this is very much what i meant when i said you have to sometimes gut things to make them work again

Hit me baby (one more time)

“Millicent, what on earth are you doing?” Draco shot his friend a confused look from across the eighth year common room, where his peaceful solitary study session had been interrupted by a weird flapping noise.

“Flapping around with the sleeves of my girlfriend’s oversized sweater.” Millicent replied as she flapped around with the sleeves of her girlfriend’s oversized sweater. It wasn’t even a Slytherin sweater, but one of the Chinese national quidditch league. Cho Chang wasn’t even Chinese, but Korean. Draco didn’t really get the relationship she and Milly had.

“And why are you doing that?” Draco asked with a tired sigh. He was more than done with dissecting the love song they had to explain for muggle studies. He still couldn’t figure out what hit me baby one more time was supposed to mean. Was the singer pro domestic violence?

Stupid Britney Spears.


“Because it’s fun. You know that’s a thing people have, right Draco? Fun? A good mood? Happiness?” Millicent stopped flapping and walked over to him. Ignoring her sarcasm Draco quickly shielded his essay from sight. Millicent would probably know what Miss Spears meant since she had been raised by her muggle father, and he was not looking forward to getting laughed at by her.

Why does Chang even own sweaters that big? Draco wondered as Milly sat next to him. Cho was a petite girl and she’d be able to fit into this giant red tent at least seven times.

“Because she knows I like oversized sweaters, and she knows I like to wear stuff that smells like her.” Milly replied. Dammit, he’d been thinking out loud again.

Draco was so busy scolding himself for his slip up that he forgot to reply. It wasn’t a rare thing to happen these days. After the war getting distracted by all sorts of things was basically the only thing he did. He couldn’t even stare at Harry for longer than half a minute before something else caught his eye. It was maddening.

“Here, you try it.” Shaken out of his thoughts Draco nearly strained his neck as he looked at Milly again. She was wearing a plain grey shirt now, and the red sweater lay in her outstretched hands. Draco frowned.

“Why would I try it? I don’t want to smell like your girlfriend.”

“Not what I meant dumdum.” Milly chuckled, but there was a sad glint in her eyes. “I mean try wearing this oversized sweater and flap the sleeves.”

“I see no reason as to why that would be pleasing in any way.” Draco shot back, still looking puzzled. He pulled his muggle studies homework towards himself again and tried to regain focus, even though he knew it was a lot cause. He couldn’t concentrate for longer than half an hour a day it seemed.

Stupid PTSD.

“You say that again once you’ve tried it. Come on, if you do it I will help you with your muggle studies, and I promise I won’t laugh.” Millicent looked at him with puppy eyes, and Draco sighed. He wasn’t going to get rid of her until he obeyed, and since he was constantly sleep deprived he had no energy left whatsoever to protest.

“Fine.”

Milly grinned and then actually squealed, before pulling Draco’s reading glasses off his face and shoving the sweater on. It was still warm from when she’d worn it, which left Draco feeling slightly uncomfortable.

Things improved when the smell of mint tea and cheap shampoo filled his nostrils. This left him confused for a moment, until he recalled smelling this exact same thing every time he hugged Milly, and hugging for some stupid reason (which did not fit his aesthetic or his family name at all) was the only thing that could calm him down when his mind was racing again.

“Feels nice ey?” Milly asked with a cheeky grin as she tried to put his glasses back and stabbed him in the ear with one of the legs. He rolled his eyes and grumbled as a pleasant warmth spread through his gut. The knowledge that not all students in the school wanted to see him dead was comforting. 

Not that a Malfoy needed comforting or anything silly like that. Don’t be daft.

“You know there’s no shame in asking for help right? Or a hug?” And without waiting for Draco’s approval Milly pulled him into a firm hug. Draco sputtered but didn’t push her away. He was too tired.

And it felt kind of nice.

“Now flap with your arms.” Milly ordered as she released him.

“I’m not going to flap my arms Mills.”

Milly gave him a sharp look and whispered in a threatening voice, “if you do not flap your arms I will tell the Weasleys you were jealous of their knitted sweaters.”

Draco blushed bright red and gave her a look that was a combination of fear, exhaustion and irritation.

“Fine.” He sighed then. He heaved up his arms and flapped the ridiculously long sleeves in front of Milly’s face, knocking off her glasses. He chuckled as they landed on the floor, then he continued to harass Milly’s face with the sleeves. He probably looked ridiculous but now that he had started he found he didn’t care much. He hated being wrong but this was indeed quite fun to do.

Stupid Millicent.

“Are you happy now?” Draco grumbled a little out of breath after he’d exhausted his arm muscles.

“Wrong question Draco.” MIlly gave him a sharp look again, but it was less impressive now that her hair was disheveled and her glasses were gone. “What you should ask is are you happy?”

“No, I looked like an idiot.” He tugged at the gigantic red sweater. “Will you help me with my muggle studies now?”

Milly shook her head and sighed, which earned her a shove from Draco, but then she retrieved her glasses and scanned his work. She chuckled. “Well the answer to your question is not domestic violence. It’s sex.”

“Sex? Why would you hit people during sex?” Draco flapped out, turning beetroot as soon as he reasised half the common room was listening to them.

“I haven’t the slightest, I’m more of a Bambi lesbian myself. Maybe you could ask Pansy?”

“Oi! I do not engage in BDSM thank you very much.” Pansy yelled at them. Just as the rest of the common room she had overheard Milly.

“But I bet Potter has you covered.” The asian girl added with a smirk.

“Covered in what?” A dissolved looking Harry walking into the room right that moment.

“Latex and leather.” Pansy answered. Draco wanted to die.

“I prefer the sweater Malfoy is wearing to be honest. Latex and leather sounds rather uncomfortable. Why would I cover Malfoy with it anyway?”

“For BDSM sex of course.” Milly replied. Harry tripped over his own feet and fell hard against the table Draco had been using to make him homework.

“Excuse me?” Harry sputtered with a bright red face as he rubbed his painful upper arm. He looked rather stupid, lying there almost face first on the floor.

“Hey! What did you guys do to Harry?” Ron shouted offended as he entered the common room, soon followed by Hermione.

“We revealed the secret BDSM sex he and Draco are having.” Pansy said matter-of-factly. Draco let his head fall onto the hard wooden table with a loud thud. He hated his friends sometimes.

“Oh that,” Hermione shrugged, “well I’m glad you found someone who’s willing to dominate you, and I for one hope he shares all of your many kinks Harry.”

Ron looked like he might pass out as he stared open mouthed at his girlfriend. “He’s getting whipped by Malfoy?”

“Well that escalated quickly.” Millicent mutterd in Draco’s ear. Draco groaned and threw a quill at her head. She caught it and sat back to enjoy the gigantic mess she’d made, openly enjoying the commotion.

Draco, however, was very much not enjoying the commotion. Sex was always a bit of a taboo subject for purebloods and the little bits and pieces he had puzzled together so far did not feature any of the things his fellow students were talking about. Left alone that he did such things to Harry Potter on a regular basis.

As soon as Ron actually fainted and people weren’t looking at him anymore he fled up the stairs. The last thing he heard before he slammed the door shut was “DEAN THOMAS I AM NEVER GOING TO WEAR A FUCKING LATEX LEOTARD! GET YOUR HEAD OUT OF THE GUTTER.”

All in all Draco was happy to collapse on his bed and pull the curtains shut around it, cancelling out the last bit of the noise. He crawled under the duvet and hugged the oversized sweater he was still wearing.

He couldn’t really wrap his head around the fact that only a year ago he’d been certain he wouldn’t even survive the war, and now he was safe and warm and cozy, wrapped up in a huge sweater from Cho Chang, out of all people. It was ridiculous.

But besides that it was comfortable too, and within five minutes he was sound asleep. He never slept longer than an hour though, because that was the moment the nightmares kicked in.

“Uhm, Malfoy?” Draco stirred in his sleep. The red eyes of Voldemort flickered with green for a moment, but soon they went back to red again. He did not wake up. “Malfoy are you okay? Are you having a nightmare?”

It was the genuine concern in Harry’s voice that penetrated through the fog of the dream and woke Draco up. He groaned and curled up further, shaking from the memory of him. No matter how many times he saw it the face still terrified him. He was unsurprised but not un-ashamed to find his cheeks were wet from tears.

Harry set something down on his nightstand and sat down on the edge of his bed. The way the mattress dipped in reminded Draco so much of his mother bringing him a goodnight kiss that he was crying again before he even realised it.

He turned around, trying to bury his face in his pillows, but Harry stubborn fucking prick Potter wouldn’t leave him alone. A muscled arm, strongly contrasting with Draco’s own weak limbs, curled itself around him and soon after he felt Harry’s chest press against his back. It appeared the slayer of the dark lord was spooning him.

“Luna taught me how to spot the difference between crying alone and crying lonely.” Harry said, his tone of voice more than a little bit uncomfortable and awkward.

“And she showed me how to chase away the fear of a nightmare.” He added rather doubtfully, and he moved away from him so one of his hands got the space it needed to make hard but relaxing stroking movements across Draco’s back.

Draco was so overwhelmed by the nightmare, what had happened in the common room and what Harry was doing now that al he could do was tell himself to breathe. Just breathe.

After a minute or two Harry sat up again, and to his own surprise Draco found himself more relaxed than he’d felt in months, probably years.

“I have no idea why you just did that,” Draco murmured, still a bit out of it, “but I enjoyed it.”

“Glad to hear that.” Harry replied. Draco tried to casually dry his cheeks before emerging from his duvet again. He self consciously put a hand through his hair, certain it would look a right mess.

“You, eh, left your homework in the common room.” Harry indicated at the boks on Draco’s night stand and flushed a bit. “I thought I’d give it back to you before they start reading it out loud downstairs.”

“Thank you Po-.”

“Harry.” Harry cut in. “You can call me Harry, if you want to that is.”

Draco, surprised that Harry would think he would not want to call him Harry, sat up a bit straighter and tried to convey his thanks again. “Well then, thank you, Harry. And do call me Draco, if you want to that is.”

“I do.” Harry blurted, turning even more red. “I mean I do, eh, want to call you Draco.” He finished clumsily and Draco found himself smiling. A rare occasion these days.

“Where did you get that sweater from?” Harry asked, seemingly to prevent an awkward silence.

“Cho Chang actually.” And Draco couldn’t help but laugh as Harry’s face flushed again. The messy haired man looked horribly awkward, guilty, puzzled and shocked at the same time, and it frankly looked quite hilarious.

“Relax Harry. I’m not dating your ex. Millicent would kill me if I stole her girlfriend.” He chuckled as relief flooded Harry’s face, feeling suddenly giddy with the thought that Harry Potter might be interested in him.

“Wait what?” All of the sudden Harry looked puzzled again. “Since when are Cho and Bulstrode dating?”

Now it was Draco’s turn to be puzzled again. “Since the start of the school year.” He said slowly, eying Harry with suspicion. The guy wasn’t fucking with him now was he?

“They are the leaders of the GSA, and they snuggle together like, all the time.” Draco continued. Harry frowned, seemingly digging through his memory to recall any of Draco’s claims. “Harry are you sure you have the right prescription for your glasses? Those two could not have been more obvious if they’d tattooed we are lesbian lovers on their forehead.”

Harry glared at him and pulled his knees up. “It’s not my fault I suck at seeing that kind of thing okay? I wasn’t raised with it you know. With love.”

And suddenly Harry looked very small, sitting there on the edge of Draco’s bed, staring ahead without seeing anything. Draco swallowed hard, not sure what to do now, until he remembered what he was wearing.

“Harry?”

“What?” Harry snapped as he changed from hurt boy into an angry adult man.

“Put this on and flap with the sleeves.” Draco held out Cho’s sweater. “It helps, I promise.”

Harry eyed the sweater. He didn’t seem to have much faith in Draco’s method and unlike Millicent Draco had no threats he could use against his victim. Though victim was the wrong word of course.

“You’re ridiculous.” Harry muttered and he turned back to staring at the wall.

