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after-witch · 8 months ago

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Aisle 8A [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Title: Aisle 8A [Yandere L Lawliet x Reader]

Synopsis: You're on your period, and your captor sits you down for a very special talk.

Word count: 1500ish

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, reader has their period, misogyny, lots of period talk, L being a weirdo

It’s rare that you let your kidnapper see you squirm. Mostly because he’s admitting to enjoying the sight of you fidgeting on the couch or bed; apparently, all of your little body tics in such stressful moments are just absolutely fascinating.

So, whenever possible, you make your body sit (almost) perfectly still. You keep your face neutral. You bite back responses, swallow insults, and wait until you’re alone in the bathroom to cry. (Though you have speculated he may have a camera in there, despite the lack of proof, and his cagey denial.)

It works, most of the time.

Except for now--for several reasons.

One being, you’re on your period.

It’s not something you looked forward to pre-kidnapping, and it’s something that you dread intensely, post-kidnapping. Sitting in front of your captor while you bleed into one of the standard-issue pads you found in the bathroom--the thin, generic kind that are often stocked at public bathrooms--is certainly not the highlight of your day.

Two, and two is the primary reason for the way your body is currently shifting on the chair: L, your kidnapper, the person you hate most in the world, has presented you with a tray of assorted period products. Pads, of several sizes and materials. Tampons, the same. Period underwear. And a silicone menstrual cup, fresh out of a plastic wrapper.

Behind this tray, he sits on his own chair, knees pulled up, a small smile on his face.

He gnaws on the end of his thumb and looks at you with something akin to gleeful hope, and you’d like nothing more than to punch him in the face.

“Well?” He asks, voice lilting. “Aren’t you going to ask why I put these here?”

You’d like to ask him where he gets the nerve. But that would only feed his ego, you think. So you breathe in and out through your nose, slowly, carefully. You flex your fingertips and press your hands together on your lap.

“Why,” you say, slowly, carefully neutral, “do you have a tray full of period products in front of me?”

L beams. “Glad you asked!” He gestures across the tray, like you haven’t been staring at it for what feels like five full minutes. “I’ve been monitoring your last seven menstrual cycles--your menstrual bleeding cycles, in particular--and I have come to the conclusion…”

He leans forward, eyes wide, eager. “… that you are not adequately handling your period every month.”

You have put up with a lot of things during your months of captivity. The loss of freedom, of course. The lack of autonomy. L’s incessant, creepy staring. His tendency towards over-analyzing you. His love for mental games that leave you wanting to tear your hair out.

But this?

This is too much. Too far.

Especially right now, with the awkward feeling of blood pressing between yourself and the pad, and a dull ache of cramps sitting low in your belly.

The snort that comes out of your nose would be fire, if it reflected how angry you’re getting.

“And how, exactly, am I not--handling my period adequately every month?” Even though you know he’ll get some special entertainment from your mockery, you can’t bite it back.

L grins again. “I’m happy to tell you my conclusions.” He reaches over to a side table, and retrieves a stack of papers. Your eyes go wide. No way. No fucking way. He didn’t--

He did.

He taps the stack of papers on the tray in front of him.

“I’ve calculated that during your active menstrual bleeding, you are 57% more irritable than on days without bleeding. Although there are many ways to reduce your stress hormones during these days, you refuse to do anything except mope around.”

Your mouth opens, lips sticking to your teeth, but he puts up a hand before you can tell him that being fucking kidnapped is the reason you’re “moping around.”

“And yes, I have taken into account your… unhappiness with your current situation. While that should account for certain levels of your stress hormones, it doesn’t account for all of them, nor does it negate the distinct rise in your stress levels on these specific days.”

Your eye twitches. It actually twitches.

“What else,” you bite out, teeth grinding, “have you calculated in that report of yours?”

He tilts his head, still smiling. He might look cute, if you didn’t want to knock his teeth out.

“Would you really like to know more? I don’t want to bore you. Ah, but if you insist…” He flips through the pages, until he lands on something he’d apparently love to share. “I’ve also discovered that your current pad use is simply inadequate for the flow and consistency of your menstrual bleeding.”

He can’t be serious. Nope. He can’t be. You must be dreaming.

“Stop,” you mutter, cheeks blazing hot, chest almost equally so. “Just--”

“I think this is important,” he says, blinking innocently at you. “I’ve noticed that you’ve stained your clothing--undergarments included--several times, and when Watari had the sheets laundered, we spotted some--”

Nope. You’re not doing this.

You stand up, body shaking, skin hot and flushed with embarrassment.

“I’m not having this conversation,” you say, voice stilted, teeth grinding on the inside of your cheek to keep you from screaming. “This is weird. You are weird.” Your hand points at him, vaguely, accusingly, but you drop it without fanfare.

His smile tilts into the smallest of pout.

“It’s not weird to be concerned with your inadequate usage of menstrual products. That’s why I’ve arranged some samples for you,” he says simply enough. “So you can see which menstrual product is best suited to your size and flow. Personally,” he adds, looking down at the tray with mild fascination, “I’m interested to see if the overnight pads are really more absorbent than the daytime heavy flow. Shall we conduct an experiment to compare?”

“No!” The words come out practically shrieked, and you grab one of the cushions from the sofa and hug it close. Calm yourself, you think. Calm down. Don’t let him see you get mad. It’s what he wants. It’s probably the entire reason for all this---well, this.

“I don’t need you to tell me what products to use. Or how to manage my stress. Or--whatever else it is you have in there.”

L pulls out another sheet of paper. “Well, I have also considered the effectiveness of your using microwaved towels versus a proper heating pad--which you could ask me for, but haven’t--and--”

It’s your turn to raise your hand and, to your surprise, he stops talking.

“I’ve had my period every month since I was 11.” The inside of your cheek hurts--there will be a blister, and blood, soon enough. “You really, really think I don’t know how to handle my own period?”

Maybe this is your attempt at giving him an out--a chance to apologize for being so unbelievably awful.To admit he’s wrong, in some small measure. Your hands tighten around the pillow, in hope--in anticipation?

His eyebrow raises; there’s a quirk of a smile on his lips.

“That’s the strangest thing about all this. I calculated that you’ve had…” And the bastard actually recites the estimated number of periods you’ve had since you started puberty. “… in your life.” He taps the paper in front of him with one short, gnawed-on fingernail. “You really should have had a more logical plan for this by now.”

The cushion bonks off the side of his head with unsatisfying softness, and you stalk away, intent on going into the only room in the house where you get any semblance of privacy--the bathroom.

“I forgive you,” he calls out, even as you walk away. “I know you’re only overreacting with this level of aggression due to the elevated level of hormones in your bloodstream!”

You can hear the smile in his voice as you slam the bathroom door. The mirror rattles. Your breath comes out in awful huffs, and angry tears prick at your eyes. Stupid asshole. Smarmy bastard. It’s like there’s no part of your life he won’t dissect, won’t turn impossibly irritating, and he’s just--

Your eyes land on the box of pads you’d found on the day of your first period here. It was a larger, plain brown box with a bar-code in it--he probably got it from some bulk place, hence the low quality.

Only now…

The box is empty. There are no more pads, thin, shitty as they were. And you know you’re about to be finished with the current pad resting in your underwear from the feel of it.

There’s a soft, playful knock on the door. He knew--he must have known the whole time it was empty. Probably knew you’d wind up storming off in here, too.

“Did you decide which of these you liked best?” Even with his voice muffled by the door, the sticky self-assurance rings loud and clear. “I’m guessing you’ll need them sooner rather than later…”

Before you start looking for any object you might throw in his direction if he opens the door, he calls out again--

"If you've chosen the menstrual cup and you're worried about the insertion process, I watched the tutorial video and it's really very--"

You don't hear what he says in the end over your own muffled shriek into the nearest towel.

#yandere #yandere l lawliet #yandere death note #afterwitch writes #yes this is named after the king of the hill episode

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seoulmatez · 6 months ago

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— 𝒻𝓇𝓊𝒾𝓉𝓈 𝑜𝒻 𝓁𝒶𝒷𝑜𝓇 ౨ৎ

boothill x f!reader. 2.3k wc. ﾉ sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ non-canon compliant ﾉ farmhand!boothill ﾉ a lil bit of flirty teasing ﾉ pet names ( darlin' ) ﾉ interactions with kids ﾉ reader is navigating Big and Confusing feelings :3

previous part ౨ৎ masterlist ౨ৎ next part

“one more stop and we should be good to go,” boothill informs you, closing the door behind him after joining you in the front of the truck. his presence makes the vehicle feel twice as hot and you find yourself scooting closer to the window to widen the gap between the two of you. the task proves to be a bit difficult in the two-seat cab.

maybe you can chalk it up to the fact that you’ve gotten used to the convenience of grocery delivery services, but you’re really starting to feel like boothill is going out of his way to make this the longest, most convoluted shopping trip simply because you’re here with him. if you knew you’d be spending such a large chunk of your day with the farmhand, you wouldn’t have so easily agreed to accompany him on the errands.

it was another request, or suggestion, rather, from your grandpa. you’ve been cooped up in the house since you arrived for your getaway and the man thought it might be a good idea for you to go into town, reacquaint yourself with the locals. you couldn’t argue—your trip is currently indefinite and you’re sure you’ll end up driving yourself crazy if you refuse to go out and are only left with the company of boothill.

he may still be in your presence now, but having others around to buffer your interactions has made all the difference. the farmhand is a lot more tolerable when it’s not just the two of you—less teasing, easier to talk to. you’d even go as far as calling him… charming. though, you’ll take that with you to the grave.

and, being trapped in a car with him is a different story. you silently hope that your next destination is in the same direction as home because you aren’t sure how much longer you can take being confined in such a cramped space with him. other than his unrelenting pestering, you’re angry at yourself for stealing glances at him—the way he steers with one hand and lets the other hang out the window and how the toothpick he’s chewing looks all too natural between his lips.

you focus your eyes ahead, scolding yourself for so shamelessly enjoying the sight of him. you should be glad he doesn’t catch you looking; you’d never hear the end of it. without turning to face him, you ask, “what’s the last stop?”

“produce stand,” he speaks around the wooden stick in his mouth, slowing to a stop at the red.

you frown, confused. “we were just at the market, why didn’t we just pick some up there?”

“and betray miss alma?” the name rings a bell, you recognize it from when you would spend summers with your grandpa. he must still do business with her if boothill is familiar, and loyal, at that. “absolutely not. better quality here, anyway.”

you don’t argue because you have a feeling that he’s right. and you wouldn’t mind catching up with alma. she was always so nice when you were a kid, excitedly asking you about your time here and offering you free carrots to feed the horses back home. you’re surprised to hear she’s still running the stall after all these years.

it only takes a few more minutes to make it to the roadside stand. there are a couple of cars already parked when boothill pulls off and you can see the owners of them picking out their desired fruits and vegetables. you don’t waste any time getting out of the truck when boothill turns it off, the gravel of the makeshift parking lot crunching beneath your boots as you make your way over to the little table that houses the register.

alma is seated behind it, head lifting up from the book in her hand at the sound of car doors closing. she readies to greet another customer but her eyes light up in pleasant delight when they land on you. “look who it is!”

her voice, though slightly changed by age, is familiar and brings an immediate smile to your face. you all but run to meet her at the table she comes to stand behind. the woman holds her arms out for a hug and you reach over the table to wrap your arms around her. it’s comforting in the same way hugging your grandpa is, like nothing can go wrong while you’re safe in their hold.

“your grandpa told me you were in town,” she tells you, pulling away and slowly taking a seat in her chair. “i was wondering if you’d stop by.”

you don’t want to tell her that you’re mostly here because of boothill. “how have you been, miss alma?”

“good, good.” she beams and gestures toward the multiple cartons and crates of colorful produce. “we’re still going strong.”

you smile at that. you don’t find many places like this in the city and the small businesses that you do come upon back home don’t foster this type of community. it’s nice to see that her livelihood is still thriving. alma gazes at her work proudly before her eyes zone in on something—or someone—else. “you here with boothill?”

“oh, yeah. he works at the farm,” you tell her, though, you’re sure she already knew as much. she’s seen much more of him in the past few years than she has of you. not that you didn’t believe him, but he really is a regular.

“nice young man, isn’t he?” alma asks, looking back at you. you’re not sure if you’d go that far but you nod in agreement regardless. he’s likely the perfect gentleman to the older ladies within town. she continues, “hardworking and handsome, too.”

“yeah,” you mindlessly admit. the hardworking part is undeniable, you’ve seen that much yourself. he’s always up on time and takes his responsibilities seriously, never half-asses his tasks and is consistently willing to take on more work if it’s necessary. you only concede on the handsome bit because boothill isn’t around to hear you say so. you hope alma isn’t a gossip.

“are you seeing him, dear?” she inquires.

“seeing him? like dating?” you ask for clarification. alma only raises her eyebrows. she does mean it like that. the question makes the tips of your ears grow hot, makes your heart feel like it’s beating against your ribcage infinitely faster. you quickly wave your hands in dismissal, smiling nervously at the woman’s assumption. “oh, no. no, no.”

alma laughs at your denial but something hidden in the sound makes it seem as though she can see right through you. she doesn’t push the matter and while you’re grateful to leave the discussion at that, you can’t help but wonder what gave her that impression, if it’s simply an old lady’s wishful thinking or if you aren’t as good at suppressing those confusing feelings as you thought you were.

“boothill!” the call of his name gives you a start. you almost think alma is calling him over but when you reassess the voice—how little and high-pitched it is—you calm down. your eyes search the small crowd for the man and you find him quickly, though he isn’t alone. there’s a little girl at his feet, one who’s hugging his legs tightly and looking up at him with stars in her eyes.

you don’t have time to wonder about who she is before alma explains. “that’s my granddaughter. sweet little thing. you should go meet her, she’ll love you.”

“sure.” you offer the woman a short wave before making your way over to boothill and the girl. you can pick up on tidbits of their conversation as you approach—boothill asking how much she’s missed him and the girl telling him “this much!” while opening her arms as wide as she can. he laughs and takes the opportunity to bend down and pick her up, situating her on his hip. he even takes the hat off his head to place it on hers. it’s big on her, covers her eyes and requires her to push it back so she can see.

the whole exchange is cute, not something you’d expect from boothill. there’s a lot that you don’t know about him, you think as you watch.

the girl must feel you looking because her head turns in your direction which causes boothill’s to follow. you smile at her and wave and when you’re finally close enough, you greet her. “hi there.”

“hello.” she isn’t as excited as she was when she realized boothill was here but she’s still kind, returning your wave with one of her own. your conversation ends before it truly begins as she turns back to boothill. there’s curiosity swimming in her eyes and she doesn’t attempt to lower her voice when she asks him, “is she your girlfriend?”

your mouth falls open in surprise at the girl’s bold question. boothill laughs heartily, whether at your reaction or the question itself, you’re not sure. you don’t know if you trust him enough to answer honestly but before you can tell her no, the man is already speaking. “nah.”

relief washes over you, but it’s short-lived. he meets your eye with his next words. “she’s real pretty though, ain’t she?”

he’s doing it again, putting you in a tough spot, one that urges you to run away rather than face the situation head-on. but this time, he knows that you know running away here would only cause a scene. you aren’t jumping at the chance to embarrass yourself in public so, even though you’re tempted to put as much space between you and boothill as possible, you plant your feet to the ground and stay put.

the girl in his arms looks at you again before eagerly nodding. “very pretty!”

“thank you, sweetheart,” you tell her with a soft smile. you try to keep it in place when you turn to address boothill. “are we ready to go?”

“almost,” he answers, crouching down to return the girl to the ground. the girl doesn’t look thrilled at their time being cut short but boothill, still at her level, playfully pinches her nose in hopes of cheering her up. “look, i gotta finish shopping but we can talk some more another day. maybe ask your mom if you can come ride the horses soon.”

“okay!” she places the hat back on his head, gives him a goodbye hug, and waves once more at you before skipping over to her grandma—presumably to share her enthusiasm at the prospect of visiting the farm.

she reminds you of yourself around that age.

“so,” boothill starts, rising to his full height with a half-full wicker basket in hand, “you only capable of accepting compliments when they’re not from me?”

there’s a grin stretched across his lips like he’s waiting for a thank you of his own. perhaps it’s a little rude, a bit pretentious even, but you can’t find it in you to utter the two simple words. maybe it’s strange and maybe it only makes sense to you, but not acknowledging the words is almost as if they never traveled through the air in the first place. pretending like the words don’t exist is easier on you—your turbulent mind and your unsteady heart.

you change the subject. “what else do we need?”

