#the Now Saddled addition!

[metaphorical-goblin]

happy unnecessary feelings day everyone

[feeder86]

Guy Again and Again

Hyde Park was incredible during the Fall. Guy couldn’t imagine wanting to be anywhere else when the leaves started changing colour. He’d lived in London for three years now and had happily started to put down roots. Like any major city, he’d paid an absolute fortune for his house, but it had been necessary to set himself up and enjoy all that the city had to offer. There was always something happening, always new folks to meet and beautiful people to seduce. When he’d been offered a role back home for even more money, he’d declined it, using it as leverage instead to climb even higher up in his company and then side-step into yet another high paying position at another firm. His ambition was celebrated here and Guy earned himself the cringe-worthy reputation of being one of the city���s most eligible bachelors.

“Guy, won’t you come and meet my young lad?” called Sheridan, as Guy was strolling through to his large office.

Guy sighed and glanced quickly over at the others in the space, knowing that they were all feeling exactly the same way. Whilst this was an incredible company to work for, the nepotism involved in the majority shareholder inserting his twenty-two year old son into such a major position, straight out of university, had frustrated them all.

Following the company’s owner into his office, Guy plastered a happy enough smile onto his face and held out his hand to shake the young man’s hand. He’d seen pictures of Robert in the past, on his father’s yacht and throughout the tabloids as he dated London’s latest ‘It Girl’ setting all the fashion trends. They’d also briefly crossed paths the summer before last, when using Robert’s family’s private box at Wembley Stadium. Soccer was a huge game over here and Guy had found himself quite captivated by it.

“Nice to see you again,” Guy offered, shaking the handsome boy’s hand.

“Robert is very keen to get started!” his pompous father announced happily. “I’m sure he’s just what this company needs: a bit of fresh energy injected into it.”

Guy nodded, despite feeling that Robert was going to be nothing more than dead wood for them all to carry. “We’re all delighted to have you here!” he lied.

“My father says you’re the absolute best,” Robert chimed in. “I think he seriously believes you’re going to rule the world one day! I’m definitely looking forward to learning from you this week.” 

Guy knew he had been stitched up straight away. “Let me guess. You’re shadowing me this week?” he asked tentatively.

“That’s the plan!” Sheridan nodded, already grabbing his jacket to leave for his golf match at ten.

Guy looked outside into the corridor to see all the sly, grinning faces of his colleagues. They’d all known he was about to be saddled with the new boy, even before he did. Leading the way down the corridor, he noticed an additional computer had been set up at his enormous desk, with space for Robert to work alongside him; typical Sheridan making ridiculous calls yet again.

Robert was generally pretty intelligent and seemed to pick up on what Guy was saying with little effort on his part. Professionally, he appeared no different to the genuinely ambitious young interns they had on the floors below. But, in reality, he was so far removed from them, starting a job at the same level that had taken Guy ten years to even qualify for; not to mention all the incredible hard work and many, many promotions and job changes to get where he was. Indeed, Robert’s privilege was obvious by the way he talked about his travelling and the numerous powerful people he had known ever since he was small. Perhaps, in some ways, that did make him better suited to fly up the ranks early. Robert wasn’t daunted by the bigger clients and there was a sharpness to his mind that was sometimes quite surprising.

“How’s the babysitting going?” asked Angela slyly during the brief time Guy was on his own.

Guy smiled back. He wanted to joke and tell her off for not giving him the heads-up about being stuck with Robert this week. But, to be fair, everything was going fine. “No complaints from me!” he replied, reminding himself that complaining about something that couldn’t be changed was a fruitless exercise at work.

They both stopped talking, watching as handsome Robert emerged from the bathroom looking as sharp as ever: the beautiful hair, the eyes, the strong jawline. Behind him, the female staff couldn’t help but get a peek at those tight glutes and imagine being the lucky lady who would one day get to marry such a fine, well-bred specimen as him. “Are we ready?” he asked Guy, pleased to be heading out to meet clients again; knowing that this was where he could excel.

Getting around London could be a nightmare at times. Occasionally, it was genuinely faster to walk; exactly what ended up happening after roadworks had made it likely for them to be late otherwise. The client was a man called Mr Geoge Evans, owner of an events space that the company wanted to acquire. He was tall and broad, with an immense, solid and rounded gut pushing against the large shirt painted across his torso. It was the feature that most people noticed first about him and the one thing Robert couldn’t seem to stop staring at the moment they started their meeting.

Guy remembered feeling embarrassed and wanting to kick Robert hard for the way he was looking across at the gaping buttons on George’s shirt. After everything he had said about being okay with having this young upstart shadowing him that week, the boy had to ruin it almost instantly. Guy thought on his feet, finding a reason for Robert to need to leave the room and contact the office. Then Guy quickly rounded the whole thing up as fast as he could.

“What the fuck was that?” Guy grumbled as soon as they were walking to the tube station, given that their car had still not been able to reach them.

“What?” Robert asked, trying his best to keep up as Guy stormed on. He didn’t lack self-awareness; he knew exactly what he had done and why Guy had felt the need to remove him from the meeting. “I wasn’t expecting him to be so��”

“Fat?” Guy finished for him. “That’s so ridiculous! You know that right?”

“I was just a little surprised, that’s all. When we spoke on the phone…”

“This is business!” Guy began lecturing him. “You can’t fall to pieces just because some guy doesn’t fit into your perfect world-view of what everyone should look like. You need to get your head out of those glossy magazines you and your girlfriend seem to spend so much time in!”

“Look, I’m not like that!” Robert tried to counter his mentor. “That’s not why I got a bit flustered.”

“Whatever,” Guy sighed, racing down the steps to the tube station. Ultimately, he wouldn’t be able to hang onto this misstep. Robert’s family were the majority shareholders and, no doubt, the twenty-two year old would one day take the reins of the entire company.  “Look… there’s no harm done. Just… just don’t ever let that happen again, alright?”

Robert nodded, tapping his card to head down to the Central Line. “I promise!”

Guy didn’t mention the staring incident to anyone when he got back. Robert had been exemplary the rest of the time and it was clear that he had a talent to make it far; especially given his Oxford education. As the weeks progressed, he began to shine more and Guy learned to genuinely appreciate his insight into certain things. Sometimes British etiquette eluded Guy, especially with the types of folks who had been born into extreme wealth, like Robert had.

Likewise, Robert appeared to be impressed with Guy’s talents in return. “You’re pretty smooth when it comes to the ladies,” he laughed as they came out of one meeting.

“Plenty of experience!” Guy joked back.

“I’m guessing that’s why you work out so much?” the pretty boy asked. “It’s not as easy to sweet talk a female client when you have a giant gut spreading into your lap,” Robert chuckled; not realising that his joke would fall so flat.

Guy tried to bite his tongue. It had been the second time Robert had been casually sizeist. “Actually,” he shot back, “some of the most successful business leaders feel being larger gives them more presence to take charge of things.”

“That’s not what my father says,” Robert replied.

“Well, your dad doesn’t know everything,” Guy grumbled back, deciding to shut down the conversation before he started getting annoyed.

At the end of that first month, Robert had offered Guy to come along and watch the international football match in the private box at Wembley Stadium. He would be there with his girlfriend, of course, but Guy was also welcome to bring along a date as well. Martha had been Guy’s instinctive choice. She was loud, greedy and extremely overweight: the perfect choice to annoy someone so superficial and quick to judge others for their weight. Guy called her up, pleased with his plan, but was disappointed to hear that she was back home in Glasgow that weekend. He needed to find someone else - fast!

Ben had been the next choice for Guy. Somewhat smaller and more reserved, but always fun to be around. They had met at a club night for bears about two years earlier, when Guy had been intrigued by the little chub’s confidence to stoll about shirtless through the crowds. Happily, still single, Ben agreed to the date and Guy was delighted to find the man looking so much heavier by the time he went to pick him up. “Look at you!” he marvelled, getting out of his sports car to open the door for the large man waiting outside his apartment block. “Someone has been eating well!”

Ben blushed a little. He knew that for many chub-lovers, seeing someone they had slept with getting even bigger was bound to be a turn on, and he patted his large tummy proudly on the vast shelf that had developed. “I’m pleased that you approve,” he smiled, knowing that he was always in for a fun night whenever Guy asked him out.

The young couples’ faces had been a picture when Guy strolled in with such a large bear as Ben. It struck him that perhaps Robert hadn’t realised Guy’s bisexuality, making it a rather more educational experience for the boy that he had perhaps expected. Ben played his part well, naturally gorging himself and failing to notice his belly peeking out of the bottom of his shirt as he got up and down to cheer at the performance on the pitch. As such, Guy lavished him with attention, proudly driving him back home for his reward. He’d more than made his point, hopefully putting an end to the way Robert would try to casually fat-shame others around him.

Back at work, Robert’s new office had been decked out just as he had requested, shunting Angela down to the floor below. Despite the slow start last month, even Guy winced at how much the new recruit was taking on.

“Wendy has come to me asking to negotiate her pay,” Robert explained, walking into Guy’s office and closing the door. “I’ve been told pay reviews only happen in April?”

“That’s bullshit,” Guy replied, trying to get on with his own analysis work. “That’s just a standard line that is thrown out to try and delay these types of things.”

“Well, either way,” Robert continued, sitting himself down in front of Guy’s desk. “Paying her more is going to dent the progress towards the quarterly profits.”

“Then what does your gut tell you to do?” Guy asked, determined not to spoon feed Robert out of these awkward situations.

Robert paused for a second. “I think we need to give it to her.”

Guy looked up and smiled. It was the call he had never expected Robert to make. “Exactly right,” he nodded. “Wendy is an asset. I know Wendy. She deserves it. And, if you didn’t give it to her, she’d be straight off to another company. Finding a replacement for someone with her responsibilities is time-consuming and costly.”

“I knew you’d view it the same way as me,” Robert smiled. “You always see the bigger picture. Sometimes I feel like my father can’t.”

Guy nodded gently, not wanting to commit to badmouthing the major shareholder in front of his son, despite all the many things he could have said.

“You see people for who they are. And you have the sort of relationships around here that most bosses would kill for. They all respect you and want to work hard because you inspire them.”

Guy almost felt embarrassed at the open compliments and he wriggled in his seat. “Thanks,” he shot back quickly. But there was something in Robert’s eyes; a look, or a feeling. Was the boy developing a little crush on him? All the signs were there and Guy had been in this situation many, many times in the past. He watched Robert walking away, unable to stop himself from checking out the handsome glutes and allowing his mind to imagine what it might be like to fuck the guy. He wasn’t above Robert in seniority around here; there was no major conflict to overcome; especially since he only saw himself staying for another year at the very most. But could he really go there?

It came as no surprise that Robert’s relationship with his girlfriend came to a sudden end very quickly after that. He’d been complaining for some time about the toxic ideals of social media and the constant requirement to be ‘seen’ out in public as often as possible in order to boost her career. “She’s more suited to some actor, or someone who does publicity for a living,” Robert had explained as he shook his head over the fact that their break-up had made it into the middle sections of the national tabloids.

“You’re young, free and single now!” Guy had smiled. “You can take some time for yourself instead.” He hadn’t meant to sound flirtatious, but he didn’t seem to be able to help himself once he knew someone was into him. It was the way he had always been, and he didn’t suppose he would ever change.

“What can I get you gentlemen?” asked the attendant, heading over to their table in the small cafe where they were debriefing after a client meeting. The man was large and broad, with a giant stomach that pressed out of his shirt in a way a lot of the men from Guy’s past would have loved.

“Just a mineral water for me,” Guy answered first. He looked across at Robert and sighed in frustration as the boy stared rudely at that large gut. 

This time, Guy didn’t waste any time, giving Robert a quick kick under the table.

“A latte!” Robert shot out, realising immediately that he’d been gawping. “And, uh… have you got any of those brownies left?”

“What the fuck is up with you?” Guy asked the moment they were alone again.

Robert shrugged as if he genuinely failed to understand why he fell to pieces around such obese men. “What do you think it’s like, carrying all that weight around?” Robert asked, still transfixed as the guy headed behind the counter. He glanced back at Guy who was dumbfounded by the question. “Oh, come on…” he sighed. “I saw you with that big guy that time. You must have asked him what it feels like to be so heavy?”

“It’s not something I think about,” Guy replied, seeing that Robert looked unlikely to drop the question unless he gave a more considered answer. “But, I guess I wouldn’t date someone unless they liked their body.”

“Really?” Robert asked. “You date people who actually like being overweight?”

Guy didn’t mind discussing his sex life, but it felt strange to do so with someone from work; someone he wasn’t completely sure he could trust just yet. Back in the early days of his career, it had been slyly advantageous to impress other guys with tales of his sexual conquests. However, as he rose up the ranks, he’d learned to keep these stories to himself, knowing that the expectations were very different up at the top. Now he shrugged, taking his time to reply and only say what he needed to. “There’s nothing sexy about dating someone who hates their body. When I’m with larger folks, it’s usually because they want to be that way. They get off on it.”

Robert sat up a bit and leaned in closer, stimulated by the conversation. “There are people who get off on being fat?”

Guy chuckled. “Of course there are!” There was still so much he could tell Robert; about the gainer boys he had fallen for in the past, and the multiple kinky encounters he had had with guys who were actively trying to fatten themselves up.

The water, and Robert’s brownie arrived at the table and the server promised to follow with the latte shortly. “How do they do it?” Robert asked, eyeing his freshly delivered treat. “How do they let themselves go like that?”

Guy frowned slightly. “Well, what you may see as someone ‘letting-go’ may actually be them building something better for themselves: a body that feels right for them and turns them on. It’s actually very empowering if you think about it.”

“And you think that’s sexy?” Robert asked earnestly; a sweet innocence shining through his bright eyes.

“Of course!” Guy nodded. “Someone loving the skin they’re in - there’s nothing sexier!”

Life at the office suddenly became a lot more relaxed as Sheridan started to take even more of a step back. Guy found himself with a lot more power to persuade the board without the older man’s old fashioned points of view tainting things. It also helped that Robert was so much more in-tune with him; they could present a united front and, although most of the others on the team still grumbled about Robert’s injection into the senior management team, they had to admit that things were running a lot smoother with him around.

Guy had seen so much more of the world since he had moved to work in the UK. It seemed like nothing to pop over to Italy to secure a contract, or fly over to Dubai to capitalise on a lucrative opportunity. Six months after Robert began at the company, the pair found themselves in Sweden, leading part of a business conference. At first, Guy had been frustrated to have Robert coming along, given that it was such a good opportunity to network and find his next career jump. However, it had also been easier having him to share the workload with.

“I didn’t know you were coming down here,” Guy smiled as he saw Robert arriving in the spa changing room just as he himself was dressed only in his tight speedos and pushing the last of his things into the locker. He saw Robert check him out and smiled sweetly to himself. He’d known for a couple of months now that if something was ever going to happen between them, then it probably already would have happened by now. As it was, Robert was very much in the friend-zone. “Are you here to use the pool?” he asked.

Robert shook his head. “I just wanted to try out the sauna,” he replied.

Guy scowled a little as Robert turned his back to start getting changed. In the last few weeks, he’d noticed a little softening of the guy’s jawline and, although it wasn’t always easy to tell under a shirt and dress pants, it did appear as though Robert had gained a few pounds since he’d started full time work. Guy should know, he’d seen more than enough pictures of Robert’s body in the celebrity gossip columns, back when he was dating socialites. So when Robert removed his shirt, Guy could immediately see that his suspicions had been spot on.

It was most obvious when Robert leaned forward to strip his pants; the way his stomach rolled up with fresh fat. He had love handles coming in, clear to see once he turned his back. And those glutes… well, they seemed a little more full that the pert buns Guy had admired when Robert first started at the company. Guy had to say something. He’d been staring too long. He reached out a finger and poked Robert in his stomach. “What’s all this?” he playfully teased.

Robert chuckled nervously and shrank away, turning back around to put his stuff into the locker.

“No, seriously,” Guy pressed on, poking both index fingers into the softness at Robert’s sides now. “Where’s all this come from?”

“I’ve just… not had much time for the gym lately,” Robert replied, stacking his clothes up.

Guy looked at Robert’s butt from behind and nodded in agreement. “Well, that’s pretty obvious!” he agreed. He’d seen lots of guys at the gym start to pack on a few pounds over the years. Often, all they needed was a reality check to get them back on the right path. “I think you need to start doing a little more cardio, buddy,” he declared, turning to walk out and into the pool area.

After a few decent laps, Guy pulled himself out of the water and headed into the sauna, finding Robert still in there, alone. His skin had turned glossy and oily, shimmering as his little roll of stomach fat started to peek over the waistband of his undersized swim shorts.

Guy knew how imposing his own body was: his large frame and well-trained, muscular physique. Even in his early thirties, there wasn’t an inch of fat to spoil his enticing abs and, if anything, he’d only become stronger as the years went by. He flopped down opposite Robert, unable to take his eyes off how chubby the pretty boy looked without his shirt on. 

“So, when did all this start happening?” Guy asked, knowing that he needed to address what he was seeing.

Robert wriggled awkwardly and pulled his rolled up towel to cover his crotch and lower half of his softer midsection. “A few months,” he mumbled. “I’ve just been enjoying my food a little more.”

“No kidding!” Guy chuckled, surprised now by how much he could see the extra weight, even in Robert’s chest. “What’re you going to do about it?”

“Nothing,” Robert shrugged. “I don’t have the time to go to the gym now I’m working so much.”

Guy smirked at this and shook his head. “You mean you don’t want to make time for it?” he asked.

Robert flushed with a little embarrassment. “I’m okay with how I look,” he replied. His attention seemed to turn to Guy’s body instead, given how much scrutiny his own had been under. “Frankly, I had no idea you were so extremely toned,” he nodded at Guy’s torso. “Obviously, I knew you were super fit, but…”

“You’ve never seen me without my shirt on before?” Guy asked, intrigued and surprised at how aroused he was suddenly feeling to be gazed upon by Robert. He sat up straighter and leaned on one arm, posing slightly. There was something so sexy about this dynamic, making Guy feel more powerful and dominant. “How come we’ve never fucked?” he asked, knowing that it was always best to be blunt with the boys who were a little more shy.

Robert’s eyes widened and he stuttered awkwardly, like the overeducated, pompous boy he could very often be. Guy had always loved Robert’s upper class, bumbling English accent and the uptight manners that had been trained into him. It made it all the more fun to tease and flirt with him so blatantly. But with a larger company openly trying to poach him at the moment, Guy knew there wouldn’t be many opportunities like this left to have some fun with the boy. After all, the full benefits package was going to be presented to him as early as next week. He could be gone by the end of next month.

“Well?” Guy asked, pretending to be impatient for an answer. “Do you want to fuck?”

Within ten minutes, the pair were upstairs in Guy’s hotel room, kissing and undressing each other once more. Now that the barriers had been smashed down, Guy was surprised at how keenly Robert’s hands wanted to rub up against and stroke Guy’s erection. The moment the pants were down, the cute boy sank to his knees and took as much of it into his mouth as he could.

Guy exhaled in delight. It was always apparent when someone was genuinely into giving the best blow job they could. It was obvious now just how much he had underestimated Robert’s quiet attraction to him all these months. Like a tightly wound spring, the boy had energetically set to getting them both off the moment the bedroom door had closed, lustfully thrilled by how thick and heavy Guy’s hardness was.

The pair fooled around some more, Guy enjoying the reflections in the large mirror as the pair kissed in front of it. Those doughy little glutes of Robert’s looked so good, Guy knew he needed to take them as soon as he could, squirting lubricant into his hand and sliding it up between Robert’s butt cheeks. He spun the boy around in front of the mirror and gently inserted himself. He knew Robert wouldn’t be fully ready to take him today. It was a gift and a curse being so well endowed, with lovers needing at least two or three sessions to be properly broken in. Instead, Guy contented himself by getting as much in as he could and holding it there, training the hole to stretch. Submissive Robert appeared to love every second as he was held there, in front of the mirror.

“Does this feel nice?” Guy asked the boy, reaching around Robert’s hip to stroke his concrete erection; Robert watching himself getting taken by the older jock in the mirror.

Robert moaned back, his G-spot stimulated, sending his arousal into overdrive.

“Look at us…” Guy whispered, nodding towards their reflections in the mirror.

“I’m so chubby compared to you!” Robert quipped back, making a huge surge of blood pump through his boner, held firmly in Guy’s hand.

Suddenly, it all felt so very familiar to Guy. Robert’s fixation with larger guys had never been about looking down on them. Yet again, had the universe delivered another kinky fat-lover? Guy pressed his oversized erection in deeper, making Robert’s knees almost buckle underneath him. With one hand working Robert’s hardness, Guy used the other in a more experimental way, wrapping his fingers around as much of the fresh blubber in the boy’s stomach as he could, then whispering “It’s a good job you know I like fucking fatties, huh?” he teased. “You’re going to make such a cute chub…”

However close Robert had been before, a surge of pleasure seemed to rip through him. Great jets erupted from between his legs, making Guy chuckle at just how much of it there was and how forcefully it was being expelled from his body. He could always tell when he had just given someone the best orgasm of their life. And, for the first time ever, Guy felt that he didn’t need to climax himself in order to feel completely satisfied.

It was sweet how Robert fell asleep next to him afterwards. Sometimes when the sex was too good, Guy found that whoever it was would tend to imprint on him and become a little possessive. Usually, this was a warning signal for Guy to detach himself as fast as possible. However there was something too intriguing about Robert to give him up just yet. At 5am, he woke Robert with a kiss to let him know he was going down to the hotel gym and promised to meet him for breakfast at 6.30.

“No wonder that ass is so fuckable!” Guy teased, gazing at the plate of fattening meats and carbs Robert returned to their table with. He slipped his hand under the table, rubbing Robert’s knee. His intentions were clear: they were going to go back up to the room before the first session that day. He watched the greedy boy eating, wanting nothing more than to stick his hardness into the salivating mouth. For the first time, he found himself almost captivated by it; the act of eating. Robert definitely had some little hidden kinks when it came to the diet that had added a few pounds to his frame, yet it wasn’t yet clear how conscious he was of them.

Back in Guy’s bedroom, it was obvious how much Robert had overeaten and bloated up his stomach. Despite wanting to get rough and dominant with him, Guy took it slow and made it sensual, noticing how much Robert seemed to love it whenever Guy’s hand drifted onto his rounded middle. The eventual climax was as good as it got, ensuring that Guy broke all his own rules and brought Robert back to his bedroom a further three times before the end of the conference.

Robert’s butt was becoming quite the distraction back in the office. With the guy’s pants getting so tight, the swollen glutes pressed with devastating allure to the material: wider, under-exercised, softening and expanding - was there a more fuckable butt than this in the entire world? Guy knew he was in trouble when Robert bought concert tickets for them both for that weekend. They were slowly morphing into a ‘couple’ despite the secrecy that surrounded everything. It was the point when Guy typically made his excuses and cut things off. Yet something kept him from doing this. When Guy’s job offer came in, he convinced himself that it wasn’t a big enough deal to leave London for; getting his teeth stuck into another major project that would see him wanting to remain in his current job for at least another six months.

“What’re you all laughing about?” Guy asked, diverting into the little kitchen area whilst he was seeing someone on the floor below.

A small group of six people suddenly looked alarmed and stared at him nervously. Guy had had to accept that his seniority in the company meant he would never again be invited along to nights out with the other staff, or be included in the way he had been when he was just starting out. It was just the way these things seemed to work; those nervous eyes looking up at him whenever he ventured out of his lavish office on the top floor. 

“Nothing,” shrugged one of them, who seemed to be in the middle of it all.

“Oh, come on!” Guy smiled back. “I could do with a laugh today.”

There was a sigh. “Alright,” the lady shrugged, stepping closer and holding out her cell phone so that Guy could see the screen. “It’s an article about that jumped-up little Oxford graduate upstairs,” she grumbled, referencing Robert; the nepotism of his hiring still failing to impress those lower down in the food chain; those who had to work for everything they achieved.

Guy stepped in to see as she scrolled down a celebrity-obsessed tabloid webpage that Guy had never paid much attention to. He scanned the text briefly, but it was obvious that the pictures were the main focus. There was Robert of one year earlier, looking toned and athletic as he shirtlessly strolled about on his father’s yacht. However, it was the pictures from only last night that provided the entertainment. Robert had been attending a socialite party with some friends, dressed in an unwisely tight shirt that failed to stretch with the addition of a couple of bloating beers. His pants had been a poor fit too, pinching in at his hips and accentuating new love handles that looked particularly unflattering from the angles they had taken. The double chin on Robert also came under scrutiny, with a close up shot from a low angle making it seem more developed than it actually was.

“I didn’t think fat-shaming articles like this still existed,” Guy exhaled in frustration.

“That’s the British press for you,” one of them chuckled; another American, like him. “Fucking ruthless!”

Guy scowled. He wasn’t laughing. He raced back up the stairs and tapped on the window of Robert’s office, beckoning for him to follow. Once inside, he rolled down the blinds and immediately jumped on his computer. “There’s something you need to see,” he declared to a bemused Robert. Once uploaded, he rolled his chair back and allowed Robert to step in front and see the screen for himself.

“What a bitch!” Robert laughed, recognising the name of the journalist. Everyone seemed to know everyone else in Robert’s world. “This is one of the most vicious things I’ve ever read about myself,” he smirked.

“Aren’t you pissed about it?” Guy asked, feeling exasperated at Robert’s laid back attitude. “We can send it to the legal team; see if there’s anything we can do to have it taken down.”

“And then sue them? For what exactly?” Robert asked back. “There’s nothing that’s not true in there. I really have gained about 50lbs since last year,” he pointed at the text on screen.

