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doctor-plagueis · 3 years

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RWBY Booty Tier List

Hi I said it would happen so now it's gonna happen, time to rate asses and explain why I gave them that rating...

(also they are in order from flattest to phattest)

[This took way too long (T-T) ]

Starting with D TIER Aka Flat as fuck

Raven: Ya go to the lowest tier in D tier ya all-tits-no-ass having ass, you deadbeat fucko (I really don't like parents who leave their children, how'd you guess?).

Weiss : Sorry girl but even with all your dance training, your Sperm donor's DNA is in you, if it was just your mom's DNA you'd rocket up to A TIER, still more ass than Raven tho, which says a lot about Raven since Weiss is as flat as a wooden plank (sorry @naughtyweiss your girl has no ass).

All of team NDGO: these bitches show up once or twice, and, in the novels they do something bad? I didn't read it, but they like sacrifice some people to the Grimm or something? Anyways they have almost no ass too little to actually matter.

C TIER Aka Too much muscle

Pyrrha : Sorry unbeatable girl your life style is just too healthy, with all her exercises and no fat foods she has no cushioning, I'm sorry Pyrrha you just have too much muscle.

Reese : With all her skating she must have some muscle in the back, like literally, her muscles are trained to keep her on the board during combat so her ass is super firm, but that's a bit of a downside since it's too firm, kinda hard actually like really hard.

Also she gives me party animal girl vibes, that doesn't affect anything just thought I'd mention it.

Elm: Have you seen how tall and beefy that girl is? Now does this affect her backside...mmm...kind of? Her ass is just and, I mean just muscle which is bad because no cushioning.

But her thighs tho mm~mm delicious.

Yang : Yang is all about her upper body, she's proud of her tits and her arms, she is Miss "punch first ask later" after all, so i can actually see her skipping some leg days, like Reese her booty is alot of muscle but not so much cushion, sorry Yang.

Arslan : Like Yang, Arslan is all about working out and honing her body to peak physical fighting ability, however, this girl has genetics on her side, her tits aren't as big as Yang’s however, she make up for having a tentsy little bit of cushion for the pushin' not really enough to be B TIER though.

B TIER Aka Now were gettin' good

Penny Ver.2 : Penny Version 1 was pure metal (at least in my headcanon) so she was all legs no butt, however, Penny Version 2 (again in my headcanon) had synthetic skin, now I'm not saying Pietro is some weird pervert giving his child a fat ass, but he was "generous" which was inaccurate as...

Penny (human) : Penny as a human never had the chance to exercise [fuck you RT (T-T)], so her booty was a little lacking but it was still bigger and rounder than her robot body.

Ruby: Now you and I both know that with all the sweets Ruby eats she isn't exactly thin, good thing though is all the fat goes to her ass, Ruby has that fatty y'all!

Neo : I'm sure people will question this one but, Neo's height is a detrement on her ass, since she's so short her ass has to be proportional to her actual height, so for women her height she has so much ass but compared to the others in this list it isn't as much.

Coco: Coco takes care of her fashion and her body. She does squats often and keeps a balance between fat and firmness. Unfortunately genetics gave her a cute face but not a phat ass, sorry queen.

Summer: Same as Ruby except she has that MILFY boost to her hips and booty (she also has bigger tits but, oh well this isn't the Titty Tier list so...).

Winter : Training for the military helped null the taint of Jacques DNA in her, so she took a bit more of her mother’s blessed genes, her ass isn't exactly impressive like the girls in A TIER but it's nothing to scoff at either, unlike her sister (sorry Weissey).

Miltiades "Miltia" : both sisters wear heels, however, Miltia has bigger boobs than her twin while Mel has a bigger booty, still wearing heels and being as acrobatic as they both are requires a lot of lower body training, and also since they work at a club as security they do know how to seduce people, and that did affected their rating.

A TIER Aka Nearly perfectly fuckable

Harriet : Now to be one hundred percent honest Harriet has more thighs than ass, however, with her focus on speed and the training she does, she must have a nice fuckable ass, not the biggest or roundest but really, really nice.

Melanie: Both sisters are guards for Junior's club, but, I like to think that Mel also works as a Stripper or Lap dancer (Hooker if you got enough to buy her services and have a dick big enough, she's a bit of a size queen), so she worked on making her already fat ass even better and also took the time to hone her sex appeal, those being her twerking and lapdancing.

Velvet : Bunny gal has some phat Bunny Buns if ya catch my meaning, like go back to volume 3 and get a good look at her costume, girl's got hips and ass like she was bred for it!

Willow: Have you seen her in the newest volumes?? She has a chance (admittedly small) against the legendary bellabooties Gahtdayum!

Too bad she wasted it with a nearly sterile fucking shit pile of a human like Jacques, ugh... (How he managed to have 3 children baffles me, must've taken half the world’s supply of Viagra)

[Side note our favorite Schnee femboy took after his mom, if he was on the list he'd be just below Harriet hehe].

A+ TIER Candidates for the Bubble Booty Brigade (BBB)

Glynda : Glynda is a professional huntress, she is a teacher and she's decked out in dominatrix gear, can I make it any clearer?

Salem : Salem is the original MILF, the thiccest witch of remnant , and also, she has magic and is technically a monster girl sooo... that gives her extra points (who would've guessed I like monster girls hehe).

The next entry might be blasphemous for some and for that I apologize but...

Blake and Kali : I'm sorry kitties, even though the belabooties are know world wide they are not yet in the BBB. Blake has the firmer booty because of her time in the Fang but Kali has the MILF bonus.

Because of their similarities and their diferences they tie for top of A+ tier.

S TIER The BUBBLE BOOTY BRIGADE

The three heavenly asses of remnant, only three girl stand a top the mountain of the perfect Bubble Booty and they are in order...

May Zedong : May has been depicted by the fandom as being really curvy, especially the cow udders she calls breasts, however she hides her curves under her clothes. The same applies to the fucking badonk she hides in her baggy pants, so much so in fact, that May should be number two of the BBB but because she's so shy about her body she's demoted to number three, still, being a member of the Brigade is a blesing of itself.

Emerald Sustrai : As stated in the previous entry Em should be number three, but because May is so shy and Emerald isn't they swaped places. Em is number two because of one singular thing, she knows her ass is her best atribute, and she fucking flaunts it, she knows she can make men and futas pitch tents, and make women stare like horndogs just by walking past them. Not only that, but she wear clothes that accentuate her ass from short shorts to miniskirts, she knows how to make anyone undeserving cream themselves just by swaying her hips a little and winking. Her seduction skills boosted her above everyone else except one.

