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urfavoritewriter · 4 months

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More Than Neighbors

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Content: M/M Vore, Oral Vore, Endo, Digestion, Melting Digestion, Multiple Instances of Vore, burping

The sun cast a warm glow over the new neighborhood as Jake and Andrew arrived at their freshly leased apartment. The building, a quaint three-story structure, stood proudly with a coat of welcoming beige paint. As they stepped inside, the scent of fresh paint tickled their noses—a sign that this place was truly their canvas to fill.

The apartment had a cozy charm, with sunlight streaming through the large windows that adorned the living room. The kitchen, though compact, exuded a functional elegance, complete with gleaming appliances and granite countertops. A promising beginning to their life together.

With an exchange of glances and a shared smile, Jake and Andrew embarked on a rhythm of unpacking. The air was charged with the excitement of new beginnings. The sound of cardboard boxes being shuffled and furniture being arranged reverberated through the apartment.

Jake's lively voice, filled with enthusiasm, echoed, "Babe, I'm thinking the couch should go right here, what do you say?"

Andrew, a bit more measured in his responses, replied, "Yeah, that works. Gives a nice view of the TV and opens up the space."

Their shared brainstorming intertwined with the mundane yet significant task of setting up their home. Little did they know that this cozy abode would soon become the stage for a more unconventional kind of interaction with their neighbor. Or, at the very least, one that Jake attempted to hide really well.

"I'd love to stay and help, but I've got to go to work. Maybe wait on the heavier tasks till I'm back home, and set up what you can until then," Andrew suggested, a hint of regret in his voice as duty called him away.

Jake nodded, a teasing grin playing on his lips. "Sure thing, babe. I'll leave the heavy lifting for when my strong man is back in action." He winked playfully, earning a chuckle from Andrew.

As Andrew prepared to head out the door, Jake couldn't resist a mischievous comment, "Thinking of greeting our neighbors later. You know, being the friendly new guy in the building."

Andrew shot him a sidelong glance, his lips curling into a smirk. "Just don't get into any trouble. And no overly friendly offers, alright?" he quipped.

Jake feigned innocence, a twinkle in his eye. "Who, me? Never!" he teased, giving Andrew a quick peck on the cheek before sending him off to work with a playful swat on the butt. "Hey, I just want to make sure we're on good terms with everyone around here. Plus, who knows, maybe they're super cool."

With a peck on Jake's cheek, Andrew replied, "Alright, social butterfly. Do us proud. See you later, okay?"

"Sure thing. Have a good day at work!" Jake replied, continuing the mundane task of unboxing their many sentimental objects for the next hour.

Jake took a moment in the shiny new bathroom, adjusting his hair and shirt. He wanted to make a good first impression, not just for himself but also for Andrew. With a deep breath, he looked at himself in the mirror, nodding as if giving himself a mental pep talk.

Feeling ready, Jake strolled out of the apartment, locking the door behind him, and headed for the next door. It felt a bit odd, making the rounds so soon, but he figured it was better to know his neighbors sooner rather than later.

Arriving at the door, he took another moment, clearing his throat and then knocked twice. The anticipation was a mix of nerves and excitement, not knowing who would answer the door.

The door creaked open, revealing a man with a dad bod, dressed in a blue gym shirt that depicted a muscular guy lifting, paired with black shorts. The shirt hugged his form in a way that accentuated his physique rather than hiding it, and the casual attire only added to the relaxed charm he exuded. This was Thomas, the neighbor Jake was about to get to know.

"Hey there!" Thomas greeted, a friendly smile on his face. "You must be the new neighbor. I'm Thomas." He extended a hand, a firm handshake revealing the calluses of someone who might hit the gym often.

"Jake," he replied, returning the handshake. "Nice to meet you, Thomas."

Thomas chuckled a bit, the friendly tone still lingering. "Likewise, Jake. So, what brings you to this side of the building?"

Jake shifted slightly, feeling a bit shy under Thomas's friendly gaze. "Just moved in with my boyfriend, Andrew, next door. Thought I'd say hi to the neighbors."

"Ah, the happy couple! Welcome to the neighborhood," Thomas said, rubbing his chin playfully. "You know, you're lucky to have me as a neighbor. I'm like the unofficial welcoming committee around here."

Jake grinned, finding Thomas's confidence oddly endearing. "Well, lucky us then. Thanks for the warm welcome."

Thomas leaned against the door frame, his demeanor casual but with a hint of self-assuredness. "No problem at all. Say, why don't you come in? I was just about to make some tea. A little neighborly chat won't hurt."

Jake hesitated for a moment but couldn't resist the friendly offer. "Sure, why not? Tea sounds good."

The apartment had a pleasant aroma of warmth and familiarity as Thomas led Jake in. It was a cozy space with an inviting feel, making Jake feel a bit more at ease. Thomas moved effortlessly to the small kitchenette, pulling out two cups and preparing tea.

"Here you go, Jake," Thomas said, handing over one of the steaming cups. "I've got a knack for tea, so enjoy."

"Thanks," Jake replied, taking a sip, the warmth of the tea comforting in his hands. "You've got a nice place here."

Thomas grinned, leaning against the kitchen counter. "Yeah, it's my little bachelor pad. Not as neat as it could be, but it's home."

They exchanged pleasantries, Jake finding himself drawn to Thomas's charismatic demeanor. The conversation flowed easily, with Thomas expressing genuine interest in getting to know his new neighbor. At one point, Jake couldn't help but voice a thought that had been lingering in his mind.

"You know, Thomas, you're a pretty interesting guy," Jake said, a playful glint in his eyes. "And, well, quite attractive."

Thomas's response was a cocky smirk, as if he'd expected the compliment. "I get that a lot, and for good reason."

Jake blushed slightly, his admission out in the open. "I hope I'm not being too forward or anything. It's just, you seem like a cool guy."

Thomas chuckled, the cocky edge still present. "No worries, Jake. I can handle a compliment. And cool? I'll take it. We'll have to hang out more, get to know each other better. Maybe introduce me to that boyfriend of yours."

Jake nodded, feeling a warmth spreading through him. "Yeah, that sounds great. Andrew would love to meet you, I'm sure."

With that, the conversation continued, the two sharing stories and laughter, the bond between neighbors growing stronger. Little did Jake know that the more time he spent with Thomas, the deeper his fascination would become. Jake couldn't stop eye-ing his neighbor's dad bod, and especially his slightly protruding belly, which was cozy and inviting.

"What's up?" Thomas said, noticing Jake's attraction to his body and his extended silence.

"Say, Thomas," Jake spoke, his voice a little shaken and apprehensive. "I was wondering if you could… You know," He said, avoiding his neighbor's direct gaze. "Swallow me up?"

The revelation hung in the air, creating a moment of awkward tension between Jake and Thomas. Jake's request was so unexpected that even Thomas, with his confident demeanor, was momentarily taken aback.

"Swallow you up?" Thomas repeated, a bemused expression crossing his face.

Jake, realizing how unusual his request sounded, quickly began to backtrack. "Oh, uh, sorry. That was a weird thing to say. I just thought, you know, it's been a long day with all the moving, and I thought it might be a way to relax. Forget I said anything."

Thomas, recovering from his initial surprise, chuckled. "Hey, no need to apologize. That's definitely one way to unwind. But, you know, what about your boyfriend? Shouldn't he be the one you'd want to spend your evening with?"

Jake hesitated for a moment, glancing around the room as if searching for an excuse. "Andrew's at work. He won't be back for hours. I figured it might be a good time, you know?"

Thomas raised an eyebrow, the cocky smirk returning. "Well, well, looks like I've got some competition with your boyfriend's schedule. Alright, Jake, let's give it a try. Why not?"

Jake's eyes widened in surprise, the realization sinking in that Thomas was actually considering his bizarre request. He stammered, "Wait, really?"

Thomas chuckled again, approaching Jake with a playful glint in his eyes. "Yeah, really. I was beginning to think the tea in me could use some company." He teased.

As Thomas moved closer, Jake felt a mix of excitement and trepidation. Little did he know that this seemingly casual decision would set the stage for a series of events that would reshape the dynamics of their relationships in ways he couldn't have imagined.

Thomas's demeanor shifted, and a dominant aura enveloped him as he towered over Jake. With a wicked grin, he leaned in, his tongue emerging to sensually trace patterns across Jake's face, leaving a glossy trail of saliva in its wake.

Jake, caught in a mix of surprise and arousal, felt a shiver run down his spine. The dominant display was more than he had bargained for, but there was a certain allure to Thomas's confident and commanding presence.

As Thomas continued to lick, his teasing commentary echoed through the room. "You wanted to relax, right? Well, I'm here to make sure it's a memorable experience for you."

Jake, unable to resist the heat building within him, nodded in agreement. "Yes, I… I wanted something different."

Thomas, seemingly pleased with Jake's response, opened his mouth wide. The sight of those teeth, the expanse of his tongue, and the moist interior of his mouth created a mesmerizing spectacle. Jake, transfixed, felt a combination of excitement and anticipation.

With deliberate slowness, Thomas brought his open mouth closer to Jake's head, giving him a teasing pause. "Ready for the next part?" he asked, a wicked glint in his eyes.

Jake, feeling the heat of the moment, nodded again. "Yeah, go for it."

Thomas didn't waste any time. He extended his tongue and, with a deliberate and sensual motion, began swallowing Jake's head. The sensation was unlike anything Jake had experienced before—being enveloped by warmth, the pressure increasing gradually as he slid further into Thomas's mouth.

As Jake descended into the darkness, he couldn't help but marvel at the intimacy of the act. The feeling of Thomas's teeth grazing against his skin, the wetness of his tongue, and the gentle pressure surrounding him created a heady mix of pleasure and surrender, and he couldn't be more grateful that he had been forward with his request.

Thomas relished the sensation of Jake's head nestled within the confines of his mouth. The warm, tight space engulfed Jake, and Thomas couldn't resist savoring the unique flavors that each part of his captive offered.

With a deliberate and practiced motion, Thomas began the process of swallowing Jake further. His hands, which had initially rested casually on Jake's torso, now came into play. Fingers pressed gently into Jake's sides, aiding the swallowing process and ensuring a smooth descent.

The fabric of Thomas's shirt stretched as Jake's form traveled lower, gradually disappearing into the voracious depths of Thomas's mouth. The sensation of Jake's descent was hot, tight, and surprisingly intimate. Thomas's throat worked rhythmically, each gulp accompanied by a low, satisfied hum.

As Jake's upper body passed the point of no return, Thomas reveled in the feel of his buttocks. The firm, plump curves were a tantalizing delight, and Thomas couldn't resist using his hands to savor the moment. Fingers kneaded into the soft flesh, ensuring every inch of Jake was embraced by the consuming journey.

Thomas's thick hands squeezed Jake's buttocks inside his mouth, relishing the feeling of the soft flesh yielding to his grasp. The act was both sensual and commanding, a testament to the control Thomas exerted over the devouring process.

As Thomas continued the deliberate swallowing, the bulge in his throat expanded, signaling Jake's gradual descent into the depths of his belly. The once-taut fabric of Thomas's shirt now strained and stretched, barely containing the increasing mass within. The sight was both enticing and provocative, the visible contours of Jake's form pressing against the fabric.

GULP!

With each successive gulp, Jake's head popped beneath the surface of Thomas's belly, causing a noticeable bulge from the outside. The fabric of Thomas's shirt clung desperately to the expanding mass within, the tight material pulled upward by the gravitational pull of Jake's journey into the man's digestive abyss.

The struggle of the fabric against the growing bulge was accentuated by the relentless swallowing. Thomas's throat worked with practiced precision, each gulp drawing Jake further into the churning depths of his belly. The once-cocky bachelor now seemed entirely consumed by the act, his concentration evident in the rhythmic motions of his throat.

The tight shirt, now strained beyond its limits, surrendered to the pressure. With a final, audible rip, the fabric gave way, exposing Thomas's expanding midsection. The bulge, no longer restrained by clothing, continued its ascent, offering a visual spectacle of Jake's gradual submersion into Thomas's digestive embrace.

Thomas's belly was much more pronounced with Jake entirely swallowed up, showcasing his curled up form beneath the bachelor's muscles. He rubbed his belly, moaning, as he let out a huge burp.

BuuuUuUuUuUuUrPPP!!

Thomas grinned, running a hand over his now exposed belly, the remnants of his torn shirt hanging from his waistband. "Well, shit, there goes my favorite gym shirt. And I thought it was tear-resistant. You owe me a new one."

He looked down at Jake's bulge inside him, the corners of his mouth curling up mischievously. "But, you know, it's worth it, just to have you all cozy in there, buddy."

Thomas reclined on his couch, feeling the subtle weight of Jake nestled within him. The torn shirt hung around his waist as a makeshift reminder of their unusual encounter. He ran a hand over his rounded belly, savoring the comforting fullness.

As hours passed, Jake found a peculiar coziness within Thomas's belly. His words, though muffled by the fleshy confines, conveyed a sense of contentment. "So damn cozy in here," Jake's voice reverberated, the sounds dulled by the warm expanse of Thomas's belly.

The bachelor lounged, occasionally shifting in a way that cradled Jake further within him. Thomas chuckled, responding to the muffled remarks. "Yeah? Glad you're enjoying it, buddy. Just chill. We got time, and let me know when that boyfriend of yours is about to come."

Hours drifted lazily by as Thomas continued to chill on his couch, occasionally rubbing his belly as if patting a pet that lay within. Jake, within the comfortable confines of Thomas's belly, began to squirm subtly. His muffled sounds conveyed a sense of restlessness.

Jake's voice was muffled, the words barely decipherable but hinting at the desire to be released. Thomas, catching on, sat up with a casual grin. "Alright, time to set you free, little guy."

Thomas leaned forward, placing his hands on his knees, as the process of regurgitating Jake commenced. A low, guttural sound accompanied the motion, reminiscent of someone trying to force out an unexpected cough. As the first signs of Jake's reappearance became evident, a mixture of saliva and stomach acids accompanied him.

With a final, controlled heave, Jake emerged from Thomas's mouth. The dampened form of the once-swallowed man glistened, adorned with a sheen of Thomas's digestive fluids. Jake coughed and sputtered, the residue of the endosomatic adventure clinging to his form.

Thomas chuckled, leaning back as he wiped a stray droplet from the corner of his mouth. "There you go, Jake. Back to the land of the living, or at least out of my stomach."

Jake fumbled for a nearby napkin, wiping off the remnants of Thomas's digestive embrace from his face. He hesitated, glancing at Thomas with a mix of uncertainty and arousal.

"Fuck, that was hot as fuck," Jake admitted, his cheeks flushed. "Do you think, um… That maybe we could do this regularly?"

Thomas reclined on the couch, a cocky grin forming on his lips. "Regularly, huh? Well, who am I to say no? My gut's taken a liking to your round shape, and I figure I'd want to make use of this torn shirt again."

Jake, still catching his breath, grinned at Thomas. "Thanks, man. That was something else." With a casual wave, he headed back to his apartment, the door closing behind him.

In the privacy of his own place, Jake couldn't help but marvel at the wild experience. "Damn," he muttered, glancing at himself in the mirror. "Shower time before Andrew gets back."

Over the next few weeks, Jake found himself drawn to Thomas's door almost as if by an irresistible force. The frequency of his visits increased, and a peculiar routine developed—almost every time Andrew was out for work, Jake would find himself knocking on Thomas's door, eager for the sensation of being swallowed once more.

It became a clandestine affair, a secret passion that Jake couldn't resist indulging. The cozy afternoons spent nestled in Thomas's belly provided a unique escape, a refuge from the outside world. Thomas, despite his initial cockiness, seemed to enjoy the arrangement just as much.

Their encounters varied. Sometimes it was a quick, spontaneous venture, while on other occasions, Jake lingered longer, savoring the warmth and tightness of his endosoma retreat. As Thomas rubbed his belly in contentment, Jake relished the intimacy of the experience. The thrill of being swallowed, the muffled sounds of Thomas's surroundings, and the cozy darkness of his gut.