Guy sat back, staring at Robert’s chubby butt as the boy continued to lean down at his computer right in front of him. Having initiated a ‘hands-off’ policy at work, Guy was finding it hard to resist touching that big, bloated butt that had been captured so magnificently in the pictures. Robert was smelling great and his fresh love handles seemed to be pushing out even more than Guy had seen them before. He was turned on. For the first time in his life, he felt aroused in a way that he was unable to put into words. Despite his outrage at seeing the cruel article on Robert, he couldn’t deny the fact that it had turned him on. It was a feeling he disliked in himself and he had wanted to push it away. Sure, he had dated guys in the past who would have enjoyed the very much public disapproval of their weight gain, but how was he to know that Robert would appreciate any of that? Had dating those gainers warped Guy’s brain into finding all that public humiliation irresistibly arousing?

“At least the firm got a mention,” Robert smiled, stepping away from the screen at last. Was that a bulge he was trying to conceal? “You know what they say: all publicity is good publicity!”

Guy stood up and placed his hands on Robert’s rounder butt, pulling him into him. Fuck the self-imposed rules about not kissing in work; he was horny and so was his cute little chub. “You’re amazing, you know that?” Guy whispered seductively, safe in the knowledge that the blinds were closed.

“Even though the whole of London is laughing at me?” Robert teased back.

“Fuck everyone else!” Guy shot back. “You know I’d never ask you to diet,” he whispered alongside another kiss. “In fact, why don’t you let me take you out for dinner tonight; someplace with the lovely, greasy, high-carb junk food you can’t get enough of…”

Robert cooed with interest, allowing Guy to kiss him over and over again. “And I can eat as much as I want?” he asked, continuing the flirtation.

Guy smiled proudly and bounced the doughy glutes he was going to pound later on. “You bet!” he nodded. “You won’t hear any complaints from me!”

Guy wondered how much longer it would be until the all important conversation with Robert would happen. It had been almost five months since they’d hooked up on the business trip and, despite the secrecy around their relationship, neither of them was seeing anyone else. For Guy, it was a huge deal to have committed to sleeping with only one person in that whole time, yet it had all happened quite naturally. Sexually, it seemed that the pair of them were very compatible. Guy would swiftly move from a romantic, nurturing lover, into one with the fitness and stamina to fuck Robert all night long. In return, Robert liked to be seduced and tempted. There was a submissive side to him and he enjoyed being pampered and taken care of. Since getting together, it was obvious that his weight gain was speeding up and he’d pushed out quite the beginner-belly in that time. It was sitting, round and tempting in his shirts, making Guy appreciate how lucky he was that Robert felt so comfortable with him to just…let his appetite go like he had. The extra pounds felt like their own, quiet love language, despite the fact that it was clearly symptomatic of something much more erotic.

“Quit staring!” Guy laughed as a fat guy waddled into the restaurant behind his similarly obese wife. In the past, he’d found it embarrassing how much Robert would ogle; his fascination towards those extreme bodies getting the better of him.

“Sorry!” Robert replied, trying to refocus on his menu. Freshly shaven, his new double chin always looked so adorable when his head was in that position. Only a few minutes earlier, they’d bumped into a few friends of Robert’s ex; all of them staring disapprovingly at the little pot belly that was starting to make itself very well known.

Guy reached his giant hand under the table and stroked Robert’s knee, not quite knowing what was going through his head. “Order as much food as you like, okay?” he smiled sweetly.

Robert nodded and didn’t disappoint.

“You’re doing it again,” Guy laughed later on, as the pair of them were sitting in a bar near Soho, enjoying the buzz of the evening. “I’ll have to take you home to the US sometime. We have some of the fattest guys around, especially where I’m from, in West Virginia.”

Robert shook his head as if he was trying to restart his brain, apologising once more. “I don’t know why I do it,” he sighed. “I just…” he began, before sighing with frustration at being unable to put it into words.

“You just need to know what it feels like,” Guy finished for him.

Robert turned his head to look at Guy properly. “Yeah, that’s exactly it,” he nodded, seemingly delighted that his lover knew him so well.

Guy slipped his hand onto Robert’s little pot belly, rubbing it back and forth. “I saw the little boner you got, reading that mean article about yourself,” he teased.

Robert looked around, checking that no one else could see them. He smiled, turning back to Guy and allowing himself to be seduced; Guy’s lips getting aching close to his own. “Oh, yeah?” he whispered excitedly back.

“I’ve known for a long time,” Guy smiled, slipping his fingers under the slight overhang of belly fat and jiggling. “You want to be a real fat boy, don’t you?” His voice was almost cracking with arousal. He loved kinks in all their different forms, having experienced so many with the great variety of sexual partners he had had over the years. But this weight gain kink seemed like so much more; the physical transformation, the contrast; the confidence, combined with humiliation and submission. It ticked so many boxes for him. Best of all, Guy had had the time of his life these last few months, trying to gently tease it out of Robert. “It’s the reason why I’m taking you for more food after we leave here,” he smiled. “I know that you need to experience what it’s like to carry a much larger gut than this.”

Like putty in Guy’s hand, Robert kissed him. “I can’t believe you’re willing to put up with this,” he chuckled, lifting his arms higher so that Guy could jiggle his stomach even more. “Most people would just think I’m a freak!”

Guy smiled back. “Maybe I’m enjoying it,” he teased, grabbing a full wedge of Robert’s belly fat and just holding it still for them both to see. “Maybe I’m a freak too...”

Robert grinned with lust. “I ate so much before at the restaurant!”

“You did,” Guy smiled. He’d never particularly enjoyed waiting around as his lovers overate to satisfy these types of kinks. However, he at least understood how it all tied in with the erotic process of gaining weight; the greed, the gluttony, the deliberate bloating with calories. “...And you’re going to eat even more shortly,” he whispered back.

Robert raised his eyebrows. Was Guy really serious about that?

“You’re a gainer,” he stated frankly to Robert. “You do realise that, yeah?”

Robert looked around once more, checking that they were still unobserved. Somehow, putting a label on all this had suddenly solidified everything in both their minds.

“I’ve seen all this before. You need to keep pushing; keep overeating, again and again. Otherwise your weight will plateau and your belly will stop expanding.” He looked at his lover seriously. “And you don’t want that, do you?”

The chubby boy stared back with absolute lust. He shook his head, picked up his beer and drained the remainder of his pint. “Come on then!” he grinned. “What are we waiting for?”

The prospect of moving in with a lover was something Guy had never believed was right for him. Yet, there he was, unloading all his things into Robert’s city apartment, whilst the rest of his stuff had gone into long-term storage. It had been quite the gamble, releasing the equity in his home to further invest in the start-up AI company he had sunk a vast amount of cash into three years earlier. However, it was now or never if they were to corner the market like they needed to. Robert had agreed and been the one to suggest the cohabiting solution; his business advice being the one Guy trusted more than any other, having worked so closely for months now. As a couple, they worked well. They understood the joy they both got from their work and shared a similar mindset when it came to almost all other things. Stil, moving it had made Guy nervous, and it had taken him longer than his rational business brain normally operated in order to make a decisiona bout it. However, in return, Guy now had a majority 62% share in his own company, and had found that he could live more than happily alongside his doughy lover in North London.

With Guy around, Robert had seemed to double down on his weight goals and recommit in a way he had never allowed himself to before. Just like Guy was pouring protein shakes into himself after the gym, Robert was doing much the same with his own fattening concoctions; his kinks developing in all new ways. Within a couple of days, they had fucked in every room; Guy being unable to resist the fresh, plump broadness of Robert’s once toned and slender butt cheeks.

Now that Robert could be so open about his desires to gain weight, he actively enjoyed listening to Guy’s past experiences. Unlike most people, who didn’t want to hear about their partners’ previous lovers, Robert wanted to hear tales of Mikey and Dillon over and over again, and how Guy had sat back, excitedly watching them growing fatter and fatter.

“I don’t know what my parents are going to think about us being together,” Robert fretted, knowing that his family were soon returning for the holidays from their villa in Italy.

“Why?” Guy asked. “Because I’m the first man you’ve dated?”

“No,” Robert smirked cheekily back. “Because you’re an American!” he teased.

The pair laughed and Guy launched into tickling him for his playful rudeness. “Seriously, though. Your dad loves me. Before he stepped back from the business, we used to get on great.”

Robert nodded, but there was a worry in his eyes that didn’t abate as the big day arrived. Guy should have been aware that something was wrong the moment Robert slipped on the giant sweater that morning; the one with the huge roll-up neck. Black and loose fitting, it was clear that the man was trying to conceal the extent to which he had fattened up in the last twelve months. But in so doing, what he actually became was a dark, thick, shapeless block, with chubby thighs that strained against the smart pants he wore below.

Guy had had relatively little to do with Robert’s family since they had started dating. The pair had both had the sense that their relationship wasn’t being taken all that seriously. Robert had not long turned twenty-four and his dad had openly referred to his son’s romantic attachment as a ‘phase’ that Robert was going through. As such, Guy dressed smartly, cancelled all his plans for Christmas Day, prepared suitably expensive Christmas gifts and drove himself and Robert to the family home in Kent; a lavish country manner, handed down over generations.

Despite everything Guy had anticipated, he hadn’t been the focus of the day whatsoever. Gasps and horrified looks greeted them as Robert strolled in and removed his large winter jacket. The comments hit hard and fast. They were harsh, fatphobic and unjustified, setting Guy at odds with the family each time he called them out, unprepared to let their prejudices slide.

“I thought you guys video called every week?” Guy whispered to Robert the moment they had a second alone.

Robert seemed drained and exhausted from it all. “I may have told them my camera has been broken these last few months,” he replied.

Guy exhaled, now realising the absolute shock everyone must have felt. Despite the relatively good job the sweater was doing at masking a lot of the blubber, since September, Robert’s cheeks had been blowing up in a way that had altered the entire shape of his face. The gains had been further documented in a second critical article about his appearance back in October, however Guy suspected that such garbage hadn’t reached the family, safely tucked away in Italy, upon the shores of Lake Como.

“Mum and Dad are going to remove me from the company,” Robert fretted on the way home. “Especially now you’re leaving.”

“No they’re not!” Guy replied, trying to calm his boyfriend’s melodrama. “Even your dad can’t argue with the share price since you started running things. He’s just pissed and lashing out.”

“Dad doesn’t want ‘a fat guy’ to be in charge,” Robert grumbled next, quoting his father’s words exactly. “I was hoping today would be about them getting to know you properly, but…”

Guy sighed. The day had been disastrous. He could tell that he was going to be at odds with Robert’s family until he agreed to do what they wanted and insist that Robert dieted. They both felt flat for the remainder of the evening, making Guy wish he had cancelled his flight home to see his folks that week.

Upon his return, a very different Robert greeted him. A new personal trainer had been appointed and, together, the pair of them had cleared away anything in the cupboards that she felt was contributing to Robert’s ‘weight problems’.

“You’re not cross, are you?” Robert asked.

“Cross?” Guy echoed. “Why would I be cross?” he chuckled, hugging the man he had fallen so deeply for. “Gaining is your thing, not mine. If you want to quit, I’ll support you however I can.” In truth, he had never expected Robert’s gains to last forever. Sure, the man had caught the gainer bug, but it wasn’t quite as extreme or important to him as it had been for someone like Mikey, in Guy’s past.

Robert hugged him sweetly back, having made up his mind that a new year demanded a fresh start. He began eating better and taking Guy’s advice on nutrition; even joining him for a round or two at the gym. Robert was soon pulling out his older clothes from the back of his closet, replacing the large winter sweaters with more fitted t-shirts in time for the Spring. Yet, two cute and stubborn love handles remained at his sides; a testament to the kinky fun that he had once enjoyed so much.

Guy had never enjoyed work so much since he’d left Robert’s family firm to head up the AI company he had invested so heavily in. Now he was no longer just making money for other people, he could work hard, put the work in, and reap the rewards tenfold. There was so much potential with the technology, and he had been working closely with the British Ministry of Defence to showcase how they could use some of their adapted systems. It was exciting, that buzz of adrenaline from making things work, capitalising on successes and carving out new opportunities for an increasingly valuable and influential company.

Robert was busy with his work too. With his father and Guy out of the way, things actually became easier to manage and there was a clear leadership structure in place.

“Off out for lunch with clients again?” Guy teased him, looking over Robert’s shoulder and seeing the calendar on his cell phone screen. “Careful! You’ll be getting all chunky again!” he joked, sliding his hands over Robert’s chest and down to the small, remaining store of belly fat that refused to budge.

A bulge in Robert’s pants jumped to attention whenever Guy joked about his  yo-yoing weight. Now that Robert had relaxed a little, he’d wanted Guy to start the kinky talk in the bedroom once more, telling him how fat he could be and the things he would do to his body once he was round and blubbery. This was the thing Guy liked best about dating those with kinks; it was just so easy to turn them on and have them pumped up and ready for some sexy action. There were trigger actions and words that could flip any boring situation into something exciting and arousing, all with so little effort. And, once again, Robert was nursing quite the erection.

“For my birthday next week, I want to try pouring double cream down your throat,” Guy whispered to him. “Like we used to in the old days.”

Robert moaned in pleasure at the thought, clearly replaying those kinky memories from the past.

“You’d forget about your diet for one day, wouldn’t you?” Guy asked, sliding his meaty hand over Robert’s crotch.

Robert nodded submissively. The old habits were creeping back in; the longing to feel his body holding more weight again. The instances where he was willing to forgo his strict exercise regime were increasing. Guy knew that it was only a matter of time before the gains began anew. Perhaps it would be a fun life, this continuous cycle of weight gain and loss.

Taking Robert over to visit Guy’s family had been considerably less stressful than the Christmas in Kent. Guy’s mother had long accepted that her handsome son was a law unto himself, living a whirlwind existence that she could hardly comprehend. She liked Robert, thinking him handsome and much like the typical romantic, bumbling Englishmen of the many movies she had watched over the years. Guy’s aunts had agreed, never noticing once how much Robert was overeating the entire trip.

Surrounded by tempting, tasty foods around every corner, as well as fascinating specimens of obesity in Charleston, Guy’s home city, Robert had carried a lust about him the entire week. For Guy, it reminded him why he loved dating gainers so much. As Robert gorged himself on take-out in the hotel room, Guy could hold the man’s impossibly hard shaft, playing with it as gently and delicately as he could, for fear that it could, and would, explode at any second.

“I want to be a fat boy!” a horny Robert would exclaim, right before climaxing, time and time again.

Guy would then chuckle, nodding his head in agreement. “I know you do!” he’d shoot back, his eyes dancing with delight; the greatest of all pleasures seeing his boyfriend overtaken by his own lust. In truth, it would be easy. Robert had already fucked up his metabolism last time. The pounds failed to shift like they should in a normal, athletic, mid-twenties male and they packed back on with shocking speed. But when Guy told him that, there was no stopping the sudden surge from Robert’s groin, and the complete mess that was made all over the bed as jets flew in every direction. A simple week away had spiked Robert’s weight by an incredible fifteen pounds. 

“You look so fucking sexy!” Guy growled, admiring the large butt that had reappeared on his lover, filling his work pants right back up again.

Robert twisted his hips in the mirror to get a good look, smiling proudly. “I wish you were a proper feeder,” he sighed. “I know I would go so much further if I knew you were going to get off on making me gorge myself.”

Guy tried not to show how cut up he felt. He remembered how he had lost previous lovers for the exact same reason. They wanted more from him than he felt capable of giving. Sure, he loved bringing Robert to the absolute heights of lust, but he wasn’t in the habit of devising a food schedule, nor engaging in endless calorie counting; the true nuts and bolts of gaining. Guy considered how best to remedy this. No longer having an office to travel to each morning, he used the time to stock up the cupboards with all the things he knew Robert liked to feast upon when he was horny. And boy, during this most recent gainer phase, those fresh pounds certainly caused Robert to be horny! It was like a self-propelling cycle of lust, overeating and pleasure. In the time since Robert had last gained, Guy had developed a better knowledge of the kinky little pet names his lover enjoyed: Piggy, Fat Boy and Porker. He could throw them in whenever he wanted, and enjoyed messaging Robert at work to ensure he was wound up and horny by the time he got home, ready to eat.

The results were inevitable. Sexy, undiluted fat slid back onto Robert’s body with ease. His butt blew back up even more, but he was undoubtedly carrying more on his belly this time, making even his largest shirts requiring upgrades.

“Are these new trousers?” asked Robert one morning as he trotted about to get ready.

Guy, who had already returned from an hour-long session at the gym, smirked and nodded his head. “With a little extra growing room for my Fat Boy!” he whispered teasingly back. In truth, he knew that the same thing would eventually happen as last time: Robert would get put off and start his diet all over again, making himself miserable in the process. What he needed was a lover who would ease him into the changes smoothly and be there to show him how sexy his swelling body could be; similar to how a true feeder would; the ones who consumed Robert’s fantasies as he watched his body swelling up.

Now that Robert had been at his family’s firm for over two years, he didn’t worry about suddenly being replaced by his disapproving family. They needed him, as well as his sharp business brain, to keep bringing in the flow of wealth. Likewise for Guy, things had continued to go from strength to strength and there had been some decent press coverage of the technology his company was developing. They’d bought premises in North London and were expanding into the north with further development centers. The success was intoxicating, and when Guy felt happy, he certainly became hornier and hornier.

“Head back!” Guy ordered his boyfriend as he held the pot of cream aloft. He smirked, looking at how insanely hard his blubbery boyfriend got whenever Guy treated him to a feeding like this; never failing to explode at the prospect of greater amounts of deliberately fattening calories.

Down they all went, time and time again; the fat building into his waist, puffing up his arms and broadening out the glutes; each pound making Robert hungrier for more. Hitting 270lbs had been a huge thing for him, but Guy wasn’t sure the boy could make it to the full three hundred. Already, he had started to complain about how much he was sweating and a couple of his friends had dropped him from their groups. He now looked so contrasting in appearance to Guy. Whilst this was thrilling and exciting on good days; bad days, he felt self-conscious and low.

Guy had been thinking about it for some time as he set his computer up in his hotel room. Being so far away from Robert for six weeks had been challenging, but the business opportunities in California were unrivalled. Guy could see how much further ahead his own company’s technology was to any other. Of late, all they had to do when encountering issues was to question the technology itself, leading to massive creative growth, developing at a faster pace than any of them had ever anticipated. It was the whole reason why he knew it wouldn’t fail him with Robert that evening. The computer knew the objective: getting Robert as horny as possible by making him eat the most calories that it could.

The deep-fake version of Guy came on the screen. It really was remarkable seeing Guy’s own mannerisms and voice reproduced so flawlessly. “Are you ready to eat for me, Fat Boy?” it asked.

Immediately, Guy could see the naive Robert responding. He began to eat to the gentle teasing of the software. As Robert replied to it, the computer seemed to learn more and more about him, soon branching off-script and generating its own responses that it knew its target would better appreciate. In a matter of minutes, it was speaking to Robert as if it had an even more in-depth knowledge of the man’s kinks than Guy had acquired in the last three years. And just look at Robert go! He was gorging himself like an absolute pig, rubbing his fattening belly and jiggling it in a way that Guy had never witnessed him doing before. He didn’t need to track the calories that Robert was eating, the computer was scoring it all at the bottom of his screen; the number steadily increasing towards the target. “Come on, Fatso!” the software teased, prompting whenever required. “Get it all down for me!”

By the time Guy got home, he knew that Robert’s pants were going to be completely busted. There was no way the man could cope with encouragement like this every evening and not pack on a staggering amount of fat. How exciting it would be, knowing that his lover was about to be a lot softer the next time he touched him…

Looking at the data from these sessions, Guy picked up a lot of tips by the time he made it home. He reconfigured the software, generating full reports and connected up the bathroom scales into the system so that he could gather even more information. It was clear that the trial was making a huge impact, especially when it started messaging Robert at work, reminding him of the importance to eat; using the trigger words it knew to be the most effective. When Robert’s watch would feed into the system that he was feeling stressed or low, the software would generate further kinky messages and even purchase food to be delivered that it knew would spike Robert’s dopamine. But in the monitoring of what Robert ate, the computer soon learned which foods promoted Robert’s weight gain the most. Unlike many fatties, heavy carbs, like pasta, failed to have the impact that meats and cheeses appeared to generate. 

With such immediate effects, Robert had rapidly surpassed his previous high weight, entering into all new, blubbery territory. For Guy, it was incomprehensibly erotic to be able to touch or grab any part of his lover’s body and have the man turned on to such a wild extent. Using buzz words or phrases from the software reports made Robert instantly hard. Wafting a sugary treat under his nose, or commenting on the disastrous fit of the man’s clothes created a sexual arousal like nothing Guy had seen before. It was as if Robert’s entire sex drive had been trained to activate upon even the gentlest jiggle of his fleshier body. In Robert’s own words, the system had been ‘the best gift’ he had ever received. Even as he surpassed 300lbs, all thoughts of dieting appeared to be completely off the table.

“That’s Rachel Rivero,” Robert pointed out a few weeks later as he and Guy attended a charity event in The City.

“So, that’s her!” Guy smirked, gazing upon the journalist who had written all the critical articles about Robert’s weight gain. The most recent piece, only last week, had been the most savage of all as she even chased up quotes from members of Robert’s family to comment on how significantly obese he had become. “She’s hardly slim herself!” Guy grunted disapprovingly at the middle aged woman sipping champagne by the large ice sculpture.

Guy bided his time, leaving Robert with some mutual friends before he slipped back to find the journalist in question. He had the instinct to try and protect his lover, wanting nothing more than this fatphobic, judgemental woman to simply back off from picking on Robert.

“My name is…” Guy began, holding out his hand the moment there was an opening to introduce himself to her.

“I know who you are,” the lady sighed back, as if she already knew everything Guy was going to say. “The answer is ‘no’. I get good numbers on my articles about your little boyfriend.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Although, maybe the real story is why such a handsome man as yourself would even go after someone who struggles so much with his weight?” She eyed his powerful body up and down. “You are quite the specimen!” she smirked, as if smelling a potential story.

“Or, maybe the headline should be about you,” Guy stated, smiling confidently. “Picking on Robert by writing mean articles about him, simply because you'd ended your secret, extra-marital affair with his father… it doesn’t exactly smack of professional integrity, does it?”

Rachel stiffened, sensing a challenger. “Darling, no one’s going to believe that!” she smirked, starting to walk away.

“They will with all the evidence I have saved on here,” Guy returned with an equally condescending smile as he lifted his cell phone. “Pictures, documents, receipts, CCTV footage,” he nodded. “It’s amazing the things you can dig up when you set your mind to it…”

The woman glared, understanding that this was no bluff. Ten minutes was all it had taken for Guy to access the software to complete a deep dive into everything about this woman. What would have taken a personal investigator five years to amass had been automatically downloaded onto Guy’s cell phone, all whilst having a glass of mineral water at the bar.

“You don’t want to start something with me,” Rachel warned, retreating nonetheless.

“I’m sure I won’t need to,” Guy threw back, smiling victoriously. “Just leave Robert alone!”

Pleased with himself, Guy walked back over to Robert, gazing upon that thick, chubby ass with pride. Ever since he’d introduced the virtual feeder tool, Robert had been piling on the blubber like never before; those soft, squishy glutes showcasing every last calorie that had been desperately consumed. Robert never would have worn pants so snug to come to an event like this before; having also chosen a shirt that stretched so unflattering across his love handles. To Guy, it seemed so thrilling; like Robert’s kinkiness was being harvested and controlled; he desired food and sex in equal measures and had become more submissive to his lust for Guy than ever before. When he held the fat boy's little dick in his hand, it was so devastatingly hard, and always pathetically easy to bring keep it teetering on the very edge of an extreme orgasm.

Guy snuck up behind him and rested his strong arm over his lover’s shoulders, turning and seeing Rachel eyeing him coldy from afar. She really had been a hateful presence these last couple of years. Although the AI software had recently seemed to find a way to make Robert enjoy the humiliating content and pictures in those articles, letting her know that she couldn’t push them around had still felt every bit as satisfying as Guy had hoped. Now they could at last live their lives in peace.

“Oh my goodness!” Guy exclaimed four weeks later, seeing the article the moment he woke up, having had it sent to him by three different people in his circle. He could feel the dread consuming him as each paragraph made for more and more damning reading. Not only was this new article providing the most extreme pictures of Robert’s over 360lb body to date, but that disgusting journalist had clearly set out to ruin Guy himself. There he was, being outed as: ‘The world’s most prolific feeder.’

For the first time in years, Guy’s first love, Mikey, was staring up from the screen at him; comparison pictures of them both from when they’d started college, alongside a recent picture of Mikey with an additional four hundred pounds filling up his body. There were quotes from people Guy had known in college, twisted to back-up the case that Guy had fed and ‘destroyed’ a promising young academic with his devious kink.   

Quite a few paragraphs were devoted to Dillon too. That bastard had even provided Rachel with quotes, speaking openly about how much Guy had enjoyed his greedy appetite and lust for his expanding body. “Without him, I never would have ended up at 500lbs,” he’d stated, right before the article went on to detail, in quite devastating detail, the timeline of Robert’s own transformation; gaining weight pretty much as soon as he had met Guy and started dating him.

It didn’t take a genius to work out that Guy’s reputation was in tatters. The comments section alone was enough to show just how cleverly Rachel Riverto had twisted all those little facts to make him seem like the most evil being to have ever walked the Earth. The timing couldn’t have been more disastrous. It had been a sting operation, ensuring that the Ministry of Defence would pull out of the major deal they were about to sign with Guy’s company that very afternoon, destroying years of work that had led up to this moment. Guy felt sick to his stomach. In his whole career, he’d never experienced such a personal, calculated attack.

It was ironic; in all those years, Guy had never considered himself a feeder. He’d simply enjoyed sharing in these guys’ kinks and admired their confidence as their bodies expanded in ways that most of society disapproved of. There was no crime in that; was there?