“you are ice cold, darlin’.” despite the statement, boothill doesn’t seem to be bothered by your indifference. he wouldn’t take it to heart if you were truly uninterested but the man is more perceptive than you give him credit for. he doesn’t miss how you can never seem to meet his eye following his heartfelt words, how you chew on your lip while you formulate an unrelated reply, and he certainly hasn’t forgotten about that stunt you pulled in the barn.

there’s something going on in that pretty head of yours and he’s determined to find out just what it is.

you pick out a few peaches and plums for yourself and a bunch of carrots for the horses while boothill grabs the rest of the household necessities. the basket is full by the time the two of you are finished. you plan on paying for your share but boothill insists that you wait in the truck, so, after bidding goodbye to alma and her granddaughter, you make the short walk back to the car.

a couple of minutes pass before you hear the man putting the produce away with the rest of the items in the bed of the truck. a second later his door opens and he joins you, though, he isn’t empty-handed. there’s a bouquet of flowers in his hand that he holds out to you. “for you.”

you eye them cautiously, not daring to reach out and accept them.

“don’t worry, they’re from miss alma,” he tells you, lightly shaking the colored cosmos in front of you in a gesture for you to take them. “put ‘em in your room or something, they’ll look nice.”

with his urging, you take the bouquet. pinks and purples with pops of white make up the arrangement and, much to your chagrin, boothill is right—you can think of the perfect spot in your window for the blossoms.

as he starts the car and begins to back out into the road, boothill steals a quick look at you. there’s a smile pulling at your lips, soft and natural. it’s a rare sight, but one he could get used to.

he supposes that if he wants to see it for a while longer, he shouldn’t tell you that they aren’t actually from miss alma, rather, a mere suggestion from the nice lady to get him in your good graces.

thanks for giving this a read! reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated!

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: honkai star rail #boothill x reader #hsr x reader #honkai star rail x reader #boothill drabble #hsr drabbles #boothill fluff #hsr fluff #honkai star rail fluff

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agustdiv1ne · 1 year ago

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𖤐⋆°·.3:13 a.m. (m) — choi beomgyu

genre: smսt (mdni! ageless blogs dni!!), vampire boyfriend!beomgyu, fem!human!reader, mc gets her period, oral (f receiving), bloodplay (ig), i would say i'm sorry but i'm not <3

wc: 3.2k

beomgyu awakes to the smell of blood flooding his nostrils.

bleary eyes snap open as he shakes himself from his suspended state of consciousness, only for him to squint at the glaring crimson numbers of the alarm clock sitting upon the nightstand. it's terribly early. early enough that the stars still glitter against the sable background of the sky outside, early enough that this particular bedroom of his manor remains bathed in darkness. the dimness of the room, however, proves to be no issue for beomgyu's enhanced sight; he watches as your chest rises and falls in steady succession, your sleeping form blissfully unaware of his current predicament.

oh god, it's you. the blood is yours. the sweet, saliva-inducing perfume of the crimson ichor overwhelms your typically clean, subtle scent; and yet according to his keen senses, the aroma is richer this time, somehow. more potent — he has not smelt anything as addicting in decades. it makes it all the easier for him to want to give into the primal urge to absolutely devour you, to feed and feed and fucking feed from your pretty little neck until he’s sated and you’re halfway brainless. with a jerky shake of his head, he pushes those instincts swirling in his chest into a dark corner of his mind. he’d never feed from you without your permission. he’s not like that; no, he’s not like his former coven that would hunt defenseless humans like you for sport, taking turns drinking from the victim’s body until their veins ran dry. no, he is far from being like them. he loves you, and he’d never do anything that could hurt you.

another wave of sweet iron wafts into his nose, and he exhales sharply, sitting up against the headboard. shit, he really should leave. he should run far away until he can no longer smell you, but he remains frozen in place. sitting there, he takes in how you begin to curl in on yourself, your brows furrowing as if you're in pain. the sight snaps him out of his bloodlust-induced daze, blinking hard when you groan and turn away from him on the bed, your arms wrapped around your midsection — cramps. you’re cramping.

blood, cramping…oh, beomgyu realizes, your period must have started.

the two of you are typically more careful than this, tracking your cycle and ensuring that he is far, far away when it inevitably does hit you. perhaps you’ve both become too complacent in your safety measures after being together so long. it’s easy to forget that he could pose a threat to you when he’s never given you a reason to fear him. he is considered a monster by many, yes, but not by you — and that’s all that really matters to him. besides, beomgyu likes to think he could control himself no matter what, especially when it comes to you and your safety; but when he looks down to his hands, he finds that the fabric of the comforter has been torn open due to his unrelenting grip. his eyes squeeze shut. he needs to leave. he needs to leave right now. you’re too tempting, too testing for his natural instincts. run. run far away before he loses control.

rolling over, your head lands on his lap, arms curling around his left leg as you nuzzle your nose into the smooth skin of his thigh. it’s stronger now, that overwhelming scent. he feels like there’s a frog stuck in his throat, ice in his veins — he needs to get out of here. right fucking now. gently, he tries to peel your body from his, but your arms have become vines, curled tightly around his leg, the side of his knee pressed into the valley between your breasts. they curl tighter as he tries to slip his hands beneath them, but he refuses to use the full extent of his strength on you.

“baby,” he murmurs, nudging your shoulder only to receive no response. he grits his teeth together, he gulps, he tries again. “baby, wake up. you need to let go.”

you let out a sleepy mumble of his name, hooded eyes just beginning to focus as you look up at him. slowly, you take in the stiffness in his posture, his fleeting gaze illuminated by the moonlight. frowning, you set your chin on his thigh, eyes fluttering to a close once again. “what’s going on?”

“i need to leave, darling,” he grits out — he wants to bite you. he can’t bite you. he can’t. he fucking won’t.

any fatigue remaining in your body drains from your system the moment he utters those words, worry flooding your veins in its wake. you sit up, arms curling around yourself as you lean closer to him, barely registering the pain in your abdomen. his eyes squeeze shut, dark brows furrowing as he shifts away. “why? did something happen? are you in danger—”

how are you so selfless? why, of all things, is the first thing that comes to your mind is his safety? you’re the one that may be in danger here, and he is the reason why you might be.

you’re on his lap now, hands sliding over the planes of his face and down to cup his jaw. “gyu, c’mon. why do you need to leave?”

his eyes glint red before returning back to normal, razor-sharp fangs elongating before retracting again. his hands remain by his side while he shakes his head, gripping the sheets so cruelly that the threads are on the verge of tearing. now that your legs are parted, he can barely think straight. he needs to taste you, he has to—

“your period just started.”

his voice has lowered to a snarl, resounding from deep within his chest and straight into the pit that has opened up in your stomach. restraint pulls his words taut, hungry, feral — he needs something. he needs blood. you know he’s been depriving himself lately, though you’re unsure why, but now…now feels like the universe is playing a cruel joke on you with this divine timing. at the sound of another feral groan passing from his lips, you freeze. the fingers brushing over his jaw tense up, pressing into his skin ever so slightly, your voice whisper-quiet. breathy, shock coating each word, “oh. oh shit, um. i’m so sorry, i didn’t. i thought i had another week until—”

your attempt at climbing off of his lap proves to worsen the situation. in the blink of an eye, he’s grabbed ahold of your hips, halting your movements. crimson tinges the edges of his irises, fangs poking out from his upper lip as he pants. “don’t move. please don’t move. i don’t want—fuck, i don’t want to hurt you, baby, please.”

you sit there for a moment, taking in his pained grimace. he’s fighting himself, he’s fighting every single primal instinct within him telling him to pounce, yet his terribly gentle fingers pressing into your hips indicates that he is still in full control. it’s okay, you think. you’d be okay if he fed.

fingers sliding down to his shoulders, you squeeze. “gyu, you need blood. i know you’re hungry, and it’s okay. i don’t mind.”

in response, he shakes his head. “no, i can’t. i might hurt you, i can’t.”

your lips purse. what could you do? you’re stuck here, in the precarious position, with no clear way out. figure something out, come on. deep breath. in, out. in, out.

suddenly, an idea unearths itself within the walls of your mind, blooms like the moonflowers that so easily captures your attention when you go on walks with your lover. he doesn’t have to feed in the typical way. he could…oh, he could…

“you don’t have to feed from me, baby,” you coo, watching as his eyes flutter open and meet yours. vermillion now, not one speck of brown in sight. with a gentle, encouraging smile, a hand comes up to swipe through his hair. he shivers at the contact, but you can tell he’s still there. he’s still your gyu, hungry or not. in silence, you take the hand that still holds your left hip and guide it down to the apex of your thighs, allowing his fingers to brush over your panty-clad core. “just…taste me from here.”

he inhales sharply at the contact, at your words, wrenching his arm away. his other hand leaves you completely, palms dragging over his face as he attempts to compose himself. every fiber of his being is screaming at him to take the offer, just take the offer and eat you out — you want it, he really wants it…

“i can’t,” he chokes out from behind his hands. with a sigh, you shift your face closer to his, grabbing his wrists to remove his hands. he lets you, he always lets you. his eyes remain closed this time, but you work with it; you know he can hear your heartbeat and the rustling of your shirt, smell your sweetness, feel the warmth radiating off of your face as you press a peck to his cheek.

“i trust you,” you whisper against the corner of his lips. he whispers out a weak refusal, and you shift against him, just a tiny motion of your hips that causes him to hiss. lower lip wobbling, his hands find your hips once more, eyes silently pleading with you to quit moving before he loses it. as you cup his cheeks, you tilt your head. “i know, baby. i know you don’t want to hurt me — and you won’t, i know you won’t. but don’t you want a taste? it smells good, doesn’t it? there’s nothing stopping you from taking what you need.”

his resolve crumbles before your very eyes as you continue to encourage him. he doesn’t even need to bite you, it’ll be okay, you’ll be safe. it’ll feel good for you too, rid you of your cramps in the process — doesn’t he want to help you feel better? you’ll both feel better if he does this.

that’s enough for his composure to splinter, cracks forming and spreading like the roots of a tree until it shatters. there’s little holding him back as he flips you onto your back, him towering over you with wide eyes and a parted mouth. pausing, he stares down at you, voice barely louder than a whisper. “tell me to stop.”

“i don’t want you to,” you murmur back. “take what you need.”

that’s all he needs to hear.

his fangs glint under the moonlight as he swoops in to capture your lips, aggressive, tongue slinking its way past your lips to curl with your own. the kiss itself doesn’t last long, not when one of his fangs slices into your lip, pulling a squeal from you. easily, he tongue locates the wound, laves over it as blood bubbles up to the surface of the flesh. he moans against your mouth at the taste. the sting subsides as the wound closes, and he pulls away.

“need more,” beomgyu rasps. he’s wide-eyed, on the verge of absolute ruin, but you love seeing him like this. you crave to see him lose control. you are not the glass doll he’s made you out to be. you can take it, you can take him, and he needs to realize that sooner or later — preferably now.

so you open your legs that have wrapped themselves around his hips, watch as his eyes roll back into his head, and say, “then have more.”

your panties are torn away from your center with ease, and while he can’t technically die, beomgyu thinks that this might just be the nail in his metaphorical coffin. with the barrier of clothes now eliminated, your scent is no longer obstructed, and you smell absolutely fucking divine. his head spins, nose filled with base notes of iron and sugar and a richness that he’s never experienced before. oh. oh fuck, he’s done for.

sliding down your body until he’s settled between your legs, he holds you open and takes in how blood drips from your fluttering hole. you’re aroused, that much he can tell, and it excites that untamed side of him that he constantly tries to tuck away. it’s out in full force right now, and he doesn’t have it in him to hide it anymore, not when you smell like this, not when your blood is right there for the taking, especially not when you’re inviting him to taste with that sweet little voice of yours, breathy and needy and wanton, pleading for him to touch you.

and fuck, he can’t take it anymore.

he doesn’t buy time with teasing your thighs like he usually does whenever he eats you out — no, he goes in straight for the kill, tongue licking a strip up your pussy, his groans reverberating against your clit as your saccharine blood hits his taste buds. he doesn’t pull away to comment, but you know just by the way his tongue slips into your hole that he likes what he finds. sometimes, you forget that your lover is no longer human — until these moments in which you are brutally reminded, his tongue extending far into your walls as he gives in to his basest desires. you cry out as the muscle curls up against the spongy spot inside you, thighs closing around his head, but not for long; fingers curl under your thighs, spreading you open for him as he removes his tongue from your entrance, beginning to lick your folds, your inner thighs, cleaning up the blood that has found its way there. his tongue does not slowly savor your skin. rather, he laps at you like a starved man, pulling you closer and closer to his face. if he were human, you’d be worried if he could breathe.

this must be heaven, he thinks, as he returns back to your folds, tongue swirling around your entrance, his nose bumping against your weeping pearl while his tongue explores your walls as deep as his fingers could go. the sensation is far different from fingers, however — hotter, wetter, you can feel his desperation with every lick and drag, the roughness stimulating every single nerve ending it touches. his hands hold your hips up, holding you as close as possible as he shoves his tongue deeper, the tip of his nose now grinding against your clit.

“g-gyu! fuck, oh my god, gyuuu!” you repeat over and over again, feeling your high approach. the knot in your stomach pulls tighter, and you reach down to rub your clit with sloppy circles. beomgyu growls at this. he knows you’re close, he knows so well, and he wants to get you there. he needs you to experience the nirvana he has reached right now — he needs you right here with him.

his tongue leaves your hole again, but the aching emptiness is quickly remedied with three fingers filling you to the brim. back arching, you plead for mercy, for him to let you cum, for anything. please, god, you’ll take anything. he finds your bud, suckling it between his lips, moans muffled against your core and the knot pulls tighter and tighter and the fire rushing through your veins grows white hot—

the knot snaps.

“fu-uckkk!” you scream, voice cracking as your vision spots white, pleasure rushing through every crevice of your body, thighs quaking and back arching and hands finding hair and yanking. your body feels like it’s floating, the waves of pure bliss unending as he continues his ministrations, removing his fingers so he can revel in the taste of your sweet, sweet blood that gushes from your hole. unable to come down, you remain in the throes of pleasure even as he flips the both of you over, your thighs now cushioning his head as you sit atop his face.

you gasp at the position, his eyes now glowing a bright scarlet in the darkness as he looks up at you. you’ve never seen such a shade on him, and arousal sparks in your stomach once again. “gyu, what—”

“more, need more,” he grunts out, now tracing your folds with his tongue. your gyu is still there, just…hungrier, frantic for more.

if he could taste this for the rest of his life, he would never tire.

“gyu, i don’t— ohhh, shit!” your voice pitches up as he begins to lap at your core, little in his mind other than taking and taking until he’s sated and full. your clit aches with overstimulation, your walls quivering with each pass of his eager tongue as he holds you against him. soon enough, your torso collapses into the mattress, sheets curled between your fingers while you whimper, sweat beading across your heated skin. you can’t. you can’t cum again, and you tell him this again and again, yet he doesn’t heed your cries, building you up and making you cum on his tongue again and again until you can’t even think. your words are incoherent, garbled and tearful against the sheets, begging for him to let up.

“baby, baby i can’t,” you sob as you reach what you think is your fifth orgasm. “gyu!”

finally — fucking finally — he lets up, helps you ride out your high before slipping out from between your thighs. helping you onto your back, he holds your face between his palms, a small trace of blood from his fingers staining your cheek. your blood covers the majority of his lower face, smeared across his chin and lips and even a little on the tip of his nose. if you had enough energy to, you would laugh at the sight.

“gonna go clean up real quick, okay? i’ll be right back,” he murmurs, squeezing your cheeks when you nod. he’s back within mere seconds, irises now back their normal umber and fangs retracted, no longer more animal than human, no traces of your blood on his face anymore.

“you okay?” he asks softly, smiling when you offer a lethargic nod. he climbs over you, sliding his lips over yours, wet, languid kisses exchanged as he slides his hands up and down your sides. “y’did so well for me, darling. thank you for trusting me.”

“told you it would be worth it,” you shoot back, tiredly giggling when his eyes narrow.

