is kiwi, but I don’t even know your first name.”

Nanami chuckles at this. “You know, I was thinking exactly the same thing.” He taps your knee. “Kento, silly girl. My first name is Kento.”

"A-And your favorite color?” you continue, trying to ignore how close he’s moved the chair towards you, now that you have fully planted your bottom on his desk.

“Pink,” he says, serious as death.

You giggle. “Why pink?”

“It’s the color of my favorite thing to eat,” he says, slowly placing his arms on either side of your thick thighs, hands planted flat on the surface of the desk.

You think for a moment. “Strawberry ice cream?”

“No,” he cocks his blond head to the side and his eyes fall on your tights. “Try again.”

You pretend to think, though you fear you may be catching on now. “Hmm, dragonfruit?”

“Nah,” Nanami says, looking up at you through his eyelashes. His pupils have been dilated from the alcohol, but there is an unrelated darkness in his eye now. “Something I don’t even have to swallow.”

You gulp. “Oh,” your suspicions have been confirmed.

“Get it now, little fox?” he coos.

“Mhmm,” you taunt back. “Well, I suppose I came prepared with your favorite dish, then.”

“Did you?” His hands boldly make their way to the top of your thighs, barely hovering over the skin but enough to make the flesh there light on fire. “Prepared it all nice and pretty for me?”

“Yes sir,” you nod eagerly, feeling your own boldness appear as your knees slide further away from one another. “How do you like it?”

“Extra moist,” he grits hungrily, fingernails curving into your tights and shredding a thick rip! through the material.

You gasp, entire torso lurching forward as he drags the hole bigger and bigger.

“Sorry, little fox. They were in the way,” he shrugs an innocent shoulder. “And what should we do about these shorts? They’re in the way, too.”

“Then let’s get them off,” you whisper, hardly registering that such filth had been uttered.

This truly can’t be happening. Is Nanami… Kento Nanami actually going to eat you out? Are his hands really slithering up your waist and fumbling with the button on your shorts, or are you in some kind of sick daydream?

"Mr. Nanami-"

"Please," he holds up a hand, one still remaining on the button of your shorts. "Kento. Call me Kento."

"Kento," you echo softly, and his eyelashes flutter. “You really want to do this?”

Nanami sucks in a breath. Several moments of silence pass, then his fingers are gently pressing against your chin, and he has risen to tower above you. "Maybe it's the liquid courage in me that's pushing me," he says, "but I’m okay with that. I dream about you on my tongue, night after night. I need you, Y/N.”

Instead of allowing you to reply, Nanami's lips are assaulting yours in a flash. A harsh, irrational kiss from a man who's lost his battle of self control.

Your hands fly up to his face to balance yourself at the sheer force the shock of the kiss has on you. He groans softly into you as your lips mold together, getting used to the shapes of each other’s mouths.

You want to begin deepening the kiss, but Nanami is suddenly pulling away.

"I'm sorry," he says quickly. You look at his face; for a man who is always so calm and composed, he is flushed and even shaking a little. “I should have asked if that was okay.”

"Did you hear me complaining?" you ask sternly.

“No-”

“Then shut up and kiss me, Kento.”

He wastes no time obeying your command; this time as he kisses you, his hands find the soft skin where your hips crease into your thighs. You’re aware of your thighs rubbing against his stomach as he crawls further on top of you.

You slide your arms up around the back of his neck to hold onto him as his lips work pure ecstasy into your mouth.

You sigh against him and he digs his fingers into your sides to get you to do it again. Now his tongue is in your mouth, softly swirling your own, smacking fiercely on your lips as he does so.

You're panting now, but Nanami is swallowing your breath with every second. He's leaning his weight on his palm, so his body isn't quite attached to yours, but you want to make him lose his balance so he can crash down on top of you. Every moment that you stay like this, your cunt drips wetter and wetter, seeping through your shorts onto his desk.

"So perfect," Nanami utters into your mouth, "s'much sweeter than I deserve."

You frown at his self deprecation but don't comment, instead your hands start sliding down his chiseled back, exploring the deep ridges and shapes of pure, hard muscle.

Then, plop! You blink in shock as his bunny ears have fallen plum onto your face, nearly gauging out your eye.

"Oh," he gasps, breaking away from you. "Forgot about these."

He pulls away from you, standing upright but staying between your legs. You swallow a needy whine at his absence, before sitting up with him, staring expectantly.

"Think they'll look better on you though, huh, darling?" he coos, reaching over your head and plucking your fuzzy ears off. Then, he’s replacing them with his bunny ears. "There, that's more fitting. I feel much more like the hunter than the hunted.”