Each gulp, each audible swallow, became a part of their unspoken agreement. The torn gym shirt, now a remnant of many sessions, hung as a testament to their peculiar encounters. Thomas, ever the cocky host, reveled in the power dynamics of their arrangement. He would tease Jake with casual remarks, mocking him for how much he craved being inside him, how his gut's taking him from his boyfriend, and relishing the satisfaction of being the one in control. The muffled sounds of casual chatter, the gentle burps that followed, became routine.

One day, after weeks of their clandestine routine, Jake found himself stewing away in Thomas's gut. The familiar sensation of being enveloped in warmth and darkness was his routine escape from reality.

"Almost time for you to be out, bro," Thomas said, getting on his knees, preparing to regurgitate Jake, as they had done several times before. But, before the expected release, Jake squirmed in protest.

"Fuck, just take me," Jake said, his words muffled by the tight confinement of Thomas's gut, fully taken over by a surge of lust.

Thomas, taken aback, paused, looking at Jake with a mix of surprise and confusion. "You mean… like, for real? You want me to…?" he hesitated, gesturing toward his own belly.

Jake, caught in the moment of passion, nodded, confirming the unexpected twist in their usual routine. "Yeah, man. Digest me. Take me in. I want it," he muttered, his voice filled with a mix of desire and abandon.

The unexpected turn left Thomas momentarily stunned, but the allure of Jake's plea proved to be too intoxicating to resist. With a smirk and a shake of his head, Thomas took a deep breath and said, "Glad you said that, a few more weeks and I wouldn't have been able to stop myself from ending you whether you asked for it or not."

Thomas sat back, a casual air about him as he reclined, teasing Jake about the gravity of his words. "You know, bro, you just signed up for the no do-overs, no take-backs deal. You're in my gut now, and you're gonna stay there."

Jake, a mix of excitement and realization playing on his features, squirmed a bit, confirming his acceptance of the unspoken agreement. "Yeah, man, no turning back. I'm all in."

Thomas, with a mischievous grin, decided to take Jake's commitment to a new level. "Alright, bro, you signed up for the 'no more talking' package too." taking Jake's acceptance as a cue, tightened his gut, muffling Jake's words almost to the point of illegibility. With a smug smirk, Thomas leaned back, basking in the moment as he let out a colossal burp that reverberated through the air.

BuuUuUuUurP!

The sound echoed around the room, a declaration of the new reality they had both willingly entered. Thomas, still chuckling casually, patted his slightly bulging belly, sealing the unspoken contract between them. The muffled, indistinct sounds from within only served to emphasize the intimate connection they now shared.

Thomas glanced at the buzzing phone, a smirk playing on his lips. "Looks like someone's missing their boy, huh?" he teased, waving Jake's phone in the air. "Got a bunch of missed calls and texts. Your boyfriend's probably worried sick about where you are."

He chuckled, placing the phone on a nearby table. "Man, I wish I could see the look on his face when he finds out where you really are. In this big, bulging gut of mine." Thomas patted his belly with a satisfied grin. "But we'll let him stew in curiosity a bit longer. Gotta savor the anticipation, you know?" Thomas said, as he headed to his bedroom.

He sprawled across his bed, one arm behind his head, the other idly rubbing his rounded belly. The bulge from Jake's presence was noticeable, a testament to the intimate arrangement inside. He chuckled, a low, satisfied sound, as he felt Jake squirming within him.

"First night you're staying this long, bro," Thomas remarked, speaking into the empty room. "Better get used to it because, after tonight, you're not coming out. You're gonna be part of me for the last few nights of your life." He shifted slightly, getting comfortable, and let out a contented sigh. "Sweet dreams, man."

The morning sun streamed through the window, casting a warm glow on Thomas as he woke up, his gut still pronounced from the previous night's indulgence. Stretching languidly, he sat up, feeling the weight of Jake nestled within him.

Yawning, Thomas got out of bed and ambled towards the bathroom. The tiled floor felt cool beneath his feet. Leaning over the sink, he caught sight of his reflection in the mirror. With a toothbrush in hand, he began scrubbing his teeth clean.

As he brushed his teeth, his gaze shifted to the protruding belly that pressed against the edge of the sink. Thomas grinned cockily, aware that Jake was experiencing his morning routine for the first time.

"Morning, Jake, you good in there?" Thomas teased, speaking as if Jake could hear him. "Can't quite make out what you'd be saying, but I thought the gesture was nice." He chuckled, imagining Jake's muffled protests from within the confines of his gut.

Finishing up in the bathroom, Thomas got ready for the day ahead, a self-satisfied smirk playing on his lips.

As Thomas went about his day, the vibrations of Jake's phone periodically echoed in the room, a persistent reminder of the outside world that seemed increasingly distant. Each buzz was a testament to Andrew's growing worry and curiosity.

Teasingly, Thomas leaned back and patted his belly, as if saying to Jake that he's here to stay. "You know, bro, I think your body's getting a little softer in there. I'm known to have a rough digestion."

From Jake's perspective, the world inside Thomas's gut was undergoing a slow transformation. His clothes, once distinguishable, were becoming indistinct as they melded with the acids. The sensation was peculiar and, at times, disorienting, as his skin slowly melted; It was pleasant, it felt cozier than any of the previous time he's been in here, but it was still disorienting.

The muffled sound of Andrew's persistent calls and messages on Jake's phone served as a distant background noise, a stark contrast to the cocoon of warmth and semi-darkness that enveloped Jake within Thomas's belly.

On the second day, Jake's form inside Thomas's gut underwent a notable transformation. The once distinct features of his body were now indiscernible, a result of the ongoing process of digestion. The clothes that clung to him had long since lost their original form, merging with the liquefying remnants of Jake's physique.

Thomas, perhaps subconsciously or out of growing curiosity, patted his belly, noting a subtle change. The solid tautness that characterized Jake's initial presence was giving way to a softer, more pliable feel. The acids worked persistently, melting away the boundaries of Jake's form. It wasn't an ethereal or surreal process; it was the gritty reality of digestion, the breaking down of flesh and bone into a churning mixture, but despite that it still felt good to Jake.

The sudden, impatient knocking on the door jolted Thomas from his casual reverie. He swung the door open, and there stood Andrew, a mix of worry and irritation etched across his face.

"Hey, sorry to bother you this early, but have you seen Jake?" Andrew asked, his concern evident in his tone. "He's been missing for two days, and I'm getting really worried."

Thomas, wearing a hoodie that conveniently hid the changes in his midsection, shook his head. "Nah, man, haven't seen him. Sorry." There was an apologetic note in his voice as he subtly adjusted the hoodie.

"Fuck," Andrew said, seeming distressed and unaware of Thomas's gut. "Sorry. Just… Let me know if you ever do, okay?" He said, as he continued to the other apartments to ask his other neighbors.

Thomas closed the door and laid back against it, he couldn't resist a teasing smirk. He lifted the hoodie, revealing the slightly softer, bulging gut beneath. "All it took is a lift of my hoodie to show him where ya went. Too bad he'll never figure it out." he remarked, the cocky edge still present in his voice, as Jake squirmed inside his acid-filled gut.

On the third day, Thomas decided to hit the gym, his usual routine slightly altered by the recent addition of Jake to his physique. The once-toned bachelor now sported more of a dad bod, and a slight beer belly had developed, a testament to Jake's presence in his gut.

As he prepared for the workout, Thomas couldn't resist teasing Jake. "Well, bro, today's gonna be a tough one on you. Might speed up your digestion a bit," he quipped with a chuckle. "But hey, I figure I'll make the most of the gains from eating you. Gotta look more attractive when you're gone, right?" The casual banter flowed easily, as he got to exercise his muscles.

Thomas began his gym session with some heavy deadlifts, the weight clanging against the floor with each controlled drop. The impact reverberated through his core, the vibrations felt by Jake nestled within the confines of his bulging belly. With each lift, Thomas's abdominal muscles flexed and tightened, pressing against Jake in rhythmic pulses.

Moving on to bench presses, Thomas lay back on the bench, the pressure of the weights causing his gut to push outward. Jake, caught in the middle of this bodily symphony, experienced the compression and release as Thomas completed each repetition. Sweat glistened on Thomas's forehead, a testament to the exertion he was putting into the workout.

Transitioning to squats, Thomas's movements became more dynamic. As he descended into the squat position, Jake was subjected to the pressure between Thomas's thighs, a sensation that intensified with each rise. The fabric of Thomas's shorts stretched tightly over his expanding waistline, a visible reminder of Jake's presence within.

The stair climber machine was next on Thomas's agenda. With each step, the rhythmic impact resonated through his body, creating a gentle rocking motion for Jake. The pressure on Thomas's midsection increased, and Jake felt the subtle shifts as his surroundings changed with each step.

Finally, Thomas engaged in some core exercises, targeting his abs directly. Crunches and leg raises emphasized the region where Jake was nestled. The compression intensified with each repetition, the steady burn of the workout echoed within Thomas's bulging gut.

Throughout the entire routine, Thomas's banter continued. "You feeling the burn, bro?" he teased, fully aware of the unique experience Jake was undergoing within the confines of his ever-changing gut.

As the days progressed, Jake's once-solid form continued its relentless transformation within the acidic confines of Thomas's stomach. The digestive juices worked with ruthless efficiency, breaking down Jake's flesh and bones into a formless mass. The initial resistance of his physical structure gave way to the corrosive power of the stomach acids, reducing him to a mixture of liquid and dissolved remnants.

The process was slow and methodical. Jake's consciousness began to wane, his awareness slipping away in sync with the dissolution of his physical being. He became entangled in the chemical dance of digestion, losing touch with the boundaries of his form as the acids invaded every nook and cranny of his thick form.

The sensation was a paradoxical blend of pleasure and obliteration. Jake, in his reduced state, was suspended in a state of half-consciousness, afloat in the warm, corrosive embrace of Thomas's stomach. The once-distinct features of his body blurred into a formless, melted amalgamation, his essence merging with the strong digestive acids of Thomas.

As the dissolution progressed, Jake's thoughts became fragmented, his sense of self dissolving along with his body. The blissful haze of digestion enveloped him, a surreal journey into the abyss of being broken down and absorbed.

Thomas reclined on his couch, a self-satisfied grin playing on his lips. His fingers drummed lazily on his bloated midsection, now transformed into a softer, beer-belly dad bod. The once-defined muscles were replaced by a plump layer, evidence of Jake's gradual assimilation into Thomas's physique.

"Look at this," Thomas mused, patting his slightly flattened stomach. "You're almost all mine, bro. I've been digesting you real good. Your essence is now part of what makes me, well, me. Bet you can't even comprehend that with how melted you are."

He let out a hearty belch, the sound reverberating through his sloshy midsection. Thomas's arrogance echoed in his words, a mix of crass amusement and self-satisfaction.

"You thought you could handle being in my gut regularly, but look at you now. Just a sloshy mess, melting away into nothingness. And here I am, getting beefier, looking better than ever," he continued, chuckling at the thought. "You're practically my personal enhancement, bro. A little seasoning to make me even more irresistible."

Thomas shifted, adjusting his posture to emphasize the changes in his physique. The casual arrogance in his voice painted a vivid picture of a man reveling in the results of his unconventional dietary choices.

"In a few more days, you'll be nothing but a memory, a part of my gains. Can't say it wasn't a good run for you, though. The best thing you did was willingly dive into my gut."

Thomas stepped out of his apartment and immediately encountered Andrew in the hallway, looking disheveled and anxious. Andrew's eyes widened at the noticeable change in Thomas's physique.

"Dude, have you seen Jake? I've been going out of my mind looking for him," Andrew pleaded, concern etched on his face. "You know what, don't fucking answer. I know you would've told me if you had already."

Thomas feigned innocence, scratching his head. "It's good, dude. Jake? Uhh, not sure, man. I mean, I've seen a lot of people around, you know? Can't keep track of everyone." He said, "Maybe he ghosted you or something. It happens. But hey," He gave Andrew a pat on the shoulder, "I'm here for ya if you need me, dude."

"Thanks, man." Andrew said insincerely, wanting nothing more than to know where his boyfriend went, but still appreciating the offer.

As they moved further away from each other, Thomas couldn't resist a sly grin, his hand casually rubbing his now beefier belly. "Damn, Jake. Not a word to your worried boyfriend? Never took you for the silent type." He teased as his stomach growled, knowing that Jake wasn't in a state to respond let alone comprehend, only existing for a few more days before he's fully digested down by the bigger man.

#male pred #male vore #digestion #male prey #m/m #gay vore #endosoma #melting digestion #reoccuring vore #burping #endo

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aerkame · 1 year

Text

"One of these days you'll slip up."

(Not in the Alive AU, just general Welcome Home, reader is from the normal world though)

Everyone (mostly Wally) x Guarded reader

__________________________________________________

Ever since you got here you were well guarded, never really giving away too much about yourself no matter how much one of your cheerful neighbors tried and tried to get you to open up more. Not even Barnaby's best jokes could crack you up.

It wasn't that you hated them, everyone could tell you weren't upset or anything like that, nothing like what Frank is sometimes, you would smile every now and then, openly play with Julie when she wanted to play games with you, and you'd give Barnaby a small chuckle if he made a good joke. You just had a hard time being open is all.

That's what brought you here today, sitting on a stool outside for quite some time as Wally sat across from you making a portrait. He had asked you earlier if you could do him a favor and be his muse for today, he just didn't know what to paint and you were the perfect muse! Amongst other reasons for bringing you out here.

"So...I heard you and Barnaby had some fun annoying Frank earlier today?" Wally softly spoke as his brush went across the canvas. He looked completely at peace.

"Yeah, it was fun, I didn't know Frank hated spiders though, I thought he would like all kinds of critters." You smirked slightly remembering the look on Frank Frankly's face when a spider came out of the "surprise gift" you and Barnaby had left on the porch. Though it didn't take long for Frank to figure out who done it with Barnaby's fluffy blue fur sticking out of the bushes nearby.

"That's good." He hummed before dipping the paintbrush in a different color. "So why are you always keeping yourself closed off?"

"What?" The question surprised you a bit.

"You're safe here you know, it's okay to open yourself up. If you're uncomfortable you can be more open around just me." Wally didn't look away from the painting for even a second. He just kept adding onto it while you sat there confused.

"I..." You weren't sure what to say really. You weren't uncomfortable, but you also didn't feel safe here. This wasn't your home at all but everyone acted so normal about everything.

"It's alright, one of these days you'll understand." he looked away from the now finished portrait of you, giving you a tilt of the head and that charming smile of his.

Uh oh. Wally isn't too happy that the reader isn't falling for his charm and letting their guard down.

Another short post, but I really wanted to share this while it was still on my mind.

#short post #fanfiction #requests open #welcome home #welcome home wally darling #wally darling x reader #wh #welcome home wally darling x reader

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unabashegirl · 4 months

Text

Meeting her || H.S

Author's note: The following piece is based on The Golden Boy one short from earlier in the year. This story will be how Harry and Y/N met. This took place before the World Cup . This is going to be a three-part story! This is part one. I hope you enjoy! The next part will have smut. Let me know what you think

PS: these IA pictures are getting out of hand.

masterlist

word count: 5.1K

As the autumn leaves danced in the crisp Manchester breeze, Y/N found herself lost in the beauty of this new city. Having recently moved here, her life felt like a blank canvas waiting to be painted with new experiences and adventures. One such adventure awaited her on a chilly evening, as her friend Emma invited her to dinner with her new boyfriend, Harry.

They first met in college during their second year. Y/N got invited to her first party but didn't know anyone. Everything turned around when Emma bumped into her in the kitchen. As the years went by, their friendship got stronger. But when Y/N switched her major to art, things took a turn. Emma didn't like the decision and started keeping her distance.