Having built up more and more shares over the years, Guy was able to refuse the wishes of those in his company who wished for him to step down; though he had to fight hard and argue well for that privilege. With every setback came a further opportunity, Guy had decided, looking at his enormous, lardy boyfriend getting hard by reading all the comments on the new pictures of his 360lb body. With the complete shit storm that had consumed Guy’s life, it was cute how Robert seemed to care so little, and how incredibly hot he appeared to find it all instead. The Robert of old would have run a mile the second a scandal like this broke out. Now, it was all part of the erotic play that was his life.

“So, what are you going to do now?” Robert asked, feasting upon a large pizza and stroking his giant, fat-filled stomach in front of the TV, much like he did every evening.

Guy smiled, feeling, in a strange sense, like a heavy weight had been lifted from his shoulders. There was no way he could have watched Robert grow like he had in the last six months and not realise that there was a serious business opportunity in all this. However, he never would have had the confidence to go for it had his name not been dragged through the mud like it had been that week. He rubbed his finger proudly across his lover’s enormous double chin. The AI had prompted Robert to keep it well shaved and it really had helped to make him look more obese than ever before.

“I may not be a feeder,” Guy began. “But I’ve somehow created the most effective motivation tool in the world,” he smiled. “And I imagine that’s not the only thing this technology could do,” he nodded, enthused by the untapped potential of what he had developed. “I believe that there are billions of people with other fun, playful kinks; just like this, too embarrassed to share it with another human being.”

Robert pulled a sceptical face, like he hadn’t even realised how much his own behaviours and physical appearance had been transformed by the technology that had been brought into his life by Guy.

Guy grabbed a giant wedge of Robert’s belly fat as he continued to make his point. “The technology was already good, but you realise you’ve packed on almost 40lbs since we introduced your brain scan data into the system six weeks ago? You wake up in the night to eat ice cream, you can’t seem to get off unless you’re stuffed! You’ve turned into this great big, fat ball of kink!” he nodded proudly. “If I market this slowly, collect more neural data…” he explained, more to himself than anyone else. “I could get better at mapping these kinks; all the different fetishes out there! Then I could provide people with the most erotic experiences of their lives; unlock desires they never even knew they had!”

“It’s still only a face on a screen,” Robert replied, seeming to cautiously accept some potential in what Guy was saying.

“Then we take it off the screen!” Guy smiled. “We put it in ear-pieces for bored husbands and wives, wanting to spice up their love lives. We use it to create bespoke AI erotic movies for folks to enjoy. We develop androids that can pleasure their targets like nothing else on the planet. By the eightieth generation of this software, the possibilities will be limitless!”

Robert stacked another two slices of pizzas and bit down on them both, nodding. “Alright,” he nodded. “It’s a pretty lucrative idea,” he agreed.

Guy smiled proudly and kissed his fattening lover, admiring the vast contrast between their bodies as they made love later that evening.

“Do you think this is going to happen to more folks then?” Robert asked as he pinched his belly fat. “Your AI systems have learned so much about my fat kinks, it’ll uncover it in more people?”

“Without a doubt!” Guy grinned back, taking hold of Robert’s fat himself and jiggling it joyfully. “Hundred of them. Thousands. Maybe even millions! Delicious, kinky little fuckers, growing their bellies out, just like you!”

“That journalist was right,” Robert smiled, feeling himself starting to climax at the touch. “I really am in way over my head!”

“You think so, Fatty?” Guy asked, having learned from the neural data how much Robert’s arousal spiked at that name.

Robert nodded, his eyes rolling back into his head. “...I really am dating the world’s most prolific feeder.”

Guy smiled, watching as Robert could hold back his orgasm no longer. He was about to bring this pleasure to everyone, across the entire world. Again and Again. After all these years, perhaps he was feeder after all…

[comatosebunny09]

preface [ un ] | sylus

summary: he reluctantly agreed to let you be bait. ‘you’ll be fine,’ he tells himself. you always are, more than capable of holding your own. you wouldn’t be his ace otherwise. his jaw tenses. doesn’t make him worry any less. he just needs you to hold out a little bit longer until he can get to you. and hopefully, the other girls they’d taken from their families are with you, too.

warning(s): alcohol use, adult themes, profanity, kidnapping, mild violence

now playing: champagne cool - jackson wang

tagging: @athanasia-day @falon-fen @queen-serena88 @karespocketboyfriends @mrswanel @readerxyourfave @world-of-hearts @sunsets-and-crows @antonneva

notes: preface for limerence. | part 2

He doesn’t like to share.

He’s slowly coming to terms with that fact. Not that you’re property. A snack he’s meant to go halfsies with on the playground. But he won’t deny seeing you ride the mechanical bull like that with all those people watching. Well…

It does something to him.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. Sighs for the umpteenth time, the six screens meshed together in the security room of his penthouse flashing over his features. You’re having a good time. Doing your thing, riding it like it’s no one’s business. Garnering the attention of almost everyone in his club like you always do.

Bull be damned.

He’d bought the damn thing at your behest. You were so cute about it. Pushed your chest against his bicep, squeezed his hand, gave him those beseeching eyes. A farce you put on to get your way. But Sylus and the twins knew better. Knew what truly lurked beneath that glitter and glam. Yet he still fell for it.

He always does.

You reasoned the bull would be a nice add-on. Something to dress up Lux’s so-called drab decor. And sure, it was an interesting addition. A contrast of cowhide and worn colors amid the lush, crimson curtains framing the stage and gilded columns stretching high towards a yawning ceiling. In your words, it was meant to bring in new clientele and keep regulars coming back. Something to expose the seedy underbelly of the city. Lure out his enemies. After all, who could resist a pretty thing like you on a bull? 

Lux is one of Sylus’ many business ventures. A posh little club settled in the city’s heart where innocents and lowlifes frequent alike. Most come for the atmosphere, the unrivaled drinks, and the pretty dancers. Some stay for the promise of something more intimate. Backstage performances, one-on-ones with the lavish women who work there. 

Too bad some of the people who come seeking respite never check out. 

He’s hauled back to the present by cheers of varying degrees. Whistling and not-so-innocent words hurled at the stage. All at you. 

Sylus pitches himself forward to perch sturdy hands on his desk. Shakes his head, exasperation inhabiting his person. 

You’re giving everyone a show of your chest—boasted by the tight costume he had custom made for you—when you lean back like that, your spine level with the saddle. Smile sultry and bleeding sin. He swears he catches you winking at him, thoroughly aware of the many cameras littering his club. 

You’ll be the death of him one day. He’s sure of it. 

He taps the earpiece nestled in his ear. Prepares to lecture you for showboating like that. You’re laying it on too thick tonight. And he feels like a concerned dad about to scold his daughter for wearing something that bears too much skin. But before he can fix his mouth to reprimand you, the whisper of an errant breeze catches his attention.

He cants his head. Doesn’t have to look to know Luke is there behind him, haloed by the shadows. Bowed slightly at the hip with a fist pressed to his chest in greeting. 

“Speak,” Sylus orders, his voice rough with disuse. He pushes down the vexation fizzling in his veins. 

“He’s here, boss,” Luke states.

It’s a simple enmeshment of words, yet it’s enough to shift the atmosphere of the security room just the slightest. Sylus’ jaw tenses, the tendons in his neck flexing. His nostrils flare, and he pushes off the polished oakwood to stuff his hands in his pockets.

The real reason why you’re peacocking about like this has just arrived. And Sylus feels his hackles raise, his lips twitching with an impulse to scowl. The tendrils of his Evol threaten to make themselves known, but he tamps down his quiet rage, trading it for level-headedness. It won’t do him any good to lose his cool now. Not until he’s extracted all the information he needs to make his move tonight.

Sparing a final look at the CCTV footage, he appears composed as he snatches his coat from his leather rolling chair. Drapes it over his shoulders in customary fashion, stepping past his subordinate. Kieran appears at his side as if summoned from thought alone, never missing a beat.

“Keep an eye on her,” commands Sylus over his shoulder to the other twin. “Make sure she doesn’t do anything…reckless.” 

Luke complies with a curt bow before the door of the security room clicks shut. Left to his own devices, Luke chuckles. Rubs the chin of his mask in thought, studying the blue flicker of the various screens, all displaying you.

“More reckless than usual?” he quietly queries, amusement surfing in the undernotes of his voice.

—

Sylus is a businessman through and through. He built his empire granting favors, trading weapons, and other nefarious deeds. Despite how much he radiates murderous intent, he’s cordial as he shakes his guest’s hand. Dons a foolhardy grin, motioning for the man to sit across from him in his private office.

The gentleman’s bodyguards flank him when he takes his seat. Four of them standing in good form behind him, their bodies taut with the need to shoot if necessary. All for little old Sylus?

Sylus sits back in his plush, red leather seat. Crosses his legs, tapping his fingers together. Kieran stands not too far off behind him. All the muscle he needs. “Mister Fate,” Sylus acknowledges, finding it too easy to fall into such an affable role. He’s done this too many times. “It’s been too long.���

The man seated across cracks a smile. The years haven’t been kind to him, wrinkles and sunspots littering his face. “It has,” Fate agrees, twining his fingers in his lap. He hides his intent behind dark lenses. But Sylus already knows what’s genuinely driven him here to his club. Knows what lurks beneath that amiable mask of his.

“Can I offer you a drink?” asks Sylus, ever the trained actor. By the time he’s finished asking, Mister Fate’s attention is elsewhere, focused on the ceiling-high, one-way glass window beside them. A knowing smirk crooks Sylus’ lips. 

Beyond the window stretches his club below. Bodies writhing, merriment filling the air. And then there’s you, the focal point of the stage. Standing on the bull like a surfboard, that pretty smile canting your lips as you tilt your hat. You make it look so easy. His office is soundproof and shrouded in dim lighting. But he knows you’re dancing to your favorite song, basking in the attention. The limelight. 

Serving as the perfect distraction. 

And Mister Fate’s hooked. Tugs on the round of his tie, his mouth growing dry. He can’t look away, taken by your beauty and charm. You always play your role to a T. The pretty femme fatale that everyone wants a chance with but is rarely awarded your time. Your attention. 

Not like Sylus. 

And he doesn’t know what’s washing over him when his fingers twitch on the armchair, and his brow ticks towards his hairline. But he suddenly doesn’t like how Fate’s watching you like a prime cut of meat waiting to be seared and consumed. Had it been any of the others, would he still feel so defensive? “Mister Fate,” Sylus tries again after clearing his throat.

The gentleman in question finally tears his ironclad stare away from the window to look at Sylus. Like he’s been caught doing something naughty. It’s normal to stare. Sylus sometimes finds himself, too, falling prey to your allure.

Sylus motions to a whiskey decanter and two glasses on the coffee table before them. “Can I interest you in a drink? Something to wet your whistle?”

“Y-Yes, of course,” the aging man replies, bringing a shaky hand to his face to stroke his mustache. It’s comical how sweat collects on his forehead and between the thin hairs bordering his lip. You really are something dangerous, aren’t you?

“Such a beautiful girl,” Fate notes, more-so to himself whilst the slosh of viscous fluid poured into a glass fills the quieted room. Sylus slides the man his drink, and he’s not at all surprised to find him peering out the window again. “A very lovely girl.” He speaks as if he’s in a trance. Fallen prey to your spell, just like Sylus knew he would.

Sylus raises his glass to the man to toast but to no avail. He’s found what he’s looking for. And you’ve served your part well. And Sylus most certainly does not bristle as he leans back in his seat, dumping the contents of his glass down his throat, the acrid sting serving to ground him.

“Mister Fate,” he tries again, attempting to redirect the subject. He’s becoming increasingly sensitive when it comes to you these days. Doesn’t know why the thought of you makes his chest pull where before, you were something of convenience. 

There’s amusement in Sylus’ voice as he puts back up that arrogant front. “Did you come here just to ogle my dancers, or are we going to get down to business?”

Fate, as if remembering himself, quickly wipes his mouth after taking a sip. Sets his glass down, leaning forward with his elbows resting in the pockets of his thighs. “Ah, yes! Of course!” 

Sylus spares one more look out the window. You glance up as the crowd you gathered erupts in applause and praise. Like you sensed your boss’ scarlet eyes on you. And with a knowing lift of your brow and an unnoticeable nod from Sylus, he starts digging for what he’s truly after.

Information. 

—

Fate talks in riddles, but Sylus is good at reading between thin lines. 

They’re halfway through a game of chess when Sylus’ earpiece crackles to life for the first time in nearly an hour. And it’s your voice pouring through, dipped a few octaves down. Amused.

“Woah,” you chuckle, the click of your heels slowing to a stop. “Is that a gun in your indigo pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”

There’s a rigidness to Sylus’ movements as he sets his rook down on the chessboard. The world melts away around him, and he finds himself trained on the hang of your voice on the other end. 

He tries not to show it, adrenaline spuming through his body. You said the code word. Indigo. Something to signify you’re about to be captured. You’d lain yourself out as bait to further Sylus’ agenda. You always did. Always served him well, the brawn and beauty. 

You’ll be fine, he tells himself. You always are. More than capable of holding your own. You wouldn’t be his ace otherwise. His jaw tenses. Doesn’t make him worry any less. 

This is a dangerous game you’re playing. The both of you. One wrong step and he could lose his diamond. He’s spent years hunting Fate down. Knew it’d be a matter of time before he bared himself, the greedy bastard. All thanks to you.

“Mister Sylus,” Fate interjects, tapping the clock on the side of their chessboard. Sylus glances up to see his lips crooked with a smile. Something omniscient. Smug. “It’s your turn.”

Sylus rights himself. Poises his hand over the next piece, prepared to make his move. He tamps down a rush of epinephrine when he hears a gruff voice grouse, “Yeah right, bitch, get in the car,” in his earpiece.

You laugh, the sound of it rich and complacent. “What? Not gonna buy me dinner first?”

There’s a brief scuffle taking place in his ear, followed by the sound of something blunt being jammed against bone. And then, there is but the sound of exertion. Orders being barked, car doors slamming. A shriek of feedback and then cold silence.

They’ve more than likely knocked you out. Found your earpiece and disposed of it.

He has faith that you’ll survive long enough to get to the auction unscathed. At least until he can track you to its location. 

—

“It’s been a pleasure, Mister Sylus,” says Fate once the game ends, shaking his hand a little too firm. “Maybe next time I’ll beat you.”

“You almost did,” Sylus counters on a double entendre. Fate regards him with a quirked brow, still holding fast to his hand, rooted to the spot. He scrutinizes Sylus a little longer before one of Fate’s bodyguards approaches him from his side, murmuring something into his ear. It’s hushed, but Sylus picks up on keywords and uses context clues to piece everything together. 

The package has been secured. 

That package being you.

The blood in Sylus’ veins turns to ice. He keeps up the mask of indifference as Mister Fate smiles at him a little too knowingly. Bordered by his men, he excuses himself from the Sylus’ office, taking his egotistical aura with him. 

He feels the twins standing behind him. Stuffs his hands in his slacks’ pockets, studying his feet, the tendons in his jaw pulling. 

“We found her, boss,” Kieran cautiously states. “Looks like they haven’t discovered the tracker in her brooch. You were r—”

“Alive?” Sylus interrupts. He knows you’re fine. But he steels himself against the worst outcome just in case.

“Looks like it.”

A glimmer of something indiscernible fleets over Sylus’ visage. Atta girl.

He signals for the twins to get moving over his shoulder. And when they clear the room in a gust of wind, he’s already sinking into the inky, feathery shadows of his Evol, prepared to find you before they’ve sold you off to the highest bidder.

He just needs you to hold out a little bit longer until he can get to you. And hopefully, the other girls are with you, too.

[k1ssuu]

SADDLE UP, COWGIRL 𐚁₊⊹

bull rider!abby x farmer’s daughter // word count : 1,086 // not proof read

Abigail ‘Abby’ Anderson, otherwise known as the best damn bull rider in the West. She’d been in the rodeo as a bull rider since she was old enough to do so. She was decent enough at first, but within a few seasons she managed to dominate all the other competition in town, and even in the state. She was the top rider in the women’s division, but managed to effortlessly beat the scores of the top ranking men as well.

Before you and Abby had gotten together you would admire her silently from the stands. You would drag your friends with you every Saturday just so you could see that girl ride. You never left disappointed. Now that you are together you continue to show up every weekend, supporting your girlfriend loudly from the bleachers.

There she was now, on the back of the bucking steer, her face furrowed in concentration. The way she moved her hips and the sight of her muscles flexing through her slightly too tight button up shirt had you captivated. Her skill was both impressive and so, so hot. Her dirty blonde hair shone in the afternoon sun, tied back in its usual neat braid. Counting down the timer in her head, you could see her look of concentration turn to one of triumph. The stands cheered loudly as the eight second timer buzzed, signifying that she had done it once again.

“Another incredible run for Abby with a score of 90 points! Each and every day she gets closer to a perfect score! Will next Saturday be the day she finally hits that big 100!?” The announcers said excitedly over the speakers, and the crowd only grew louder after hearing her score. You, of course, cheered along with them.

You watched as the bullfighters helped her off the bull, her smile wide as she waved to the stands. Quickly making your way down to the side of the arena, you met her as soon as she walked out. You met her halfway and wrapped your arms around her, burying your nose into her hair.

“That was incredible.” You pulled away, taking a second to admire her. A bead of sweat ran down her temple and her freckled cheeks were flushed a rosy pink. The smile that you loved so much had not left her face, and likely would not for the rest of the night.

“What, you surprised?” She asked sarcastically, her eyes wandering across your frame.

With a scoff you replied. “Obviously not.” To which she laughed and pulled you in for a quick kiss. Her lips were always soft and tonight she tasted like coffee and a hint of chewing tobacco. She always tasted like chewing tobacco after the rodeo. You both pulled away, stupid smiles on each of your faces.

She took a step back and wrapped her arm around your shoulders, pulling you close to her. “Come on, let’s watch the rest of the rodeo.” She said as she steered you into the direction of the stands.

You stayed for the remainder of the night, watching all the other bull riders (none of which were as impressive as Abby) and the barrel racers. The sun started to sink behind the mountainous horizon, painting the sky various hues of pinks, purples, and blues. Abby was a constant presence of warmth next to you, an additional layer of heat in the already humid air.

By the time the rodeo was over, Abby had maintained the highest score in the bull riding division, not that anyone was surprised to hear. She walked away from that arena with her chin held highly and you tucked under her arm. You walked amongst the crowd of people back to Abby’s car. Many offered their congratulations to your girlfriend as they passed, saying things along the lines of “you did it again!” and “nobody has a chance with you as their competition”.

She thanked each of them, her smile growing just a little bit bigger each time. Her arm tightened around you just slightly, keeping you close to her.

Everyone was covered in the reddish dirt, blue jeans and button ups were covered in it, which was normal after a night at the rodeo. The sound of everyone’s footsteps on the soft ground sounded like a herd of cattle traveling down the path. By now the sun had set and the stars had begun to twinkle up above.

Abby led you to her beat up old truck and opened the passenger door for you, ever the polite lady. Her truck was unmistakable. It was an old, worn down Ford that had rusted bumpers and holes in the seats. It smelled like her, too. All in all it was rough around the edges but comfortable enough.

Once you were situated in the passenger seat she joined you, sitting in the driver’s seat. However instead of turning the car on she just sat there and gave you a dopey smile.

“You did really great tonight, I’m proud of you, Abs.” You said, giving her a smile in return.

“Thanks. I love that you’re always there to cheer me on.” She said as she grabbed your left hand, holding it in both of hers. Your smile only grew wider at the gentle touch.

“What happened to that ego of yours? I was expecting some smart ass response.” You laughed.

“Well,” She laughed, not being able to come up with an excuse, which only made you laugh more. She laughed along with you and she cupped your face gently. She pulled you in for a kiss that started out gentle, your lips barely touching. It soon grew heavier and more passionate, her hand slipping to the back of your neck. You were practically over the center console by now, but you pulled away before she managed to pull you completely into the driver’s seat.

Her freckled cheeks were flushed, her lips were still parted, and her eyes were searching for your lips again. Her hair that was usually neatly braided was now messy, strands falling out and onto her forehead.

“Want to… head into the backseat?” You asked with a smile, motioning your head to the backseat of her truck.

She smiled back, and nodded. The both of you climbed into the backseat and you ended up on top of her, quickly ended up in a heated kiss once again.

Pulling away just slightly she mumbled against your lips “I think it’s your turn to ride, cowgirl.”

tag list : @brackishkittie @nombreuxx @ichokedonmyoreo @homelandofthegods @my-w0-rld @blondehya @bambishaven @elr-ology @abbysgymbro @oceaseaa @idiotuvu-blog @sophsstarsxm @giuliaexe66 @abyssgf @nelzooo @bootyfartsmylove @gays6968 @colbyweirdo @foreingersgod @rougesquadron9 @delusionalvioleht @aouiaa @kisssssessssssyj @sunflowerwinds @burgundyredworld @starlight-savegery @nybueckers @prettybratsworld @madame-grimdark-blog @forgetdisturbance @redcherrytea @prettymuchboodup @h00d-tr4sh @skzhoiic

©k1ssuu’24

[raven-dor]

you took my breath away

in which gwayne hightower reunites with his wife at the battle of rook’s rest

PAIRING: gwayne hightower x fem!reader, gwayne hightower x wife!reader, rhaenyra targaryen x SISTER!reader

WARNINGS: angst, typical HOTD violence, kissing, arguing, VV FLUFFY ENDING

WORD COUNT: 4.9k

AN: the children’s names are ALYSSA + GAEMON!! heavily inspired by a comment on my masterlist!! saw it and absolutely ran with it, hope you guys enjoy!!

“Alyssa, the sooner you go to sleep, the sooner you may wake up and ride Morning.” 

The young girl smiled, burying herself into her blankets. “Do you promise, Mother?” 

“I promise.” Her voice broke as she spoke, smiling quickly. “Now go to sleep.” 

“Is that a new riding dress?” Alyssa’s eyes lulled shut as she spoke. 

“It is..” She laughed, kissing Alyssa’s forehead gently. “Try and get some rest.” 

“I love you, Mother.” 

“I love you, my darling.” 

The woman stood up, tucking her daughter in before walking out of the room, smiling at the maid that passed by. “Please see to it that the children have their favorite breakfast made.” 

The maid nodded. “Of course, my lady. Is that all?” 

“Yes, thank you.” She waited until the girl rounded the corner to start running. She hadn’t wanted to alarm anyone or make any of her servants think that she’d left her husband.

Not that the corridors she walked down were populated. It had been hours since dusk, the last servant she’d seen had been by her children’s rooms. 

After living in Oldtown for longer than she cared to admit, she knew this tower like the back of her hand. In the early years of her marriage, she admitted that her knowledge of the castle was lacking, which is when she discovered that her husband had made a servant help her find her way, worried she would get lost. 

He was always so thoughtful. 

So thoughtful, she knew it was only a matter of time before he realized she’d spent too long putting the children to sleep, and he would leave their shared chambers with the sole purpose of finding her. She picked up the pace, pushing the side door open that led to the dragon pit. Not many knew of its location as it was out of sight of the fortress. Only the Hightower family and its few dragon keepers knew where it stood. 

It wasn’t large by any means, but Gwayne had built it for her. When they’d taken Daeron to ward, and Alyssa had claimed her dragon, he’d had the best dragon pit lords brought in to aid with the addition process. It was nothing compared to the dragon pit she’d grown up with, but it was large enough to house the three Hightower dragons, and it was perfect to her. 

She had been beyond proud when her daughter claimed her dragon, Morning, at her last family visit to King’s Landing. Alyssa had only been eight, the second youngest dragon rider after her Aunt Rhaenyra. Alyssa’s grandfather had been even prouder, hosting a celebration feast in her honor, much to the Alicent’s dismay. A deep groan echoed through the pit, Silverwing’s snout peaking from her cave. Y/N’s hand fell to her stomach, caressing it gently, before approaching her dragon. “Lyka, ñuha prūmia.” (Quiet, my heart.)

Climbing the saddle, she wrapped her arm with the reigns like she had a hundred times before. She leaned forward, laying her cheek against the dragon’s scales, humming lightly. “Īlon're jāre lenton, Silverwing.” (We're going home, Silverwing.)

Silverwing practically purred, stretching her wings beneath the light of the moon. 

“My love.” 

Y/N’s eyes widened, straightening her spine, her husband’s deep blue eyes meeting hers. Silverwing purred yet again; she had loved him husband since the day you had. 

“Gwayne.” Y/N’s tone was cold, colder than it had ever been while addressing him. 

“I heard you telling the children goodnight. When will you return?” His voice was wavering as if he was forcing himself to remain calm, but she could tell he was itching to tell her to stay. “They will-” 

“Do not bring them into this.” She looked down at the reigns. “The children will be fine.”

“And when they ask where their mother has gone? What then?” His calm facade had faded, he sounded tired, and ragged with grief. Her heart ached to hold him: he had told her the stories of his mother, how she’d left him so young. While she did not want the same for their children, she had to help her sister. “Stay, and I swear to you we will fight for your sister.” 

“When? In two years time? Gwayne, I cannot continue the way we have. I am loyal to the true heir, to my sister. Surely you can-” 

“Have you truly been so miserable? My heart lies with you, as it always has. I cannot stand that usurper king either, and yet I continue on. For your sake, for our children’s sake. You know he would not hesitate to kill us all.” 

“So you cower? You cower when Rhaenyra needs you most? When I need you most?” She tightened her pull, preparing to flee. He had always been her weakness, and she could not back out. Not this time. “You are not the man I thought you were.” 

“How-” He stumbled backward as if she had stabbed him in the heart. “I have loved you with every bit of my being-” 

“And it is not enough!” She yelled, an uncomfortable silence falling over them. 