You tilt your chin defiantly. "Mm, so I'm just an innocent rabbit in the sights of a dangerous hunter?"

“Clever bunny,” Nanami murmurs, leaning forward and catching you by surprise with a wet kiss at the nape of your neck. You shudder. “Time for me to eat my latest catch, hm?”

“I-I guess so-”

“Oh, don't get shy now, bunny,” he mewls against your ear. “Do you want to do this?”

You pretend to consider it, but your dripping hole has already answered for you. "Yes, sir."

Nanami purrs in response and taps your earlobe with his perfect teeth - before you're being shoved back on the flat surface. Three quick beats occur. Beat, shorts off. Beat, tights off. Beat, panties sliding slowly down your legs.

"God," he says, hooking his fingers over the trim of the panties, which are light blue in color, accented by an adorable pink bow in the front. "All this time, I could've had you like this, if only-” he cuts himself off to lean down and place a kiss to your inner knee.

Your nerves send repeated quivers over you. You dig your nails into the desk, but your palms are so sweaty that your hand slips. Nanami catches you, a heavy hand on your lower back, the other hand entangling in your panties and proceeding to rip them all the way off. Your clothes are now in a discarded pile to the right of you, fuzzy tail and ears a reminder of what got you into this position in the first place.

“Well we can make up for lost time now,” you whisper, sliding your feet farther apart until your knees are angled into the air - gaping pussy winking up at Nanami.

His eyes nearly jump from his body as he watches you open up for him, glistening cunt all in his face. He's sinking back down into the chair before either of you really processes it, and his heavy palms fall flat on your inner thighs.

"She's s'pretty, sweetheart," he coos, the breath from his words tickling your clit and making you writhe pathetically. "Haven't even touched you yet. Why are you shaking?”

You whine out in embarrassment. Something about your most perverted fantasies coming alive before you, Nanami talking to you like this, and him staring directly at the forbidden parts you'd never thought he'd see, is depleting your confidence.

"What's wrong, bunny?" he asks, reading your expression. "You look like you are second guessing this."

"N-No!" you cry out, making him jump, before you sigh. "Sorry, I didn't mean to yell. No, I want to. I'm just embarrassed."

"Why?" he perks a brow, astonished.

"Because you're so..." you huff uncomfortably, "fine, and here I am, of course anyone would be embarrassed of their own genitals, y'know I just kind of never expected this and-”

"Y/N," Nanami interrupts. "I've seen plenty of these before; all different types, sizes and colors. I am going to devour you regardless of what you think.”

You swallow thickly. Your head nods like a puppet, though you're unsure if that's you saying you understand, or telling him to go ahead.

While you're deciding, Nanami plants a kiss to your bikini line, then slides his hands to wrap his arms around your thighs so that it's now impossible for you to close them. Your stomach is on fire, and you're on the verge of gyrating your pelvis right into his stupidly perfect face.

"Tell me you want this, bunny," Nanami rasps, placing another loud kiss to your inner thigh.

"I want this," you confirm again, "want you."

You don't have to say anything else because his mouth has already found your clit. Warm breath travels between your folds as he keeps his tongue narrowed out to swirl agonizingly slow circles over the bulb.

Your hips convulse against his strength. It does nothing except prompt Nanami to flatten his whole mouth over your heat and pick up speed with his tongue.

"Oh, ohh," you drawl, your hands leaving the desk surface and going right through his fine hair. His hold on you ensures you can’t fall backwards, but you’re gripping his roots for dear life.

He grumbles against your cunt and you feel it all the way up to your ovulating uterus. The desire to have your womb house more of his children starts to enter your brain and you have to remind yourself that this is just sex.

Oh, but it's so much more than that. Nanami's taking his time to work your body, to know exactly which pace makes you cry out like a pathetic fucktoy, noting when you wriggle under his grip, as he pushes his fingertips into the flesh on your legs.

His warm tongue keeps your puffy lips parted effortlessly; lathering you up with his saliva, drinking in the fluid your body creates more of each second.

You sit up farther to look down at him; his eyebrows are furrowed and focused, his cheeks hollowed as he treats your twitching clit like his tongue’s dance partner.

He swirls, flicks, slurps - each variation unlocking a new noise from you as you fight back your orgasm.

As you watch him, your fucked-out, needy brain begins to tell you would give him whatever he wanted in this moment; six children and a house from scratch if that's what he requested. Because he deserves it; the way his tongue’s now dipping slightly into your desperate hole, making your hips jerk from the desk until he counter-forces them with his hands.