“yeah, yeah, whatever,” he replies, eyes softening around the edges as he drinks you in, every curve and edge — perfect. you are perfect to him. hands slides up to your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. “you wanna take a bath, love?”

leaning up, you give him a small peck. “that sounds wonderful.”

as beomgyu gathers you in his arm, commenting how he should just burn these sheets since they’re basically ruined, you find yourself thinking that there’s no one else that you would rather spend the rest of your life with — the rest of eternity with, if he’ll allow it. for now, however, you’ll let him tend to you in the bath, pressing butterfly kisses to your neck from behind as you bask in each other’s presence, the sky outside fading from a deep black into a muted azure.

for now, this is enough.

masterlist

#txt smut #beomgyu smut #txt x reader #beomgyu x reader #txt imagines #beomgyu imagines #txt x you #txt x y/n #txt hard hours #txt hard thoughts #beomgyu hard hours #beomgyu hard thoughts #agust.nsfw #💌 — gyu

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extra-stout-stories · 1 month ago

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First Date / Creepy Cookies

When a BHM in Florida decides to take the plunge on a long-distance relationship with a witchy SSBBW FFA in New England, their first IRL encounter goes even better than he expected. (BHM to USSBHM, magical rapid weight gain, SSBBW feeder. Romantic, but spicy and mildly explicit. Lots of sexy descriptions of food. CW: Immobility, mobility aids.)

My first contribution to Feedist Kinktober '24! Reblog if you like it, and thanks as always to the mighty @fatguarddog for blessing us with an inspirational list of prompts. Last year I bit off more than I could chew and ended up with a folder of half-finished story ideas, so this year I'm only writing the ones where I feel inspired enough to knock a full story out in one go. Here's a sexy supernatural mutual gaining tale.

His belly hang bounced against the steering wheel as he stepped with a grunt out of the rental car. A compact car wasn't exactly comfortable for a guy his size, but it was a chance to save a little bit of money on the trip. If this works out it's going to be expensive, he thought to himself. Long distance sucks.

He adjusted his jacket against the October breeze. New England was a lot different from Florida. He wasn't sure how he felt about the possibility of moving to somewhere he'd have to shovel snow in the winters, but he had to admit that at this time of year, the yellows and crimsons of the autumn foliage were beautiful like nothing he had ever seen.

And his date was like nobody he had ever met. It would be their first time meeting in person.

Dating as a 320 pound man was difficult enough, dating as a 320 pound man with a feeding fetish was more difficult still, and dating as a mutual gainer felt like the hardest thing of all. He was grateful that his last serious relationship had ended amicably; she was a Miami Beach gym bunny who loved the way her toned, tan body contrasted with his, and she had helped him break through a plateau at 300, but she grew increasingly frustrated that he couldn't reciprocate her attraction to him. Fortunately, they had managed to part without drama and stay friends, and he was happy to watch her pair off with a guy close to his size who was a much better fit for her. There was a text from her waiting when his plane touched down in Boston: "Good luck on your New England date! If she turns out to be a serial killer, text me and I'll come rescue you, k?"

But he wasn't too worried about that. Mostly he was worried that he wouldn't be as fat in person as his date expected. He was fat, of course, but he was also good at using camera angles to highlight his big belly and doughy double chin, making him look like a bigger SSBHM than he really was. And a part of him worried that the date would go too well. Plane tickets and a rental car weren't cheap, flying at his size was cramped and uncomfortable, and the drive north from Boston added another two and a half hours onto the trip. If things worked out, it wasn't going to be much fun trying to make a long-distance relationship work.

Still, it's worth a try. Nothing worth having in life comes easily. That's what he told himself as he took one last look at the scenery, the golden autumn colors mingling with evergreens this far north, the peak of Mount Washington in the distance already dusted with a layer of snow.

The Waterwheel Brewery was an old brick building at the edge of a ravine where a cold, clear waterfall splashed and foamed down a crack in the mountain granite. The rusty iron wheel that gave the brewpub its name was still there at the side of the ravine, a nineteenth century relic from a time when the building had been some kind of textile mill during the early years of America's industrial revolution. But that was a long time ago, and now the small factory town in the mountains was a self-consciously quaint destination catering to hikers, skiiers and leaf-peepers from Boston and New York City. The buildings on its main street had been transformed into upscale shops and farm-to-table restaurants, and the nineteenth century mill owner's stately Victorian mansion had been renovated as an expensive bed and breakfast. He had suggested to her that he book a room there for the night of their first date, but she had vetoed the idea. The Wilkes House is a tourist trap, she had messaged back. If dinner goes well, you'll stay at my place. She was nothing if not forward. He liked that about her.

Nervously, he entered the brewpub.

It was a busy Friday night. Middle-aged yuppies in fleece vests and college-aged hippies in hiking gear were clinking glasses. People really are skinnier up North, he thought to himself. It must be lonely being her size in a town like this. The Florida coast was full of tanned and toned beach bodies, of course, so he understood the struggle. Still, even in Florida, the South had its share of fat folks.

And he wasn't nearly as fat as she was.

Then a little voice in his mind seemed to whisper: Yet.

He shivered, his nervousness suddenly replaced by excitement. Don't get too far ahead of yourself, he thought. This is just a first date. She's cool online but you need to know if you vibe in person before you let her feed you for real. He glanced around the brewpub. When his eyes landed on her, there was no mistaking the woman he had come all this way to meet.

She was seated at the corner of the brewpub, on banquette seating behind a movable table. She seemed as wide as the table, fat shoulders in a loose white cardigan seeming to flow like lava into her breasts and belly rolls in a snug red cotton dress. An elegant antique necklace, a chunky Victorian brooch on a thick silver chain, drew his attention irresistably to her cleavage, then to the triple chins that seemed to rest directly on her chest and shoulders, her neck gone entirely, the chain disappearing beneath soft, pale folds. His attention wandered up her face just as she registered his presence and their eyes met. Her eyes seemed to flash with anticipation behind a pair of vintage eyeglass frames whose red matched the dress. Her fat cheeks dimpled as she smiled. Her chins quivered.

She was fatter in person.

Dinner went as well as he could have imagined. She was as clever as she was fat, a quick-witted conversationalist with a bright laugh and a keen sense of humor. They had spent so much time messaging back and forth that he already felt like he knew her, but she was even more charming in person. She had an endless supply of funny anecdotes from her job as an instructional librarian at the liberal arts college outside of town, the kind of school where rich kids spent four years as ski bums cultivating their weed habits. It wasn't where she had planned to end up, but her Ph.D. in anthropology from Miskatonic hadn't led to a tenure-track job, and she had grown to love the quiet beauty of the little mountain town.

The brewpub owners were graduates of the college, and the waitstaff all seemed to know her. They weren't fazed when she asked to see the menu for a second round of entrees, and while neither of them wanted to drink too much -- it would be another twenty minutes' drive up windy roads to her mountainside cottage, and besides, it was a first date -- the waitstaff were more than happy to pour small samples of the microbrews that the pub brewed on site. He told a few tall tales about life in Florida, exaggerating for dramatic effect. She knew he didn't really have to fend off wild alligator attacks on his way to work, of course, and she gave him a little coquettish smirk when he admitted: "…and besides, I'm too fat to outrun an alligator anyway."

It was all he could have asked for on a first date.

Still, it was hard to keep his mind from wandering to more primal urges, especially when she shrugged off the cardigan and he got a glimpse of her pillowy upper arms, as wide around as some people's waists, spilling like rolls of dough over her elbows, swaying irresistably every time she raised a fork or a glass to her mouth. Cool it, he told himself, biting his lower lip. This is a date, not a hookup. We're here to get to know each other, not just fuck. But the more he watched her stuff herself with gusto, polishing off a steak followed by a lobster roll and a series of appetizers that just seemed to keep coming, the more he found himself imagining what the mountainous rolls of her naked belly might look like beneath that red dress, how wide and soft her naked hips and ass would be when he wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her fat body against his.

"Distracted? They asked what you wanted for dessert." He blushed, suddenly realizing how far he had lost himself in the reverie. She gave him a wry smirk. "The bread pudding's good here. Get it with caramel."

The waitress looked at her, then at him, and didn't bother to ask him for confirmation. Soon he was tucking into the bread pudding. But by now, he thought to himself, the bill couldn't come soon enough.

He felt suddenly protective of her as she stood up from the table, reaching to steady herself on a stainless steel bariatric cane, face slightly flushed and breath slightly ragged from the effort of lifting her enormous body. He helped her slip the cardigan back on, and as he helped her navigate around the tables to the entrance of the brewpub, he found himself putting a hand on the small of her back to guide her, feeling her back rolls ripple with each step. She's really big, he thought to himself. But it wasn't his first time with an SSBBW, and he knew how to pace himself and help her feel comfortable, glancing and gesturing to signal to the other diners that they should pull their chairs in for a moment to clear a path. He caught one or two hostile stares from skinny couples eating salads, but when he glared back -- it helped that he was tall and stocky, muscular underneath his fat -- they looked away in embarrassment.

She smiled up at him as they reached the rental car. She was a few inches shorter than him, and the difference in height put just how fat she was into even sharper relief. "Think you can make it up the mountain?"

He laughed. "As long as you don't ask me to hike. That's what the car is for." He wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her in close for a kiss, the fabric of his shirt whispering against the fabric of her dress as their bellies touched, a peck on the lips leading to a momentary touching of tongues before she withdrew.

"Good. Make sure you turn right at the covered bridge. Otherwise you'll end up in moose territory. They're even faster than alligators."

"Got it. I'll see you in a little bit." He smiled and lowered himself with a grunt into the rental car. Damn, he thought, exhaling suddenly as his belly hit the steering wheel and he reached down to scoot the seat back a little further. I'm really full.

Only the knowledge of how easy it would be to get lost in these woods on a wrong turn, and the thought that a tourist town like this would be full of speed traps, kept him from rushing even faster than he did up the road to her secluded cottage.

She had just gotten out of her own car when he pulled up, steadying herself on the cane as she reached into her purse for her keys. The cottage was picture-postcard cute, wood and stone, built (she had told him at dinner) by some now-forgotten artist who had moved up from Manhattan in the Fifties to get closer to nature. As the door swung open she saw that she'd had it fitted out with energy-efficient modern luxuries and rearranged to make space for her ample body, the open floor plan giving it a feeling that was simultaneously spacious and cozy. Through a wide picture window he could see the lights of the town and the college flickering down in the valley; he thought he could just barely make out the silhouette of the brewpub.

But what really enticed him was the smell of fresh cooking. She must have spent all day baking, he thought to himself. There were savory breads and sugary sweets, pies, cakes and turnovers, all mingling with the aroma of beef stew bubbling in a slow cooker and the scent of cinnamon from an enormous apple crumble.

He watched her enormous ass and thighs quiver as she slowly walked to the kitchen. All of a sudden all he could think about was sex.

She turned back to look at him, the folds of her chins quivering, her cheeks dimpling in that irresistable smile as she winked at him through her vintage glasses. "Hungry?"

He exhaled and patted his belly. It had been a lot of food at dinner.

He looked at her. She looked at him.

He smiled back.

"I could use a little something. That was a long trip up the mountain."

"Good boy." She ladled some beef stew into a dish, then reached to slip on an oven mitt and open the oven. He couldn't keep his eyes off of how her ass and back rolls jiggled as she bent slightly to reach past her belly, her breath quickening with the effort. She drew out a thick loaf of bread and cracked it open. Inside, it was still steaming.

Turning to face him, she locked eyes with him and smiled, setting half the loaf down and reaching for a knife and butter. Slowly, sensually, she buttered the bread. He watched the glistening fresh butter seep into the thick, soft dough. He watched her arms jiggle, her chins quiver, her belly ripple.

She dipped the bread in the beef stew and took a small nibble. "Try dipping it." She grinned and handed him the dish. "Go sit on the couch. I'll bring some desserts, too."

She rolled her own dish of beef stew in on a cart, accompanied by pumpkin pie, apple crumble, and a large tub of ice cream. She sat down next to him and began to eat. By the time they finished, he felt so full he could barely breathe.

Her belly seemed to engulf him as she rolled over to straddle him on the couch, slipping her arms around his shoulders and pinning him down with her bulk. He pulled her closer and slipped his tongue into her mouth. Soon she was unbuttoning his shirt.

They were naked by the time they headed to the bedroom. She had been teasing him underneath his belly, giving quick, eager strokes, first with the tips of her fat fingers and then with the tip of her tongue. But he gave as good as he got, his own fingers deftly exploring the sensitive undersides of her rolls, sinking in a fraction of an inch further every time he plunged them into the warmth where her thighs and belly met.

By now he was so motivated by desire that he barely bothered to glance around the living room as she led him to bed. If he noticed the shelves of books, the replica statues of paleolithic goddess figures acquired during her anthropology research, it was only as background decoration.

His eyes passed over it, but he didn't really see the altar. A circle of red candles, designs painted in luminous white on dark black velvet, a small stone figurine, this one not a replica. Fresh fruit and grain placed as an offering. Slices of each of the baked desserts she had made, another offering.

And by now he was so full of dessert that he really couldn't take any more. If his eyes glanced briefly over the plate of cookies at the center of the circle of candles, he would have registered them only as one more item in the blur of sweet tastes and textures, of a piece with the pies and the brownies and the turnover soaked in ice cream. He was so full.

He certainly wouldn't have thought to ask her why the cookies were still steaming as if freshly baked, even though they had been making out for over an hour and he hadn't seen her take them from the oven.

She guided him to her bedroom tenderly, but when she shoved him the last step into bed she was almost rough, her own lust evident now, her face flushed as she took off her glasses and unpinned her hair, long locks falling down past her breasts and the enormous rolls of her belly, moving slowly but deliberately, fat flesh pressing against fat flesh as she curled up next to him in bed and pulled him in for another kiss.

The sex was even better than he had fantasized. Both of them were crackling with lust, burning with desire, as if lightning was passing back forth through their skin everywhere their bodies touched.

There's nothing like the sensation of fat on fat.

He was dozing off to sleep, his arm wrapped around her shoulders, when he felt her stand up from the bed. He heard the clunk of her bariatric cane as she left the bedroom. After all the excitement, he was too sleepy to do much more than grunt.

"Still hungry, babe?"

He groaned. At any other time, those words from her lips would have been the most enticing come-on he had ever heard. But the plane flight and the drive had taken a lot out of him, the sex had drained the last of his energy, and he was still full.

"C'mon. Just a few bites." She was back at the bedside, lifting a cookie to his lips.

"Mmmph." The warm, fresh dough. The gooey chocolate. He let her feed him the entire cookie, then another, then another. Barely awake, his eyes closed, his inner eye was already seeing half-formed dream shapes.

"Good boy." She traced her hand across his belly. So full, so achingly full. This was the best night of his life.

"Just one more bite. You have to eat the whole plate." She watched him swallow the last of the cookie, reached across his chest to pinch a few stray crumbs between her fat fingers, stuck her fingers between his lips so he could lick them off.

He leaned his head back onto the pillow and was immediately asleep.

His dreams were as much sensations as visions. Sensations of warmth, softness. Heaviness. Candles and torchlight illuminating his body. Eating, eating, always eating. Heavy, so heavy. His belly swelling.

She was there, or was it one of the goddess figurines? Looming over him, lustful and loving. Hungry for him, hungry to feed him. The goddess was vastly bigger than him, impossibly bigger, filling the bedroom, filling a torchlit cave, filling the night sky until her rolls of fat obscured the stars.

But he was big too, so big. And getting bigger.

Gradually the sensations ended. The visions ended. He sunk into a deep, deep sleep with no more dreams.

It was a bright New England autumn morning. He could see clear blue sky and a riot of fall colors, the town in the valley below framed perfectly in the picture window of the bedroom.

He was hungry. He didn't want to get up. Surely she had left some food in the bedroom.

Yes. A blueberry pie. Fresh. He was suddenly aware that he was alone in bed. From the kitchen, he could hear the clatter of dishes and the thud of her cane.

He was suddenly seized by the urge to devour the pie with his bare hands. He was hungrier than he ever thought possible. He reached for it, and --

His arm was heavy. So heavy. Just lifting it was an effort. Rolls of fat cascading, heavy as gym weights, his arms never reaching quite so far that the spilling softness of his upper arms didn't still touch the equally soft and heavy rolls of his naked chest and belly.

My belly. He looked down. He could barely see past his moobs, and he couldn't see past his belly at all. He felt it against his --

Against his calves. His belly had become enormous.

He looked down. He reached, or tried to. He was as wide as the bed, his fat arms splayed wide against side rolls that were just an inch or two short of spilling over the sides.

He wriggled his hips, or tried to. He felt hundreds of pounds of fat -- how many pounds? -- quiver in soft ripples.

He didn't even bother trying to stand up.

He felt the rolls of his chins against his chest, the rolls of his chest against his belly, the rolls of his belly against his thighs. He felt his thighs meet to well past his knees.

He even felt his overstuffed fat toes.