NORA VALKYRIE THE ONE TRUE BUBBLE BOOTY OF REMNANT

Every single step a jiggle, every single jump or tiny hop and the world stops to stare, every time she passes by jaws hit the floor, every man woman and futa either wants Nora or wants to be Nora.

Nora's voluptuous cheeks are legendary and the worst part of it all is: She does know the effect she has on people, and she gives zero shits about it.

Because no one is worthy of her divine ass cheeks, except for two men: Jaune Arc and Lie Ren.

She's found her studs the ones who care for her, love her, give her the world AND the ones who have huge bitch breaking cocks to fuck her into the sheets like rutting animals.Every.Single.Night.

Every day of her life is one big teasing session for her studs, she purposefully wear skirts just short enough to see the glorious bounce, she always finds excuses to bend over, she sits on their laps as often as possible.

Just so she can have the mind blowing three ways she has every night.

All hail Booty Queen Nora Valkyrie.

Now everyone thank you for being patient this was something i spent a few days writing (like 3-4 days) and I only wrote this for that time so I hope y'all like it.

Some chacters are missing I know, but I really am comfortable with how it is now.

As always this SHOULD NOT AFFECT YOUR WRITING.

This was a thought experiment of mine, and like I always say in this sort of thing WRITE HOW YOU WANT TO WRITE I hope this was clear.

Thanks for reading and please if you so desire share it with friends.

But for now see ya!

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forlornmelody · 3 years

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The Fantabulous Vacation of One Harley Quinn and Her Girlfriend Poison Ivy

Rating: T (suggestive themes, cartoon violence)

Fandom(s): DC Comics

Ship: Poison Ivy/Harley Quinn

Linkage: Ao3

Summary: Harley's been burning the wick at both ends and Ivy knows just the thing to help. But it takes more than just a change of scenery to get Harley to let go.

Note: Commission for @rookie009

~*~*~*

“You’re probably wondering Mr---Watchman--”

“Tockman.” Mr. Watchman spits. “William Tockman.”

“Why I’ve brought you here today.”

Mr. Watchman rolls his eyes. “I imagine you’re going to tell me.”

“Ah! Good. You’ve stopped struggling. Progress, Mister!” Harley boops him on the nose. Maybe she made the binding too tight? “I’m not cutting off your circulation, am I?” She leans in close. “Are you comfortable? I need you comfortable.”

“I’m tied up in ropes, wench!”

“Ah, see! This is what I’m talking about!” Harley sits across from him and his fainting couch, pulling her pen from her bun and making a heading on her notepad. “You have a whore madonna complex.” Chewing her pen, she murmurs, “perhaps from the trauma of your wife’s death? Cystic Fibrosis, was it?”

Her new patient says nothing. “Mister?” Harley glances up. “Willy?”

“Help!” William Tockman dangles from his left ankle, suspended in air by a beefy vine. “She’s gonna kill me!”

“Oh please. You’re hardly worth the trouble.” Ivy steps around him and the vine, brushing the dust off her hands. “Hi Harls!” How she got the vines up this far on this abandoned apartment building, Harley has no idea. But it sure has a lot of brick to climb.

“Ivy!” Harley doesn’t so much as hug her as ram her at full speed.

Her target, used to such behavior by now, braces for impact and manages to hug back. Harley takes a big whiff. “Mm. Jasmine?”

“Lilacs.” Ivy peers over at Clock King. “You...uh, busy?”

“Mm yeah. A little tied up at the moment. Or he is, at least.”

“So I see.” Ivy chews her lip, staring out the window as if she had left a reminder there. She makes a face as the draft stirs some of the painting tarp discarded on the floor. “I was thinking maybe we could get out of town for a bit.”

“HELP.”

“Are you asking for help, Billy? Or do you prefer Willy?”

“HELP ME! THESE WOMEN ARE CRAZY.”

“Great!” Harley says brightly. “Admitting you need help is the first step towards healing!”

“Harls? Are you even listening?”

“You need help dismantling another CEO along with his company?”

“No.”

“Fundraiser for conservation efforts?”

“Harley--”

“Pride pre-game with Kitty?”

“Harleen.” That stops Harley short. Ivy never calls her that. Mostly cause she hates getting called Pamela with an undying passion. Probably childhood trauma. But Harley digresses.

Ivy sighs. “Sorry. Look. I need a vacation. We need a vacation.”

“I need help!”

“SHUT UP ALREADY.” Ivy and Harley say it together, and Ivy waves a hand, muffling Harley’s captive, er, patient with a particularly broad leaf.

“Mm... I’m a little busy--”

Ivy glances at Tockman, finally. “I can see that.”

“Lemme look at my calendar. Mmm.. maybe...next year? Definitely the one after that.”

“Harls.”

“I know, I know. But there’s my derby team, missions with Task Force X, the Birds of Prey, my day job--”

“I know.” Ivy takes her hands, gently, and squeezes them. It’s the softness that stops Harley in her tracks. “It’s why you need some time off.”

“But--”

“Shh. I already have plane tickets and a hotel booked. You don’t have to plan a thing.”

Harley can’t help the blush creeping up on her cheeks. “Aww, shucks, Ives. When are we leaving?”

“Now. The plane’s departing in--shit. We gotta go.”

“MMRPH.”

“Oh, right.” Ivy releases Clock King with a patented thud as she shoves Harley out the door. “Bye!”

-----

“So, we’re we goin’?” Harley pushes the arm rest out of the way and rests her chin on Ivy’s shoulder. She glances at Ivy’s phone as if it’ll give her some clues. She spots a sudoku puzzle. “Japan?”

“No.”

“The Amazon?”

“Nope.”

“Themyscyra?”

Ivy gives her a look. “Really?”

“Er….my mom’s? Please say it’s not my mom’s.”

“It’s not your mom’s.”

“Thank God.”

“Also, why would we fly to your mom’s house when we could easily drive? Or take a commuter bus?”

“Good point. Mm.”

Ivy smooths Harley’s hair out of her eyes. “It’s a surprise.” She snatches a quick kiss before the flight attendant rolls by. “You’ll love it.”

In this moment, Harley’s pretty sure she’d love anywhere as long Ivy’s there with her. She’s lit up by the light of the tiny window behind her, and her crimson locks glow like an angel’s. But Harley knows well enough that neither of them are anywhere close to innocent. “Say, how’d you get us past security?”

Ivy winks at her.

“No casualties?”

Her lover mockingly brushes her own chest like a scandalized church mouse. “I would never!” she snorts. “They’ll be fine. Just a little dazed and confused.”

Harley leans her head on Ivy’s shoulder. “I know the feelin’.” And really! Harley’s proud of her. Ivy’s never been one to follow rules or care for humans. But she tries for Harley. Why she bothers when Mistah J never seemed to care, Harley has no idea. But it means the world to her.