"Where do you think you're going?" he snaps, grazing his teeth over your clit.

You can’t even speak; he’s eaten your voice right out of you. His head shakes side to side as he plants his mouth back on you and peers up through his blond lashes, daring you to pull that stunt a second time.

Your hands are still deeply entangled in his roots, but at this point you can't keep your eyes in the front of your head. Your head lolls back on your neck as your hips twitch with an unholy amount of momentum. Your moans are growing dangerously loud; knowing full well there's an entire party nearby, as well as the possibility of nosy maids. Not that either of you care.

"Kento, s-so good," you lament, bucking your hips into his chin as if you could chase more pleasure than he's already giving you. The heat in your stomach is the first indication that your pleasure is morphing into an orgasm, but you don’t want to cum yet.

You want to try and run again, just to give yourself a little time to catch up…

The minute Nanami feels your hip bones sliding away from him, he pulls his mouth off of you; your orgasm slipping away. You take a deep breath in regret.

“Someone must not want to cum,” he taunts, keeping his mouth close to your trickling cunt. “Need you to stay still.”

“I can’t,” you breathe, trembling.

“Try for me?” Nanami requests softly, lifting your thighs into the air before plopping your feet flat on his shoulders.

He plants a heavy kiss to your clit after the adjustment in your position and you dig your toes into his back.

“F-For you,” you repeat mindlessly, brain officially scrambled like a breakfast platter.

“Mmh-” Nanami grunts, planting his fat tongue back between your slick folds, working his jaw intensely to finish pulling the orgasm out of you. He sticks the narrow tip back at your hole, flicking the rim of the inside as if it’s his purpose for living.

Your toes lift into the air as Nanami tests your flexibility, pushing your knees next to your ears. With the pressure built up in your stomach, you barely have time to mutter out the announcement of your orgasm before you're cumming all over his tongue and clenching your walls around the wet muscle.

"Give it to me, bunny," he moans, words muffled because of the way you're gripping his tongue with your pussy.

You keep shaking for a solid thirty seconds, because he is refusing to take his tongue out of you. When finally you’ve calmed to a slight twitch, he removes his face from between your thighs and the entire lower half of his face glistens in the light.

"That's one," he murmurs to himself, crawling back over you to plant a sloppy kiss on your lips. "You did so well. You taste so sweet, bun.”

"Can I return the favor?" you ask needily, dragging your palm down his chest.

He grinds his pelvis across your lower half, so that you can feel the sheer length of his bulge beneath his pants. "What for?"

Your eyes widen at just how large it feels; surely it's smaller than it appears.

"Wanna please you, sir," you babble out, watching his eyebrows furrow at the self-proclaimed pet name.

"Hm, think that ship sailed long ago,” he chuckles, rubbing his clothed dick against your inner thigh this time, and now, you take notice of the warm trail of precum that’s leaked through his pants onto your skin.

You dig your nails into his chest instead of replying. He bites back a groan and kisses your neck.

“I’m going to have to restrain you if you want’a keep being so touchy," he whispers sternly.

"I do have handcuffs," you say, following it with a giggle. Though you’re only half joking.

"That's cute," he mewls. "You think I need handcuffs to restrain you?" He pauses. "What's that you said? That I'm twice your size?"

You swallow thickly, remembering that you had, in fact, said that.

"So I can, and will easily pin you down, bun," he continues. "Don't act up, and I won't have to, yeah?"

You wish you can say you won’t, but if he thinks you dislike the idea of being pinned down, he must not be faking his innocence, like you’d thought.

A moment later, he's standing away from you, and his hands expertly unbutton his shirt. You watch him with desire, and he smiles a little shyly at you as he shrugs off the garment and tosses it to the floor.

“Funny, you’ve seen me shirtless before,” he says suddenly. “Why do I feel a bit nervous about it this time?”

You giggle and cock your head to the side, legs still spread wide. “Should’ve always felt nervous. I’m a huge pervert, y’know.”

Nanami dips his head before coming back to be close to your body again, his fingers mindlessly tugging on the hem of your shirt now.

“I know,” he whispers. “A little minx, you are.”

“Took you long enough to realize it, hm?” you tease as you lift your arms to assist him in removing the shirt. But you are caught off guard when he doesn’t continue.

"You're still sure you want to do this?" he questions, changing the subject. “I'm sorry. I'm going to ask a hundred times, it’s just a habit.”

"Yes, Kento," you rasp frustratingly. "Do I have to get on my knees and beg to be fucked for you to get it?"

He blinks, stunned, as if that is not something he ever considered; but does sound appealing to him.

