#the ever growing and shrinking table

[thatshadowcomic]

I triple dog dare Sonic to take a sip of Shadow’s boba tea /nf

The pettiness of these rats can not be understated.

(it's maybe lavender latte? Perhaps a butterfly tea? I think it would be funny to imagine Shadow/the Blackarms can't process dairy. Idk I had some weird HC as a kid. Milk is just so mammalian and they feel very not mammal to me ig.)

Shadow sayz:

Remember to always chew your boba. It can make you humans constipated if you don't. Not that it's possible for me to become so, just saying. If you have a habit of chugging your coffee and getting caffeine shakes, it can help slow you down. Boba is a great way to avoid mid day snaking, as well, because it takes longer to finish your drink, but still gives your stomach something to do. Also, "capora" coconut syrup is the only good coconut syrup.

[syoddeye]

cygnet, plucked | price x reader | part two part two cw: dubcon/noncon, blood, mild injury, manhandling, forced orgasm, referenced animal death/butchering forthcoming cw: more dubcon, forced marriage, breeding kink, body horror a/n: vibes. part one | masterlist 🦢

The knife is small, but the task feels impossible. You are unaccustomed to such labor. Meals once came easily, just a bend of your neck to pull up pondweed and milfoil—tadpoles, the occasional fish.

Not this. Not the lump in your hand with its rough, textured skin. Pulling a blade across it, releasing that musty, earthy scent that makes your nose wrinkle.

Your fingers inevitably slip.

Pain flares, sharp and foreign. You flinch hard, watching in mute horror as the first bead of blood wells up, then another, crimson blooming across the underside of your finger. The sound escapes unbidden—jarring, ugly—growing louder as the sting takes hold.

Heavy footsteps thump against the earth outside, and the door flies open, rattling on its hinges. John steps inside, shoulders heaving, mitts already stained from the doe hanging outside.

The sight of him shrinks the scream in your throat to a wordless, panicked whine.

The smell of iron clings to him. Fur, fat, something that once had a heartbeat. His hands crease as they flex at his sides. 

His eyes flick to your trembling hand, then to the knife still clutched in the other. He wipes his palms on his trousers, messily and imperfectly scrubbing away the gore of your eventual supper. As if he needs clean hands to touch you.

(You doubt they ever were.)

He exhales hard through his nose. His words tinged with exasperation.

"Gave you one job…"

Then he's on you.

The change is swift, inborn. The pendulum of your emotions swings violently from panic to rage. Fear, the constant.

You hiss, teeth snapping as he crowds you against the table, your spine meeting his chest. A half-peeled potato rolls off the edge, thudding to the floor while blood drips from your finger, a bright spot on the wood.

You twist, raising the little knife in your good hand, but he is faster—a solid grip clamps around your wrist, squeezing until your fingers betray you and the blade clatters. You squeal at the sharp twist of your arm, but his mouth is already at your ear, hot, shushing.

"Quit strugglin'," he says, pressing closer, draping his weight over your back. The wall of him, unrelenting. The force alone stills you, allowing him to bend and pin you over the table. Your cheek presses into it, a curl of potato skin sticking damp to your face.

You turn your head, teeth gritted, and glare, eyes full of fury you have no way to unleash.

"That's better," he lifts your hand, smearing blood. "Now, let's see what you've done to yourself."

John takes his time assessing the small cut. Long enough that the anger inside you fizzles into an embarrassed frustration. You told him. You told him you did not know how to do this. Any of this. To which he'd calmly replied he'd teach you every little thing you needed to know.

But now, here you are, cringing as he inspects the wound, dripping onto him, and it's shameful. Tears well and threaten to fall, held at bay by sheer will. Then he shifts, and your concentration breaks.

You realize how treacherously high your plain dress bunches on your hips at this angle. And through the fabric, there's a warmth. A steady heat that passes from him into you, inescapable. It seeps through where his body pins yours, through the calloused hand wrapped firmly around your wrist.

Then, as if he's arrived at the same realization in that instant, John moves.

He grinds his pelvis into the small of your back. Subtly. Or as subtly as he cares to try. The length between his legs fattening.

"See now?" he murmurs, almost gentle. "Ain't so bad if you just hold still."

He releases your injured hand, planting his own on the table to steady himself. Then, apparently indulging an impulse, he hooks his chin over your shoulder, drawing closer, whiskers scraping your cheek. The bulk of him snug at your back. "It'll be alright. We have enough for dinner, anyway."

John cleans your cut with you seated unnecessarily on his thigh. Too close to the bulge you are intent on ignoring. You don't protest, the rage building inside too deep for words. Instead, you fix your gaze on the window, seething at the sun as it pours in.

When he finishes, he kisses your palm, thumb grazing over the fine, downy feathers on your wrist. You flinch at the contact, but he only lifts your hand higher, inhaling deeply, dragging his nose along the tiny feathers.

"Said I'd take care of you."

That night, John insists you share the bed. That there's no harm in it if he intends to make good on his promise and make you his missus.

He gives you no quarter, wrangling you to bed, ignoring your squawking. Against every bit of resistance in your body, your muscles betray you the moment you land. After weeks of sleeping curled on the floor out of your own volition, the bed is a reprieve. Even if it feels wrong.

You fold inward, facing the wall, determined to keep the distance.

In the dark, the room grows silent, save for the rhythm of his breathing. You keep your body tense, refusing to give in, but his warmth bridges the small gap between you and, with it, an insidious pull. 

Your stubbornness abates. Muscles loosening, mind drifting. Before you know it, it's dawn.

You wake, disoriented by slivers of sunlight, a hairy chest pressed to your back, a thick arm banded around your waist. Breath tickling your neck. A hand low on your belly.

The second you try to move, it glides south.

You gasp as it curls under the hem of your dress, slowly hoisting it up.

"John—" His name slips from your lips, strained, a barely audible squeak. 

It's the first time you've said it. The shift behind you is unmistakable—he likes it. His arm tightens around you, possessive, and your breath catches in spite of yourself. 

The length of him twitches against your backside.

"Hush, Shy, don't fight me today," he rasps, voice heavy with sleep and tenderness. He kisses your nape, his lips sending a shiver down your spine. "Let me be nice to you."

His calloused fingers find the swath of feathers between your legs, and he hums. He ventures further, dragging over your seam, a sleepy chuckle rumbling from his chest and through your back at the sound you make. The finger strokes again, and your hips jerk.

"That feel good? So soft here."

John doesn't wait for a response to cup your sex and wedge a knee into the crux of your thighs.

He pries you open, petting at your clit, and prodding at your folds. The pads of his fingers burn hot, like coals, the cherries of his cigars. His touch sears your mind clean. Burns the frayed edges of your senses, fusing them like waxed thread. Everything slows, each sensation doubling in intensity.

With some persistence, he coaxes some bitterly forfeited arousal and teases a thick finger at your hole. You shudder, breath hiccuping, one hand digging into the muscle of his forearm, the other cramming into your mouth to stifle a whimper.

You gnaw at your bandaged finger, teeth worrying the cloth until it gives. The wound opens, blood welling up fresh and hot. Iron coats your tongue, rising through your nose as if a fire's been lit in your mouth.

It's no use after minutes of him toying with you, rubbing at your clit in small, gentle circles—you become silt. Soft and wet, warm and perfect for him to sink into.

He tucks two fingers into your sex and groans, loosing a string of curses that make your cheeks scorch. Borderline hellish when he grinds his palm against your clit, scattering stars across your vision just to yank them down when he leisurely pumps his fingers in once, twice. Deep as they'll go into your cunt—and keeps going.

You clench around him helplessly, hatefully. Plugged up tight and choking, muscles contracting without permission as he crushes your notions of keeping something, anything from him under the heel of his hand. Better than his boot, but you might've preferred it.

Your attention is torn between the blood you're sucking into your mouth and the mess gushing over his fingers, and hardly notice when he starts rutting against your bottom. It knocks a pitchy noise out of your throat, realizing how thin the flannel is between you and him. He must like it, because his mouth suctions to your neck and breaks a moan.

"C'mon, darling. Give it."

It feels as though you're a young cygnet again, caught in a summer storm and hurtled far and away from everything you know. 

The room thick and crackling with heat and electricity. John wrapped around you, his intent heavy and aching, pulsing short of where it wants to strike. Every nerve buzzes under his touch, alive and restless as if the very air he puffs over your shoulder pulls at your core and twists it. A force that batters and uproots, tearing at you with each crook of his fingers. Caught in the whirl of him. Wild, lost, and undone.

It hurts when you come, drawing up so tight and shattering into pieces.

It hurts more when John drags it out with his digits sunk to the hilt and thumb resting on your clit. 

When he pulls them out, his fingers glisten. He holds them in front of your face for you to see, his smile apparent when hums. Pleased.

You don't realize you're crying until he rolls you onto your back, his face a hazy blur.

John sighs, long and slow, like a man well-versed in this ritual. He shifts, pulling you close as if you aren't unraveling in his arms.

"You're wearin' yourself out," he whispers with tired amusement, smoothing up and down your back. "Ain't got enough in you to be cryin' this hard."

You hiccup against his chest, breath shuddering, hands mindlessly grabbing at his shoulder and bicep like you hate him, like you need him. Maybe both.

He sighs again, presses a kiss into your hairline, lingers there. "There, now. You're alright. Just tired, huh?" His voice softens. "You'll feel better after a nap."

He slips away as sleep pulls you back under, the bed creaking, door hinges groaning as he steps outside to himself in hand.

[bread-crum206]

A Game of Hearts

Chapter five: A Dance of Silence

Summary: Y/N’s father is a VIP for the games, he makes a deal with the Frontman that if he marries his only daughter that he will continue to sponsor the games. However, Y/N is not fond of this decision as she loathes the games and in turn, loathes the Frontman as well. Will she grow to love him? Will he let his walls down?

previous | 5 | next

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The days that followed were quieter than usual, and you weren’t sure if that made things better or worse. The silence between you had become a language of its own, one you both spoke fluently. When you passed him in the hall, neither of you said a word. When he sat at the table for his rare meals, you kept your distance.

But somehow, despite the space between you, there was an unspoken understanding that things weren’t as they seemed. He wasn’t the cold, unfeeling man you’d pegged him for in the beginning. And you… you weren’t sure who you were anymore.

It was on the third night after that strange, almost tender exchange by the window when you found yourself standing at the end of the hallway, your hand hovering over the doorknob to his office. You didn’t know why you were here, why you were so drawn to the quiet, dimly lit space beyond. Maybe it was the soft music playing or the glow of the fireplace seeping beneath the door.

The door clicked open with a soft sound, and you stepped inside before you could second-guess yourself.

The room was as cold and sterile as ever, lit only by the faint glow of the fireplace. The warmth that filled the space was comforting, a strange contrast to the otherwise lifeless atmosphere. It was organized, too organized, nothing out of place. But it was the desk in the center of the room that caught your eye. Papers scattered haphazardly across the surface, as though someone had been interrupted in the middle of something important.

You reached for the papers, your curiosity getting the best of you, when a soft cough startled you.

You spun around, your heart leaping into your throat, to find the Frontman standing in the doorway, his mask already in his hand. He hadn’t made a sound as he approached, and for a moment, you saw something almost… human in his eyes.

“What are you doing in here?” he asked, his voice rougher than usual.

You quickly set the papers down, feeling the sharp sting of guilt. “I-”

“You shouldn’t be here,” he said, his tone low, but there was an unmistakable edge to it that you hadn’t heard before.

For a long time, neither of you moved. It was as though the world outside the room didn’t exist. Just the two of you, standing in the dim light, caught in a fragile moment of raw vulnerability.

“Why do you keep pushing me away?” you asked before you could stop yourself. The question slipped out unbidden, but the moment the words left your mouth, you realized how long you’d been holding them in.

His expression didn’t shift for a moment. He just stared at you, as though weighing your words carefully. Then, finally, he exhaled and answered, “Because I don’t know how to do this.”

“And you think I do?” you asked, genuine curiosity bleeding into your voice.

His shoulders tensed, the muscles in his neck tightening as if he was trying to hold back something, something he wasn’t ready to release. Then he moved across the room, to the black leather couch at the far side.

He sat down, taking a glass of whisky from the small bar by the wall, his movements deliberate, almost mechanical. You stood frozen in place, unsure of whether to follow him or not. Finally, he looked back over his shoulder, locking eyes with you.

“Sit,” he said, his voice almost gentle, yet commanding in its own way.

You hesitated for a moment, but something in his gaze tugged at you. You walked over, sat down beside him on the couch, the distance between you still palpable but shrinking.

He took a sip of his drink, eyes fixed ahead, the firelight casting flickering shadows across his maskless face. It was always a strange thing—seeing him without his mask, even if only for a moment. His face was unremarkable in its sharpness, but there was something in the way his brow furrowed, something raw in his expression that made you feel exposed.

The silence stretched on, and it was becoming increasingly unbearable. You shifted on the couch, trying to find the right words. But he beat you to it.

“You want to know why I push you away?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

You nodded, though you weren’t sure how to phrase the question anymore.

He glanced at you briefly, his eyes tired. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with someone like you.”

Your brow furrowed at the words, your pulse quickening in confusion. “Someone like me?”

He sighed, a short, bitter laugh escaping his lips. “Someone who doesn’t fit into all of this,” he motioned around the room vaguely, as if referring to the whole situation, the compound, the games, everything. “You don’t belong here. And I don’t know how to make you understand that.”