-----

The taxi drops them off in front of a large revolving door. But it’s not the gold handles that capture Harley’s attention.

It’s the lush plants growing from every nook and cranny on the place. Harley bets Ivy could spend an hour naming all of them (scientific names and personal names.) Butterflies and hummingbirds in every color of the rainbow--and the faint buzzing of bees. A solitary stream crosses their path, and a wooden bridge stretches over it. Garden terrace after garden terrace rise up from the ground to an open-air cafe at the top.

And behind the walls and the hotel proper? A waterpark.

Harley’s eyes go as big as saucers. “Ivy! You shouldn’t have!” She squeezes her into a hug.

“Thanks, sweet pea, but I can’t breathe.” Ivy manages to get out.

“Oof, sorry. Here ya go.” Harley releases her, and Ivy pecks her on the cheek.

“Best part is, they’ve a zero-carbon footprint and they’re waste free.” Harley rarely sees her grin so wide.”

“Whoa.”

“They call it The Greenhouse.”

-----

Their first day at the resort passes in a blur. Harley shows Ivy a good time in and out of their bedroom. They go snorkeling in the ocean, ride the rides so many times Harley ends up upchucking their picnic at the beach, then make love at sunset in their honeymoon suite. Harley wonders if the management thinks they’re--well, they’re as good as, aren’t they? They don’t need rings or a wedding or a place of their own or--

“Harley?”

She blinks. Ivy only calls her that when she’s worried. Harley realizes she’s been staring at the chocolates on their pillows for God knows how long. “Yeah?”

“You okay?”

“Of course!” she says automatically, pulling Ivy into another kiss.

Ivy kisses back, then runs a finger down her cheek. “You’d tell me if you weren’t, right?” The setting sun makes her hair even redder, which Harley didn’t think possible, and Harley finds herself toying with her curls.

“Hey, I’ve been wonderin’.”

If Ivy notices the change in subject, she doesn’t mention it. “Yeah?”

“How come we haven’t seen any other guests? And how come we haven’t been arrested?”

“Oh! That.” Ivy waves a hand dismissively. “I rented out the whole resort.”

“With what money??”

Ivy shoots her a wicked look that sends shivers down Harley’s spine. “Ace Chemical’s investment fund.”

“Ooooh, you’re naughty.”

Harley dives in for another kiss but Ivy puts a finger to her lips. And doesn’t let her suck on it. Rude. “So, are you going to tell me what’s bothering you?”

“Since we’ve got all this extra cash, wanna make a run at the casino? I hear they donate the proceeds to rainforest restoration.”

“Alright.” Ivy sighs and reaches for her dress. Harley has a sinking feeling that she’s going to bring this up later. Maybe if Harley’s lucky she’ll forget about it? Yeah. Ivy forgets things all the time.

“Last one there buys the first round!”

-----

Ivy and Harley sit across from each other, an immaculate brunch setting between them and two mimosas. Her lover’s plate sits almost empty, and while Harley’s lies largely untouched. She keeps playing with her veggie egg white omelet, but the next bite never seems to make it to her mouth. “And then we can go for a walk on the beach later! Have you seen those beds? Right there on the water? Mm. Do you think anyone would hear us if we--”

“Harley, wait.”

“Like, the sound of the waves would cover it up, right? Mm. Maybe not. I’m loud. Not as loud as--”

“Harley, no. Stop. Stop.” Ivy presses her hands on either side of Harley’s face, drawing her to a standstill and inches away from her. “You don’t have to do this.”

“I want to!”

Ivy gives her a sad smile, shaking her head gently. “You don’t have to impress me, Harls. I love you.”

Harley, in typical Harley fashion, vibrates with energy. “But…I want this to be special. As special as y--”

“This vacation already is special. Cause you’re here with me.”

“But--” I’m not that special, Harley wants to say. But she knows Ivy won’t let her get away with saying that out loud. She wants to crawl underneath the tablecloth and hide until Ivy leaves. They always leave in the end. Once they get what they want. Mistah J--

“I love you, Harley Quinn.” Ivy takes her hand, gently, rubbing her thumb over her knuckles. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And maybe. Maybe it’s that she doesn’t know what to do if Ivy stays. It’s easier to love someone who doesn’t love her back. It’s safe. Ahem. Emotionally safe, Dr. Quinzel says inside her head. For once, Harley has nothing to say. She’s too busy trying to keep the tears from falling.

“You don’t have to do anything. I already love you.” Ivy bites her lip--the way she always does when she’s thinking hard. Like how best to resurrect a drooping petunia or a rose bush that has a pest. She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. “And if it’s not too much--too early--to say this: I always will.”

“You proposin’ or somethin’?” The words tumble out of Harley’s mouth before she can stop them. Her cheeks feel like they’re blushing as bright as Ivy’s hair.

“I…” Ivy’s eyes widen. “I-I don’t have a ring on me.”

Shit. Fuck. ShitshitshitFuuuuuuuuuck. “I’msorryIdidn’tmeanit.” “It’s way too soon.” Harley puts on her best brave face--the same one she always put on when Bats showed up and Mistah J magically was nowhere to be found. “Marriage is so outda--”

“Harley.” Ivy puts her entire hand over her face. “Quinn.” “I never said I didn’t want to marry you.”

“Mmphwr?”

“Who wouldn’t want to marry Harley Quinn? You’re amazing.” She traces her eyebrows. “You’re the smartest person I know.” Boops her nose. “You’re impossible to kill. Holy fuck.” Runs her fingertip across her bottom lip. “You…” Ivy presses her lips together, looking down at the table. “You helped me love again when I hated everyone.”

“Pam.” Fuck, she’s getting misty eyed.

“I mean it. I was ready to wipe humanity off the map and start over.” She laughs a little, her voice rough as she wipes her cheek with the back of her hand. “But then you came along and nominated yourself my new shrink.”

“Don’t give me all the credit.” Wow, okay. Maybe she’s more than just misty-eyed. “You saved me too. From Mistah Jay. From Bats. From what woulda been a really boring life.”

Ivy’s smile slips slightly. “You’re not gonna die on me, are you Harls?”

Harley squeezes her hand. “Nah. You’re stuck with me.” Her words come out a little thick. “For richer or poorer.”

Her lover leans in close, capturing her lips in a warm kiss. “That’s usually pretty literal for you.”

“HEY.”

“It’s true! Guess I’ll have to see if Ace or maybe Lexcorp has any funds they won’t miss. I need to get that ring soon. Garnet? Spinel maybe?”

“Aww, shucks. How am I gonna be surprised now?”

Ivy scoffs. “If it’s a real surprise, it’s not a good time for a proposal.”

“But what if I want to be like those girls in those Tik Toks? Like where you propose to me but like I got my own box in my pocket?”