"No," he says quickly, slowly lifting your shirt further over your body. "How did we end up here, hm? Was this your plan from the moment you crashed my Halloween party?"

"Uh-uh," you say innocently, as he pulls the shirt over your head. Now you sit completely naked in front of him - save for the bunny ears on your head.

"I get the feeling you're a big, fat liar," he teases, leaning back over you, now your stomachs are touching and everywhere your skin meets is tingling. "Didn't I tell you to be a good girl? Good girls don't lie."

“‘M not lying," you argue. "Admit you were over here waiting for me to show up all night."

"Maybe I was," he murmurs, dragging his top teeth over the connection between your neck and your shoulder before planting a wet kiss on your collar bone. "And you came for me, like always."

A gasp erupts from your throat and Nanami cuts it off by sliding his hand there. He uses his fingers to apply the gentlest amount of pressure to the sides of your neck and your body arches against him.

"Tell me if anything I do is too much for you, little fox," he coos in your ear before dropping his hand from your neck and standing back straight to quickly unbuckle his belt.

He slides the garment out of his belt loops, and discards it to the side, on top of your clothes. So in other words: close by.

"Kento," you pant, "please."

"Please what?" he questions, raising a brow innocently as he pops open the button to his tight pants - visibly taking a deep breath as his bulge pokes free.

"You're dragging this out," you whine. "I've needed you for so long. This is torture."

"So what?" he shrugs, allowing his pants to fall to the floor, where he steps out of them.

"I..." you cut yourself off with a frustrated grunt.

"You said please, but you aren't using your words, little fox.” He slides his body back over yours - his boxers now being the only barrier between you. "What do you want?"

"You, your cock, your mouth," you pant all of it out in one quick sentence. "I... I just need you inside of me, Mr. Nanami."

Your breasts rub against his hard chest, teasing your achingly hard nipples. Just so pathetic. Can’t control yourself. Your brain's swirling with desire and ecstasy for him. If he can't read your mind, you're sure he can see it in your face.

"Okay, sweetheart," he says, voice returning to its usual softness, "you got me. All yours."

He tugs his boxers down quickly, desperately. Now your hips are aligned to each other's. He's still hovering, his cock not even touching you yet. He slides a hand between your legs as his other keeps you steady, gripping harshly on your hip which is sure to leave a delicious bruise.

Your arms wrap around his neck and he drags his mouth across your jaw before attaching his lips to your neck. His fingers gather the drip from your hole, and then he slides them up through your folds and to your clit. He swirls the fingers softly, keeping his ear right next to your mouth so that he can hear exactly what he’s doing to you.

Your legs shake against his ribs while you moan for him, and he grunts as he takes in all of your body's reactions to his touch.

He goes to try and put a finger in your cunt but you grab his wrist. He does not argue with you, which should be a red flag, but you think you’ve won until he takes the hand he had been using to play with you and grips your wrist, yanking it back, and your entire body goes falling against the desk.

Somehow, both of your wrists are being pinned to the wood in one large hand now. You whine and squirm under him, but he doesn't care. His free hand grabs his cock.

He takes the heavy tip and taps it against your clit several times, each time causing you to gasp and arch against him.

"That's right," he whispers above you. "No escaping now, bun."

You blink up at him, lifting your hips to grind your pussy on him, which causes his lips to part and his eyebrows to furrow.

You open your mouth, tongue flying out, wanting to appeal to another twisted fantasy. “Need your spit,” you mumble shyly.

He seems to ponder for a moment before he realizes what exactly it is you are asking, and a moment later he is leaning forward, dripping a warm glop of saliva from his mouth down your throat.

“Mmh-” you moan as you swallow happily, before looking down between your legs where he is finally done lubricating himself on your juice. He's staring at you hopelessly, as if he’s thinking that putting his cock in you isn't going to be enough.

“So nasty,” he coos, “ready for me, sweetheart?”

"Hngh- please," you beg.

Not a second later, hot pressure is at your hole. Nanami slides his hips upward to push himself deeper, deeper, deeper - the girth feeling like it's going to simply rip you in half.

You shriek and shut your eyes tightly, waiting for the pain to pass. It doesn't.

You feel so embarrassed as he takes his free hand to lift up your left thigh, because pain shoots up through your stomach - and not the good kind.

"Ah- wait," you cry out, eyes falling open.

Nanami stops immediately. "What's the matter?"

"It... it hurts," you admit shyly, biting your lip. "Wh-Why d'you have to be so big?"

"Why d'you have to be so tight?" he chuckles back, but carefully slides out of you. "Hang on. I know what will help, little fox."