The words hung heavy in the air between you. You felt your chest tighten, but you refused to look away. “Then why don’t you let me go?”

He turned to you, his gaze sharp, and for a moment, it was as though he was considering it. But then he exhaled, setting his glass down on the side table with a soft clink.

“Because I can’t,” he said quietly.

The vulnerability in his voice shocked you. There was something so honest in those few words that it left you breathless.

“So we’re both stuck,” you whispered, more to yourself than to him.

“Seems that way,” he replied. There was a pause, and then he added, “I never asked for any of this either.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his confession, something unexpected rising in your chest. “You never did, did you?” You leaned back slightly, your gaze flickering to the fire. “You think I wanted to be here, in this place, with you? I didn’t ask for it either.”

His gaze softened, just for a moment, and in that fleeting moment, it felt as though the walls between you were beginning to crack. But before you could say anything else, he stood, the moment lost as quickly as it had come.

“You should get some rest,” he said, his tone shifting back to the detached coldness you were becoming all too familiar with.

You nodded, trying to ignore the disappointment that surged in your chest. He wasn’t ready. Neither of you were.

As he walked toward the door, you called out quietly, “You don’t have to push me away, you know.”

He paused, just for a beat, but didn’t turn around. “I’m not sure I know any other way,” he said, his voice tinged with something you couldn’t quite place.

With that, the door closed behind him, and you were left sitting alone in the quiet of the room, your heart heavy with the weight of everything unsaid.

———————

Chapter 5!! Yippee!

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[monstersholygrail]

im horny help

Your Monster bf looks up from his book, a bizarre and astonished expression on his face as he looks over at you. What was once a peaceful night in with a calm atmosphere has now been struck with a lightning bolt of lust.

He calmly slides his bookmark into his book and you watch that long hard bookmark slide up and down the crease of his thick book and you shiver in your seat at the opposite end of the couch. Monster bf tosses his book on the coffee table and you jump as deep thump that rings out as it makes rough contact.

You wait with anticipation for him to come to you. To take you and satiate all the need that’s roaring inside of you. But he doesn’t and it has you whimpering and squirming in place. Instead he leans back into the couch, crossing his legs as if he has all the time in the world. Glancing over at you he raises a brow.

“Is that how we ask for help, sweet thing?”

You shrink back further into the couch. Wanting to look away from his piercing stare but you know you can’t. Know that when he looks at you like that… you’re not allowed.

“No, sir,” you whisper. Arousal wells up inside you as his mocking laughter fills the air around you. You can’t help getting so deeply turned on the longer he denies you.

“So why would I help a needy little slut who’s forgotten something as simple as their manners?” he grounds out and you moan louder, throwing your head back in agony and pleasure.

The temptation to grind into the couch is growing by the minute. Your body is hot and so fucking desperate you’ll do nearly anything at this moment.

“Look at you, making a mess of my couch, embarrassing yourself, and moaning like a bitch in heat.”

“P-please, sir—!”

“Oh look, they’re learning!“

Monster bf pushes off of the couch, his tall and imposing form towering over you as he walks over to your end.

“Now what are you asking me so nicely to do? In what way would you suggest I so graciously fuck you back to brainless?”

He kneels before you, roughly grabbing your knees and jerking then apart. Leaving your bottom half wide open for him. He grins wickedly, knowing exactly what he’s doing to you. Knowing you can’t possibly talk when you’re so damn horny and his closeness is clogging up all your senses full of him. He raises an expectant brow.

“Speak up, pet, or I’ll leave you here. Pathetic, useless, and leaking on my high-end furniture…” As he leans in closer, his hands trailing up your thighs, and teasing right where you need him most, a feral glint passes over his expression. “Forced to desperately fuck yourself on your hand, praying for an orgasm that will never come because I’m the only one who can ever give you what you need.”

[heartfullofleeches]

Sheep readers who eat some random citizen who with me????

Sheep would never eat people- Those are their friends, and besides- Sheep is just an innocent sheep.

-

"Do you ever have cravings, Sheep?"

A fine film of sugar congeals at the bottom of your glass. You count four spoons laid out for you on the table - anxiety settling in the pit of your stomach like the syrupy sweetness sitting unstirred in your tea. For the life of you, you couldnt tell one from the other. Something tells you Rabbit would be more than happy to teach you a third time, but you'd rather not overstay your welcome.

"Cravings...." Concealing the shakes of your hands with a well timed laugh, you lift the cup to your lips - voice shrinking as you take a sip. "What kind of... cravings?"

Rabbit stirs their spoon around the rim of their cup. There's nothing left, but it's best for them to keep their hands distracted. "Cranberries.... They don't grow in our part of the woods. Every year, this nice squirrel and their family comes into town and sells them near the shops. That's my special craving - one of them anyway. What's yours?"

Rabbit gazes up at you, expectingly. Almost like they know. Your eyes drift to the slice of cake on your plate - the cranberry jelly oozing from its fluffy center. Your stomach howls, yet the sweet scent of baked goods twists that hunger into nausea.

"I - I don't have any..."

Rabbit looks.... disappointed. "Oh. I see... You know, if you did, I'd travel to the moon and back to get it for you? I love your smile, Sheep. I'd do anything to see it. You deserve to smile more often."

[viagracex]

could you do a George Clarke one shot where him and maxs sister are secretly hooking up? All good if not x (love your work btw)

Off Limits

george clarke x balegde!reader

summary: george is secretly hooking up with max's sister. what starts as no-strings-attached turns into something more

warnings: brief mentions of sexual content

note: if this feels a little rushed im sorry, i tried not to have to write it as two parts.

4.4k words

Masterlist

₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊ ‧ 。☆ 。‧₊ ˚ ˚ ₊

You weren’t meant to be here.

The rational part of your brain knew that.

Yet, lying in George Clarkey’s bed, tucked under his sheets, skin still warm from his touch, you feel the weight of his arm draped over your waist. You know this is a disaster waiting to happen. But at this point, it’s almost tradition.

A night out turns into tipsy flirting. Flirting turns into one of you cracking first and texting where u at? And before you can talk yourself out of it, you’re tangled up in him, his hands gripping your waist, his mouth pressing hot, lazy kisses against your neck, and the world shrinking to just you and him. The way his mouth moved against your skin, the way his hands gripped your body—it always felt like an electric current between you.

This had been going on for months now—longer than you ever expected. What started as a drunken mistake had turned into a routine. Nights out ended with you texting him, or him texting you, or one of you finding an excuse to be at the same place at the same time, until you ended up here. Sweaty, satisfied, and entirely too comfortable in his bed.

It was just sex. Really good sex. That’s all.

But it couldn't be more complicated.

For one, George Clarkey was one of your brother's closest mates.

And Max had made it painfully clear that dating YouTubers was off the table.

"They’re all walking red flags, babe," Max had said once, waving his hands for emphasis. "All of them. You’d just become another London Content Creator’s Girlfriend, and I won’t be having that."

Not that you and George were dating.

You were just… shagging George Clarke in secret.

And maybe that was worse.

But that was the key difference—the thing that made this somewhat okay.

You weren’t a couple. You weren’t sneaking around because of some grand forbidden romance.

You were just fucking.

And it was casual.

Totally.

Absolutely.

…Okay, maybe there were some complications.

Like the fact that George could be an oblivious idiot at times and that you were slowly falling for him.

As you turn your head on the pillow, watching George lazily stretch in front of you, his hair a messy tangle on the pillows, you can't help but admire how good he looks even after just waking up. He catches you staring and a smirk tugs at his lips.

"You're thinking too much," he says in a rough, sleep-filled voice, and when you glance over again he’s watching you through lidded eyes, his dark hair sticking up in every direction.

You scoff, turning onto your side. “I’m thinking about how screwed we’ll be if Max ever finds out about this.”

George smirks, his grin only grows wider as he pulls you closer until you’re pressed against his chest, his warm skin against yours sending shivers down your spine. “Then we just don’t let him find out.”

You let out a resigned sigh. "Easy for you to say. You don't have to live with him."

George chuckles, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder, and fuck—that should not feel as nice as it does.

“Relax,” he murmurs against your skin. “We’re being careful.”

You want to believe him, but a nagging doubt persists. "Are we though? Being careful?"

George's fingers trace lazy patterns on your skin, sending shivers down your spine. "Course we are. Max hasn't got a clue, has he?"

You bite your lip, remembering all the close calls. The time Max almost walked in on you two in the kitchen. The suspicious glances when you laughed too hard at George's jokes. The way your cheeks flushed whenever he was mentioned.

"I don't know," you mumble. "Sometimes I think he suspects something."

George's hand stills on your waist. "You worried?"

You turn to face him, studying the lines of his face in the dim light. His blue eyes are soft, filled with concern. You hate how much you like looking at him.

"Maybe a little," you admit. "It's just... Max has always been so protective. And he's made it clear how he feels about his friends dating his sister."

George's lips quirk into a half-smile. "Good thing we're not dating then, eh?"

You roll your eyes, but can't help smiling back. "Right. Just fucking."

"Exactly," George says, pulling you closer. "Nothing to worry about."

But as he kisses you, slow and deep, you can't shake the feeling that this is far more complicated than either of you want to admit.

Weeks pass, and your "arrangement" with George continues. The sneaking around gets easier, the guilt less noticeable. At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But then there are nights when you catch yourself staring at him too long. When your fingers linger in his hair, when you laugh too hard at his jokes, when his hands slip under your hoodie, and you realize—this doesn’t feel casual anymore.

You don’t just look forward to those stolen moments—you need them. You tell yourself it’s about the thrill, the secrecy, the rush of slipping out of Max’s flat unnoticed. But the truth is, you like waking up in his sheets. You like the way he pulls you back into bed, groaning that it’s too early. You like how he makes you tea in the morning, knowing exactly how you take it, without needing to ask.

And suddenly, the thought of this ending makes your stomach twist.

You should say something. You should ask him if he feels it too.

But you don’t.

Because once you say it out loud, you can’t brush it off anymore. 

If you admit it, you can’t take it back.

And you’re not sure if you’re ready for that.

One night, after a particularly wild party at some private club celebrating another one of the Sidemen’s achievements, you end up with a group of friends back at George‘s. The bass from the music downstairs thrums through the walls as George presses you against the door, his lips hot on your neck.

"We shouldn't," you gasp, even as your fingers tangle in his hair. "Someone could come up..."

George grins against your skin. "That's half the fun, innit?"

You're about to retort when the door handle rattles. Your heart leaps into your throat as you hear a familiar voice on the other side.

"George! You in there?"

It's Max.

You freeze, panic flooding your system. George's eyes widen, but he quickly springs into action. He shoves you towards his closet, motioning for you to hide. You slip inside just as George opens the door.

"Yeah, mate. What's up?" George's voice is impressively casual.

"Have you seen my sister? Can't find her anywhere."

You hold your breath, praying Max doesn't decide to search the room.

"Nah, sorry. Maybe she went home early."

There's a pause, and you can picture Max's suspicious frown. Your heart pounds as you listen to the conversation through the closet door. You can practically feel Max's suspicion radiating through the wood.

"Right," Max says slowly. "Well, if you do see her, tell her I'm looking for her."

"Course, mate," George replies smoothly. "I'll let her know if I spot her."

You hear the door close and let out a shaky breath. A moment later, the closet door opens and George's face appears, a mix of amusement and concern in his eyes.

"Coast is clear," he whispers, helping you out.

You stumble slightly, the adrenaline making you unsteady. George's hands catch your waist, steadying you. The touch sends a familiar spark through your body, but the fear of almost being caught overshadows it.

"That was too close," you mutter, running a hand through your hair.

George nods, his expression sobering. "Maybe we should call it a night. I'll sneak you out the back."

You agree, and with George's help, manage to slip out of the house unnoticed. As you make your way home, you can't shake the feeling that your luck is running out.

The next few weeks are tense. You find yourself jumping at every sound, convinced that Max is about to burst in and catch you in the act. George notices your unease and suggests taking a break, but the thought of not seeing him makes your chest ache in a way you're not ready to confront.

As autumn creeps in, painting London in shades of gold and crimson, you find yourself spending more time at George's flat. The cozy nights in, wrapped in blankets and each other's arms, start to feel dangerously domestic. You catch yourself imagining a future where you don't have to hide, where you can walk hand-in-hand with George down the street without fear of being spotted.

One chilly evening, as you're curled up on George's sofa watching a movie, the weight of the secret becomes too much.

"George," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I think we need to tell Max soon."

He turns to you, surprise etched on his features. "You sure? I thought we agreed to keep this under wraps."

You nod, twisting your fingers nervously. "I know, but... I'm tired of sneaking around. And honestly, I'm starting to think that this might be more than just casual."

George's expression softens, and he pulls you closer. "Yeah," he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I've been thinking the same thing."

-------------

It wasn’t meant to happen like this.

but apparently, George is an idiot.

The tension in the air was palpable as you walked into your shared flat to find Max holding George's hoodie like a piece of evidence at a crime scene. His eyes narrowed as he asked, "Why is this in our flat?" Your heart raced as you tried to play off the situation nonchalantly. "Maybe George left it here," you suggested with a shrug.

Max's gaze flicked between you and the hoodie. "In your room?"

Your throat tightened as you replied, "Maybe."

Max's mind worked like a detective on a true crime documentary at that moment, piecing together the puzzle before him. And then, his expression changed from confusion to horror, his jaw-dropping.