And suddenly there was a hardness under all that softness. He gasped sharply, drawing in a deep breath, feeling himself quake with excitement. Feebly, he tried to buck his hips against his belly, full of desire now.

She was standing in the bedroom door, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a plate of pastries in the other.

"Hungry?"

She grinned at him.

He could barely speak. "W-what happ…"

She wore nothing but a silk robe, open at the waist. Slowly, sashaying her enormous hips to make her massive belly sway from side to side, she waddled towards him and seated herself as best she could at the edge of the bed. She traced her fingertips down his belly.

"Magic. Don't ask too many questions. Do you want the croissants first, or the pie?"

"The pie." At least he had a ready answer to that one.

"Good boy." She began lifting forkfuls of the warm, fresh blueberry pie to his greedy lips. She stroked his hair and gave a mock pout. "I'm not sure you're going to fit on the plane back to Florida."

"Not unless it's a cargo plane." He smiled. "You didn't have to do this, you know. I would have stayed anyway."

Her mock pout deepened. "But it's so fun this way! You should have seen the look on your face when you woke up." She gave his belly a playful shove. "And I had to know you weren't one of those feedee fuckboys. Lots of guys online talk a big game but won't commit."

He lifted an arm as best he could to squeeze her thigh. "Come on. You knew I was serious."

"Mmmhmm." She leaned across him, her belly spreading over his. She was the skinny one now. "But I'm even more serious."

"Is that so?" He polished off the last bite of the pie, then let his voice get a little fierce. "More food. Now."

She blushed and giggled. "Okay, you're serious. That's what I like to see."

"I know it is." He sighed with contentment, wriggled his hips to get a little bit more comfortable, and let her lift the first of many chocolate-stuffed croissants to his lips. "Am I going to stay like this?"

She smiled. "Only if you want to. The spell is reversible." She paused, a smirk on her face. "But I think you want to."

"You're right. How do you know me so well?"

He smiled. Then he pulled her in for a kiss, grunting with the effort, the softness of his upper arm sliding against her naked back rolls.

An afternoon of eating. An evening of sex. A day passed. Maybe two or three.

He heard his phone vibrate, somewhere in the pile of clothes that were now much, much too small for him. "Could you pass me that?"

She stood up off the bed and reached down to pick up the phone, moving slowly. Slowly due to her bulk, slowly because she knew his mouth was watering at the sight of her enormous body in motion. She placed the vibrating phone on his belly, then left for the kitchen.

It was a text from his friend in Miami Beach. "You doing okay up there? Should I call the cops?"

He smiled. His fingers were so fat that it took him a minute to correct all the typos, but he texted back. "Even better than I hoped."

A moment later, the reply arrived. "That's great. Anything you need?"

He glanced over his gigantic belly at the stupendously fat woman who stood in the bedroom door, carrying a tray of fresh blueberry pancakes glistening with maple syrup. Through the door he could see into the living room, where an empty plate sat on an altar surrounded by the stubs of red candles. "Yeah. If I Venmo you the money, could you hire some movers to box my stuff up and send it here? I'm planning on staying in New England for a while."

He put the phone down and opened his mouth to take his first bite of the pancakes.

#feedist kinktober #mutual gaining #weight gain fiction #wg fiction #feedist fiction #mutual feeding #mutual gain #mutual gain fiction #mutual gainer #fat ffa #fat feeder #gaining weight on purpose #getting fat on purpose #spot the shout-outs to some classic New England horror writers

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nonotnolan · 9 months ago

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The Ends Justify The Means

As always, this February story is dedicated to my valentine, @mergeman

"Okay, but did we have to add him to the Hivemind?" Jordan said, looking at his unconscious boss with a look of resigned disappointment. "If I end up with an old man's vocabulary because of him, I'm gonna be so upset. This body looks too good to sound like a geezer." He tossed his shirt to the ground and gave me a flex. "See what I mean?"

I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Some humans stress-tested my 40% Free Will rule, and Jordan was definitely one of them. "One, bringing him into the Collective is the only way to bend his authority to our will. Two, the symbiote doesn't change our speech, it just enhances our knowledge. And three, the eventual goal is to overtake most of humanity anyway. We were gonna have to add Shaun sooner or later."

Jordan nodded, though I doubted he was paying any attention me. He was one of the part-time workers I had converted within the past two hours, and so his symbiote half was still checking out his new body. I can't blame it, I suppose.

I wasn't sure this plan was even going to work, so I was glad we managed to succeed. Capturing the part-time college students who worked here had been easy-- a bit of flirting from a tempting body, a kiss to introduce the symbiote, rinse and repeat. Shaun had been much more difficult. We had to resort to ambushing him in the bathroom where there we no cameras. Jordan's strength held him in place while I pried open his jaw to insert the new symbiote. It was far from elegant-- Shaun was stronger than he looked-- but at least it worked.

Shaun finally opened his eyes, and looked at me with a wry grin. "Alright, sir. I know we have a lot to talk about, but let's retreat somewhere else, shall we? It's cramped in here, and I think Jordan is a few moments away from whipping his dick out."

"You're not wrong," I said, shaking my head. "We should probably leave him to it. If nothing else, it will be nice to talk things over someplace a bit... less pungent. I assume you know what is going to be expected of you?"

"I do," Shaun says, crossing his arms. "Although I was hoping to talk to you about that one. I scheduled Darren to work Valentine's Day because I haven't had that day off for the past three years. This body's wife is threatening to make life miserable if I still have to work the holiday despite my recent promotion. I have a proposal for you."

I smiled at the audacity of this symbiote. Clearly its host body had a lot of confidence.

"Darren will still get the day off, of course," Shaun said. "But instead of working the day myself, I'll just tell Jenn that she's going to have to handle the shift solo. We don't need two store managers tomorrow night-- no one goes furniture shopping on Valentine's."

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"You'll never guess what happened today!" Darren said, greeting me when I arrived home. He and I had been dating for a few weeks now, ever since I was granted control over this host body. Unlike the symbiotes who were mostly extensions of my mind and my personality, I had full control and full autonomy over my decisions. Coming out of the closet was one of the first changes I made to this host's former life.

"Your store is actually closing for a holiday?" I guessed, walking up to him and hugging him from behind. I held him close, feeling the heat of his body against my borrowed chest. Humans were very big on physical contact, and it was a ritual I was more than happy to join.

Darren chuckled as he turned around for a quick kiss. "Okay, so it wasn't a miracle. But it was still pretty crazy! Shaun texted me, and approved my vacation time for tomorrow. Can you believe that? I've never known him to change his mind like that before."

I just smiled at him. "Maybe your District Manager yelled at him about it? You did submit that request a few months ago." As much as I hated feeding white lies and omitted facts to my boyfriend, I couldn't justify telling him my full truth this early in the relationship. Anyway, the only way I'd be filling him with a symbiote would be if we broke up and he posed a risk to my secret. I wanted a relationship with an equal, not a masturbatory fling with a clone of myself. Anyway, what was the phrase? The ends justify the means.

"Well, maybe." He paused a few minutes to consider this possibility before shrugging his shoulders. "I don't know, and I'm not going to question it. I'm just glad you kept those dinner reservations! I'm looking forward to tomorrow's date!" He smiled, and I could feel my heart melting. I would do anything in my power to make him happy.

#male body merge #male possession #alien possession #hivemind #gay male story #queer romance

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moethewriter · 11 months ago

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Idk if you're comfortable doing these but maybe reader is on their month and needs comfort from finnick. Had mine last week the cramps, nausea and back pain was crazy fr lol. Or maybe just a comfort reading been a rough week

Please and thank you have a lovely day 🫶🏾

Of course I can write that anon! Periods are the worst. TITLE: Chamomile Delights WORD COUNT: 1.1k WARNINGS: Period content, fluff TAGS: Can be read as gn!reader (women aren't the only ones who get periods y'all!) A/N: Loved writing this one! Periods are ass, and as a non-binary person who gets them, we all need a little comfort! Hope you all enjoy this! I'm still not feeling 100%, this flu is lingering my friends, but writing has been taking my mind off of that! Love yall! Also not beta read as per usual, sorry for any spelling mistakes! Haha! -

It had come early, and to say you weren’t happy was an understatement. You wanted to die, truly lay down and allow yourself to become one with the earth because anything would be better than this shit. You didn’t remember the last time you felt this horrible during your cycle, usually you could manage but today was just … awful. Everything made you want to cry, or you when something inconvenienced you, you wanted to chuck it against the wall and watch it smash. You were nauseated at the smell of anything Mags brought you to eat, and to top it all of you just felt so fucking miserable.

Finnick had been gone for a few days, off in The Capitol, when your period had started, usually he would be there to provide any sort of comfort you needed but right now you were alone. You couldn’t blame him, Snow had summoned him and many other Victors for a week of galas and to introduce the new Victors. You feigned illness, which in some ways was true, but you were upset he couldn’t stay with you. Had you known it would start, you probably would have gone because at least then you would have your built in space heater.

You wanted to have him near you, as childish as it sounded. He always made you feel better and doted on you. He made you feel better and knew how to take care of you. But mostly you just missed him. His comforting smile, the way he would rub your lower back and just hold you to help you fall asleep. You were miserable without him, and you looked like shit. It wasn’t ideal, but you could make it through the worst alone if you had too. You felt like something that had just crawled out of a sewer drain, and you were sure you looked like it too.

Finnick hated seeing you so ill. He always wanted to make you feel better in whatever way he could. Whether that was holding you while you angrily muttered and cursed at the world for having cramps, or making you a small dinner that he knew wouldn’t make you sick. Well more like got Mags to make something while he presented it to you, he had never been the best cook and when you weren’t well he knew it was hopeless to try and feed you anything he made, it was sweet the way he tried so hard.

Some days he was a pain in your ass, but you didn’t mind that anymore.

“When he gets home, I swear I’m going to kill him.” You whispered, throwing a pillow over your head, maybe if you suffocate yourself enough, the lack of oxygen flow would stop the pain all together. “Damn fucking President Snow calling his ass away. Maybe I’ll kill him next.” You grumbled under the pillow.

“Kill who next?”

You sat up straight, regretting your decision the moment you cramped up a little more. You felt a small wave of nausea hit you as you covered your mouth. You hadn’t expected him home until far later in the week.

“What the fuck?” You muttered, squinting your eyes. “You’re home early.” You observed the glitter on him, his demeanor and the way he was dressed.

It wasn’t unusual for him to come back from The Capitol dressed far differently than anything he wore at home. It wasn’t Finnick’s usual style, he preferred a more low key look when he was in District Four, always had, but he did look gorgeous.

“And you look like shit.” He raised an eyebrow, leaning against the door frame. “Are you in pain?”

“I feel like shit, thanks for the observation, Finn.” You rolled your eyes. “Yes, obviously.” You were far grumpier than you wanted to be but you couldn’t help it right now, the light was too bright and you abdomen felt like it was crushing your insides.

“Ah. I see.” Finnick said, exiting the room.

You grumbled to yourself angrily, desperately searching for a position that gave you any relief, though nothing you had tried worked thus far. At least Finnick was here, despite the annoyance you had at the entire situation, you were thankful he was home early.

“Hot water, and a cup of tea.” Finnick said, returning a few minutes later holding a steaming mug and a small towel.

“Finn.” You felt tears well up in your eyes. “Sorry. I’m not upset, and sorry for being a dick, thank you.” You smiled, as he passed you the cup, you inhaled it and the smile grew.

Chamomile, a luxury to get when you were outside The Capitol. It was your favourite tea, always had been, and he managed to snag a few boxes of it when he could. He always thought of you like that, whenever he could get you something he would.

He sat beside you, gently pressing a kiss into your shoulder and you exhaled deeply at the simple, yet comforting gesture. Having his presence was already a comfort.

“What do you need from me?” He asked, pressing his chin to where he laid the kiss. “You know I’ll do anything for you.”

“Kill me?” You questioned, a teasing tone lacing your words. You sipped the tea he had brought you and felt the warmth take over your body.

“Well … not that.” He snorted into your shoulder, his hands moving to gently massage your sides.

“Thank you for the tea, and the hot water. Hold me, massage my back … work your usual magic Odair, because when I tell you I’ve been so unpleasant these last two days … I’m not lying.” You huffed.

“You’re not always unpleasant?” He teased, moving the massage to your shoulders.

You could feel the deep knots slowly being undone, and you let out a sigh of relief, you hadn’t realized the tension had been that bad.

“I will kick you off this bed.” You warned, shooting him a glare.

“Then who would take such good care of you?” Finnick smiled, continuing to work his magic. “No one can live up to this.” He laughed, a small sound coming from the bass of his throat.

You loved his laugh.

“Hush, let me relax.” You closed your eyes, and focused on his soft humming,

Days like these had always been so miserable, you had gotten so used to riding it out alone, but now you had Finnick. He would always take care of you, and you would in turn, take care of him. There would never be one without the other, not anymore.

“I love you.” You said, simply, leaning into him.

“I love you too.” He said back, holding you closer.

#moeswriting #writing #finnick odair #finnick odair x reader #hunger games #the hunger games #fluff

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rogersideup · 2 years ago

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Nice to be Kneaded

Chapter Four:

Captain What’s-his-Butt

Series masterlist

Previous part: Nice to be needed Next part: absdoughlutely

Word count: 5,829

Warnings: My blog is 18+ only. All minors or blogs without an age in bio will be blocked. Minors DNI.

"Holy sh- Steven..." You panted, stopping dead in your tracks to slump your back. With your hands on your knees and your ponytail making it's way forward with your posture, you huffed and puffed trying to desperately get air in your lungs. "I think I punctured a lung. Or I have asthma. Or I have an asthmatic punctured lung."

When you mentioned in a casual conversation that you wanted to start working out a bit more to improve your mental health, Steven was quick to invite you along on a run with him.

Of course he knew he was going to have to cut his usual distance significantly, and he would have to slow down tenfold just to pretend he was of normal athletic ability around you, but around mile 4 was apparently where a normal person started to get tired.

"Come on, keep waking" He laughed at your commentary. "If you stop you're going to get muscle cramps in your legs."

"This is awful" You laughed while walking toward him, he was walking backwards with a smile on his face.

"Only a mile left!" He enthused, knowing it would annoy you.

"I feed you yummy desserts all day and this is what you do to me?!" You clutched your side as a sharp pain rang through the area.

"All things must be balanced, right?"

"No, if this were balanced you would be feeding me desserts all day too. This is not balance, this is a hate crime" You shook your head earning another laugh from the man.

"Okay, when we finish you can come to my house and I'll make you Toll House break and bake cookies" He joked.

"Why do you say that as if those aren't delicious?" You asked, still out of breath but preparing to run the last mile.

"Nothing is as delicious as your cookies"

"Yeah? Well, you're never eating one ever again because this sucks and it's all your fault."

"Was it not you who said you wanted to-"

"No. That was not me. That was me from yesterday. Me from yesterday and me right now are two completely different people."

"Okay, well you right now has another mile back to the car whether you like it or not." He giggled.

"Well then let's get this shit over with" You joked and started jogging. "I only have a mile left to watch your hair bounce when you run so I have to savor every moment of it because I'm never doing this again"

"My hair bounces when I run?" He questioned, jogging besides you.

"Yes, and it's glorious"

You two jogged the last mile before making it to his car, and he drove back to the neighborhood. When he pulled into the driveway, you could see Georgia on the porch swing. Sunglasses on, drink in hand, enjoying the summer air once again.

When the engine came to a stop and he took his key out and opened his door, he realized you weren't doing anything. And when he shot you a questioning look all you did was let your head fall back on the head rest.

"I can't move, my legs turned into jello and my front door is so far away."

He shook his head with a smile. "Alright, stay there. I'll come getcha"

He got out and closed the driver side door before coming over to you and opening your door. He turned around and bent his knees so his back would be on your level. "Hop on"

You carefully wrapped your arms around his neck and upper chest and your legs around his stomach, and he picked you up with ease.

"You're not even sweaty" You complained, letting your cheek drop lazily to the top of his head, too sleepy to support the weight of it anymore. "You're too perfect"

"I'm sorry" he apologized, "do you want me to be more sweaty?"

"Yeah next time maybe just sweat a little more. It'll make me feel better about myself" You smiled sleepily.

"Oh so there is a next time?" He picked up on your slip.

"Depends if you'll carry me inside next time too"

"I can definitely make that happen" He agreed.

You turned your head to look at Georgia and send her a wave, but when she didn't wave back, your stomach sank. Was something wrong? Did you do something to hurt her feelings? You made a mental note to check in on that later.