He pulls away from you, letting go of your wrists to lean over and dig into a random drawer in his desk. You have no idea what he could possibly be doing until he stands back straight, a hand still holding up your leg, while the other holds a small, light pink, bullet-shaped rubber object.

"Brand new," he says, eyeing it as he rotates it between his fingers. "Just put batteries in it."

You swallow as you realize what this implies. He knew he was going to fuck you - or at least, that he was going to use this toy on you at some point. Or, a third worse thing: it hadn't been for you at all.

You don’t want to think about that possibility, though.

He hands the little toy to you, a small buzz coming from it already.

"Hold it for me," he instructs. "I need my hands to keep my prey from running."

You gulp and do as he says, and again he is taking his cock head and pushing it against you, before it slides through the gummy entrance and you cry out again.

You hold the toy to your clit and the feeling travels straight through your veins. You focus on the vibrations and before you can even inhale again, your insides are completely full.

"Deep breaths, bun," he grunts, "feel her o-opening up… now.”

Did he just stutter? Kento Nanami, who's always so composed. You'd made him lose his wording. You.

Nanami takes his hands and pulls your knees up, holding them to his sides, while you keep your hand occupied on the little bullet between your legs.

The combination of the toy plus his cock filling you up and molding your walls against it has you aching to spill over, already.

Now that the searing has begun to dissolve, his cock is gliding effortlessly inside of you - feeling as though the organ was crafted to fit you perfectly. Your juices cover every inch of him, delicious squelches creating a symphony with your moans as Nanami's pace quickens.

He has his hands still pressed on your thighs but he leans forward and gently pulls a nipple into his warm mouth. You don't know what to do with your free hand, so it ends up on his back, nails mercilessly breaking open his skin. He hisses and nips your nipple between his teeth.

"Fuck. Me," he groans, pulling away from your chest to look down at you. You want to make a comment about how you already are, but he just looks so fucked out - so vulnerable. Lips puffy and wet, eyes shut tight, hair dangling over his forehead.

He’s ruined.

He claws his fingers into your outer thighs. His fingers dig so hopelessly into you as his cock swirls your insides, his hips now moving in a rhythmic wave motion.

Your hand falls away from your clit with the toy and you hardly notice that it's gone because now, his pelvis is brushing over it, sweat practically gluing the two of you together.

"Aw," he purrs, and you look up to see that his eyes are staring directly between your legs. "You’re creaming all over me. Shit - your cunt looks so good, swallowing me up.”

Your face heats and you take your hands to grip his arms, as he's now drilling into you so torturously that you're gliding up the desk - the sweat on your back making your skin slick. He notices you're moving away and shifts his hands to grab your hips, holding you down onto him, and now his fat tip is violating your cervix.

"H-Hah Kento, ngh - God," is all you can manage to say, but there’s nothing holy about what his cock is doing to you, as he angles himself upward, attacking your uterus from a new direction.

You shriek, so horribly loud. It sounds like a horror movie - which is fitting. You’ve nearly forgotten that it’s Halloween night; the moon full, your passions like the tides, being pulled to their peak.

You desperately feel a needy confession on your lips but you know that now isn't the time. You can't love a man you don't date... right? But you definitely love the way he's tearing up your insides, sure to leave you swollen and limping.

"I don't remember telling you that you could remove your hand," he snaps, realizing you’ve removed the bullet, "put it back. Now."

You shake your head, begging for mercy. "Was too much, c-can't take it."

"Yes you can," he whispers, leaning forward and hovering his mouth over yours, cognac-scented breath teasing your parted lips. "Put it back, or I stop."

You whine and obey, the vibration revisiting your clit making your body convulse against him.

"Mhmm, like that sweetheart," Nanami coos, staring at you as your face twists every couple of seconds from the introduction of new kinds of pleasure. "Stick that tongue back out for me."

Your mouth is open, drool practically spilling out of the sides in a millisecond. He's spitting another alcoholic saliva drop into your mouth the next.

His breath is ragged as he drags out, "Thought I knew everything. But y’teaching - hah - me new things. Like how I can never live without your pretty pussy, ever again."

You quiver your lip and dig your nails into his back again, ready to cum on his cock.

"S-Stop talking like that," you grit out. "G-Gonna cum if you don't stop."

"Is that supposed to scare me?" he questions harshly. "You can cum over and over. I’m not finished with you."

You shake your head, but before you can fire back, Nanami is suddenly sliding himself out of you. You panic and sit up, staring at him with wide eyes as he drops to sit on the chair.