“And you won’t be able to hit me in the face with permission if you do not put on this sweater and flap the sleeves in my face.” Draco shot back. He was ready to sell some of his dignity and self perseverance if it meant Harry would look happy again. Though if he was being honest he didn’t have much dignity left.

Harry eyed him from the side, then silently snatched the sweater from Draco’s outstretched arm and pulled it over his head. It looked stupid on him, way too big, the colour didn’t fit and Harry had more of an middle eastern look to him than a chinese one. Still, Draco had so much trouble tearing his gaze away from Harry that he did not even see the man coming when he hit him in the face with his sleeve.

Once it did hit him though he scrambled backwards until he was pressed against the headboard of his bed as a reflex. Harry didn’t seem bothered by this and just lurched forward until he was half-sitting half-lying on top of Draco as he hit him in the face with Cho’s sweater.

“I said flap not hit!” Draco yelled as Harry beated down on his face, but he was laughing as he said it, because Harry was laughing too now.

“I thought you were supposed to be a BDSM fan?” Harry shot back with a wicked grin.

“I don’t even know what that means Potter!” Draco exclaimed just before Harry tired out and collapsed on top of him. “I thought the song was about domestic violence.”

“Cozy mind you have there.” Harry tapped the side of Draco’s head and dragged himself up a bit until his face was hanging above Draco’s.

“Just as cozy as yours, possibly even cozier.” Draco whispered, very aware of the fact that his breath was caressing Harry’s face, and that he had no idea if it smelled good yes or no.

“Show off.” Harry shot back.

Despite his nerves Draco looked smug as he shot back, “It’s not showing off if it’s true.”

“I think it still is, but I’d have to ask Hermione to be sure.” Harry pulled a thinking face, which Draco thought was the single most adorable thing in the world. Before he knew what he was doing he’d drifted off from the conversation to Harry’s eyes, his hair, the patterns on the ceiling, how muggles knitted wool for their sweaters…

He startled when Harry talked again and mentally scolded himself for losing focus. He’d lived in one house with the dark lord, he should be able to handle some stupid concentration issues. And there he was drifting again.

“Did you hear what I said?” Harry inquired with an amused look on his face. At least he didn’t get angry like some of the professors did. Or maybe the anger came later. “I said it is pretty disturbing that two eighteen year old boys are bragging about their shitty mental state when they should be kissing.”

“Kissing?” Draco muttered perplexed.

“Yes Draco, kissing. I hope you do know what that means.” Draco briefly wondered how this idiot of a man had gotten the balls to be so up front about things, but before he could get distracted again he bend forward and planted his lips firmly on Harry’s. And for the first time since the war, he didn’t think anything could distract him from the magnificent experience that is kissing Harry Potter.

It wasn’t perfect, in fact it was rather clumsy, with several collisions of teeth and near-bitings of tongues, but it was right. It felt right. And as Harry reached out and tangled his fingers in Draco’s hair, messing it up even more, the both of them were sure they would be alright.

And they would be.

Together.


This turned out to be wayyyyyyyy longer than it was supposed to be and I procrastinated a buttload of homework typing this out so if you could let me know what you thnk that would be extra appreciated this time! (Bc then I know if I wasted my homework time writing something nice or stupid)

Essays in Existentialism: Flight II

Could we have more of FLIGHT? it destroyed me.

Previously on Flight 

“So I just have to take charity cases for you to visit,” Abby teased as she hugged her daughter tightly in front of the airport.

People came and went, not caring at all about the reunion occurring on the curb. But to Abby it was everything. She hugged her daughter so tight she thought she’d leave marks, though she didn’t care about that at all. It was rare and new and tenuous, and so she clung as tight as she could while her daughter wasn’t much better.

“And promise me dinner,” Clarke taunted, surprising herself as she hugged back just as tight.

Keep reading

Better

Summary: A certain family member comes to visit and he has things to say, much to a young man’s distress.

Warnings: Mentions of past abuse, emotional abuse, attempted physical harm

Word count: 4,413

Requested by @princeasimdiya12!! Hope you enjoy it; I really enjoyed writing it ah!!

AO3


“You did what last year?”

“Oh c’mon Ford, don’t act so surprised. I’ve been doing dumb shit like that since we were young.”

“Okay, sure, but these were young kids. Don’t you think that was a little bit of overkill?”

Stan shook his head, grinning mischievously in Ford’s direction, making his way through an opened pack of gummy bears he had snooped from the bowl by the front door. When Ford continued to stare at him disbelievingly, Stan waved his hand, talking past the gummies in his mouth.

“Hey, in their defense, none of that even worked! Not even the ‘sausages-as-intestines’ bit, and I thought that was pretty intense.”

Ford’s face screwed up in amusement before biting into a chocolate bar. “I’m sure it was,” he mused sarcastically. A moment passed before Ford’s brows drew down, in obvious confusion.

“Then how the hell did you manage to scare them?”

Stan let out a gruff laugh, patting his protruding gut. “Turns out old people are gross, but else is new?”

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anonymous asked:

Okay so in Batman Beyond there's an episode where Bruce and Terry go see a 'Batman Musical', just imagine that goes on in Gotham and Jason finds out and asks(forces/tricks) the batfam to go.

i’m finally answering this! i had a really rough week, which is why this took a while, but i kept thinking about this prompt and laughing, so thank you for that.

and on that note: are you serious, that’s amazing. i vaguely remember watching batman beyond but i don’t actually remember all that much about it. i’ll need to look this up.

but yes. yes. i want this to be a Thing.

i want to imagine it as something between holy musical b@man! and the ember island players. like. just picture the kind of crazy misinformed shit that these people are tossing into the mix because what’s the truth and what’s the lie, no one knows, they’re going to make a musical about batman and his however many kids/sidekicks anyway

(they people putting on this play are probably college students)

(stephanie has probably dropped by to help with set designs and laughed herself sick in the process)

getting back on track, how does jason find out about it?

there are two ways i think it could happen. one: jason loves lit. we know this. he collected first editions with alfred and bruce when he was a kid. in my personal experience, if you like lit, you almost definitely like theater in some sense as well. at the very least you’ve read plays. 

jason holds his goddamn red hood helmet like he’s hamlet and it’s yorick.

trust me, he likes plays.

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Personal training - Ben

Ben had been going to the gym for about 3 months before he finally spoke to Jeff. Jeff was a personal trainer who worked there and was the best thing about the place for Ben.

Jeff was tall, with dirty blonde hair and always clean shaven. Being a personal trainer, his physique was absolutely perfect. He was a big man who was way beyond toned all over, with pecs that looked solid and could be shown off no matter what he wore. His arms were well defined and he had an ass that was muscly and pulled his shorts back helping to show the outline of his bulge on occasion. In other words, he was Ben’s idea of perfection.

Ben on the other hand was slim and always had been. He was tall at 6′1 but still a little shorter than Jeff. His frame was slight and scrawny looking. Ben had given up on the idea of ever looking like a man like Jeff. He was built for running and that was what he was doing when Jeff first came over to him; stomping away on the treadmill.

‘That’s quite a sweat you’re building up there’

Ben’s heart pounded suddenly having Jeff come up to him. He’d been longing to find an excuse to talk to him for so long and now here was Jeff initiating conversation with him!

‘Umm, yeah. Thanks’

‘I’ve seen you in here a lot; your running technique is good. What are you looking to train for?’

Ben lowered the speed on the treadmill to a slow walk so he wasn’t a sweaty mess whilst he spoke to Jeff.

‘Um, nothing really. It’s just something I’m good at. Running. I mean, I’m good at running. So that’s what I do’.

He was making a mess of this. How embarrassing. But Jeff just grinned widely at him, flashing his perfect smile that gave Ben butterflies in his stomach. He knew Jeff was straight. He’d met one of his now ex-girlfriends at a class once. Her body was perfection as well.

‘I train a few guys who do a lot of running and helped them to get in to other sports and training. Like you they sort of got stuck in their ways and needed a little, push in the right direction I think’

‘Um, yeah, that sounds good. What is it you do?’ stammered Ben.

‘Well, no two clients are the same as I’m sure you know’ smiled Jeff. ‘And personal training isn’t for everyone but how about a free session tomorrow and we see how we go from there?’

Ben was sold. One-to-one sessions with Jeff. Yeah, he’d have to pay for it, but this was going to be amazing. He’d just have to think of some method to strap his penis down to avoid getting an erection around him, or at least conceal it. That could be awkward.

Ben began training with Jeff twice a week. It worked well and Jeff was just as nice as he’d appeared on that first session. Always professional. He pushed Ben hard but never lost that friendly and charming personality he had. If anything, Ben grew even more attracted to him over the next few months.

However, one day Ben arrived at the gym to see Jeff looking quite serious. He definitely had his professional head on today.

‘Ok, I’m setting up a few of my clients for a tournament we’re doing at another local gym. You’re going to be involved in it.’

‘Oh right ok. I’m up for that’ said Ben, although it didn’t seem like there was much choice in the matter.

‘I’ll show you this chart. This is the starting weight for all my clients I’m entering. You’re here at 155lbs. We need to steadily increase that weight so you’re ready for it in January. We’re going to get you to 260lbs through a combination of weight training and diet’.

Ben’s breath was taken away. Jeff was so matter-of-fact about it all. But there it was, in black and white; his name with the goal weight of 260lbs next to it. He’d never said to Jeff that he ever had any interest in bulking before and didn’t really understand where this had come from. But he was by no means the client Jeff was pushing the hardest. Some guys on his list had goal weights of 300lbs or more. At least Jeff had gone a little easier on him.

‘What sort of competition is it you want us to do?’ asked Ben.

‘I’ll explain that closer to the time. I really want you to be involved but - the honest truth is that, at the moment, you’re just too small to be a part of it with the other guys I train’  said Jeff, almost pityingly.

Ben had always felt bad about being so scrawny and it seemed like Jeff thought his size was a bad thing too. He felt slightly ashamed at that moment.

‘Well, I don’t think I can get to 260. But we can make a start and maybe look at the target weight some other time?’ said Ben, cautiously.

Jeff was not a man who compromised; Ben knew that. And Jeff seemed to ignore the comment entirely.

‘Let’s make a start then. We’ll head over to the weights room and get you started there. We’re going to leave the cardio stuff for the time being. Then I want to talk to you about diet.’

Weight training with Jeff was even more of a turn on. He got to be even closer to Jeff and have him touch him to help him get his posture right for each lift. Given that there were only 7 months until the tournament, Jeff advised Ben to do a dirty bulk. That meant anything was good to eat as long as it had lots of calories. It would build up his strength and size quickly; and whilst some fat would come with it, that could be worked on closer to the competition, around October time.

So Ben began his bulk. He ate and ate as much as he could. If it had lots of calories in it, he ate it. He loved the attention he had from Jeff, marking his progress and increasing his training sessions to three and sometimes four per week.

It wasn’t long until the effects of all this eating started to show. For the first time in his life, Ben had a small poochy stomach and slightly pointy nipples. But Jeff was so encouraging every time his weight went up each week Ben knew he was doing the right thing.

Ben’s ass was swelling up and this forced him to increase the size of some of his clothes. He was suddenly a 34″ waist, something he’d never been in his life! But Jeff was so complimentary about the increasing size of Ben’s biceps and thighs, any doubts Ben had were lifted.

October soon rolled around and Jeff sat Ben down for a serious chat about his progress.

‘Listen Ben, I’d hoped to start the cardio training back up by now to lose some of this fat you seem to be concerned about, but you’re just not making the gains I had expected of you by this time’. Ben had just weighed in at 205lbs.

‘We’re going to press on without the cardio for now and review it in a few weeks time’

Jeff looked crestfallen. Ben felt almost ashamed.

‘I’m not overly concerned about the fat, don’t worry. I’ll just have to train harder for you’ said Ben with a smile, hoping to perk Jeff up. But his comments only seemed to make Jeff more downhearted.

‘There’s not much more I can really do to get you trained ready for the tournament Ben, I’m working pretty hard here’.

‘Oh, I didn’t mean that!’ said Ben, embarrassed. Why did he have to put his foot in it?