Y/N came back to Manchester after spending nearly a year in Italy. During her time there, she learned a new way to paint and work with ceramics. Even though her family was closer, she felt a bit out of place, like a foreigner, in her own native country.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, Y/N's phone buzzed with a message notification and a follow request on Instagram from Emma. Curiosity piqued; Y/N opened the app to find a warm greeting from her old friend. Emma had just learned that Y/N was back in town and was eager to reconnect and catch up on all the happenings since their last meeting. Ever since, they've been regularly meeting up for lunch dates, dinners, and various events.

Emma had been excitedly telling Y/N about Harry for weeks, and tonight was the night she was going to meet him. She kept going on about how he was a professional football player, having just joined Manchester United, and how his salary was sky-high, potentially making him extremely wealthy. Emma was evidently proud of this and made sure to let Y/N know, almost bragging about it.

They met at a cozy, dimly lit restaurant, where the aroma of delicious food filled the air. Emma was beaming with excitement, introducing Y/N to Harry as he greeted them with a warm smile. He was handsome, with kind eyes that seemed to reflect his genuine personality.

"Y/N, this is Harry," Emma said enthusiastically.

"Nice to meet you, Harry," Y/N replied with a friendly smile, extending her hand for a handshake.

"The pleasure's mine," he responded politely. "I've heard that you're an artist."

Y/N nodded shyly, "Yeah, mostly into paintings and ceramics."

“Anything that we might have seen?”

"Nothing. She's just a beginner, honey," Emma interrupted before Y/N could respond. "She just returned from Italy from picking up a new skill, hoping it might help her sell and turn a profit. You know how it is in the art world – always searching for that breakthrough.”

Y/N felt a momentary offense, a twinge of embarrassment sweeping over her. Not everything Emma had said was entirely accurate. While it was true that everyone aspired to a breakthrough, Y/N had already experienced one, prompting her journey to Italy. Having been invited there, she returned to Manchester with a renewed focus on opening her first gallery. Whispers of her name began circulating in the corners of the art world.

"Fortunately, Harry has already had his breakthrough," Emma added before taking a sip of her martini.

Emma's chatter mostly revolved around Harry's career, the glamorous lifestyle associated with professional football, and the immense potential for wealth. While Harry remained modest and humble about his achievements, Y/N could sense a hint of discomfort in his eyes.

Y/N was someone who valued depth in conversation, she yearned for more than just the superficial. Emma's constant emphasis on Harry's financial prospects was getting on her nerves, but she held her tongue, not wanting to jeopardize her friendship. It was rare for her to have friends, and she didn't want to ruin this budding friendship.

Throughout the evening, she observed Harry, realizing that he was a genuinely kind and down-to-earth person. He seemed uncomfortable with the focus on his financial success, preferring to discuss other aspects of life. Their conversation flowed naturally when they discussed their interests, hobbies, and favorite books.

As the night progressed, Y/N found herself connecting with Harry on a deeper level, appreciating his humility and kindness. Despite the initial annoyance caused by Emma's bragging, she discovered a potential friend in Harry—one who valued genuine connections over monetary gains.

"So, how was Italy? Is it everything that people say?" Harry inquired, his curiosity evident. Having not yet ventured outside the country, most of his experiences were rooted in local settings, particularly in the realm of his games. Eager to hear about Y/N's international adventure, he leaned in, genuinely interested in the tales she might share about the enchanting country he had yet to explore himself.

Y/N smiled, taking a sip of her drink before launching into her narrative. “It is everything and more. The art, the history, the landscapes – it's like a dream. I ended up indulging in the most amazing pasta dishes. And the art is in every corner.”

Harry's eyes widened with interest, "Really? What kind of art did you see?"

Y/N's enthusiasm bubbled as she shared, "Everything from Renaissance masterpieces to contemporary street art”.

As the evening came to a close, she felt a sense of contentment. She had made a new friend in Harry, someone who shared her appreciation for genuine conversations and meaningful connections. Little did she know, this chance encounter would mark the beginning of a beautiful friendship that would enrich her life in more ways than she could have imagined.

Throughout the week, Emma continued to invite her to various events, eager to integrate her into her social circle. One evening, she invited Y/N to attend a football game where Harry would be playing. Y/N was genuinely excited about the prospect of watching a live game and supporting Harry, but Emma's comment about dressing up and putting on makeup stung.

"You should definitely come to the game! It's going to be so much fun. Dress up a bit and maybe put on some makeup—you never know, you might catch someone of Harry's caliber," she said with a wink, attempting to make it sound like a lighthearted joke.

Y/N forced a smile, masking the hurt she felt. It was clear Emma was implying that Harry was out of her league or that she needed to "improve" her appearance to even be in the same league as her or him. She wasn't confrontational by nature, so she simply replied, "Thanks for the invite, Emma. I'll see if I can make it."

As the day of the game approached, Y/N debated whether to attend. The comment had left a lingering discomfort, making her question if she should subject herself to such superficial judgments. But her curiosity to watch the game and support Harry won in the end.

On the day of the game, she wore a casual yet presentable outfit, wanting to feel comfortable and confident in her own skin. She met Emma at the stadium, where she greeted her with excitement.

“I'm so glad you made it! This is going to be amazing," she exclaimed.

“Yeah, I'm looking forward to it," Y/N replied, attempting to infuse her response with enthusiasm, though beneath the surface, nerves churned. Anticipation mingled with apprehension as she contemplated the upcoming interaction. Y/N couldn't shake the memory of previous encounters, where backhanded comments and thinly veiled compliments had become a common thread.

As they took their seats, the atmosphere in the stadium was electric. The crowd's energy was infectious, and she found herself caught up in the excitement of the game. Watching Harry play was impressive—his skill and passion for the sport were evident.

Amidst the cheers and celebrations, Emma leaned over and said, "Isn't he amazing on the field? Imagine being with someone like him."

Her words struck a chord, reminding Y/N of the shallow perspective she seemed to have about relationships. She chose to focus on the game and cheer for Harry, pushing aside the hurt she felt. Deep down, she knew she deserved genuine connections and friendships that weren't based on appearance or someone's profession.

As the game ended and they made their way out of the stadium, she appreciated the experience and the opportunity to support Harry. However, she also realized the importance of surrounding herself with people who valued her for who she was, rather than making her feel inadequate or lesser than because of societal standards or external perceptions.

She continued to focus on her art, pouring her heart and soul into the canvas as she prepared for her upcoming art show. Emma's persistent invitations and comments had left a mark, and she found solace in the therapeutic strokes of her paintbrush. To protect her mental health and maintain her sense of self-worth, she began gently declining Emma's invitations and started distancing herself from her.

One afternoon, while heading to the art supply store, she unexpectedly crossed paths with none other than Harry. Her hair was up in a messy bun, glasses perched on her nose, and she was wearing baggy clothes slightly adorned with paint stains. She greeted him with a warm smile, surprised yet pleased to see him.

"Harry! Fancy running into you here," she said, a genuine smile lighting up her face.

"Hey! How have you been?" he responded, his friendly demeanor putting her at ease. Sporting athletic attire, he appeared in the midst of post-run casualness, on his way back to his apartment.

"I've been busy with work, preparing for an art show. It's been quite hectic," she explained.

"That sounds amazing! An art show? I'd love to see your work," Harry exclaimed, genuinely interested.

"Sure! You and Emma are more than welcome to come. It's on Saturday evening," she extended the invitation, acknowledging his enthusiasm. Including Emma felt like the courteous thing to do, although she harbored no intention of having her presence at the event.

"Where are you off to?" Harry inquired, his eyes drawn to her appearance and the sizable tote bag slung over her shoulder. He found the sight rather adorable. Harry admired her confidence and the unique way she expressed herself. While he hadn't seen her art yet, he was convinced that if it reflected even a fraction of her personality, it would undoubtedly be incredible.

Curiosity sparked in his eyes as he awaited her response, eager to understand the purpose behind the tote bag and the destination that had captured her attention on this particular day. The genuine interest he took in her pursuits was evident, a testament to the budding connection between them.

"I'm headed to the supply store. Ran out of a few things in the middle of a painting session," she explained, a hint of frustration in her voice. Having to cut her creative session short was always a predicament, leaving her feeling somewhat scattered. "That's why I look like such a mess," Y/N felt compelled to clarify, a touch of self-consciousness in her admission.

"Mind if I tag along?" Harry inquired, his reluctance to head to his apartment evident. The idea of being alone didn't appeal to him, and his living space still carried the lingering feeling of belonging to someone else.

"No problem. I just hope it won't be too boring for you," she said, a sudden nervousness creeping in. It felt akin to introducing a boyfriend to her parents, as he was about to witness a small yet intimate aspect of her life—her painting ritual. Despite the nerves, a giddy excitement bubbled within her. Rarely had someone shown enough interest in her work to accompany her in such moments.

As they strolled, they exchanged stories about their lives—his experiences with football, her passion for art, and the challenges and joys they both faced. Harry shared the excitement and pressure of being a professional athlete, and she talked about the joys and struggles of being an artist.

And Harry asked with genuine concern, "I noticed you've been a bit distant lately. Is everything okay?"

She hesitated for a moment, debating whether to share her feelings. But seeing his kind and understanding demeanor, she decided to be honest. "To be honest, Emma's comments have been bothering me. It felt like she was implying that I'm not good enough” Y/N shook her head, attempting to banish the same thoughts that had haunted her for years. "Or maybe I just misinterpreted her words," she mused, a flicker of uncertainty lingering in her mind.

Harry's eyes softened, understanding the weight of her words. "I'm so sorry you felt that way. Emma can be a bit... oblivious at times.”

His words warmed her heart, reassuring her that true friendships were built on understanding and mutual respect.

"We're here," Y/N announced, swinging open the door of a small but charming store. "Hi, George!" she greeted, waving enthusiastically to the elderly man stationed behind the counter at the back.

"Ms. Y/L/N! Good to see you! How's that collection coming along?" George, a familiar face and one of her most significant suppliers, recognized her immediately. He had even gone the extra mile to order specific brushes and paints for her, a testament to his belief in her talent.

"Oh, it's going!" Y/N chuckled, making her way to the paint aisle. "This is my friend Harry, George." Harry beamed, waving like an excited child being introduced to a stranger.

"Mr. Styles! Number nine in Manchester, right?" George exclaimed, recognizing him. "Great season you're having! It's good to have you."

"Thank you," Harry responded shyly, still adjusting to being recognized and receiving compliments from strangers.

"You're not going to swap me for Harry, are you, George?" Y/N teased as she bent down to reach for spatulas and sponges on the bottom shelf.

"Never. Still my favorite," George assured, prompting chuckles from both Harry and Y/N as they continued their joint venture, collecting items from Y/N's list and heading towards the checkout.

As Y/N gathered her art supplies, Harry couldn't help but admire the quaint charm of the store. It was filled with the rich scent of pigments and the subtle aroma of wooden easels. The artistic ambiance enveloped them as George continued to chat with Harry, discussing his recent successes in Manchester.

As they bid farewell to George, the doorbell chimed, marking the end of their visit. Stepping back into the bustling street, Y/N couldn't help but feel grateful for the support she received, not only from her favorite art supplier but also from Harry, who had ventured into her world with genuine interest and a bright smile.

"That was wonderful. Thank you for taking me," Harry commented warmly, carrying Y/N's tote bag through the lively streets. The cityscape buzzed around them, a backdrop to the shared experience they had just enjoyed.

Y/N smiled in response, her eyes reflecting gratitude. "Thank you for coming. It means a lot," she admitted, a subtle vulnerability in her tone. "No one has ever accompanied me to these sorts of things."

Harry's smile broadened, understanding the significance of those words. The weight of being the first to share in a part of Y/N's world tugged at his heartstrings. As they walked side by side, the city lights flickering overhead, an unspoken connection blossomed between them.

They found themselves enveloped in a comfortable silence, the echoes of their shared laughter still resonating in the air. The streets, alive with the rhythm of urban life, seemed to dance to an unspoken melody that mirrored the newfound understanding between Harry and Y/N.

Harry accompanied her all the way to her apartment, insisting on ensuring her safe arrival.

"I'll see you at the art show," Y/N said, her voice carrying a mixture of anticipation and gratitude. She gave him a quick but warm hug before disappearing into the foyer of the building. The promise of their reunion at the upcoming art show lingered in the air, a shared moment they both looked forward to. As Y/N disappeared from view, Harry couldn't shake the feeling of contentment. The day had been filled with meaningful conversations, different from his usual exchanges with his girlfriend.

On the night of the art show, the venue was buzzing with people who had gathered to appreciate and celebrate art. The atmosphere was vibrant, filled with an array of colors, emotions, and creativity. She was both excited and nervous, eager to share her work with others.

Not only were her paintings displayed on the wall, but her ceramics pieces adorned the space as well.

As the evening progressed, Y/N noticed Harry and Emma arriving, accompanied by a couple of Harry's friends. She greeted them warmly, hoping for a pleasant evening. However, it didn't take long for the mood to sour.

Emma's disapproving looks and hostile demeanor became evident as she roamed around the exhibition. Her discomfort seemed to intensify with each piece she viewed, as if she couldn't bear to see Y/N in the spotlight.

"What am I even looking at?" Emma whispered to Harry as they stood amidst a sizable crowd gathered around one of Y/N's largest paintings. "And why is everyone gawking? It's not a big deal; everyone can do it." Harry stayed silent; his attention fully absorbed by the intricate details of the artwork.

"Stop it," Harry gently pulled her hand, attempting to hush her down. "You're being rude." However, he couldn't deny that Y/N's creation was something truly unique. The canvas held an amalgamation of colors and emotions that seemed to dance and intertwine, capturing the essence of her artistic vision.

As the crowd marveled at the masterpiece, Harry couldn't help but feel a sense of pride for Y/N. Her work, a reflection of her passion and creativity, had garnered the attention and admiration of those present. He admired the way she fearlessly poured herself into her art, creating something that not only spoke to him but resonated with a broader audience.

Despite Emma's dismissive comments, Harry recognized the significance of Y/N's talent. He hoped that, with time, Emma might come to appreciate the artistry that captured the attention and imagination of so many.

“Let’s go. Why are we even here?” Emma turned to Harry and his friends, “She is not even that close of a friend. She is just a struggling artist”.

Unbeknownst to Emma, Y/N stood silently behind her, absorbing every single word that had slipped from Emma's lips. The gallery buzzed with the murmur of impressed onlookers, blissfully unaware that the subject of their discussion was right there, an invisible presence in the sea of admirers.

Y/N's heart sank at Emma's dismissive comments, her vulnerability exposed to the unintended audience. The weight of those words settled on her shoulders, adding a layer of discomfort to the pride she felt for her creations. Yet, she chose to linger in the shadows, absorbing the unfiltered opinions that echoed in the gallery space.

“Emma, that’s enough” Harry interjected, his voice carrying a mix of anger and concern.

As Emma turned around, her gaze met Y/N's, and the air grew thick with an unspoken tension. Y/N, having overheard every word of Emma's critique, stood there, a silent witness to the candid commentary. The sudden realization that Y/N had been present all along cast a veil of nervousness over Emma.

Caught off guard, Emma's eyes widened, and her cheeks flushed with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. The vibrant atmosphere of the gallery seemed to dim momentarily; the weight of the words exchanged lingering in the space between them.

Ignoring him, Emma cleared her throat, her voice sharp and accusatory, "You've been avoiding me, Y/N. I don't appreciate being treated this way, especially after everything I've done for you." Caught in the discomfort of the moment, Emma felt the need to assign blame. Admitting fault was inconceivable, especially in front of Harry and his friends; maintaining a positive image was paramount. Emma couldn't afford to be perceived as a negative force, and so, the instinct to shift responsibility to another party took hold. The desire to preserve her reputation and uphold a facade of positivity outweighed the need for genuine self-reflection.