"You're shagging George," he exclaimed.

You winced and tried to downplay the situation. "Max—"

"YOU'RE SHAGGING GEORGE," he repeated, his voice growing louder.

Frustration and embarrassment washed over you as you dropped your head into your hands. "For fuck's sake, can you not say it like that?"

But Max was already caught up in the drama of it all, looking around wildly like he was in an episode of punked. "How long has this been going on? When did this start? Why am I just finding out now?!"

You shifted uncomfortably. "Uh...a while?"

"A while?!" Max's disbelief was evident.

"...A few months?" You offered weakly.

"MONTHS?!" Max couldn't believe what he was hearing.

"It's not a big deal!" you insisted.

"Not a big deal?! You’re shagging my mate!" Max's frustration reached its boiling point.

You flinched and pleaded with him to lower his voice, but he continued to express his disbelief that this was happening behind his back. In a desperate attempt to calm him down and protect your relationship with George, you blurted out, "It's nothing serious! We're just...having fun. Casual."

Max blinked in surprise. "Casual? With George?"

You nodded, trying to defend yourself. "Yes?"

"With George?"

"Yes, Max!" you exclaimed in frustration.

Max's expression shifted as he absorbed the information and then whipped out his phone.

"What are you doing?" you asked nervously.

"Texting George," he replied, his thumbs flying across the screen. "He has five seconds to explain himself before I track him down and make him piss himself."

Before you could stop him, George walked into the flat at that exact moment.

Perfect timing, you thought sarcastically.

George froze upon seeing the tension between you and Max. His eyes flicked from you to his hoodie in Max's hands, and it was clear he knew exactly what was going on, it doesn't take a genius to figure that out.

"...Shit," he muttered under his breath.

"So it's true!" Max shouted. "You absolute little—"

But before he could finish his sentence, George raised his hands like a hostage negotiator. "Alright, before you get mad—"

"I'M NOT MAD!" Max yelled, which only confirmed how mad he actually was. "I'M JUST CURIOUS AS TO WHY YOU THOUGHT THIS WAS A GOOD IDEA?"

Max paced back and forth, running his hands through his hair in frustration. "I can't believe this. My best mate and my sister. It's like a bloody soap opera!"

You and George exchanged nervous glances as Max continued his tirade.

"How long has this been actually going on? And don't lie to me!" Max demanded, his eyes narrowing as he looked between the two of you.

George cleared his throat. "About... six months?"

"Six months?!" Max's voice rose an octave. "You've been sneaking around behind my back for half a year?!"

You winced. "We didn't mean for it to go on this long. It just... happened."

Max let out a humorless laugh. "Oh, it just happened, did it? What, you tripped and fell onto his dick?"

"Max!" you exclaimed, scandalized.

George stepped forward, his hands raised placatingly. "Look, mate, I know this isn't ideal—"

"Ideal?!" Max interrupted. "This is the opposite of ideal! This is a bloody nightmare!"

He turned to you, his expression a mix of hurt and betrayal. "And you. I warned you about getting involved with YouTubers. I told you they were all walking red flags!"

You felt a surge of defiance. "George isn't like that. He's different."

Max scoffed. "That's what they all say. And then next thing you know, you're just left high and dry”

"It's not like that," George interjected, his voice firm. "This isn't just some fling."

Max's eyes widened as he looked between you and George. "What are you saying?"

You took a deep breath, reaching for George's hand. "We didn't mean for this to happen, Max. But... it's more than just casual now."

George squeezed your hand, a small smile on his face. "We care about each other. A lot."

Max stares at you both, jaw clenched so tight you think he might actually crack a tooth. His fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s debating whether to pace, punch something, or just scream into the void.

Finally, he exhales a sharp breath and rakes a hand through his hair, pacing a tight circle before stopping in front of George. His glare could burn a hole straight through him.

"You," he says, voice tight. "You, out of all people."

George swallows, standing his ground. "Look, mate—"

"Don’t 'mate' me," Max cuts him off, shaking his head. He lets out a humorless laugh, but there's no amusement in his eyes. "This is actually happening. You—" he jabs a finger at George's chest, then turns to you, scandalized. "And you?!"

You don’t answer. What could you possibly say? Sorry I broke your one rule? Sorry I fell into bed with your best mate and accidentally started catching feelings?

Max lets out another deep, exhausted sigh, dragging a hand down his face. "I can’t believe I’m saying this, but—" He levels George with a look so sharp it could cut glass. "You actually give a shit about her?"

George doesn't hesitate. "Of course I do."

Max narrows his eyes, searching George’s face like he’s waiting for him to blink, to crack, to say something stupid that will give him an excuse to deck him. But George holds his gaze, unwavering.

After a long beat, Max scoffs, shaking his head. "Fuck me."

He turns away, pacing again, muttering something under his breath. You barely catch the words "This is my villain origin story."

Finally, he stops, pinches the bridge of his nose, and points a finger directly at George.

For a long moment, silence filled the room. You could practically see the gears turning in Max's head as he processed this new information. Finally, he looked up at you both, his expression resigned.

"You're serious about this? Both of you?"

You and George nodded solemnly. "We are," you said softly.

Max sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. "I can't believe this is happening. My best mate and my little sister. It's like some bad rom-com."

He stood up suddenly, pointing an accusatory finger at George. "If this is just some game to you, Clarke, I swear to God—"

"It's not," George interrupted, his voice firm. "I care about her, Max. More than I've cared about anyone in a long time."

You felt your heart flutter at his words, a warmth spreading through your chest.

Max's gaze softened slightly as he looked between the two of you. He could see the genuine affection in your eyes, the way you unconsciously leaned towards each other.

"Fine," he said finally, his shoulders slumping in defeat. "I can see this isn't just some fling. But I swear, George, if you hurt her—"

"I won't," George assured him quickly.

Max continued as if George hadn’t spoken. "—I will end you, I will make your life a living hell. I will start beef with you publicly. I will make a YouTube exposé, I will get you cancelled on Twitter. I will make sure your brand deals drop like flies. I will be so fucking annoying that you will never know peace again."

George nodded solemnly, as if this was a completely resonable response  " Understood."

Max turned to you, his expression softening. "And you. You're sure about this? You know what you're getting into, dating a YouTuber?"

You smile softly at Max, touched by his concern despite his outburst. "I'm sure, Max. I know it won't be easy, but hes worth it."

Max groans dramatically, flopping back onto the sofa. "I can't believe this is my life now. My best mate and my sister. What's next, Mum dating KSI?"

You and George both choke back laughter at the mental image. The tension in the room eases slightly as Max's dramatics break through the awkwardness.

George chuckled nervously. "Does this mean we have your blessing?"

Max shot him a withering glare. "Blessing? Don't push it, mate. I'm still processing the fact that you've been sneaking around with my sister for months."

You winced. "We really are sorry about that, Max. We didn't mean for it to go on so long without telling you."

Max ran a hand through his hair, his expression a mix of frustration and resignation. "I just... I don't understand how this even happened. When did you two start... you know?"

You and George exchanged glances, silently debating how much to reveal. Finally, you took a deep breath and launched into the story.

"It started at Cal's birthday party," you began. "We were both a bit drunk, and one thing led to another..."

Max groaned. "Please spare me the details."

You rolled your eyes. "Nothing happened that night. But after that, we kept running into each other at events and parties. We'd flirt, maybe share a dance or two. It was harmless at first." As you speak, Max's expression cycles through disbelief, anger, and grudging amusement.

"...and then we just kept finding excuses to see each other," you finish lamely. "We didn't mean for it to become anything serious, but..."

"But it did," George adds softly, squeezing your hand.

Max groans, flopping back dramatically on the sofa. Muttering something about how this wasn’t how his day was supposed to go.

He sits up suddenly, pointing an accusing finger at George. "And you! What about all those girls you're always banging on about in your videos? That better all be a lie?"

George has the decency to look sheepish. "Ah, well... might've exaggerated a bit there, mate. For content, you know”

Max's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "Exaggerated? Or flat-out lied?"

George shifted uncomfortably. "Well..."

You jumped in, trying to diffuse the tension. "Look, Max, the point is, George and I are together now. For real. No more sneaking around or lying."

Max sighed heavily, rubbing his eyes. "I still can't believe this.�� He stood up suddenly, pacing the room. "And what about when this all goes public, eh? Have you two geniuses thought about that? The fans will go mental. You'll be harassed non-stop."

You and George exchanged glances. It was clear neither of you had given much thought to the public aspect of your relationship.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it," George said finally. "For now, we just want to focus on us. And making sure you're okay with this."

Max scoffed. "Okay with it? I'm far from okay with it. But..." he trailed off, looking between you and George. Despite his anger, he could see the genuine affection in your eyes, the way you instinctively leaned towards each other.

Then, after a beat—reluctantly, begrudgingly, like it physically pains him to say it— " I mean, I'd rather you weren't shagging one of my mates, but honestly?" He turned to George with a knowing look. "You could've picked worse. At least I know George. Even if he is an idiot sometimes."

George protested, but there was no real heat behind it. He knew Max was right - he could be an idiot sometimes. But when it came to you, he was determined to do better.

Relief washed over you as you threw your arms around your brother. "Thank you, Max. Really."

He hugged you back, then pulled away to point a finger at George. "And you. No funny business when I'm around, got it? I don't need to see my best mate snogging my sister."

George nodded solemnly, though you could see the mischief dancing in his eyes. "Wouldn't dream of it, mate."

Max gives him one last death glare before sighing dramatically and turning back to you. “I hate this. I hate it. I swear, if I ever walk in on anything, I'm moving out and never speaking to either of you again."

You laughed "Deal."

You and George share a glance, and suddenly, it doesn't feel as scary anymore. The weight that had been pressing on your chest for months lifts, replaced by a giddy lightness. You can't help the smile that spreads across your face, mirrored on George's.

As Max continues to grumble and mutter about the unfairness of it all, you and George gravitate towards each other. His arm slips around your waist, pulling you close, and you lean into him, reveling in the feeling of finally being able to do this openly.

The autumn sun streams through the window, casting a warm glow over the room. Outside, you can hear the bustle of London life - cars honking, people chattering, the distant rumble of the Tube. But in here, in this moment, the world has shrunk to just the three of you.

George's thumb traces lazy circles on your hip, sending shivers down your spine. You breathe in his familiar scent - a mix of cologne, laundry detergent, and something uniquely him. It's comforting, and grounding.

Max catches sight of you cuddling and makes exaggerated gagging noises. "Oh God, it's starting already. I'm going to need therapy after this."

You and George laugh, the sound mingling together in a way that makes your heart skip. You realize that this is the first time you've been able to laugh freely together in front of others, without worrying about giving yourselves away

As the days turn into weeks, you and George settle into a new rhythm. No more sneaking around, no more hushed whispers and furtive glances. Instead, there are lazy Sunday mornings spent tangled in his sheets, the London rain pattering against the windows. There are impromptu double dates with Max and Andrew, where you catch yourself marvelling at how natural it feels to be out in public with George, his hand intertwined with yours.

You find yourself falling deeper in love with George every day. It's in the little things - the way he makes your tea just right without asking, how he laughs at your terrible puns, it just makes your heart swell.

The YouTube world explodes when news of your relationship finally breaks. Your social media notifications blow up, a mix of excited fans, shocked friends, and the occasional hater. Your DMs are flooded with a mix of congratulations and jealous messages. You learn to ignore the hate comments and focus on the supportive messages from friends and fans.

Max, true to his word, makes a show of dramatically covering his eyes whenever you and George so much as hold hands in his presence. But you catch him smiling softly when he thinks you're not looking, and you know that deep down, he's happy for you.

As autumn fades into winter, you find yourself spending more and more time at George's flat. Your toothbrush migrates to his bathroom, your favourite mug finds a permanent home in his kitchen cupboard. One night, as you're curled up on his sofa watching old Sidemen videos (George insists it's "research"), he turns to you with a nervous smile.

"Move in with me," he says, his voice soft but sure.

Your heart skips a beat. "What?" you ask, barely above a whisper.

George takes your hand, his thumb tracing circles on your palm. "Move in with me," he repeats. "Half your stuff is here anyway. And I... I want to wake up next to you every morning."

You study his face, taking in the hopeful glint in his eyes, the slight flush on his cheeks.

Your heart swells with emotion as you look into George's eyes. The nervous hope there, the vulnerability – it's a side of him you've grown to cherish over these past months. You think about how far you've come from those first furtive encounters, sneaking around and convincing yourselves it was just casual fun.

"Yes," you whisper, a grin spreading across your face. "Yes, I'll move in with you."

George's face lights up, and he pulls you into a kiss that leaves you breathless. When you finally part, you're both laughing, giddy with the promise of this new chapter.

The next few weeks are a whirlwind of boxes, packing tape, and furniture rearrangement. Max helps you move, grumbling good-naturedly about being demoted to "pack mule" status. But you catch him giving George a stern talking-to when he thinks you're not listening, something about "taking care of my little sister, or else."

As you unpack your life into George's space – now your shared space – you're struck by how seamlessly your belongings fit together. Your books nestle comfortably next to his on the shelves. Your favourite blanket drapes over the back of the sofa, adding a pop of colour to the room. In the bedroom, your clothes hang side by side in the closet—proof that you’re done sneaking around, done pretending this is casual. Proof that this is real.