"Keys?" Steve asked as he walked up your driveway and approached your front door.

You used one hand to grab them from your back pocket and gave them to him. He opened the door and stepped in, closing it behind him.

He walked through your house and set you down gently on the couch. "The princess made of jello is back in her castle."

"That makes you my magic pumpkin" You kicked off your shoes.

He realized the smile was no longer on your face as you wrapped yourself up in a throw blanket to protect your skin from the air conditioning that was such a stark difference from the hot air outside.

"Are you okay?" He questioned, eyebrows furrowed.

"Yeah I'm fine." You nodded as he sat next to you on the edge of the couch. "It's just weird, I waved to Georgia cause she was looking at us but she didn't wave back or say anything. She's usually not like that."

"Oh..." His posture slumped. "It's probably because you were with me. I don't think she likes me very much."

"What?" You were genuinely shocked by that statement. Georgia loved everyone, and everyone loved her. "Why not?"

"I don't know" He shrugged. "I've introduced myself to her and tried talking to her a few times, especially since you said you were such good friends with her and it just seemed like she wasn't interested any of the times."

"Well that's disappointing" You pouted. "She's never said anything to me about it."

Your phone chimed with a text message, and as you pulled it out it was from her.

'Turn on the news.'

"Speak of the devil..." you mumbled.

"Did she say something about what happened?" He asked as you reached to put your phone on the coffee table.

"No, she told me to turn on the news." You explained. "Her and her husband are a little intense about the Sokovia Accords stuff, usually when she tells me to turn on the news it's about that."

Steve's heart started beating out of his chest, it was the first time you had ever directly mentioned anything about the war to him. Not only that, but if there was an update, he needed to know.

And if Georgia was intense about following along to the point where she encouraged other people around her to do so as well, and she didn't like him...

"Are you going to turn it on?" Steve asked, not knowing what he should do.

Was the update going to be about him? Was it about one of his team members?

Was this the moment he ran from Greenwood?

"No" You shook your head. "Not right now at least. If it's important I'm sure I'll hear about it eventually anyways."

"Why not?" He poked. He was desperate to figure out your stance at this point.

"I don't know how you feel, so forgive me if you disagree, but I'm just tired of the media treating these poor people like they're entertainment." You explained. "They had to make real life choices, they were forced in corners and they all had to do what they thought was right in that moment. Yet somehow it makes half the Avengers the good guys and the other half the bad guys? It's one of those situations where as you would say, the glass just is."

His big blue eyes softened at your empathy, but he didn't respond. It made you nervous, so you continued filling in the silence. "The same people who devoted their lives to saving ours are now being criminalized for choosing to continue to save lives in the means they thought was necessary. And the whole framing The Winter Soldier for the bombing thing broke my heart. I've been told that I need to have a deeper understanding of the government before I can express my opinion though so... I dunno. Maybe it's all just a bunch of hoopla. I just hope everyone comes to an agreement soon for Team Cap's sake. Nobody deserves that..... do you want me to put it on?"

"No, it's okay" He faked a grin, but he was proud of how genuine his voice sounded even after the mention of Captain America just slipped off your tongue. "It's just a lot to be constantly thinking about."

"Which is why I choose to not consume it at every waking moment" You agreed.

"That's smart." His voice was gentle. A big part of him was relieved at what you had just expressed to him, but it did nothing to relax the flight response pounding at his brain. "You seem tired, I'll let you take your well deserved nap now."

"You're leaving?" You complained, pouting out your lip.

He wanted to cry. You didn't even know the weight that question actually carried at a moment like this. Because right now, he's going to put on a happy face and tuck you in for a nap. He'll hug you goodbye and walk out that front door completely unaware of what was to greet him the moment he found out what was going on.

Depending on what the television told him, yes. He might be leaving. But for now and for you, this was as simple as leaving your house.

"What would Georgia think if she saw me carry you in and not leave for a while?" Steven reminded you. "She already doesn't like me, I don't want her to hate me. And I especially don't want her to hate me for taking up so much of her best friends time."

"I need to go talk some sense into that hardheaded woman" You shook your head. "But that's okay, I appreciate the effort. I'm sure it'll get better soon."

"If it doesn't, that's okay." He reminded you. "Not everyone is going to like everyone all of the time.

"I'll see you tomorrow?" You pouted.

Maybe. Maybe not.

"Yeah" He nodded with a grin but he was slowly dying. He leaned down to hug your form that was now laying down on the couch. "Enjoy your nap, I'll lock the door on my way out."

"Thanks, Honey. Get home safe, it's a long treacherous journey." You joked.

Once again, your words carried an unintentional weight on his heart. "I'm sure I'll be okay"

After he left, you settled for a nap. You tried and tried to shut your brain off but it just wasn't happening, it kept reminding you of that text. Maybe your brain would relax if you knew what was so important on the news.

So you gave in, you reached for the remote and turned on the TV. Immediately a breaking news story interrupted every program accessible to the public.

On it was two news anchors, taking turns back and forth explaining how it was recently discovered that Bucky Barnes had been put into cryosleep safely in the haven of wakanda as their greatest minds tried to develop a method of erasing the lingering mind control hydra still had over him.

They explained that other countries could no longer use force to try and detain him from the country, as nobody truly knew where it actually was. The anchors also speculated that once rehabilitated, Barnes would probably plea for a pardon.

It was also reported that Scott Lang and Clint Barton stayed behind to strike a deal with the government so they could be with their families. Each one was forced into retirement and placed on house arrest.

Lastly, they speculated that Steve Rogers was the one that brought Bucky to wakanda to seek refuge and rehabilitation. Though he chose not to stay himself, he allegedly visited every so often by means nobody was quite sure of. Nor did anyone know how he even knew where wakanda was in the first place.

Once again, they threw all of the unaccounted team members of Captain America up on the screen one by one as the usual warnings sounded in your ear like the most obnoxious broken record.

'... if you see any of these individuals, do not approach. They are dangerous. Call 911. Remember, failure to report these individuals will be considered a misdemeanor punishable by jail time and a hefty fine. Do not approach.'

First up was Wanda Maximoff, then Natasha Romanoff and Sam Wilson.

You unknowingly had a sad frown on your face as you watched theirs be posted for what felt like the hundredth time in the past week alone.

But when Captain America's picture came up, something about it really pulled you in.

You sat up on the couch and scooted to the edge of your seat. He was handsome, that's for sure. Perfect skin, and chiseled cheeks. The picture they used looked like it was an identification photo for S.H.I.E.L.D- the logo in the corner obviously blurred out. The golden dirty blonde hair on top of his head and his big blue eyes reminded you of your new best friend.

Steven.

Your brain came to a halt in just a split second and your hand searched for the remote, desperate to pause it on the picture but your eyes couldn't look away.

Your hand found it, and you frantically paused it. Then it all came together like snapping the last piece onto the center of an almost complete puzzle.

Strong nose and sharp jaw, the long eyelashes he used to blink at you sweetly to get his way, the pink lips that only stopped smiling whenever you could tell he was wrapped up in his own mind.

You hit play once more, desperately trying to process what you had just discovered, then they put his whole name up on the bottom of the screen.

Not Captain America. Not Steve Rogers.

Steven Grant Rogers.

Your first initial reaction was your brain working through thoughts too fast to even comprehend them. Immediately followed by feeling stupid for not putting it together sooner.

Then, in the span of an hour you paced back and forth across the expanse of the first level of your house.

After a bit of self loathing came an unexpected wave of anger towards him. He lied to you. But the more you thought about it, the more you realized he didn't lie to you at all. Next, you felt guilty that you had that rush of anger. You placed yourself in his shoes, walked yourself through the choices he probably had to make in order to get to where he was now. His first piece of stability in almost a year.

Then you had your own moral dilemma. With this knowledge and failure to report him to the government, you were now facing misdemeanor. Yet you never even had the thought of picking up the phone and doing that to him. It made you so sick to your stomach that you were nauseous for hours. Jail time and a fine were nothing compared to a whole life of suffering knowing you would've made the absolute wrong choice by reporting the sweetheart next door.

You needed to keep him far far away from Georgia and Micheal.

You needed to keep yourself away from running over to his house and pounding on the door until he opened it just so you could give him a hug and tell him it would be okay.

Thinking about the adversities he must've faced the past months made you want to cry. Long lonely nights in the cold, long lonely days in the heat, no sense of security, the whole country coming after him with blazing pitch forks, the loss of half a group of people he used to consider family. It must've been painful, and it must've been why he had that sad look in his eyes sometimes.

You knew now why he never wanted to talk about himself. All the times you'd catch him looking from your eyes to your lips, then back up to your eyes but never doing anything about the blush forming in both of your cheeks.

Whenever the two of you shared moments of deep conversation or vulnerability he'd go missing for a few days after.

He wasn't scared of commitment. He couldn't commit. He couldn't even promise his presence 10 minutes into the future. He was protecting you. Not from monsters and bad guys, but from himself.

You needed to find out a way to tell him without him bolting out of Greenwood faster than he arrived. But you also needed to let him down gently, let him know it was okay.

But even before that, you needed more time to let the whole picture sink in for your own sanity. You didn't care that you had work the next morning, or even that you committed to staying from before sunrise to after sunset. For hours you sat on the couch with your laptop, finally doing your own research on the Sokovia Accords and the Civil War.

You fell down a rabbit hole, and your research was extensive. But more and more you understood why anyone would disagree with the accords. Certain clauses mentioned human experimentation on them. Taking their blood, zapping them with electricity; it was immoral and invasive.

They didn't think they shouldn't be regulated, they just wanted to negotiate the terms of the accords and they were told no.

You even dug deeper into the personal fight between Steve and Tony Stark. However, that's where you decided to stop because it simply wasn't a matter you thought deserved public opinion. That was between them two, and it should stay that way.

You didn't sleep at all that night. In fact, you only set the laptop down to shower about an hour before you were supposed to go into work, then you stayed there all day.

Cake decorating really helped give you a clearer head. Of course you continued to think about it all day long, but the information was starting to settle.

Smoothing buttercream over crumb-coated cakes smoothed out the harshness of the words rushing through your mind. It reminded you to breathe calmly, stay steady and stable. By the time you had baked a few different pastries and gotten done with cake orders, it was already closing time.

The girls left one by one as they finished up their tasks, until it was just you left to decorate the sugar cookies they had baked earlier in the day. You even had them make a few extra for Steve for when he inevitably arrived so he could practice basic lining and flooding techniques.

When he walked in, you expected to feel some kind of way. Maybe he'd look more like the clean shaven hero you were used to seeing on the news, maybe that would reignite the anger.

But when he walked in, it wasn't shocking. It was just your sweet honey coming to spend time with you as per usual. You even managed to not show any of your internalized thoughts on your face or mannerisms.

Because if you could just spend a few hours with him without letting him know that you knew, you could prove he would be alright. You needed him to trust you.

So you took a second to greet him with a smile and a hug, then you helped him make his icing to the right consistency, and sat next to him to give him some tips and pointers on his cookies before returning to your own station, right across from him on the same table.

The two of you made your normal conversation, just as always it flowed easy. You laughed, listened to music, he gave you opinions on the cookies you were decorating, and you complemented his ability to pick up on the skill quickly every time he'd pick one up and show you what he'd done.

It felt normal, and it was normal.

As you were wrapping up your last order, there was a natural pause in conversation. He was concentrating hard on his cookies, and it was absolutely adorable.

His hair getting in the way of his eyes, his free hand holding onto his piping wrist to keep it steady, biting the inside of his cheek.

You knew it was the time to bring it up when you had to stop decorating because your hands were shaking too bad just at the thought of having this conversation.

But the doors were locked, and the blinds were drawn on all the windows. You weren't in either of your houses so it was a neutral space. As long as you could make him feel safe, everything should be okay.

"I have a question..." You started, dusting a cookie with edible glitter.

"What's up?" He asked, furrowing his eyebrows when he heard the slightest shake in your voice. But he didn't look up from his cookies, he was too busy filling in his lines.

"You're a smart guy, and given your last job I was wondering if you could give me some advice on something?"

"I mean... I can certainly try."

"So yesterday after you left I turned on the news like Georgia told me to." You started, that alone made his head snap up to look at you. You watched panic fill his body, and you immediately felt bad. But you couldn't rush through it, the situation was too delicate. "It got me thinking about how the feds could even prove that someone failed to report a sighting?"

"Well, if someone makes it known and clear they saw one of them, it travels fast by word of mouth." He answered slowly, and cautiously.

You slowly nodded your head as you thought of what to say next. "So let's say someone saw one of them, but had no intentions of reporting... they could just simply keep that information to themselves and it would be hard to prove?"

"Theoretically, yes." He slowly set the piping bag down as his heart thumped so fast and strong he could hear it pounding in his head. Would you be the one to send him back on foot? "But sometimes it's not that simple. There's security cameras, social media, people speculate..."

"Well I for one would never do that to any of them.... Report them I mean." You stated, and in that moment his eyes met yours. "You mentioned earlier that I looked tired, it's because I stayed up all night researching the accords."

"Why did you do that?" He swallowed the lump in his throat to no prevail.

"Because I saw a picture of Captain America on the news, and I thought I owed it to everyone around me to do the research before I express my opinions. And by the way, he looks just like you." You told him with a warm but empathetic smile as you momentarily looked up from dusting the cookies. "But now I'm certain that keeping the remaining four safe would be worth the risk. I mean... it's not like I know Steve Rogers personally or anything. I just know he has a lot of people who really care about him, and I'm sure they would do anything they could to keep him safe."

He didn't respond for a while, and that was perfectly okay. You knew he needed time to think about what to do for his own wellbeing.

When he did speak up, his voice was sad and broken. "I think that he's probably had a lot of people in his life make similar choices, and it's done nothing but make their own lives more complicated. He would probably advise against it."

"That just goes to show how loved he is, because time and time again he's been worth the fight." You pointed out. "Again, this is all just hypothetical but if he were ever in that situation I'd hope he could feel safe enough to trust that he was in good hands with nothing to worry about."

Once again you were met with silence, and it was still okay. You'd rather him sit quietly with his cookies than bolt out of the door.

He picked his piping bag back up and started working on the cookies once more, while you grabbed your edible marker and started drawing on small and final details on a set of cookies you did a few hours ago.

A few minutes of thick and almost intolerable silence was broken by nothing but the smallest sniffle, and when you looked at his face once more, his big blue eyes were blinking back tears.

You'd never seen an individual more broken than the man in front of you, and though you didn't want to fix him, you certainly wanted to be a support beam in his journey. All things considered, most of his life had been a tragedy that almost every American child studied in history class. The least you could do for him was be a friend.

His tearful eyes never looked up as his nose and cheeks became pink, and his bottom lip quivered.

"Oh, my sweet honey" You pouted, immediately dropping everything in your hands onto your desk and walking over to him without second thought. "You need a hug."

He dropped his piping bag and his elbows met the metal surface of the desk, his head dropping into his hands knowing he was passed the point of emotional stability. The tears that spilled over his cheeks had a no return policy, and at this point into his game of high stakes hide-and-go-seek, he absolutely knew better than to fight them.

"I'm sorry." He cried out as your hands wrapped around him from behind, your head resting in the crook of his neck. "I'm so sorry."

Leaning over the back of the swivel chair to hug him was a bit of an awkward position to be standing in, but you didn't care. All that mattered in that moment was holding him tight and closing your eyes. "Don't you dare apologize."

"When did you figure-"

"Yesterday." You answered his question. "Last night."

"Are you mad at me?" His voice cracked.

His sadness was breaking your heart. "No, honey." You squeezed him tighter for a moment. "Not at all."

"Are you scared of me?"

You physically had to hold yourself back from chuckling at that question. It seemed silly to even begin to think that the big teddy bear would even hurt a fly, but you understood he probably felt like a monster in this moment. "Not even a little bit"

"I'm so sorry" He apologized again.

"It's okay" You reassured him. "I promise it's okay."

Letting go of him, you took a step back so you could slowly turn his swivel chair so he was facing you. He got the memo and dropped the hands from his face.

You stepped between his legs and gave him a more proper hug this time, lord knew he needed it bad. This time he wrapped his arms around you too, and his hold felt apologetic. But somehow yours did too, and when one of your hands ever so lovingly cradled the back of his head it was as if you were apologizing for how cruel the world had been to him.

He soaked in every moment of your touch, something he desperately lacked since this whole mess started. His emotions were somewhere between relief and moral dilemma.