‘No, Ben, this is about you really. Your calorie intake, it’s just not enough. You really need to start putting some effort in there’.

Ben had never eaten so much in his life than he had in the last few months but still this was not good enough. He felt bad.

‘I’m sorry, you’re right. I’m really going to go for it. I promise.’

‘Ok, come on then Ben’ said Jeff only a little more cheerfully. ‘Let’s get started on your session today’.

Ben shopped only for high calorie foods from then on. Fried food, high sugar; high fat only. He ate as often as he could and forced it all down his throat. He was glad to see his belly bloom and his pecs swell. His face started to look full and masculine, or at least that’s what Jeff said when he weighed in at 220lbs three weeks later.

‘I had to buy 36″ waist jeans’ said Ben with a smile hoping to impress Jeff with his effort.

‘Yeah’ said Jeff, a little underwhelmed. ‘I think next time you increase your sizes, you’re best skipping straight to 40s. You are going to be experiencing a little more abdominal fat with the type of bulking we’re doing’.

‘Yeah, sure I can do that’ said Ben enthusiastically. He wanted to impress Jeff so much but every time his efforts seemed to fall flat. It didn’t help that the next few weeks seemed to have very little impact on Ben’s weight. He ate and ate but very little seemed to stick. By the time the end of November arrived, Ben was still sitting at 230lbs.

Jeff was quiet during their weigh in. His disappointment and frustration at Ben was clear even if he was too professional to say it.

‘How are the other guys you’re training doing?’ asked Ben looking to make any kind of conversation he could.

‘Good, yeah, thanks for asking. A couple of them have already exceeded their target weights and the others are all very close to them.’

Ben felt bad once again. He didn’t realise how close January really was. He needed to get to 260lbs as soon as he could now but he was still 30lbs off.

Ben’s gut had developed properly now. It sat under his chest like a slightly deflated beach ball. His ass had swollen massively and it was strange for Ben to feel it bouncing happily behind him as he walked. But it still wasn’t where he needed to be.

Finally, Jeff had his last session with Ben before the holidays. Ben had overeaten every day and was even waking up at night to eat more calories. At their final weigh in Ben finally hit 240lbs.

‘Ok, you’ve given yourself a lot to do over the holidays’ said Jeff. ‘I wish you’d stuck to your diet plan a little more but 20lbs in three weeks is not entirely impossible’.

‘I can do it’ said Ben.

‘Yeah?’ smiled Jeff. ‘I like your confidence man. I really want you there with us at the tournament.’ His smile to Ben when he said this seemed so genuine and heartfelt, Ben knew he had to do this for him.

Ben hardly moved over the holiday period. He ate and ate. His friends and family were surprised when they saw how big he was looking, but when Ben told them it was for a tournament he was training for in a few weeks, they seemed satisfied. The massive overdoses of calories and night feeds seemed to be working. Ben could feel the weight pouring on to him and by January 1st, Ben was incredibly relieved to see he’d made 261lbs on his scale. At last! He thought.

He had to text Jeff straight away. He wrote and rewrote it many times. He’d never text Jeff before. He wanted it to sound ok. In the end he settled for.

‘I made it with 1lb to spare. 261lbs. Thanks for all your hard work. Ben’

Jeff, didn’t respond to it. He was obviously off with better people having fun. It wasn’t until two days later when Ben had his first training session with Jeff booked that he heard back from him. Jeff called him up from the gym.

‘Hi Ben, it’s Jeff. Listen, congratulations on reaching your target weight. I was really pleased when I got your text.’

‘Thanks Jeff, I -’

‘I’m afraid we won’t be able to do our training session today. The gym is full of new subscribers. It’s packed here. But, I have your address here on file so I thought I’d come over to you instead and let you know a bit more about this tournament and where we’re going to go with your training from here. Does that sound ok? About the same time. 6.30?’

‘Yeah, that sounds gr-’

‘Good, ok catch you then Ben.’

And with that, Jeff was gone. Ben was breathless; Jeff was coming to his house! He tidied and cleaned. He felt almost proud to have Jeff come over to see him.

Ben was sitting, waiting early from six o’clock. Jeff was ever professional and arrived a couple of minutes early.

‘Happy new year’ he said, walking straight in to the house. ‘Right, let’s get started then. I have my own scales here so we can check your weight and I want to do some body measurements. We’re probably best going up to your bathroom for this; I need a hard surface for the scales’.

Ben was astounded by his enthusiasm as always. Jeff never wasted time during a session and was already half way up the stairs. He’d set up the scales ready in the bathroom and was already preparing notes on his clipboard when Ben joined him.

‘Clothes off today Ben. We need it to be as accurate as possible.’

Slightly concerned about his crotch, Ben slowly removed his t shirt and sweat pants and tried to bend forward slightly to hide it just in case anything happened down there whist Jeff was around.

‘Underwear as well today I’m afraid Ben’ said Jeff writing on his clipboard and not even looking at Ben.

Ben hesitated. He sighed and quickly pulled his underwear down and laid them on the bath tub before cupping his penis and stepping on the scale for Jeff.

‘262lbs!’ said Jeff with a slight uplift in his voice that told Ben he had done well. He stood a little taller on the scale knowing Jeff was pleased with him.

‘Right, I just need to get some other measurements as well; we’ll start with your waist’.

Ben closed his eyes as he felt the tape measure wrap around his belly. He was trying so hard not to get turned on whilst he was naked in front of Jeff.

‘I couldn’t have done it without you. You’ve been a great trainer. I can’t get over how much stronger I feel. I feel like I could lift a car’.

Jeff carried on his measurements, noting them on his clipboard.

‘You know you can only bench press 10lbs more than when we started back last summer don’t you?’ said Jeff not looking at Ben, but still making notes.

‘Oh… Well, I feel like I’m a lot stronger anyway’ said Ben trying not to feel embarrassed.

‘No, not really’ said Jeff, writing his last note and putting down his clipboard before looking at Ben in the mirror in front of them.

‘I mean, if I could show you for a second Ben.’ Jeff pulled off his top, making Ben’s heart race. He stood in front of the mirror looking at Ben and spoke to him in his usual, professional manner. He tensed one arm and pec.

‘This is muscle. You see here’. He pointed to it all with his finger. ‘And down here in the abdominal area, this is made up of mostly muscle.’ He then pulled down his shorts and stood there in his tight boxers flexing one leg. ‘This here is muscle in the glutes and thighs. Can you see how defined and firm it looks?’

Ben could feel a swelling in his penis. He tried to breathe heavier to control it.

‘What I’ve added to you is mostly fat. It’s soft looking. What I can see when I look at you now is a lot of fat in the abdominal area, which is funny because you used to have almost a little six pack back before we started this. Also, like a lot of guys who put on weight, you’ve put on a lot of fat here in what we refer to as the love-handle region - and your glutes are a lot larger and made up of more body fat than they were seven months ago’. All the while he was pointing and gesturing to different parts of Ben’s overfed body. ’Your muscle mass has hardly increased at all in fact’

‘Oh, I -’ stuttered Ben, unsure how Jeff expected him to respond.

’I haven’t been training anyone else like this. I just said those things to keep your spirits up. And you can relax, because we won’t be entering you in any tournaments any time soon.’

Jeff gave Ben a friendly tap on his ass to step off his scales, which Ben responded to without question.

‘Did I do something wrong?’ asked Ben, confused.

Jeff bent down to pack up his scales.

‘No, you did everything right. You should be pleased with yourself.’

‘So what’s - what’s it all been for then?’ asked Ben feeling embarrassed.

‘My entertainment’ said Jeff without hesitating, nor losing his professional tone. ‘I’ve really enjoyed watching you get fatter each week’ he confessed, whilst giving Ben a manly, congratulatory pat on the back.

‘Umm, I -’

‘Can you go in to your bedroom please’ Jeff cut him off.

‘Leave those there’ he said as Ben reached for his underwear. ‘You won’t be needing those’.

Ben had to walk past him trying to hide his semi. He felt so awkward and embarrassed. Jeff followed him in to the bedroom.

‘Right, stand there, back to me’ said Jeff, gesturing in front of the bed.

Ben turned away from him, but felt incredibly nervous not being able to see what Jeff was doing. He felt Jeff’s hand slide between his thighs to splay his legs slightly apart, like he was getting him ready for a round of squats. He was incredibly conscious of the fact that he was naked.

‘That’s it, legs nice and wide’ said Jeff, calmly and professionally. He placed one hand on Ben’s hip and the other on the top of his back.

‘Now bend forwards, but keep your legs as straight as you can for me’.

Ben slowly went down, feeling the pressure of Jeff’s hand pushing him on his back, whilst the other hand, resting on Ben’s hip, was slowly engulfed in fat by his belly rolling over it. Ben placed his hands on the bed to steady himself.

‘That’s right. Now just hold that position for a minute’. Jeff’s hands were removed from Ben’s body and Ben was forced to listen intently to have any idea of what Jeff was doing behind him.

He heard the elastic on Jeff’s boxers flap and the material slide down his legs. Then he picked them up and flung them on to the bed for Ben to see.

Fuck, is this really happening? thought Ben.

Ben heard a sachet tear and a squelching noise as Jeff must have been lubing up his cock for what he was going to do next.

‘Just hold your butt cheeks for me Ben. Really pull them out wide. That’s right’

Hands resting on Ben’s hips; one massive thrust and Jeff was in. The width of Jeff’s cock made Ben gasp.

‘Hands down again. Just relax now Ben, you just need to stay still’. But Ben could already feel Jeff pulsing harder and harder, making staying still quite an effort; his new fat jiggling and rocking in a way he had never felt before.

After a short time, Jeff’s hands finally arrived to explore Ben’s body, sliding over his back and around to his love handles, grabbing one and holding the fat in his hand whilst he pounded.

A short knee from Jeff in the back of Ben’s legs ensured Ben fell flat on the bed, legs splayed even wider apart as Jeff moved on top of him. Now he was able to use all of his size and strength to make Ben want to squeal. But apart from the odd grunt, Jeff didn’t say a word. As his pace got faster and faster, Jeff placed a hand under Ben’s chest and rolled him over, with Jeff lying flat on his back and lying Ben on top his own broad chest, all without ever breaking his stride fucking him. Ben lay there on top, feeling his new fat rock with every beat of Jeff’s powerful hips, just raised slightly off the bed to get the best angle to fuck his ass still. Then Ben felt Jeff’s hand push down on his forehead to lie his head down on Jeff’s shoulder to relax, whilst the other hand went down to grab his rock hard cock, stroking it up and down with his muscular hands. When Jeff could feel Ben throbbing, he reached down and grabbed a handful of belly fat, jiggling it as fast as he stroked Ben’s penis. Ben moaned, almost ready to come, when Jeff turned his mouth towards his ear and whispered:

‘No more weight training Ben. No more cardio. You’re going to carry on getting fatter, aren’t you?’

‘Mmfhh’ moaned Ben, not entirely sure what was going on in Jeff’s mind.

‘Big fat belly and love handles - and a huge, wide soft fat ass. You hear me?’

‘Yes’ breathed Ben. He hoped that was the right answer.

Jeff was holding Ben’s cock at just the right speed. Too slow to let him come, too fast to lose his erection, not that he ever could. He wanted to make Ben come at just the right moment.

‘Are you going to be a big, overfed fat boy?’ whispered Jeff, almost aggressively.

‘Yes’ whispered Ben submissively.

‘I can’t hear you!’ taunted Jeff.

‘YES!’ said Ben.

‘Yes, what, fat boy?’

‘Make me fatter, make me your fat boy’. He meant it.

Like turning the key in a lock, Jeff’s hands skilfully manoeuvred Ben’s cock so he came everywhere all over them both and Ben heard Jeff grunting as he came all inside of him.

They lay there for a moment, panting and calming down. Then Jeff slid out from underneath him, slipped on his boxers once more and gave Ben the biggest grin whilst standing over him. He pinched a little roll of Ben’s fatty love handle, jiggling it for his amusement.

‘No more weight training. No more cardio. I’m going to enjoy this’ he said ,staring in to Ben’s eyes. Then he turned and strutted out of the bedroom to get dressed.