His hands come up to grab your hips roughly, and he's effortlessly pulling you down off of the desk. Your stomach makes contact with his thighs as he lays you over his lap like a disobedient child.

"Nanami?" you breathe, but he doesn't seem to hear you at all.

"We just needed to pause for a second," he says softly, running a hand down your spine and over the hill of your ass. His voice is very misleading, as are his gentle gestures; you have no idea what's coming.

"N-No," you whine, "I was so close."

"But, naughty bunny, didn’t you tell me to stop?" he questions, distracting you from the fact that his fingers are sliding between your asscheeks and down to your swollen hole.

You jerk in his lap as two of his fingers glide down your slick, parting your thick lips, repeating the process several times just to watch you squirm.

“Y-Yes, but-”

“What’d I tell you about lying?” he grits, and a blink later his fingers have parted from your skin.

You turn to scold him and his hand cracks down on the back of your thighs.

You yelp, but the action exhilarates you in some kind of disgusting way.

“Oh, and here’s another for calling me Nanami,” he spits, another crack landing on your backside but this time - higher, and harder.

“K-Kento, I’m sorry,” you whine, but you truly don’t want it to stop. Your fingers dig into his leg and he hisses, his cock jerking against your stomach as his body responds.

“How sorry, bun?” he coos, voice faking softness before another pop! of his palm stings your skin.

“I’ll be good, promise,” you whisper, arching your hips up to encourage another smack.

“You like this, don’t you, naughty bunny?” he realizes suddenly, and you try to shake your head in denial - but he’s caught on. “Hm. I’ll only accept your apology if you give me two more orgasms. Deal?”

“Two?” you cry. “I-I’ve already had one!”

“Good things always cum in threes, baby,” he murmurs, running his hand over the pretty hand-shaped welps he’s left on your skin. “You can give it to me. You want to be good, don’t you?”

You don’t know when the shift happened, but you loved it. You loved how he was letting his soft facade crumble to the ground so that he could truly slap you around like you were just a hole. Truthfully, that’s all you wanted to be. Wanted to let him take out the stress of being a single father on your guts, fill you up with more babies to care for, and then kiss you on the forehead when it was all done.

Pathetic. This is still your employer, your boss. And not to mention how much older he is. You don’t care, but you’re unsure if he does.

“I wanna cum again, please,” you beg, wriggling your ass up to show him you still needed punishment.

He groans before his two thick fingers are pressing between your lips and then, shoving through the soft ring at your center.

Your body shamelessly arches, but he allows your arms to stay free, clawing into his skin wherever you can get a grip.

Nanami is making his own noises above you but you’re on the verge of tears, wailing and carrying on as he fucks you with his fingers, curling the tips into your squishy ridges to try and drive the cum out of you faster.

“Maybe we should get one of those tails with a plug,” he comments, tone implying he’s thinking out loud. “It’s a shame I didn’t get to see you in your cute little tail while I fuck you.”

“Hngh - no, mmh…” you don’t even know what noises to make anymore. Words escape your brain.

Nothing but mush and the burning of your approaching orgasm are on your mind.

“Hold it in for me,” Nanami requests suddenly, “I’ll tell you when I’m ready for it, sweetheart.”

“God,” you shake your head and clench your thighs, but Nanami’s strong hand forces them back apart.

Your toes curl on the other side of the chair, your head falling forward. The pulse in Nanami’s cock is still drumming against your abdomen, as if knocking on your tummy to threaten you to hold your orgasm.

“I-I can’t,” you say, “Please, can I-”

“Cum.”

Nasty, wet squelches don’t stop as your body sends you over the edge. Your vision blacks and you shake so hard that you nearly roll right to the floor.

He hums approvingly, slowing his fingers down as you clench around them. “Good job, bun. Only one more to go.”

“I can’t take another,” you shake your head, as he gently guides you up into a sitting position on his lap.

“You’re so strong,” he says, “the perfect person for me. The way you always take care of me and the kids, how you fit so effortlessly into our little family. I know you can do this for me, sweetheart. Let me repay you for all that you do for us. Make you feel good.”

You hadn’t expected this little speech. It almost brings you to tears as Nanami gently rubs your back, sliding his free arm underneath your legs to lift you princess-style back onto the desk.

“Say something,” he begs, his voice hoarse.

“I wanted to be good for you,” you grin softly, and he smiles back as he runs his hands gently over the top of your legs. “But you want to be good for me. Which is it?”

“Both,” Nanami whispers. “I told you that you already do everything that keeps me content. Now, I want to please you.”