He could never ask you to put yourself in the position you were currently in. If anyone else found out that you knew, you'd be in massive trouble. He was in massive trouble. He should've been on foot to a whole new country the moment you asked him the question, yet here he was clinging to you and hoping you'd never let go.

His body was begging for any ounce of security it could get, it needed a full night of worry free sleep, it needed a few days of not being anxious, it needed you to hold him tight and remind him it would be okay.

He needed to be selfish, and you were willing to let him be.

"I don't even know why I'm crying, I'm a mess" He admitted sadly.

"You're not a mess, you're exhausted." You rubbed his back and absorbed the moment. "When's the last time you've had any real rest?"

"It's been almost a year." He admitted honestly.

"Is Greenwood the first place you've settled down in since it all happened?" You questioned, he gently nodded. "You know you're safe here? Right?"

His lack of response confirmed a suspicion you've had since last night, he was still on edge even in the quaint little town.

"I'm not." He shook his head.

You let go of the hug and pulled away a bit so you could look him in the eyes. Your hands rested on his shoulders and his on your waist. "Well you're safe with me. No doubt about that, right?"

"Considering it's been almost 24 hours and I'm not in a cell yet, I don't think I have any doubts" He chuckled though his sad tears.

"Trust takes time I know, but if you need anything I'm here for you. Any time of the day, even if you just need me to keep an eye out for your own peace of mind to get some real sleep."

"Do you think you could take down a swat team and the Secretary of State?" He joked as a smile pushed through his burden.

"Mmmmm...no? But I can definitely wake you up and let you take care of it. I'm a pretty good cheerleader." You pondered. "Ooh! Or I could give them all cookies and ask them nicely to leave you alone."

"Well why didn't I think of that before?" Steve let out a genuine laugh.

"Right? Did you even try that first before going into hiding?" You jokingly questioned.

"Not everyone is as smart as you, honey." He joked right back.

"Maybe just keep that in mind next time" You smiled, happy to see even the tiniest bit of relief on his face. "Oh also, this hair and that beard are really working for you."

"Really? That's what you got out of this whole situation?" Steve questioned with a smile and a raised eyebrow.

You happily pat the top of his head before stepping away to go back to your desk, but you almost regretted it the moment cool air hit where his warm hands were once holding you.

"Yeah, was I supposed to get something else out of it?" You asked, cocking your head to the side.

"Maybe not being so trusting of strangers, doing some research on the people you let into your house..."

"I did eventually do the research, you can't really deny that now." You laughed.

"I guess I can't." Steve wiped the last of the tears off his face and picked up his piping bag again.

There was a few more moments of silence that were way more comfortable this time, the atmosphere was no longer thick, and you had one last trick up your sleeve to get your friend to smile.

"... You're still going to come hang out here, right?" You questioned.

"So long as I'm still welcome." He answered, you could hear the hesitation in his voice.

"Of course you are! Now why would you ever not be welcome he- you drive me crazy." You shook your head like a disappointed mom.

Steve puffed out a giggle at your reaction to his reluctance. "Do you understand my ability to lift that stand mixer a little better now?"

"Two men, Steven. I was going to get two men for that job, and even then I had my doubts. Here I was think you were about to pull a muscle in your back."

"I think Michael could've handled that all on his own." Steve shrugged, obviously joking.

"Well since you're not going to flee Greenwood I think I should tell you something..." You started.

"What?"

"Your circles are great, but your straight lines? A liiiiiitle shaky" Your voice went up an octave or two and you pinched your forefinger and thumb together with just a tiny bit of space between them.

He looked up at you, then back down at his cookies, and pouted when he noticed you weee actually right.

"Ugh!" He threw his head back dramatically. "You know what you just did? You just squished my feelings."

"Oh no!" You laughed. "It's just constructive criticism!"

"I do not care. My feelings are squished and there is no way to un-squish them!"

"Relax big buy, you're still a beginner" You took the seat right next to him and you instinctively rolled the chairs as close to each other as you could. You put your hand out asking for his piping bag, so he gave it to you. "Let me show you how it's done."

The remainder of the night, everything went back to normal. You taught him as much as you could the best way you knew how, and he made you laugh.

When the two of you decided to call it a night, both of your keys in hand and ready to head out, you were about to flip off the last light switch before he brought it up once more.

"Thanks again for being so kind to me. I've been having a really hard time since the war and you have been the best escape." He admitted in the comfort of the dark bakery. "Not many people have been so understanding."

"Of course, honey. I always look forward to spending time with you, and I've always got your back whenever you need it." You squeezed the top of his arm. "But I have no idea what your talking about..."

Genuinely confused for a moment, he was quick to remind you. "The Captain America thing"

"Who?" You said again, feigning confusion.

"The civil wa- oooooohhhh" He realized you were playing dumb for the sake of keeping this a secret to the outside world.

You laugh as you pushed through the door and held it open for him. He walked through and closed it.

"I've literally never heard of Captain what's his butt before" You mumbled under your breath as you locked the door.

"That's a better name I think" Steve nodded in agreement.

"You think?! I know!" You played along.

"You know what?" Steve asked.

"I know nothing." You insisted. "Goodnight, what's his butt."

"Goodnight, Honey." Steve smiled sincerely for the first time in a while.

Next part: Absdoughlutely

Tag list: @patzammit @bemysugarbean @buckymydarlingangel @happinessinthebeing @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory @differenttyphoonwerewolf @themotherof10 @lokislady82 @talesofadragon @spikeluv84 @xxxalicerogersxx @avid-fic-reader-05 @royalwriteroftheuniverse

Have any asks, or headcannons you want to see come to life about Nomad Steve and Baker Reader? Drop them in my inbox and I’ll write it! Check out extra Nice to be Kneaded more fun stuff bonus chapters here!

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firemenenthusiast · 6 months ago

Text

“i wish i knew you wanted me”

farleigh start x gn!reader

summary: a very short thought while i work on the others

content warning: mentions of alcohol and drinking

a/n: hehe

the glare of the party lights are getting too much for you. suddenly you became hyperaware of everything that’s happening and everyone surrounding. the music’s getting too loud and people dancing, bumping against each other is making your skin crawl. you need to get out or you’ll drown under the toxins of the place.

-felix notices you pushing through the crowd, your face obviously irritated. he’s standing near the exit, and has been watching the clashing vibe between you and the rest of the room. but you wont take his word for it, he’s probably more drunk that anyone else the way he’s holding a whole bottle of alcohol, feeding it to the girls surrounding him.

just as you’re about to pass him, “noo you’re leaving already ?” “yeah it’s getting too much for me” your response makes him groan in annoyance. “maybe you haven’t drank enough, here have some you’ll feel better” he offers, the alcohol splashing inside the bottle pushed towards you. imagining the liquid running down your throat makes you sick. you’re not sure what’s with you today but you’re just not having it. you shake your head at him. “whatever mate, i dont even know how farleigh could fancy you” he shrugs as he continue dancing. your ears ring at what you just heard. “what ?” you ask through the crowd as he’s getting away, hoping he could hear you

you need to listen to the exact words coming out of his mouth once again. to make sure. to make sure that all your feelings towards farleigh that you’ve been pushing down your throat all these while atleast carry some meaning. you never expect them to be reciprocated anyways but it’ll be nice to know you mean something to him. you realise that the two of you barely know each other yet you can’t help falling for him as each and every day pass. your friendgroups would hang out together, if you call sitting together at the pub just to drink hanging out. seems more like alcoholism club to other people. also, as far as you can remember, farleigh’s never really paid you any attention, you’ve barely talked. just exchanging glances and if you’re both really trashed you’d sit together on the couch, legs tangled and giggling to each other about whatever silly things caught your eyes. atleast so you’re told. but he’s just so cool, you’re drawn towards him, his wits, his sass, his attitude, as long as you’re not a victim of it. you’ve always found yourself chuckling at whatever rubbish he has to say about people.

so when you were offered some sort of- something, anything- from farleigh’s end you’d want to really listen. you’d really want to know. felix’s no use now, he’s making out with some girl you saw drinking off the bottle earlier. you search for farleigh who’s also here. he should be near. the room’s not that spacious anyways so everyone’s just sorta cramped together. you push through the crowd, ignoring the fact that you were gonna bail, to grab farleigh’s wrist before dragging him out. you walk a distance with him behind you, forced by his wrist in your hand. you hear him curse out a string of protests. he’s tipsy- partially drunk so he’s just whining about wanting to get back. you let him complain before gaining his attention naturally.

“is it true ?”

“what ?” he’s quick to answer, not having any idea what you’re talking about

“that you like me”

he straightened his back, his body stopped moving so much. he lets out a slow breathy groan, his palm reaches his forehead.

“fucking, felix-“

“so is it true”

“look i know you must’ve heard it from felix but shit— i used to, for a little while-“ his voice stern, like he’s trying to prove himself

“-dont even know why but i dont anymore, okay ?” he looks at you, you refuse to display any expressions, not wanting him to get a slight idea of what you’re feeling. the last bit of what he just said somehow really hurt you. he ‘doesn’t even know why’; he said it as if he didn’t want to

as he walk back to the party you hear him apologise. he doesn’t even know what for but he did anyways. you step back until your heels meet the wall. you lean back sighing, thinking about the things that could’ve been if only you knew

taglist: @june-ebgert @radioloom @themoonchildwhofell @love-me-pls @imjustheretoreadsmuthaha @fuckshitslover @szapizzapanda @khxna

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heyidkyay · 11 months ago

Text

And I'm petrified of being alone, now |

Part Ten

Matty Healy x reader

Summary: She’s just trying to get by, really. What with being a single parent to her four year old son whilst simultaneously trying to kick start a successful career as a radio presenter. She’s got everything she’s ever wanted though, friends close by, a mum who’s merely a phone call away, and of course her baby boy. What else is there to wish for? But then, it’s not long before her relatively normal life gets upended and turned on its head, and she’s suddenly forced to deal with situations she’s never even thought to imagine.

What happens when one mention of a certain controversial singer on her show sends a flood of unexpected challenges her way?

Authors Note: It was in the drafts and it's been a while so I thought I'd post. Might not hear from me for a bit though after this, so I hope you like the next part. Thank you for all the love on this one.

Masterlist

A warm bout of light filtered into the bedroom through a small gap in the curtains. It gave the space a sepia feel, tinting the light bedding and walls a warm hazel colour. Creating a haze of skittering beams above me.

It wasn't much, the room. It simply held the necessities I thought I needed seeing as I didn't spend too much of my time in it, other than when I needed to dress or sleep. I’ve really had too many other things occupying my time during the past few years that have kept me from worrying over the state of it.

There was a rickety old dresser, which sat in the far corner and had been something I'd picked up during my time at uni. Student accommodation had been lacking and so Finn had decided, quite early on I might add, that it would be in our best interest to find ourselves some cheap furniture to fill it with.

In truth, we’d actually had to lug the pesky thing all the way down a dual-carriageway and across a roundabout, after having spotted it advertised in the window of our local offy. It held a good few memories though, like when the pair of us had jumped up onto it at the first sight of an eight-legged pal, or the time I’d walked in to find him getting railed over its top.

Then there was the large mahogany wardrobe that had been purchased from a wholesaler not very long after I had finally gotten a newly born Teddy settled into the tiny flat I'd rented out in Hackney.

It had been cramped, what with the bathroom having been the size of a broom cupboard and the only bedroom having led straight into our ‘fun-sized’ kitchen. But we'd made it work. In fact, it had practically been a Godsend during those nightly feeds- six steps and I’d been right by the cooker!

The wardrobe had been a much needed purchase though, and one of the first things I had bought solely for myself since I’d moved out of mam’s.

Then there was the side table, sat next to the one edge of my bed that hadn't been backed into a wall, which held a reading light, a three wicked candle and a couple of novels with folded and refolded receipts sticking out the sides as page markers.

I had garnered quite the collection of books, I could admit, all of which seemed to line up haphazardly on the opposite wall. I tended to smile whenever I caught sight of its heavy shelves, a reminder of all the havoc that had gone into them whilst putting them up. It had taken me three whole days, and even though they were still a tad lopsided, I still gazed upon them in pride.

A woeful plant burdened my windowsill, a slither of its olive coloured pot barely seen from behind the billowing beige curtains. Whilst cushions sat in disarray across the hardwood floor below, having been tossed every which way the night previous.

There were dirty clothes in the hamper by the half-opened door and a basket of clean, partially folded, washing in a chair sitting beside the wardrobe.

The room wasn't completely tidy, but not a tip either.

Humming groggily to myself, I began to stir from the deep sleep I’d lost myself in and used the ball of my palm to rub tiredly at my eye just as a furrowed line creased between my brows.

It was far too quiet, I deemed, and must've been later than usual too because Teddy normally had us both up long before the crack arse of dawn. So I sniffed once and then went to turn over, just to check the time as I always did, but couldn't stop the way I stilled completely at the sight that greeted me.

Because in bed, right beside me, laid another body. One hidden deep beneath the weighted duvet and my favoured blanket, but a body nonetheless.

Shit.

It appeared in the remaining foggy haze of last night, I had quite simply forgotten about the man I'd invited back home. And into my bed, it seemed. As well as the ill-timed events that had led up to it, too.

My breath hitched when the man suddenly moved in his sleep and I did my very fucking best not to express any of my thoughts or feelings outwardly. Desperate not to actually rouse the sleeper.

Instead, I inhaled. Once, then twice. Before finally, I gathered enough courage and strength to slowly inch myself all the way down to the very end of the bed. Mindful not to drag the duvet down with me.

Once I was standing- still fully clothed, I might tack on (thank you to small miracles!)- I allowed myself a second to just peer down and admire the dark, curling locks that now sprawled across my pale pillowcase. As well as the slither of skin which poked out from beneath the bed sheets.

In all honesty, I couldn't actually recall the last time I'd shared my space like this, so freely it almost felt effortless.

Quickly though, I blinked myself out of those sorts of thoughts and took another, much needed, deep breath. The flat was still as quiet as it had been a moment prior, but I was careful to tread incredibly lightly when I turned to grab the nearest set of clean clothes. Then, cautiously, I started to tiptoe my way out of the bedroom.

Standing in the hallway, with a wooden door now planted firmly between me and my overnight guest, I threw my head back in silent ire. Questioning just how, why! I had gotten myself into a situation this stress inducing, a situation I had not been in since my days at uni. I could only just begin to imagine how this would all pan out once everyone was finally wide awake and Teddy had-

Oh God, Teddy!

It was painfully embarrassing to admit that I had just about worked myself into a right state before it finally hit me that Teddy was, in fact, still with Finn. At his flat, not even ten minutes away, and not down the hall, sleeping in the same space as a fucking strange bloke he’d never even set eyes on.

So with that anxiety riddled train of thought now settled, I found that I was ultimately calmer and took a deep breath before resolving to head off to the loo before anything else happened to occur. Or before I sent myself into another full blown panic attack.

I wandered down the rest of the hall into the bathroom and went about my business before stripping out of last night’s clothes. I couldn't stop myself from wincing at the laddered tights I’d since tugged off, those which would surely have to go straight in the bin, and then stepped into a pair of well-worn joggers as well as a newer jumper I’d found during the early summer sales.

It was a long and thoughtful process that had me deciding that I should start on a pot of tea, because if I couldn't sneak my way out of this entire affair via the front door, then tea would simply have to do. Us Brits, hey?

But first, I needed to find my phone.

The thing wasn't too hard to locate. I found it lying on the kitchen counter when I walked in, charging, and did my best to recall the events of the previous night as I puttered around to fill the kettle.

There had been the phone call.

Then Finn taking Teddy.

The tube ride to the bar.

Ronan... As well as everyone else.

And then, Matty had appeared out of nowhere and turned my entire sodding night on its head.

"Christ." I heard myself grumble under my breath, feeling as though I had aged an entire year in a single night.

The hangover I was now supposed to be nursing was teetering around the edges of my mind, a headache oncoming I reckoned seeing as though my shock had hit it clean off onto the verge upon waking up. But still, I found myself rubbing at my temples for a brief second before splaying my palms out on the cold counter in an attempt to calm my brewing emotions.

"Could tell you a few ways to reach him, but I don't reckon he's the sort to make house calls..."

I startled at the sound of the unexpected voice and snapped my head straight up to find Matty standing in the doorway to my kitchen. The man had apparently foregone trousers, choosing instead to make up for the lack of material on his bottom half with a pair of thick socks and an oversized jumper I knew had been draped across my dresser only moments earlier.

I couldn't find it in himself to complain though, not that I would've. Matty looked far too indecent standing there, morning light illuminating his milky skin and shadowing his already dark, tousled hair, watching me through bleary eyes.