“Harley. A ring box wouldn’t fit in your tiny ass pockets, and you know it.”

“You know what would fit in my shorts?”

“Harleen Francis Quinzel.” Her laughter dissolves in a kiss and Harley pulls her back to their suite. They got a lot of planning to do. Though Harley has a pretty good feeling they’re not gonna get a whole lot of planning done today. But Harley’s okay with that. Pam’s always been the top of her to-do list anyway.

#harlivy #DC comics #poisonquinn #harley quinn #poison ivy #clock king #fluff isn't my usual so PLEASE tell me what you think #so sugary sweet you're gonna need to brush your teeth #melody writes #fluff

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recurring-polynya · 3 years

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@trulytaka asked: um i’ve always dreamt about a tattoo artist!renji falling for a client AU. it’s okay if you can’t come up with anything, just a suggestion!

How is it even possible that I have never read a Tattoo Artist! Renji AU?? (If there is one, please, send it to me immediately). Anyway, I got way too enamored of this idea, this is not even remotely a drabble, it is 4400 words and it is incredibly self-indulgent, I am absolutely not sorry.

It takes place in America and everyone is Japanese-American, because I am way more comfortable writing about American tattoo culture. I have never actually read a Tattoo Artist AU, I don’t know how they are supposed to go, this is just based on my own experiences getting inked. It’s mostly a story about Rukia and Renji being incredible nerfballs, there are not nearly enough stories about Rukia being a nerfball around Renji.

Read on ao3 or ff.net

💀 🛹 💕

Izuru Kira found Renji Abarai in the break room, simultaneously trying to cram a burrito into his face and read a Hellboy comic. He was holding the comic open with his elbow in an attempt to avoid spilling guacamole on Abe Sapien.

“Your two o’clock is here,” Izuru informed his distinguished colleague.

“Oh, great!” Renji replied, creasing the foil wrapper into a spout so that he could pour the last of the salsa drippings into his mouth.

“She’s waiting in the consult room,” Izuru went on, watching Renji toss the crumpled foil ball across the room, completely missing the trash can. “Look, have you met her before? A Miss Kuchiki?”

“Just exchanged a few emails,” Renji replied, as he scrubbed his hands at the sink. “Why? Is she scary?”

“Not in the usual way of Abarai clients,” Izuru replied. “I was just… wondering if she was... in the right place.”

“Her request was very specific,” Renji replied, scooping up his comic and the manila folder underneath it. “In fact, I am quite proud of what I came up with for her.” He whipped the folder open.

Izuru stared at it for a moment. “That is so specific.”

“I honestly think this is one of the best tatts I have ever designed. I hope she’s a real weirdo, because not just anyone deserves a masterpiece of this caliber.”

“Mmm,” Izuru agreed. “Yeah. Anyway, if there’s been a, uh, miscommunication, see if you can just… redirect her. Both Momo and I are in today, okay?”

Renji scoffed and stuffed his comic in Izuru’s hand as he marched down the hall toward the consult room. A miscommunication. Renji wondered what was wrong with her. She was probably mousy and wore glasses. Izuru always assumed girls like that would rather have a sad poem about the sea or a sprig of herbs inked on her wrist (conveniently, his specialties). Plenty of mousy girls with glasses would rather rock some fangs or dripping daggers, in Renji’s professional experience.

“Knock knock!” he announced, as he slid the door open. He took one step into the room and stopped dead.

Rukia Kuchiki was not mousy. She did not wear glasses.

Renji didn’t know much about suits. He did not happen to own one himself. But he guessed that Rukia Kuchiki’s suit was expensive, in part because it fit her perfectly, despite her tiny frame. It was jet black, and didn’t have a single speck of lint or cat hair on it. Her perfectly manicured hands were folded neatly on top of her crossed legs. She was wearing very tall, very pointy heels. Their soles were bright red, which Renji had learned from television meant that they were super expensive. He realized that he probably shouldn’t be looking at her legs, even though they were very nice to look at. His eyes snapped up to her face, but that honestly wasn’t any better.

Renji wasn’t often attracted to women, but she had probably the most interesting face he had ever seen-- heart-shaped, with big, dark eyes, a sharp chin, the cutest little nose. Her make-up was subtle and professional, and her hair was swept up with a clip, although it must be fairly short, because a few pieces hung down in front of her ears, and a thick lock dangled between her eyes.

She looked like a mean lawyer from a movie, one that would drive a fancy sportscar like an act of violence. Scary, for sure. But not in the usual way of Abarai clients, who tended toward the large and beefy, not that sharp and sharklike.

That nose, though.

Suddenly, her face split into a big grin. “Hi,” she announced brightly. “I’m Rukia Kuchiki.” She had a deep voice, a very beautiful voice. “You must be Renji Abarai.” Her eyes flicked to his arms. “I mean, of course you are, who else would have those arms? They’re so cool.”

“My arms?” Renji said stupidly. “Are they… famous?”

Rukia’s cheeks flushed. “Oh, well, I follow you on Instagram, and you don’t have any pictures of your face, but your arms are in a lot of the shots and they’re, well, they’re kinda distinctive. Do you think, um, would you mind if I looked at them?”

Renji’s eyebrows shot up. It’s not like he wasn’t used to having his arms checked out, but most people were more… subtle about it. Oh, well, it was her dime. “I didn’t do them myself, obviously,” he pointed out, rolling up the sleeves of his t-shirt so she could see the baboon skull on his left shoulder. A skeletal arm traced down the rest of that arm, complete with an outline of his own hand bones. On the right side, a snake spine coiled around his bicep, ending with a hissing skull. “I mean, it was my design, but my friends-- the other three tattoo artists here-- all helped ink me up.” He plopped down in the chair that sat catty corner to the couch where Rukia was sitting, and held his arms out. “We’re sort of a full-service studio. I’m the skeletons and monsters guy. Izuru, the guy you met on desk duty today-- is good at calligraphy and watercolors and little, itty bitty tattoos. Momo is our nature girl, she specializes in flowers and animals, and she’s great with bright colors. The snake skull was all her. Shuuhei is really into classic tattoo art-- you need a hula girl or a heart with an arrow through it, he’s your man. He’s also incredibly talented at revamping old regret tattoos, there’s good money in that.”

“Mm,” Rukia agreed, finally tearing her eyes away from his forearms to look up at his face, and abruptly turned even pinker. A lot of people fantasized about getting a tattoo and then got a bad case of nerves when it was time to make the leap. Maybe all this was way out of her comfort zone. Renji was trying his best to be friendly and chatty, which usually helped, but he was not used to dealing with this class of lady. He hoped he wasn’t coming off as too familiar.