[meownotgood]

would aki ever consider homewrecking your relationship? in an upstaging sort of way at least? he brings you home-cooked food, drives you often, remembers details about you that make you realise your own bf doesn't?

ooooo imagine he gets drunk and starts being slightly more assertive not caring your bf is also in the room. flat out ignores him as he monopolizes your attention <3

despite his feelings for you, aki is polite, he keeps how he feels to himself and rarely comments on your boyfriend or your relationship. he congratulates you when you first tell him, saying he'd love to meet your boyfriend sometime. he doesn't intend to show your boyfriend up. it isn't aki's fault that he remembers your birthdate when your boyfriend doesn't. it isn't aki's fault that he knows what you like more than your boyfriend does, and so he brings you small gifts and homecooked meals whenever he's available.

boyfriend or not, aki has always shown you the same kindness — you're friends, so of course he does. you're each other's closest friend, in fact.

though, when aki's had a bit too much to drink, that's when the problems start to arise.

a drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts, or something or other. aki remembers his mentor telling him as such when he was a teenager. but aki isn't really the talkative type when he's drunk, nor does he tend to get anywhere past slightly tipsy when he's out drinking. normally. tonight is far from normal.

aki is drinking way more than he should, ordering beer after beer until he has an array of empty frothy glasses around him, because tonight, you've brought your boyfriend along. the division's non-specific party had no problem with inviting friends of friends or significant others. but your boyfriend is sitting next to you, when it's usually aki that sits by your side.

he has his arm wrapped lazily around you, your shoulders are stiff as you sip your drink, drowning out the noise of him shouting across the table. he's waving over the waitress, and aki's jaw is clenching so hard it almost hurts, because as your boyfriend is complimenting the waitress' outfit with less-than-appropriate choices of words, his palm is on your thigh, you're shrinking into your seat — and aki is done.

he pushes up from the table so fast it shakes, making glasses clink together, and causing your gaze to dart up to him. unsurprisingly, you follow after him a few moments later. you step outside, goosebumps immediately brushing over your bare arms, to see aki palming a cigarette between clumsy fingers. his brows are knotted with tell-tale annoyance, but when he finishes shoving his lighter back in his pocket, and exhales a puff of grey smoke into the night sky, his voice as he speaks to you is nothing but soft.

"sit next to me when we go back inside," he says, plain and simple. the nicotine settles his growing nerves, and the slight husky slur to his words is the only thing giving his intoxication away.

you hardly have time to think about what he's asking of you — asking, was that even a question? aki takes one more quick drag, before dropping the half-burned cigarette on the pavement, stamping it out with his shoe. you're managing an, are you alright? but it only goes unanswered. aki grasps your wrist, and he starts to tug you back inside.

the atmosphere is much different once you've sat back down; at aki's side, this time. the lack of space has your thighs lightly touching aki's as you shift to get comfortable. yet, it feels like you can finally, truly relax.

aki orders another full beer before your boyfriend even notices your absence — with an annoyed look on his face, he doesn't question why you've moved, just drunkenly rambles about your disrespect for a moment, before turning his attention back towards the people beside him. aki though, he keeps his focus solely on you. he leans close to whisper quiet words into your ear. he doesn't seem to care that your boyfriend is right there, still sitting directly across from you. aki keeps you to himself, and himself alone.

for a moment, your gaze drifts up. aki's adam's apple bobs and his head tips back as he downs the rest of his drink, his face flushed slightly. he turns towards you then, eyes lingering on you for longer than necessary. he gazes at you with such a sense of softness, a look you can't remember anyone else ever giving you.

that's right. it was aki who invited you out tonight, who saved you your favorite seat knowing you would want to sit there, only for your boyfriend to drag you to the opposite end of the table. it was aki who already had your drink of choice ordered for you by the time you arrived. it was aki who leant across the table, trying to ask you how you're doing and how you're liking your new job, while your boyfriend who's never bothered to inquire was busy taking shots with the group a table over.

sighing to yourself, your mind spinning from the alcohol in your system, you let your head lean on aki's shoulder. aki hesitates. then, he snakes a palm behind you to hold the small of your back. when your boyfriend stumbles up from the table to head off somewhere, aki makes sure he sees.

he calls your boyfriend over for a moment to discuss something he already knows, some paperwork he has to fill out tomorrow for the division — aki keeps his arm locked around your waist, your head is leant on his shoulder, and as your boyfriend leaves, you don't even give him so much as a glance. aki keeps the obvious grimace your wasted boyfriend had on his face to himself.

"I'm sorry," aki mumbles after a few minutes, rubbing your back with his palm in slow circles. you chuckle, replying with a half-hearted, what for?

"I'm sorry for getting so drunk," he explains, "but your boyfriend was being an asshole. it pissed me off. I don't get why he acts like that, I could-"

aki swallows, stopping himself, stifling the words he almost said. I could treat you so much better.

sighing, he rubs his knotted temple with his fingers, and he turns to you as you're propping up next to him.

"don't apologize." you stretch, bringing your arms above your head, then rolling your shoulders back. your heart patters in your chest. aki is so close; you can see all the details of his face, you can smell the hints of cologne clinging to his jacket. his arm around you feels like it belongs there. "shouldn't have had so much to drink too."

"I'll take you home," aki says in response. "we should leave soon. the trains won't run for much longer."

you hum, eyes fluttering, gazing up at him with a look that causes his breath to get caught in his weary lungs. "can I come with you back to your place, aki?"

your boyfriend wouldn't like it. aki imagines how he'd react once he came to. if he'd call you, the phone ringing thrice before you pick up, only for him to hear aki's voice on the other line. there's grumbling, the sound of sheets rustling, and then aki murmuring supposedly in your ear, telling you to go back to sleep.

perhaps that's exactly why aki leans in closer to you, close enough to have his breath fan over your cheek, and inevitably answers with a warm, earnest, of course.

[itsjusthockey]

Knight in Shining Armani - Juraj Slafkovsky

he's so boyfriend. Enjoy

send in requests. pls and thx

warnings: slightly suggestive?????

w.c: 1,426 (credit to gif maker) (don't steal my work)

You don’t smoke, not at all. You honestly don’t think you’ve ever even tried nicotine sober. However, in this very moment, you crave a cigarette, or something, anything, to distract you from the current hell you’re in.

You’ve always enjoyed charity galas with the team. They’re something to look forward to. They’re classy; they support a good cause, have great food, better drinks, and usually decent company. However, sometimes, at these events, you get unlucky, and tonight was one of those particular nights.

You’re seated at a lovely table with a few wives and girlfriends and directly next to a pretty blonde woman you’ve never met. She’s clad in a red dress, her lips painted to match, and she’s eyeing the room like a predator watching her prey.

You have to check yourself as you watch her a bit. You’re not one to throw judgment at someone you don’t know, but something about the way she’s watching the room sets your stomach a bit on edge.

The edge sets a bit deeper when you notice her stare lands on a familiar back, one you know all too well.

“Do you know who he is?” She suddenly asks you. “He’s insanely sexy.”

She points toward the center of the room, and you follow her stare back to your boyfriend. He’s standing tall in the center of the room, clad in an all-black ensemble that fits perfectly in all the correct places. He looks otherworldly as he smiles and throws his head back in laughter at something Arber says. He is absolutely gorgeous, and the fed woman beside you is right; he does look insanely sexy. However, you’re not particularly fond of anyone else in the world thinking that, but you

You must’ve stayed quiet for a bit too long because she raises an eyebrow and leans a bit closer to you, clearly waiting for an answer.

“That’s Juraj.” You finally say.

She hums and repeats his name softly to you, then leans in closer as if she’s going to tell you a secret.

“I came with someone else.” Her eyes dart back to your boyfriend. “But I wouldn’t mind finding myself under him at the end of the night.”

As she finishes her statement, she lets out a laugh, and you feel yourself grip your champagne glass tight. You shouldn’t be mad; you’re incredibly secure in your relationship, but that ugly feeling continues to grow.

“You don’t agree?” She asks.

You realize you’ve been silent, not offering her anything. You’re unsure how to approach this situation, but you also know you should shut it down.

“I do,” you smile toward her. “But he’s taken.”

A brief, annoyed look flashes over the women’s eyes. “By who?”

You throw on your sweetest smile and bat your lashes toward her.

“By me.”

The second that slips out of your mouth, her eyes widen in surprise, and then they shrink a bit, looking you up and down.

(Y/N).” You rip your eyes away from her hard stare and draw your attention toward a wife. “Your boy looks incredible tonight. Arbs said you picked out the suit? Gucci, was it?”

“Armani.” You state, glancing back toward your boyfriend, hoping he hears your telepathic plea to come save you.

A few of the other wives and girlfriends hum, signaling their approval of your masterful suit-picking skills, and you feel a rush of pride swell through you.

“Yes. He certainly looks dashing.” The blonde speaks up again, her eyes dragging up and down your boyfriend’s figure from behind.

You don’t think of yourself as a jealous person, but you’re not stupid. You don’t miss how she looks at the man you’re in love with. You also don’t miss the subtle lip bite in his direction and the slight glare she gives you. You resist the edge to roll your eyes. Instead, you take another sip of your drink and try to focus on any other conversation.

You’ve finally integrated yourself elsewhere when a hand gently taps your shoulder, causing you to jump slightly. You turn quickly to see Juraj’s gorgeous smile and bright eyes beaming down at you.

“Hello, beautiful.” He leans down to your ear, whispering. “Can I steal you away?”

You resist the urge to throw yourself into his arms and demand he take you home. Instead, you smile and nod, excusing yourself from the table with a smile. You begin to be swept away, Juraj's hand gently on your waist, when you throw one last look toward your table. The woman you’ve come to dislike slightly is staring hard, and you give her a slight smirk. You simply can’t help yourself.

Juraj leads you away from the crowd to a small, cozy corner. He quickly traps you between his body and the wall, gently brushing a strand of your hair out of your face.

“Are you having fun?” His eyes are genuinely curious as he asks.

“Yes.” You slightly lie. “But I’d be much happier if we were home in bed.”

He smiles a wide smile and gently brings his head down to meet your lips in a sweet kiss. It’s quick, and when you meet his eyes again, you see they’re filled with nothing but love and adoration.

“Are you tired?” He searches your face. “If you’d like to go to bed, we can leave. I’ve done all the required mingling.

You move your hands up to his lapels, gently smoothing them up and down and then gently patting his firm chest.

“When I said being at home in bed,” you shift your gaze up to his eyes with your best doe-eyed stare. “I didn’t mean actually sleeping.”

You see a million emotions shift through his eyes and face, and within a second, he places his lips on yours again, this time and a little more urgently. Your lips move in sync for a few seconds before he pulls away, grabbing your chin to meet his eyes again.

“Let’s say our goodbyes.” You notice his eyes are a few shades darker. “I’m taking you home.”

He leads you away from your secluded corner, dragging you to say your goodbyes. The farewells are short and sweet, everyone oblivious to how fast Juraj pulls you around. In mere minutes, you’re in the safety of your car, and you’re sitting in the passenger seat, admiring the man beside you. It’s honestly annoying how perfect he is. Even his side profile is envious, and with the passing city lights illuminating him wonderfully, it’s taking everything in you not to jump him.

He must notice this because he drives a little faster and places his hand on your thigh. You are nearly breathless as he gently smooths your skin under his touch, and even though your thoughts are far from pure, you can’t help but let your heart swell with love.

You finally arrive at his apartment, and you run for the elevator, hoping the ride is short. It is, and when you finally make it to his apartment, you almost want to die.

Juraj, however, is nothing but a patient man. As soon as you enter, he drops to his knees and gently taps your heel. You smile the sweet smile and lift your foot, watching in awe as he undoes the tiny buckle, pulls off the shoe, places a small kiss on your leg, and then moves on to the next one.

When he finally finishes your shoes, he gets up, moving you back to your earlier position, trapped between him and the wall. His eyes are blown a bit, and the smell of his cologne makes you more buzzed than any of the change you’ve had tonight.

You finally make your move, pulling off his suit jacket and throwing it far away from you. He smiles and picks you up effortlessly, his hand gently resting on your ass. He gives it a small squeeze as he leads you to the bedroom, tossing you on the bed as you shriek out with laughter.

Juraj is a patient man, but even he has his limits. When he climbs on top of you, watching as you undo his shirt buttons, he’s quick to lean down and begin pressing gentle kisses to your neck. He continues his assault when you finally finish the buttons, tugging his shirt. He pulls it off, and you almost gasp. He truly is sculpted by the gods, and you can’t help but stare.

“Are you too tired, my love?” He asks, knowing the answer.

You shake your head rapidly, pulling him down on top of you.

“Not in the slightest.”

[gainercontent]

Room to Grow Part 4: Role Reversal

Elliot had gotten used to the rhythm of life with his roommates, Mark and Ryan. They were good guys—loud, boisterous, but in the best kind of way. Lately, though, something seemed off. They’d been talking more about food than usual. At first, Elliot didn’t think much of it. Mark was always planning his next cheat meal, and Ryan would casually mention how he'd been trying to cut back on snacks, though it didn’t seem to change his behavior much. But over the past few days, there was a subtle shift in the air. Their conversations were now filled with strategies for eating less, cutting calories, and watching their portions.

"Man, I’m going to *finally* get serious about my diet," Mark had said one evening, sitting at the kitchen table with a salad in front of him, looking almost surprised to see it there. He picked up a forkful, chewing slowly, as if savoring the novelty of it.