"Sorry, did I wake you?" Is what I chose to reply with, heartbeat still a little erratic, pulsing in the curve of my throat. I reached a hand up to tug on an earring, the other arm moving to wrap its way around my torso.

Matty’s lip quirked upwards when he stepped further into the room, just as the kettle whistled away to a boil.

"You're alright." He waved off, and shook his head lightly as he made his way over to where two mugs had since been placed on the counter. Two mugs I’d put down without much thought as to whether or not he was sticking around long enough for a brew.

Still, I hadn’t needed to fret over it, seeing as I was forced to watch on as Matty brewed the tea himself; popping a tea bag into each cup and steeping them in hot water. He then cocked a questioning brow in my direction which startled me into motion.

"Sugar’s in the tin.” I told him softly, pointing in its direction, “You'll have to make do with skimmed milk though I'm afraid, got none of that oat shit."

Matty snorted in retort and crossed the floor to open the fridge, looking almost too at home in my austere, little kitchen. Especially when the jumper he wore rid high enough up his thighs to expose the edging of his tight, black boxers.

I looked away.

"Might be a bigshot, babe, but a decent cuppa means actual milk." Matty tutted, paying no mind to the homage of colourful drawings on my fridge door as it rattled shut, and then returned to his station to pour an ungodly amount of milk into one mug. He hovered the bottle over the other.

"Just a splash, please. No sugar." I told him quietly and he hummed in turn, stirring methodically before he fished the teabags out and into the bin.

I took my mug rather cautiously once Matty had picked up his own and taken perch on top of my countertop, feeling a bout of unease at seeing the singer so comfortable in my humble home. What must he think of it all?

I tried not to stress anymore than I already had and took a small sip instead, looking at the way the man opposite fiddled with the old school radio that resided on the closest shelf. It was something I'd brought along with me from back home, it had belonged to one of my grandfathers, I wasn't sure which, but it tended to soothe me whenever I cooked in the late evenings, or during the long nights when Teddy was up all hours.

The warm tea soothed my dry throat and eased some of that tension I still had coiled in the line of my shoulders, enough so that I felt the need to start up another conversation just to fill the lingering silence.

My tongue darted out to wet my bottom lip and then I cleared my throat, cradling the hot mug in my hands.

"So, about last night..."

I was overall quite surprised to see the way Matty's entire mood immediately shifted upon hearing my opener. His lethargic demeanour- mostly down to having just woken up- stiffened entirely and sharpened his tired eyes and soft lips.

"Last night." Parroted Matty, voice low and tinged with a slight rasp that I hadn't paid much attention to a minute ago. It held power, though toneless.

I paused, if only for a moment to weigh my next words. It was important that Matty understood that last night had been a bit of an overreaction on my part, that I’d misstepped whilst drunk, and not something other. I couldn’t deal with any of that right now, if ever. No one needed to know the extent of what had gone down.

"Ronan, he's... well, he's just always been a bit protective."

Matty stared back at me, his face utterly blank. Enough so that I actually startled slightly when he scoffed. It was a loud sound that echoed off the tiles, before his jaw set sternly and his narrowed eyes met my own. “Hang on, you're actually choosing to defend that dickhead?"

I blinked in return, gaping in truth, at the realisation that I’d completely forgotten the fact that I'd explained much of what had happened, drunkenly, to Matty on the cab ride home. The same journey which had ended with not only Matty escorting me up to my front door but me also inviting him inside.

Couldn’t he have just been a gentleman and declined? Left me to choke on my own sick and perhaps allow me to die with the little dignity I’d had left?

It wasn't anything like most would've probably imagined though, the whole me asking him up thing, that much I knew. My intentions hadn't been anywhere near illustrious and I certainly hadn't set out to lure the illusive singer into my bed. I’d merely wanted some company after all that had happened that night is all, scared to be alone with the guilt, even.

Which was honestly a first for me. It had always been so much easier for me to just deal with my many thoughts and complicated emotions alone, behind closed doors and far, far from judgement.

It seemed that the alcohol had addled my mind slightly.

I couldn’t help the sigh I gave then, nor the way I curled up further into the wooden chair I’d since sat in.

"No, just-"

Matty scoffed again, this time cutting me off completely. "Well, it sounds as though you are, darling."

I went to argue but found I couldn't- not that Matty gave me much of an opportunity to though. No, the man simply stampeded on, didn’t he?

Were all rock stars this pigheaded?

"I mean, for fucks sake, Mouse! What were you thinking? I've met my fair share of arseholes but he was no doubt one of the biggest, toed right in line beside me when I was off my face, in truth. He was so fucking arrogant, controlling and- moody! My God, he was a downright moody prick, too. And those were just my thoughts before seeing the aftermath of what went down at the end of the night!”

He shook his head vehemently.

"And protective, really Squeaks? I'm sorry to say this, babe, honest I am, but you might need a reality check, mate. He was downright possessive. Glaring at you the entire night only to try and stake his claim the second you were alone."

I gritted my teeth, unhappy with the way Matty had portrayed everything.

"He's a friend!" I tried to defend but Matty, who had since quietly settled his mug down in spite of his obvious anger, jumped off the counter and stepped forward.

"More like deranged!" He spat back, "I saw you! I was fucking there! I had to look into your eyes, see the blinding panic, the fear. Don't tell me that he's a friend, not when he caused a reaction like that. I mean, you can be intimidating when you want to be- all sweet like, subdued, and intelligent. You're all these fascinating things rolled up into one oversized jumper, and yet, you let someone like him walk all over you? Treat you like you're his property or something." He scoffed once more, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe the words he was having to spew.

I stared long and hard into his dark eyes before I couldn't stand to any longer, instead I turned away to blow out an unsteady breath.

Matty was right, I knew that much, alright? But it didn't mean I had to enjoy having to admit to that. Having someone else in on a secret I’d kept for so long, one I hadn't even realised I’d been keeping, not really. It all just felt like a little too much to be dealing with all at once and so early in the morning to boot. Because in actuality, I didn't want to face up to the fact that I had actually allowed someone to treat me that way. To know that other people had finally been a witness to it. Seen me that weak.

I had vowed long ago to never let another person put me in such a state of vulnerability. But here I was, a-fucking-gain.

I heard Matty sigh before socked feet dragged closer and I felt a gentle hand come to rest at the bow of my elbow. He sighed again, softer this time though, when I only continued to stare resolutely out of the kitchen window.

"I'm sorry for blowing my top, yeah? I just- it annoys me, to see you wash your hands of it so easily. As though you believed what he'd done was okay."

I swallowed thickly.

"You deserve better than that, okay?" Matty added.

I had to glance up at the ceiling to blink away the mist in my eyes, but did finally dip my head in silent acknowledgement, pulling away slightly so that I could take a moment to gather myself.

Matty didn't move when I crossed the kitchen floor to riffle through my cupboards, rooted to the ground almost, but he was spurred into action only a few seconds later.

I’d just placed a carton of eggs on the side and moved to turn on the hob when the old radio stuttered to a start. It let that silence I so hated fade away, and gave me the kick I needed to carry on.

"How'd you like your eggs?" I asked, and felt more than saw Matty’s relieved smile. He just had a way of taking up all the space in a room, as though he were its own gravitational pull and everyone else just had to be aware of his every cue.

I hid my own, however tiny smile, as best I could.

"Fried. Got any bacon?"

And just like that, things evened out and our 'talk' was seemingly long forgotten. To be honest, I actually got so caught up in the normality of it all, the radio playing, the sidestepping, the easy smiles, that I completely forgot about the world around us. Everyone else that lived beyond these four walls.

It was just as we’d finished up eating and Matty had jumped up to grab our plates, that a familiar alert sounded. I glanced away and was reminded that life had in fact continued on without us.

I hurried over to where my phone was still sat on the side and worried at my lower lip when I saw the many notifications which lined the dimming screen. The newest was from Finn.

Messages now Finnleyyy Awake yet drunkard? Got a little man here ready to head home, well fed and only a little dirty!

It was instantaneous the way my gaze darted up to where Matty was now standing by the sink, only a tad surprised to find him making an attempt at the washing up. He must've felt my eyes on him though because he turned to flash me a grin over his right shoulder a second later. I tried my best to smile back, but the thought of Teddy meeting Matty, and of Matty meeting Teddy... just didn't sit quite well with me.

My thumbs flew their way across the screen to type up a speedy reply.

Messages now Just woke up Sort of got a visitor? And before you start, no it wasn't like that, but I promise to tell you more when you get here Can you give me half hour??

It was only a little embarrassing, having to mention my overnight guest, especially whilst knowing it was the same man Finn had been blatantly teasing me about these past few weeks, but I really didn't want to have these two parts of my life crossover. Not right now.

With everything I understood about Matty and his past, I had to be certain that he was the kind of person I wanted my son to be around. The kind of person my son was safe to be around. And I was nowhere near sure where I currently was on that scale.

Matty was unreliable. His job had him everywhere and nowhere at once, up all hours of the day, and on a bus most months out of the year. That was something I really had to consider here.

Because I really was just trying to be brutally honest with myself. No matter how genuine Matty might've seemed in his recent efforts, I also knew that he was bound to get bored of our dubious friendship sooner or later, and that Teddy tended to get rather attached quite quickly. And I wouldn't stand by and watch my son get hurt when Matty finally chose to walk away. It was tough, him only having so few people constantly around, I wished so greatly that I could give him the big family I’d always dreamed of, but new people always had me so weary.

I breathed out a quiet sigh of relief when Finn finally messaged back giving me the okay, as well as the expected hard time.

Messages now Finnleyyy Ah I'll be sure to rinse you of every detail, you lazy sod! And Teds will be fine, we'll stop off at the park on our way over

Matty popped up right beside me then, just as I exited my messages, and I was merely thankful that I'd managed to avoid him seeing anything that could have led to questions. In an attempt to both evade and act casual, I scrolled down further to see who else had texted.

"Anything interesting?"

I blinked up at him, mouth now suddenly agape, then to my screen, then back up at him.

"Erm, you might want to see this." I told Matty as I all but threw my mobile into his hands.

The Sun 07:34 HOTHEAD HEALY IS BACK AND MAKING HEADLINES WITH DARK HAIRED BEAUTY

MTV 08:02 MATTY HEALY SPOTTED AT LONDON BAR WITH NEW FLING!

The Mirror 08:11 A WILD NIGHT OUT ON THE TOWN FOR 1975 SINGER AND FRIENDS TURNS SOUR

In all the new texts I’d gotten Jamie had been the one to send the first few articles, but one seemingly spiralled into another, like a spider spinning its deceitful web.

Matty’s sudden bout of boisterous laughter startled me though, the sound so unexpected, and I shot a hasty look over to find an amused smile dancing on his lips whilst he shook his head.

"Erm," I attempted, but stopped there when I realised I didn't quite have the words, or rather no actual clue on what to say.

"Same old story." Matty told me, shrugging it off as though him being pictured simply standing next to Indra, the friend of a friend from last night, in a crowded bar was enough to warrant such a spectacle.

"But you barely said two words to her!" I retorted when Matty handed me back my phone, surprised by his utter nonchalance.

He only shrugged again! "All publicity's good publicity, and all that crap. Besides, I know the truth, the people who matter know the truth," He dipped his chin over at me then for some reason, "And so does she. They'll find something, or someone else, to hound soon enough."

"What, so it really doesn't bother you then? Being made out to be this person you're not."

"A slag, you mean?" Matty teased as a mischievous smile limned his lips.

Tutting, I could only roll my eyes at him before I forced myself to my feet and wandered over to the sink. The bigshot singer made an abrupt noise of indignation when he realised that I really did intend to redo all of his hard work.

"Oi, I already did those!"

I couldn’t hide my smirk as I rinsed the plates off properly, honestly glad for the distraction. "And you did quite well, what with it being your first try."

Matty scowled halfheartedly, but I took note of the faint blush that flushed the back of his neck. Seemed like I wasn't too far off in my assumption.

"So, what did Jamie have to say about it all then?" Matty quipped, swiftly changing the subject.

I let him have it, not saying a word more on the topic before I went to dry my hands. "What I think you mean to ask is, why did he text me?"

"Well, yeah." Matty replied with another single shoulder shrug, "How did he even know that we were together?"

"Made a good guess?" I supplied simply when I found that I didn't really have the answer to that particular question.

But privately, I reckoned that maybe Jamie hadn't realised that Matty and I had been together at all. I hadn't been photographed in any articles, from what I'd seen at least, and neither me nor Matty had had any contact with him until right now.

Maybe Jamie had just wanted to let me in on what was happening, on the know, perhaps he'd wanted someone to rant or share his frustrations with. It wouldn't have been the first time.

So I made a mental note to message him again later, when Matty was long gone and I had time to stew on all of this.

"Enough about him anyway, what are you up to today?" Matty asked me as he jumped backup into the counter. I consciously avoided looking at the way his thighs pressed against the granite, the tattoos that marked the length of his skin.

"Apart from bleaching your arse off of my countertops?" I snarked back and snorted when Matty merely wiggled his arse in retort, "I've got a couple of things to sort today."

"Work things?"

I hummed my general assent but avoided meeting Matty’s eye, not wanting to outright lie. I really did have plans though, plans to waste the day away with Teddy, grab a late lunch, and maybe head off to the cinema to watch that new superhero film he'd been yapping on about for the past two weeks. Only, I couldn't tell any of that to Matty.

"What about you?" I asked instead (always so polite!) as I went about the kitchen, clearing away what remained of our cooking session. I'd rather get the majority done now, than fret over it later.

"Not much." Matty mumbled as he ran a fingertip along the edge of a nearby cupboard, kicking his feet up when I swept past. "Avoid Jamie, dodge a couple calls, maybe meet up with some friends. Think Ross got the new FIFA, so might bug him for a bit."

I hummed around a small smile, returning the dry cutlery back to its rightful drawer, "That Danny guy?"

Matty flashed me a knowing smile. "Mayhaps."

"Mayhaps?" I mimicked, shooting him a questioning brow.

"It's a combination of words, Squeaks. Emphasises the meaning!"

I snorted. "I'm sure."

Matty chuckled quietly to himself before he finally pushed himself off of my kitchen side and back onto his feet. "Well, I'd best get out of your hair then. Leave you to do your important work and what not."

I faked a sigh of evident relief and dodged the swat he aimed at my arm, grinning as I rounded a table chair.

"Don't act like you won't miss my Godlike presence, darling." Matty looked down his nose at me mockingly as he made his way over to the doorway.

A belly laugh bubbled up out of me upon hearing that and Matty all but lit up at the sound. "Godlike? Wow, it's nice to know that fame really does get to some people’s heads."

Matty cut his eyes at me and with a mirthful smile, flipped me off. "Dick. I'm just gonna head up and get changed. That alright?"

I dipped my head, feigning wiping down the table before I glanced up to watch him walk away, finding my smile never faltering even after Matty had disappeared from sight.

It wasn't too long later when he popped back up again though, all dressed up in a pair of expensive boots and the tight trousers he'd been wearing last night. I didn’t miss the flash of my jumper that had been hidden somewhere behind the zip of his jacket though, but I didn’t say anything, pleased that he’d taken a liking to it.

Looking at him, it didn't even seem as though he'd been out drinking all night, or that he'd just rolled out of the bed of some other. He looked rather lovely like this, still a tad bit sleepy- it was all in the crook of his smile, you see- and soft.

"Well, I'd best be off then." Matty announced from where he was now stood idling waiting in the hallway.

I propped myself up against the bannister and found myself wearing an amused smile, drinking him in. "Best be."

He grinned back over at me and just when it felt as though he was about to reach out, he stuffed one hand into his jacket pocket and pointed at me with the other. "I'll text you later, yeah? So make sure to actually reply this time, all right?"

Rather dramatically, I blew out a large breath and crossed my arms over the ball that sat atop the bannister’s wooden beam. "Seems like a hard task..."

I laughed when Matty shot me a particularly nasty glare, but relented.

"I'll be waiting on your many messages, my dear." I corrected, doing my best to feign the doting wife sending her husband off to war, even going as far as to clutch at my jumper in a pained goodbye.

"You’d better." Matty smirked and when I took a step away from the staircase, he decided to take that as his leave.

Though it was just as he was halfway out the front door that he paused and turned back to chance a glance at me, ring clad fingers toying with the latch on the inside lock.

"We might've dropped the subject but, just know, if I ever see that ginger prick near you again I will put my fist through his face hard enough that he'll be shitting out my rings." And with that Matty dipped his chin at me once and let the door swing shut behind him.