His voice was quiet, a mere whisper that was only carried by the night’s breeze. “Then I am sorry I have let you down.” 

“Tell the children I love them.” Gwayne watched as his wife flew away, his hair flying out of his face from the force of her dragon’s wings. That had not hurt him, not sent him into shock or despair. The pain of knowing that she’d left them rang through him, and he turned away, stalking back toward the castle a broken man.

“I love you, Mother.”

“I love you, my darling.”  

Her mother was elegant, standing quickly before gently tucking her in before leaving the room. Alyssa waited until she heard her footsteps turn into nothing before rolling out of bed. She ran to her wardrobe, pulling on her flying robes with ease. Alyssa had known, as hard as her mother had tried to hide it, that she was leaving. 

The Lady Hightower was a proud woman. Of course, she was. Born a Targaryen, she had every right to be proud, everyone always said that Targaryens were closer to gods than men. Alyssa liked to think she was more Targaryen than Hightower. She loved her father, but she felt alive when she flew her dragon.

When she sat in the sept like her Aunt Alicent taught her, she felt as if she could fall asleep. 

Opening her door as quietly as she could, she tiptoed down the hallway, following the path to the dragon pit. She’d almost reached the door that led outside when her brother’s voice called after her. “Lyssa? What are you doing?” 

She sighed, throwing her head back in annoyance. “Gaemon, go to bed.” 

“Not until you tell me where you’re going.” 

She turned around, hissing. “I’m following Mother.” 

His eyes grew teary. By the gods, he was tiresome. “Is she leaving us?” 

Alyssa clenched her fists. “She doesn’t want to leave us, she wants to help her sister.” 

“Aunt Helaena?” 

Her brother needed to visit the library. “Aunt Rhaenyra. The true-born Queen.” She felt proud when she said it, but Gaemon only looked lost. “Swear you won’t tell Father I’ve gone.” 

He nodded. “I won’t tell because I am coming with you.” He puffed his chest. “I want to help.” 

She laughed. “You? With what dragon?” 

“I can claim one, just like you did.” His bottom lip jutted out, and she fought the urge to groan. 

“Fine, fine. Just promise you will stay quiet.” 

She’d always loved Oldtown at night. It was quiet, peaceful compared to how busy it was during the day. Her favorite time to fly was late, long past dusk when no one could see her or judge her for her choice of clothing. 

“My love.” 

Alyssa’s heart stopped. There stood their father, confronting their mother. Gaemon whined. “I hate it when they fight.” 

“They have not even begun to fight, Gaemon.” 

“That is why I hate it.” He squeezed her hand. “It is starting.” 

“I heard you, telling the children goodnight. When will you return?” Their father continued. Alyssa’s eyes welled, she hated seeing her father so upset. “They will-” 

“Do not bring them into this. The children will be fine.” 

“And when they ask where their mother has gone? What then?” Their father’s voice sounded upset, angry with their mother for leaving. Alyssa could feel Gaemon pulling away. 

“Stay, and I swear to you we will fight for your sister.” 

“When? In two years time? Gwayne, I cannot continue the way we have. I am loyal to the true heir, to my sister. Surely you can-” 

As much as she wanted to listen to her parents, Gaemon was young and fragile, hearing this talk would only upset him further. She grabbed his hand, pulling him further into the dragon pit. “Come, Gaemon. There is a tunnel that leads to Morning’s cave.”

“But Mother-” 

“We will see Mother soon.” 

“And Papa?” 

Her heart twisted, pretending she had not heard him. “Morning has missed you. If you behave, I will let you feed her first.” 

Dragonstone was so beautiful in the early morning, the way the sun hit the sea just so. Not long ago, she had accompanied her sister to retrieve their brother’s egg. She had even brought Gwayne mere weeks after their courtship had begun. No one inhabited Dragonstone then, and they had fully taken advantage of the fact. 

Her cheeks grew red thinking of it, that this had been the first place they’d kissed. 

Now her sister resided in their ancestral home. 

She knew that the Queen’s council would be wary of her arrival. Being the Lady Hightower, many expected her to be loyal to the new King. The lords who advised her sister had forgotten that she was a Targaryen, a Princess of royal birth, the youngest daughter of their beloved King Viserys and Queen Aemma. While she loved her husband deeply, she remained loyal to her sister, as she always had been. 

Silverwing dove, landing gracefully on the clearing adjacent to Dragonstone. Sliding off her saddle, Y/N laid her forehead against Silverwing’s cheek, whispering her thanks before approaching the soldiers that stood guard.

“Who goes there?” 

“Princess Y/N Targaryen. The Lady of Oldtown.” The guards looked at each other suspiciously. She couldn’t blame them, the Hightowers were the entire reason this war had started. She sighed. “I am the Queen’s sister.” 

“Aunt.” Her niece emerged from the shadows, dismissing the two men. “How wonderful you could join us.” 

“I sense you are less than happy to see me.” She walked past her, straight into the castle. “That will change.” The castle was dark, the candles doing little to illuminate its halls. 

“You are mistaken.” Baela laughed. “I fear we need your help now more than ever.” 

“Oh?” She frowned. “What has happened?” 

“The small council,” Baela whispered, the servants in front of them pushing the great doors open, their ancestor’s Painted Table coming into view. “They grow tired laying in wait.” 

“I see.” She allowed a faint smile to grace her face, showing her niece she had no ill will. “Then I am glad to be of help.” 

“Y/N?” 

Her eyes welled, her arms widening as her nephew ran to her. “Jaceaerys.” She hugged him tightly. “You are a man-grown.”

“I am glad you are here-” 

“My Prince.” Sir Erryk interrupted. “Another dragon has landed.” 

“Another?” Jaceaerys looked near murderous. Y/N could not blame him, her half-brothers were erratic, never stopping to think about what their actions might do to others. However, Aegon was not stupid enough to show up alone, and Aemond was too proud to let Aegon confront their sister. 

“Allow me to accompany you.” Y/N hooked her arm through her nephews. “I should like to see my dear little brother again.” 

Jaceaerys laughed. “I will enjoy you humbling my mother’s council.”

The sun had fully risen by the time they left the castle. The dragon was far back, far enough so that they could not make out the face of its rider. Even from a distance, both could tell that it was neither Vhagar nor Sunfyre. It was not small by any means, but its build was quainter than that of Vhagar or Sunfyre’s. Not to mention, its scales were pink, a color neither of the older dragons possessed. “Whose-” Y/N’s blood went cold. The only pink dragon she could name was- 

Jaceaerys looked over, tilting his head. “Is everything alright, Aunt?” 

“That dragon is my-”

“Mother!” 

“Mama!” 

She raced down the path, grabbing her children and holding them close, inspecting them for injuries. Jace just laughed, a hand covering his mouth. “Baela will enjoy this.”  

The council, as her niece had said, was power-hungry by nature. With her sister absent, they seemed to pounce at the chance to silence Jaceaerys and her aunt. She turned away from the fire, setting her hands on the table as she brazenly interrupted. “I must say, Ser Broome, you are quite comfortable interrupting the heir to the Iron Throne.” The older man sat back in his chair, silent. “Have you recently come into a title that allows you to do so?” 

He shook his head. “No, Princess.” 

“Then I suggest, in the future, you hold your tongue.” Her smile was curt, looking back to her nephew.  “As you were saying, My Prince.”

“We must send a dragon.” 

“Where?” The council stood, bowing their heads as Rhaenyra walked into the room. 

“Sister.” 

Rhaenyra’s once sullen face grew joyous as Y/N approached her. “How long have you been here?” 

“I arrived only yesterday.” Y/N leaned forward, whispering. “Where have you-” 

Jaceaerys cleared his throat. “To support the war your vassals have been fighting in your absence… Your Grace.” 

Rhaenys interjected. “Cole’s host has grown since riding abroad. He raised the levies of both Rosby and Stokeworth and with their combined strength sacked Duskendale.” 

Ser Darklyn stepped forward. “Duskendale?” 

“The city has fallen. Many Darklyn men declared for Aegon. Those who refused were put to the sword.” 

“What of my father?” 

“He kept his oath. Cole took his head for it.”

“Where have you been, these last days?” Y/N could tell her nephew was getting tired of his mother’s antics, eager to prove himself to her as they both had been with their father. “You vanished without so much as a word.” 

“Well I apologize for my absence and the secrecy, but such was necessary. I went to King’s Landing.” 

“To what possible end?” 

“To meet Queen Alicent and sue for peace.” 

“You saw Alicent?” 

“I did.” 

Y/N did not know whether to laugh or to stop her nephew.

“You could have been taken or slain!” 

“I inherited eighty years of peace from my father. Before I was to end it, I needed to know there was no other path. And now I do.” 

Y/N smiled, placing a hand on her sister’s shoulder. “He would be proud, I know it.” 

Rhaenyra looked melancholy at best. “Only one choice remains to me: either I win my claim or die.” 

“Cole’s victories have only emboldened him. He marches on Rook’s Rest.” 

“His host was just hours away when Lord Staunton’s ravens took wing.” 

“Why Rook’s Rest? After Duskendale? It is but a small coastal keep.” 

Y/N nodded. “A small coastal keep that is mere leagues from Dragonstone.” 

“Lord Staunton is a member of this council. His castle is small and vulnerable and there for the taking. Cole knows that we have no army on the mainland.” 

“He is brazen.” 

“He is daring us to act.” 

“We need to send a dragon.” Jace once again insisted.

“There are those who have mistaken my caution for weakness. Let that be their undoing. I will go.” 

“You cannot.” Jace looked tired. 

“I will not lose dragons to the war whilst I hide here in my castle.” 

“Our ally raise their banners for you, Mother. If you die, all is lost.” Jaceaerys puffed his chest. “Send me.” 

“No.” Rhaneyra laughed. Y/N laughed as well, but it had been for a different reason. It had not been long ago when Rhaenyra herself had drove her father mad, now her son did the same. 

“I will burn Cole’s lines and withdraw before King’s Landing could even raise the-” 

“You lack the experience.” 

“Then send me, sister.” Y/N interrupted. “They will be caught off guard by the Lady Hightower attacking. I am sure of it.” 

Rhaenys nodded. “Send me as well, Your Grace. Meleys is your second-largest dragon and no stranger to battle. I will meet Cole.” 

“Mother-” Alyssa whispered, pulling on her sleeve. “Please do not-” 

“Alyssa.” Y/N hissed. “What did I say?” 

“Do not interrupt,” Alyssa whined. “But Father-” 

“Alyssa.” Y/N knelt, holding her daughter’s hands in hers. “You must know I would never harm your father. Trust me, everything will be fine.” She kissed her daughter’s cheek. “Swear to me you shall stay here and look after your brother.” 

“I swear.” The young girl smiled, her eyes watering. “I swear, Mother.” 

The soldiers cowered in fear at the sight of Meleys and Silverwing flying above them. They began to scream in terror as they both rained fire on them. Y/N pat her dragon’s back, tightening her harness. “Sȳz, ñuha riña.” (Good, my girl.) Her eyes flickered to the tree line, her blood curdling when she saw her husband’s armor glimmering in the mid-day sun. Her heart beat faster as she watched her Aunt fly straight toward Aegon. 

Sunfyre had always had a sweet disposition, and it broke Y/N to know that by the end of this battle, the dragon would not be with them. It had not, however, broken her to think of her half-brother’s death. 

A deep roar echoed through the air, the hairs on her neck raising instantly. Vhagar’s head broke the clearing, heading straight for the pair of wrestling dragons. Y/N pulled the reigns, racing toward the older dragon before it could attack Meleys. “Dracarys, Silverwing, Dracarys!” A great stream of fire left her mouth, hitting Vhagar’s side. The older dragon let out a pained cry, erratically flapping her wing, desperately trying to rid herself of the pain. 

Y/N flinched, gasping as she helplessly watched the wing smack Silverwing, knocking the younger dragon out in a single moment. “Silverwing, daor! Wake bē riña, wake bē!” (Silverwing, no! Wake up girl, wake up!) 

Silverwing began to plummet, straight into the forest. She screamed, cried, anything to wake her dragon before they both met their deaths. “Sōvegon! gaomagon mirros, uēpa riña!” (Fly! Do anything, old girl!) The dragon remained gone to the world. Y/N sobbed, slapping her hands on her dragon’s side. “Wake bē!” (Wake up!) 

Silverwing’s eyes cracked open, frantically slapping her wings, fear evident in her movements. Y/N cried, reassuring her. “Mirre kessa sagon sȳrī, Silverwing. Mirre kessa-” (All will be well, Silverwing. All will-) 

Gwayne could only watch in horror at the battle that played out before him. Even during his days as a mere foot soldier, they had been civilized and honorable. There was no honor in this fight, in this war, in the men leading it. Criston Cole, who treated his soldiers with disdain, also treated his new position as Lord Hand with equal care. Now here the Dornish man stood, ordering Gwayne around as if he was just a mere foot soldier once more. Not to mention, his wife left him and had planned to leave without so much as a letter. He would have thought after their many years of blissful union, she would have thought to tell him of her plan. That had hurt more than her departure. 

In the end, he was not shocked she had gone. His wife was loyal, and he could not blame her for her actions. He would have done the same for his own sister. 

When the servants had told him his children had also left, he had truly become a wreck. He had been sitting at his place at their dining table when they’d told him. Their favorites had been already placed on their plates, now cold, while he sobbed in the dining hall. And there he stood, feeling just as empty, when he saw his wife’s dragon emerge from the clouds. 

By the gods. 

He swore then not only to his family but to himself, that he would be with her again, with his children again, even if that meant betraying his family. Not that his sister’s children or his own father had acted as a true family in the first place. Family was a system of connections to them, to the entirety of the Seven Kingdoms. He and his wife, the woman that she was, had together made it much more. 

She was, in his eyes, perfection itself. 

He remembered, not long ago, she had convinced him to fly to Dragonstone. When they had been there, laying on the lawn in front, she’d told him what she wanted for the future. She swore to him, mere weeks into their courtship, that if they married, their children would be good, instead of the spoiled nobility they’d come to know, spreading greed and hurt. 

That had made him surge forward, kissing her soundly. 

He kissed her as often as he could after that moment. That moment, that promise, had been what made him ask the King for her hand in marriage days later. 

She was too good for this world, a world that was constantly fighting. And her family, he told himself, she was too good for them too. 

The same went for his children. 

And now, as he watched his wife’s dragon fall from the sky, one thing raced through his mind. He needed her like the very air that filled his lungs. He left his men without a second thought, racing across the battlefield, his only goal to reach her. 

“Y/N” A voice rang through the clearing Silverwing had created. “Y/N?” 

She groaned, her ears ringing. Her entire body ached from the impact, her head felt pulsing as she rolled over. “Who-” Everything came rushing back, the battle, her aunt, Silverwing falling. Forcing herself up, she reached down, grabbing her dagger from her leg holster. “Whoever you are, think twice before-” 

“Y/N!” Gwayne jumped off his horse, running toward her. “I saw you falling, and I-” 

“Get back.” She glared. “I do not need your assistance.” 

He raised an eyebrow. “You just fell from-” His arms flailed toward the sky. “I thought you were dead!” 

“I am sure you would have been thrilled.” She turned her back, scanning the woods for any sign of Silverwing. She loosened her harness while she was falling, scared that Silverwing would crush her, would crush- 

“I feel sorry for you.” 

“You feel sorry for- Ah!” Her stomach twisted, and she winced, caressing it lightly. “It’s alright, darling.” 

Gwayne’s voice was a mere whisper, so close that his breath grazed her neck. “What did you say?” 

“I said-” She whipped around, glaring. “You-” 

“Are you-” He looked hopeful, excited even.

“Gwayne, do me the courtesy of not revealing my location to your precious Lord Hand.” 

“Do you truly think so little of me?” He sounded desperate. “I love you, I have for as long as I have known you, and it-” He grabbed her hand, laying it over his heart. “I have only lived for you and for our children, you must know that?” 

She ripped her hand from his hold, her eyes tearing up. “I apologize for assuming otherwise. I should have told you, but I did not, and you cannot fault me for that!” 

“I am not faulting you! I have not held it against you, even when our children flew after you! I knew in my heart, that you were right, that you were doing what your heart led you to do. It is one of your best qualities, the very thing that drew me to you in the first place.” His eyes were tearing up as well. “You- you make me-” 

“What?” She yelled. “What exactly do I make you? Angry, upset, murderous?” 

“Crazed!” He yelled back, walking up to her and grabbing her face with his hands. “I love you, desperately!” 

Tears fell from her eyes faster than ever, she could not tell what exactly had caused it. It could be the exhaustion, or the adrenaline hitting her all at once. Or perhaps it was because when her eyes met his, she felt as if she was a young girl again, being wooed by the handsome knight. “Gwayne…” She grasped his hand tightly. “Come with me. Leave this all behind. I know the loss of your seat in the Lord’s Council will hurt, but you’ve never loved the pressure it brings you. Our children…” She smiled. “Will be happy around their family, around the very people who will never judge them. My love-” She took a deep breath, her eyes full of desperation. “I need you.” 

His arm wrapped around her waist. “I-” 

“If you do not wish to come with me, just say it.” Her eyes were red by now, there was no doubt. “Perhaps we should go our seper-” 

“I will do anything you ask of me. Anything.” 

“Then come with me.” She pleaded. “Come wit-” 

Gwayne collided his lips against hers, pulling her closer than she’d ever thought possible. Her heart began to pound, harder than it ever had during a kiss, and the next thing she knew, the world was going dark, a dragon’s snout nudging her side before everything went black.

Bright orange light shone through the curtains, a warm breeze dancing through the room. Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, her heart beaming at the sight in front of her. She groaned, pushing herself to sit up in her bed. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke. “My darlings.”

“Mother!” Alyssa all but jumped out of her chair. Gaemon, her perfect boy, was peacefully asleep in the seat beside her, his little fingers reaching out for hers. Her eyes watered, grabbing his hand gently. 

Gwayne was pacing on the terrace, his auburn hair glowing in the sun. He looked like an angel, a worried angel indeed. 

Alyssa hugged her mother tightly, her face buried in her neck. “You’re awake!” 

She nodded, grinning. “Alyssa, will you please take your brother on a tour of the castle?” 

“But-” Y/N raised an eyebrow, caressing her daughter’s cheek. “Yes, Mother.” Alyssa groaned,  walking around the bed and impatiently tapping her brother’s shoulder. “Gaemon, wake up.” 

“But what if Mother-” He rubbed his eyes, jumping onto Y/N without a second thought. “Mama!” 

“My boy.” She kissed his temple delicately. “Run along with your sister. I will be here when you return, I swear it.” 

She waited until they’d left the room to stand. Walking across the cold stone floor, she stood at the threshold of the balcony, leaning her head against the archway. “Gwayne, there’s something I must tell you.” He made no effort to face her, her stomach curling. “It’s rather delicate…” 

“I know.” He stopped, staring at her, his eyes wide. “I know.” 

“How?”

“The maester.” He stepped forward, his voice steady as he gestured toward her stomach. “May I?” 

She nodded, words refusing to leave her. He knew. During the fall, she wasn’t sure the babe would survive, but with the nauseous feeling in her stomach, there was no longer a doubt. He knelt, leaning his head gently against her. “Hello, little one.” Y/N’s eyes began to water. “You are quite the brave one, going into battle with your mother so young. When you leave her womb, we shall exchange battle stories.” 

She laughed, a tear falling down her cheek. “Please, do not be upset with me.” 

He looked up, tears falling down his cheeks. “Upset? My love, another child with you is never a reason to be upset.” He stood, leaning his forehead against hers. “I am a truly blessed man. To be your husband is the closest a man can be to the heavens themselves.”

She smiled, kissing his lips gently, her heart almost breaking all over again as she pushed him toward the door. “You must leave before my sister knows you are here.” 

He laughed at her, actually laughed at her. “My darling girl, how do you believe you got here? I carried you into this room myself.” 

“So-” Her lips tickled against his as she spoke. “My sister-” 

“I pledged my support to her as soon as I knew you would survive. I am a man of my word.” He leaned down, pulling his lips to hers. “I will never leave you.” 

Y/N smiled into his kiss. “I love you.” He grinned, spinning her around. She laughed, smacking his arm playfully. “Gwayne, put me down. The babe-” 

“The babe?” The couple looked over, smiling at their children. Alyssa stepped forward. “What babe?” 

“I-” Y/N hid her face in her husband’s neck. “I’m embarrassed.”  

Gwayne laughed, shaking his head as he addressed their children. “Your mother is with child.” 

Alyssa groaned, even as she smiled widely. “Again, Mother?” 

Gaemon’s head fell to the side. “What does with child mean, Father?”

taglist: @beebeechaos @i-padfootblack-things

[wooahaes]

svt - holding them

pairing: non-idol!svt x gn!reader

prompt: holding them :)

genre: honestly these are probably mostly hurt/comfort but theres some fluff in here i swear.

warnings: mentions of various stressful situations. comfort for a lot of these. mentioned injury in chan's. mentioned fight + seungkwan being pissed during his (not directed at reader at all). introvert!reader in wonwoo's. alcohol mention in mingyu's. food mentions, often in a vague sense throughout (just mentions of meals--although seokmin's mentions cupcakes for puppies).

daisy's notes: its cozy comfort hours.

choi seungcheol

seungcheol would sometimes just melt into you whenever you held him. you always took it as a sign that he trusted you wholeheartedly, and he meant it in that way and a sign that he loved you with everything that he was.

sometimes he'd be saddled with the brunt of the work in his department, and typically it meant he'd stress over making sure everything was done right. with the addition of a new intern (vernon--you'd met him once when you dropped by to get seungcheol lunch when he was too busy to leave, and he seemed like a nice enough guy), this stress seemed to be two-fold this time around. he'd work later, always telling you to go on and eat dinner without him. he'd always promise that this would be over soon, too: this was one of their busier periods. of course, you knew this by now--you'd been with seungcheol long enough to understand his work--but the honesty was always appreciated.

seungcheol had come home while you were making a cup of tea before bed, and quietly shuffled over to you. without saying anything, he'd already slipped his arms underneath yours to hug you around your chest. your arms curled around his shoulders, and you pulled him in, letting him melt into you again. secure in your arms, he let out a long sigh, face burying into your shoulder--and, for just a moment, you thought he might collapse right then and there. he just stayed there for a few silent minutes longer, before he let go of you, drawing back to look at your face.

you nodded toward your cup of tea. "do you want one?"

and he nodded, already leaning into plant a peck against your lips. "i love you," he mumbled, fully pulling away. you watched the quiet way he disappeared down the hall, the sound of the bedroom door opening a second later.

you'd hold him against once the two of you had finished your tea, and you'd play with his hair the way he liked while he vented whatever frustrations he needed to vent. you always liked holding your love normally, but this?

this felt special. and if he needed you to be a safe haven for him, you were glad to return the favor he always granted you the moment you needed it.

yoon jeonghan

jeonghan always knew that he just had to ask for you to hold him for you to do it. that was why he almost never did: not outright, at least. he'd merely slither his way into your arms, and respond to your soft 'happy?' with a blissful sigh and a 'very.' he liked being held by you sometimes. he knew you found this sense of security in his arms, and he was always happy to say that he found the same with you. curling up in your arms felt like he was home again.

so the first place he wanted to be after exiting his plane was home. as much as he could enjoy getting to see places abroad, he always wished he could bring you along with him. it'd mean that he wouldn't have to share a room with joshua (who he was perfectly fine with: there were few others he'd be so happy to share a room with), and that he could come back from the days of being stuck with other people to see your lovely face before he took you out for sightseeing and dinner. instead he'd just have to do these dates with joshua, always sending you teasing messages about how he was enjoying his time with his 'work boyfriend' (you'd coined it forever ago to tease him, and joshua had found it amusing enough that the two of you jokingly called each other jeonghan's 'other partner'). now he just needed to go through the motions to get home. get his luggage, get a cab, climb the stairs because the elevator was out...

he'd eventually opened the bedroom door to see you asleep. of course you would be: it was late and he told you to not wait up for him due to flight delays. he pulled at his tie, already going through the rest of the motions: suit off (get dry-cleaned later--too tired to care about fucking it up), clothes changed, teeth brushed... collapse into bed next to you.

you'd woken up, jostled by the sudden movement as your sleepy eyes found his in the dark. wordlessly, you opened your arms up to him, and he immediately moved in. welcome home. he pressed kisses against your neck and cheeks, making up for those lost few days for a moment.

"missed you," he mumbled against your skin.

you giggled as you held him tighter. "missed you, too, hannie."

joshua hong

joshua was never afraid to ask you to hold him. tonight was no different.

sometimes it was driven on by that need for physical comfort, but not always. sometimes it would be nights like this: you'd be curled up next to him in bed, talking aimlessly with him about your day since the two of you had barely spoken past a quick meal together before you were getting ready for bed. he'd been drained from work, you had been, too... that left a lot of talk for that melting space between waking and sleep.

"honey?" his eyes found yours in the low light, and you watched the way he stretched an arm back to place his phone back onto the nightstand. "can you just... hold me tonight?"

you obliged with ease. he settled in, shutting his eyes as his arms wrapped around you and squeezed you for just a second--a little 'i love you' without words.

"you can keep talking," he said after a moment. "i'm still listening, i promise."

he relaxed against you as you reached up, playing with his hair as you continued to talk about office drama. nothing too major, thankfully--you were just ready for it to be over and to be coming home at a normal time again. at least the extra pay was nice.

joshua could hear your heart beating. for a moment, he stopped listening to office drama and focused entirely on that. everything would be fine. another long day was just that: a day he managed to get through. everything would be okay if he made it right here, back in your arms and listening to you talk about things that mattered now but might not in a week (that was life, though, wasn't it? a series of moments of caring, even if those moments weren't important in the long run). he played with the hem of your shirt, trying to figure out who you were talking about now.