The Huntress.

Originally posted by disneyfeverdaily

Titled: ‘The Huntress.’ 

Pairing: Gaston x reader 

Word Count: 1,714 

Warnings: Gaston/Luke Evans feels, FLUFF, super angsty ending sorry not sorry, etc. 

A/N: This was a request from @brooke-supernatural16 : Can you do a one-shot with Gaston? Where the reader is a huntress and Gaston see the reader and instantly falls for her and follows her like he did with belle but is more polite with her?

A/N: I do hope this is what you were looking for in this fic! 

Tagging: @captainemwinchester @little-red-83 @impalaimagining@sherlocks-timetraveling-assbutt @hobbithorse19 @feelmyroarrrr @lefouismylife @redimagines @letowolfie @ciaprincess @speedycatbluebird @haniiix33 @mademoiselle-lani


    It was a crisp and French morning. The ground was wet with a fresh layer of dew. The sun had barely risen over the horizon. Twas a nearly perfect morning for a hunt. Gaston has his sights on his hunting musket centered in on an innocent and meek, deer. He was patiently awaiting for the correct moment to apply the right amount pressure on the trigger. 

Keep reading

✰ * º ❛ californication sentence starters. ❜

(   WARNING: THIS IS PROBABLY NOT SAFE FOR WORK DUE TO VERY STRONG LANGUAGE AND SEXUAL CONTENT.   )

‘  i am not a fucking shrink. i don’t give a shit anyway.  ’
‘  we are not talking! we are not fucking! nothing is happening!  ’
‘  you know me… the talking and the fucking go hand-in-hand.  ’
‘  rehab is for quitters.  ’
‘  you can’t snort a line of coke off a woman’s ass and not wonder about her dreams. it’s not gentlemanly.  ’
‘  damn you smell good, like home.  ’
‘  spend the rest of your life with this fool and this fool will spend the rest of his life making sure you don’t regret it.  ’
‘  there’s no easy way to say this so i’ll just say it: i met someone.  ’
‘  there’s this feeling in my gut that she may be the one.  ’
‘  i don’t know how to be with you right now and that scares the shit out of me.  ’
‘  it’s a big, bad world full of twists and turns and people have a way of blinking and missing the moment.  ’
‘  i don’t know what’s going on with us and i can’t tell you why you should waste a leap of faith on the likes of me.  ’
‘  it’s a lost art, really. like handjobs.  ’
‘  i have a confession to make… i didn’t like you very much at first.  ’
‘  you didn’t seem to have much interest in me, which i of course found vaguely insulting.  ’
‘  funny how some things never change.  ’
‘  i cruised along, doing my thing, acting the fool, not really understanding how being a parent changes you.  ’
‘  i don’t remember the exact moment everything changed. i just know that it did.  ’
‘  loving you has been the most profound, intense, painful experience of my life.  ’
‘  i made a silent vow to protect you from the world, never realizing i was the one who would end up hurting you the most.  ’
‘  when i flash forward, my heart breaks, mostly because i can’t imagine you speaking of me with any sort of pride.  ’
‘  i care for nothing and everything at the same time.  ’
‘  noble in thought, weak in action.  ’
‘  i think that’s the good thing about never being married, it’s impossible to divorce.  ’
‘  i tried, but somewhere along the line, you slip back into what you know and i’m sorry about that.  ’
‘  i’m sorry we haven’t talked in awhile because i miss you.  ’
‘  you’re doing the best you can. you’ve done good.  ’
‘  that fucker is the horniest man i’ve ever met. he’ll be pitching a tent on his deathbed.  ’
‘  don’t tell me what to feel.  ’
‘  all my fucking life people have been telling me i do things wrong. i’m always the fucking asshole. i look around and i see everybody else is infinitely more fucked up than i am.  ’
‘  i’m offering you sex, and you just want to talk? has the earth spun off its axis?  ’
‘  i question everything. it’s very healthy.  ’
‘  you should live with someone who everyday reminds you how fucking lucky you are to be with them.  ’
‘  you don’t want to be with me.  ’
‘  if i were to give myself to you, you would run for the hills ‘cause you’re not in love with me. you’re in love with the idea – the idea of love.  ’
‘  imagine my fucking disappointment when you turned out to be the biggest cliche of all.  ’
‘  a great father is a guy that gives it all up for his family and leaves his self-destructive bullshit at the door.  ’
‘  there isn’t a woman that i’v’e met that i haven’t fallen in love with for 10 minutes or 10 years.  ’
‘  friends don’t let friends bang each others soulmates!  ’
‘  i consider that whole area – general area – my cock. like, from my knees to nipples.  ’
‘  two people of the opposite gender can’t rendezvous after 7 pm.  ’
‘  life’s just too fucking boring not to try.  ’
‘  i may be easy, but i’m not sleazy.  ’
‘  a morning of awkwardness is far better than a night loneliness.  ’
‘  i like it here. it’s nice. the sun is chirping, the birds are shining. the water’s wet.  ’
‘  life is good, sweetheart. life is good.  ’
‘  you can blame everything on the economy, douchebag.  ’
‘  no man should ever have to bear witness to his “o” face.  ’
‘  you know, it’s not fair to say “b.r.b.” and then never actually b.r.b.  ’
‘  fuck around all you want. i’m no judge judy. but don’t string a woman along for a major chunk of her childbearing years. that’s not cool.  ’
‘  when it comes to emotions, women know how to pain with the full set of oils while men are busy doodling with crayons.  ’
‘  there’s nothing quite like getting stoned on the very bed that your ex-domestic partner shares with her fiance. it’s the little things.  ’
‘  hang out with your wang out, but remember: no gloving, no loving.  ’
‘  hate the game, not the playa.  ’
‘  no matter what you did, don’t give up. do not give up because if she loves you, she’ll forgive you.  ’
‘  things fall apart. they break. that’s life.  ’
‘  despite all evidence to the contrary, i am a gentleman.  ’
‘  i’ve been thinking about us – that’s us with a capitol “u”.  ’
‘  the story of us… how the fuck do i sum it up?  ’
‘  any story with me in the center of it will never be anything less than a big, smiling mess.  ’
‘  our time in the sun has been a thing of absolute beauty.  ’
‘  for years i woke up, fucked up, said i was sorry, passed out, and did it all over again.  ’
‘  i’m a sucker for happy endings.  ’
‘  there’s just the two of us, which can be fucking ugly sometimes.  ’
‘  i didn’t know how to finish it because it’s not over.  ’
‘  it’ll never be over, as long as there’s you, and there’s me, and there’s hope, and grace.  ’
‘  wine me. dine me. stand up 69 me.  ’
‘  one does not very easily forget the kiss of a beautiful woman.  ’
‘  that’s right. i said it. i meant it. i’m here to represent it.  ’
‘  can you slow down? i don’t know why you’re so fucking angry.  ’
‘  i’m not the one who disappeared to the bedroom with that fucking weirdo degenerate.  ’
‘  you’ve got a fucking nerve to take issue with anything i do, ever!  ’
‘  you’re right, but what am i supposed to do? just sit there and watch it happen?  ’
‘  why the fuck did you come here tonight anyway?  ’
‘  there’s always this voice in the back of my head that says ‘maybe this time it will be different, maybe this time the stars will align and there will be this magic moment between us where everything will be okay again.’  ’
‘  there’s always something or someone in the way!  ’
‘  you want me not to see anybody else, just say the word. but if you keep me at arms length, what am i supposed to do? just sit around with a cock-cage on and hope that you’re going to have some kind of epiphany about us?   ’
‘  do you honestly think i care about you fucking someone else? if we’re not together, i don’t expect you to have taken some vow of celibacy.  ’
‘  when i see someone look at you the way i used to look at you… i fucking hate that. it makes me sick to my stomach.  ’
‘  i don’t want to be that person. i don’t want to start playing games and like, trying to get back at you or try to hurt you.   ’
‘  i thought there was something wrong with me, but it’s you. you’re a loser.  ’
‘  i’m sorry you got hurt. i thought we had an understanding.  ’
‘  i swallowed your cum, but worst of all, i swallowed your bullshit.  ’
‘  i guess being there made it easier to forget that i still love the shit out of you. yeah, wow, i said that out loud, didn’t i?  ’
‘  so? i still love you. i always will, till the day i die. but at some point, i had to choose happiness, i had to make that a priority.  ’
‘  i’m with someone who understands that i’ll never stop loving you and that makes me happier than i’ve ever been.  ’
‘  contrary to popular belief, i’m not out there trying to hurt anyone.  ’
‘  by the way, you’re an incredibly woman. very sexual. are you ovulating right now?  ’
‘  don’t blame me because you were born with a clit for a cock and a tiny beanbag to house what passes for balls.  ’
‘  eat my shit.  ’
‘  it makes my labia shrivel.  ’
‘  die young and suffer, dickless.  ’
‘  you can either cry like a bitch or smack a bitch.  ’
‘  what, you going back to your mommy’s? you fucking infant.  ’
‘  sperm would enter my pretty little vajoojoo and my cold black heart would kill that shit dead, son.  ’
‘  trust me, getting your asshole bleached would be much more fun.  ’
‘  you’re like one of those freaky chicks who marries serial killers on death row.  ’
‘  well, if you were not so preoccupied with sticking your dick in anything with a hole that will have you, you might noticed these things.  ’
‘  i want to go back and do it all over again. only this time, not make the same mistakes… this time, do it better. this time do it right.  ’
‘  our best days are behind us now. you’re just chasing a dragon. we’re never going to life happily ever after.  ’
‘  you’re going to die poor, drunk, and alone.  ’
‘  welcome to the place where time stands still, where whisky flows and always will.  ’
‘  i came back… for you. i know it’s overwhelming, disorienting even.  ’
‘  we have to resolve this shit one way or another, don’t you agree?  ’
‘  i say we stay here until we figure it out… or until we both get so fucking horny we can’t stand it. either way, it’s a win-win for both of us.  ’
‘  what is this? explain yourself, woman.  ’
‘  do you realize that the bottom has just officially dropped out of our relationship?  ’
‘  angry? i’m not angry! why would i be angry? i’m not even entitled to angry.  ’
‘  that’s what makes it worse: she was there first.  ’
‘  you might wanna curve your crazy bitch.  ’
‘  why, do you still love her?  ’
‘  are you challenging me right here in my own home?  ’
‘  of course i love you! i’ve always loved you!  ’
‘  i didn’t fuck anyone, if that’s what you were wondering.  ’
‘  who gives diamonds to the homeless? not i.  ’
‘  i love you and i want to spend the rest of my life annoying the shit out of you.  ’
‘  i’m sick and tired of fighting about the past.  ’
‘  home is wherever you are.  ’
‘  you are so full of shit?  ’
‘  other than making the sweet love to me, that’s the nicest thing you could’v done.  ’
‘  you’re right, i know everything there is to know about you.  ’
‘  i am lucky. i’m lucky to have known you, i’m lucky to have loved you.  ’
‘  i like you when you’re crazy.  ’
‘  you have so much shit going on in your life right now, you don’t want to add this to the mix.  ’
‘  thank you for letting me be the crazy one for once.  ’
‘  merry fucking christmas. can we go home already?  ’
‘  it’s your life. if there’s something you don’t like about it, you can change it.  ’
‘  you need to be in the middle of a mess of your own creation, right? that’s what makes you attractive and also, impossible to live with.  ’
‘  impossible is a very strong word.  ’
‘  i love you, but i can’t be with you. when will you accept that?  ’

FIC: Pulling Apart Miracles (Otayuri pre-slash)

This was meant to be a 5 Times Otabek Kissed Yuri and the 1 Time Yuri Kissed Him fic, but I’ve been such a slouch in the writing department lately. I doubt I’ll ever finish it, although you never know!

I decided to post the first part (”forehead kiss”), which can stand on its own, so here y’all go:

+

“What are you doing?”