“Actually,” Rukia went on, pulling on her fingers nervously. “I picked this place specifically because of you. For your work, I mean. I’m kind of a big fan. I saw some of your paintings at an exhibition over at the Fine Arts College, and I just, you know, fell in love. I’d always thought I’d like to get a tattoo someday, and when I found out that you were a tattoo artist, I knew it had to be you. I’ve been looking forward to this for a long time, and I’m babbling and I’m really sorry, I’m just very excited.”

Renji blinked. “You’re not babbling,” he replied slowly. He was sort of hoping she might say some more things about how much she liked his art in her beautiful voice. “Wait, an exhibition at the art school? That must have been at least three years ago, when I was doing my MFA.”

“Er, right,” Rukia looked a little sheepish. “A friend of mine had some work in the same exhibit, you probably don’t know her. My favorite one of your paintings was the one with the Black Lagoon creatures eating hamburgers at a diner, but I also really liked the one that was like a huge monster with a big bone mask stalking through a city, the way you did the shadows was just incredible.”

That particular painting was currently wrapped in brown paper and stuffed behind Renji’s couch. His last boyfriend had told him it was “creepy.”

“Uh, glad you liked it,” Renji managed. “Who was your friend?”

“Her name is Inoue. Orihime Inoue.”

“Oh, the robot girl!” Renji exclaimed. “Er, I mean she drew robots. Constantly. For every assignment. I didn’t mean to imply she was… robotic. In any way.” Jeez, Abarai, pull it together, he chided himself. “Yeah, I remember her. I didn’t know her well, but she sure could draw some tight robots. Is, she, uh, doing well?”

“She’s doing storyboards for a stop-motion animation studio,” Rukia replied.

Renji smiled. “That sounds perfect for her.”

Rukia bit her bottom lip and Renji’s throat went dry.

“So, um, you said in your email that you would have a design for me to look at?”

Renji realized that he was gripping the folder like a doofus. “Right! I did a couple of variations,” he explained, passing it from one hand to the other. “But you explained the concept pretty clearly, and I’m really happy with how the first one came out. I mean, obviously, it’s your tattoo! Please give me any feedback you have, you won’t offend me, even if you hate it! Tattoo designs often take a few iterations, it’s very normal, don’t hold back.”

She was staring at him, those big eyes wide and sparkling. “Can I… see it?”

“Oh! Right!” He shoved the folder at her.

Rukia opened it up and gasped.

“I especially love the way you draw skeletons,” Rukia’s email had read. “Do you think you could tattoo a grim reaper doing a sick kickflip on a skateboard onto my outer bicep? I do lift, so I am pretty jacked, if that makes a difference.”

“It’s perfect,” Rukia sighed in a tiny voice.

“Um, in the first variation (that’s page 2) I added some sunglasses, and in the second one, the grim reaper is flipping the bird and also its head is on fire. I guess I thought that grim reapers should be gender neutral but now I’m wondering if you would have preferred more of a… lady grim reaper?” Renji yammered absently.

“Oh, no,” Rukia murmured softly, flipping through the pages. Renji wasn’t even sure she had listened to a word he had said. “These are amazing. I love the sunglasses, but I also like the way you put little flames in the eye sockets in the first one…” She waved a hand absently. “Oh, and don’t worry, I like a non-binary skeleton.”

A small problem had just occurred to Renji. “Hey, um, please don’t take this the wrong way, but I… may have overestimated the size of your arms.”

“Oh?” Rukia asked, and abruptly shucked off her expensive suit jacket. She was wearing a pale purple sleeveless silk blouse underneath. She held one arm out experimentally, and then flexed. The muscle definition on her bicep made Renji take an involuntary swallow, but the fact that she was wicked cut did not buy him much in the way of real estate.

“I’ll just shrink it down maybe 25%,” he reassured her. “I’ll have to simplify some of the detail on--”

“No,” Rukia frowned, her eyebrows drawing together. “Don’t do that.” She thought for a moment. “I’m not committed to having it on my arm.” She uncrossed her legs and hefted one high-heeled foot onto the coffee table in front of her. “What do you think? Is my thigh big enough?”

Renji tried to make words come out, but it just wasn’t happening.

“Er… sorry,” Rukia said slowly, tugging at her hem. “I forgot I was wearing a skirt today.”

“Huh?” Renji scrambled to recover. He needed to say something. She looked really embarrassed. Say something! Say something professional about her leg! “Sorry, I was, uh, thinking!” Good, good, now keep going. “Don’t be self-conscious, I see people’s bodies all the time. Bodies are no big deal, we all got ‘em, right?” This was true in the abstract sense, but he knew these were blatant lies as they exited his mouth. Most people’s bodies were no big deal. He had only known her for five minutes, but was certain that Rukia Kuchiki’s thighs were a very big deal. He studied her leg, stroking his chin, like he was some kind of anthropologist of thigh tattoos. Mostly he was trying to figure out what would seem like an appropriate amount of time to look at a person’s thigh, a person who was your professional client that you most definitely did not have the hots for. “There’s certainly plenty of room,” he declared. “But, you know, people are going to see it less. Which is a selling point for some people! It’s just a personal decision that you’ll have to make. It sounds like you had a big vision.”

Rukia gingerly placed her foot back on the floor. “I had actually been wondering if maybe the upper arm was too public, anyway,” she admitted. “The fact is, I just got full access to my trust fund, and this is sort of a celebration, but I may have been a little overeager to piss off my big brother. He’s very stodgy.” She contemplated the area of her leg that was covered by her pencil skirt. “But so are a lot of people in my field. I can wait until I’m running my own company before I get started on the full sleeve of my dreams, right?”

“Worked for me,” Renji replied, utterly lost by whatever she was talking about. “What… field are you in?”

“Oh, finance,” she dismissed.

Finance. Of course. Renji tried to shoo away the weight of disappointment that was settling in his stomach. He was talking to a friendly client who was clearly loaded, loved his work, and was contemplating thousands of dollars worth of future business. He should be thrilled. He should probably be trying to sell her one of his old paintings-- they were only gathering dust, anyway. Renji would never break the studio policy about hitting on clients. The fact that she would surely laugh at him if he asked her to his favorite burger joint ought to make things easier, right?

“This is so hard!” Rukia declared, and Renji was shaken from his reverie. She was just contemplating his draft designs again, though, flipping back and forth between them.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” he reassured her. “You can think about it and email me. If you’re happy enough, we can schedule your session, and we’ll work out the details between now and then. Chat it over with your pal MechaHime, she’s got good opinions.” He paused. Momo always said he was too nice during consults, they were running a business, but he couldn’t help it. “Or you can just call back when you’re ready. No pressure.”