I wasn’t ashamed to say that I stood there in the silence that encompassed the house for a very long moment, before my lips finally quirked upwards and I let myself laugh.

It seemed that everyone was right, Matty Healy truly did have a way with words. Only, the wrong kind.

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jumpywhumpywriter · 1 month ago

Text

Living Weapon Whumpee part 8

Warnings: severe touch starvation, forced living weapon/fighter, captive living weapon

He tried so hard to rest, but it was practically impossible in the stress position the chains and cuffs kept him in. They pulled on his arms and shoulders, making them ache and cramp.

He was exhausted when the door to his concrete prison opened again, followed by blinding light. He hadn't slept a wink the whole night.

"Breakfast," a harsh voice announced, and when Whumpee's eyes adjusted he found himself staring at a muscular man holding a plate full of food and a pair of metal tongs that stalked over to him. An aura of angry energy floated around him, and Whumpee frowned in confusion. He didn't recognize this man, so why was he ticked off? Whumpee hadn't done anything to him.

The man marched up and used a hand to tear the muzzle off his face. The intoxicating scent of the food hit Whumpee all at once, overwhelming. It made his stomach growl loudly. He hadn't eaten anything in far too long.

The man took the tongs and snatched up a piece of cooked meat, shoving it in Whumpee's face.

Whumpee didn't hesitate to wolf it down. It wasn't the best-tasting thing in the world, but compared to the pile of mush he was usually fed at Leader’s base that was packed with every last vitamin he needed for optimal performance on the battlefield, it was heavenly. Everything about this felt so wrong, but Whumpee felt himself... enjoying it. Such a strange feeling it was. Foreign. He was eating real food.

“If it were up to me, I'd let you starve and rot to death in here,” the man remarked off-handedly, and Whumpee slowed down in his chewing, eyeing him with sudden wariness.

The man's eyes were harsh and accusing as they bored into Whumpee's. “You killed my wife in that town you murdered. If Flint didn't order me to feed you and keep you alive, I would kill you right now. And it wouldn't be painless.”

Whumpee wasn't sure how to respond as another bite was stuffed in his mouth with the tongs, hard enough to make him gag.

“...Did she suffer before you killed her? Did any of the townsfolk?” The man growled.

Whumpee shook his head. “No… none did. My kills are always clean and quick,” he croaked weakly.

The man managed to look both relieved and anguished all at once, and didn't say another word as he fed Whumpee the meal, giving him a bottle of water to finish it off at the end. Then he stormed out, and Whumpee was left alone once more with only his own troubled thoughts to keep him company.

Three days of captivity passed, and after a rough start Whumpee began to find tricks to make survival a fraction more tolerable. One of those tricks was discovering that if he locked his knees and leaned his weight back against the wall he was chained to, he could finally get some sleep without the awful discomfort that came with being forced to stand up for so long -- though his muscles and joints still always ached in the mornings from the awkward position he was constantly kept in.

He stayed compliant and obedient the whole time, left alone except for feeding times and the rare occasions Flint showed up again to question him some more. But the fourth day was different. Someone came in a few hours after Whumpee had been given breakfast, something that hadn't happened before.

And Whumpee was thoroughly surprised to find that it was Myra slipping into his room. She quietly shut the door behind her before skipping over to where Whumpee was trapped against the wall without a shred of caution or fear.

"Flint told me I couldn't come see you without him there to supervise -- which is a stupid rule in my opinion -- but he's always too busy with work... so I came here all by myself!" Myra explained chipperly. She looked so innocently proud of herself, and Whumpee couldn't help the muffled chuckle that escaped him, amused.

Then Myra frowned, glancing from the metal cuffs on his wrists to the thick leather muzzle. "That's kind of mean that they did this to you," she remarked, and came close, lifting her arms and trying to reach the muzzle on Whumpee's face to take it off. She wasn't nearly tall enough to reach it, though she still tried her best, standing up on her tip-toes and stretching her arms up as far as they'd go. Whumpee was simply too tall, despite him leaning his head down in an effort to help, and the highest Myra's hands could reach was the front of his broad shoulders.

She eventually gave up with a frustrated, annoyed huff, looking at Whumpee apologetically. "I wish you could talk," she sighed, and pulled something out of her dress pocket. "How else are you supposed to comment on my drawing!"

Drawing...? Whumpee's brow furrowed in confusion as he watched the young girl unfold what he realized was a piece of crumpled paper, then turn it and hold it up as high as she could so he could see it, smiling widely the whole time.

Whumpee blinked in surprise at the scraggly stick figure shown that had several random lines on its face like scars, and was pushing... a tall black box?

"It's you," Myra giggled, "when you pushed the dresser in front of the door at my house to keep out the monsters. Remember?"

Whumpee did remember. And more than just that. There was something specific about what Myra had said, and now Whumpee couldn't stop thinking about it, scratching his memory for the feeling of familiarity that had picked his conscience.

It's a picture of us from the beach... remember?

Someone's voice, someone he knew... but where in his past was it coming from?! It was like the blonde girl he'd seen in his dreams previously... a foreign memory, yet oh-so-familiar...

"...Whumpee?"

Whumpee snapped out of the nostalgic trance, realizing he had spaced out and was staring blankly at the far wall.

Sorry, he said with his eyes, then looked meaningfully at the stick-figure drawing. It looks nice, he tried to express.

Myra beamed happily, a proud smile that lit up her whole face. "I knew you'd like it! Do you know how to draw?"

Whumpee thought about it, then shook his head sadly. Leader had never taught him how to draw, write, or even read. His only goal was to make Whumpee into an invincible killing machine. And weapons didn't need to be able to make art. But seeing that stick figure on the paper made Whumpee realize just how much Leader had really stolen from him, all he'd missed out on.

"Well, once Flint is done making sure you're not sick anymore and lets you out of here, I can teach you how to draw!" Myra offered giddily.

Except... that's never going to happen, Whumpee thought grimly. But is that what Flint had told his daughter? That Whumpee was sick? How long would the general be able to keep up the lie before Myra finally realized he actually had no intention of setting Whunpee free? Ever? Myra was young and innocent and gullible, but she was bound to notice eventually.

...But maybe it's better if I'm trapped here forever. Whumpee hung his head. I could hurt someone if I'm ever let out... but right now, I'm harmless. It's safer for people like Myra if I remain contained...

"Hey, Whumpee? Are you okay?" Myra's worried voice filtered into his thoughts, and he lifted his head to look at her. "It's part of being sick, isn't it? Why you're so... space-y right now?"

Whumpee decided to go along with the lie Flint had already set into motion, for Myra's own good, so he nodded.

"Oh... so you must be pretty tired then, aren't you?" Myra's excitement deflated when he nodded again. "Okay, uh... I'll... I guess I'll go, to let you rest. I'll see if I can come back soon though!" She shuffled her feet sheepishly on the concrete floor before turning around and heading for the door.

Whumpee let out a strangled whine muffled by the muzzle, desperately wishing he could beg her not to leave him alone. The only person to ever show him innocent kindness... and he couldn't even talk to ask her to stay.

He watched in dismay as Myra left the room, before growling angrily at himself, giving his restraints a useless, frustrated yank.

⏪️ Back Next ⏩️

Masterlist

@scoundrelwithboba @lumpofsand @isikedmyself878 @iamheretohurt @fleur-a-whump

@ay5ksal @otterfrost @sausages-things @i-don't-know-sal @togzy

@whump-till-ya-jump @cravesunconditionallove @whumpwritinglover222 @silly-scroimblo-skrunkl

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monayen · 14 days ago

Note

I love your stories! Perfect for feeding my bedtime delusions ♥️

Can I request something for ratman 3? Him & reader waiting out a threat in a too small hiding spot so they’re pressed against each other. The danger and close proximity make 3 noticeably excited…

Cramped | Ratman 3

➷ Paring - Ratman 3 x GN!Reader [Randal's Friends / Ranfren]

➷ CWs - dry humping, biting, very light description of violence, WHIMPERING

a/n - first ratman with a fic, isn't he special :-] ? sad state of affairs as i recently broke my phone (which i always write on) so i am now confined to my laptop. ignore any mistakes or formatting issues, i kept getting distracted trying to make a ranfren twitter. (i needed a phone number to do it D-:)

“Quiet, okay?” you whisper to the trembling ratman beside you, his forehead damp with fear as you guide him through narrow passageways.

Cramped spaces were second nature to you. Crawling between walls, squeezing through vents—it was how you’d survived since your formation. Open spaces were death traps, especially for vermin trying to get by in the confusing Ivory house.

Ratman 3 nods, his beady eyes darting nervously behind his round glasses as you move together, your bodies pushing through the tight crawl space.

“We need to bring something back this time,” you whisper, voice low and urgent. “I’m so sick of eating drywall.”

Behind you, his shaky voice follows. “I-I think it’s… fine, actually.” He mumbles, barely convincing even himself. You both know the truth. The shared bags of chips, warm beer, and crumbs of crackers disappear far too quickly in the nest. Rationing isn’t exactly an option for a group who can’t count.

Disputes over who should venture out into the Ivory’s pantry have become routine—bickering and rounds of makeshift card games determining the unlucky rat. This time, you and 3 drew the short straws. Though, you’re pretty sure Michael Jr. cheated.

The path weaves through chewn holes in the drywall and vents and pipes you two squeeze through. It'd be borderline claustrophobic for any other person, and it's even worse with how the blonde ratman clings behind you like a meat shield.

You glance back at your companion, his eyes wide and darting, every sound seeming to send a shiver through his scrawny frame. He's following behind, almost pushing against you in the narrow space.

“Keep it together,” you mutter, more to yourself than him. Ratman 3 gulps and shakes his head, “Let's just go back. I think I have a granola bar stashed away somewhere–”

You’re about to reply when heavy footsteps echo from the other side of the wall, cutting off whatever quip was on your tongue.

Ratman 3 freezes, chest heaving, his body trembling as he grabs your arm. You shoot him a warning look, silently pleading for silence. The footsteps are joined by multiple voices.

It’s the brothers that live here. The older one seems to be scolding the younger one, though you can't seem to piece together the context behind his words. You listen carefully as a deeper, gruffer voice says something short. Though it's enough that you both instantly recognize easily who it is, making your blood run cold.

3 immediately panics, his flight instincts kicking in as he silently urges you two to leave. Your heart beats in your ears, but still you motion for him to stay put.

The walls feel like they’re closing in, the tight space you're accustomed to suddenly pressing down with suffocating intensity. Claustrophobia creeps in, tightening your chest as the weight of the situation sinks deeper—you’re trapped. Any noise, any creaking movement, and you're sure they’ll hear.

Ratman 3 shifts nervously, pressing his body tightly against your figure as he tries to make himself as small as possible in the cramped space.

“The catman will leave soon,” you whisper as softly as possible in an attempt to soothe him. But even in the dark between the walls, you can see the sweat beading on his forehead, his chest rising and falling in rapid, panicked breaths.

You feel him shift again behind you, and you almost turn back to whisper for him to quit moving before you two get killed. That's when you notice a poking on your behind, and how shaky 3’s breathing really is against your neck.

“Are you fucking hard right now?” You say too softly, still concerned about being caught to let your baffled thoughts run out your mouth.

Your words hang in the air as Ratman 3 freezes behind you, his body trembling even more than before.

"I-I'm sorry!" he whispers, his voice cracking with panic. "I can't help it! It's just... being this close to you, in this tight space... It's..." He trails off, and you can almost sense the mix of embarrassment and excitement radiating off him.

Ratman 3's body tenses as he tries to suppress his arousal, but it's becoming more and more difficult for him to stay still. The confined space, the adrenaline rush from the potential danger, and the proximity all makes your heart beat faster and his dick harder. Both of you need to urgently relax, or you’ll be torn out the walls and have your guts spilled all over the floor.

Ratman 3's breath hitches as he grips your hips, his panting becoming more frantic. You can feel the contagious feverish sensation of his arousal pressing onto you, the friction of his pants rubbing against your own sending sparks of pleasure through your body.

"Ah," he gasps, his voice barely above a whisper. "I can't... I need..." His words trail off into a low moan as he holds up, the tight space tenfolding every sensation.

Pure heat radiates from his body, his breathing growing even more labored as he struggles to maintain any sort of composure. The poking sensation touching your ass is becoming more and more insistent, and you can sense the desperation for any type of relief on his flushed face.

Your own desire is growing, your body responding to the closeness and the danger of the situation. You lean forward, bracing yourself against the wall as you feel Ratman 3's hands sliding under your shirt, his fingers resting the curve of your waist and hips.

"We can't," you breathe, "They'll hear us."

But Ratman 3 seems beyond reason, his body mindlessly continuing to shift. He leans closer, his breath hot on your ear as he whispers, “Please,” his voice a desperate plea. “I’ll be good.”

His small movements grow more frantic, his pelvis grinding slightly for any sense of relief. The tight space amplifies every sensation, his arousal pressing insistently against you. His breath comes in ragged gasps, and you can hear the neediness in his voice as he whispers, "I can't stop, please don't stop me."

“Shh,” you whisper, your voice trembling with tension. You're acutely aware of the muffled sounds from beyond the drywall, and how even the slightest noise could expose you both. Despite the risk, you brace the wall, offering him more leverage, your heart racing as excitement pools in your empty stomach.

He takes up the welcoming position immediately, biting back a groan as his hips begin to roll off of yours. The rub of fabric makes 3 shudder, his head tipping back and almost hitting the wall behind him. His hand slides down to cup your ass, squeezing roughly as he pulls your hips against him. The pressure of his erection is too much to ignore, and you can feel your own arousal dampening between your legs.

You gasp softly as Ratman 3 speeds up against you, the friction getting rougher and rougher as pleasure waves through your body. He moves excitedly, taking in the softness of you cramped in front of him. He bucks his hips shamelessly, desperate and unrhythmic.

“Fuck," you exhale, your voice trembling slightly. You glance back just enough to catch the fog on his glasses, his beady eyes pinched as he nibbles on his lip to bite back too loud of moans. The smallest of whimpers still escape his mouth, his body tensing over and over again as he holds onto you. You press your cheek against the cool wall, trying to muffle the sounds of your own excitement as Ratman 3 continues to rut against you.

Ratman 3's breathing grows heavier, his movements becoming impossibly more erratic as he quickly chases his orgasm. You can feel the warmth of his body pressing against your back, his chest heaving with each ragged breath.

"I'm gonna... I'm gonna come," he whimpers, his hips thrusting urgently against yours. You're about to shush him, but a touch on your chest surprises you. His clammy hand moves from your hip to under your shirt, groping and squeezing frantically. He leans forward, giving a final rut of his hips against your ass before his teeth sink into your shoulder to suppress any loud moan that was going to spill out of him.

You almost gasp too loudly, but you catch yourself and clench your jaw to choke back the sound. Ratman 3 lets out a strangled whimper against your shoulder, his body tensing as he buries his face into your skin. He quickly comes into his pants, fully pressed onto your ass as his cock twitches and pulses, riding out his orgasm. You purse slightly, feeling the warmth of his release soaking through and staining your clothes.

Ratman 3 slumps against you, his body shaking with the aftershocks of his climax. You can feel his heart racing, matching the pounding of your own as you both struggle to catch your breath.

The silence that follows is deafening, broken only by the sound of your ragged breathing and the smallest creak of the walls around you. You hold your breath, coming back to the reality of how dangerous of a spot you are right now.

You listen for any sign of the family, anxiety tugging at your gut as you wait for any sign that both your presences have been discovered. But the voices have moved on, their footsteps fading into the distance as they go down the hall.

You let out a shaky sigh of relief, turning around to face Ratman 3 with the little space you have. Ratman 3 lifts his head, his eyes meeting yours in the darkness. There's a mix of embarrassment and satisfaction in his gaze, and you can't help but smirk at the sight.

He shifts slightly, wincing at the sticky mess in his pants. His eyes dart down to the stain on the fabric, and his face flushes an even deeper shade of crimson.

“I, um... I guess I made a bit of a mess,” he mumbles, avoiding your gaze in embarrassment. “I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin your clothes.”

You shrug, trying to downplay the rush of adrenaline in your chest. “Don’t worry; at least we weren’t caught.”

Ratman 3 nods, quickly wiping his brow and smoothing down his rumpled shirt. He takes a deep breath, as if steeling himself, then stammers, “S-So… you wanna… uh, share that granola bar?”

#ratman 3 #ranfren #randals friends #x reader #ratman 3 x reader #cw. dry humping #ranfren smut #ranfren x reader

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