"hey?" he says quietly. "i love you."

for a moment, you paused. and then he heard you chuckle. "i love you, too, honey."

yeah... things would always be okay if he heard you say that.

wen junhui

jun had settled into your arms maybe twenty minutes ago, and he'd yet to say a word. at this point, you thought he might purr if you kept playing with his hair.

most nights, jun liked holding you. hell, most days jun liked to hold you. he was this soft lovable guy who often found a way to hold you regardless of where the two of you were. in a store? he'd wrap his arms around you from behind, looking at whatever you were looking at (even if you were comparing tomatoes or something). you were cooking because it was your night to cook? well, fine, jun wouldn't help you because you refused it... so he'd simple settle in, arms wrapped around you as he watched you cook. and he'd always pull you into his arms when the two of you settled in to sleep for the night, planting a happy kiss against your neck before snuggling in tight. he was, simply put, a snuggly man.

and you knew that something about his day must have been harder than usual, because he'd settled into your arms first and said nothing. he merely shut his eyes, and held onto you, head resting on your chest while he listened to your heartbeat. you'd seen the way his lips quirked a little when you reached a hand up, playing with his hair as you continued to read a e-book off of your phone. he would talk to you when he was ready to: you knew him well enough.

when you stopped playing with his hair, he looked up. you met his gaze, "you okay?"

he nodded, settling back in. "just missed you today."

and immediately you swore your heart somehow shattered and was put back together within seconds. you sighed. "i thought something was wrong, you goof."

he giggled. "you did? you're so sweet," he planted a tiny peck against your neck. "thank you for worrying, honey."

"yeah, yeah..." you pressed a kiss against the side of his head. "love you, too, you dork."

kwon soonyoung

soonyoung had maybe the worst day of his entire life ever.

he had plans! today was supposed to go well! he didn't have to work, and he was going to meet up with some friends and, y'know, do friend stuff. there was an amusement park that they'd been wanting to go to, and soonyoung had hyped himself up for it... except seungcheol ended up sick (something he'd warned about the night before--something about his partner catching something), and had to drop out. and that had seemed to set off a chain of events. seungkwan ended up having to work because one of his coworkers (the young college kid, seungkwan had said with scorn) called in sick at the last minute (seungkwan said he heard giggling on the other end of the phone--that fucker was absolutely not sick and that fake cough spoke volumes), jeonghan ended up needing to go see his partner about some family issue, jihoon... well. jihoon didn't do anything except point out the weather.

but jihoon had still offered to go out, maybe get lunch with anyone interested in still going. which is why soonyoung was now completely soaked since the two got lunch and parted ways before he was immediately caught in a downpour. plus lunch hadn't even been that good (jihoon's was--he'd let him steal a bite and soonyoung had just powered through his own crummy meal). today was supposed to be fun and now he was standing inside the front door to his apartment, soaked to the bone.

he shut his eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath before calling out for you. after a minute, you'd come into the room, stopping before immediately turning on your heel to leave. he could hear the bathroom door open, and then the water being started up. he barely saw your face again before you'd thrown a towel over his head, already working to try and dry him off a little.

"baby, why didn't you take your umbrella?"

because it broke. again: worst day of his life, probably. but soonyoung listened to you when you told him to go take a warm shower, that you'd get him some clean clothes and maybe make soup while he was in there. he'd told you not to worry about soup right now.

"can you just... hold me when i get out?"

you agreed easily enough. and when he left the shower, getting dressed again, he found you in the bedroom, curled up and waiting for him. within minutes, he had folded himself into your arms, holding on as he buried his face in your shoulder. you smelled like his cologne, and yet it seemed to comfort him in a weird way. like it was this little reminder that you were here for him still, even after everything went wrong for a while.

today might have been awful... but things felt right now that you were holding him.

jeon wonwoo

wonwoo knew the routine for post-socialization nights. nightly routine (skincare, changing into comfy clothes), and then he would load up whatever game the two of you were going to play to unwind while you scrounged around for snacks. on rarer nights, wonwoo would be the one who would pull together an assortment of snacks--usually because he'd be too tired to game, but would be happy to keep you company. tonight was one of those nights, where wonwoo listened as you loaded up your game on the PS4. he heard the telltale gentle piano opening to the game (who knew such a silly concept like mixing disney with final fantasy could make a game so impactful? wonwoo liked watching you play, though: he knew how important it was to you, and he saw it as a way of learning more about you), and he found himself smiling a little. he knew you well.

when he returned to the couch, you'd already gathered up a few blankets and pillows so the two of you could get fully comfy. these were the perks of dating a fellow introvert, in wonwoo's opinion: the two of you had decided on some sort of "decomposing" ritual for nights like these. when the two of you were just dating, it was usually ice cream or coffee or a nice walk together before parting ways. later it became playing video games online with one another, and now it was playing them together and cuddling.

with snacks in hand, wonwoo sat down next to you, watching as you curled up at one end of the couch. without saying anything, all you had to do was glance at him before you opened yourself up so that he could lay in your arms. you'd hold the controller out in front of him, adjusting your position as needed so that you could comfortably play (you'd left off somewhere in the aladdin-based world). he would offer up food to you, and sometimes you'd accept.

the two of you made it work. and wonwoo subtly smiled to himself as he cuddled closer to you, only pulling away to put the empty bowl ont he coffee table. he'd turn over, too, and lay atop you, snuggling in happily as he watched you play.

"happy?" you mused aloud, not taking your eyes off the screen.

"mhm." he nuzzled his head against your chest, smiling a little more now. "so... can you explain what we're doing again?"

he heard the way you chuckled. "we're looking for aladdin right now."

"again? i thought that was the first game."

another warm chuckle, deep in your chest. "yeah," you shifted, just to keep wonwoo close to you. "again."

lee jihoon

jihoon wasn't always one for skinship. this was something you knew: it was reserved for people he was close with, and for people who didn't use it as an excuse to baby him in any way. you'd seen the way his friend, seokmin, liked to teasingly (attempt) kiss him on the cheek and the way he'd always lean away, pretending to act grumpy while his smile always broke through a little. and with you, he'd always been open to little things in public like holding your hand or the occasional hug when it was cold out and you were seeking warmth. hell, sometimes he'd keep an arm loosely around you in public when you were in a crowded space. a tiny symbol that the two of you were linked together, but in a way that minimized the space you were taking up as you entered one another's bubble.

at home, though, things were different. jihoon wasn't afraid to ask for a hug or to be held if he needed it. and sometimes, after particularly stressful days, he needed it.

"honey?" his voice was always quiet, as if to keep this moment between the two of you alone. he'd always drop a 'honey' or 'love' too, as if to sweeten the deal (or maybe it was his way of telegraphing it to you: this is a sign i need something more intimate...). "can you hold me?"

he'd always ask, no matter how long the two of you had been dating. it was his way of telling you that his day had been rough without outright saying it. you'd maybe said 'no' once or twice due to awful timing: you'd been sick both times and didn't want to risk him catching whatever you had, but he'd understood easily enough... and you'd later get a picture from his roommate, soonyoung, 'stealing your man' (his way of saying not to worry: he was taking care of him). but your 'yes' came easily, and you'd readjusted in your position on the couch for him to essentially lay on you, cuddling into your arms.

"do you want to talk about it?" you asked once he'd settled in.

he shook his head. "maybe later. just... hold me for a bit first."

and you always would, snuggling together like you were each other's perfect fit.

lee seokmin

seokmin loved holding you... but he loved being held by you, too. never ask him to pick which one, because he would refuse every single time: there's too many pros and cons to both for him to pick between the options. therefore, seokmin just... liked holding. was that weird to say? he wasn't sure: regardless of who was doing said holding, he would always be happy.

which was why he was happy as you wrapped your arms around him from behind while he was on the phone with seungkwan, trying to coordinate a surprise party for another "special" friend. the party planning had been stressful (you told seokmin that bookkeu was a dog, he would be happy regardless of what seungkwan did for him, and then seungkwan stopped talking to you for a week until you apologized and said that you only meant it as a 'please don't let him lose sleep over this' deal), and just being in your arms helped plenty. was it maybe a little silly to get this worked up over coordinating a surprise party for a literal dog? maybe. but seungkwan had been excited over throwing a birthday party for his dog (bookkeu was a beloved member of the family, after all), and seokmin had grown a little excited over making doggy cupcakes... life was simply too short to not embrace things like this.

seokmin looked over his shoulder at you with a quiet "hi, honey," before he went back to talking about saying something about how the paw print mold was on its way so he could decorate the cupcakes with them. before you could draw back, he caught your wrist, pulling you back in so that you were still firmly pressed against his back. he pulled your wrist up so he could press a tiny peck against the inside of it, swaying happily with your arms still firmly around him.

the moment his phone call was over, he shoved his phone into his pocket and turned to face you. "hi," he giggled. "we're excited."

"i can tell," you smiled back, running a hand through his hair. "you sound excited."

"they're pupcakes," he said, pulling you in closer. "aren't you excited?"

for seokmin? you'd be excited over anything just to share in that joy alongside him.

kim mingyu

mingyu dragged himself into your bedroom, each step seemingly heavier than the last. you looked up from your book to see utter exhaustion on his face, and immediately set it aside.

"gyu--"

"drank too much," he mumbled as he all but collapsed onto his side of the bed. "cheol's fault..."

the cute way he was pouting now earned a giggle from you. of course it was him out drinking with seungcheol that ended with your pouty boyfriend all tired and maybe feeling a little sick. you crawled over, pulling at his shoulders. he gave in with ease, rolling onto his back as he rest his head in your lap, eyes falling shut as you began to play with his hair.

"did you drink water?" you asked. he nodded, leaning further into your touch. "i'll get another glass in a few minutes."

he shook his head. "can you... can you hold me first?"

of course you would. he stayed in your lap a little longer, too in love with the way you were playing with his hair until he turned over. rather than letting you move, he just crawled up, resting his head on your chest as he basically crushed you underneath him. you adjusted as best as you could, wrapping your arms around him, fingers still running through his hair. you could feel his smile through the thin fabric of your shirt, his arms wrapping around you after a moment.

"love you," he mumbled, turning his face so that he could press a kiss against your chest. "love you," he mumbled again.

you managed to plant a peck against the side of his head. "love you, too, mingyu."

xu minghao

minghao, simply put, preferred caring for you. there was something tender about being able to dote on his beloved whenever he could. it wasn't as though he hid his bad days from you--the two of you lived together now, that wasn't exactly an option, and not one he was ever fond of except for the very early days of you two dating (and even then, he was always mature enough to say he was having a rough day and he'd talk to you later in a way of asking for space). but from the moment he woke up this morning, something was... off.

so when he finally came home to you after work and meditating in the park, he gave in. "today was hard," he simply said as he was hanging up his jacket. "do you mind holding me for a little while?"

angel that you were, you never minded. minghao always knew he could come home and nuzzle into your open arms whenever he needed to be cared for. he'd always crawl into them, burrowing his face in your neck. he could smell your favorite body spray clinging to your skin, and it felt like home. you, too, felt like home... but that was because you were home.

something within him just... broke. maybe it was stress, or maybe he'd been holding himself together for far too long without relief. one moment he was fine, and the next he was tearing up for reasons he'd never be able to piece together. he buried his face further into your neck, holding onto you tight as he let himself cry (because you would always let him cry if he needed to--you were safe, you were home).

"oh, hao..." your voice was quiet, but he could feel the slight rumble in your chest from how close his body was pressed against yours. "it's okay." you traced circles onto his back. "just let it out, love. i'm here."

you were here. home. and he held onto you tighter, safe to come undone within your loving embrace.

boo seungkwan

seungkwan was mad. very mad. you could hear the front door slam from your curled-up position in bed, and that meant something went very wrong with whatever hang-out he had arranged with his friends. a few seconds later, you heard the bathroom door slam, and then open and close normally a minute later. before you knew it, seungkwan had thrown open the door and immediately apologized--to both you and the door for being so angry. he closed it with a restrained anger, and made his way over to bed.

"seungkwan?" you called to him quietly, watching him curl up tighter. "c'mere."

and he did. without hesitation, he turned over and moved into your arms, because that was one of the places he found calmed him the most. he let you hold him, and he shut his eyes, taking slow breaths as he curled up closer to you.

"you wanna talk about it?"

"in a minute." his fingers dug into your skin, and he pulled himself closer to you. and then he resumed his breathing, willing himself to calm down even further before he even thought about ranting to you.

"did something happen?"

he nodded. "i'll apologize later," he huffed. "after he apologizes first."

oh. ouch. you felt your phone buzz on the mattress beside you. no doubt it was someone trying to give you some kind of heads up (or maybe even an inkling of what had happened--probably vernon or jeonghan). you just started to knead at his back, feeling the way seungkwan further relaxed against you.

"i'm sorry," he mumbled softly. "did i scare you when i came in...?"

"a little, but it's okay," you said. "you're upset. did you guys get to have dinner?"

he shook his head.

"well," you pushed him back by the shoulders, just enough that you could look into his eyes. "let's order dinner and eat together... and then i can hold you again while you tell me what happened."

seungkwan leaned in, pressing a quick peck against your lips. "thank you," he said. "i love you."

"love you, too, kwannie."

chwe vernon

"hey. can you hold me for a bit? i'm kinda cold."

vernon was the king of unsubtle. it was hot out. hell, it was kind of warm in your apartment. the only colder room was your bedroom, and that was because the window A/C unit was in there. he was just watching a movie with you, no blankets because the two of you were warm enough. and now he was looking at you with this cute smile on his face, as if he couldn't just ask you to hold him because he wanted to be held. like he needed to go on some secret mission to get what he wanted.

"dude, you're wearing a hoodie."

never had you seen him strip it off so quickly, turning to you. "can you hold me now?"

ah. he knew this was becoming a little game. "you're already cold?"

"yep. freezing. need ya."

you rolled your eyes, and opened your arms to him. he happily shifted so that he could rest, back against your chest, and you could see that gummy smile as he cuddled in. again: the king of being unsubtle. he'd snuggled in a little further, hands coming up to hold onto your arms as he dragged his thumbs against your skin.

barely ten minutes later, and he peeked up at your face. "babe."

ah. the term of endearment. you knew what was coming next. "nope."

"i forgot you're like your own heater!"

"and now you're stuck here like my teddy bear," you held him a little tighter. "live with it, chwe."

(he would. for the rest of his life, if you'd let him.)

lee chan

"i told you, i'm fine!"

despite the elevated ankle, chan had been trying to convince you of this for the past twenty minutes. it was just a little sprain that the doctor said he needed to stay off of as much as he could. just a little one. he'd be fine by the end of the week, he was positive. even among his bickering with you, you'd moved around your shared bedroom, arranging things so that chan wouldn't have to worry too much. you'd elevated his ankle, made sure that the wrapping was still secure, and kept his crutches within reach in case he needed them.

("just a 'little' sprain" your ass--he'd teared up on you for a minute because of how bad it hurt, and even then he kept insisting he'd walk it off.)

"channie," you pouted at him. "i'm gonna take care of you, alright?"

he only pouted at you in return. "i don't need you to take care of me--it's just a sprain. i've been through worse--"

"that doesn't mean you need to neglect yourself this time!" you huffed, and crawled in from the other side of the bed.

before he could complain further, you pulled him over and into your arms, mindful of his ankle. you linked your arms around him, holding onto him tight before he could try to escape again because he noticed that the dishes needed doing and you were the one who cooked this morning, so it was only fair for him to do them. he'd tried to argue that he'd just be leaning against the counter, he could still help.

despite his sulking, you noticed the way he snuggled into your arms. "you're cheating."

"not my fault you love me so much."

"isn't it?" a tinge of amusement lined his voice, and you found yourself smiling a little, too. "you're the one who made me fall for you."

"you're the one who fell for me, you dork."

"literally--"

and among your vocalized complaints, he just laughed again and pulled one of your hands up so he could kiss the back of it. fine. he'd rest... for now.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @wonuziex @synthetickitsune @gyulbabie

[kaciidubs]

Binnie's Baby Bun

❣ Summary: Ever since you announced your pregnancy to your husband, his loving treatment skyrocketed to lengths you never believed were possible. ❣  ❣ Word Count: 797 ❣ Warnings: Husband! Changbin, Pregnant! Reader, pregnancy [early stages], fluff, light implied smut, baby bumps, overall cuteness ❣  ❣ Female! Reader [No use of Y/N] | You/Your pronouns ❣  ❣ Additional Tags: Changbin is referred to as Hubby, Bin, and Binnie, Reader is referred to as Bun, and Bunny ❣ Stray Kids Masterlist ❣ General Masterlist

Ever since you announced your pregnancy to your husband, his loving treatment skyrocketed to lengths you never believed were possible.

Changbin was a lover, he was a supporter, he was a protector, but he was also the softest, kindest, and most careful man you had ever met, and those were just a few of the traits that convinced you that he was the man you wanted to spend the rest of your life with.

The days after you revealed your pregnancy, he treated you like you were a goddess walking among men; you would’ve thought he was your living servant the way he offered to do everything - and I mean everything - for you.

Not like he didn’t do it already, that is.

The first handful of weeks were met with extra kisses here and there, extra check-ins so he could have a clearer gauge on your comfort, and small things like extra snacks finding their way into your pantry.

But, when your stomach slowly began to grow and the first hints of your baby bump began to show, Binnie mode was in full swing.

Almost every morning you were guaranteed a kiss on the lips, cheek, or forehead, and an extra kiss to the small swell of your belly, paired with a whispered “Good morning, baby.”

Whenever you were together he would always, always, manage to keep a hand on your stomach - if you allowed him, of course - and if he couldn’t keep you close by, he’d always make sure to take a quick ‘baby bump break’ to saddle up beside you and rest the palm of his hand over your belly button.

“Bin, if you’re like this when I’m barely showing, I can only imagine how you’ll be when I'm in full watermelon mode.”

You sat partially sprawled out on the couch of his recording studio, the pillow you were previously laying on now replaced with Changbin’s lap, and his arm reaching down your body to rest his hand over the top of your stomach.

He laughed and leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek, “That’s why you have to get used to how I am now, Bun! I know baby bun will.”

“Baby bun?” You hummed, tilting your head to get a better look at him, “So you’re hoping for a girl?”

He shook his head, “Baby bun is just baby bun - girl, boy, I don’t care, as long as they’re healthy and you’re healthy that’s all that matters to me.”

Fresh tears stung at your eyes and you had to fight to push them away, blaming the increased hormones in your body for your sudden sensitivity to his sentiments.

“Alright, break time’s over!” Announcing his leave with his usual loud voice, he helped you get comfortable again before bending down to your eye-level, “Another hour or two and I’ll be done, then we can go get some dinner, deal?”

Smiling, you nodded happily, “Baby bun and I think that’s a great deal.”

Furthermore, in the midst of all of his soft, adoring moments, there were also moments of warm, tender love that had you overwhelmed in the best of ways.

Moments where he would watch you do your nightly routine; silently observing the way his shirt would ride up with each of your movements, revealing a sliver of the bump he would never get enough of, urging him to stand behind you and snake his arms around your waist.

You smiled tiredly at his reflection in the mirror, rubbing the remaining moisturizer onto your cheeks, “Hi, hubby.”

“Hi, bunny,” he replied in kind, pressing a soft kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder.

Melting into his touch with a gentle sigh, you tilted your head to give him more access, your hands going to encompass his own resting yet again over your bump. “Binnie… What are you up to?”

His arms held you a bit tighter, his lips making a path up your neck and brushing against a spot he knew all too well, “Just appreciating you…”

“Hm, yeah, I can tell.” You shifted your hips, fully aware of the bulge filling his boxer briefs, “You appreciate me that much, yeah?”

Nipping at your skin, his eyes met yours in the mirror, his heard gaze sending a chill of excitement down your spine.

“Can I appreciate you more?”

“Right now?” You mused, lacing your fingers through his, “Right here?”

A low hum vibrated through him as he took you in, the scenario so familiar yet so, so different in numerous ways; you were no longer his girlfriend, no longer his fiancee, no longer just his wife, but his wife and soon-to-be mother of his child.

“Right now,” he confirmed, firm and sure, loving and supportive, soft and kind, “right here.”

✧. ┊Tagged lovelies: @goblinracha, @having-an-internal-crisis-rn, @midnightfrog625, @anyhow-everything, @bangchanbabygirlx, @sweetracha, @j-onedrabbles, @happilydeepestwonderland, @nightimescapes, @caitlyn98s, @ch4nn13luv, @ihrtlix, @sometimesleeknows, @jeonjungkookenthusiast1997, @instabull, @maximumkillshot, @bandolls, @y-ur--i, @acker-night, @dreamescapeswriting, @sunnyhonie, @specialstay, @broken-glowsticks, @s00buwu, @all4innie, @dancerachaslut

✧. ┊If your username is in bold italics that means tumblr won't let me tag you. If you’d like to be added to the taglist, fill out this form!

[ashblooddragons]

This Mysterious Love (Prolouge/?)

Series Masterlist

How could they ever want someone like me, I'm broken, I'm ruined, I'm nothing, and them? They are radiant, they are whole, they are everything.

If only I was worthy of him.

If only I was worthy of her.

Alicents pov

I stand outside of the carriage when I see Syrax land with Rhaenyra. 

“Syrax is growing quickly, she'll be the size of Caraxes soon enough.” 

“That's large enough to saddle two.” She says, I can see the hope in her eyes that I'll agree but can't. Father would have me locked in the Sept for three days, the only sustenance being the wisdom of the gods. Thankfully I don't want to ride on a dragon.

“I'm perfectly content as a spectator thank you.” I say before turning to sit in the carriage again. 

On the ride back Rhanyra continues to try and convince me to agree to fly with her. She isn't used to the word no, so I understand why she acts the way she does. though that doesn't mean it doesn't annoy me. 

When we make it to the keep she insists on seeing her mother. No matter how hard I try I can't fight the bitterness that I lost mine. Rhaenyra can't seem to stop talking about memories between her and her mother, about their plans once her sibling is born. For I can never do that, I can barely remember what mine looked like. I remember how she made me feel safe, loved, and cherished, but not her eyes, smile, or hair.

 How can you truly know if you love someone if you can't even remember them? 

When we make it to the Queen's chambers I stand by the door letting Rhaenyra greet and meet her mother alone. I only speak to greet the Queen as is proper. 

I look around the room taking in the scent of Lavender the Queen adores. Then the sweet scent of vanilla fills me the one I always put in my hair. A smile comes to my face as I remember the sent on my mother. How it always makes me think of a warm hug. It instantly calms my nerves as I take in the Midwives hard at work to prepare for the new addition to the royal family. 

“Ready to go?” Rhaneyra says startling me out of my thoughts and making her giggle. “Always so jumpy.” She teases before looping her arm with mine.

As we walk away I hear the Queen moan in pain, the Midwives and Rhaenhra don't react to it so neither do I. 

“I need to go to a council meeting, supposedly they can't pour their own wine.” Rhaenyra says scowling in annoyance.

I wonder at times if Rhaenyra truly understands how lucky she is, if she knows others would die or kill for the position she was given. But as always I bite my tongue and nod with a pinched smile.

Once she's left I sigh and look around trying to decide what I wish to do with my spare time before my lessons with the Septa. 

“Now if this isn't a sight for sore eyes, I the little Hightower all alone? Has Rhaenyra finally realized what a bore you are?” I hear the mocking tone of the Prince behind me. 

I try not to shiver, his gaze always felt so calculating, as if he is only waiting for you to make a mistake. And from what my father tells me, this feeling is true. 

“She was needed at the council meeting, one I hear your to be at as well.” I say trying to keep my bearings before turning to look at him. 

Gods he is gorgeous, there is no question why Rhaenyra practically drools after him. 

“Hmm, but do they? They will be talking about my brother's heir and the tournament. They might talk about the blasted Stepstones, but my brother won't care overly much for it. None of that is something the commander of the City Watch needs to worry about.” 

“Perhaps not, but it is an honor, one many would kill to have.” I respond annoyed him and Rhaemyra always seem to be scoffing at their duty. 

He only hums before touching the thin necklace around my neck. “A beauty like you shouldn't have such drab jewelry.” He says before reaching into his jerkin pocket and pulling out a gold and pearl choker necklace. 

It's gorgeous, and I tell him as such as I admire it. 

“Of course it is, I picked it out.” He responds before pulling it out of my reach. 

“If you wish to have it, take that pitiful necklace off and let me put this on you.” He commands in a tone that leaves no room for if I truly wish to or not, only that I must. 

And with that, I reach up and take off the dainty necklace Father gave me for my fourteenth nameday waiting with bated breaths what the Prince will do or command next.

“Such a lovely girl as yourself deserves to be claimed, how no man has taken you up is astounding to me.” He says before moving closer and putting the choker on my neck as he stares into my eyes.

I can get lost in those pools of lilac, I swear I can smell their sweet floral scent just from looking in his eyes. 

“Gevives.” He says as he looks into my eyes before he appears to almost recoil.

“Are you alrigh–” I go to ask but he cuts me off with a clear of his throat as he pulls his jerkin down.

“Lovely seeing you little Hightower. Perhaps I’ll be lucky enough to ask for your favor.” He says before partially running down the halls and out of my reach.

How curious. I think to myself before I hear the bell toll and realize I’m about late to lessons with the Septa so I rush through the halls. But had I stayed I would have seen the Prince watching after me.

Special thanks to @sugutoad for making the header for this fic! I swear I'd be lost without you!