Ryan had nodded, his usual enthusiasm dampened by the thought of sacrificing food. “Yeah, I’m cutting back, too. I think it’s time to start taking smaller portions. You know, less of the junk and more of the good stuff.”

Elliot had barely noticed, wrapped up in his own thoughts as usual. He was still feeling a little self-conscious about his body after the shopping trip. His new gym shorts and oversized hoodie were comforting, but the humiliation from his binge at the food court lingered, a constant reminder that maybe he wasn’t as in control of things as he’d thought. 

But what he didn't know was that Mark and Ryan had started a quiet plan of their own—a diet of sorts, designed to help them eat less and still feel full. They'd both started cutting their portion sizes at meals, but instead of throwing away the leftovers, they were saving them. And they weren’t eating all the food they usually would. Instead, they were secretly offering the extra to Elliot, in the hopes that he would continue to indulge. After all, they knew he was already on the track to gaining more weight, and the extra meals, they thought, wouldn’t hurt.

"Hey, Elliot," Ryan had called out a couple days later as Elliot came home after a long day. "We made dinner. We thought you might be hungry. There's extra lasagna if you want it."

Elliot had raised an eyebrow at the offer, but with the food already on the table, he didn’t hesitate. Lasagna had always been one of his favorite comfort foods, and the smell of it, rich with cheese and marinara sauce, was enough to make his stomach growl. He sat down, grabbed a plate, and scooped a large portion onto it.

Mark, sitting at the table with a small bowl of salad, eyed him carefully, but with a casual smile. “You’ve been working hard, man. You deserve it.” He didn’t mention how little he himself had on his plate, and that subtlety was enough for Elliot to miss.

Over the next few weeks, the pattern continued. Mark and Ryan would opt for smaller meals—small salads, a light sandwich here, some soup there—while Elliot ate larger portions, mostly without thinking. Every time they’d invite him to dinner, they would always set aside extra portions for him. Elliot never suspected anything odd, because they seemed as enthusiastic about the food as ever. What he didn’t notice was that they were shrinking their own meals and secretly offloading the leftovers onto him.

They didn’t exactly make a big deal of it. In fact, they were careful not to draw attention to the amount of food they were eating—or rather, *not* eating—around Elliot. They’d eat just enough to seem like they were still indulging, but just barely. Meanwhile, Elliot kept indulging. He would clean his plate every time, sometimes even going back for seconds, not thinking about the fact that his appetite was steadily growing, his stomach expanding with each indulgence.

Mark and Ryan knew that their plan was working—they could see it in Elliot’s appetite, his growing satisfaction with bigger meals, and the way his clothes slowly started to fit a little tighter. But the funny thing was, Elliot didn't see any of that. He was so used to the sight of his roommates that he couldn’t notice the subtle changes. Mark’s stomach had flattened slightly, and Ryan’s arms were a little less broad than they’d been before. It was easy for them to pretend nothing was changing. After all, the more they cut back, the more food they had to give Elliot—and the more they could watch him enjoy it.

By the end of the month, Elliot had put on another 10 pounds. He noticed the extra weight, of course, but it wasn’t like before. The changes had been gradual. His clothes felt a little tighter, especially around his stomach, but the tightness was subtle, like the slow, inevitable shift that he had just come to expect. The oversized hoodie and gym shorts still fit him, but the waistband of his shorts had become a little snug. And though he wasn’t exactly bothered by the changes—he’d accepted that he’d gained a little weight—he couldn't help but notice that his stomach seemed a little fuller after meals.

It was a warm Sunday afternoon when the next episode of his weight gain became apparent. Mark and Ryan were in the living room, watching TV, as usual. Elliot was sitting next to them, playing a game on his phone, mindlessly scrolling through social media. He was feeling a bit of hunger gnawing at him, and without thinking, he wandered into the kitchen.

"Hey, guys," he called to his roommates. "You still have that leftover pizza?"

Ryan smiled, leaning back on the couch. "It’s in the fridge. Help yourself."

Elliot didn’t even hesitate. He opened the fridge, grabbed the box, and pulled out the half-eaten pizza. It wasn’t cold, but it didn’t matter. He plopped down at the kitchen table and started eating, slice after slice, as if the hunger had come out of nowhere.

Mark shot Ryan a knowing look. “Guess he’s really hungry,” he said with a quiet chuckle.

“Yeah,” Ryan replied, watching Elliot devour the pizza. "You think he’s noticed yet?"

"Nope. And he won’t," Mark said, his voice tinged with a quiet satisfaction. "Let’s just keep it going for a little longer."

Elliot finished the last slice and leaned back in his chair, feeling a little bloated but not overly concerned. He wiped his mouth with a napkin and headed back to the living room, where Mark and Ryan were still lounging. As he sat down, he absentmindedly tugged at the waistband of his gym shorts. They were a bit tight now, but it didn’t bother him. He could still move, still breathe, and the loose hoodie covered most of the discomfort.

But underneath that oversized hoodie, changes were taking place that Elliot hadn’t noticed.

The gym shorts, once so comfortably loose around his waist, had begun to feel tighter. When he adjusted them, a strange sensation of pressure made him realize something had shifted. The waistband, which had once been able to stretch comfortably around his hips, now dug into his sides a little more, pressing against the small curve that had developed at the base of his stomach. He didn’t remember his stomach ever touching his waistband like this before. It was a soft, subtle shift—nothing drastic—but he could feel the fabric of his shorts pulling more tightly across his hips, especially when he shifted his weight or sat down. The pressure, though mild, had become a constant companion during his day. 

He didn’t think much of it as he relaxed into the couch, but when he leaned forward to grab the remote, his stomach, now a little rounder, pushed gently against the fabric of his hoodie. The soft curve of his belly pressed against the loose fabric, creating a faint bulge that hadn’t been there a few weeks ago. It was almost like his body had subtly expanded in ways he hadn’t noticed yet. 

The waistband of his gym shorts now sat a bit lower than it used to, not falling easily across his hips anymore. It felt like there wasn’t quite enough room for the natural curve of his belly to rest comfortably, and he felt the fabric of the waistband pressing in at the tops of his thighs. The shorts, once loose enough to allow for easy movement, now hugged the upper part of his pale round thighs just a little too tightly, especially when he moved or crossed his legs. 

When Elliot tried to adjust his shorts again, tugging slightly at the waistband, he felt the pinch around his hips. It wasn’t painful, just different sensation than before. His thighs, too, seemed to rub against the fabric of the shorts more than they had before. The chubbiness of his legs was noticeable as he shifted in his seat, and for the first time, he felt a faint jolt of discomfort in the seams of the shorts, which had become just a bit too small for his growing frame.

But it was all so subtle. The loose hoodie, the extra give in the waistband, the gentle pressure around his thighs—none of it screamed weight gain. It was all just small enough to be easy to ignore, easy to dismiss. The room still felt comfortable, the pants still fit—just barely. He figured it was normal. Maybe he had gained a pound or two, but it was nothing to make a fuss about.

And as Mark and Ryan lounged nearby, both watching him with a quiet satisfaction, Elliot had no idea that, with every slice of pizza he ate and every extra serving of food they secretly fed him, his clothes would get just a little tighter, his body a little softer. And under that oversized hoodie, the changes were beginning to show in ways he couldn't yet see.

This quiet process then continued on—weeks of overeating, indulging in extra portions that his roommates slyly provided, and pushing past the point of satisfaction far more often than he should have. At first, the weight gain had been easy to ignore, hidden under the loose fabric of his clothes. But now, it was becoming harder to deny.

One afternoon, after a long day at work, Elliot returned home to find Mark and Ryan already hanging out in the living room, lounging on the couch and flipping through channels. He didn’t think much of it at first. His usual routine had been to grab a snack, kick back, and relax. Today, though, there was an odd feeling creeping over him. It had started with his shorts—the waistband, once comfortable, now dug into his waist when he sat down, and when he stood up, the fabric around his thighs felt like it was stretching just a little more than it used to. His stomach, which had always been flat, now felt fuller, softer, as if it had expanded in ways he couldn’t quite explain.

He grabbed a snack from the kitchen—chips, some leftover pizza—and joined his roommates on the couch, trying to ignore the discomfort of his tighter waistband. He chatted with them for a few minutes, but his mind kept drifting back to the way his clothes felt. The waistband of his gym shorts now pinched uncomfortably when he sat, and as he shifted on the couch, he felt the faint pressure of his stomach pressing against the hem of his hoodie. His body had begun to change in ways he couldn’t hide anymore.

It wasn’t until he caught sight of himself in the mirror across the room that it hit him, hard. He had been avoiding his reflection for a while—too embarrassed by the subtle changes in his figure to really look. But today, something about his appearance caught his eye. He looked reasonably normal-sized, sure, but his shoulders didn’t seem as broad anymore. The softness and widening around his midsection was undeniable. His hoodie hung just a little more tightly over his belly, the fabric clinging to the fullness of his stomach, accentuating the roundness that had taken root there. 

But it wasn’t just that. It was the rest of him, too. His arms, which had once been narrow and lightly muscled, were starting to look softer, less defined. His thighs—those had been the first to change, the fabric of his gym shorts hugging them tighter with every step, the fullness now pushing against the seams. His legs had gotten thicker, and the difference was more noticeable now. Elliot shifted his weight awkwardly, trying to adjust the waistband again, but it felt like his shorts were clinging to him in a way that didn’t quite fit anymore. They were too tight, and the discomfort was more than just a physical sensation—it was a gnawing realization that his body had expanded, and it wasn’t subtle anymore.

Elliot stood up, taking a deep breath as he looked at his reflection in the mirror. His once-flat stomach now poked out slightly, the soft curve of his belly more prominent than he remembered. He stepped closer to the mirror, inspecting himself. His shorts clung to his legs, tight around his thighs and hips, and he could see the faint outline of his stomach pressing against the fabric of his hoodie. The sensation of tightness wasn’t just from overeating—it was the weight, the slow accumulation of extra pounds, and it was all too real now.

"Hey, man," Mark’s voice broke through his thoughts. Elliot turned to face his roommates, who had both stood up from the couch and were now watching him with casual expressions. Mark leaned against the wall, arms crossed, while Ryan was fiddling with his phone. They both seemed calm, as if they hadn’t noticed anything unusual, but Elliot’s stomach churned with an awful realization.

"Everything alright?" Ryan asked, glancing up from his phone.

Elliot didn’t know how to respond. He was so distracted by the reflection in the mirror that he barely heard his roommates’ voices. His mind was racing, trying to make sense of everything. How had he let this happen? He was sure that his weight gain had been gradual, that he hadn’t really noticed. But now that he was standing here, facing his reflection, he realized he was the largest one in the room.

Mark had always been solid, a bit stocky, but fit. Ryan, though he didn’t have the same muscle definition as Mark, had always carried his weight well. But now, Elliot could see it—really see it. His once-lean frame was now softer, rounder, more substantial. He had more weight on him than either of his roommates, and the thought hit him with a sickening pang. He was bigger. Not just bigger than he’d been before, but bigger than them.

The panic started to set in. He wasn’t sure if it was because he was ashamed, embarrassed, or simply startled by the reality of it. But when he looked at his roommates, the weight of the situation hit him. Mark and Ryan, with their healthier eating habits and smaller portions, were shrinking in front of his eyes, but Elliot hadn’t noticed. Their clothes fit the same as always. His, on the other hand, had grown tighter.

"Hey, Elliot," Mark said again, stepping toward him with an easy smile. "You okay? You look like you’re thinking too hard about something."

Elliot forced a smile, swallowing the rising wave of panic. He nodded, but the knot in his stomach wouldn’t loosen. He tried to distract himself by returning to the couch, but the pressure of his shorts and the way his stomach bulged just a little more than he liked was a constant reminder.

The truth settled over him like a heavy cloak, and it wasn’t something he could shake off. He wasn’t just gaining weight. He was *growing* in ways that felt impossible to ignore. And as he sat back down on the couch, his shorts digging into his hips and his stomach pushing uncomfortably against the fabric of his hoodie, he couldn’t help but feel a pang of dread. 

Elliot had become the largest roommate without even realizing it. 

And the worst part? He wasn’t sure if it was too late to stop it.

*****New Chapter will be posted every Thursday*****

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Smile Like You Mean It 2

Warnings: non/dubcon, bullying, humiliation, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Characters: Colin Shea, Rafe Cameron (Professor AU)

Summary: you’re trying to grow up but you keep getting pushed back down.

Part of the Bad Professors AU

Note: Please leave some feedback and reblog <3 As always, I love to chat with you all. 

Your new dress isn’t quite new. Yet, it’s better than anything you brought from home. You can’t afford the designer looks but you found a nice dupe. You think. There was a tiktok of a similar outfit, though your vans don’t quite compliment the look. Well, how many people are going to be looking at your feet. Or looking at you. 

It’s too bad your new friend, Ash, had to rush off to get her books. You could have used the moral support and yet, it’s a bit too early to be inviting her places, isn’t it? And to think of it, Colin invited you, not anyone else. 

You check your phone as you walk across campus. Your tights do little against the cold and make your thighs itch. You clutch the strap of your purse, the fringe swaying with each step.  

You hear the party before you get to it. As you walk up, the windows glow against the backdrop of the evening and tiki torches are lit to light the folding tables of red cups and chips and other things. Some bounce balls into the cups as the guests already there cluster around and chatter at a blustering volume. 