Y/N tried to maintain her composure, choosing her words carefully. "I've been busy preparing for this show and focusing on my art. I never meant to make you feel ignored."

Emma's face twisted into a bitter expression, and she snapped, "You think you're so special with your art, don't you? No one cares, Y/N. I stopped talking to you in college because of these same reasons. You need to realize that you made a mistake by changing majors. Art is not going to feed you.”

The threat stung, hitting close to home. Y/N took a deep breath, trying to stay calm and collected despite the rising humiliation. "Let's discuss this later, privately."

She was relentless, determined to exert her dominance. "No, we'll discuss it now. Harry, tell her she's out of line."

Harry, torn between loyalty and what was right, looked conflicted. "Emma, maybe now's not the best time—"

Emma cut him off, her voice venomous, "Oh, so now you're siding with her? Fine, have it your way."

She stormed off, leaving Harry visibly troubled and Y/N mortified in front of his friends and other attendees. She wished the ground would swallow her whole, but she reminded herself that she had done nothing wrong.

Harry approached her, his eyes filled with apology. "I'm so sorry. She was completely out of line."

She forced a small smile, trying to brush it off. "It's alright, Harry. Let's not let this ruin the evening."

Deep down, she knew she deserved better than Emma's toxic behavior. As the night unfolded, she chose to focus on the genuine appreciation she received for her art, determined to rise above the negativity and continue pursuing her passion and genuine friendships.

After the tumultuous confrontation with Emma, the art show continued, and she tried her best to immerse herself in the joy of sharing her work with appreciative art lovers. The support and admiration she received from the attendees helped ease the sting of Emma's outburst, allowing her to refocus on the success of the evening.

As the night came to a close, she couldn't help but feel a sense of accomplishment. Several of her pieces had been sold, and the positive feedback had boosted her confidence as an artist. She was both proud and grateful for the experience.

As she started to wrap things up and close the gallery, she noticed Harry waiting outside. His presence was a comforting sight after the rollercoaster of emotions she had endured throughout the evening.

"Hey," she greeted, trying to offer a genuine smile despite the lingering discomfort.

"Hey, congratulations on a successful show," Harry said warmly, genuinely pleased for her.

"Thank you. It means a lot," she replied, feeling a sense of relief knowing that the worst was behind her.

"Look, Y/N, I'm really sorry about Emma's behavior. That was completely uncalled for," Harry apologized again, sincerity in his eyes.

She appreciated his concern and understanding. "Thank you, Harry. I know you tried to intervene, and I appreciate that."

Harry nodded, and then a soft chuckle escaped his lips. "I don't know about you, but I'm starving. How about we grab a bite to eat?"

A pang of hunger reminded her that she had skipped dinner in the whirlwind of the art show. "That sounds perfect. Let's go."

They found a nearby café and sat down, the atmosphere much more relaxed and pleasant than earlier in the evening.

Harry's presence was a balm to her earlier distress, and she was grateful for his kindness and understanding. Despite the events of the night, she felt a genuine connection with him, appreciating the way he had handled the situation and his willingness to stand by her.

As the night came to a close, and she bid Harry farewell, a mix of emotions swirled within her. There was a flutter in her heart, an undeniable attraction that had grown stronger throughout the evening. She had started to like Harry more than just a friend, and it made her nervous.

Y/N knew the reality of the situation. Harry was Emma's boyfriend, and pursuing anything beyond friendship with him would be a betrayal of their relationship. Loyalty and respect were paramount, and she wouldn't compromise those values for her own desires. She couldn't deny the chemistry and connection she felt, but she also understood the importance of boundaries and staying true to her principles. It was a delicate balance between her burgeoning feelings and her commitment to doing what was right.

In the following days, she wrestled with her emotions, trying to put distance between her heart and the potential complications that could arise. She focused on her art, pouring her feelings into her creations, finding solace in the brushstrokes that paint her emotions on the canvas.

That was until one day when she found herself at home, and the intercom unexpectedly rang.

"Ms. Y/L/N, there's a Harry Styles wanting to see you," the voice on the other end announced. Shock rippled through her; it had been a few weeks since she had last seen him. Y/N had purposely kept her distance, fully aware of the feelings that had developed within her.

"Yeah, let him in," she replied, a mix of anticipation and nervousness lingering in her voice. As she unlocked the door, she settled back into her painting, attempting to distract herself from the whirlwind of emotions.

The front door creaked open, and soon, a soft knock echoed through the space. "Y/N?" Harry's rough voice called out, filling the room with a mixture of familiarity and uncertainty.

"In here," Harry heard from the foyer, prompting him to close the front door behind him. He followed the sound of her voice, traversing through the space until he finally located her. There she was, sitting on the wooden floor with legs crossed, her hair fashioned into a bun, and wearing glasses that complemented. her.

Harry cradled a warm brown paper bag, emanating the aromatic allure of Chinese cuisine. He knew of this particular restaurant that served delectable dishes, a tantalizing choice for his unhealthy food cravings. Eager to share this delightful find with Y/N, he approached her with a welcoming smile, lifting the bag in presentation.

"I brought some food," he announced, the tantalizing aroma wafting from the bag.

Curiosity sparked in Y/N's eyes as she inquired, "What is it?"

"Chinese," Harry nervously replied, hoping that his culinary choice would meet her approval.

"Good choice," Y/N commended, setting aside her brush and rising from the floor. It was at that moment that Harry couldn't help but notice her attire – a pair of overalls, worn with an easy casualness. However, the revelation didn't stop there; the absence of anything beneath the overalls exposed the side of her breast, a subtle detail that heightened the air of intimacy in the room. The vulnerability of the moment lingered, as did the tempting aroma of the Chinese delicacies. “Are you alright?”

“Y-yeah” he cleared his voice, “just hungry” Harry didn’t know if he meant for the meal or fo the sudden urge that he had to feel her breast. He recognized that Y/N had distanced herself, a mirror to the sentiments he harbored toward her. The desire to be close to her lingered within Harry, fueled by a genuine fondness. He admired her, not just for her presence but for the profound connection that blossomed in their conversations.

Harry appreciated the way she listened, her attention genuine and unwavering. In those moments, he felt more than heard; he felt understood on a level that transcended the superficial. Y/N held the key to unraveling his thoughts and emotions, creating a unique bond built on mutual understanding and genuine connection.

"How have you been?" Y/N inquired, taking the lead as she guided Harry towards the living room. The air was charged with a mix of anticipation and a hint of vulnerability. "I saw your match last week. You played really well."

Harry's response held a touch of concern, reflecting the echoes of unanswered messages that lingered between them. "I haven't heard from you since your art show. I thought you were mad at me," he confessed, revealing the worry that had gnawed at him.

"I just thought it would be best to gain some distance between us," Y/N explained, her movements deliberate as she set plates on the coffee table. The unspoken complexities of their connection hung in the air, entwined with a hint of secrecy. "I-I am sure that Emma wouldn't like to know that we are spending this much time together."

As soon as the word 'distance' left her lips, a palpable tension surged through Harry. Panic set in, triggering a rapid response. He hastily placed the bag down, reaching out for Y/N. In a swift motion, he grasped her wrist, pulling her towards him with a sense of urgency.

"Harry," Y/N cautioned, her hand pressed against his chest, attempting to maintain a boundary. Yet, defiance glinted in his eyes as he refused to relent. He freed her wrist, wrapping an arm around her waist while the other found its place behind her head, gently pushing her closer.

"No," he declared, the word hanging in the charged atmosphere. His lips met hers with a hunger that spoke volumes, a fusion of longing and passion. Initially resisting, Y/N succumbed to the intensity of the moment, reciprocating the kiss with an equal fervor. The living room became a stage for a silent exchange, where unspoken emotions and lingering desires found expression in the fervent embrace of their lips.

“Yeah, that’s exactly how I’d imagined it”

QUESTIONS OF CHAPTER (answer below) Do you condone Harry and Y/N’s actions? Do think Emma deserves get cheated on?

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ashintheairlikesnow · 6 months

Text

The Roughest of Waters

CW: Brief transphobia (it really is very brief, a couple paragraphs and then poof it’s gone), captivity, creepy whumper

Kira came to a sudden stop in the doorway to the massive dining room. Nadette nearly walked into her from where she followed close behind, bumping against her back.

"Oh, sorry, Miss,” Nadette chirped, but Kira didn’t respond. She had become an immovable wall.

The siren sat at the breakfast table as if he were simply another man, and yet he so clearly was something far beyond a man.

The sun shone through the windows, touching the siren with edges of gold along his nearly-shorn hair and warm skin. He seemed less of a living thing than a kind of painting that had stepped off the canvas into the world. He sat, a loose white shirt hanging oddly on him, as if he weren’t quite comfortable in it. He was looking down at an empty plate, but his eyes flickered up to meet hers.

Kira found herself a little lost for words at the sheer unbelievable beauty of him.

“Miss?” Nadette touched her shoulder, briefly. “Miss, are you all right?”

Kira swallowed, realizing her mouth had gone oddly dry. “Nadette-... do you… see him?”

Nadette peered over her shoulder, then gave a little laugh. “Of course, Miss. He arrived late last night - oh, you must have already gone to bed, though, so you didn’t see. You were feeling a bit poorly last night, I believe.”

She’d been locked inside a room against her will, literally dragged screaming up a staircase more like, but… clearly Nadette remembered things differently.

Kira glanced back, and saw Nadette looking at the siren with a cheerful, almost glowingly joyful expression. No terror like she had shown the night before when she interrupted the siren’s song, not even a hint of worry. “... but who is it that-... as you say, that arrived last night? What-... who do you see?”

“You can’t see the resemblance?” Nadette giggled, girlish and sweet, and Kira felt new horror rise in her at the sound. She found herself rapidly developing an entire library of complicated, complex ways to feel disgusted and uneasy in this place. “It’s Lord Wentworth’s son, of course! Guilford Wentworth the Fifth! Although he just goes by Ford. Sweet boy he is, polite as can be.”

Kira’s mouth simply hung open for a moment. “His-... his son?”

“Yes! Go on, then, His Lordship will be in for breakfast in just a moment, he had to have a look at the stables after the storm.” She pushed Kira, gently, forward, and Kira had to set her shoulders as she stepped across the threshold, listening to her unfamiliar boots make soft clicking noises as her heels moved against the hardwood floor.

The siren’s eyes followed her, barely blinking.

“Your hair is shorter,” She commented, choosing a seat directly across from the creature so he couldn’t surprise her. She had never missed her magic kit more - a simple protection spell she could do with her hands no longer seemed like enough.

The siren didn’t answer. He only watched her, face impassive. Kira was vaguely aware of Nadette bustling around the room, of a cup of steaming hot coffee being placed in front of her. She felt her lips move in automatic thanks, her fingertips against the beautifully-painted porcelain with its fresh cream as she poured some in and then added sugar. The clink of her spoon as she stirred.

The siren never looked away from her, not once.

“You don’t drink coffee, I suppose,” Kira said, just to break the silence, to lift a little of its weight. To her surprise, the siren’s lip turned slightly up at the corner. He shook his head, and tapped a water glass to his right. “Ah. Well, my sympathies. Coffee is the only thing that keeps me from going to jail for murder some days, you know?”

He tipped his head to the side. “Who would you kill?”

The question was so simply asked, with such genuine open curiosity, that she realized the siren had no idea she was only joking. Although... was she?

Kira, aware Nadette was just out of earshot, chanced a slight smile of her own. “Our illustrious host, for one,” She murmured, barely moving her lips. “First on my list. So everyone trapped here might go home. Including you. Especially you."

If she had felt the siren’s gaze intense before, it barely held a candle to how he looked at her now.

Where before he had seemed perhaps vaguely hostile but otherwise unmoved, now he looked at her with a desperate hunger that made her lean back in her chair, as though he would fling himself across the table at her. It made her think of the way his jaw had opened too wide, there had been so many sharp-edged teeth only an inch from ripping out her throat.

This hunger was different, and yet the same. A need to flee, more than a hundred years in the making if the portraits on the wall were accurate. He swallowed, and she tried not to watch his throat move as he did, tried to blunt herself to his otherworldly beauty.

The moon had made her children something truly incredible to behold, impossible to believe really existed.

“In the night-” He started, his accent thick, his eyes finally leaving her and looking down. He looked almost ashamed of himself. It was a strange expression, one he wore uneasily, as if he weren’t used to having regrets. Or didn’t know how to show it.

“I understand,” She said, voice low. “I-”

Nadette was at her elbow, placing a scone on her plate with a beatific smile.

“Thank you, Nadette,” She said politely, and picked the scone up. “As I-... As I was saying, I understand the journey from the colonies is quite arduous this time of year.”

The siren’s eyes moved to Nadette and then back to her. He didn’t bother to even attempt a smile or a lie.

Kira dipped her scone into her coffee. Buttery and with little currants to create bright jeweled beads of tart sweetness, it was incredible.

Then again, Wentworth probably used magic on the best cooks in town, too…

Nadette bustled away again.

“You… understand?” He sounded like he didn’t believe her. She didn’t blame him.

“Of course I do.” She dipped her scone again, then chewed, closing her eyes. “I would do the same, if I could. If it meant getting away from this place. I meant what I said - stop trying to force me and I will do what I can to help you." She took another drink, swallowing a little too fast just to feel the hot coffee burn just a little down her throat.

When she opened her eyes, the siren had a strange, unreadable expression on his face. While she couldn’t begin to say what that look meant, she knew that whatever he thought of her, it was no longer apathy.

“You... are here to make the magic strong on me again,” He said, voice low. Kira tried not to notice he was given no scone, nothing to eat. That Nadette never directly acknowledged him. What did she hear, see, think, feel? Would she even remember this breakfast later in the day?

Would she remember this moment, later, or would it be taken from her?

The thought sent a frisson of cold up and down her spine and she straightened up, nervously pressing her lips together. She met the siren’s gaze. “I know. I think… I think I am here for more than that, though, aren’t I?” She tried to smile again, but found it faltering this time beneath the weight of her nerves, her fear. Beneath the weight of his eyes.

The siren tipped his chin - not quite a nod, but close enough.

Kira inhaled slowly, held the breath, exhaled over five long, slow beats. Then she sipped her coffee again. “Which of his wives were like me? Any of them? Magicians?”

The siren - Areyto, she had to start thinking of him by a name - looked thoughtful, now. “The second one,” He said, voice low. She felt like his eyes on her face had a tangible weight, and it was a strange, squirming, unfamiliar sort of nerves the idea sent racing up her spine. “And the third. The fourth had no magic, but she was important to my master to have. The sister of the prince’s friend.”

“The now-king?”

“Yes. She had no magic, but she had other things he wanted. With the first, the woman who made me like this for him-”

“Atabei Montgomery.”

He visibly startled, spine straightening as he sat up. “Yes. You know the name?”

“There’s a painting of her in my room-” Kira winced. “In the room I’m being kept in, I suppose. Nadette told me she was-... the first Lady Wentworth’s… companion-”

“Yes. Her lover. They loved one another, as you humans do. Atabei Montgomery came to my master and when he asked her, she made me a slave to the man’s desires. Then she was made into one herself. They both were. But he allowed them to still love each other.” There was no pity in the siren’s voice, for their fates. No regret for what had happened to them. Kira wasn’t sure she blamed him for not mourning, and yet it felt… strange, to see him care so little about his own words.

Then again, he wasn’t human, was he?

“Did she really go mad when her-... when Lady Wentworth died?”

“My master told me she must go mad,” The siren said, emotionless. The words were just sounds he formed, they meant nothing to him, they held nothing within their form and shape. “And so she did. All I did was give her back her mind, and let her know what all had been done to her, to her lover, and what had happened to the child. It was enough."

“Gods above,” She whispered. Her fingers were trembling, holding onto her cup, and she set it down with a clink that was just a little too loud, startling herself and discovering she’d nearly finished her coffee without realizing it.