TAGLIST @sugutoad @ilikefelines @sachaa-ff @mmogurl @classicsimpforaaronwarner @nommingonfood @yn-jackson @marvel-is-my-obsession @dreamlandcreations @baybaybear1 @fictionlurker @edenfanfictionsuggestions @seaevans

[ceeplays]

Favorite Mods for Better Pets:

...aaand I'm back! ☀︎ It's been such a busy summer for me, but I've been wanting to post this list for several weeks now. So happy I'm finally getting the chance to sit down and put this together for y'all. One aspect of the game I'm always looking to improve with mods and cc is our sims pets, and now with the addition of horses, even more so. So, here's a list of my favorite mods and cc for all animals in the game (there's even a mod for your bees!). As always, thanks to all the creators and I hope you all enjoy.

More info and download links below the cut.

Gameplay Mods:

Selectable Pets by CharityCodes

Bathe Pets in Sink by Szemoka

Pet Care Activities by @adeepindigo

My Pets by @littlemssam

Anti-Fear Training for Pets by @littlemssam

Better Farm Animals by @littlemssam

Better Saddle Control by @littlemssam

Calm Bees by @littlemssam

Check Horse Skills by @littlemssam

Check Pets Needs by @littlemssam

Dog Walking Service by @littlemssam

Go For A Walk With Cats by @littlemssam

Go For A Walk With More Pets by @littlemssam

Kids Go For A Walk With Dogs by @littlemssam

Lead Horse by @littlemssam

Longer Pet Naps by @littlemssam

No Spoiling Dried Animal Food by @littlemssam

Special Paddock Gate by @littlemssam

Boarding Stable Lot Trait by Flauschtrud

Animal Shelter Lot Trait by KiaraSims4Mods

Default Replacements/Overrides:

Pequichor Horse Eyes by @rheallsim

Mirror Mirror Horse Eyes by @doptera-ts4

Dolce Eyes for All Animals by @wrixie

Under Your Spell Horse Ranch Animal Eyes by @incandescentsims

Daydreamin' Horse Ranch Animal Eyes by @nolan-sims

Smaller Eyes + Eye Geom Fix for Horses by @objuct

Goat Retexture by @blue-ancolia

Rabbit Retexture by @blue-ancolia

Horse Skin by @minervamagicka

Horse Skin by @nesurii

Adoption Pet Carrier Override by @largetaytertots

Pet Leash Override by @largetaytertots

Pet Leash Override by @diabolicalsims

Pet Treats Override by @diabolicalsims

Pet Brush Override by @diabolicalsims

Horse Trailer Made Functional by SassandFreckles

BUILD/BUY Favorites:

Animal Shed Recolors by @beansbuilds

Horse Food Bags by @cath-cc

Horse Countdown Set by @objuct

Cottage Dreams Collection by @miikocc

Toddler Pillow Pet Beds by @diabolicalsims

Pet Toys by @diabolicalsims

Vet Waiting Room Magazines by @diabolicalsims

The Petit Cheval Set by @syboubou

Veterinary Clinic Set by @syboubou

Ultimutt Indoor Potty Pad by @ravasheencc

Muttropolitan Pet Clutter by @ravasheencc

Purrfect Pet Clutter by @ravasheencc

Meowdern Pet Clutter by @ravasheencc

Carousel Cat Bed by @pixelvibes

Chicken Cat Bed by @pixelvibes

Paw Love by @leosims4cc

Western Set by @leosims4cc

Natural Colored Horse Balls by SassandFreckles

CAS Favorites:

Stuff for Dapper Dogs by @sforzcc

Stuff for Cranky Cats by @sforzcc

Service Cat Vest by Sturmfalke

Service Dog Vest by Sturmfalke

--

The end! ♡

[autotopic]

1938 Mercedes-Benz W154

In September 1936, the AIACR (Association Internationale des Automobile Clubs Reconnus), the governing body of motor racing, set the new Grand Prix regulations effective from 1938. Key stipulations included a maximum engine displacement of three liters for supercharged engines and 4.5 liters for naturally aspirated engines, with a minimum car weight ranging from 400 to 850 kilograms, depending on engine size.

By the end of the 1937 season, Mercedes-Benz engineers were already hard at work developing the new W154, exploring various ideas, including a naturally aspirated engine with a W24 configuration, a rear-mounted engine, direct fuel injection, and fully streamlined bodies. Ultimately, due to heat management considerations, they opted for an in-house developed 60-degree V12 engine designed by Albert Heess. This engine mirrored the displacement characteristics of the 1924 supercharged two-liter M 2 L 8 engine, with each of its 12 cylinders displacing 250 cc. Using glycol as a coolant allowed temperatures to reach up to 125°C. The engine featured four overhead camshafts operating 48 valves via forked rocker arms, with three cylinders combined under welded coolant jackets, and non-removable heads. It had a high-capacity lubrication system, circulating 100 liters of oil per minute, and initially utilized two single-stage superchargers, later replaced by a more efficient two-stage supercharger in 1939.

The first prototype engine ran on the test bench in January 1938, and by February 7, it had achieved a nearly trouble-free test run, producing 427 hp (314 kW) at 8,000 rpm. During the first half of the season, drivers such as Caracciola, Lang, von Brauchitsch, and Seaman had access to 430 hp (316 kW), which later increased to over 468 hp (344 kW). At the Reims circuit, Hermann Lang's W154 was equipped with the most powerful version, delivering 474 hp (349 kW) and reaching 283 km/h (176 mph) on the straights. Notably, the W154 was the first Mercedes-Benz racing car to feature a five-speed gearbox.

Max Wagner, tasked with designing the suspension, had an easier job than his counterparts working on the engine. He retained much of the advanced chassis architecture from the previous year's W125 but enhanced the torsional rigidity of the frame by 30 percent. The V12 engine was mounted low and at an angle, with the carburetor air intakes extending through the expanded radiator grille.

The driver sat to the right of the propeller shaft, and the W154's sleek body sat close to the ground, lower than the tops of its tires. This design gave the car a dynamic appearance and a low center of gravity. Both Manfred von Brauchitsch and Richard Seaman, whose technical insights were highly valued by Chief Engineer Rudolf Uhlenhaut, praised the car's excellent handling.

The W154 became the most successful Silver Arrow of its era. Rudolf Caracciola secured the 1938 European Championship title (as the World Championship did not yet exist), and the W154 won three of the four Grand Prix races that counted towards the championship.

To ensure proper weight distribution, a saddle tank was installed above the driver's legs. In 1939, the addition of a two-stage supercharger boosted the V12 engine, now named the M163, to 483 hp (355 kW) at 7,800 rpm. Despite the AIACR's efforts to curb the speed of Grand Prix cars, the new three-liter formula cars matched the lap times of the 1937 750-kg formula cars, demonstrating that their attempt was largely unsuccessful. Over the winter of 1938-39, the W154 saw several refinements, including a higher cowl line around the cockpit for improved driver safety and a small, streamlined instrument panel mounted to the saddle tank. As per Uhlenhaut’s philosophy, only essential information was displayed, centered around a large tachometer flanked by water and oil temperature gauges, ensuring the driver wasn't overwhelmed by unnecessary data.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1970 Chrysler 300 Hurst

One of the great unknowns about the 1970 Chrysler 300 Hurst is exactly how many cars were built. Estimates put the total as low as 485, and as high as 502 cars. Regardless of what the figure actually is, the car itself is a pretty special piece of machinery.

The 300 Hurst is a giant of a car at 19′ in length. All of the Hursts rolled off the production line finished in Spinnaker White. The cars were then shipped to the Hurst factory in Warminster, Pennsylvania, where a substantial transformation was performed. The first change to be made was the removal of the standard Chrysler steel hood skin, which was replaced with a fiberglass unit. This featured a decorative hood scoop and the obligatory set of recessed hood locks. The deck lid was also removed, and once again, a fiberglass replacement, complete with a spoiler integrated with the rear quarter panels, was also installed. The White paintwork was complimented by the addition of Satin Tan highlights and contrasting pinstripes, and the wheels were adorned with the same Satin Tan color in the centers. This Hurst is a clean car, with a small area of rust visible in the lower section of the driver’s side front fender, and surface corrosion present on the car’s underside. The Spinnaker White paint appears to be in good condition, but there has been some deterioration of the Satin Tan paint on both the hood and the deck lid. The exterior trim and chrome all look good, while the tinted glass is close to perfect.

The 300 Hurst was a premium car at a premium price, so naturally, it required a premium interior. In this case, seat upholstery was available in a single type and color. Continuing the exterior theme, the color is Saddle Tan, and the material is leather. The plush front seats are not standard 300 items but have been pilfered from the Imperial parts bin. While the original intention was for a Hurst shifter to be part of the interior features, this is something that never eventuated. The interior of this Hurst is close to perfect, with a single discolored spot on the dash pad being the most obvious fault. The rest of it presents in virtually as-new condition, and as befits a luxury car, it is loaded with luxury touches. These include air conditioning, power windows, six-way power seats, cruise control, a remote trunk release, and I think that there also might be an 8-track player hanging under the dash.

The 300 Hurst was the biggest of the muscle cars, and as such, it needed a big motor to get it moving. In this case, it is the TNT 440 engine, pumping out 375hp. The Hurst also features a 727 TorqueFlite transmission, a 3.23 rear end, power steering, power brakes, heavy-duty rear springs and front torsion bars, and sway bars. The exhaust was a full dual system, ending in quad tips. This Hurst hasn’t seen a lot of recent use, and documentation confirms that between 1986 and 2019, it managed to accumulate a grand total of 20 miles! Since being removed from its climate-controlled storage, it has undergone a meticulous mechanical check and recommissioning, and it is now said to run and drive perfectly. The owner does suggest that while the tires look good, they are pretty olds, and replacing them might be a good idea. He also says that the Hurst may need mufflers fairly soon. The car does come with a fair collection of documentation, including the original Build Sheet and Window Sticker, a pristine Certi-Card, Owner’s Manual, as well as dealer paperwork and other assorted items.

While there has always been some question surrounding the build totals for the 1970 300 Hurst, one thing is certain, and that is that there are less than 300 cars in existence today. Pristine examples can fetch sums in excess of $30,000, and even a rough example in need of restoration can still sell for anywhere around $13,000. This one doesn’t need a major restoration, but it does require some cosmetic work. I’m not sure where bidding is eventually going to go with this one, but I would suspect that it will be somewhere around the low to mid $20,000 mark. Even at that price, it probably wouldn’t be a bad buy.

[victimeyez]

The Dollhouse

Chapter 28 of Professional//Victim

Tommy is paralyzed for his client, and begins his role as a doll.

CW: Captive whumpee, intimate whumper, drugged whump, dehumanization, "willing" whumpee, medical whump, medical torture, doll whumpee, doll fetishization, desecration of remains, and strong horror elements.

~

Dae-Ho opened the door with a warm smile and eyes filled with excitement. Tommy recognized him from the brief video chat they’d had over Caius’s phone. 

“Tommy, Caius, Sam! You came! Please, please come inside!” He ushered them in like family long since seen. Stepping into the foyer, Tommy took a quick moment to take in the place. The lobby more resembled the waiting room of a spa, designed to be warm and calming. A wax heater perfumed the air with some scent, clean and slightly sweet. A fountain feature built into the far wall made for an exquisite accent, incorporating rustic slabs of warm-toned river stones with a little waterfall trickling through merrily. It was carefully fashioned to appear naturalistic, leaning away from a cool cement design that could bring to mind cemetery features. 

Neatly aligned chairs and couches were offered for anyone waiting, furbished with a soft tan hide and cushy padding tight enough to still offer support. An enormous persian rug carpeted most of the room, light and clean with dark blue accents to help balance the warmer tones. There was an office attached, and a small counter crafted to still appear open and welcoming. A soundscape of soothing nature sounds permeated quietly, accompanied by string instrumentals light enough to calm but not depress, 

I could never afford to die here, Tommy thought. There was a distinct feeling he always got when they visited the ritzy places many of his clientele inhabited. Truly, it was almost the same that he felt in his life before. As an impoverished punk in ill-fitting thrift store clothing, whenever he visited anywhere that displayed a modicum of wealth, he got a distinct feeling of being alien and misplaced. I don’t belong here. He knew it, and everyone else did, too. He did his best to act otherwise, but he simply couldn’t hold his space the way people experienced with luxury could. Especially now, deprived as he was within his meager living space. Even the rest of Caius’s house felt too fancy for his worth. 

If Dae-Ho judged him, he did not show it. His eyes twinkled excitedly behind his horn-rimmed glasses, kind and inviting. He was exquisitely dressed in a fitted black suit, with subtle paisley dyed slightly darker in a shadow-like effect. In lieu of a tie, he wore a well tied cravat of magenta with a matching pink and white pocket square. He wore shiny saddle shoes with shiny magenta laces. If he had donned a top hat and a cane, it would not have looked out of place. 

“Tea or coffee for you gentleman?” Dae-Ho swept a hand towards a stand beside the desk, laden with various coffee and tea accoutrements. 

“Coffee sounds good,” Sam suggested. 

“I wouldn’t turn down an earl grey, if you have it. Would you like anything yourself, Dae-Ho? Tommy would be happy to serve you,” Caius asked, his customer service voice in full force. Dae-Ho smiled and waved his hand easily. 

“Nonsense! You are all my guests, I am excited to have new additions to the tea party. I make everything for it myself, though dinner tonight will be catered so we can maximize our time together. If you’d accompany me to the mortuary, I have a sanitized space available where you can prepare Tommy.” Dae-Ho took Tommy’s hand in his and squeezed lightly, giving Tommy a giddy look as if they were sharing a private joke. He led them back down a couple hallways, followed closely by Caius and Sam. 

There was an electronic keypad Dae-Ho unlocked to enter the lab, and he held the door for Caius and Sam without letting go of Tommy’s hand. His grip was oddly gentle, his hands a little damp, the only indication he might be nervous. The flooring inside was a black and white tile dotted with intermittent drains, with a wall of morgue drawers along the back. There was a main slab in the middle of the room, but it resembled an adjustable hospital bed more than a classic metal autopsy table. No railings, allowing for easy access, but it was padded and covered in a shiny laminate for cleanliness. Other rolling racks and trays were stored neatly to one side. Sam whistled, looking around appreciatively, as if being shown some kind of pornography for custom labs. There was an acrid smell to the room here though, a far cry from the melted wax scents in the foyer.

“I have something special for you, Tommy. I had it tailored to you, per those measurements Caius sent,” Dae-Hold told him, dropping his hand to go collect his gift from one of the cabinets. Tommy wasn’t aware of any measurements Caius had sent him, but he knew Sam occasionally took his body measurements when he lost weight. Dae-Ho came back with a long and thin gift box, wrapped and tied thoughtfully with a silky red ribbon. The bow it culminated in looked complicated, and he hesitated to touch it when Dae-Ho set it on the slab before him. 

He had been trying to read Dae-Ho since they met eyes at the door. There were plenty of things he could surmise about him from the state of the manor, the decoration, and his personal sense of style. It was interesting how he was treating them like friends, dropping the formal pretense of a business transaction in spite of his careful state of dress. Tommy had anticipated being regarded as a doll from the very start, not that Dae-Ho would acknowledge him and act so fondly. He had asked Tommy to say hello to him over the phone, but Tommy had dismissed it as a kind of wind-up doll desire. Pull the string to hear what your dolly has to say!

What he couldn’t tell yet was Dae-Ho’s intentions. His joy and hospitality felt very genuine, regardless of the circumstances. 

You know this, you just can’t quite put your finger on it. What does a doll have to offer?

“Tommy?” Dae-Ho prompted, when the gift wasn’t readily accepted.

A doll offers…

The coin dropped. He remembered then, something he had already forgotten that he knew.

A doll offers companionship. He wants a companion. One without needs, one that never disagrees or dislikes the things he likes. Companionship without the emotional risk of genuine human connection. 

A people pleaser. Specifically, a Dae-Ho pleaser. I can do this. I can be this doll. 

Tommy shifted gears abruptly to accommodate, straightening his posture and smiling brightly. Dao-Ho flinched in surprise, but Tommy was tuning in. 

“Wow, this is beautiful Dae-Ho! You are so thoughtful. I’m afraid to open it, it already looks so nice, I don’t even know where to start,” he gushed, touching the sides of the box reverently. He tipped his head down slightly to look up at him through his eyelashes, giving a shy but flirtatious smile. Dae-Ho’s eyes immediately widened, giving him a broad grin back, even taking a step closer as if Tommy had magnetized him. 

“The pleasure is all mine, I wanted you to have it. Would you like help opening it?”

“Yes please,” Tommy said, giving him a little embarrassed smile. Dae-Ho’s eyes gleamed manically, and he tugged on one end of the ribbon, drawing it slowly to watch it unfurl. 

When he lifted the lid, Tommy got a look inside. It took a second to make sense of what he was looking at, but after his experience with all the strappy nightmares Caius put him in, this one was easy to figure out. Unfolded, it was a thickly braided wire armature with leather straps attached to buckle it on. It was shaped a little like a stick figure with no head. He could make the leap without an explanation - this would buckle like a body harness onto him, with a wire skeleton that they could use to pose him. He tested a wire braid with his hands, and it was pretty strong, but still bendable by hand with some force. 

Tommy felt nauseous looking at it. He’d known he would be paralyzed, but this felt grotesque. The threat of impending helplessness made the little color he had drain from his face. 

“You’ll be the best dolly,” Dae-Ho reassured him. Tommy kept his forced smile, but he held it with a grim resolve.

“Thank you Dae-Ho, this is very special.” 

He numbly followed orders to strip, and stand there naked, his arms and legs held away from his body as the armature was attached. The wire at the top had a smaller ring that attached the metal spine through his collar. He supposed it was easier to get it on before he was paralyzed, but once it was on, he was out of time to remain autonomous. Stiffened now with the armature in place, Dae-Ho generously helped him onto the table. As he laid down, he felt as if he was resting his head in the cradle of a guillotine. When Sam lined up a tray of shots and leaned over him, Tommy imagined the rope in his gloved hands, ready to cut it and get the session started in earnest. 

“What I’m going to be administering today is a series of pain blocks at the base of each limb. These are localized anesthetics that will prevent any sensation at all throughout each appendage, until it starts to fade after about seven hours. He also will be unable to move the limbs at all. I had one of these done when I got surgery on my arm – I had to hold my arm in my other hand when I walked for the rest of the day, otherwise it would start swinging like dead meat from my shoulder.” 

Dae-Ho laughed like Sam was telling a joke. 

“The only parts he’ll be able to feel, or have any muscle control, will be from here-” Sam drew imaginary lines with his finger over where Tommy’s thigh connected to his groin over to the base of his hip, severing his legs completely.

“-to here.” He drew lines from the base of each of Tommy’s shoulders down through his armpits.

“Ah…” Dae-Ho flanked Tommy’s other side and reached out to touch him, stroking an appreciative hand down his chest to his stomach. 

“So smooth,” he complimented. 

A gentle hand like that could have been something Tommy enjoyed, but under the circumstances, it revolted him. Dae-Ho’s hand stopped just above his groin and he held Tommy’s hip instead.

“Will he still be able to feel pleasure?” 

Tommy’s stomach churned. Sam looked slightly put off, as if disgusted by the idea. Like he hadn’t unloaded down Tommy’s throat the night before. 

“Yes, he should still be able to feel…everything. Like that.”

“Good,” Dae-Ho breathed. He reached up to touch Tommy’s lips, tracing them with a finger. As part of his “dollification”, Caius had used a lip stain on him that made them look pinker and plumper. He’d even glued on false lashes, delicately curled to give him a more doll-like appearance. The final touch had been the colored contacts, wide emerald irises on top of his natural greens.

“I have a few rules for you, so I need you to listen closely, okay?” Dae-Ho reached up to tap his own ear, as if instructing a toddler. The top of the wire armature was uncomfortable against the back of his skull under where Tommy was laying. He nodded. 

“One - dolls are always happy.” Dae-Ho smiled and pointed to the corners of his mouth. Tommy answered by mirroring his smile in a mirthless mask. 

“Good! Two, dolls do not speak. If Dae-Ho wants you to speak, Dae-Ho will tell you.” Dae-Ho pointed to himself, as if it was not clear, even when slipping into third-person. Tommy nodded. It would be a nice break from trying to guess what the right things to say were, at least.

“Three, dolls do not cry. Dolls are happy to be with Dae-Ho, dolls do not speak and complain, and dolls do not cry. Okay?” 

Hadn’t he just been thinking about that? It was eerie. He definitely hadn’t said anything about it to Dae-Ho, and wracking his brain, he couldn’t recall Caius saying anything about it. They hadn’t discussed it in the short video call. 

Sometimes he did this with Caius, when he would say something and Caius would look at him like he’d just read his mind. I was just thinking that! Are you having one of your little psychic moments, Tommy? He would ask playfully. 

Psychic - as if. If he was, he would have run before Caius could take him. Maybe he wouldn’t have agreed to finally go to church with Mom, for just one Sunday. If he hadn't gone, he never would have met Caius’s mother. He never would have met Caius. And sure, cancelling would have disappointed Ma, but that wouldn’t have been any change of pace. 

“I’ll go start the tea. When I come back - we follow the rules, okay?” Tommy gave Dae-Ho a mechanical nod, and he breezed out. 

Tommy counted ceiling tiles while Sam cleaned a spot by his hip with an alcohol wipe. He hated needles. He didn’t usually go weak at the knees about them anymore, not after all the hundreds of injections they’d put him through over the years. Vaccines, antibiotics, scar treatments, anesthetics, muscle relaxants, steroids, cocktails Sam cooked up and didn’t even tell him what he was being injected with. Not to mention, more stitches than he could count. 

He remembered, suddenly, something he hadn’t thought about in a long time. His piercer, back home, a lifetime ago. She worked out of a tattoo parlor with no name, just the generic TATTOOS sign on the side of an old road in a bad part of town. His bad part of town. But she was gentle, as gentle as one could be with a needle, and he knew because he’d gotten other piercings elsewhere. 

Anika was tall, making him feel especially small when she stood before him as he sat on the edge of the tattoo table. She was so pretty, with all her piercings, her voice deep and sweet. He’d liked her short hair, but her new braids looked good too, loose strands framing her face with the rest swept into a high messy bun. He liked the way she laid her baby hairs, in tiny little curls around her hairline.

“Alright, don’t forget to breathe. Quick pinch. Breathe in…” Tommy took a slow breath in, and the needle slid through the shell of his ear. She quickly slid the piercing into place, leaving it in as she retracted the piercing needle. “-aaaaand breathe out. Good boy, you always take it like a champ.” His heart fluttered a little in his chest, the way she said it. 

Words like that were different nowadays. Maybe that’s why Caius chose him. Saw his hopeless need to please somehow, and decided to make Tommy please him. 

Sam pushed the needle into his shoulder. Breathe in, Anika said, an echo from years ago. He breathed in, slow. The numbness started to streak down his arm immediately, and Sam pulled the needle out. Breathe out…good boy, Tommy, she complimented. It didn’t matter that she never called him Tommy, when he knew her. It didn’t matter that she never even remembered his name. 

She talked him through each injection, comforting even as Sam worked with clinical austerity. Tommy focused on his hands, making them into fists, relax, fists, relax. Curling his toes, uncurl, curl, uncurl. Until they felt weaker, and weaker, and numb, until he couldn’t feel them at all. Like they’d been amputated, no signal at all that they were even there.

The best he could do was wiggle a little by tensing his stomach. His limbs, the bulk of his bodyweight, were suddenly dead weights, fleshy anchors he couldn’t unbind. This wasn’t just being tied up - he was completely imprisoned in his body. 

Tears welled in his eyes before he could stop it. It felt like the contacts might actually help a little as he blinked them back, trying to compose himself. Sam returned to his side, holding a steel water bottle. 

“Open,” he coaxed, twisting the lid off. Tommy did, but Sam pinched his nose anyway, pouring the water into his mouth. At least, he’d expected water, but there was a kind of chemical taste to it, something sweet. He swallowed it to keep from choking, but when Sam pulled the bottle back, a pink trickle dribbled down the side. 

Bastard, Tommy swore internally. He should have guessed Sam was drugging him when he waited until Tommy was unable to move to have him drink. Caius pulled a tissue from his bag and dabbed around Tommy’s lips.

Completely unable to move, no matter what happened, for the next seven or so hours. Fed aphrodisiacs, while he couldn’t fight back, while he couldn’t attempt to cover himself. The helpless feeling suddenly became overwhelming, and a few tears overflowed, even as he struggled to hold them back. 

“Oh dear. It’s alright, little one, be brave for me,” Caius cooed. He ran a hand softly over Tommy’s belly, soothing him with a gentle touch. In spite of everything, it helped. He wiped the tears away with the tissue.

“Is it scary?”

Tommy’s throat was too thick to speak. He managed a nod. Caius gave him a look of sympathy, more than Tommy would have expected after his demands. Sam’s face reflected his similar bewilderment.

“This won’t be so bad. He just wants to play with you, he doesn’t have any plans to hurt you. You can eat and drink, he really does have a tea party planned. We will be with you in case you need anything. Did you have fun at the aquarium?”

“Yes,” Tommy croaked, and then cleared his throat. “Yes, I did, thank you, it was beautiful. I had a lot of fun.” Less hoarse this time, and the leaking from his eyes was quickly subsiding.

Caius did a little more shuffling in his bag, and his touch returned to Tommy’s face with a powder brush, covering up the pink on his nose and the red around his eyes. “I had fun with you, too,” Caius admitted, and something about it brought a funny smile back to Tommy’s face. 

Deep breaths. You can do this. You don’t even have to talk. Play dolls with him. Just…babysitting.

Definitely not babysitting, another part of him reminded cruelly. He wanted to know if you can feel pleasure, they drugged you with the aphrodisiac. You’re going to spend the day as the perfect unwilling fuck doll and there’s nothing you can do about it. Tommy tried to shove those thoughts to the side in order to keep his newfound composure. 