You shrink at the precipice of the walk that divides the grass. Music pumps from within, churning in the air with the garbling voices. The front door is wide open as people come and go. You’re nearly knocked off your feet as two guys in the blue jackets brush past you. 

You exhale and make yourself go forward. You grip your phone tight and look down at the screen. You should text Colin and figure out where he is. You’re distracted from sending the message as you pass a girl being crushed by a guy against the siding.  

They make out sloppily, the girl seemingly helpless to his affections as he pens her in. She has her hands on his chest as he clamps her head tight. She wears corduroy skirt and puffy blouse. It’s not exactly cutting edge. 

You peek at the other guests. You prepared for tall blondes and gorgeous brunettes. All the other girls are pretty and yet they aren’t the lululemon, PSL-guzzling coeds you marvel at. They’re just like you... 

“Aubby!” The voice booms like thunder and centers your anxiety.  

You look at Colin with wide eyes as he approaches. Oh my. He’s wearing his jacket but no shirt under it. There are blue emblems painted on his buff chest. Your eyes skim the lines of his tight muscles.  

“There you are, baby doll,” he nears and drapes his arm across your shoulder. “You get a drink? You need a drink.” 

You let him take over easily. Your voice remains elusive. 

“See, I love that about you, Auburn. You’re so gentle and quiet. You let a man take control. Just the way it should be,” he squeezes you against him. “Fuck, I’m all over the place. Did I tell you that dress is hot as hell?” 

You look down and hug yourself. You don’t know that anyone ever complimented your clothes. There wasn’t really anything to like about them. Or you. 

“Let me give you a lay of the land...” he declares as he grabs a red cup from another table and hands it to you. You accept it as he claims on for himself. 

He walks you through the house, yapping about the fraternity and how they have pledges serving the drinks. You notice they don’t have jackets and are dressed in tight spandex shorts and feather boas. You try not to stare. 

You taste the beer. You don’t drink. You never saw the need for it. You always overheard the girls in English talking about getting lit and waking up face down but you were never in with them, and that didn’t really sound too fun. 

“Eh, there he is,” Colin booms and makes you flinch. “Rafe,” he lets you go to the dab up the other guy. He’s a bit more slender than Colin, his hair is longer and floppy, and his eyes look a bit sleepy. “Aubby, this is the best guy in the place. Rafe, this is Auburn... my date.” 

Date? Your eyes flicker. Is that what this is? 

“Uh... hi,” you force out and nearly cough. 

Rafe’s brows tilt and he looks at Colin, “she’s quiet,” the latter says.  

“Cute,” the other replies as he gives you a look up and down. “I been making the rounds. Making sure everyone’s cozy.” 

“Right, right,” Colin says. 

“Good turn out,” Rafe says. “Thing will get going soon.” 

“Sure, well, see ya round, we’re going to try to catch up,” Colin raises his cup and drains it. He turns you past Rafe and presses on. He swallows a belch, “hey, you need another?” 

You look down at your cup. You’ve barely had any. You shake your head. 

“Ah, babe, no problem. You take your time. Lots of beer to go around,” he assures you and waves his cup in the air. A pledge appears to switch it out. You’re embarrassed at all the nakedness. 

“How about we find somewhere quiet? Lots going on, right?” 

You nod. He directs you around a cluster of guys and girls. You get to the stairs and climb with him. He clings to your hand as he drags you down the hall and into a bedroom. He shuts the door and you’re relieved to have the cacophony blocked out. Then all at once, you’re nervous at the reality of being alone with him. 

“I really mean it, that dress looks good on you,” he lets you go and faces you as he bites his thumb, “you got a nice body.” 

You push your legs together and cradle your hot cheek. You slurp the beer before you squeak out a thank you. He smiles. 

“Come on,” he goes to the bed and hops on it. He sits against the head board and slaps the space next to him. You hesitate. “No funny business. I been on my feet all day. That’s it.” 

“Oh, okay,” you murmur. 

You go to the bed and climb up next to him. You put one leg over the other as you extend them and he wraps his arm around your shoulder once more. He pulls himself closer. He takes a drink then puts his cup on the table at his other side. 

“Are you a freshman?” He asks. You nod. “Ah, makes sense. Well, that makes you special. Freshman don’t often get in at Delta.” 

“Really,” you say behind the brim of the cup. 

“Well, baby, I knew you were special when I saw you,” he trails his fingers along your thigh and you twitch in surprise. 

“Special?” 

“Yeah, you’re not like other girls. You’re just you. I like that.” He purrs as his other hand rubs your shoulder. “And you’re pretty as all hell.” 

You stare at him, burning to the core. You’ve never been this close to a guy. Never had them being so touchy or sweet. It’s overwhelming. 

“I’m sorry to be a fucking simp but can I kiss you?” He rasps, “I been thinking of it all day.” 

“Kiss?” You echo. “Umm...” 

He gently retracts his hand and grips the cup in your hand. He dislodges it and reaches to set it with his. He turns you again and caresses your cheek. 

“Just a kiss, babe? Please?” 

You stare at him. You are on fire. You can’t speak. Not enough to say no. So, you nod.  

Today has been a day of firsts. Your first friend, your first kiss. It’s the first day of an amazing year, you can feel it. 

[deathmetalunicorn1]

Hi, Can you for Nezuko!reader x Whitebeard crew. So just basically in the Demon slayer world Nezuko was hit with a blood demon art and just appeared on Whitebeard ship.

(Extra if you want: Nezuko wanting to be friends with Izou because he has pretty kimonos)

-They didn’t know where you came from or even what you were, when you suddenly dropped out of the sky, literally, from what looked to be a fiery portal made of black fire, landing hard on the desk of the Moby Dick.

-You looked like a teenage girl when you first arrived, looking terribly injured, one of your legs and both of your arms missing, growling darkly at them all like you were some kind of animal.

-When you suddenly grew your missing limbs, instantly healing your wounds, many thought they were in for a fight, until you realized you were in the sunshine, which used to hurt, but it didn’t, and you calmed, looking up at the sun in awe.

-Whitebeard lowered his weapon first and the others quickly did the same, following his example as you calmed down, not aggressive anymore but you shocked everyone by your form changing to that of a child’s, shrinking down before you tipped over and were fast asleep.

-You slept for several days, curled into a little ball in Marco’s room, as he was the one watching you, minding your status, as well as inspecting you, finding that you had fangs and claws like a demon, but no demon they had ever seen before.

-When you woke up, you wandered around like a lost puppy, like you were looking for something, peeking into rooms, looking under tables, following others around, hoping they would lead you to your brother, who didn’t arrive with you.

-When you arrived on the deck, looking up at the massive man known as Whitebeard, not being able to find your brother, you fell to your rear and tears quickly welled in your eyes as you started crying, your mouthpiece falling from your mouth.

-You quickly sent the ship into a panic, wondering why you were crying, but Whitebeard could feel something, like he could sense the reason behind your tears as he easily picked you up, putting you on his knee, trying to comfort you, “It seems Y/N is missing someone- perhaps that portal she came through had someone she left behind and can’t get back to them now.”

-You looked up at him through teary eyes, his words sounded right, like what he was explaining, as you couldn’t find your big brother. Whitebeard announced that you were now adopted by him and his crew and everyone on the ship became your big brothers.

-You were a curious child, always exploring and popping up in the oddest places, and you would follow certain crew members around like a duckling, with your favorites being Izo, because his clothes were familiar to you, Thatch, because he always made you tasty food, which you could now eat, Marco, who was like your protector and you slept with him, and Whitebeard, because he felt safe and comforting.

-Despite not looking overly powerful, you quickly proved yourself when the marines tried to attack, attacking your new family, and they were all stunned when your form changed to your teenage form, showing that you were able to change forms based on how much power you had stored.

-When you shifted into your adult form, however, the vines covering your skin, your fangs and nails growing, you quickly handled business, easily taking care of the marines who dared to attack your family.

-When you arrived back on the ship Izo ran to you, scolding you for being so indecent, as your kimono had fallen open, showing off your chest and legs, while you tilted your head, confused by his anger before you shrank back down to your teenage form.

-Whitebeard just boomed with laughter, finding it amusing that you were so strong, at least physically, as they all knew you were a bit fragile mentally, as you would cry at random times, looking up at the sky or out across the ocean, missing whoever you were missing.

-There were also times when you would remember your mother, when you would see one of your brothers needing comfort, mimicking her, comforting them in your own way, doing your best.

-You were a surprise on the ship, but you weren’t unwelcome, and you felt safe with them, and while you never stopped looking for and missing your brother, you at least had a family who you could call your own in this new world.

[tinydefector]

Hello tinydefector!!! I wanted to say that I admire your work, especially the book "Human's effects". So could you please add Skids and Rodimus to the continuation of the book, I would really like to see them. Thank you for your attention.

Chaos on board - Human effects

Rodimus

Human effects masterlist

Prev

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Word count: 2.3k

Warnings: workplaces issues in space

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The Ambassador walks into the Ultra Magnus' office to see Megatron and Magnus both glaring at Rodimus and Daniel. "What have you two done this time? Did they go out asteroid surfing again? " They ask while making their way towards the table. As Megatron glared daggers across the table, Ultra Magnus heaved a long-suffering sigh at the newcomer's inquiry. "Worse than that, I'm afraid. It seems Rodimus and Daniel decided simulated space warfare was an... appropriate pastime." Magnus' field pulsed annoyance. 

Rodimus waved a dismissive hand, uncowed. "Aw, c'mon Mags! We were just having a little target practice in the hold, no harm done. How were we supposed to know the booster rockets were still online?"

Megatron growled deep in his intake. "You were supposed to conduct comprehensive safety checks on our cargo!." His field roiled with barely-leashed rage. 

Daniel scratched his head sheepishly. "He's, uh, not wrong. Things may have gotten a teensy bit out of hand" The ambassador pinched their brow ridge. "Let me guess. uncontrolled explosive devices in an enclosed space led to..."

"Minor structural damage and several singed circuits, yes," grated Magnus. 

A humourless smirk curled Megatron's dermas. "Appropriate punishment is in order, I believe." His tone left no doubt over the two delinquents. They were all just happy the third member of their party hadn't been present, less they all had to deal with Ratchet's wrath. 

Rodimus gulped. Daniel sank lower in his seat. The Ambassador groans in annoyance. "Daniel get back to the crew room. Your on restroom cleaning duties for the next Orn. And don't think complaining to David and Kyle is going to save you" they state. Daniel scurried from his seat, hands raised placatingly. "Yessir, right away sir! No complaining, got it." He backed towards the door, casting Rodimus an apologetic grimace. 

Rodimus merely flashed his signature cocky grin and finger-guns, to his friend. But Megatron's responding snarl and Magnus' deepening scowl boded ill for the speedster's fate. "Really, Rodimus, must you continue pursuing chaos and mayhem?" sighs their ambassador wearily. "One of these days your antics are going to get someone hurt, what were you thinking?"

"Are you questioning my leadership?" Rodimus shot back, before shrinking back into his seat as the other two mechs shoot him with a glare. Megatron loomed over the desk, a deep rumble echoes from his chassis as he does his best not to lose his temper at the prime. "Questioning implies there was leadership to begin with." He states it's not quite a sneer but his disappointment shows. 

Magnus nodded stiff agreement. "Reckless endangerment of crew and ship cannot be tolerated. You may be Co-captain of this vessel but the Ambassador and myself are responsible for the safety and security of all on board your vessel." Rodimus paled, grin faltering at the prospect of real punishment, Their optics held no mercy as sentencing began in earnest. Another incident to log in Rodimus' ever-growing file.

"Look Rodimus I don't really care what you do in your spare time but don't drag my crew into it. I'm responsible for each and every one of the humans on this ship. Do you realise how easily something could have gone wrong?" The Ambassador states while looking at the captain. Megatron growled irritably. "Spare us your coddling, Ambassador. Rodimus' 'antics' endanger us all. He's reckless, refuses to do his documentation, finds every opportunity to disappear from proper duties, Ultra Magnus and myself are the ones running the ship due to his inability to stick to a task."

Ultra Magnus nodded solemn agreement. "Recklessness cannot continue unpunished. I suggest confinement to quarters for the foreseeable future, with duties suspended."

But Rodimus' smile falls. "What! You can't just ground me. I'm not a fragging Sparkling! I said I was sorry, what more do you want?" He shouts out optics frantically looking between the three. Megatron's engine snarled. "Respect. Responsibility. Traits you've yet to demonstrate, Captain." He spat the title like an insult. 

"Enough!" The Liaison calls out loudly. "Rodimus you have been acting up recently, rather badly, why? It seems every time one of us turns our back you are sneaking off, tonight was my night off. I was having drinks with my crew and got called here because of this" they accuse, trying to find out what had Rodimus acting up. This wasn't  the first time either he had both Daniel and Traxies looped into his antics but so far been the most dangerous.

Rodimus shrank back slightly under the barrage, facade cracking. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "Look, I know things have been... dicey lately. And yeah, maybe I've been pushing boundaries a bit more than usual? But I'm trying to enjoy myself, make others enjoy travelling with me. It's boring! I feel like I'm going nuts cooped up at a desk all cycle."

"So endangering lives is acceptable?" Megatron crossed his arms severely. 