Rukia slammed her fist down on her knee. “No! Let’s schedule it! Do I pay now?”

“20% deposit. Let’s go out front, Izuru will ring it up.”

“Perfect.” She looked longingly at the drawings again. “Can I take these with me? You’re absolutely right, Orihime will know what to do.”

Renji wrinkled his nose. “It’s actually against studio policy but…”

Rukia’s face suddenly became very serious. “Then it’s against policy.” She winked at him and smiled. “You should take care of your intellectual property, Mr. Abarai.”

“I never get over to this part of town, to be honest,” Rukia admitted as they walked back up to the front. “Is the taco place across the street any good?”

“Oh, yeah, it’s great,” Renji agreed. “Momo and I painted a huge mural on their wall, so they give us free churros.”

“Are tacos a good post-tattoo celebratory meal?” Rukia asked curiously.

“Well, you actually want to eat beforehand,” Renji pointed out. “It’s important to keep your energy up. I don’t estimate yours should take very long, I’m gonna book you a two-hour slot.”

“Ah, okay,” Rukia agreed, and Renji realized belatedly that...maybe… she had been asking him out? No. Surely not. His brain scrabbled for a response, but then he stepped into the reception area and his brain shut down entirely.

“It’s DONE!” Shuuhei bellowed. “Behold my work, ye mighty, and despair!”

Tetsuzaemon Iba, serial client, yakuza enthusiast, and assistant manager at a doggie day care, was flexing. He was not wearing a shirt.

From behind the reception desk, Kira was wearing a dour frown and shaking his head.

“It’s a masterpiece,” Renji declared. “I admit I was skeptical, but it looks fantastic, man. You happy with it?”

“It” was a massive tattoo, covering the wide landscape of Iba’s broad back. It featured a lucky cat, grinning maniacally, its paw held high. It was on fire. The kanji for “lucky charm” was incorporated somehow. It was a disaster. It was perfect.

“How could I not be?” Iba boomed.

“Whoa,” a tiny voice behind Renji said.

Iba’s face went pale when he realized that he was being Peak Iba in front of an elegant, professional woman whose shoes probably cost more than his entire net worth. “Gimme me my shirt!” he demanded of Shuuhei.

“That’s… amazing!” Rukia exclaimed, her face lighting up. “Wow, how long did that take?”

Shuuhei blinked slowly as he passed Iba his shirt. “Five sessions.”

“Well, it’s so cute!” Rukia announced. “You must love cats.”

Iba lifted at the same gym as Renji and watched Momo’s Pomeranian on Tuesdays and Thursdays. He was a regular fixture at the tattoo studio, and all four of them liked to drag him, but no one, none of them, had ever roasted him this hard. Renji cursed that no-asking-out-clients rule, because he wanted to buy Rukia Kuchiki her own body weight in tacos and then ask her to be his wife.

“He’s more of a dog person,” Shuuhei supplied.

“Great with dogs,” Izuru added.

“Shut up, you jerks, I am a lover of all animals,” Iba grumbled as he pulled his Hawaiian shirt over his shoulders. “Is this your lawyer, Abarai? Did you finally get arrested for that hairstyle?”

“I have an MBA, actually, not a JD,” Rukia replied matter-of-factly. “And I am his client. Can you show that large man my tattoo design? Is that allowed?”

Renji chuckled, and pulled out his drawing.

“That,” Iba declared, “is a wicked tatt.”

“Oh, you showed me that email!” Shuuhei recalled. “It came out great.” He regarded Rukia. “He was really excited about that one, you made his day.”

Rukia just beamed proudly.

“Are we booking a session, then?” Izuru asked hopefully.

“Yeah, two hours,” Renji nodded.

“Let me just finish ringing up Iba, and I’ll see when you’ve got an opening,” Izuru replied.

“This your first one?” Shuuhei asked Rukia conversationally.

“Mm-hmm,” Rukia nodded.

“Well, you made a good choice. Clean design, mostly black with just a few color pops, should go on quick and easy, and it’ll hold up really well, too.”

“This is Shuuhei, the one I was telling you about, who fixes a lot of bad tattoos.”

“I have never had to fix an Abarai tattoo,” Shuuhei declared. “He’s great with first timers. Very gentle. I’ve fallen asleep while he was inking me.” Shuuhei pointed to the pair of crossed scythes gracing his upper arm. “This is one of his.”

“Oooh, neat!” Rukia agreed.

“You’re being embarrassing,” Renji informed his friend.

“Always,” Shuuhei agreed. “Nice to meet you! I hope I get to see the finished product.” He waved to Iba as he headed off toward the back. “Don’t forget to moisturize!”

“Everyone’s so friendly here,” Rukia said softly to Renji. “This isn’t at all like I pictured it.”

Renji stretched his arms behind his head. “Nah, we’re just a bunch of goofballs who like drawin’ on people. Very lowkey.”

“I guess I’ve thought a lot about the getting tattooed part of getting tattooed, but I never thought of it as… a job. That people have.”

“It’s a great job,” Renji replied. “I love it. I’m just lucky that Izuru over there has enough business sense to keep the other three of us from running it into the ground.”

“That’s certainly the truth,” Izuru agreed, as Iba headed out the door. “Two hours, you said? Renji’s got a 4-6pm block open on a Wednesday, three weeks from now. The 24th, how does that work for you, Ms. Kuchiki?”

“Do you think that’s enough time to settle on a design?” Renji asked. “If you come up with changes, it should only take me a day or two to incorporate them.”

“Oh! Yes, three weeks should be fine. I thought… it might be a little sooner,” Rukia replied, sounding a tad disappointed.

“Abarai’s a busy man, three weeks is actually pretty quick,” Izuru explained.

“Right, of course!” Rukia nodded. “Yes, I’ll take the 24th!”

She then paid her deposit, a process which involved her taking approximately ten thousand items out of her purse, including a full-sized drawing pad, a single fingerless glove, and a Pez dispenser with a duck head. She was the most contradictory person Renji had ever met, and he just wanted to know everything about her. But instead, they were going to exchange a couple of emails about a grim reaper on a skateboard, he was going to spend an hour and a half two inches from her naked thigh in a state of intense, non-sexual concentration, and then he would likely never see her again.

“Okay, I guess that’s it!” Rukia said, stuffing the last of her worldly belongings back into the purse. “Three weeks, then!”

“Three weeks it is,” Renji agreed. “Unless we happen to run into each other at the taco place.”

Rukia blinked. “Oh!” she exclaimed. “Right. Ha, ha, of course!” She’d been walking backwards toward the door, an impressive feat in those heels, and she spun suddenly to pull it open.

“It’s a push,” Renji and Izuru chorused together.

“Ha, ha, of course it is!” Rukia laughed nervously, and ducked out.