Sam pinched and poked his arms to test the numbness. It might as well have been done to someone else, for the amount of sensation Tommy got from it. When Dae-Ho came back, his gaze on Tommy was hungry.

“Let’s get you dressed up again, shall we?”

The armature harness had replaced the fashion harness part of the outfit that he had chosen, but Dae-Ho pulled his stack of clothes from the counter where Tommy had folded them.

Trying to bend the armature to make his limbs follow was unsuccesful. After some fussing, Dae-Ho realized he could bend it much easier by manipulating Tommy’s limbs themselves, letting his weight help apply force to bend them the way he wanted. The wire was strong enough then to hold him in place. Dae-Ho posed him a few times for fun, and then used it to bend his limbs in positions that made dressing him easier. 

“I should use these for all my bodies!” Dae-Ho exclaimed, a little breathy from the effort. Tommy had been dressed by Caius and a few others before, when he was unable - or unwilling - to dress himself. Not in the things some of the clients wanted, especially at the beginning. Tommy knew better than to fight back much anymore, though he had just made his little stand in the car earlier.  

When he was dressed again, in his blousy white dress shirt and black latex pants and matching bowtie, Dae-Ho laced him into a pair of saddle shoes with spats. He was settled into a wheelchair, lowered in with practiced ease by Dae-Ho. He was deceptively strong underneath his fine suit. Tommy was wheeled to the stairs then, Caius and Sam trailing behind, and stopped at a stair lift waiting at the bottom. He’d only ever seen them in commercials before, of elderly people smiling as they buckled themselves into the seat to be pulled up the stairs on a motorized track. He could see it installed up the wall, rounded off at the corners to go up the stairs, turn onto the landing, and continue up the next flight that changed direction. 

Dae-Ho turned to Sam. 

“Doctor, will you please help me move it onto the lift?” Sam had a pinch in his forehead, but after a hesitant look to Caius, he agreed. Not being able to feel or move his limbs was uncomfortable to Tommy - any part of him that wasn’t supported hung limply down, and he couldn’t help at all. As he was settled into the chair and buckled in, his arms bent awkwardly in front of him. Sam moved his hands into his lap, and one immediately fell off, dangling strangely. The best he could do was attempt to sit up and back to move his arms back in, but they were nothing more than warm dead anchors hanging from his shoulder. He also couldn’t adjust his hips to sit up, so he hung uselessly in his harness. 

With the press of a button, the chair let out a grinding sound and started to advance up the wall. At the corner, he heard his ankle bash the wall, but he couldn’t feel it at all. The helpless feeling was significantly worse than when he was bound and he could strain against his bindings - this was more intimate, more violating, the way it robbed him of the little autonomy he had left. 

The machine went slower than walking speed, so the others met him again at the top after passing him. Dae-Ho already had another wheelchair ready, and he flopped haphazardly in with a push. The acrid smell had grown sharper, turning sour and musty, though the upstairs appeared clean and brightly lit. Caius wrinkled his nose slightly, struggling to be polite, but Sam gave a look of open disgust. 

Tommy was wheeled into a lavish dining room, made up as the pinnacle of a lavish art-deco design. It felt like it belonged in a scene from The Great Gatsby. The center of the room was dominated by a round table - and the rest of the company had already found their places. Dolls were seated around the table, some propped up in chairs, others in wheelchairs like Tommy. They were of varying sizes, some child-size while others appeared as tall as Caius. There were a variety of designs among them - some very simple, others far more realistic. One had clearly been a scarecrow, a few were just mannequins, and a couple of halloween prop dummies with plastic heads and hands. One seat held a long body pillow with a pillowcase featuring an anime girl posed in a vulnerable way, blushing. 

There was a gigantic Barbie and Ken, their placid smiles unsettling at such a size. Next to them sat what looked like a crash test dummy that had been badly painted, the mouth too low on the face, the eyes too far apart. A large green power ranger plushie had a spot, as well as a plastic Optimus Prime that stood up stiffly in his chair. One seemed to be an evil clown animatronic, another one a human-sized plushie blue tiger.

 Tommy preferred that to the ones that were obviously sex dolls, made with an attempt at realism that was undermined by their soulless faces and cartoonish proportions. Most of the dolls were dressed in roaring 20’s outfits, but the sex dolls wore skimpy club wear that highlighted their enormous plastic breasts and tiny waists. Other more detailed mannequins had closer to human proportions, all slightly different shapes and sizes, but their plastic faces were identical - one face for all the “women”, and another for the “men”. Their eyes were sunken, but more lifelike in color and size, the glossy glass orbs taking on a wet look. Wigs, flapper dresses, patterned suits, and fake eyelashes abound. 

Dae-Ho’s seat was obvious, as an empty throne of garish gold. He had a sex doll immediately to the left, and wheeled Tommy into an empty spot to the right. Caius and Sam took to a couch on the side, away from the table. 

“You all get to know each other a bit, and I’ll be back with everything for the tea party,” Dae-Ho addressed his inanimate guests, and left the room.

The smell was strong, though if Dae-Ho noticed, he didn’t mind. As soon as he left, Sam started searching the room. 

“We’re not casing the joint, you know,” Caius mused, as Sam made his way around the edge of the room. 

“It smells like - something, I can’t put my finger on it, but it reeks in here,” Sam explained, opening the drawers of a wardrobe. He sniffed over one, made a face, and started to rummage through. 

“We are directly above his embalming room, you’re probably smelling something from that,” Caius pointed out, but they all knew the smell had been fainter in the lab below. Sam ignored him, moving on to another drawer.

“Hey,” Caius said sharply, and both Tommy and Sam jumped. Well, as much as Tommy could jump. 

“We are guests here. Stop touching his things, put everything back exactly the way it was, and sit. Down.” Caius hissed, and it sent Sam quickly packing everything back in. It felt a little like a mother reigning in her boys, though Tommy sat dutifully in his place at the table - not that he could do anything else. 

“Just let me look at the dolls,” Sam mustered, passing the couch to inspect them. Caius sighed.

“If he comes back and sees you, he very well might invite you to the table. And if he does - you will sit down at that table and shut your mouth, so help me god.”

Sam sniffed around the circle, but he mostly just seemed curious about the dolls. He poked the animatronic in the eyes, and posed the Optimus Prime with his little hands on the table. When he got to a sex doll, he squeezed her breasts, giving a mischievous smile to Caius. 

“Jealous?” He waggled his eyebrows up and down goofily. Caius rolled his eyes, a smile tugging at the corner of his thin lips. 

“Hardly. If you want some big silicon tits, I know a doctor who might be able to help.” 

Sam twiddled with the swollen boobs. “They even have nipples.”

“Of course, how else would she breast feed?” Caius said dryly, but he was enjoying his boyfriend’s antics a bit. 

Sam reached the mannequin beside Tommy, and pulled it back to sit upright so he could take a closer look. 

“These ones have like - I think these are real human replacement eyes, like if you lose an eye? Do they use those on bodies?”

“No, much worse, they put these little hooked pieces inside to keep the eyelids closed,” Caius supplied helpfully. Sam and Tommy made the same face at the same time in response to the information. 

“I knew a doll fucker, this guy Pete. Had a whole ‘harem’ of the things, even had a wedding ceremony with at least one of them. I almost went, just to see, but there wasn’t an open bar and the ceremony was supposed to be like two hours long. But he was collecting these mannequins that they used in a couple high end places in France or something, they were super articulated and rare. These might be those types, or something like it.” Sam squeezed one of the arms. 

“What do you bet all of these have a fleshlight installed? I bet even Optimus over there is rocking something.” Sam pulled the wig hair back to get a better look, and made a face. 

“Oh, shit, this thing stinks. I hope we don’t have a-” Sam stopped suddenly, freezing in place.

“Don’t,” Tommy whispered.

Sam pressed something behind the ear, palpating it with his fingers before switching to picking at it with his fingernails. 

“Sam don’t-”

Sam tugged shortly, and then slower, drawing out an enormous metal pin that had been hidden inside the head. The awful smell grew much more intense, and a foul brown liquid dripped down the side of the doll’s face from where the pin had been pulled. 

Why Sam couldn’t leave it be, Tommy would never know. But when Sam pushed the wig away from the hole to see, the doll’s head shifted and opened like a clam, the face swinging open and away, clicking lightly when it hit the hinge behind the other ear. Plastic blond ringlets fell in the way as Sam let go, but they couldn’t cover enough of what was inside. 

The face underneath was leathery and shiny, with glass-like cracking in areas. All the shellac in the world couldn’t keep a body from rotting. The false eyes were glued over blackened sockets, obtrusive and bulging. Her lips were painted on poorly, closer resembling a beak, and the thin shell of preservative was the only thing shaping the nose, which seemed to have liquified underneath. 

The smell was putrid and overwhelming, and both Tommy and Sam turned away to retch. Sam crossed the room away from it, leaving Tommy dry heaving beside the body. 

With a horrified realization, Tommy looked up and counted the other dolls with the sunken, human eyes. Six total, hunched over in wheelchairs around the table. Sam was swearing, but Caius stepped up beside Tommy to look, holding a hand over his lower face. 

Doing a once over of the "doll", Caius sighed.

"Damn."

~

Taglist:

@suspicious-whumping-egg  @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi @whumpyourdamnpears @generic-whumperz @lonesome--hunter

@whumplr-reader @theelvishcowgirl @sunshiline-writes @dont-be-gentle-please @galesgallery

@2in1whump @sparrowsage @apokolyps @whumpinggrounds

@morning-star-whump @leviiio @alexmundaythrufriday @defire @jumpywhumpywriter

@light-me-on-pyre @slightlydisturbedbeans @dislexiher @knivestothroats @paperprinxe

@watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees

Thank you all so much for reading!!!

[x-populuxe]

Rating: Explicit Fandom: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies) Relationship: Erik Lehnsherr/Charles Xavier Characters: Erik Lehnsherr, Charles Xavier Additional Tags: Bodyswap, Power Swap, Gay Mutant Road Trip, Telepathy, Alcohol, Smoking, See notes for bodyswap-specific warning Words: 16,806 Summary: He wiggles a set of sturdy, blunt fingers that he unfortunately knows all too well, and then he raises his other hand and wiggles those sturdy, blunt fingers, too. They’re his hands—he’s making them move, and he can feel them moving—but they’re obviously not his hands. “For God’s sake, Erik,” his doppelgänger snaps. He points to the mirror above the fireplace. “Stand up and properly look.” A few weeks into their mutant-collecting road trip, Charles and Erik approach a boy with a very special mutation—who subsequently turns his abilities on them. Trapped in each others’ bodies (and saddled with each others’ powers), it seems like an inconvenience at first, but it will have consequences neither of them could have predicted.

Back in the spring, @bronzeagepizzeria put together a great prompt list for the "Revive Cherik" event that included BODYSWAPPING, a trope I have always loved. So I set aside my five simultaneous WIPs thinking I could knock off a quick fun bodyswap fic set during the Gay Mutant Road Trip and....well, it's October 25th. It's finished though! Let's say it's now seasonal. 🎃

This is the first explicit fic I've ever posted (!) and it's also got a content warning about the circumstances of (some of) that explicitness. If you're interested, please see the notes—up top for the basics, at the end for more (spoilery) details. And thanks again to my beta extraordinaire @1degosuperego for encouraging my attempts at explicit scenes, and especially for helping me sort out the chaos of two bodyswapped "he"s lol. It's all very confusing for them, too!

[purehypnotic]

can i kindly req for arthur morgan hcs,, he falls in love with reader?? -🩷

thank you SO SO much for this request !! it’s our pleasure, love you! hope we did you justice

🧸🏜 arthur morgan x reader, falling in love HCs 🏜🧸

gender neutral, sfw

𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡

-Arthur slumped in his seat near the bar, thumbing a chipped glass of whiskey. The sun was beating down mercilessly on Valentine, and Arthur found relief in the shade of the saloon.

-until he saw your body fling across the window outside.

-ever the good samaritan, Arthur scrambled to check on you. He tripped on his own feet to rush and survey the situation, expecting the worst reasons as to why you would be thrown so harshly.

-His hand flew to his mouth to stifle a chuckle when he saw a riderless horse and your ankle tangled up in the reins.

-Arthur bit back a smartass comment as he went to help you up, when a few things about you caught his eye.

-first, your outfit was buttoned wrong, as if you had rushed to throw something on.

-second, you weren’t wearing spurs (who the hell doesn’t wear spurs around here?)

-and third, you flinched like a feral cat when he hauled you up by the waist. Arthur had a sneaking suspicion of what was going on.

-“You don’t know how to ride a horse, do ya now?” He squinted at you.

-You lifted a finger to the man’s face, ready to spit back at the accusation when you locked eyes with him.

-Something in his gaze told you he wasn’t trying to belittle you, just offering a hand.

-Lowering your hand, you let out a sigh of frustration. You had run for so long, had fought with everything you had, but still couldn’t figure out how to mount a damn horse. But the blue eyed man in front of you seemed like he knew. He seemed sturdy, reliable, and you had given up all dignity when you caught yourself nearly drooling over his build.

-Grabbing the reins of the horse, you hung your head and held them out to Arthur’s chest.

-”just help please”

-He explained each piece of equipment, showed you how to approach the pony without spooking it, and he found himself laughing when you struggled to jump atop the saddle.

-He offered you a boost, letting his hands linger on you for a bit longer than necessary. You let out a laugh of victory, and the pure joy on your face knocked the breath from Arthur’s lungs.

-With the rush of his racing heart, Arthur impulsively hauled himself up behind you.

-”This alright?” He asked in a low voice as he reached around you to grab the reins. He adjusted himself so he could speak closer to your ear, and his movement caused your back to press into his chest.

-(he did it on purpose).

- Arthur spent the rest of his day taking you on a tour through some backroads, teaching you to steer the whole way through.

-It was the most peaceful evening he’d ever had.

-You made conversation easy. The strange way his heart pounded made him loose-lipped around you, and he gladly told you snippets of his life.

-He told you stories about growing up in the gang, about tricking John into taking showers, about Hosea teaching him to read. And you accepted each story as if they were nuggets of gold. (he loved that)

-You had eventually opened up to him about being a runaway, explaining that you had never needed to learn to ride before going on the run. His heart squeezed to think of what you must have seen.

-As the sun dipped low and the sky turned purple, Arthur realized he had guided your horse toward camp out of habit.

-Despite being a hardened, tough man, Arthur couldn’t let you go.

-He pressed a kiss to your hair and decided that another addition to the gang couldn’t hurt.

𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡⋆ 𖤓⋆｡° ✮ 𓄀⋆⭒˚｡

as always,

love katie 💌

[sirianasims]

Chapter 44.2

Summer is coming to an end, and the warm glow of the early evening bathes everything in gold, casting long shadows and making everything seem almost dreamlike. The sturdy planks of the bridge creak slightly as we cross, the sound blending with the gentle thuds of hooves against wood and the faint rush of the river below. In the distance, the constant song of the waterfalls form a faint, rumbling backdrop.

The sound of Serafina’s hooves changes as we leave the bridge and turn onto the cobbled stone road that leads to the estate. On evenings like this, I love Tartosa so much it makes my heart ache, and I wonder why I ever leave. The air smells sweeter here than anywhere else, a hint of saltwater mingling with the ever-present lavender and the more subtle, grassy notes of the earth itself.

I slow Serafina down as we reach the large mosaic that marks the crossroads. The colour has faded slightly with time, but the motif is as clear as ever, two intertwined wedding bands surrounded by the waves of the Tartosan sea. My great-grandparents commissioned it for an anniversary years before I was even born, a tribute to their love story carved into the very ground.

Serafina tosses her head impatiently, the reins tugging on my hands and pulling me out of my reverie. I feel her muscles tense up under the saddle, and she paws at the ground with her foreleg, restless.

“Sorry, girl,” I murmur. “We’ll go back to your baby now.”

I dismount as soon as we reach the paddock, stroke her neck and thank her for the ride. The light sheen of sweat on her coat is warm against my palm, but her focus is not on me anymore. Her tail swishes in agitation as a delicate, high-pitched nicker can be heard from the stables and I quickly open the gate and lead her through.

My uncle Gio waits for us in the doorway, brushing bits of hay off his gloves. Behind him, Serafina’s foal whinnies excitedly at the sight of its mother.

“There you are. How did it go?” He takes the reins from my outstretched hand and lets the impatient mare into her stall.

“She did great, she’s definitely getting her strength back. I let her gallop along the coast for a bit, you should have seen her. She was practically flying.”

“That’s my girl,” Gio mumbles softly, almost to himself. “Thanks for taking her out, she needed the exercise. As much as Sofia tries, she can’t ride all of them every day and school starts back up soon. How long are you staying this time?”

“I haven’t decided yet. Another week, maybe more. I need a break from everything, some time to figure out what to do next.”

“And a week or two is enough for that?”

“It’s a start. I’ll be fine, you know me, Gio.”

“Exactly, I know you. Well, tell your aunt I’ll be in soon, I’m almost done here.”

“You don’t want any help?”

He laughs, waving me off.

“You were always more useful in the kitchen, my boy.”

As soon as I open the heavy front doors of the main house, I’m met with the sound of laughter. Aunt Teresa is wiping tears of mirth from her eyes as they both turn to me.

“Hi mum, Teresa. What’s so funny?”

My mother lights up at the sight of me, and I hurry over to give her a hug before she can attempt to stand.

“Paolo, did you happen to see Giovanni out there? Is he coming in too?”

“Soon, zia, he’s just making sure the vineyard doesn’t run out of fertiliser.”

My mother laughs, giving my arm a feeble squeeze with her left hand. “I don’t think that’ll happen any time soon.”

“Well, we better not take any chances, mum. The entire Romeo fortune could be at stake, and I’m currently unemployed.”

Teresa shakes her head, smiling, then calls towards the stairs. “Sofia? Come down, please.”

Seconds later, my youngest cousin skips down the stairs.

Her older sisters, Laura and Anna, both moved out years ago, but Sofia was a late surprise addition, still just a baby when I first moved to Del Sol Valley. To Gio’s endless joy, Sofia is just as obsessed with the horses as he is.

“Sofia, you can do your piano lesson while I make dinner. Is that alright with you, Rose?”

My mother nods and carefully gets up and walks to her usual chair by the piano. Her steps are agonisingly slow but dignified, and I resist the urge to help her, instead distracting myself by picking a few white horse hairs off my shirt.

Teresa disappears into the kitchen, and I opt for simply taking the shirt off before following her.

A copper pot simmers on low heat on the old stove. Teresa’s kitchen was always my favourite room in this house, filled with delicious smells and tastes. Ever since I could walk, I kept ending up in the kitchens, both here and at the vineyard, and my grandmother and aunts never hesitated to put me to work.

There are herbs everywhere, clay pots of fresh basil and oregano. Recently picked thyme and sage, still with their purple flowers, hangs from the ceiling and fills the air with their fragrance.

Teresa points to a bunch of ripe tomatoes by the sink, drying next to the carrots and zucchini she picked earlier.

“You can start by slicing the tomatoes.”

I wash my hands and begin cutting. There’s a small bowl of large, juicy grapes from the vineyard on the table, and I pop one into my mouth. The taste brings back memories of long summers helping out with the harvest, of sun and dirt and the first time I was allowed to taste the family wine.

“How are things over in Del Sol? Your mother says you’re no longer doing voices?”

“Yeah, the show I was working on has ended. But one of my friends is trying to set me up with her agent. For movie roles, I mean.”

“You’re going back to movies? That sounds wonderful! You were so happy back when you did that.”

I know for a fact that Teresa hasn’t watched a single second of Llama Man’s adventures, animated or otherwise, but she was always supportive.

“Yeah, I’m still considering it, but…”

A wildly off-key chord sounds from the living room, followed by laughter as my mother explains something and Sofia starts over.

I glance at the crutches leaning against the wall and lower my voice slightly, although my mother is unlikely to hear me over Sofia murdering a Tartosan folk song.

“How is she doing? When I’m not here, I mean?”

“You always worry too much, tesoro. Your mother is fine.”

“I know, I just… I haven’t been home much lately.”

“You’ve been busy. It’s understandable, you have your own life over there.”

“But now that… There’s nothing that really keeps me over there right now. And both her leg and her hand seems worse lately. I was wondering if I should take a longer break, stay home with her for a while…”

Teresa sighs.

“Paolo, listen to me. It is not your job to replace your father. Your mother is happy. She has family, she has friends, she has so much joy in her life. You need to try and find some joy in your life too.”

navigation / previous / next

[crocomum]

Lost Not Light: Chapter 2

Optimus Prime heeds Prowl's warnings about Megatron in the worst possible way; making him the tyrant's official chaperone aboard the Lost Light.

///////////////////////

Basically Prowl gets sent to the Lost Light for an attitude adjustment disguised as a mission and the Constructicons tag along, using the opportunity to more aggressively court their sixth now that he's essentially alone. ao3

Five Constructicons walk into a bar.

Chatter hushed to raised whispers; the bartender asked, “Any weapons?”

“Got your weapon right here,” Bonecrusher flexed. “A weapon of mass-construction.”

Awkward laughter, somebody coughed; the loud chatter and overcharged revelry recommenced. The little red and white bartender laughed the loudest, his expression of befuddled amusement. Bonecrusher grinned, real proud of himself for that one. Their entire night’s plan would fail if they couldn’t get their peds through Swerve’s door, and Bonecrusher was pretty sure he’d just earned them their ticket in with a good if hokey joke.

“Alright, alright,” the little bot nodded. “Tables are free, drinks aren’t—got any preference?”

Mixmaster took that as his cue to saddle up to the bar while the rest of them looked for the whole reason they’d decided to join in on the first night's fun.

Long Haul took point on locating their objective, using his height to scan over the crowd. Scavenger, their most curious member, turned his helm in every direction it could, not out of any enthusiasm for their objective, but to scope out all the bots who didn’t know him. Some who didn’t even know of him—the gestalt’s personal loose screw was already imagining how he could twine himself onto already established clicks; endearing himself to them in ways that had never worked among their old faction.

Bots liked chattery little try-hards. Decepticons? Scavenger never would have made it without the rest of the team, a fact they regularly reminded him of.    

Hook’s arms were crossed in front of his chassis, field held tightly around himself. The surgeon had never liked crowds—crowds meant mingling with the masses, potentially bumping armor, or even, primus forbid, talking to them. And their hoity-toity Hook was too good for that; mech thought himself too good for just about everything and everyone. Except for the gestalt. For Prowl. 

Bonecrusher only had optics for the low-quality engex, blues and bright yellows, floating in polished glasses on the bar counter, the high-grade cubes that glittered in mecha’s servos, reflecting its glowing energy off round, dirty tables, and sat unbound on shelves lined with Cybertronian liquor. All wonderful opportunities for the Bonecrusher to exhibit his virtuosity—all brilliant little bombs ready to go off with the right detonator.

Good stuff, that high-grade. Lower quality, but not cheap. Problem was, he could tell the additives it had been blended with from visuals alone; proving the blend hadn’t been mixed by a master.

The flints of minerals and metals glinted in the bar’s dim lighting, giving the cubes a glimmer that reflected off bright Autobot armor. The resulting destruction were he determined to set it off would have been pretty, bordering on beautiful, a fine example of Bonecrusher’s particular vision of art. Only there were too many variables out of his control, the timing of the sequential explosions, the specifics of minerals, and even the amount of high-grade in the bots’ tanks were unknowns that could spatter his work with imperfections. And if he couldn’t control every aspect of the demolition, it wouldn’t be perfect; if it wasn’t perfect, it wasn’t worth it.

Prowl was worth it.

There were a lot of faces surrounding the bar, hopped up on stools, even more crowded together at the tables pushed up against the wall; toward the back, there was a circle of mecha who had cleared space for their own makeshift dance floor. If their unsynchronized bouncy shuffles could even be considered dancing. Huh, looks like the old Decepticon adage that an Autobot’s back-strut was too stiff to dance was right.

Simply put, the place was stuffed fuller than a pleasure-bot on payday.

Bonecrusher grinned behind his mask at the pack of wannabe dancers, wondering if he could convince Long Haul to toss Hook into the mass, and give this party some real entertainment. A ripple of amusement passed through the bond as Long Haul picked up on his thoughts. Beside them, Hook’s armor drew in impossibly tighter even as his field lashed out in warning at his conspiratorial teammates.

Don’t you dare.

They shared a chuckle at their surgeon’s expense but left the idea as nothing more than an amusing thought. Heavy-duty frames like theirs had to tread lightly on razor-thin ice; they couldn’t afford to crack through the Autobots' scarcely gained tolerance. There was too much ground for the Constructicons to lose so early into the voyage.

Was a big night, the first night. The Lost Light had breached Cybertron’s atmosphere and in less than a breem, the sounds of partying could be heard all throughout the ship. It bounced through the halls, coming from closed doors and shared recreational spaces, but the loudest had come from the bar. Music and mechs—now femmes too—all excitedly jabbering about what the voyage held, what their part would be in the grand epic of a quest: the adventure, the mystery, the romance.

Bonecrusher snorted at his own thoughts; romance, right.

Before the first merge, back when the Autobot was just a tool slotting in with tabs b, c, d, e, and g—before they knew Prowl was Prowl—the Constructicons would have sworn there wasn’t a romantic wire in their frames and would have fought anyone who suggested otherwise. But now?

Here they were on a ship full of Autobots, their own plating smooth where a purple sigil was once engraved, and looking for the one bot that had recently skyrocketed up their ever-lengthening frag that guy list; the only other to have made the list so fast was that puny fleshling, Spike Witwickey. The human held the record. Probably always would.

And if joining this slagged up, hug-fest, hippy-dippy ship’s crew wasn’t romance; the Constructicons would beat anyone who said as much.