“Have you any idea the amount of violations you have committed,  have you even read the list to your name?” Ultra Magnus grumbles, Rodimus looks at the table like a scolded child before the human sighs as they move closer. " Rodimus, can you actually read?" They ask, it was a slight hunch they had that he was acting up because of something with their reports and records. But he was showing signs similar to dyslexia and adhd. 

Rodimus stiffened. "What kind of insult is that?! Of course I can read - I'm the Prim- friggin' Captain, aren't I?!"

Megatron snorted slightly amused. "A fact that continues to astound and dismay in equal measure."

But the human ambassador remained focused on Rodimus. "Then perhaps the issue lies not in your duties, but how you process them. Reading reports and records can be tedious for some."

They pulled up a datapad, flipping through screens. "Let's test your comprehension. Can you summarise the contents of this supply requisition?"

Rodimus grimaces at the screen, he hates it. "Aw c'mon, do I have to? That stuff's so boring" 

Magnus rumbled a subtle warning but their ambassador kept Rodimus pinned with a stare. With a huff and whine from his engine, Rodimus gave in and began squinting at the pad. Silence fell as they watched him struggle to parse the words, tangling meanings and figures alike. 

"OK, so paperwork is hard for you, why haven't you brought this up to one of us?" They inquire this time not as annoyed. The move to sit down on the table near him. Rodimus shifted uncomfortable under the others' piercing stares. His plating flared in embarrassment as never before. "I didn't... it's not like..." He vented harshly, the truth forcing its way free at last. "Reading's always been hard, okay? The words jumble and my processors ache if I have to focus too long." 

He refused to meet their optics, ashamed to show such perceived weakness. "Why did you not come to us for aid?" Megatron asked, the anger in his voice had faded. "There is no shame in acknowledging limitations, Rodimus, but causing chaos over something that can simply be solved with changing who does the documentation."  

Rodimus' intake worked furiously. "Because... because I'm the Prime, the Captain! I'm supposed to have it all together, be the fearless leader. How can they follow me if they think I'm.. Everyone except me too know everything! I'm not Optimus. Im out here to not have to be in his shadow! ” he finally lets out before he sulks into his arms. 

The others go quiet as they watch the dishevelled speedster. 

"I'm willing to help you with taking inventory and trade bargains, but no more dragging Daniel or Traxies into your silly endeavours, understand?, are one of you able to help him with reports to cybertron and earth over different routes for trades and out travel logs" They inquire firstly to Rodimus and then to the other two mechs. 

He straightened with surprise. "You...you'd help me? Really?" His optics darted between the human and his Co-captain and enforcer. 

Magnus nodded. "Orders and logs require diligent documentation. Traversing trade routes necessitates mathematical prowess. I am equipped to handle them." 

Megatron gave the barest nod. "And I am...familiar with navigating bureaucracy. Of log reports and records" 

The meeting concludes after a while  the human stands there waiting for a moment. "Rodimus walk with me" they called out to the speedster waiting for him to begin walking beside them. Rodimus glanced up from shuffling pedes. "I...yeah. Yeah, okay." He nodded, falling into stride beside the human. His fields pulsed anxiety and gratitude in equal measure. 

Silence fell as they walked the halls, Rodimus casting furtive glances at them as they flick through the data padin hand. "You're not the first person I've worked with who has trouble reading or even understanding stuff" they remark as they begin heading to Swerve's. It takes Rodimus a little off guard that they were going to the bar. "Plus you owe me drinks after pulling me away from my night off" the human tease.

Rodimus perked up in surprise as they angled their path towards Swerve's bar. His cooling fans kicked on at the human's casual revelation and teasing quip. "Wait, seriously? There are others who struggle like me?" He asked slightly shocked. They hand the pad to Rodimus. “have a look at the screen and tell me if having a dark mood helps with being able to read stuff.” They tell him. He accepts the tablet as they walk into the bar. Optics flick to them watching like hawks as they find seats. 

“ it's easier to read some stuff still going to give My processors a short circuit tho” he grumbles slightly. They nod in understanding. “ we will working something out but that's for tomorrow” they hum as they both pull up to a table. Rodimus lifts them up to the bench where they fall into one of the human sided seats on the table. 

 "Look, about earlier - I really am sorry I dragged your crew into that mess. You deserve a break." Optics in the bar shoot to Rodimus and the Ambassador. All of them watched with vented breath after the earlier drinking session with the human's. Rodimus' plating twitched self-consciously under the weight of so many curious stares from within. But beside him, the human ambassador didn't seem fazed by the stares. 

Rodimus leaned in close. "Seems everyone's watching us. Primus, you'd think we spawned a sparkling the way they're gossiping!" He grumbles looking into the drink swerve slides in front of him before the mini bot disappears. The ambassador chuckled. "Don't mind them. Think everyone's letting the high grade and energex go to their head" the Ambassador states. "Plus my crew were here earlier having drinks and got a little out of hand, Nadia was talking about 'taking a mech for a ride' " they chuckled into their own drink.

Rodimus sputtered on his energon, cooling fans kicking into high gear at the risqué implications. His plating rippled in scandalised delight.  "Taking a mech for a ride, huh?!” His fans kicking on had made a few other mechs snicker from other tables. Across the bar, curious optics remained glued to their table, The speedster leaned on an elbow, optics filled with wonder.

"So which poor mech caught the little lady's optic?. " it was barely above a whisper. His engine rumbled warmly. “she had her eyes set on Swerve, I honestly think she was just trying to get free drinks" they call back in amusement.  But it makes Rodimus' processor go wild at the thought. The humans were just as interested in bedding a bot and the rest of the crew was with the humans. 

"Clever little thing, your Nadia! Far be it from me to judge creativity in scamming a drink or two." He mumbles, feeling the energex hitting him hard. He had suspected that Swerve must have given him a triple boost. 

So many of the other bots in the bar are still watching him and listening in on the conversation, eager to see if the rumours Kyle had spread earlier were true. "Oh Nadia is a very clever schemer. I'd say watch out for her and Millian they're thick as thieves kinda like you Daniel and Traxies. Just as much trouble makers" they chuckle as they finish their drink.

He cycled a gusty vent and pushed his empty cube away, coming to a reluctant conclusion. "As much as I'd love nothing more than to keep yakking all night, you should probably call it and get some recharge. You looked tired. I'm going to have one more round before I head to berth. Magnus is gonna have me on inventory or worse with him tomorrow," Rodimus shuddered theatrically at the thought.

 "But we should definitely do this again real soon. This was nice, and um thank you. For you know helping me" it's a rather shy reply which has them giving him a smile. "Enjoy your night captain, I'm most likely heading back to my room soon. Getting late and I plan on actually sleeping in my bed and not a desk tonight" they state while standing up. Joints popping slightly.

Once Rodimus had helped them to the ground they flahs him another smile “Good night Rodimus I'll see you tomorrow " they state as they make their way towards the door of the bar. He's sat there for a moment his spark fluttering as he watches them. before he gets a ping from swerve and other bots asking the gossip. He goes to get up and leave the bar before be can get bombarded with questions only to get cornered by Swerve. 

"A-hem! And just where do you think you're off to in such a hurry, Captain?" Swerve's cheery voice broke Rodimus from his musings as the gathered bots closed in, optics alight with curiosity and engex-loosened daring. A blush swiftly rose in Rodimus' plating, though he straightened with false bravado. "Just turning in for the night, mechs, as should you all” 

Catcalls and laughs erupted from the crowd. "Aw, no need to play coy, Roddy!" laughed Tailgate. "We all saw you chumming it up with the Ambassador - spill the goods!"

Rodimus cycled a sigh. They'd get it out of him one way or another. Best tell it himself and save some shred of dignity intact. "Alright alright, you buzzards! I'll tell you what really went down..." 

________

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[mamawasatesttube]

Janet lives au my beloved, I love the difference in the Janet lives vs the Jack lives au :)

Happy holidays! :D

thanks, happy holidays to you too!!!

also aughgh right??? there is so much to ponder wrt janet our collective beloved janet... i think often about this. like. his issues with jack would both shrink and grow because on the one hand jack is no longer actively around to do shit to feed into tim's many complexes. on the other hand, he now has jack up on the Perfect Dad pedestal in his mind because he's dead. can't criticize your dead dad that's fucked up and horrible. right?

and on the other hand. man. so lets posit he has a better relationship with janet than he would with jack (because janet is a better parent than jack, and let's be real, that isn't really a high bar. but given jack's... everything, i just kinda really get the vibe that he left most of the actual parenting to janet). now at first you'd think this is solely a good thing! ...but can you imagine how much more agonized tim is about having to lie to his beloved mommy???? all the time??? he's even more torn between The Mission and his filial piety this time around!!! augh!!!

like all those times jack didnt notice tim hiding bruises with makeup ? if janet's around it is sooo possible that tim steals HER makeup for this specifically at least once and She. Notices. deeply possible that she puts together "tim showing up with mysterious injuries he keeps trying to hide and also lying to me about it" with "tim getting closer with dick grayson and bruce wayne while i was away" and deduces that she doesn't know WHAT they've gotten her little baby boy into, but she IS going to kill those guys. tim keeps insisting that they're very nice to him but that really isn't helping anything. but just the entire concept of janet actually paying attention to tim's injuries - noticing if he steals her makeup!!! - or paying attention to things like. *checks notes* one of his classmates being SHOT DEAD at their SCHOOL ???? hey jack how did you not even check on him once after this. whats wrong with you. i just wanna talk jack

so i think she'd find out tim's robin way faster than jack. he probably would agonize about wanting her to know but The Mission and the need for secrecy, etc. but notably, when she finds out, i don't think she'd force him to quit - she'd really really want him to, because this is so dangerous and he's her baby and she doesn't want him to get hurt!!! but if he pushed back and tried to explain his side of it, she'd actually be willing to at least hear him out (unlike jack).

but also. not to be predictable but. i think it would be really funny if at some point during this drama kon-el shows up on the front doorstep looking for robin, and eavesdrops just enough to understand that janet knows now. because. hear me out. this is how we once again arrive at tim walking into his own house and home and just balking because kon is at the kitchen table hanging out with his mother. mom why the heck are you giving superboy my oreos!!!!

(also, calling back a little to the concept of baby kon somehow befriending janet, but. very specific vision in my mind of "janet lives past identity crisis too au" where at some point baby kon mentions to tim in her earshot that hes never had a mom and wonders whats it like?? and she doesnt say anything but this strikes her to the heart. several years down the line when timkon are established at some point she's like conner sweetie i know a long time back you said you don't have a mother, and i understand that completely and don't mean to try and take any place in your life you don't want me in, but if you ever would like to have a mother-in-law… and tim is just like. MOM. ARE YOU TRYING TO PROPOSE TO KON FOR ME??? THIS IS SO CRINGE. UGH MOM STOP)

[monstersholygrail]

A monster boyfriend would be fantastic.... Can you imagine him coming to your defense when you have a toxic parent? I'm on the obese side but very short. Last night......a parent called me lazy and fat....despite my efforts t olose weight for health reasons. Now, I feel too scared to eat.

I cried so hard, and wish I had some intimidating boyfriend that would've made my mom shut up and come to my defense. Also, I feel like monsters would not care so much about human standards of beauty. (Even at my healthiest weight, I wasn't like stick thin)

Oh, hunny, I feel you. I’m in the same boat. I’m so sorry you went through that. You are absolutely beautiful the way you are. Do what you need for your health but know that being skinny doesn’t equal being healthy. Please eat, love, because making sure you’re eating all your meals is a part of health. I know that a monster would love you no matter what and would embrace you entirely.

I’ve been through a similar experience and I know I would’ve loved to read something to comfort me so I hope this can comfort you <3

Perfection to Me

Monster bf x chubby fem!reader - tw fatphobia, toxic parent[ing], hurt/comfort, protective bf, body worshipping, multiple orgasms, creampie

You had been so excited. You had recently gotten your very first boyfriend and you were so excited to introduce him to your family and friends.

Of course, all of your friends had been a bit surprised when they first met and they were faced with a huge and intimidating monster. But in reality, your monster bf was the sweetest man you had ever met. He was protective and he cared for you more than you ever could’ve imagined.

And he proved it to you time and time again how seriously he took your courtship. How deeply he considered you already to be his mate. Not shying away from using the term regularly.

All of this just drove your excitement to the point where you couldn’t wait to introduce him to your mother. To show her you’d finally found someone.

That excitement slowly dwindled. More and more as the night went on. It had all been going so well. Your mother greeted your monster bf with delight. Clearly happy, if not surprised, by his presence. It was easily overlooked.

But then the comments started. Snide in-passing comments. Comments about your relationship, your weight, and worst of all your eats habits.

You focus on staring down at the table, trying to keep your tears at bay. Having been so used to swallowing down these comments without a retort. Luckily your monster bf isn’t.

A loud slamming of fists rattles the dinner table, causing you to look at your bf with a sharp gasp. From the corner of your eye you can see your mother do the same.

“Who do you think you are?” Your bf snaps, his hands clenched. Only barely holding back his simmering rage.

Word after word he had been tortured by your mother’s lashing tongue. He had no idea how you must be feeling. But after seeing the tears in your eyes he could no longer sit back and take it.

“Excuse me?” Your mother asks, eyes wide and partially frightened by the aura which radiated from your monster bf.

“Was I not clear?! Who do you think you are to be speaking to my mate like that?” He questions, standing up. Only making his form that much more intimidating to witness. Not willing to listen to any bullshit from your mother.