Izuru stared pointedly at Renji. “Wow,” he said.

“I don’t know what you have against her,” Renji scowled. “So she’s professional. She was really nice. She’s a big fan of my work.”

Izuru cocked his head. “She’s clearly also a big fan of you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Renji said.

“Look, I’m sorry I implied that a person who drives a Lotus Exige would not be interested in having your weird skeleton doodles permanently placed on her body,” Izuru held up his hands, “but did you really not notice the little hearts and singing birds floating around her head every time she gazed longingly at you?”

“Since when do you know anything about cars?” Renji snapped.

“It looked fancy and I asked Shuuhei what it was, okay!”

On cue, Shuuhei burst back into the reception area, Momo close on his tail. “Are we talking about the hot client who has a crush on Abarai?”

“Did you ask her out?” Momo asked breathlessly.

“She’s not really his type,” Izuru mused. “Very corporate.”

Renji frowned. Did he have a type? If his type excluded people like Rukia Kuchiki, he might need to get a new type.

“Who cares, she was adorable!” Momo insisted. “I woulda asked her out.”

“Renji, if you go out with her, can you get me a ride in the Exige?” Shuuhei added.

“I’m not gonna ask her out!” Renji protested. “What happened to the no-hitting-on-clients rule?”

“The rule is no creeping on clients,” Shuuhei correctly. “This is different. She’s clearly into you, big time.”

“Also, she seems non-terrible, unlike the questionable human beings you usually take up with,” Izuru pointed out. “We could relax the rule if it netted you an actually decent partner for a change.”

Renji scowled judgmentally at Izuru, as if his own dating history had been remotely better before he and Shuuhei finally hooked up.

“Oh!” Momo waved her phone. “Speaking of which, I googled her, like you told me to, Izuru--”

“Izuru!” Renji protested.

“--and you were right! She’s not just one of the Kuchikis, she’s the granddaughter!” Momo thrust her phone in Renji’s face. It was some article about some fancy charity event, complete with a picture that was clearly Rukia, dressed in a dramatic black and gold evening gown.

Renji wanted to push Momo’s hand away, but he also didn’t want to stop looking at Rukia in that dress. “The who?” he asked.

Izuru and Momo sighed dramatically in synchronized exasperation.

“Embarrassingly rich old money family? I don’t know what they actually do, but they’re always in the newspapers, donating money for something or other--”

“Billionaire philanthropists,” Shuuhei intoned in a fake deep voice.

“--I heard they’re descended from some famous clan of samurai back in Japan,” Momo ignored him. She jerked her phone back and started tapping at it frantically. “I’m sure you’ve seen pictures of the grandson-- Rukia’s brother, I guess. He always makes those lists of top ten hottest bachelors.”

“He’s dreamy,” Shuuhei seconded.

“Impossibly dreamy,” Izuru thirded.

Momo flipped her phone around again, to reveal a picture of a very serious, and very handsome man in a classic three-piece wool suit. Renji supposed “impossibly dreamy” was not an inaccurate description.

“Yeah, I think I’ve seen pictures of that guy before,” Renji shrugged. “He’s okay. Rukia has a more interesting face, I think.”

Momo and Shuuhei exchanged raised eyebrows.

“You do like her, then?” Izuru asked, his face brightening. “You’re wrong, by the way, Byakuya Kuchiki has the face of an angel.”

“Rukia says he’s stuffy,” Renji shrugged. “And fine. I like her. She’s cute and nice and had good taste in tattoos. What’s not to like?”

“Are you gonna ask her out, then?” Momo pressed.

“Absolutely not,” Renji replied. “She’s my client. Besides, as you just pointed out, she’s loaded. What’s she want with a scumbag like me?”

All three of his friends groaned.

“You have good delts and sexy hair,” Izuru pointed out.

“You give amazing hugs!” Momo declared.

“You draw fantastic skeletons,” Shuuhei added. “Which, apparently, is relevant to her interests, and not a thing you usually find on Tindr.”

“Also, we’ve already established that she does like you, regardless of whether she has a valid reason for doing so,” Izuru concluded. “So, if you’re at all interested, you really shouldn’t let that stop you.”

“I think you should go for it,” Momo encouraged.

“Me, too,” Shuuhei agreed.

Renji grimaced. She was an amazing girl, too good to be true probably. If she had any sense at all, she would certainly turn him down. But maybe… just maybe… she didn’t have any sense. “Okay,” he grudgingly agreed. “I’ll do it. But not until I’m finished the damn tattoo!”

#my writing #wacky au requests #god i want to read 100k worth of this #i just don't want to *write* it #insert dog no write! only read! meme #special thanks to mr p for coming up with rukia's car for me #we spent about a month once discussed which 80s sportscar each of the vice-captains would drive #it is the best bleach conversation we have ever had

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patricianandclerk · 5 years

Text

Sometime

My Ask | My Ko-Fi | My Ao3 | Requests always welcome!

Pteppicymon XXVIII stirred in his bed, squinting into the deep, velvet darkness of his bedroom. He was very frustrated. It was a freezing winter’s night in Ankh-Morpork, and he had lain in his bed shivering, even with the fire lit and the door closed and a hot water bottle warming his belly: hours had ticked by before he had finally gotten to sleep, and now?

A noise had woken him up.

Young Assassins had their own bedrooms. It was simply easier than dormitories, in the scheme of things: although in recent years, the tendency of the students and guild members to murder one another in their beds had faded somewhat under the capable command of Doctor Cruces, and then especially under Lord Downey, one still liked to avoid the mess and bother of schoolboy pranks.

It hardly mattered whether it was a pool of blood or a pool of something more embarrassing, intended to humiliate: it was best to keep these things to individual rooms, rather than allowing them to happen in a dormitory, where many people might be disturbed from their sleep at once.

“Hm?” Teppic asked the darkness, sleepily.

“Dreadfully cold, my boy,” said the voice of Chidder, somewhat close to Teppic’s bed, and Teppic groaned, dropping his head back onto his pillow and huddling in his blankets. It was cold. It had taken him ages to get to sleep, even in the thick flannel of his pyjamas, which had actually been a gift from Chidder this Hogswatch[1], and the thick fur blanket.

“Go away,” Teppic grumbled.

“No,” Chidder said, and Teppic felt the mattress shift as Chidder slipped into the bed beside him. Six years being schooled alongside Chidder had left Teppic somewhat used to his self-confidence even in the most bizarre behaviour, but this was a bit beyond the pale.

“Chidder!”