You realize that he is passing his power off to you. Letting his dominance slip through his fingers and right into the palm of your hand. You think you can handle being in control for your final orgasm, so you grip him harshly by his cock and scoot your ass to the edge of the desk.

He moans so softly that it could have been a whimper. You take his curvy length and drag it up to be aligned with your hole.

“Is your cock alone gonna please me, hm?” you purr, swirling your hips to tease his cock head, salty precum spreading across your hole.

“Y-yes ma’am,” he mutters, body lurching forward as if he’s the overstimulated one.

“Prove it,” you quip, shoving him back inside of you before pushing your hips down onto him.

You furrow your eyebrows to try and pretend the pain of him entering isn’t still intense. You lift yourself off of your palms and feet, using them to fuck down onto his twitching cock.

“Hah - Y/N,” he speaks your name in two sultry syllables, putting his hands on the desk to fully release his control as you use him.

“Baby, I need to fill you up,” he continues, “b-but if you don’t want me to…”

“Yes,” you say, “want me to have your babies, Mr. Nanami?”

“Oh,” he whimpers, “shit. Shit, don’t say stuff like that.”

You whirl your hips on him in the shape of an ‘O.’

“Want to breed me?” you continue. “Make me all big and pregnant?”

“That’s enough,” he snaps suddenly, hand clamoring down on the belt that is to your side, before he grips the garment in his hand. He sits up from where he’d been leaning on you, before taking the leather and slithering it around your neck, pulling it through the buckle, and yanking it towards him like you’re just a pathetic bitch on a leash.

“You had your fun,” he grits, “now you need to remember your place, bunny. I’m going to fill you to the brim until your cunt can’t take anymore and it drips back out of you, got it?”

“Mmh,” you pull against his belt as your hips are no longer the once controlling the pace. “Nanami, n-nooo…”

Your voice tapers off as he fucks you, fucks you so good and hard and mean until you’re drooling and crying and shaking and hissing and-

“Cumming!” you scream, but Nanami shows no signs of slowing down.

“That’s it,” he says. “Number three. What about four?”

“Y-You said…”

“Oh, you’re the only one who gets to lie around here?” he chuckles, a deep hypnotic sound that vibrates against your chest. “It’s okay, sweetheart. I’m gonna - ngh” and one viscid moment later, Nanami begins to shudder, and it is the beginning of the end.

You cannot tell if you are mourning or rejoicing the conclusion of this insane chain of events, but you forget all about it when Nanami is spurting hot semen all over your taut, spongey walls - that are now sore and quivering from the excessive abuse.

Your name leaves his lips in between the sultry noises he makes, and his body jerks on top of you until he’s finished spewing his load. Now, he stands in front of you with his head dipped down as he pants for several seconds.

“Do you understand how addicting you are?” are the first words that leave his lips after he is able to drag his head up to look at you.

You’re focused on your own huffing as you try to come up with a witty response, but with your brain so fucked out, the only thing you can mutter is “Oh, Kento.”

He nestles his sweaty face into your neck and plants a feathery kiss there, reminding you that he is still the same gentle Nanami that tucks his children in bed at night and drinks green tea in the garden.

He is everything you have dreamed of, but the sex had truly sealed it. Now, as he slips out of you and his cum follows soon after, you feel your post-high clarity morphing into embarrassment at the fact that all you’d been feeling is lust; Nanami deserves so much more than that, including his recognition as a father.

“Why are you staring at me? Have I still got your nectar on my face?” he jokes, and you admire his ability to loosen the tension.

“I’m sorry,” you say meekly, “I just think you are amazing. I don’t want you to think I really did just come for some cock.”

At this, he laughs so hard that his torso shakes. You smile, as it is rare to hear, and you are the cause of it.

He grabs his shirt and begins to use it to wipe himself off, then does the same for you, his movements intentional and gentle as he cleans you up, rubbing all of the puffy, red reminders on your body softly.

“I don’t think that,” he says with a crooked smile. “But whatever the case, I do hope that things have… changed between us.”

You scoff. “I should hope so,” you tease, tilting your head as he stops his hands on your body. “I hope you’re not going around making every person who comes near you cum three times in one sitting and expect to just be friends.”

He grins. “Nah, that treatment is reserved for you, bun.” His hands slide up your hair and pat the fuzzy ears on your head. “We should keep these around, though. But I’d like to take you out before we use them again.”

You wrap your arms around his shoulders and bring his face to yours, planting a gentle kiss on his nose. “Of course. You did say good things come in threes,” you grin. “The sex was one. The date will be two. What’s three?”

And your question gets answered nine months later, when Nanami proposes to you on a white beach in another country.

…Right before you go into labor.