“Well, I.. I am her mother!” Your mother replies weakly, visibly shrinking back in her chair.

“I have known mothers that eat their young who are kinder than you,” your bf lashes out, claws sinking into his own skin. You wince seeing it, your worry for him growing. Not wanting him to hurt himself because of her.

“How dare you!” Your mother shrieks, hand clutching her chest.

“Baby, plea-“

“No!” Your bf snarls, head whipping to face you, and stopping the excuse from leaving your lips. His arm joining it to stop you from reaching for him.

But as his eyes meet yours, they immediately soften. He leans down, licking and nuzzling into your cheek in a silent apology.

“I will not stand idly by and watch as an insignificant disrespects you,” his voice rumbles into your skin as he moves down to your neck, scenting you. Marking you as his to care for now.

“Insignificant!”

Monster bf tenses hearing your mother’s voice again. Returning to his full height he glowers down at her.

“It is a mother’s job to nurture and protect,” he states simply, making his opinion of her treatment of you quite clear.

“I am protecting her! Protecting her from herself and from everyone out there,” your mother finally snaps. Standing up from the table even in the face of your bf.

Your bf bristles, needing to pause for a moment. Ensuring he doesn’t lose control of himself. After a silent beat he slowly walks around the table and towers over her.

“In this moment you are a far greater enemy to her than anything she will face out in the world…”

You watch as his words sink in. Your mother’s face growing pale and her mouth finally staying closed.

When he’s sure she won’t try and reply, your monster bf moves around her, heading back to you. He holds out his hand which you take without hesitation. Your heart nearly beating out of your chest.

It’s only when your bf immediately reaches with his free hand to wipe softly at your cheeks do you realize you had been crying.

“Come, sweet mate. I think it’s time we leave,” he says lowly as he gathers you up in his arms. You don’t even think about resisting, just letting your bf swiftly lead you out of the home.

You could tell your monster bf was angry. He was furious. And it showed in the way he ravishes you the moment you two get home.

As soon as the door closes behind you he’s plucking you up from the floor with ease and throwing your body gently down on the bed. Endless praises leave his lips, clearly setting out to replace every mean word your mother had uttered throughout the night.

He peels your clothes off slowly, despite the fact he was practically shaking with his restraint. Revealing your beautiful big body inch by inch. As soon as you are bare he pounces on you, showing how much he treasures every curve of your body.

His face nuzzles into your thick neck as he grinds his cock against your pussy lips, all while telling you how hard you make him. Not stopping until you come apart, dousing his length with your essence.

He makes sure to take care of every inch of you. Moving down to latch onto your nipples. Sucking and massaging at your supple flesh until you gush all over the sheets from the toe-curling stimulation. Your body spent but your monster bf not having finished with you, evident by the feral glint in his eye.

Taking his time, setting his own aching need aside, to slowly kiss down the curve of your stomach. His claws digging into your sides and loving how you fill up his hands.

Though his hands suddenly have a far better use as they spread your meaty thighs for him. He dives right in, stuffing his face into your fat pussy and completely smothering himself in your folds. His tongue devouring you like you’re the only thing he’ll ever want to eat again.

Fingers joining soon after, needing to fill you up even deeper as his tongue laps up your essence. His hand and mouth work in total sync till your body is shaking with the need to cum. His mouth sucks greedily at your clit while his fingers curl along your walls. As soon as he finds that sweet spot within you, you’re erupting all over his tongue. White dots briefly clouding your vision from the intensity.

Monster bf barely gives you a moment to breathe as he rises onto his knees, that look in his eyes only growing darker with each orgasm that overtakes you. His eyes rake over your limp form.

“You are perfection,” he breathes out before finally sinking into your tight cunt. You both moan as your bodies connect, your back arching as you show off that body that’s so beautiful to him.

He can’t hold back any longer as he furiously fucks his cock into you, bodies slapping together in perfect harmony. Growls and deep rumbling noises escaping him as your body brings him a pleasure he’s never otherwise experienced.

Together you two bring each other to orgasm after orgasm, never getting enough of each other. It’s not until neither of you can physically not move that you take a break.

“You hungry, love?” He asks as you two lay back on the bed, limbs completely wrapped around each other.

“Hmm, no. Not really,” you reply quietly, your appetite not quite having returned after dinner was interrupted. Monster bf senses this, his lip quivering as he visibly holds back a growl.

“Well, what if we change the venue, huh? You can eat off of me,” he suggests, a lighthearted smugness moving across his features. His free arm moving to rest behind his head while the other keeps a firm grip on you.

“Oh, well that changes things then,” you say through your laughter. Your bfs smugness grows as he shifts down and spreads out across the bed. Showing off his body to you. A body that’s goal is to give you more pleasure than you could dream of.

“Yeah, it does. You can eat a fucking feast off of me…” your bf says with a grin, all in order to bring more of that sweet laughter out of you. To have it tickle his senses. He’d do anything to make you laugh. He leans down and nibbles at your neck, causing you to giggle lightly. That’s it. “And that’s exactly what I plan to have you do.”

Monster bf doesn’t given you any time to respond before he’s back to kissing the daylights out of you.

[heartfullofleeches]

Day At The Pool

Yan Casino staff + G.N Reader blurb

-

They've been staring at you all day....

Four members of the hotel staff you have the sneaking suspicion have been following you since you checked in. An extravagant and luxurious hotel spanning roughly the size of a small town - yet you saw their faces at nearly every corner.

It was reasonable to see them from time to time. Your first instance of meeting the group was on your travel to the floor you'd be spending the duration of your stay when you had returned a pendant one of them had dropped after you found it by your door during the confusion. They thanked you profusely as the other members of their team peaked outside the rooms they'd be searching to see the cause of their crewmate's tears.

A few words and hugs of gratitude, plus a few dessert to show how deep their appreciation ran and you thought that would be the end of your tale. You saw them a couple times when you ordered room service - then again when you went out to explore the rest of the resort. One worked behind the register of a gift shop you visited while another escorted you to your seat after you discovered free tickets to a show added on with your purchase of the room. There was always one to cheer you on with whatever recreational actives you indulged in and one to refill your drink.

Even now, as your vacant days drew to a close and you spent one of your final afternoons by the pool your little entourage wasn't far from sight. Two had taken up lawn chairs beside you and politely, but firmly told other guests this area of the pool was closed. Another swam by in a pool float as the last continued to sneak you items in between their stops at other table. Eating one of the snacks they left as hunger lapses your judgement - you shrink into your chair as the two at your shuffle closer.

"Um.... Is there something I can help you with?"

Their eyes grow wide. One mutters in the other's ear, waving the remaining two offer. Joined by their doubles - the four look between themselves and you. They huddle together, whispering to each other and sneaking the occasional glance at you. Ever so often, you hear a soft giggle.

"Are you always that cute?..."

"Or is it just the lighting."

"Your skin looks so soft...."

"Can we touch it?..."

You pull your towel over your legs as the one from the pool reaches out. "... Do you guys do this with all your guests?"

"Course not!"

"You're different - you helped us."

"Nobody ever does that around here - we like you!"

"Wanna keep you safe...."

"Safe? Safe from what?"

The quietest of them gasps, multiple hands shooting over their mouth. The quartet drop their voices to a whisper once more hushed to complete silence as they look at you. Holding a finger to each of their lips, they beckon you closer as they signal to remain quiet.

"Shhhh - not supposed to tell."

"You don't belong here. No human does."

"Boss tries real hard to make this a place for everyone, but not everyone wants that. Demons, angels, others - some don't like mortals treading their territory."

"Cute thing like you would get gobbled right up, but we won't let that happen. You'll our little secret."

Despite the grime tale - the group laugh to themselves at their teammate's final words. Something about the usage of the phrase "ours" tickled their brains. You, on the other hand were having none of it and wrote it off as some fucked prank while recognizing the terror of what it could really be. Examining the identical maids - you notice one of them are wearing name tags.

"Can you at least tell me who you are?"

Pointing at their faces, the group shouts in unison - "Ace!"

"Wait- so you're saying you're all named Ace?"

"Yes!"

Your head throbs. "I.. think I need to go lay down."

"Would you like one of us to carry you?"

"I'll manage, thanks." You squeeze past the maids and towards the elevator. Thay was strange, but you'll be out of here soon as it's not your problem. As soon as you leave, the closest to you pulls out your phone. They all shake hands for a job well done, crowding around your phone.

"Great job, Ace!- That was close."

"You said it Ace. Luckily I was able to watch them unlock their phone a few times so we should have access."

"Oh! Maybe they have more pictures of themselves!"

"Focus. We need to make sure nobody knows where they are.... but it couldn't hurt to check.

The demon in possession of your phone unlocks it on the first try and with the others scours the device for any little detail they could find.

"So cute~ I wanna kiss their cheeks."

"Think Boss will let us keep them?"

"Course they will! We've been good lately, and given all the stuff we do already - we can take care of them better than whatever their old life was like."

"They'll be so happy with us.... Let's go make them a gift basket to welcome them home~ ♡"

[thelovehypothesis]

You’re the Only One I See

Niall Horan x fem|curvy!reader 

From this request 

a/n’s: In this blog we ENCOURAGE BODY POSITIVITY!!!

Warnings: this fic does describe the reader's body as someone a bit bigger than the socially “accepted” body type, if that makes you uncomfortable please skip this fic (and maybe reflect about that)!

Summary: you can always count on your lovey to make you feel like you again.

The night was buzzing with laughter and clinking glasses as Niall and you sat at a cosy booth in the back of a dimly lit bar. It was one of those spontaneous nights out with friends, where the mood was relaxed, and everyone seemed carefree. Except you.

You had started off feeling good—your makeup was flawless, your outfit was carefully chosen, and Niall had looked at you like  you were the most beautiful woman in the world when you were leaving the house. But now, sitting around a table filled with gorgeous women in sleek, tight dresses, you could feel the knot of insecurity growing in  your stomach. It was the way their dresses hugged their bodies effortlessly, the way their legs seemed to go on forever in heels  you couldn’t imagine wearing for more than five minutes. They were laughing and chatting confidently, completely comfortable in their own skin, while  you sat there, fidgeting your shirt, feeling more self-conscious by the minute.

Niall’s hand was resting on your thigh under the table, his thumb occasionally stroking your skin in a soothing rhythm, but it wasn’t enough to chase away the sinking feeling. You pulled her cardigan tighter around herself, trying to shrink into the booth, hoping no one noticed how out of place you felt.

As if sensing the shift in your mood, Niall leaned over and murmured into your ear, “You okay, love?”

You forced a smile, but it didn’t quite reach your eyes. “Yeah, I’m fine.”

But Niall knew better. He always did. He excused himself from the conversation at the table and gently tugged you hand, pulling you out of the booth and towards the quiet hallway leading to the bathrooms. Away from the noise, away from prying eyes, he turned to face you, concern etched into his features.

“Talk to me,” he said softly, his blue eyes scanning your face.

You hesitated for a moment before letting out a sigh, your shoulders slumping. “I just… I don’t feel like I belong here,” you admitted,voice barely a whisper. “Look at them, Niall. They’re all so… perfect. And I’m just… not.”

Niall frowned, stepping closer until his hands were on your waist, his touch grounding you. “What do you mean? You’re more than perfect, baby.”

You shook her head, looking down at the floor. “They’re all skinny and gorgeous, and I just feel like I stick out in the worst way. Like I don’t fit in, and everyone’s probably wondering why you’re even with me.”

His grip on your waist tightened slightly as he pulled you closer, tilting your chin up so you would meet his gaze. “Hey, stop that,” he said firmly, but his tone was filled with love. “You know I don’t care about any of that. You’re stunning, and I’m not just talking about looks. But since you’re so worried about that, let me remind you—your body? I love every single part of it.”

You blushed, glancing around as if someone might overhear, but Niall wasn’t done. “You’ve got these beautiful curves that I adore, and I don’t care what anyone else thinks. I’m with you because you’re everything I’ve ever wanted. And I don’t want to hear you comparing yourself to anyone else, especially not to people who don’t matter.”

Your eyes softened, but the insecurity was still lingering. “I just—sometimes it’s hard, you know? I see how people look at me, and I feel like I’ll never be enough.”

Niall’s expression softened, and he gently cupped your face in his hands. “You’re more than enough, love. You’re the only one I see in that room, the only one I want. And I’m gonna keep telling you that until you believe it.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. “I love you, exactly the way you are. And if anyone’s looking at you, it’s because they’re probably wondering how I got so lucky.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you could feel the tension slowly leaving her body. He always knew what to say, always knew how to make you feel like you are the most important person in the world. You smiled, a genuine one this time, and Niall grinned in return, kissing you softly.

“Better?” he asked, his thumb brushing over your cheek.

“Better,” you whispered, feeling the warmth of his love wrapping around you like a safety net.

“Good. Now come on, let’s get back out there, and you can show everyone how incredible you are. But only if you want to. If you’re not feeling it, we can leave right now. Whatever makes you happy.”

You shook your head, feeling a new wave of confidence wash over you. “No, I’m good. As long as I’ve got you, I’m good.”

Niall smiled and took your hand, leading you back to the table. But this time, as they sat down, feeling  lighter, more sure of yourself. And with Niall’s hand still on your thigh, you knew you had nothing to worry about.

Because to him, you were everything.

--- The End ---

would love to write more about curvy!reader if anyones interested? maybe make it a series??

hope you like this!

-Lots of love, Em.