“What does it look like?” Yuri mumbles into the thing he’s lying on. He’s almost positive he’s still in the bathroom stall, so it might be the toilet seat. With his luck it’s the floor. It doesn’t matter, not when it’s so cool against his burning cheek that it’s completely worth every strain of hepatitis he’s getting from it. “I’m here to win a gold medal and fight crime.”

“Yakov is looking for you.”

“Tell him I’ll be out in a minute.”

“Victor and Katsuki are looking for you, too.”

“Tell them I’m dead.”

“Not too far from the truth, by the looks of it.”

“How dare you. I’m perfect. I’m in my prime. I'm—ugh, hang on—” It’s only by dredging the bottomless depths of his determination, the cold runoff from the wellspring at the summit of Spite Mountain, that he manages to get his face practically inside the toilet before the next bout of nausea hits like a freight train.

To his credit, Otabek says nothing, just waits patiently for Yuri to finish puking before attempting to appeal to Yuri’s better judgment. “You’re not going out there like this.”

“That your professional opinion, Dr. Altin?” He means for it to be positively dripping with bile, gone rough and sharp, the words eaten through with stomach acid. And they are. Literally. He spits out a chunk of something that might be tomato and then flails for the roll of toilet paper hanging on the wall next to him so he can wipe his chin.

Otabek takes a careful step forward. “Yura.”

“Don’t Yura me,” Yuri whines through clenched teeth, wuffing helplessly, mouth filling so quickly with saliva that he feels like he’s drowning. He spits it into the toilet. He read somewhere that if you swallow spit when you’re nauseated it’ll actually make you throw up more. “I worked too long and too hard for this, and I’m not about to let a little stomach bug that I probably picked up from some moron who couldn’t be bothered to wash their hands get in the way of a win. I’m reaching for the fucking stars.”

“Can you even stand?”

“… Yes.”

“Prove it and I’ll make sure no one stops you from getting to the ice,” Otabek says, and Yuri doesn’t have to open his eyes to know that Otabek has that look on his face, the one that’s barely a look at all: an impenetrable castle with time-worn stone, overgrown with ivy and moss. It’s unnerving as hell and never fails to fill Yuri with vicious glee to see it turned onto lesser mortals, but this time it’s on him and that rankles enough to spur him into motion.

“Fine.” He pushes himself up and carefully gets to his feet, then, smarmily, throws his arms out wide. “See? Drink it in, asshole.”

Otabek says nothing for a long moment. “You didn’t do anything.”

It takes a second for the words to sink in, but before he can muster the energy to punch Otabek for impugning his honor, Yuri realizes that he’s still on the floor, head in the toilet like he’s wearing the world’s most fucked-up hat. He tries to gather the strength he’s been working to gain for the last six months under Lilia’s terrifying tutelage and conquer the daunting task of pushing himself up, except his arms don’t so much as tense.

“Just throw me onto the ice,” Yuri whispers, squeezing his eyes shut against the first hot pinpricks of frustration that lurk just behind his lashes. “A belly flop from me is better than anyone else’s best short program.”

There’s a sudden, gentle hand on his back that feels like someone just plunked an elephant on top of him, and it hurts like nothing he’s ever felt and feels so good he almost thinks about just letting the tears come after all. He endures both an eternity and mere seconds of this before it disappears altogether. His mouth opens and a startled moan falls out.  

Otabek murmurs, “When did it start?”

He can’t quite pin that down because there’s a weird moment after takeoff where time ceases to exist, but by the time his flight touched down at LaGuardia Yuri had been doggedly swallowing around the sour crackle in his jaw for what felt like hours, his skin a soaked canvas painted in whorls of fire and ice. He damn near killed some old bat on the skybridge in his haste to get to the bathroom just in time to be reacquainted with the in-flight meal—some roasted chicken thing that they served in a cardboard package. The tomato rice side was pretty decent, so of course that’s all he can fucking taste.

“I’m never flying KLM again.” His voice spirals tragically into the stratosphere and then splits on again. If Otabek doesn’t slam the toilet lid down on his neck right this second and end this humiliation, Yuri is cancelling their friendship. “I’m gonna send the CEO a glitter bomb. And then burn his house to the ground.”

“I’ll find the address for you,” Otabek says, and it’s the click and flare of fire underneath a pot of cold water, a simmer slow to start but bringing with it the promise of boiling over. Yuri’s never seen Otabek angry, but he knows when it happens it’ll leave him absolutely devastated in an impact crater of his own making. It’s always the quiet ones. Look at Seung-gil. That kid is a serial killing spree waiting to happen.

Yuri’s eyes are burning. He closes them in search of a moment of respite from this complete and utter shitshow, and tries again. “The season’s just starting and I have to go on, Beka. If I don’t, I’m out. You, Victor, and Katsudon are all competing and I can't—after all of this fucking shit, I can’t not—”

Even if he wanted to bow out, he doesn’t know how. Every trace of acceptance has been beaten out of him, so much that even the muscle memory’s atrophied to nothing. He’s a creature comprised entirely of sharp angles and grit, created in the image of a woman who is a walking, talking steak knife, and he’s not about to dull his edges just because he didn’t go with the vegetarian option.

Nothing short of death is stopping him from going out there, and even then he’s sure he could finagle something.  

“No one would think badly of you if you—”

I would think fucking badly of me, and my opinion is the only one I care about,” he snarls, then lets out a truly horrifying whimper. The worst of the nausea has passed, but he’s going to throw up. “I didn’t mean that.”

He never does. Sometimes the words come faster than he can think to stop them, more barbed than he wants, dripping with blood he didn’t intend mean to draw, but by that point it doesn’t matter because no one in their right mind is going to stick around to search through a steaming pile of shit in hopes of finding a flower.

“I know what you meant,” Otabek says.

It’s thrown down like a winning card hand, like fire from on high, and for a split second Yuri is so thrown by the sheer indelibility of it that he can’t see for the slant of the sun in his eyes while Park Güell hides them from the world. Are we going to be friends or not?

There are words he should be saying to express the sheer gratitude he feels that Otabek is here, is in his life at all, and they might all taste like tomato-flavored vomit but they’d be something, and if Otabek deserves anything it’s that. Instead, they sit pretty in the back of his throat and hold onto his tongue for dear life, which, fuck, no, they have to let go so he can tell Otabek, so Otabek knows—

Tears burn at the corners of his eyes, rough-riding the sudden wave of frustration at his inability to act like the fucking person he wants to be for Otabek Altin. The flower hiding in the pile of shit.

Otabek just exhales, long and low, and murmurs, “Okay.”

The world tilts suddenly, dangerously. Yuri’s stomach begins shouting “ALL HANDS ON DECK, WATCH YOUR SHOES” but he clenches his jaw and forces that shit back down, tucking his hot face into the place where Otabek’s throat meets his shoulder with a truly pathetic whine. Otabek lifts him like he weighs less than nothing. Yuri tries not to take it personally, on account of Otabek being a fucking terminator.

“Hey.” The shoulder Yuri’s nestled against rises and gently falls. “Lift up for second.”

You lift up. I’m staying right here until you toss me into the rink. Hope you haven’t skipped arm day, asshole, because—”

Otabek doesn’t even give him a chance to finish the sentence, just bounces Yuri’s cheek with his shoulder because he was raised by wolves, grumbling something that sounds an awful lot like ‘don’t tempt me,’ and turns his head.

Every single thought leaves Yuri’s head as though they were woodland creatures fleeing from a forest fire set by a bunch of jackasses in the woods, except one stubborn bastard stands its ground:

No one’s lips should be this soft.

“My mom used to take our temperatures like this,” Otabek murmurs against Yuri’s forehead. “Said it worked better than any thermometer.”

Helplessly, Yuri’s hand slides up to grab a fistful of butter-soft leather. The ubiquitous motorcycle jacket shouldn’t be as much of a comfort as it is, but the storm churning in his gut settles just a very little bit at the feel of it. He draws a breath that rattles in his throat and tastes a little like puke, but there are notes of something wild in it—a lonely wind trying to catch up to a motorbike that seems to fly all on its own, or the thump of the bass buried beneath the layers of an unfinished song—that he savors like a stolen sip of someone else’s vodka. For a moment, his mind goes quiet.

“You don’t feel that warm.” The lips pressed to his skin curve up. “You’re good to go. That’s my professional opinion.”

The smell of the wind dissipates altogether from Otabek’s skin. Yuri opens his eyes, present and accounted for, and bites back a whimper at the sudden rush of something that feels like a chill, but isn’t. It’s as though his entire body has become a live wire, exposed and ready to blow. His skin prickles, cold, then hot, and he snaps, “Dr. Altin saves the day.”

“Good thing I’ll have something to fall back on if skating doesn’t work out.”

“Fix your sloppy fucking toe loops and you should be fine.” The thought of Otabek not being on the ice is a terrifying one. He wiggles a little until Otabek gingerly puts him down. When his skate guards hit the floor, Yuri wobbles, and for a second he thinks that gravity’s going to add insult to injury by pushing him just enough for him to crumble to the ground, but he locks his knees and holds steady.

Stepping back, Otabek doesn’t say anything, but Yuri can practically hear the gears turning behind that controlled front—which he suspects is hiding secret mind-reading abilities—while he cycles through every possible response. But every response is the wrong one, and Otabek isn’t stupid. So he doesn’t say anything, just gives a shrug and gestures to the door.

“If Victor and the pig are waiting out there—”

“I’ll run interference for you,” Otabek says, and the hell of it is he would, too. “Go rinse out your mouth. Your breath smells like death.”

“I’ll vom on everything you love,” Yuri vows, but he wobbles over to the sink. Against the back of his throat, the cold water feels like the first push off on fresh ice. He spits, then splashes water over his cheeks and chin, and carefully avoids his forehead.

Otabek hands him a fistful of paper towels, then gestures to his own chest. “You have a little…”

“There are so many rhinestones on this fucking thing that no one will ever see it through the glare,” Yuri mutters, drying his face and then dabbing at his chest. “If you ever tell anyone about this, I swear to god I’ll put sugar in your gas tank.”

The unimpressed tilt of Otabek’s eyebrow speaks volumes and Yuri averts his eyes to the crumbled paper towels in his hand, a little ashamed. If there’s one thing he’s learned since they watched the sunset on the top of the world, it’s that Otabek Altin is ride or die to the very end.

Pressing his lips together to prevent anything stupid from falling out—like an apology, or a plea for Otabek to bring his mouth back, but lower—Yuri tosses the paper towels in the trash and then holds out his arms, presenting himself for inspection. A rumbling threat of backflow stirs in his belly, but it turns out to be a little burp. He holds it in. “Well?”

Mila once joked that Otabek’s superpower is to “look at the hell out of things” and she wasn’t wrong. The first time that stare was leveled at him, he was completely unprepared: his legs shook, his heartbeat kicked into double time, and all sound seemed to disappear. In all honesty, he thought he was having a stroke. But then the weight was suddenly sliding away like a shadow, leaving him oddly bereft as the weird hot guy with the thousand-laser stare blinked, looked elsewhere, and walked away. A punch to the jaw would’ve been easier to take.

It’s been ages since, but the effects haven’t lessened with time. Even now, Otabek’s gaze is the slow, considering drag of a storm, towing the line where a harmless breeze gives way to a writhing, spinning hunger. Yuri loves storms; loves the sheer scale of them, the unpredictability, the unapologetic hunger that tears at the very fabric of the world. A storm doesn’t hesitate. A storm doesn’t say sorry, and it isn’t weak, except when it is, and even then it’s unstoppable. In another life he’d be chasing them, flaying them open to learn their secrets and devouring whatever he found.

The smile Otabek gives him is small but heartfelt, because he hasn’t given Yuri proof that he knows any other kind. It feels like the bone-rattling promise of a supercell.

“Perfect.”

Otabek isn’t a storm to be hunted. He isn’t a mystery; as the first person who’s ever voluntarily stuck around for Yuri, he’s a miracle. And you don’t pull those apart to try and find the center. You just be grateful that they happened at all.

“Wonderful,” Yuri snaps, cheeks warm. “Time to blow minds.”

“And not chunks.”

It’s only by the grace of Otabek’s Terminator reflexes that he manages to easily sidestep the punch that Yuri aims at his face.