But of course, once the baby is out, it’s time to start on number 4 the following Halloween.

A/N 2.0

ty all sm for the love on this series so far i’m rlly havin the time of my life writing all these twisted monster-fucker stories ^.^

~ pennjammin

[matchingbatbites]

Eddie doesn't like sports.

Well, okay, that's not technically true. Growing up in the deep south left him with an ingrained interest in college football that he's not sure he'll ever be able to shake, but at least he can understand that game. He doesn't know a single fucking thing about hockey.

The rest of the guys had been excited when Chrissy said the band had been offered tickets to see the local NHL team. He was upset by how quickly he'd been outnumbered, but the boys had plied him with the promise of violence on ice, and that was enough to sooth the betrayal, at least a little.

Which is how he finds himself here, smushed between Chrissy and Gareth and not really as engaged as he should be, watching a bunch of men run around on the ice - sometimes literally, which is crazy. There has been a little violence though, so that's something at least.

Eddie blinks when Chrissy hands him a small dry erase board and a couple of markers that she pull from her bag. "What's this for?"

"You're famous, Eddie. The arena staff knows we're here, which means we're probably going to be on camera. I figured you could entertain yourself with some appropriate messages. Appropriate," she reiterates, and Eddie grabs at his chest like he's been shot.

"You wound me! As if I would ever deign to flash the cameras with a message that's anything less than the pinnacle of wholesome!"

Chrissy rolls her eyes but smiles - ever used to his dramatics by now - and just turns back to the game. Right, sometimes it's easy to forget that Chrissy is actually a sports person.

Eddie gets to work on his first message, not entirely sure when they're going to be the focus of the large screen above them. Chrissy glances over to see what he's writing and just sighs, and Eddie can't bite back his grin.

It's actually not too long before the announcer mentions something that isn't related to the game, and then-

"With nearly twelve million monthly listeners on Spotify, please welcome local metal band, Corroded Coffin!"

Eddie looks up to see their faces on the screen and grins as he turns his board around, showing off the LOOKIN 4 HUSBAND he's written in block letters. There's a mix of cheers and laughter from the crowd, and Eddie can't help but give a joking wink to the camera before he's laughing as well.

Chrissy smacks him on the arm and says "I can't believe you," but she's smiling as well. Eddie just shrugs and cleans the message from the whiteboard, freeing up space for him to doodle in between catching glances at the game.

It's a little bit later when a big fight breaks out, and a few players from each team are sent to the- box? The box. Eddie watches the big screen as the camera follows one of the players, tracking the man as he steps inside the little booth and rips his helmet off in frustration and- holy shit.

The guy is fucking stunning; his jaw, his nose, his sweat-damp hair and the beauty marks scattered across his skin like stars. Eddie wants to get closer, wants to know the color of his eyes and smooth the crease between his brows, wants to shove his fingers into that pretty, pink mouth-

And then the camera changes, going back to the players on the ice, and Eddie blinks like he's been released from a spell. He turns to Chrissy, one hand grabbing at her arm as he says "Who the fuck was that guy?"

Chrissy glances at him but keeps most of her attention on the game. "Harrington? He's literally the captain of our team, Eddie. I know you're not super into this, but that's kind of a hard thing to miss."

The man huffs a little as he releases Chrissy's arm. "I know literally jack-shit about this game, Chrissy, nothing is hard to miss."

Eddie takes the chance to re-write his white board before turning it to face outward, hoping that some cameraman will take pity on him and put him back on screen. He's not sure how long Harrington has in what is essentially timeout, but Eddie keeps his eyes on him all the same, glad that they're actually not too far away from the box.

It's a couple of minutes later when the announcer says "Looks like our friends Corroded Coffin have another message, this time for team captain Steve Harrington," and Eddie doesn't need to look to know that the screen is showing his new sign: #14 U R PRETTY. DATE?

He sees Harrington - Steve - look up, and watches as the frustration melts from his face, only for the prettiest pink blush to spread across his cheeks and ears. The guy laughs - and christ, Eddie didn't think he could get any more beautiful, but here he is - and doesn't hesitate to nod, even makes a little call me motion like he knows Eddie's watching him.

Eddie beams and nods back, laughs when the other player in the box shoves Steve playfully and makes a comment that deepens the blush on his face. He gets a couple of shoves and smacks from his own friends and a bewildered "I can't believe you just did that!" from Gareth.

Chrissy leans into him as he cleans the board again. "Hockey's not so boring now, is it?" she says, and Eddie can't help but agree, his eyes never leaving the ice - leaving Steve - for the rest of the game.