The demolitionist rolled his neck, huffing and cracking stiff joints—what love did to a mech…Bonecrusher shook his helm, a rueful smile hiding underneath his mask, the demolitionist unused to his own foppish musings.

Within its casing, his spark swirled and warmed with affirmation from the gestalt bond; they all felt the same deep love for their sixth and they were all unfamiliar with the amorous turn their thoughts had turned in the light of that love. Warm fuzzies all around; Scavenger even turned from scouring his future victims (potential friends) to gently touch Bonecrusher’s elbow in assurance.

He frowned and shook off his teammate’s touch, not caring how the shorter mech wilted at the rejection; little Scav had thought they were having a moment. Over Bonecrusher’s greyed out husk. Just because he loved the little weirdo the same as he loved every other Constructicon didn’t mean he would tolerate the excavator’s wimpishness. They might be one big fragged up family who loved each other, had no hang-ups admitting as much, and would offline anyone who was dumb enough to call them weak for it—but they were in love with Prowl. It was different. New. Exciting. Terrifying. Excruciating.

Agreeing rumbles all around and Bonecrusher forced himself to focus on their self-assigned mission.

With Long Haul taking his sweet aft time finding the cog sucker they’d come to cosey up to, Bonecrusher decided to turn his gaze from the glowing cubes of temptation to the bots holding them, trying to spot who his taller teammate had missed. All he saw were blue optics and red badges.

Bonecrusher sneered behind his mask; it was no wonder the Decepticons hadn’t put their faith in the Lost Light’s frivolous voyage. The Constructicons hadn’t either. That wannabe Prime, Roddy-something, could make all the grand speeches he wanted about finding Cyberutopia and the Knights of Cybertron—but who would that utopia really be for? There wasn’t a single con onboard that hadn’t given up the faction and there wasn’t a coolant drop of doubt between them that the Constructicons would have been granted permission to join the crew’s roster had they not scrubbed their armor clean of branding before registering; idly Bonecrusher brushed a servo over the center of his bare-green chassis, the phantom ache of the nanites’ removal a reminder of just what they had been willing to give up for their ultimate goal.

The Constructicons didn’t believe in some distant fable of a Cyberutopia or need the recognition that would come with being part of the crew that found it; they believed in Prowl. They needed Prowl.

The real, tangible (touchable) Prowl who had holed himself up in the storage closet of an office he’d commandeered almost immediately after the Constructicons had placed their praxian’s soft, breakable berth into his personal quarters. They’d all made up excuses their bot didn’t believe, but had been too exasperated to call them out on, as to why all five of them were needed to heft the berth into his quarters, slowly, slow enough for an experienced construction mech to scan a full schematic of the rectangular space and learn the room’s exact measurements; course that was just hypothetical. Heh.

Out of their gestaltmates' unnecessary personal quarters, Prowl had marched around the ship like he owned it—and the Constructicons would make a valiant effort if that’s what he really wanted—looking for an empty room to take as an office. Because of course, he’d have an office. Their boss bot wasn’t on some pleasure cruise, he had a very important mission to accomplish, or so he had claimed while rejecting the Constructicons’ offer to parse out a section of their larger-than-most habitation suite for the tactician to use.

Once he’d picked a room, Bonecrusher and Long Haul had helped him set it up, tossing heavy boxes of whatever out into the hall until it was sufficiently empty enough to fit their praxian’s fancy desk and chair, barely. His gestalt mates had radiated their jealousy through the bond over Long Haul and Bonecrusher being the only ones allowed in such a tight space with their sixth, but the closet the praxian had picked out was too small to fit all the construction mechs at once; two comfortably, three if they squeezed.

They’d find him a new, bigger office later once they’d gotten ahold of or built their own blueprints of the ship.

Bonecrusher and Long Haul had used the opportunity to get in close with their smallest gestaltmate at every opportunity—Long Haul going so far as to use his longer limbs to accidentally brush against a stiff doorwing, just one digit casually running along the tip as he reached over top their praxian to look at a questionable (perfectly fine) light fixture above where he stood—it had been cute the way Prowl had chased them out immediately after; practically hissing like a turbo-fox, doorwings raised like hackles.

The desk he tossed in their direction was less so.

Long Haul had apologized for the accidental touch, not meaning a word of it. Prowl knew and went back to his usual silent treatment, watching the construction mechs through narrowed optics as they reset the desk and bowed out of the makeshift office before their praxian could start contemplating a chair toss.

The touch had been worth it though and Bonecrusher had been the first to slap Long Haul on the back out of respect for a job well done once the office door was closed. They’d be reliving the sensation of the intentional brush up in the privacy of their hab-suite for the orns—or until a more prolonged contact took its place. And there would be more: longer, willing, intimate contact with their sixth.

The Constructicons never left a job half done and wooing Prowl was easily the most demandingly complex one they had ever taken on. It would also be the most rewarding once complete. Once they were complete.  

The barbed walls their sixth had built around his spark would crumble under the might of Devastator, and each time the tactician painstakingly built them back up, blocking them from his side of the bond; the Constructicons would be observing, learning the tools and materials he used for their construction. The Constructicons’ courtship of Prowl would be a controlled demolition, identifying the structural weaknesses in his barriers and strategically (heh) targeting them, breaching closer and closer until it was too late for another rebuild because they were already on the other side.

Sweet anticipation rippled through the bond.

Turning from thoughts of their sixth to what they were attempting to accomplish for him, Bonecrusher’s visor narrowed as he sought out a homely white helm and a hideously gangly frame. Even in a crowd, the tall fragger should have been easy to spot. Was hard to hide that much ugly.

If they didn’t find their first choice of Autobum to cozy up to soon then they would need to pick another while enough of the partying crew was still sober enough to remember how well-behaved and welcoming the Constructicons had been during the Lost Light’s first underway party. They only required their chosen bot to be of a popular sort, a real name onboard and not one of the rejects who had joined as some misplaced grab at notoriety. They also couldn’t know any of the Constructicons personally, at least not too well. The one exception was Clown-dome, but he didn’t really know them, only their close association with Prowl. That fight at the cliffs didn’t count; any con would have done the same.

There he is.

Bonecrusher’s helm whipped around to where Long Haul was not so subtly shoulder gesturing to, his visor brightening as he spotted their quarry. His face mask hid the predatory smile that split his faceplate and a rumble of delight at how vulnerable their prey had left himself.

Seated all alone in a booth pushed against the side of the bulkhead, hunched over the table, and surrounded by what appeared to be multiple empty high-grade cubes sat Chromedome. There was no sign of approaching partiers, the bargoers appearing to be giving the lonesome bot a wide berth—just enough for five Constructicons to squeeze through.

Without waiting for the others, Bonecrusher set out on a path directly to the booth. Scavenger and Hook were close to follow, with Long Haul making up the rear as he usually does. A few scathing glances were sent their way as they passed partying bots and even more scrutinizing looks followed the ex-cons as they made their way through the crowd and into the empty space around their chosen company’s empty booth.

As he came closer, Bonecrusher noted that just above the table there was a single, small round window giving a limited view of the space outside. An odd design choice and one the Constructicons wouldn’t have gone with had they any part in the ship’s design. It was an obvious hull vulnerability, a waste of triple reinforced plexin-glass, and even aesthetically it was pointless—there was nothing out in space worth looking at, everything worth interest was already inside the ship.

Affirmative nods reached across the bond from everyone except Scavenger (and their silent sixth), but then the excavator had always held a strange penchant for the kitschier designs.

The closer the Constructicons came to Chromedome, the more they understood why none of his fellow Autobots had been brave enough to approach.

An open, heavy wave of misery poured from the bot at the table and the Constructicons allowed it to wash over their own tightly held fields, basking in Crum-dome’s unrestrained suffering. The four empty cubes surrounding the slumped-over mech were likely the reason for the uncontrolled emotions, but the Constructicons knew its source and it tickled their sparks seeing Chromedome exactly as he always should be. Alone.

The merriment Bonecrusher allowed to peak through his own field didn’t even need to be faked.

“Hey mech, been looking for you,” Bonecrusher’s mask lowered in an audible click, revealing a sharp-if-friendly smile. “Slide on over, we got something for ya.”

The other Constructicons' mask also lowered just as the slouching bot startled, sitting up with his visor stretched wide. “What, no you’re—”

But Bonecrusher was already lowering himself to sit, his bulk easily shoving Chromedome’s lighter frame to the booth’s corner as he slid into the long, cushy seat. Across from them, Hook and Scavenger piled in, their frames only narrowly missing each other in the cramped booth, only a vent’s worth of space between them. Long Haul hadn’t even bothered, having searched around and grabbed a chair from a table, without asking, and pulled it over to the end of the booth to sit, his legs spread around its back as he faced them.

Raising his helm toward the bar, Bonecrusher spotted Mixmaster performing an impressive balancing act with multiple cubes of high-grade balance on his bent, raised arms, a cube held in each servo for good measure. Scavenger spotted him too and they waved their teammate over, calling him through the bond.

Here, this way, we got him. 

Mixmaster’s optics lit up at the urging and carefully started making his way over to their booth, dodging various passersby and narrowly avoiding the gyrating mecha who had fumbled their way from the dancefloor. 

Chromedome didn’t wait for the mixologist to arrive before questioning the ex-cons surrounding him. “Did Prowl send you? This some kind of elavrate revenge?” The pointed accusation was dulled by slurred vocals and Bonecrusher was left wondering what the mech had actually meant to say.

Elaborate, Hook supplied and the rest of the Constructicons internally shrugged it off as unimportant. Kind of like the waste of parts himself, Chromedome.

What Prowl had seen in that walking set of rusted-rebar the Constructicons would never understand; except they did understand. They’d been in Prowl’s memories and seen everything to do with this particular toxic waste dumping ground of a relationship. Had seen their lonesome little bot’s exuberance at believing he had finally found someone who understood him, and would accept him—except Tumblr hadn’t understood him, Chromedome would never accept him; the Constructicons had done both and more. They were everything Prowl had ever wanted; he just refused to acknowledge the spark-proven truth.

Their praxian would though, there was only so long a logical processor like Prowl’s could deny the obvious. Especially with the Constructicons’ using the voyage as a means to prove their usefulness to the tactician in more ways than just their unparalleled construction abilities.

They’d have him, it wasn’t a matter of if but when.

“What, Prowl? Noooo,” Bonecrusher started, the others joining in, scoffing and snorting their denial. “Boss bot doesn’t even know we’re here—he’s been locked up in that little office of his for joors now.”

“His office? Here, on the ship; Prowl has an office?” Chromedome questioned; as if it was even a question.

“It’s Prowl, of course he has an office,” Long Haul shrugged, not feeling a need to elaborate.

The bot seemed to feel the same way, accepting the answer with a nod, but his unrestrained field was a buzz with uncertainty, hostility, and buried beneath all that, fear. That have been great, warmed Bonecrusher’s spark to know that even in a congenial setting they were able to pull that kind of reaction from a bot. Unfortunately, the Constructicons had settled on a play-nice strategy for the voyage and as satisfying as the fear was, they were attempting to engineer a more…amicable response from the mnemosurgeon.

Chromedome’s attention was taken from the Constructicons seated with him to the one who had finally reached their table as Mixmaster finally joined them. Not a drop of high-grade was spilled and he started placing the drinks on the table, putting one in front of each of the seated Constructicons before finally pushing away the empty cubes that had been surrounding Chromedome and replacing them with a bright pink, larger-than-everyone-else’s-cube containing something that smelled sweet, but potent.

Mix then took a seat on the sliver of bench remaining next to Bonecrusher, precariously balancing himself by placing a servo on one of Long Haul’s spread legs. The mixer gave said leg a squeeze, servo sliding up the larger mech’s leg higher than strictly necessary in a subtle tease.

Long Haul’s engine growled low, the larger mech sending an amused threat across the bond, implying he’d get Mix back for that later—something Bonecrusher looked forward to watching, preferably while they were all bonding and reexamining that brush of doorwings from earlier. Scavenger echoed his thoughts.

Hook sighed, loudly, continuing as though he hadn’t noticed the scrawny mech’s fear or his team’s less-than-pure turn of thought. “We helped him with the furniture arrangement and when we dared to linger–he flung the desk at us.”

Alright, back to business; being visibly chummy with Chump-dome.

“Was worried we’d have to build him a new one,” Long Haul chimed in.

“Three times!” Scavenger lifted his digits to the number, and the Constructicons all shared a laugh at the exaggerated memory.

“…heh,” Chromedome finally laughed with them, it was small, more of a chuckle than a full guffaw, but it was something. It was an in.

“He does that,” the Autobot tacked on, bringing life to his visor, the mech obviously taking the Constructions’ affectionate riffing at face value; as a derisive dig at their praxian. As if they would ever, as if Crud-dome had the right.

An astro-click of outrage flashed through the Constructicons, and in an exercise of previously untapped restraint, they reigned it in; kept their furious fields, full of violent desire, held close and their smiles wide, encouraging. Long Haul even managed a laugh, expression bright as he tilted a cube in the bot’s direction. Their faces may have been exposed, but their masks were up; even Hook had one firmly in place.

Their whole half-formed plan would fall apart if Chromedome felt threatened and seriously shooed them away, potentially calling his who-could-like-this-loser friends to do it. They needed to be big friendly hydro-pups who were happy to pall around with their new crewmates, sharing drinks and good stories all around. As the Constructicons, as Devastator, they had reputations amongst the Autobots—but that was all they had. There weren’t many bots who had actually encountered them personally on the battlefield and survived to bleat their terrified sparks out to the rest of the faction about it. And any who had ever made it to Hook’s operating table either died under the surgeon’s scalpel or offlined themselves soon after to escape the memory of piercing agony he had engraved directly into their most primordial systems.  

The Autobots knew of them, feared them and rightfully so, but they didn’t know them. Dispelling those very true rumors and winning a short-tether of trust with the crew was the second phase of their grand plan to win Prowl’s spark—the first phase was always conception, and even that was vague, Scrapper had been the master architect and without him their plans had become shaky, erased and rewritten lines on blue vellum paper. The second phase was also the most well thought out part of the plan; they weren’t even completely sure what the other phases were, only that all good plans had multiple phases. All of Prowl’s had, anyway.

But their plan was one their cute-but-competent helmsmen would have never been able to put together himself, let alone pull off. It revolved around being the one thing their sixth couldn’t be—Personable.

And it was working so far: they had gotten into the bar with no major incident, sat with a popular bot who was laughing at their jokes, enjoying their company (kind of), instead of telling them to frag off. That Chromedome hadn’t yet, considering their proximity to Prowl and the mech’s protoform deep hate of him, was their luck and they knew better than to push it.

Bonecrusher still wanted to kill him.

Stick needles into the back of their helm, root around in their processor, removing memories, leaving them spread wide open for the enemy to plug in and control—commit the deepest act of violation known to Cybertronian kind—and Cybertronians had been around for longer than most recorded species; they knew a lot.

Happen to any of them and the Constructicons would be sitting with a dead mech. Soon as they’d learned of the betrayal, they’d have welded the traitor to Hook’s med-berth, or a solid refueling table, or even built him his own personal slab of insulated metal; any flat surface would have worked, really. Then they’d have taken turns breaking him apart, putting him back together, just to take him apart all over again. It’d have been different each time, too. Each Constructicon getting to put their own preference on the method.

—Bonecrusher would widen the mech’s transformation seams, just enough to slide detonation cords throughout his frame, little tetryl boosters placed over the sensor heavy sectors, where the wires clustered. He’d set off a controlled detonation and watch as the mech’s armor rattled and broke apart in sequence, from helm to ped. After the armor fell away, the same would be done to the underlying protoform, twisting the cords into wires and fuel lines, connectors that held internals together. Layer by layer, until every piece of the mech had been broken apart under his deftly crafted demolitions. Bonecrusher would have started with the visor first, though. Just plucked that right off his face and gouged out any optics beneath. Was always fun to see himself reflected in dull optical glass, fear making them pull wide so he could see more of himself, but he enjoyed the way their electro fields went crazy wherever he touched when they didn’t know where he would touch more. The perfectly measured destruction would be beautiful, even more so if Prowl was with them watching, supervising, approving.—

They’d have killed the skinny glitch over and over again, and made him grateful for when it was the last. They still would if Prowl asked. And slag, did they wish he would ask.

But he wouldn’t. Their sixth had only gone so far as to say something mean to the scrawny slagger after finding out—Prowl was soft like that. Soft like that berth the five of them had their optics set on during that first fun move to the Lost Light. (They already had plans to modify their own after it, making it more welcoming for when their sixth eventually joined them on it.)

The Constructicons were willing to play nice with Chromedome in public, they’d suffer his continued function if only because pointing servos would immediately turn toward their sixth were he to disappear. They wanted those who would point and accuse their praxian to reassess any distaste of him because the Constructicons liked him, and they liked the Constructicons. But they had a line that couldn’t be crossed and they needed the crew to want to respect that line—Prowl.

“Yeah, he does,” Bonecrusher finally managed, vocals a rough grunt—he hoped the Autobot thought it was a laugh from shared humor. “Never seen a mech hate a piece of furniture that bad before.”

“I have,” Scavenger’s visor brightened as he wiggled in his seat, radiating an inordinate amount of enthusiasm through the bond, the excavator excited to be part of a conversation, to be tolerated by anyone but his fellow gestaltmates. “They…they hated the wash racks and never went in them, ever.”

The top of Bonecrusher’s visor raised at the mention of the seekers. The story was well known among the Decepticon rank and file but had never quite made it to the Autobots as anything more than speculation. Nothing of any significance to the war, but a juicy bit of gossip that could potentially capture a bot’s attention just enough for him to forget who was telling it.

Good call.

Scavenger beamed through the bond.

“What, ya mean the seekers? They didn’t hate wash racks, they were just scared of ‘em,” Bonecrusher said as leaned back, casually laying a strong arm across the bot’s shoulders. He felt the plating beneath his own tense, but the mech didn’t pull away. Good, good.

A tug too hard, a flex too strong, and those shoulders would buckle and bend beneath his hold; the joint sockets sparking as they tore beneath the Constructicon’s pure laborious power. The mech’s dismantling would be quick, satisfyingly so. The mnemosurgeon was worth less than a klick of the Constructicons’ time outside of a torturous setting—he wasn’t worth even a nano-second of Prowl’s.

“…The seekers were scared of wash racks?” Chromedome questioned, his tone disbelieving, the overcharged mech entirely unaware of Bonecrusher’s vicious imaginings.

Scavenger fidgeted in his seat, “they um, thought everyone wanted them? Their wings I mean. They’re not so hot though, there are uh…better wings.” The last bit was mumbled and Bonecrusher’s optics rolled behind his visor; he agreed but now wasn’t the time to subtly imply how smelter hot they all found Prowl.

“He means they thought us dirty grounders would all jump ‘em if they ever used solvent,” Bonecrusher salvaged, even though that was supposed to be Scavenger’s job. “Completely flew over their helms how not everyone’s preferences ran aerial.”

“Arrogant,” Long Haul huffed.

“Delusional,” Hook supplied.

Bonecrusher and Mixmaster hummed their agreement as they let it all sink in for the Autobot.

Chromedome’s visor was pinched, his helm tilted ever so slightly in such a way that implied concentrated thought–what little the glitched mech was capable of, overcharged or sober.

“…Did they just not wash?” The bot finally asked, likely cross-referencing everything he knew about the narcissistic frame type with the new information the Constructicons had just given him; his high-grade heavy logic drives struggling to fuse the two.

“They did,” Bonecrusher answered. “Though no one ever saw them doing it.”

“Even…even if you did, no one believed you,” Scavenger commented with a pout, having been subjected to that particular disbelief and mockery more than once.

Hook patted the excavator’s leg under the table in solidarity. The other Constructicons had shared Scavenger’s memory and believed him; hadn’t stopped them from joining in on the ridicule. Or calling him (rightfully) a creepy little voyeur.

“Most believe they made deals with Starscream for the use of his personal washracks,” Hook said. “Some even claiming it was the real reason the air armada was so loyal to him—It’s not true, but who are we to get in the way of a good rumor?”

“…So they just didn’t wash?” Chomedome asked incredulously, his optics wide in disbelief.

“Oh they did, and they were cutting deals, just not with Starscream,” Bonecrusher clarified as he glanced at the high-grade Mix had gotten them. It looked weak, but then what could he expect from an Autobot ship?

“Then who?” The bot questioned, snapped really, white plates shifting impatiently beneath Bonecrusher’s servo. A miserable and snippy drunk? Chromedome really was the worst kind of everything.

“Soundwave,” Hook answered.

“Soundwave?” Chromedome repeated.

“Soundwave,” Bonecrusher confirmed with a nod.

“But why?” The bot asked, his field finally losing that last hint of fear and hostility, replaced with open curiosity. There it was. They got him. Wouldn’t matter if the scrub bucket didn’t remember their conversation come the morning, and he probably wouldn’t. What mattered was the rest of the bar watching them have it.

“For information on Starscream, of course,” Hook smiled, delighted by the duplicitous nature of the seekers toward their own commander whenever he was reminded of it. The surgeon had always loved a good betrayal—Chromedome’s own toward Prowl the sole exception.

Were the bot not wearing a mask, Bonecrusher was pretty sure Chromedome’s jaw would have dropped. “That makes too much sense, or no sense at all, I’m not really sure I—” Cutting himself off Chromedome reached up to press long fingers onto the back of his helm. “Primus my helm hurts.”

Hook, sensing an opportunity to show off, began explaining, “It’s the high-grade, it causes the fuel in your tank to burn faster, which disrupts communication between the circuitry in your processor and your filtration system. Your processor is over-firing due to the increased demand and overcompensates for the delayed response, causing a helm-ache. Nothing a little coolant and med-grade won’t fix.”

Finishing his explanation, Hook’s derma curled into a conspiring grin. “Or if you’re looking for an immediate relief, more high-grade helps.” The medic gestured to the untouched cube of high-grade they’d bought for the Autobot.

If anything, Chromedome looked more pained by the explanation and had brought both servos up to grip his helm, squeezing and messaging it in a way the Constructicons knew wouldn’t work.

Bonecrusher used the lull in conversation to peek around the room, grinning at all the bots that had turned to openly stare at the construction mechs. He tilted his helm toward Chromedome and if not for his visor, he’d have winked. The stares were a good turn, they wanted as many optics on them as possible.

Misery had begun to seep back into Chromedome’s field, causing Bonecrusher’s grin to widen. They’d been seen, possibly accepted, which meant they were done with the scrawny bot. Best if they moved on, and found a few others to mingle with before retiring to their shared quarters. Maybe even make a few passes at Prowl if they spotted him on the way.

“Why are you here?” Chromedome questioned, breaking the table’s silence and sounding depressingly sober. Though finding no hostility directed to ward them, the Constructicons decided they had been technically successful with their mission.

The mournful mech’s misery turning toward the Constructicons was their final sign to bow out and move on, but their tolerance for Chromedome was at its lowest and the five of them sensed an opportunity. They’d continue to play nice a little longer, just enough to grab the knife of grief digging into Chromedome’s spark and twist it. All while maintaining the friendly façade of comradery.

“Course we’re here—we’re crew!” Bonecrusher crowed with a smile, acting oblivious as to the real reason the bot would be asking them that.

“No, I mean why are you here with me?” Chromedome emphasized, then through a narrowed visor. “I know Prowl hates me.”

“Hate you?” Hook frowned as if the thought had never occurred to him.

“Prowl doesn’t hate you,” Mixmaster assured.

Unfortunately.

“We are not the most…approachable mecha onboard. An inevitable consequence due to our previous loyalties,” Hook tactfully remarked. “We are attempting to change that image through repeated positive contact with the crew.” The surgeon supplied, fully confident Chromedome wouldn’t remember complete details of their conversation come morning.

“Prowl had good memories of ya, figured you’d be as good a start as any,” Bonecrusher added, hating how true the former part of his statement was.

“…He did? That’s not…,” Chromedome shook his helm only to wince, clearly not sober, but wary enough to realize maybe he should be. “Why are you really here—what do you want?”

“Why, to share a drink with a fellow crewmate—and to thank you, of course,” was Hook’s honeyed response.

“Thank me?” Chromedome puzzled.

“Course, bot like Prowl never woulda bonded with us willingly; big bad cons like us? He’d sooner offline,” Bonecrusher responded, keeping the amusement he felt at watching the bot’s frame begin to slump in response to the bulldozer’s words locked in tight around himself.

Chromedome did no such thing, the now anguish bleeding from his frame. Bonecrusher greedily soaked it in, relishing the Autobot’s torment over their cheerfully delivered thanks.

“But you gave him to us,” Scavenger whispered, red visor shining with reverence.

“Wrapped him up all pretty like an energon goodie and dropped him off at our door like an early creation day gift,” Bonecrusher complimented with a soft, appreciative rumble.

Slump. Slump. Slump.

“Best present we ever got,” Mixmaster affirmed.

They all nodded and Bonecrusher even gave the bot a good little jovial shake of appreciation.

“And Constructicons have been called a lot of things over the years, but ungrateful ain’t one of them,” Bonecrusher went on; more nodding and murmurs of agreement.

“We always pay back our dues,” he promised, visor burning a dark red.

Bonecrusher’s smile, more a nasty grin, stretched wide as he pushed a high-grade cube into one of the Autobot’s now limp servos, taking it underneath his own and squeezing to make sure the grip stuck. He felt the delicate white plating crunch, satisfyingly, underneath his hold; he didn’t let go. Instead raising the servo-held cube of high-grade up. His fellow Constructicons raised theirs in answer, smiles all around.

Bonecrusher leaned in close to the lump of limp guilt—was it guilt? His derma dangerously close to touching one of the smaller mech’s audials as he growled low, hot air venting across thin armor.

“This one’s for you, Tumblr.”

Cheers.