He might have had a shadow of a smile on his lovely face, for just a second. If he did, it was gone as soon as she looked directly at him again.

“W-wait, the child? Which one?” Her mind raced back to the portrait of the first Lord Wentworth’s happy family, Eliza’s dazed dreamy smile and the sharper, quietly miserable expressions of the children.

“The one Lady Wentworth had before he had me remake her mind,” Areyto replied simply. “There was a daughter who was kind to me.”

“A-and what happened to-”

“I don’t know. I told her to run, and I told my master she was dead.”

Kira nodded. "That was-... kind of you."

"Maybe. If she lived."

"You don't know?"

"No."

"Oh. I-... oh." Nadette was back, refilling her coffee with cheery helpfulness, and she thanked her in a quiet, distracted way. She had a hundred questions, a thousand even, all fighting to be the first she asked.

But then she saw Areyto straighten even more and his eyes go back to his plate, and she knew what it meant.

Then a hand landed, heavy and slightly damp, on the back of her neck. She shot upright, gasping in surprise at the too-familiar touch. “Lord Wentworth!”

“Good morning, Miss Losna,” Guilford Wentworth said, and his fingertips brushed the nape of her neck beneath her heavy braid before he moved away. It felt like he left a smear of some terrible slime behind. She had to catch her breath as he took his seat at the head of the table, Areyto his right and Kira his left. “Did you sleep well?”

She raised her chin, meeting his gaze despite the way her skin still prickled with distaste from the sheer memory of his touch. “No.”

“A pity.” Guilford Wentworth held up his cup and Nadette was already there, pouring fresh coffee, looking as though her life’s ambition was fulfilled now that she was serving the lord and master of the house. It made Kira sick to see it, knowing it wasn’t Nadette’s real mind, her real feelings. “I trust you will find yourself sleeping more easily as time goes by. Everyone does.” He smiled, the slug, he smiled at her as though they kept some private joke together. “And you’ve met my-... son?”

Kira’s nose wrinkled. “I met your siren,” She said, voice flat. “Again.”

He chuckled, sipping his coffee with a sparkle in his eyes that made anger rise in her throat, nearly choking her, especially when his eyes shifted downward and then back up to her face. Openly. Right here in front of-... well, the siren wasn’t human, but Nadette certainly was, and so was Babbage, both of whom were in the room right here, right now, well able to see him ogling her like so much meat in a butcher’s window. “You look quite different when sleeping, Miss Losna. Or is it Mister-”

“It’s Miss,” She said, voice flat as a plain, as hard as a diamond and sparkling with the same icy colorlessness. “So it was you, then?”

“It was.” His slick smile widened. The siren sat in stony silence, but he seemed to shift uneasily. Kira chanced letting her eyes go to him, watching the creature’s gaze cut to the side towards Wentworth himself. Kira saw the way Wentworth’s arm shifted, though, and swallowed as she realized his hand was on the siren’s leg under the table.

She found herself oddly glad he wasn’t touching her, and then felt immediately guilty for being happy he was harming someone else.

“It was me,” Guilford said, and took another sip. “I thought I should get to have a good look at what I will be bringing into my home. I was more than a little surprised at what I found, especially between-”

“Lord Wentworth.” She cut him off sharply and set her chin just so. She would not lose her temper, not here and now, although her skin burned to lash out. He had her magic kit hidden here somewhere, and she had no chance of making it down the road to the city if he did not want her to, not with the high iron fences that encircled his property on the outside. “Such talk is less than polite and I won’t have it.”

Guilford Wentworth’s eyebrows raise nearly to his hairline. He pushed his glasses up and leaned towards her. “I don’t believe this is your home to dictate what we do or do not discuss, Miss Losna.”

At least it was Miss.

She smiled without any warmth or humor - it was closer to baring teeth. “Then I shall take my leave of it and discuss whatever I wish anywhere other than here.”

He paused, and then he burst into laughter, shaking his head back and forth as though she had told an uproarious joke. The siren stayed silent. When cooked eggs and slices of bacon were laid on their plates by Nadette, the siren received only a seared fish, which he stared at with some distaste. “Lovely, Miss Losna. Lovely. I do enjoy having a wife with a sense of humor.”

“You just-...” She hitched in a breath, folding her hands tightly in her lap until the pain of her own grip cleared her mind from the bright flash of fear. “You just tried to say I am not-... wife material, so to speak-”

“You clearly can fix that little problem.” Guilford shrugged.

"I cannot bear children."

That did give him pause, and he considered. "Oh. Well. Mistresses can be had for that purpose. In any case, you are a beautiful woman, Miss Losna. I have had many women, more than a few who used magic or cosmetics to achieve their beauty. And you had a beautiful face without magic, too. It softens, when you sleep.”

“I will try not to be seen sleeping by you again.”

He chuckled. “You will, though. And you’ll thank me for my regard, soon enough.”

Kira tried not to look at the siren, and failed. Areyto did not look back at her, not now. She picked up her fork and stabbed ineffectually at a bit of egg. “We shall see. I suppose I don’t need to tell you that I dislike being held prisoner, no matter how richly decorated my prison cell may be. I do not consent to marriage.”

“No one ever does, at first,” Wentworth replied, waving one hand, dismissing her protest as meaningless in a way that made fury flare inside her. “They all come around. You’ll come around, in the end.”

“Who is it-” She cleared her throat, and hated herself for the way it made her seem weak, the way it made Wentworth grin at her as though he’d won their little game already. “Who is it I will officially marry, Lord Wentworth?”

“My son. Guilford Wentworth the Fifth.”

“And… does the young man actually exist, or…?”

“Of course he does.” Guilford waved his hand, a bit of egg on his fork. “I ensure my bloodline carries on. My children know their money, their power, their place in the world depends on this magic. They will say nothing. And should my son visit and want to meet his bride, I suppose I shouldn’t stop him. Trust me, Miss Losna - you won’t mind by then.”

It was one thing to be told she would marry against her will to this odious monster of a man, but the idea that he should pass her around to his son on some sort of whim, and that she would be happy to be treated like a toy tossed between ham-fisted children, a prize that belonged to anyone with the last name Wentworth... it was too much to bear.

“How dare you,” She hissed.

Kira hadn’t realized she was squeezing the fork until she felt magic sparking through her fingertips and looked down to see the silver melting under her fingers, dripping down over the eggs and bacon. She was breathing hard, chest half-heaving.

When she looked up this time, she caught the siren staring at her openly, eyes wide with surprise.

Even Guilford Wentworth looked shocked at the sight. "How did you do that?"

“How dare-...” She pushed her chair back and stood, chin set and shoulders back. Wentworth’s eyes lingered too long on her chest and she picked up her plate and threw it at him, cooled silver, cold eggs, and bacon flung across the white lace tablecloth and sticking to his perfectly tailored shirt. It hit his face, it flung further even. The chandelier above her head began to sway as if blown by her rage. Candles went out, the drapes fluttered over the windows. “How dare you!”

She turned to storm away, and made it to the doorway before Guilford snapped a command in a low voice and she heard the siren begin to sing a moment later.

This time, there was no slow communication, no pleading, no gentle relaxation. Only the hint of some sort of regret in the song, and then Kira Losna dropped like a stone.

Darkness closed in before she ever hit the floor.

Taglist: @grizzlie70 @burtlederp @finder-of-rings @theelvishcowgirl @whump-for-all-and-all-for-whump @bloodinkandashes @squishablesunbeam @mj-or-say10 @apokolyps @wildfaewhump @shrimpwritings @there-will-always-be-blood @latenightcupsofcoffee

#whump #siren whump #nonhuman whumpee #multiple whumpees #magic whump #fantasy writing #original fantasy #original writing #captivity #creepy whumper #brief transphobia tw #VERY brief and honestly he's just creepy in general #intimate whumper #defiant whumpee #magic #that's one wip done I suppose

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ichigoli · 1 month

Text

Yumi and The Nightmare Painter Shadowbox Master Post 1:

The Yoki-Hijo

I am head over heels for making these Cosmere Shadow Boxes. I would love to find a better mold than the 4" coasters but for now they are so pretty! I don't even know what I'll do with them but for now I'm happy the exist.

To begin, I once again sketched out a design trying to focus on strong silhouettes, and cut out each layer on a different piece of card stock. I decided to go with warm colors to push the heat of Yumi's environment and give some good contrast to the Painter Box coming soon.

Learning from the Mistborn Shadow Box, I was worried about such delicate shapes floating in the resin and messing with the depth. So I tried something that worked out ok with a fabric backing I did for a commission for a friend. I painted the paper cut outs with resin and let them cure on a silicone mat to hopefully give them some more rigidity and less buoyancy in the resin.

I wanted to lean in to the "traditional" vibe that Yumi's side of the story has, so I included real natural elements as part of the resin inclusions.

Real pressed flowers and gravel give the work a more grounded (sorry) element which will contrast nicely with what I have planned for Painter. I also decided to have some fun with it and "stacked" some rocks up the sides. The flowers floating in the sky are such an iconic part of her world that I had to include them.

I didn't take pictures of the individual layers going in this time around because, thanks to the resin painted over each piece, the long curing time between each layer became unnecessary so the process was a lot faster this time around (yay, we're learning!) But you can see the added flowers and some of the gems acting as stand ins for the Hijo floating around the stacks. I know they aren't "book accurate" but I wanted just the tiniest bits of Cyan and Magenta in Yumi's piece. (Keep an eye out for their parallels in Painter's piece)

I'm really fond of the way the resin soaks into the light card stock like water. It creates a very specific kind of translucency that lends itself to the "atmospheric fade" that creates a light illusion of distance and depth.

A quick check through the bottom to preview how it all looks before we add the resin on to the final backing paper layer...

The pale lemon yellow paper pics up a lot of depth from the resin soaking in. I also swirled in the littlest bit of gold luster-dust and a drip of orange ink to the corners for a little depth of color before putting the paper down and more resin over top.

And the final reveal:

A little flat with the simple background, but that's expected. The contrast is exactly what I was hoping for. I mixed a little bit of the glow powder seen beneath the Shadow Box there to help boost the reflectivity of light which can be seen bleeding up around her knees a little bit which I hope helps evoke that heat her land is known for.

When backlit, the rein soaked into the card stock gives the whole scene an almost dreamy quality as the stone stacks fade but Yumi remains stark and crisply focused.

A few close ups of details and how lovely the layering looks peeking through the open spaces.

No preview of Painter yet, I am still trying to puzzle out a good silhouette for him that will show what he's actually doing when he's hunched over a canvas without being able to use internal contours... but I can share that I bought some EL wire and hope to line his piece with real hion lines!... once I figure out how to make the wire Cyan and Magenta along the places I want it to go.

Once Painter is done, I don't plan to stop. Maybe Warbreaker next... or Stormlight, though I have other plans for that behemoth.

Real talk: Anyone who wants to float an idea, I wanna hear it. These are too fun to stop. (I could maybe even be talked into parting with one if the situation arises)

#yumi and the nightmare painter #Cosmere #epoxy resin #paper craft #shadow box #id in alt text #because I love you

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apoptoses · 1 year

Note

It's just occurred to me when re-reading Blood Sanation that Armand notes the other boys did some of the style of artwork he wants to try. I know he feels understandably hesitant at asking Marius but as well as taking classes, maybe he could ask Riccardo too?

(full disclosure- i forget the rules on how ghosts with physical forms work in anne's world and am not fussed enough to open RoA/PL and double check. so just roll with this okay!!)

“This is unbearable,” Armand muttered. He tossed the paintbrush into his bucket of turpentine, hard enough that droplets of the liquid rose into the air and then splashed back down in the bucket.

Across the studio Riccardo sat, curled up on their worn and paint stained sofa. He snapped his book shut. “What’s giving you trouble?”

Armand shook his head. Waved his hand in a vague, dismissive gesture. He would figure out the technique himself. He always did, eventually. There was no need to trouble another with his lack of skills, much less Riccardo, who had tried so kindly to teach him to paint back when he was Amadeo.

As a youth he’d rebuffed all of his attempts. His hands had no longer been the hands of god and so there had been no use, no purpose in being taught. Now- well perhaps he could learn something from Riccardo. Riccardo had always been a patient teacher, rebuffing him would be an awful waste.

It was only that admitting his own failures to him seemed like an exercise in mortification, that was all. No matter how hard he thought on the fact that Daniel would want him to ask for help he couldn’t do it. The words seemed to stick in his throat.

Armand shifted on his stool and looked down at his pale, paint smudged hands. He picked bit of ochre from the base of his nail and ignored Riccardo’s sudden presence behind him.

“It’s unfair of you to do that, you know,” Armand murmured. “Materializing behind me before I can stop you or tell you no.”

“It’s unfair of you not to tell me what’s wrong,” Riccardo said. He rested his chin atop Armand’s auburn head. “It’s a perfectly nice piece. I can’t see what would be making you so upset.”

Strange, having someone material and yet immaterial rest against him. Armand folded his arms across his chest and leaned back against Riccardo’s unnatural corporeal form.

“It’s the highlights in the hair. They look dull. Lifeless. I keep layering paint-“ Armand began.

“And that’s the mistake, adding where you should be taking away. Sgraffito, that’s the technique you should be using. Hand me the palette knife?” Riccardo asked.

Armand grabbed the little metal thing from the table and passed it to Riccardo. He sat back, heavy against Riccardo’s chest and tracked the movement of his hand across the canvas, the way he took the edge of the knife and scratched fine lines into Daniel’s blond hair. Even as a mortal Riccardo’s work had rivaled Marius’s own. What he’d have been able to achieve in life-

Armand couldn’t allow himself to think about it. Better to marvel at the way the spirit remembered such techniques even after the body was gone. It was as if painting was in Riccardo’s soul itself. No muscles for muscle memory were needed at all.

The highlights in Daniel’s hair sprang to life as if by magic, some special skill Armand was unsure he had. The palette knife was so light and precise in Riccardo’s hand, but his own hands-

Such clumsy things, covered in paint. Armand curled his fingers tight into fists.

“See? You try.” Riccardo held the palette knife out. “I believe Rembrandt used the same technique to much success. I remember seeing his work when I followed you and Louis across the globe.”

Armand tilted his chin all the way up so that he could look at Riccardo’s face. Awkward, seeing him from below. His face was distorted by the angle, as bizarre as anything Picasso ever committed to canvas. Riccardo’s grin was wry when he peered down at him in kind.

“So you were following me, even then?” Armand asked.

“Of course. I rarely left your side. It only took some time to become strong enough to materialize,” Riccardo said. He shrugged and wiggled the palette knife in front of Armand’s face, silently demanding he take it. “It’s why I already liked this Daniel you’re so obsessed with before I even properly met him.”

Armand let out a huffy sound. He snatched back the knife and turned his attention back to the painting, pretended to be annoyed even when Riccardo’s hands found their way to massaging at his shoulders.

“I’m not obsessed.”

“Mm, and this isn’t the fifth time I’ve seen you paint him since your lessons began,” Riccardo teased. “Are you going to become like our Master, painting Pandora’s face on every member of a crowd? Will you paint a thousand of Daniel in a stadium one day? Cover your ceilings with putti that all share his face? Imagine, an entire choir of little angels with the face of a grown man staring down at you as you bathe.”

Armand rolled his eyes. “You’re so ridiculous.”

He tilted the knife and copied Riccardo’s movements as best he could, holding his tongue when Riccardo reached out to correct the angle of his wrist.

Scraping away the layers of color he’d already built up- it seemed anathema to him. Like he was committing a crime against his own work. One wrong move and the entire thing would be ruined, for there was no easy way to fill the fine gouges he was making. Even if he painted over them the blemish would show in the wrong light, forever a testament to his lack of skill.

Armand took a deep breath. Briefly, he closed his eyes and focused on his friend’s thumbs working the knots from his shoulders they way they’d always done in Venice. Riccardo had always been too happy to sit him down and absorb the tension that lingered beneath his skin, and Armand hardly minded the distraction.