Hired Help (Part 1/?) (Deadpool x reader)

Request: I haven’t seen Mr. Pool in a little while! I’d love if you wrote one where Deadpool is protecting you from a guy you dated and you develop a brother/sister bond.

Language, obviously

With a quick flip of a chair and a swung leg over its back rest, Wade dropped himself onto the seat in a grumbling heap, grabbing his crotch with a wince of pain from a leg not raised up quite high enough.  “Goddammit, that stings!  Why the fuck do you have chairs in a bar anyway?  They’re called bar stools for a reason.”

“Hey, that’s new!” Weasel whined in reply.  “Could you maybe not wipe your dick all over the furniture please?  I’m trying to run a business.”

Keep reading

A Lunatic Mother

Prompt: Lucifer is readers father, and when reader asks about their mother and begins to relive bad experiences, reader gets unexpected comfort.
Fandom: SPN
Word count: 778
Tags:  @cinnafullydelicious @blossombarnes @ex-bookjunky @aufangirl
Note: I got this idea some time ago, and I’ve been working on it off and on since. This is a bit short, but it felt a bit weird when I tried to make it longer. This also has more dialogue than thoughts and things of that sort, so I apologize if you don’t like that sort of thing.♥♥

Originally posted by codestielckles

“Dad.“

"No.”

“Daaaaaad.”

“Nooooo.”

“Daaadddddyyyyy.”

“Nooooooooo.”

“DaaaaAAAD!”

“What?!”

“Can I ask you something?” I questioned.

“You already did, my annoying little deviled egg.” He said, still not looking up at me.

“Stop calling me that.” I whined.

“I’ll stop calling you deviled egg when you stop being annoying.” He said, finally looking at me with a smirk.

I sighed, crossing my arms on the table and resting my head on them. Dad and I’s banter was usually like this, and I usually didn’t take it so personally, but today was different. Today I had been feeling awful in general, and I had begun thinking about mom and dad again. I tried not to think about it, but today it’s been the only thing on my mind. Why did mom do everything she did? And if she really loved me, why did she abandon me like she did?

I saw dad look over at me from the corner of my eyes, but I didn’t return the eye contact. I was too busy with trying to answer my own questions to stir up new ones. Dozens of suppressed questions have been swimming through my head, and not one of them answered. Sometimes I wish I could forget about her, all the memories, everything. She doesn’t deserve a place in my thoughts, yet here I am. I heard dad sigh before talking to me.

“What’s up, black-eyed pea?”

“What happened?” I questioned.

“What do you mean?” He questioned back, clearly caught off guard.

“With mom.” I explained.

“I think I’m gonna need more context than that, Y/n.” He said warily.

“Why was she so mean to me?” I bluntly asked.

He was silent for a long moment, obviously not wanting to talk about this. He didn’t like the mention of her name, let alone full-on talking about his past with her. He hated her as much as I’ve grown to hate her, and the both of us were fully justified. I had tried to understand her hatred and malicious actions toward me. I had gone over all the possibilities a dozen times in my head, but I’ve never been able to know for sure.

Was it because I was the literal child of the devil? Is it because I was inhuman? Is it because their relationship ended badly? Was she jealous? What had I done to deserve such hate from my own mother? Lucifer set down whatever he had in his hands, and looked at me. He was giving me his full attention, which meant this was probably going to either be a long story, or an answer I really didn’t want to hear.

“Your mother was insane, Y/n.” He said after a moment.

“That still doesn’t give me a reason.” I said.

“Your mother and I had a rocky relationship, even from the beginning. She didn’t know I was the devil, and I never really bothered with telling her. Then one thing lead to another, and he ended up pregnant. Then, when you were born, and she saw your eyes, she went nuts. Then I told her I was, you know, Satan, and she just lost it. Literally. She said some pretty harsh things and disappeared.” He said.

“So she went crazy, and that’s why she hurt me?” I asked and he sighed.

“Yes, she went insane, apparently became a religious nut, and that’s why she hurt you, sweetie.” He said and I furrowed my brows.

“But why be mad at me? Why hurt me? I never did anything.” I said.

“She was trying to punish me by hurting you. She also probably thought that by hurting you, she’d be saved and you’d become human.” He explained.

“So she didn’t love me?” I questioned further.

“Y/n, I really don’t-” He began.

“It’s either you tell me now, or I live the rest of my immortal life thinking my mother hated my guts, and you’re only with me out of pity and guilt.” I interrupted.

“Is that what you think?” He asked.

“It very well might be.” I said a bit warily.

“Y/n, I’m not just in your life out of pity and guilt. You’re my child, I love you. Your mother was a lunatic, and she deserves the punishment she’s getting. It doesn’t matter what she thinks.” He tried to comfort.

“I think it matters, dad. She’s my mother. If my own mother hates me, then why would anyone love me?” I questioned.

“Y/n, stop thinking like that right now. That woman is the same woman that murdered 25 people and used religion as an excuse. She’s incapable of love.” He said, which finally made me feel a bit better.

99 Problems

Things had been decidedly less exciting around Storybrooke since the final battle. Emma felt as if she was taking the world’s longest exhale. No curses. No monsters. No dwarves screaming of impending doom. There was something profoundly wonderful about the luxury of being bored. With all the madness aside, sheriffing had become a normal job. A few drunks getting too rowdy for the Rabbit Hole and every now and then she had to bust teenagers for vandalism. She even wrote a parking ticket yesterday.

As she strolled into the office that morning, she practically beamed. Bringing her to go cup from Granny’s to her lips, she savored the earthy dark roast. Taking a deep breath with a satisfied exhale as she settled at her desk, delighted by the monotony of paperwork.

“Hello wife” Killian greeted her from his desk with a soft smile. They usually tried to drive together, but as it was the first day of high school she couldn’t resist driving Henry to school…much to his disdain. Suddenly it wasn’t cool to hang out with mom in public. Teenagers…

“Hello, husband” she replied congenially as she watched the color rush into his cheeks and the tips of his ears. Something was still so, so sweet about those words. Even two months later.

She took in the stacks of paperwork: incident reports for car accidents, tickets, budget information, and of course, complaints. She took note that her sweet husband was kind enough to separate Leroy’s complaint letters out from the others. Chuckling to herself, she grabbed the impressive stack and headed toward the filing cabinet. She passed by his desk with an extra bounce to her step as she deposited the letters in the file marked “Leroy…again”. They didn’t really even read them anymore. A barking dog was not an emergency.

As she turned back, she caught him with his eyes fixed to her body, a slight blush creeping up on her cheeks. His tongue pressed between his teeth as if he hadn’t already had her once before work.

“Down boy.” She said with a musical laugh as she stopped to kiss him quickly on the cheek.

“Can you blame a man, Swan? You look positively radiant today” He waggled his eyebrows and scratched behind his ear as he grinned at her.

“Well, you know, I’ve got 99 problems but a curse ain’t one” She threw over her shoulder as she walked back toward her desk.

“99 problems? Is there something you’re not telling me, love?” His face scrunched into one of concern.

“Oh, um, no. It’s Jay Z.”

“Jay who?” He cocked his head in confusion. She scrambled to think of how to explain modern music to him. He still sings sea shanties.

“He’s a rapper”

“Oh. What does he wrap?” It was all she could do to contain her laughter. He was so innocent sometimes and so not innocent other times…she snapped her thoughts back to the present.

With a smile twitching on her lips, “Not wrapping like presents…rap as in music. He’s kind of a musician. It’s like a poem set to music” And there’s a lot of bitches and hoes, but she didn’t tell him that part.

“Oh, well I gather that would be quite pleasant” He said, no doubt thinking of those Walt Whitman poems he had found set to some charming and wistful violin.

“I’ll show you some time.” She said with a smirk.

A few days later, she sat at the kitchen table wrestling with her broken coffee maker. “Stupid motherfucking thing, just fucking-” She cursed as she jammed the screwdriver in with more force. It was still early and he was still asleep. He’d been up late last night making her toes curl and her voice hoarse. She had a hard time getting comfortable all night and after waking up three times, she decided to just get up for the day. It didn’t mean she couldn’t grumble about it.

“Oi! Love, what did that poor contraption do to you?” Killian asked sleepily as he entered the room, taking in the hilarious sight in front of him. He’d awakened suddenly, feeling bereft without her by his side. He ambled after her guided by the loud and quite angry sounding music and a few colorful words from his wife. She jammed the flathead into the toaster again and with more force. She didn’t appear to know what she was doing at all, unless she was trying to destroy it.

“It deprived me of coffee and for that it must be punished” She seethed. She jabbed the machine’s guts again, hoping that maybe hitting it would somehow cause it to freaking cooperate. Hechuckled and made his way to her, carefully taking the screw driver from her hand and safely depositing it back on the kitchen counter.

“Easy, love. Surely we can remedy this affliction with some Granny’s?” He affectionately rubbed her back with his hand.

“I’d have to put on real clothes and drive there though” He sighed. Taking in her indecently short pajama shorts and her tank top pressed tightly to her chest so as to hint that she was not wearing a bra, he decided he didn’t want her to change clothes. He liked her just fine like this.

“You’re fortunate that you’re actually quite adorable when you’re acting like a petulant child. Not to worry, your dashing husband will fetch it for you.” She smiled up at him. Yep, he was a keeper.

“Aw, thank you Killian” she said coming up to meet his lips.

“No offense, wife, but do you mind if I turn this music off? It’s putting a bit of a damper on what is to be a very romantic kiss.” She laughed and pressed the pause button on her music. “Ah, thank you. What is that stuff?”

“It’s rap. Remember I told you about it?” She said, grateful for the silence. While “I Don’t Fuck With You” is exactly the sentiment she had meant for her worthless coffee maker, it wasn’t great for when she was very tempted to take her husband on the kitchen table. Because let’s face it, she does fuck with him. She does it a lot, in fact.

“It’s…it’s a tad louder than I expected” Well. It certainly wasn’t Walt Whitman with a violin, she bemused.

“Not all of it is that way. I listen to it when I’m working out some times”

“Or when you’re destroying our appliances” Killian added unhelpfully, if she was being honest.

“Hey! That thing started it” She pouted despite the obvious smirk tugging at the corners of her lips. He gave her a kiss and headed to the diner for her precious coffee.

He was cleaning the kitchen when she first heard it. Killian rapping. It wasn’t great technically speaking, but at the same time she was convinced it was the best thing that had ever happened in the history of time. She hid behind the corner of the wall and watched.

“Sit down! Be humble!” He said along with the music as he swept the floor. He was just a bit behind the beat and a little too eager to get the words out. She didn’t take him for a Kendrick Lamar fan, much less a rap guy at all. He was full of surprises. She wasn’t even aware he’d been listening to it since she said it in passing. But then again, Killian has always tried to learn as much as he could about new things. He’d almost gone a month with his iphone before he’d cracked the screen.

“Captain Hook has bars…who knew?” She cackled, revealing herself. His face flushed enormously and he scrambled for composure.

“I’d hardly say that, but I am enjoying the rap music”

The rap music? How old are you, 75?” She couldn’t contain her giggles, reminded of the grandfather types she had seen on television. He certainly didn’t sound like her thirty-something looking pirate.

“Much older, so you’d do well to listen to me, lass” he joked back, though his crisp tone as he said ‘lass’ definitely was giving her some ideas. He ran his hand through his dark hair, laughing freely as he took in the interest in her eyes. It had all been much less intense as they settled into a normal life. There was more freedom to make fun of each other and less pressure on keeping things romantic all the time.

“Oh okay, I’ll make a note of that, sir” She winked. She thought maybe she saw a tinge of lust color his eyes, but she ignored it. It wasn’t every day that you could make fun of a pirate for rapping.

“Seriously though, what’s your next single? Walk the Plank feat Smee?”

“Very funny, Emma. If you must know, it’s got a nice beat and I happen to have a lot in common with some of these rap artists.”

“Oh, really? What’s a centuries old pirate have in common with a rapper?” She asked incredulously. His eyes lit up mischieviously and she realized far too late that she’d set him up for the punch line.