“Gods, you’re warm,” Chidder said into Teppic’s hair, his chest – which was broader and, Teppic had noticed in recent months, somewhat hairier than Teppic’s own – pressing up against Teppic’s back, and one of his arms drawing tightly around Teppic’s own chest. Teppic almost struggled, but then he took a moment’s pause. Chidder was quite warm himself, actually. His body, beefy and heavy like a tom cat’s, even as it retained a wiry grace, was different to Teppic’s own, which was leaner, and more compact. Even if Teppic was taller[2], Chidder was bigger, and, apparently, a good deal better at retaining some of the heat in that big body of his. “Are you wearing your socks?”

“I was cold,” Teppic mumbled.

“Yeah, but can you sleep like that, Tep?”

“I managed it before you woke me up, didn’t I?” Teppic demanded, his voice a bit sharper than he meant for it to be, but he let his hand touch against Chidder’s arm where it wrapped around him, feeling the hair that grew there. Chidder was hairy. The royal family of Djelibeybi, of course, had body hair, but it was much sparser and lighter, and Teppic only grew thick patches of it at his crotch, on his head, and a little in his armpits, but Chidder? Chidder was like a bear. He was only going to get hairier, he had said to Arthur when the other boy had brought it up in the school sauna, but Teppic hardly knew how: touching his arm, now, he felt a veritable forest of surprisingly soft hair along Chidder’s arm.

“Kick ‘em off,” Chidder murmured. His breath was hot on the back of Teppic’s neck.

“I’ll kick you off,” Teppic said.

“Well, you haven’t yet,” Chidder pointed out, but his retort was playful in tone, and Teppic caught his toe in the ankle of the sock, reluctantly dragging it off. “You can put it against my calf.”

“I’m not having a calf in the bed as well,” Teppic muttered, even as he did so, and sighed at the warmth of Chidder’s hirsutely carpeted leg, radiating through his sole and making his freezing toes sting with abrupt heat.

“Just a kid then,” Chidder murmured, and Teppic heard his smug little laugh as Teppic shoved both his feet up against Chidder’s calves, shoving up his pyjama bottoms in order to reach. “Feeling warmer?”

“Mmm,” Teppic hummed, his eye closing, and he let his fingers curve around Chidder’s wrist. It occurred to him, in that lazy and yet utterly comprehensive way ideas sometimes do, when one is half-asleep, that this was very unusual. It was, perhaps, even a dream, although Teppic wasn’t sure about that: Chidder’s body felt far too wonderfully warm against his own, and he didn’t know that he’d make it quite so pleasant, were he dreaming it up. Young men weren’t meant to warm the beds of princes – not to actually warm them, anyway—

The thought zapped Teppic somewhat awake, and he coughed.

“I’ve been thinking,” Chidder said.

“That’s novel,” Teppic said.

“Naughty,” Chidder purred in his ear, squeezing him across his chest, and Teppic felt a strangely electric heat run down his spine. “No, no, I’ve been thinking, Tep. We should have sex.”

There was a long pause as Teppic took this in, wide-eyed in the darkness, very, very aware of Chidder’s size, his even breathing, his warmth. “Now?” he asked, finally.

“No, not now,” Chidder murmured, nosing against the back of his ear and making Teppic’s eyes flutter shut. Teppic thought of Chidder, going home with girls – going home with women – at dances, charming them, being charming— “It’s far too cold for that sort of thing, Tep. I’d need to undress you, and then get you all wet and slippery to play with. You’d freeze, afterward.”

The words wet and slippery, not heretofore words that had been filed under “sexually appealing” in Teppic’s mind, were now blaring as if the words had been written in fire on the inside of his skull – and, quite possibly, on the inside of his belly, where another blaze was coming abruptly to life.

“But… sometime,” Chidder said.

The cogs that made up Teppic’s mind had been somewhat overlubricated by Chidder’s warm voice in his ear, and were struggling with logical thought, in the moment. Visions of Chidder in various situations wet and/or slippery were making themselves known to him in ways they had never done before, and Chidder was rather rudely taking the place of men and women who, in previous fantasies, had been quite faceless.

“Is this, er,” Teppic began, his tongue feeling clumsy, fat, and stupid behind his teeth, “sort of thing, where you want to teach me how to be seductive? As a… a skill, or something?”

“Not really,” Chidder said, his tone musing. “I just thought it might be rather fun. Besides, I hear it’s rather nice, when you do it with someone you actually love.”

“Love?” Teppic repeated, his voice somewhat choked.

“Well,” Chidder adjusted, not sounding bothered at all, his confidence never faltering, “I suppose love is the wrong word… but I rather like you, at times. I think I could come to like you quite a bit more, lying down.”

“I’m not feeling very seduced, Chidder,” Teppic said, surprised by the affront in his own tone.

“Whatever do I want to seduce you for?”

“To have sex with me! It’s all very well seducing women, Chiddy, but I’m rather offended if you don’t think I’m worth the effort, and you can just swan into my bed, all warm, and propose sex as if you’re asking me to lend you a fiver.”

“Would you lend me a fiver?” Chidder asked, sounding amused, and Teppic elbowed him in his flat – but comparatively soft, not like Teppic’s, which was very hard indeed – stomach. Chidder grunted in pain. “You’re not a woman, Teppic,” he said reproachfully.

“No, I’m a prince,” Teppic retorted. “I shan’t just be— Just be, sort of, had.”

“Well, you’re not having me,” Chidder said. “I’m bigger than you.”

“What? That’s not what I meant,” Teppic said, feeling a hot flush burn in his cheeks. He knew, of course, how it worked, theoretically, but he’d never put much thought into the practicality of it… And he’d be damned if he’d allow such thoughts to distract him now. “No, I meant— I shall be seduced, Chidder, if it’s all the same to you.”

Chidder exhaled against the back of his neck, and then wriggled closer, nosing past the locks of Teppic’s hair, although he was, frankly, getting rather frustrated with growing it out, and was rather close to cutting it all short again. He was especially amenable to that sort of prospect, if it meant Chidder’s mouth was going to drag against the small of his neck like that.

“Fine,” Chidder said, and kissed him there. “I’ll seduce you. Very demanding, for a prince.”

“Commanding.”

“Come, is it?”

Teppic snorted, and Chidder laughed, rich and honeyed against his hair, and then he went relaxed and quiet, pulling Teppic in against him. Teppic’s feet weren’t cold at all, anymore, and Chidder was very warm. He turned over in his place, and shoved Chidder onto his beck, so that he could use him as a pillow.

He was a very good pillow, and better than that, Chidder’s hand was stroking idly up and down Teppic’s back.

He was asleep a lot faster, this time around.

[1] He had informed Chidder that he didn’t celebrate the holiday, but Chidder had assured him, with his typical self-confidence, that that was hardly the point.

[2] Which, at the moment, he was, by almost a half inch!

#as defined by dictionary #discworld #teppic #chidder #fanfic

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