After all, the longer Riccardo massaged, the longer it was before he had to take the knife to his painting and risk ruining his work. A few more moments, a bit of procrastination- that hardly would hurt anything.

“You know, it’s only natural I use Daniel as my reference. Truly he’s the only one in this entire house that I could convince to sit still long enough to sketch,” Armand said, absently toying with the palette knife as he tipped his head forward and allowed Riccardo to rub at the back of his neck. “The rest of you are all a bunch of miscreants. You would wiggle on purpose just to see me smudge the page.“

“Oh, the great Master, he requires such seriousness in his studio,” Riccardo crowed. “Are you going to finish your painting, Master, or will you hand the knife to me? Marius used to have me complete his works when he tired of them, you know, there’s no shame in keeping a boy to create your art for you-“

Armand thrust a playful elbow back, right into Riccardo’s stomach. Riccardo laughed.

“I would finish it if you would stop distracting me,” Armand said.

Riccardo held up his hands. “Oh, fine. Then I’ll go back to my corner like a scorned child-“

He made as if to walk away but on impulse Armand stuck his hand out, caught his friend by the belt loops.

An image flashed before him- a memory of a sunny morning in Venice, when Amadeo had demanded Riccardo join him in his master’s bed until he was able to fall asleep. Some banter had turned into play fighting, which had turned into Riccardo pretending to leave the bed to return his own room. Amadeo had caught him in just the same way by the hem of his sleep shirt. Please, don’t go. I can’t stand to be left alone here, he’d said; young and unafraid of being so vulnerable.

Armand- he could never say such a thing. He kept his finger hooked in Riccardo’s jeans and looked up at him, as wide eyed and open as he could.

Riccardo’s expression shifted, fell from mirth into something softer, warmer. He sighed, the same playful sound he’d made when Amadeo had begged him back into bed, and turned back. Without missing a beat he took up his position behind Armand again, hands resting dutifully on his shoulders, chin atop his head.

“Why are you so hesitant to try?” Riccardo asked, just as the tension began to creep back into Armand’s posture. “Really you only need to adjust a few more places. Around his face, where the light is strongest- that’s all.”

Armand shrugged. “I just hate the idea of ruining it, I suppose.”

“But you won’t. If you make a mistake you just fill it in. Who cares if it’s still visible when the thing is dried? It’ll just serve as a reminder of the evening you spent learning with me. And that’s worth remembering, isn’t it?” Riccardo asked.

Well. When he put it that way.

Armand nodded. He felt Riccardo’s chin rub against his head with the motion and in spite of himself he smiled. Took up the palette knife again and dragged it over the hair dangling in his painted Daniel’s eyes, forever loose and tousled where Armand had cut it before his death.

Daniel before him, Riccardo behind. What a pair to be caught between. His immortal lover and his eternal best friend. Nowhere else could Armand be so safe.

With a quick, confident stroke he peeled back the paint on Daniel’s forehead, revealing the underpainting in suggestion of a few fly away hairs. Scraped away a few fine lines at the crown of his head as well, one by his cheek and then-

“Another great work from my dear Master,” Riccardo said warmly. “Next you’ll have to paint me.”

Armand huffed out a laugh.

“I could never paint you. You’d heckle me the entire time, it would come out a mess. I’d have to do it in a surrealist style just as an excuse for how warped you’d appear,” Armand teased. “And Riccardo? Don’t call me Master. I’m not your master at all.”

Riccardo’s hands drifted up to Armand’s cheeks, cupping his face in them so gently as he guided him to tilt his head back. Armand’s hand fell, wet palette knife dangling at his side.

Riccardo looked so strange from this angle. Still so very handsome. He was, perhaps, the first crush a young Amadeo ever had, even before he’d been introduced to beautiful Bianca. Riccardo knew all of his secrets, had been his first kiss. Had followed him as a spirit until he could be back at his side. He was Armand’s first and most faithful, loving friend.

“No. You’re my Amadeo,” Riccardo said. “Always and forever.”

Strange, being kissed by one who was neither alive nor dead; all spirit or all flesh. It was like kissing a man made from water vapor, like if Armand pressed his mouth up too hard he might pass right through Riccardo’s warm face and come to rest right inside him.

He tilted his head back, turned on his stool to get closer. Armand closed his eyes just as Riccardo’s fingers found their way into his hair and began to rub at his scalp now, that secret weak spot he’d discovered when they were teenagers and Riccardo was desperate to find a way to help him to fall asleep.

Armand let out a quiet sigh. Let himself get lost in memories and then, reached while Riccardo was well and truly distracted and-

“Hey!”

Armand was so quick with the palette knife, there was no chance for Riccardo to react. He had no hope of defending himself against the daub of paint Armand smeared across his cheek; bright yellow on warm brown skin.

“You had me making improvements to my art, so I thought I should make some improvements to you in turn. To say thank you for your instruction,” Armand said, serious as he could. His mouth ached with the desire to laugh at Riccardo’s exasperated pout. “What? Are you going to say you’ll never help me again now?”

Riccardo shook his head. He wiped at his cheek, then wiped his paint covered fingers on the rag Armand kept on his table of supplies.

“No. I’ll always help you,” Riccardo said, so soft Armand’s chest flooded with warmth.

Yes. Riccardo would be here for eternity, just as Louis and Daniel and Lestat and Bianca. Never again would Armand be alone. There would always be one to turn to for help, if only he made sure to bring himself to ask.

Riccardo’s grin turned devious as he picked up a paintbrush. “But when it comes to improvements, well- I can think of several you could use.”

This time when Armand’s knife found its way into the bucket of turpentine it wasn’t with frustration, but with his laughter ringing through the room.

#i thought this would be more fun to answer in fic format #i'll pop it on ao3 later #but for now just enjoy it here ♥#i love them being cute and sweet and friends who kiss #armand #riccardo #armand/riccardo #vampire chronicles #vc fic #apoptoses fic

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christallise · 2 years

Note

Ooooh congrats on your milestone sweetie, I'm happy for you, your work is very fresh to read and i love how you word different sensations<3 may I please request a dom faery!Changbin finding a photographer!reader (afab) in the woods with the prompt: “You know, I could always get you off right here, right now.” please? Or you can scratch off the faery concept if you want. Hope Tumblr doesn't eat my ask jdjsjdjd Thank you in advance! ☁️

hi there!! thank you so much for the kind compliment, i sincerely appreciate 💕 i hope this is what you were looking for!! i had to cut this for length cause i could seriously have written a whole fic about it nevermind a drabble hehe!! maybe one day ;;

“You know, I could always get you off right here, right now.”

Deep in the hidden reaches of the High Forest, bordered by messy brambles and mossy fauna that stretches as far as one’s eyes can see; you find yourself lost. After hours of aimless wandering through winding paths that disappear and reappear through leafy shrubs, you finally find an opening in the trees; a grove with an oasis situated in its centre and you thank the Gods that the undergrowth here has waned. Though you are lost, at least the vermillion sunset casts the perfect canvas for your photography; finding your way back becomes a passing thought in the back of your mind. The golden hour provides you with photos anyone would envy and you’re sure that you would make a hefty amount of coin for them.

It’s just as you’re beginning to pack up your things and venture back into the thicket of trees that you hear a sound not unlike an arrow striking a tree. Curiosity gets the better of you and you venture towards the sound, clutching your trusty dagger in your fist. As you approach the source of the noise, you begin to feel a sense of dread and contemplate turning back.

“‘Miss?”

You almost jump out of your skin, spinning on your heels only to be faced with a dark haired man a quite a bit taller than yourself with pointed ears adding at least two inches to his height. He looks at you with curious eyes, his head lopped to the side. When he gets a good look at you, his eyes widen.

“You’re a human?” he says with a bite of his lip, “What’s a little human doing this far into the forest when it’s so unsafe?”

You’re aware of this, which is why you back away slowly from the creature; you’d heard of the fae that roam these woods but never did you consider actually bumping into one. As you back away, he takes a step forward.

“I’ve never met a human before,” he muses, eyeing you with fascination, “So cute and small.”

“Thank you?” You say because that’s all your mind will allow. When he chuckles darkly, you wonder just what you’ve stepped into.

“Changbin,” he says while outstretching his hand, “and you are?”

“Y/n,” you say, taking the handshake.

“And what are you doing so deep into these woods?”

“Taking pictures,” you say, motioning towards the camera slung around your neck, “It’s breathtakingly beautiful here.”

Changbin nods in agreement, his ears bobbing gently. “True, though, I can think of something even more beautiful than this.”

“Oh?”

“A little human lost in the forest,” he says with a smirk, leaning against the bark of a nearby tree, “Human’s really are something else.”

You’re at a loss for words as Changbin neatly crosses his arms over his chest and your attention falls on just how built he is; his arms threaten to tear at the fabric of his shirt. Locals at the inn had talked about how tiny and delicate the fae are, Changbin seems to be a rare breed.

“You need to find your way home, don’t you little one?”

Changbin asks and when you nod, he grins. “Tell you what, I’ll cut you a deal.”

You decide to hear the fae out, despite their trickster nature. Deep down, you know it’s going to be something self-indulgent but you have no way home and if you are honest with yourself, Changbin is very much your type.

“I get you off, right here, right now,” Changbin says nonchalantly, shrugging his shoulders, “Then I show you the way home, what do you say?”

Of course. You know you could probably find your own way home but something is so tantalising about Changbin’s offer. You mull over your options; something feels so strange but so exhilarating about fooling around with a stranger in the woods. “Alright, deal.”

That’s how you two end up tangled in each other’s arms, lips smacking and tongues tied together as Changbin’s hands roam every inch of your skin. The fae wastes no time in making quick work of your shirt, yanking it over your head and cupping your tits in his hands. You moan into the kiss, feeling your underwear dampen as his fingers pinch and pull at your nipples.

“You are so loud,” he’s prideful but it only furthers your arousal, something about the way he smiles so wickedly makes the knot in your stomach tie tighter. “You like getting off where you could be caught?”

“N-no one comes through here,” your argument is as feeble as your attempt to stifle your moans as his hand slips beneath the waistband of your underwear, “We won’t get caught.”

Changbin laughs, dipping his finger into your folds, circling your clit with a gentle pressure. “There are other fae around, you know. Any one of them could wander over here and see you all messy just for me.”

He’s right but it only spurs you on; the adrenaline courses through your veins as Changbin’s pace quickens on your bud. You’re so close already, you can feel the familiarity of heat pooling in your stomach and then — he withdraws his hand and you mewl, whimpering like a pup.

“Are all humans this easy?” You don’t have a chance to answer, his fingers push into your mouth with a force that makes you almost gag. “Suck.”

Compliant and keen to please, you do so with resolve. Even with Changbin’s fingers so painfully deep down your throat, you maintain composure. Your tongue twirls around them, coating them in saliva in preparation of what is to come. Changbin watches you with dazzled eyes, absolutely spellbound by how well you’re doing. “That’s it,” he says, watching as your throat takes his fingers to the knuckle, “Fuck you’re incredible.”

Satisfied with the preparation of his fingers, he returns to your core and slips a finger inside you; grinning when you hurriedly clasp your hands over your mouth.

“Don’t want to be loud now, hm?” he asks, adding a second finger to the mix and hooking them so perfectly against your spot and pumping them in rhythm. “Such a shame, you sound so pretty when you moan.”

Now you’re definitely at his mercy, your body slumps against the tree as he works magic on you — he slips two fingers inside you easily, curling so expertly against your spot. You’re writhing, thrashing in want and fighting to keep yourself standing while Changbin scoffs in arrogance behind you. “Look how well you take it,” he says, unable to hide his smugness when you hiss through your teeth, “So easy, aren’t we?” And he’s right — you cannot argue in your current state. Especially not when he adds a third finger to the mix, relentlessly pounding against your spot as you grab hold of him for dear life. He’s laughing now, watching you split at the seams as you cum hard around his fingers, inciting you as you do. “Fuck, you’re clenching so hard aren’t you? Cumming for me like a good girl.”

When you fall from your high, it’s both mental and physical; your body slumps limp against the tree and Changbin simply watches in devious pleasure, beaming with pride.

“Aw, tired out?” he asks with a grin, watching as you wearily stand and attempt to make yourself presentable again. When you feebly nod, it makes him chuckle.

“Next time, I wanna feel that pretty mouth on my cock.”

#ask response #cloud anon ☁️#smut drabble #changbin smut #skz smut #stray kids smut #changbin x reader #changbin x y/n #skz x reader #skz x y/n #changbin req

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amatchinwater · 2 years

Text

(Mark Stiles confused and horny)

Pairing: Briles

Characters: Stiles Stilinski, Brett Talbot, Liam Dunbar, Satomi Ito

Warnings: explicit sexual content, rimming, anal fingering, anal sex, semi-public sex (home alone, but in the kitchen), marking,

Words: 2168

Kinktober: Praise Kink

Ao3 link Masterlist

I'm so sorry I didn't post this yesterday, I worked literally all day and by the time I got home it seemed too late to do it. So, sorry for that!

---

The first time it happened, Stiles didn’t really understand what it had meant. It was innocent enough and he didn’t think twice about it. It was during practice one day. Liam, his brother, was on goalie, Brett was in his typical position to play the face-off, and Stiles kind of had free range. Suddenly, the wolf had tossed him the ball and Stiles actually caught it. Then, surprising everyone including himself, when Stiles shot for the goal, he actually made it. Liam wasn’t even close to catching it.

“Nice shot.”

That’s all Brett had said accompanied with a nod of approval.

Stiles? He blushed. Really badly. To the point that he’s certain his helmet did nothing to distort the shade of his cheeks.

The second time? Stiles was crystal clear on what was going on.

Sitting in his room, Stiles was on a stool in front of his easel, painting the part of the preserve his open window allowed him to see. Satomi lives in a beautiful home not far off from where Derek lives. As a kid, Stiles didn’t realize just how far the preserve stretched. That its end actually went well into the next town. Born wolf or not, it’s hard to distinguish the size of woods when you’re just running for fun at night.

Stiles dips his brush into the evergreen hue he’d mixed and raises it to the canvas, adding in a bit more shadow he’d missed the first time. After cleaning it and switching to a soft yellow to add the sun rays, the wolf smells Brett near his room. His ears picking up the other Beta stepping up behind him. Stiles just hadn’t realized how close the other wolf was is all.

“It’s beautiful,” Brett’s deep voice sounds off merely inches from his ear. The wolf’s limbs lock up and he narrowly saves himself from smearing yellow paint across the whole canvas. Heat trailing down his spine when the other Beta continues, “you’re really good at painting and yet it never ceases to amaze me.”

“I-” Stiles stops, clearing the lump from his throat. “Thank you,” he says, trying to play off that he’s not even remotely affected by Brett’s words. Realizing that without a doubt, he likes being told he’s good at things. Stiles likes being praised. And given the warmth pooling in his gut, he absolutely gets off on it. Or maybe it’s just Brett doing that.

Now, he’s not stupid. Or even a little blind. Stiles is more than aware of how attractive Brett is. He’s had a crush on the blonde practically since Satomi took him in after the fire that killed his parents when he was young. Bonding over their shared trauma of losing their parents in similar ways and having the same Alpha save them, Stiles grew close to Brett quicker than anyone else in the house. Even Satomi. And she’s his Alpha and for all intents and purposes, his mother.

Stiles tries his best to ignore the feelings he has for the other wolf. Really, he does. Brett is very good at pushing people’s buttons for fun. It’s something they bond over. But also another reason the wolf tries to pretend he doesn’t feel anything. If Brett can so easily toy with someone just to get a rise out of them, why wouldn’t the things he’s told Stiles just be for the sake of making him squirm? Not because he feels the same way.

Best friends or not.

He also likes to think that he does a really good job at it too. Because as far as the wolf knows, Brett doesn’t suspect a thing. Or at least if he does, the other Beta hasn’t put him through the humiliation of voicing it.