“They both love booty” She laughed despite herself.

“You’re ridiculous.” She rolled her eyes and snatched the broom from him. “You know, I pictured you as more of a Foreigner or Journey kind of guy.”

“Are those musicians?”

“They’re bands. Rock. You’ll like them” He smiled and wrote himself a note on the notepad on the counter.

“Any other suggestions?” he quirked his eyebrow.

“Boston.” Seeing his confusion. “It’s a band, not the city… Def Leppard…”

“A hearing impaired jungle cat?” His eyes widened comically, but the glint of humor showed her he was kidding.

“You did that one on purpose” He chuckled and nodded his head.

“That one came up on the radio a few days ago. Something about sugar.” He admitted. He stepped closer into her space as he smiled at her.

“Pour Some Sugar on Me.” she answered.

“If the lady insists…” He licked his lips, moving closer but she stopped him right before with a finger to his lips.

“You’re annoying” she said, but her smile stretched wide and her tone was affectionate. She trailed her finger down his lips over his chin then stepped another step closer, pressing her body to his. “But you’re cute.”

“My special super power. Everyone has one, Swan.” He teased. Bringing his lips down to hers, he kissed her. She pulled his shoulders closer and deepened the kiss. Staying there for a moment, tangling their tongues and nipping at his lip. He gently pulled away and rested his forehead on hers.

“I love you.”

“I love you too, boo.” He said sweetly, but he couldn’t keep from teasing her just a little more.

Oh my god, stop!” She pushed back and started to walk away.

He laughed and caught her arm. “What? I’m just trying to holler at you!”

Creepypasta #1044: Spencer's Last Prank

Length: Long

My coworkers liked stupid pranks.

I worked in a shitty clothing store in the local mall. It’s the kind of place that hires high schoolers and, over the summer, college kids. It’s minimum wage, so our employers didn’t expect much. Honestly, they just hoped we didn’t come in drunk. Hell, if our eyes were a little red, they’d look the other way, if you know what I mean. 

Which is why the pranks continued for so long. It started out small. Jumping out from behind doors. Hiding in clothing racks. Prank calling the store on days off. It was funny and petty and stupid.

That’s the key word again – stupid.

It was my coworker, Spencer. He’s the reason the pranking eventually came to an end about six months ago. And the reason that I eventually quit my job.

See, none of us were exactly rocket scientists. Most of us were a little dumb for the sole fact that we were teenagers. But Spencer was dumber than the rest of us. I mean, that kid was a few eggs short of a dozen. Not college material and probably would never move away from our hometown. But we liked him just the same. He was good for a laugh.

But, God… he took it too far.

It happened on Tuesday. I was working from three to nine, which meant I was on closing duty. I mopped the storefront, cleaned the windows, took out the trash and threw the cardboard boxes from inventory into the cardboard compactor. I locked up and did a quick inventory check. Most importantly, I did it all by myself.

See, Spencer was supposed to be working with me. He was supposed to come in at noon and leave at eight. It’s not uncommon for someone to close alone, but usually there’s another person there for part of the evening. It makes finishing closing duties easier. I can’t take out the trash while I’m helping customers, you know.

He’d been there when I came in at two, but at some point he’d left without letting me know and without clocking out. I was pretty irritated – I wondered if maybe he was playing some kind of joke on me. Spencer wasn’t the type to think things through – he might very well have thought that abandoning me on the night shift would be hilarious.

I called Spencer but didn’t get an answer. I called my manager and let her know that Spencer had ducked out on me. I expected Spencer to return my call or at least text, but he didn’t. The next time I worked – two days later – I asked my manager, but she hadn’t heard from Spencer either.

Now, Spencer might not be the brightest bulb in the box, and yes, sometimes he forgets his schedule or messes up and doesn’t come in for a shift. But he isn’t the kind to just shirk his responsibilities. If he misses work, he accepts the blame for it and makes it up to his coworkers. He doesn’t make excuses and it doesn’t happen often. That’s why none of us employees really have a problem with him. So the fact that he was completely MIA left me a bit confused. If he’d left me there as a joke, he would have confessed to it by now. He wouldn’t have stopped coming in to work entirely.

I didn’t get worried until the next week when Spencer’s mother officially filed a Missing Persons report.

She came into the store to talk to the manager. I saw them disappear into the office – which is really just a cramped closet in the back room with a dusty old desktop computer – and could barely make myself focus until they came back out. Mrs. Damson – that is to say, Spencer’s mom – had tears in her eyes. I heard my manager, Kelly, assure her that they’d check the security footage. Then, Kelly asked me to come to the back office. She’d never done that before.

It turns out that I was the last person to see Spencer before he went missing.

At least, the last known person. His mother had seen him at the house before he went to work that Tuesday. He’d never come home. Spencer had been working with me and only me – Tuesdays are slow and Kelly had been busy along with the rest of the managers, so there’d been no manager present. The last time I remembered seeing Spencer was around four-thirty when he’d gone to use the employee restroom in the back. That’s the last anyone had heard of him.

I told Kelly what I remembered and she told me she was going to try to get her hands on the security footage. Most likely, Spencer had just high-tailed it with some of his buddies. Impromptu road trip or something, hell if I know. Kelly assured me over and over that the most likely scenario was that Spencer was completely fine and had just done something unexpected… unexpected and stupid, but then again, this was Spencer we were talking about. Stupid was implied.

I let that placate me for the most part, although I was still nervous the rest of the night. I managed to distract myself for most of the next day, playing video games with a few buddies. It wasn’t until mid-evening when I got a call from Kelly.

“Hey, Conner, can you come to my apartment? There’s… something I want to talk to you about.”

Keep reading

Routine

Inukag Oneshot

Summary: Inuyasha and Kagome had a weekly routine. They would go somewhere good to have breakfast and spend their day on a private not-a-date. But what if one of them wanted it to be a date?

This is a gift for my precious baby Zoe @vividxdreaming a girl full of light and love.

I love you babe!!!

Also on ff.net and Ao3 if you prefer. 


Inuyasha walked through the streets on his way to Kagome’s home as he did every weekend for the last six months.

Waking up and having a real reason to get out of bed, shower and dress. Taking a shower in the morning when he normally wouldn’t  spoke volumes about how much he enjoyed spending time with his wench.

He made a face as he crossed the street. She wasn’t exactly HIS wench, Kagome was HIS friend. Maybe she was the only friend that he made plans with every week, without asking. It was the only permanent appointment he had, every Sunday early morning. Which for Kagome it meant every Sunday at noon.

The door of her apartment was in front of him, a cute lilac door, the only one that was not the custom dark brown on that floor, and he suspected, the only one of the building. He rang the bell knowing a half ready woman would open the door because it was still half hour to noon.

The door opened and soon after a petite woman poked her head out with a big smile on her face.

“You are here! Welcome to my kingdom,” she declared holding the door open for him to enter.

“Humbled to be allowed here…” he kept the joke going.

She batted her hand dismissively, “As you should be!” Her voice lost the dramatic tone before she continued. “I’m almost ready, just getting dressed and make up!”

“You don’t need make up, Kagome! We’re only going to have breakfast!” He complained but the girl was already in her way to her room.

Before entering her room she turned to him with a pouty face, “but I want to look pretty…” and she closed the door behind her without looking back.

‘For you’ remained unsaid on her part, just as his answer ‘you are always pretty’ was not brought into the conversation.

Keep reading

Swoll To Swell

           Craig forced himself into the gym five times a week, two hours each trip. It wasn’t something he liked to do, and definitely not something that got him excited, but seeing the looks the bigger members of his family got, he vowed to never be like them.

           Don’t get me wrong (my name is Henry and I’m your narrator tonight), he loved his family dearly. He was very family devoted and was there for his family no matter what, but it was hard for him to see the public treat them so unfairly. He saw people in parking lots laugh and point at his father when he tried to squeeze himself into Craig’s tiny car. His cousins were bullied in their middle school for their weight. The lowest point was when he found out that his aunt and uncle, as sweet and compassionate they were, had been turned into a meme about elephants grazing in the wild, when all they were doing was getting food at the buffest. From then on, no matter how much he liked food and hated the gym, he decided he would never know what it meant to be fat.

           All of this he told James, the trainer at 24 Hour Cardio. He had known James for a few years now, and had remained friends even when they couldn’t make a relationship work. James was dedicated to working out and loved it, and man did it show. The man had pecs and abs that could’ve and probably were chiseled in ancient Venice. His chest had a dark field of chest hair with wide pink nipples poking out. His back was broad and his predominant ass stuck out of any and all pants they were concealed in. He was a god, for all intensive purposes. And did he still love Craig, thought Craig wouldn’t know it for a few weeks.

           Also, unknown to Craig, James didn’t love him at his current size. That would also change within a few weeks.

           Craig was thin, with some slight meat on his bones. For someone who was six foot two, he looked how a man that tall should look. Forcing himself to do pushups and weights the past few months had definitely defined his chest and arms, but no number of crunches and core exercises could make his tiny amount of belly fat to go away. This was where James’ expertise would come in handy, but not in the way Craig would expect.

           “You need to start talking SomeExtra,” James told him while spotting for Craig. “It is high in protein, but burns what you eat for a few hours. It is a great metabolism booster, while helping you get some gains too.”

           Craig grunted as he pushed the barbell back into place. “But I don’t want gains. I want loses.”

           “Dude, trust me. You want to define that chest a little more and make those arms swoll. Plus, the crunches will tighten your core along with the protein, so you’ll lose your fat and tone that shit up.”

           Craig couldn’t deny that this sounded good. So, he agreed to start taking this protein shake.

           James handed him a small container of the powder. “Drink this with water tomorrow. Come to the gym and tell me how you feel.”

           Craig nodded and went home.

           The next morning, he mixed the powder with water and drank it. He licked his lips, tasting the thick chocolate solution, feeling it make its way to his stomach. Feeling hungry, he made himself a few eggs with toast. He was happy when he felt full after a few bites. This will really work, he thought to himself.

           He went to the gym happy that afternoon and worked out hard, pushing himself to his limits. Weird enough, he felt motivated and happy. James certainly saw it, for he could not stop smiling either. He enjoyed seeing Craig so happy.

           “Here is the rest of the container. But here’s the deal. You can’t take it every day. And you shouldn’t drink more than one a day. People have had some weird side effects if they overuse it.”

           “Yeah yeah, whatever man,” Craig said taking the container. He felt cocky. He knew with hard work and dedication, he could soon look like James and get all the guys he could want. Most of all, he would never feel the scrutiny that his family has felt over the years.

           Days passed and Craig never felt better. He only took three shakes a week, which meant he ate less those days, and continued with going to the gym. That was, until he got into a car crash which resulted in a serious neck injury that put him on light duty at work, and resulted in a break from the gym.

           Refusing to give into take out and fast food, he started making his own meals at home. When he started to run low on food, he turned to the shakes. Well, he thought to himself, if I drink a little more of the shakes, I’ll eat less. Therefore, I can save money and food by not eating so much.

           This was a BIG mistake for Craig.

           He began drinking the shakes every day in the morning, followed by his small breakfasts. Sometimes, he even had them before dinner, which resulted in leftovers for lunch the next day. All was well, until he noticed his hunger didn’t disappear after the shakes and a light meal. He had to eat more food to keep himself full. This didn’t worry him, until he noticed a small pouch of fat on his stomach.

           “James, something’s the matter. I need you to come over.”

           “Sure enough, James showed up at Craig’s apartment. James looked Craig over, seeing the few pounds Craig was now sporting in a tight fit muscle shirt.

           “That’s nothing to be worried about. I did warn you though about abusing the shakes.”

           “But three pounds in a few days? That’s nuts!”

           “Well, I do have something else you might like.” He reached into his bag and gave Craig another small container, this time with a white powder. “You’ll want to drink this, but eat a hefty meal afterwards. You’ll be able to go all day without eating again.”

           Craig eyed the powder cautiously. “And there’s no issues with this one?”

           “Well, none have been reported. But you’ll be fine. Here, drink this now and I’ll get you some food.”