Stiles bounds down the steps of the house, enjoying how quiet it is with everyone gone for the day. The wolf passed all of his finals early, so he doesn’t have to be at school with the rest of them. He gets the whole house to himself to relax and just exist in peace and-

“Hey there,” Brett eyes him up and down from where he’s leaning against the kitchen island.

“Oh my god,” Stiles jolts, clutching his chest. How in the hell had he been that far in his head that he didn’t hear the other wolf’s heartbeat? “How long have you been home?” He asks, trying to brush off being terrified.

“Long enough to have heard you singing in the shower,” the other Beta snickers. Stiles blanches and pointedly ignores him, focusing on his initial task of getting a drink. Bending down to grab a water bottle from the bottom of the fridge, he hears the other wolf rumble in his chest. “Don’t you look good today?”

Stiles trembles at his words, standing up stalk straight. Turning around to find the other wolf right in front of him, his back hits the refrigerator door. He chokes trying to say a word, which one he’s unsure of.

“You like being praised?” Brett asks, voice dropping honey thick.

Fingers failing, Stiles drops the water bottle. Eyes fluttering, he gulps and nods. If he speaks, the wolf doesn’t trust what he might say or how it would possibly sound. Vocal chords more than a little constricted and air having a dangerously hard time making it into his lungs.

Brett cups his neck, tilting Stiles’ jaw with his thumb, “what if I said that you were a good boy? Would that do it too?” The wolf chokes on his whine, amber eyes dilating. Brett chuckles, pleased with himself too. He corrects himself on a whisper, “what about my good boy?” Stiles’ knees damn near buckle. The other wolf hums, “you wanna be good for me, baby?”

“Don’t-” Stiles swallows with a click, trying to gain some control over the situation. As if that were fucking possible with how close Brett is. The way his cologne is flooding Stiles’ senses like a lure. The other wolf’s breath tickling his cheeks sends a shiver down his spine. “Don’t play with me like this. Please,” the wolf mutters. He can’t handle that; the other Beta doing this just for fun. Stiles might implode.

“With you?” Brett asks, stepping fully into the wolf’s space so he has to crane his neck to remain eye contact. “Never,” he says, lips slamming onto Stiles’.

Please, don’t ask Stiles to remember how to breathe. He’s lucky his mouth starts moving against the other wolf’s at all with his shock. The minute his fingers curl into the other Beta’s shirt to pull him closer, Brett grabs his thighs, lifting him to loop his legs around his waist. The other wolf turns them, placing Stiles onto the island counter, grinding their hips together.

“So pretty,” Brett kisses into his jaw, painting his words across the wolf’s skin. His teeth nip at the exposed crook of Stiles’ neck making him mewl. Their cocks rubbing together perfectly, his eyes roll back. “Mine now, gorgeous,” he rumbles in his chest, “all mine.”

“Fuck,” Stiles gasps, blunt teeth marking his neck at will. He’s surely going to be a mess of purple and red tomorrow, supernatural healing be damned. “Brett,” he sighs.

“I know,” the other Beta says, dropping to his knees in front of him. That punches all of the air out of Stiles’ lungs. That’s not a sight he’d ever thought he’d get to see. But here it is crystal clear. Brett makes short work of unbuttoning his jeans, Stiles lifting his hips to help him pull them and his boxers off.

Half expecting Brett to just blow him, the wolf is more than a little surprised when he’s yanked just over the edge of the counter, his legs being spread, and Brett’s tongue pushing into his ass. Stiles moans, throwing his arms out to catch himself from falling backwards, his head slumping to his shoulders.

“Fuck,” he groans, earning himself a chuckle and a finger joining the other wolf’s tongue.

Leaning back, Brett spits on his hole, quickly able to add a second. Of course he can, Stiles thought he was home alone, his shower was to clean himself off from fingering himself. “Just as sweet as I thought you’d taste,” the other Beta purrs, sucking his balls into his mouth while hooking and spreading his fingers.

Stiles half hears the other wolf unbuckling his own pants before another finger slides into him so easily. The sound echoing in Stiles’ ears as Brett pumps them faster, his moans reaching a higher pitch when he finds the bundle of nerves. The wolf’s legs twitch, the warmth of Brett’s tongue trailing up his obscenely leaking shaft settling right in his core. Only able to watch Brett suck the clear liquid from his cockhead. He needs the other wolf inside of him so badly it hurts.

Something Brett seems very on board with, removing his fingers and rushing to his feet. The other Beta spits into his palm and Stiles just watches him stroke his cock. One hand steadies himself on the wolf’s waist, the other pointing his dick at Stiles’ stretched hole. Blue green eyes stare right into him as he slams his cock in deep. Stiles gasps out his moan, eyes flickering gold at the other wolf, his own responding in kind.

“Shit,” Brett huffs, pressing their foreheads together, claws pinching into his waist to keep himself steady. “Fucking hell,” he chuckles, reaching up to cup Stiles’ face with both hands making him look up. Shaking him lightly, Brett laughs again, “you feel fucking amazing.” Ever so slowly, he pulls out, dropping his hands back to Stiles’ hips, looking down where they’re connected, Brett pushes back inside just as slowly. “Look at you,” he almost sounds amazed as he does it again, “swallowing me up so well, gorgeous. So fucking well,” he repeats, thrusting faster.

“Oh my god,” Stiles moans deep in his throat, the end a growl. Had it not been for the bruising hold on his hips, the wolf would’ve fallen back on the island. Good thing Brett is competent enough to hold him because he doesn’t slow his thrusts at all, apparently in the same mindset of Stiles in needing to get off as quickly as possible. With the way the other Beta rams into his prostate, this is going to be over startlingly quickly. He doesn’t even have it in him to feel embarrassed about it.

Brett had apparently been talking through the snapping of his hips and Stiles had heard next to none of it. Catching only, “-just fucking you on the field. Made me imagine it was my number you were wearing too while I did it so everyone knew- fuck,” he growls, claiming Stiles’ mouth before he has a chance to respond to any of the information just given.

It’s kind of amazing to know that someone as calm and collected as Brett is half crazed and losing himself over Stiles. It’s a power trip and wildly flattering all in one fell swoop. That the soon to be Alpha could barely hold himself together from fucking Stiles during practice. “Brett, Brett, please,” the wolf moans into the other’s mouth. He needs to cum so badly, the fire in his abdomen is burning him painfully from the inside out.

The other wolf pulls back, golden eyes blazing, “you gonna be my good boy and cum?” Brett asks with a sexy smirk. Stiles can only whimper and nod, wrapping his hand around his dick and pumping it vigorously. Desperately. Just the way he’s always liked it. “Look at you,” Brett moans, lips curling in an approving grin, lifting the wolf’s hips off the counter fucking into him harder. “Come on, gorgeous, cum for me.”

Like he needs to be told twice. The coil inside of him snaps, cum shooting from his cock, spilling on his hand and shirt. Stiles moans loudly through it, the bundle of nerves inside of him growing over sensitive from the perfect abuse of the other Beta’s dick.

“That’s my good fucking boy,” Brett praises, emphasizing each word with a hard slam of his hips. On the last, the other wolf pushes in balls deep, filling Stiles with his cum. The warmth spreads through him, making Stiles smile lazily and hum. Brett peppers tender kisses on his mouth as he pulls out, a wonderful distraction for the not so fun feeling.

But then Brett’s cum drips out of his ass and Stiles can’t help but smile all over again. Worth it if you ask him. The lust fueled haze clears and the wolf looks up to fond blue green eyes, “yours, huh?”

“Yeah,” Brett grins, pinching his hips, “mine. Problem?”

“Not at all,” Stiles sputters a laugh, kissing the other wolf.

“We should probably clean this up before Satomi comes home and kills us,” Brett reminds him of where exactly they chose to have sex.

“Too late,” her voice says from just outside the kitchen.

Shit.

#briles #stiles stilinski #brett talbot #brett x stiles #stiles x brett #teen wolf #kinktober vol. 2 #Match Writes

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thesilentmedium · 1 year

Text

Little Goodbyes || Zane & Jonas

Timing: The night after Broken Wings Parties: @rn-zane & @thesilentmedium Content Warnings: None Location: The Ballard Home Summary: Zane lets Jonas know he's leaving

The door opened and the large dog slipped inside, tail wagging as she dropped a canvas bag, full of items Zane had requested, into his lap. Jonas wasn’t far behind, setting his keys on the end table in the hallway before going to check on his guest. “I am home.” He smiled, taking a seat near the couch before stretching his arms. He had been careful not to use his left arm all day but that did not stop the amount of business that had rolled in. He was ready for a warm bath and a good nap but Zane came first and the other had expressed the desire to see his arm as soon as he got home.

“I am sorry I took so long to get home, the uh people in the pharmacy were a little concerned with Blue. I think I need to have her a vest made.” Though Jonas wasn’t sure adding a vest to Blue would change how people approached the big dog. “How was your day?” He had to stop texting once things got busy in the bakery. It was good though the business kept him from worrying if the other man was comfortable or keeping off his leg.

Jonas barely knew Zane, but still he couldn’t help worrying about someone who came to him hurt. It also didn’t help that he knew someone was actively out to hurt his… friend? Were they close enough to be friends at this point? He thought so. One didn’t just get bit for a stranger. It did help that Zane was also just so kind and as much as Jonas had worried about the other it seemed to be returned. It also helped that he felt calm around the other man even after learning he was a vampire. In fact he thought he was taking the news rather well for someone who had yet to meet one before.

—

Zane felt immensely guilty. More guilty, to be accurate, since leaving Jonas’s house after the kind offer was only piling onto the already sinking pile of guilt from the previous night. He knew, or at least thought, it was the right thing to do but it still felt bad. Blue had gone out a little while ago, meaning that Jonas was due home any second. Zane had repacked the bag he’d brought with him last night, most of it finally dry, and was waiting tensely on the couch when he heard the door open. Despite his nerves, he couldn’t help but smile when Blue dropped the bag for him. “Good girl,” he murmured, patting the big head.

Waiting until Jonas was comfortable and looking at him, Zane offered his best attempt at a smile. “Don’t worry about it. Let’s check out your arm.” Motioning for the other man to hand over his arm, Zane started to slowly unwrap the bandages, feeling dread build up with every twist that he loosened until the two perfect puncture marks (and the horrible, finger shaped bruise) came into view. “Day was uneventful. Good to have Blue,” he replied distractedly as he dug into the bag, handling Jonas’s arm like it was extremely fragile.

He knew he wasn’t meeting the other’s gaze on purpose, wondered how long it would take the inquisitive man to notice, but at least he could pretend it was just because he was focused on disinfecting the wound. “Looks pretty good. Guess vampire saliva doesn’t have the same bacteria as humans or you’d need a big dose of antibiotics.” He was talking without much thinking now, wondering how he was going to break the news to Jonas that he was staying somewhere else, that he didn’t have to worry but that Zane wouldn’t be around if something bad happened, either.

—

Jonas took note of the way Zane kept his eyes from his face and the packed bag sitting next to him. It wasn’t hard to figure out what was going on. Zane was leaving. Jonas could feel the good mood he had built up on the way home drop. He really should have seen this coming. Zane and he were practically strangers, one conversation at a cafe and finding out the man was a vampire hardly changed that. In fact it made more sense for Zane to want to leave to go somewhere more familiar than it did for the man to want to stay by his side just because Jonas was worried about the other’s still healing wounds.

“I cannot see what you are saying if you do not look up at me.” Jonas, waited for the other to place the fresh bandages on his arm before pulling it back gently, so Zane would lift his head.”If it is about leaving then I understand. If it is alright though I would ask you to keep in touch so I know you are okay.” Maybe Jonas was worrying too much, he had always been the sort to do so. He found it had gotten worse with the disappearance of his family. Zane wasn’t disappearing though, he was simply going somewhere else, somewhere that could probably take better care of a vampire than he could.

—

Of course Jonas called him out on not even looking him in the eye. And of course he did it in that gentle way of his that only made Zane feel worse about the whole thing. With some reluctance, he did finally raise his head, seeing the knowing look in Jonas’s eyes before the other man spoke. Zane had never been known for being subtle and his attitude and packed bag had clearly not gone unnoticed. “It’s not that I don’t appreciate the offer, I really do,” he started quickly, wanting to make the man’s disappointed expression go away. Even though he didn’t quite understand why Jonas wanted him to stay, whether it was just some sense of needing to or because he cared. The former Zane could understand but the latter… well, Jonas barely knew him.

Taking a deep breath, he continued. “I don’t think it’s… safe. For you, I mean.” Brown eyes flickered down to the newly bandaged wound, jaw clenching. “I don’t want to hurt you but there’s still some parts of me I still can’t… it’s all new and I don’t want you getting mixed up in all this.” Zane averted his gaze again for a moment, swallowing thickly. “You’ve already done way more than you should have.”

—

“I am a little sad I will not uh be getting to teach you sign language.” Jonas had been looking forward to it, having someone else to sign with would have been very enjoyable but he also knew it was mostly his anxiety making him upset over the sudden departure. Or that was what he was choosing to blame it on. He had no right to tell Zane to stay just to make himself feel better and he wouldn’t. “I hope where you are going is able to um help you more than I can.”

Jonas took note of where Zane was looking and was taking in the others words and they made sense. Zane was new to this apparently and if movies were anything to go by a young vampire who couldn’t control their urges tended to be dangerous. He did wish Zane would stop feeling guilty about the bite though. It wasn’t something the other man could have helped, the need for blood to heal was just part of who he was now. “I do hope you come to me if you are in trouble again though, if you need an escape and the bite you um well you-” Jonas could feel his cheeks heat up as he continued, “Well I did not mind it it um did not well it-” It was his turn now to look away. “It felt nice. But I do understand that doing it again would be dangerous but um… You did not hurt me and I do still want to be involved with you as a friend and to help when I can. Even if um-” He gestured to his arm hoping to get his point across, “You do not need to do that again.”

—

Disappointment hang heavy in the air and right about now Zane wished for the comfort of Blue’s fur that had been keeping him from going insane the whole day. No matter the reason, his leaving was making Jonas unhappy and if it wasn’t for the fact that he really and truly thought staying somewhere else was necessary, the vampire would have changed his mind by now. If only to lighten the mood because this was torture.

Subtlety had never been Zane’s strong suit and as much as he’d dreaded turning down the offer to stay here, a discussion on the bite was something he’d liked even less. So why had he looked at the stupid bandages? Jonas was fumbling with his words, doing exactly what Zane had figured he would do; try and lessen the guilt and offer to do it again. He was too nice and despite strange circumstances making them weirdly close these last couple of days, the vampire still couldn’t see just how he was worthy of that offer. His mouth had already opened to protest but it was no use since Jonas was looking away now, face flushing and the words he spoke slowly settled in.

The silence that followed was almost suffocating, every plan that Zane had formed to politely turn down the offer and make sure the other knew it wasn’t necessary vanished into thin air at the confession. The blushing wasn’t helping much, either, making the younger man completely lost for words. It felt nice. This was completely uncharted territory and even if he took out the whole vampire aspect of it, it was still territory he was… rusty at, to say the least. After what was probably way too long and awkward of a wait, Zane finally moved a hand to his chin and signed a very shaky and tentative ‘thank you.’ After a few more moments passed, he finally trusted his voice enough to not break from stress, even though Jonas wouldn’t even have noticed if it did. “And I promise to keep you updated. If you do the same.”

—

Silence was something Jonas lived with everyday, it shaped his life and how he had to navigate the world. But this? This particular silence was killing him, slowly. Why had he opened his mouth? Why did he have to say that? Did Zane think he was weird now? I mean he must, given what Jonas just admitted. The taller man had to see him as some sort of pervert with a bite fetish now. The worst part is he wouldn’t be wrong. There had to have been better ways to make Zane stop fussing over a bite Jonas willingly partook in but it was too late now and despite his embarrassment the awkwardly signed thanks seemed to suggest that it had actually worked. Especially since the other man seemed to change topic completely and was no longer looking at his arm.

Jonas signed a quick and confused “You’re welcome.” back before clearing his throat and doing his best to actually look at Zane’s lips again which he was now more painfully aware of than before. “I um yes of course. I can always text you before going to work.” He could still feel the flush on his face and really wished it would go away. “But um is it alright to ask where you are going?” He was sure his voice sounded more off than usual. He could feel the way it came out of his throat, it wasn’t normal. “I um do not mean to seem like I am prying. It is quite alright if you do not want to tell me.” Really Jonas was starting to think it would be better for the other to go now so he could let out the scream trapped in his throat over doing something so embarrassing to a new friend.

—

Despite the change in subject, tension still felt thick between the two and for a moment, Zane wondered why he hadn’t just told the other man about his departure over text and left. Obviously, he hadn’t done that because that would have been rude and mean but right about now, it almost seemed like a better option considering how Jonas was squirming. Not that Zane could have predicted the conversation taking this particular turn. He wouldn’t linger on it or the fact that he’d turned down the very generous offer of feeding again, which was currently feeling like a stupid idea. A noble one but not one he was overly fond of at the moment.

“Of course you can ask. It’s a vampire I met when… well, we met on accident but she’s been really kind and helpful. Offered me to stay for a bit while my leg gets back to normal, help me with food and stuff.” The smile that followed still held some of the awkwardness that lingered but it was genuine. “Just for safety. She’s great but if it was an option, I would definitely much rather stay here with you and Blue. Especially since it sounds like your sister could use a live in nurse after our chat online.”

Zane paused for a moment, wanting to make sure that Jonas really understood how grateful he was for the kindness he’d been showed. To make sure he knew that he wasn’t just accepting all that kindness with no intention of hanging out when there wasn’t a crisis. “Anyway, we’re still definitely on for all of that other stuff. ASL classes and hanging out in the yard. I’ll need something to do until I can get back to work or I’ll go crazy.”

—

“Oh! That is um good. I am glad she is able to help you. She probably knows of uh less..” Jonas moved his hands trying to think of the word, “Upsetting? Ways to feed you.” Jonas smiled back, less awkward than his counterpart and reached over to pat Zane’s hand, “That is very sweet of you to say. I am glad you got to talk to Lil! She is lovely, and you are right she could use a live-in nurse who can do more than just clean and put a bandaid on her scrapes.”

“Well if your friend is okay with me coming over to visit I will be happy to go there to teach you sign. As for hanging out in the backyard, it really should wait until your leg is better. If you happen to um need to go inside it would be rough if your leg is not healed.” Jonas pulled his hand away and leaned back, “I am free to talk in the mornings and evening though if you need a chat.”

—

The warm hand on his own came with a jolt of electricity; even though the blush on Jonas’s face had started to fade now, the image was still seared into Zane’s brain. “I’m sure you’re doing a great job keeping her in one piece,” he reassured, half-thankful that the comforting hand didn’t linger. He needed to get out of here, have Sofie help him with some food and get his stupid head on straight. Trying to decipher what exactly was making him so antsy wasn’t helping since the current top runners were… well, not something you thought about regarding friends.

“I’ll definitely check but I won’t be staying that long. Would be nice for the two of you to meet, though. You’re both incredibly sweet so at least you’ll have that in common.” Zane glanced towards the windows, brightness still seeping in. “You will have to put up with me for a few more hours, though… If you help me wrap my leg up a little better we can… I don’t know, do something normal? Watch a movie or something until the sun goes down? Unless you have something to do, obviously…”

—

Jonas couldn’t help the little chuckle that escaped him, “I do my best but she also does her best to get into trouble. It is fun though, when she does, as long as she comes out unharmed.” He would never try to change his twin; she was great how she was. Though now that he thought about it if there was one thing he could change it would be her attraction to dangerous women. He would never stop stressing over the many times he has had to persuade her to not go for the ladies with a dozen angry ghosts attached to them.

“Oh! Well then um when you leave her house we can do the lessons. She sounds wonderful already, for being sweet.” Really it made Jonas feel even better to know Zane was going to someone so kind. “I do not mind helping you, or watching a movie.I will have to go upstairs to get the laptop but let us get your leg wrapped first.” He moved to situate himself on the couch following any instructions given. Once that was all said and done, all it took was a quick trip upstairs and a few cords plugged in before the laptop screen was showing on the tv and Jonas was pulling up his movie folder. “Let me know if you see one you like.” He handed the mouse to Zane as he settled on the couch next to him, pulling up the bag of snacks he got earlier from the pharmacy.

—

It was strangely serene, talking Jonas through getting the makeshift cast all set up around his leg and Zane was thankful for how good of a distraction from their previous discussion it seemed to be. Jonas did the task with the same amount of care and precision the vampire had started to notice in everything the other man did. It was easy to get comfortable once everything was put away and despite the circumstances leading up to it, it seemed the two of them were finally getting to spend a normal time together.

“Thanks,” he replied, smiling softly and settling into the couch. There was no way for him to actually focus enough to make a pick from the movies, settling on one of the top ones. It took a surprising amount of time for Jonas’s breathing to deepen and soon enough, Zane felt the soft weight of a head sink onto his shoulder. The sun had been gone for a good while before he finally relinquished the comfort of the couch, not daring to wake Jonas from the peaceful nap. With a quick note of thank you left on Jonas’s laptop, Zane snuck out with a soft smile still stuck on his face.

#zane #writing #rnzane

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minbinchan · 1 year

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hello :3 could you make a tutorial on your hyunjin day gfx please :3

oh wow! sure, i don't make gfx that don't have gifs much so my process is kind of a mess but i'll try to make it a bit understandable! lol

basic photoshop understanding is needed here, like knowing how to use layer masks & clipping mask the most, also how to cut the background of pictures!

we're making this!

under the cut bc it's kind of image heavy, if something isn't clear pls let me know so i can explain better <3

I started on a blank canvas of 540x600px and colored the background with the shade of pink i wanted to work with, on top of that i added a half tone texture image i found online (i think from deviantart? or maybe another place idk) changed it's blending mode to lighten, adjusted the size and then reduced the opacity of that layer so it didn't look too much in my face. this is what we have so far (ignore the cyan lines, it's only a guide to center everything in the canvas)

now i go to the left panel and click on the shapes tool and choose the ellipse one and draw an elipse in the canvas, the size of the ellipse depends on you tbh, i didn't make it too big bc i knew there was going to be a lot happening in my canvas and i needed the space to work so it's your choice how big you'll make it. once i made the ellipse, i made sure it was centered and proceeded to work on the picture i used

the settings my ellipse had

now the hyun pic! i opened it in another tab on photoshop, and with the pen tool i traced all of hyunjin's shape as if i was working on to erase the background (you can use the quick selection tool or the wand, i prefer the pen tool to erase backgrounds tbh) and then i went right click -> layer via copy (this is very important!) and when i had two layers (the original picture and the new layer of only hyunjin) i dragged them to my gfx canvas, and then resized it around the same height my ellipse was

make sure the pictures are ON TOP of the ellipse!!! now select only the layer of the full picture and then right click -> create clipping mask and the full picture will be inside the ellipse

your layers panel should look like this

and your canvas like this

we're almost there! now we select the layer that only has hyunjin and we add a LAYER MASK to it, and with a black brush we paint the parts we want to erase

your layer should be something like this

and the canvas like this

now i added some decorations, found the sparkly lines i used around the image on pinterest! they are called monoline frames and there's lots of them to pick tbh, the one i found had a white background so i just inverted the color of it and then changed the blending mode to screen so only the lines of the frames were visible and then erased anything i didn't want with a layer mask, it would have been easier to find just a transparent image but pinterest doesn't have those so i had to make do lol

the layer panel now looks like this for me

and the canvas

after this i worked on the typography! for the "love stay" i used the font called "Cleo Folk", i arranged it so on the layers panel it would be under the layer of the ellipse, then for the text that says happy hyunjin day i used the font "Gobold Extra 2". i added some lines using the line shape tool too

the heart shaped thing that says "hwang hyunjin" is a custom i made myself messing around and if you want to know how just let me know! but you can just use a warped text, it won't look like it's inside a heart but it'll still look pretty ! after that i added my watermark in the corner and saved it as png and all done! for the other image on the set the process was the exact same!

finished result!

i hope this helps? if i missed any detail please let me know!!

#tutorial #i guess #*mine

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ocean-blue-whump · 1 year

Text

A Coach and a Canvas

For other Marlow posts: #marlow lancaster: wildcat

Taglist: ask to be added!

CW: gang setting, mentions of prior kidnapping, post fistfight

***

Marlow can still feel the blood pounding in her ears. She sits down on the bench in the locker room, holding a towel to the cut above her eye. Fuck, that was…something out there. Her heart is still racing from the fight. She doesn’t remember exactly how she got here, how this ended up happening, but a few nights ago, she met a guy who put her down on a schedule and told her to show up at this address.

Not even an hour ago, she was standing in front of a metal door with no idea what she got herself into. She was the first fight of the night, facing off against a big, muscular woman. It was…Marlow doesn’t know what happened. She had kept light on her toes and bounced around, and eventually, the woman tired out. A few well placed punches to the jaw and chest had her on the ground with the crowd roaring.

It was still a hard fight. The woman was strong enough that every single hit she landed hurt like hell, leaving bruises and splitting Marlow’s skin open.

Marlow bends over and spits a mouthful of blood into the towel, then puts it back to her head. The adrenaline is still coursing through her body. Listening to the spectators…she doesn’t think she’ll forget it any time soon. It was fucking addicting, the power that surged through her when she stood up from the sawdust-covered ring, blood dripping from her face, bruises forming on her bare torso. She wants to bottle that feeling and breathe it in over and over.

She’s so lost in her own thoughts that she doesn’t notice the other person in the locker room until he clears his throat. Marlow jumps a little bit, wiping her face with the bloody rag. “Oh, sorry. Can I…help with something?”

The man isn’t too tall, his jet black hair slicked back and his goatee neatly groomed. He’s muscular, in a skin tight gray shirt and black joggers. He smiles warmly at her, his hands in his pocket. “Marlow, right? You fought Misty tonight?”

“If that was her name, yeah.” Marlow sets the rag down, hoping she doesn’t look like a maniac with blood all over her face. “I did my best.”

“Have you been trained before?” the man asks, sitting down on the bench next to her. “I mean, you won, but it was…rough.” He laughs a little, smiling at her. “So did you have formal training or informal or nothing?”

Marlow stares at the ground, lacing her bruised hands together. “Umm, nothing. I just kind of waited until she got tired.”

“Smart move. The bigger someone is, the more likely you’ll be able to wear them off. You also took hits pretty well. Of course, you’re bleeding now, but you were good at keeping calm when she decked you. Got back up pretty quickly.” The man stands up and moves in front of Marlow, leaning against the lockers. “I have to be honest with you, Marlow. I don’t really care about making small talk. At this point, you probably realized we work outside of the law here, but there’s profit in it. Tonight, you fought on a small ticket independently. There wasn’t any money in what you did. You were like an appetizer for the bigger events. You came into this independently, but the fighters on the big tickets aren’t independent. Most of them work under a coach, and really, there are only four coaches that matter here. Four of us train, manage, and support the biggest fighters in the arena.” He smirks at her, holding her gaze confidently. “I’ve been looking for a new fighter. The problem is that there are two main groups of people. The first are good fighters, yeah, but they’ve been trained before. They’re damaged canvases. What I can teach won’t matter because they already have their habits. The other group is untrained, yet shows no potential and no skill and no will to learn. You’re in a third group. You’ve got a lot of skill, and you’re a very, very appeasing blank canvas. No one will see a girl like you coming, and with my help, I can make you a legend here. The crowd you had tonight? Don’t play dumb, Marlow. I know you loved it, and when I make you a big ticket fighter…there’s nothing quite like it. You’ll have all those people hanging on every little move you make. My name is Rico Lochan, and I’m the best of the four top coaches. I can take you to the top. I can make you lethal, and all you have to do is say yes.”

Marlow listens to Rico’s speech and tries to absorb as much of it as she can. Everything he’s saying sounds promising…too promising. “What’s the catch?” she asks, crossing her legs at the knee.

Rico chuckles. “I’m glad you asked. I’d be worried if you didn’t. The catch, Marlow, is that…I’ve tried to train others to be my prodigy, and, well, let’s just say I’ve gotten mixed results. A lot of people can’t handle what it takes to be the best. They don’t want to give themselves to this life. Devotion is a difficult thing to come by these days. And, of course, I’m not an easy man to work with. You look about college age, I won’t interfere with your classes, but I will ask you to give me everything you have. I’ll push you to your breaking point, Marlow, and you’ll either sink or swim.” Rico shrugs, his voice still light. “To be honest, there’s something in your eyes, kid. I’m not going to make assumptions about who you are, but there is just something about you. I’ve tried fifteen other trainees to find a prodigy. Not one of them, after winning their first fight, had that smile on their face when they one. Not one of them would have kept getting up after taking the beating you did.”

“I’m eighteen,” Marlow says in a hoarse voice, looking up at him. When he doesn’t stop her, she keeps talking. “I’m eighteen years old. You don’t need to know where I’m from or anything else about me, but you do need to know that breaking me down isn’t possible. I don’t know what weak ass bitches you tried to train before me, but I’m nothing like them.” She stands up from the bench and all she can think about is what it felt like to stand over Misty with blood hands and hear people roar for her. There was so much peace in that violence. Marlow hasn’t felt calm…ever, especially not since the kidnapping incident. That is, until she caught the underside of Misty’s chin with an uppercut. There was calm in her muscles burning and her body begging her to stop. “You want a fighter, I can learn.”

“Good girl,” Rico says with a smile. “First thing’s first. I can call you Marlow, but your name to anyone else, coaches or other fighters, is a weakness. People do bad shit if they see someone threatening their winning streak. You need a name. Marlow Lancaster doesn’t belong here. She’s a weak little girl. Wildcat, on the other hand…that’s a name people could bet on.” His grin is slow and wicked and dark and Marlow’s heart is going to beat right out of her chest. “Say it, Wildcat. Tell me what you’re doing here. Give yourself to me and I’ll make you the most powerful woman in this whole fucking city.”

Marlow focuses her energy on Rico. There’s no room for fear, and yeah, she could beat Misty, but that’s not enough. She needs to protect herself because she never wants to be a scared girl kidnapped by a serial killer again. “I give myself to you,” she says, green eyes cold. “Body and soul, Rico. I want to fight. So push me. Teach me how to win here. Teach me how to fight.”

Rico steps forward, holding Marlow's chin and tipping her head up. He examines her, tilting her face around, his eyes lingering over the streaks of blood and blossoming bruises. “We’ll make something out of you, Wildcat. Tomorrow, four in the morning. Meet me here and we’ll go over your schedule.” He lets go of her chin and starts walking towards the door, but stops with his hand on the handle. “Clean yourself up and hide those stupid fucking bruises. No trainee of mine walks around looking like that from such an amateur fight. Getting beat by fucking Misty. You might have won, but that performance is nothing to be proud of.”

Marlow watches him slam the door, her head spinning. His mood changed so fast, but his voice still stayed light. In five seconds, he brought Marlow’s fantasy crashing back down to earth. She brings her hand to her face, suddenly aware of how she looks. “Fuck…” she mutters, staggering over to the sink. The girl who stares back at her is bloody and bruised and exhausted. Not a fighter.

It’s been ages since she’s slept well. It’s been so long since she’s felt anything other than helpless. The girl in the mirror isn’t anywhere close to a wildcat, but Marlow has to try. She splashes some water on her face, puts on her jacket, grabs her bag, and steps out into the night, fishing in her pocket for a cigarette.

#marlow lancaster #marlow lancaster: wildcat #whump writing #lady whump #rico lochran #blue's words

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