           As James was out, Craig mixed the formula and drank. He felt the shake sink into his stomach and felt very optimistic that this time he would be satisfied. James came back with a whole feast in paper bags: two thick juicy burgers with all the toppings, a few beers, two containers of fries, and a triple scoop sundae.

           “Umm, that’s so unhealthy,” Craig said looking at the containers on his kitchen table. “The idea was to help me thin out and gain muscle, not get fat as fuck.”

           “Trust me. You’ll be fine,” James said with a smile.

           Trusting his friend, Craig dived in. He ate one burger without stopping, then added fries to the second one. After that was gone, he swallowed two beers without so much as a few breaths between, and attacked the third burger. Soon, the only thing that was left was the sundae. He placed his hand on his full, bloated tummy and almost gave up. That was, if James hadn’t raised the container of melted ice cream to his lips and helped him drink all three scoops of creamy melted ice cream. Craig sat back in his chair, defeated, rubbing his taught belly. He burped loud and James smiled. “How do you feel?”

           Craig looked at him. He was going to answer “Full,” but felt the weirdest sensation in his gut. As he looked down, his bloated belly seemed to disappear, sucking itself back into its usual flt self, with the extra pouch added to it. “What the fuck?” Craig asked, lifting his shirt up and poked his normal looking belly.”

           “Oh, it’s normal. The shake just burned through all that food like it was nothing. That’ll happen now. But you need to keep eating a lot after for it to work this way.”

           Craig, still looking a little mystified, was comforted when James added, “Here, let me stay with you for a few days. I’ll take time off work and I’ll help you when I can.”

           It was a match made in heaven as everyday was filled with a shake first thing in the morning, followed by food all day. Craig’s belly was put to the test as it was filled to near bursting for hours, but before bed, it would go back to how it was in the morning. He began to feel feelings for James that he didn’t know existed. It went so far that when James went out for food, he would rub out loads of cum thinking about having sex with his sexy friend.

           At night, when James was asleep, Craig would slip out and hit up the fast food restaurants in town, gorging on burgers and fried chicken. When James wasn’t around the house, he would sneak snack cakes and pie and big bowls of pudding. Why wouldn’t he? After all, it was all going to get burned anyway.

           Five weeks passed, and something felt different. He felt his stomach rumble all morning, as if he hadn’t eaten in days.

           James wasn’t too concerned. Instead, he gave Craig a third shake, this time strawberry.

           “What do I do after I drink this one?” Craig asked him.

           “Sit back and watch,” James said.

           As ominous as this was, Craig shrugged and drank the mixture. Instead of this shake being sweet and think, he felt as though he drank sour water. He gagged and felt a slow, but steady build up in his stomach. As his belly roared loudly and gurgled, he gripped his front as James walked him into the living room. There, it stopped. Not a sound was made from his belly.

           He sighed in relief, and smiled at his friend. That was, until he felt his shirt get a little tighter. He looked down and sure enough, his belly ballooned fifteen pounds. His gaze slowly rose to meet James. “What happened?”

           “Oh,” James said with a grin. “Well, let’s see. The second shake simply stored all the calories you ate every day. This shake just released them into your body. And since all you did was eat like a total pig for a few weeks, there’s no telling how much will actually be released.” Craig felt the urge to rush and punch James in the face, but then he felt himself planted to the spot. He looked down and felt a thick and slow sensation as his belly grew at a steady pace. It rounded itself out, in width and length away from his body. His shirt rose up past his navel as his belly expanded. His chest puffed out also, creating the perkiest of man tits. He felt his small nipples grow in diameter, moaning as they became for sensitive with every slow stretch. He ripped his shirt off and sent his fat jiggling.

           The fabric of his briefs got tighter as his legs and ass began to get thick also. He reached his hand to his butt and gave it a good squeeze, feeling the fat fill up the space where his small ass used to be. He got surprised when the feel of his fat ass began to get his cock hard. Not caring about James watching him expand and get hot off it, he reached to his front to relieve himself. But no matter how hard he reached, his hand could not reach his stiff cock. He began to feel disgruntled as James slowly, but without much ease, helped his widening frame sit on the couch.

           Without saying a word, James took the cock in his mouth and began to suck. Craig moaned in ecstasy as he felt this fat body with his hands, grabbing every roll and pinching his super sensitive nipples. He must have been three hundred pounds by now, but care was far from his mind. He loved the feel of fat, the power that came with it. Fuck being swoll, he was perfectly fine with swell. He looked down and couldn’t James’ head bobbing up and down due to his fat gut. What he did feel was a pleasure he would never find words for as he moaned and filled James (and his tight gut) with squirt upon squirt of warm cum.

           Once the cum stopped flowing and the fat stopped spreading, James found himself sweaty and totaling at three hundred fifty pounds. James stood up, his abdomen swollen with cum, smiling and hard as a rock.

           “I’m a little hungry,” Craig said between gasps. Without any other instruction, James mounted Craig’s face, and fucked a hardy load into his already fat gut.

           A few days later, Craig joined his family at the buffet. He never noticed the stares and laughs at him and his fat family. He finally felt happy and like he belonged. It doesn’t help that waiting for him was a hot muscled man, holding a shake in one hand in a bag of burgers in the other.

darling dearest ❂ minseok [8]

Originally posted by baekhyunsama

in which a medical examiner falls for the horny mafia man who has his eyes on her / okk i wnna kno if any1 suspected this from the beginning of my foreshadowing ?? like r u guys shocked or ?? also just feel free 2 ask me general questions abt the story !! / 1.3k

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花言葉 / A flower's meaning

Word count: 4206

Genre: hurt/comfort, fluff

H-hello it was me all along!! (๑•̀ㅂ•́)و I got really inspired by the saiou comic you drew a while ago, and decided to borrowed your hc that Saihara is bad at waking up early until he starts living together with Ouma.

I felt terribly clumsy writing this (I don’t have a beta reader so I’m sorry if its riddled with mistakes) and Ouma might be a bit ooc but once the idea formed I couldn’t let it go anymore. I really want to say thank you for blessing the fandom with your wonderful art ;w; so I hope it’ll at least make you smile a little bit!


EDIT by ALSIUSHAKU—

Link to the story on Ao3 is HERE! please send kudos/comments for the author there!

Thank you so much for this!!! omg!! I had to draw a “cover” image for this so here you are (They are wearing the school uniforms cause…uhm… >///<)


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Ready Steady Part 13

Ok, I feel like I really hurt everyone’s feelings with Part 12… so, here you go. Have some more angst. I might have fixed things?

Summary: Reader has just broken Rob’s heart and spends weeks ignoring him. She focuses on a new career in music, but her plans may be derailed when the unexpected happens.

Word Count: 6061

Warnings: mostly angst, mention of vomit which might be gross, fluff

Note: For the sake of the remainder of the fic, I’m using some old Louden Swain songs and making them new ones. Also, as you can tell, my reader is a singer/songwriter and a country girl at heart… so for her, instead of trying to write my own lyrics, I’m using songs by Miranda Lambert and claiming them as the reader’s own. Hey, this way, you can listen to the actual songs after you read!

In this part, the Reader performs “Things That Break” by Miranda Lambert.

Another Note: There’s a lot of time jumping going on here, I just wanted to get it across that the reader hasn’t seen or spoken to Rob in a couple of months.

Catch up: Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9

Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

Originally posted by samwinchesterrs

*Unrelated gif, just because he’s a cutie.*


The following weeks were not easy. You had collected your things from Rob’s place and left, holing yourself up in a hotel for a while. You followed through with the restraining order against Chris, knowing that it might be the only thing you could do to get him to leave you alone. You did your part, filing the paperwork, receiving a temporary restraining order for a while, and then having to attend a court date. The hardest part of it all was being in the same room as him. You were forced to relive the past abuse, something that had never really come easy to you. You had enough proof that he was dangerous to you; threatening text messages and a photo of your most recent run in with him, which Rob had insisted on taking after he had seen the bruise. You felt grateful to him for that since you didn’t have anyone to serve as a witness to the past few years of your relationship with Chris.

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3. crawling back to you

Pairing: The Joker (Ledger) x Reader
Rating: M
Words: 2730
Requested by: @nicolesyneah25

PART ONE / PART TWO / PART FOUR

So have you got the guts?
Been wondering if your heart’s still open
and if so I wanna know what time it shuts
Simmer down and pucker up, I’m sorry to interrupt
It’s just I’m constantly on the cusp of trying to kiss to you
I don’t know if you feel the same as I do
but we could be together if you wanted to

Originally posted by astromech-punk

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Digimon Tri Pt 5 Kyousei Reaction

To clarify: this is not an analysis, it’s nothing more or less than my gut response from watching.  I can tell that people are going to have wildly varying opinions about this film, possibly more so than any of its predecessors.

ALL THE SPOILERS BELOW THE CUT.  I’m serious, DO NOT read this if you haven’t watched Kyousei before!  Continued beneath the cut.  IMAGE HEAVY!

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5 times tony forgot peter was just a kid and 1 time he didn’t

2

“You have to be kidding me,” Steve whispered harshly, trying to keep their conversation from reaching the other ears nearby.

“Oh, get off your high horse, Cap,” Tony scoffed. “Which one of us was fighting him in Germany? Because I don’t think it was me .”

Tony could see the fury burning in Steve’s eyes. He felt a pang of satisfaction. “You didn’t tell us he was a kid .”

“He’s not a kid, Rogers.” Tony rolled his eyes. “He’s 15 years old. You haven’t seen him in battle; he can hold his own.”

“I don’t doubt that,” Steve said in a low voice. “But he should not be on the battlefield.”

“Oh, that’s classic coming from you.” Tony pointed his finger at him. “You lied on how many applications to try and get into the army?”

Steve looked the other way, rolling his jaw. Years of listening to Howard go on and on about Captain America paid off. “It’s different .”

“Oh, really?” Tony moved to get back into Steve’s line of vision. “Please explain to me how it’s different.”

“I wasn’t 14–.”

“ 15 . And at least he won’t fall over if he sneezes ” Tony snapped and he could see the flash of hurt that Steve quickly wiped off his face. Tony didn’t like the feeling that left in his gut.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Steve crossed his arms over his large chest. Tony was definitely not appreciating how he made the t-shirt stretch. Nope.

“Sickly kid wants to be a hero. I know. But why is Peter any different? You both wanted to fight the bad guy and defend the innocent.”

Tony wasn’t prepared for Steve’s answer. “Because there was nothing else for me, Tony!” Not Stark. Tony. “I was a sick kid with nothing for me. I bounced from hospital to hospital when my mom could afford it. And then she was gone and it was just Bucky and I. He signed up and I knew sooner or later he would be drafted and then I would be alone.”

“I–.” Tony tried to speak but Steve was not letting him interrupt.

“Tell me: do you know how it feels to watch every guy in the neighborhood ship off to fight for our country while you have stay home because your lungs didn’t work or you had no immune system or your bones were too frail.”

Steve took a step closer. “I was nothing and I just wanted to help became I spent my entire life being nothing.”

Tony ignored the part of him that wanted to end this argument and pull Steve in for a very manly bro hug.

“But Peter ? He has the world ahead of him. He’s smart, like super Stark smart. He can do whatever he wants…”

“And he wants to be an Avenger. Like us. Is there something wrong with that?” Tony challenged.

“He’s just a kid,” Steve repeated. “What if he gets hurt out there or worse? Do you really want his family burying him after only 15 short years?”

Tony’s mind unwillingly shot back to a few weeks back before the Avengers had become a group again and Peter had joined them upstate for weekends. When Peter was lying under Megatron’s claws, only one punch away from losing his life. Tony hadn’t been that terrified in a while.

“ He’s not going to die .” Tony refused to let him get hurt on his watch. He dragged Peter into this and he would go against the devil himself, without a suit, to keep that kid safe.

“You can’t–.”

“Hey, Mom, Dad, maybe next time you have an argument, you should make sure the kids can’t hear,” Clint said from the doorway.

Both Steve and Tony turned to look at him. Next to him, Peter stood looking close to crying. He was braced against the door and staring at the two of them with wide eyes.

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