Lara woke up to an empty bed and pure, molten rage.
She had planned the perfect morning: wake Ethan with slow, sloppy morning head, ride him until he forgot his own name, then carry him to school draped over her like a satisfied housecat. Instead she found cold sheets, a single drop of Tifa's milk on the pillow, and a sticky note in looping, bubbly handwriting:
Gone to make sure our baby has the best day ever ♡
Don't worry, tomb slut. I've got him.
—Your competition
Lara screamed so loud the windows rattled.
By the time she sprinted to Westview High (still wearing only Ethan's oversized hoodie and her thigh holster, tits bouncing hard enough to bruise), the entire student body was already assembled in the courtyard like it was a national holiday.
And at the center of it all stood Tifa.
She had outdone herself.
Tifa stood on the steps of the main entrance in an outfit that should have been illegal in all fifty states. A white crop top, two sizes too small, clung to her torso like wet tissue paper; the word "ETHAN'S" was scrawled across her leaking breasts in what looked suspiciously like chocolate syrup. The shirt ended just beneath her nipples, leaving the bottom half of each massive, milk-heavy tit exposed and dripping steadily onto the concrete. Below that, a red pleated skirt so tiny it was basically a belt, and thigh-high stockings that ended in shiny black combat boots.
But that wasn't what made Lara freeze in the gateway.
Tifa had built a throne.
Some poor janitor had been coerced (or bribed with a face-full of tit) into dragging the principal's leather office chair outside. It now sat on a makeshift dais of stacked cafeteria tables. Ethan was perched on it, red-faced and overwhelmed, while Tifa knelt between his spread legs like a knight swearing fealty.
She was hand-feeding him strawberries dipped in her own breast milk.
Every time Ethan tried to protest, she cooed, "Open wide, baby," and popped another strawberry between his lips, letting milk drip down his chin before licking it off with slow, deliberate swipes of her tongue.
The entire school watched in religious silence.
A banner overhead, clearly painted in the last hour, read:
TIFA TUESDAY
All Hail the Queen of Ethan's Heart
Lara saw red.
She stormed across the courtyard, students parting like the Red Sea. Tifa didn't even look up until Lara was five feet away.
"Morning, ponytail," Tifa said sweetly, squeezing her left breast so a thick stream of milk arced perfectly into Ethan's waiting mouth. "Sleep well?"
"You cow," Lara snarled. "You kidnapped my boyfriend."
"Our boyfriend," Tifa corrected, standing slowly. The movement made her tits bounce so hard the crop top surrendered completely, ripping down the middle and letting both enormous, milk-soaked udders spill free. "And I didn't kidnap him. I carried him here on my back because his legs were too shaky from how hard I made him cum this morning."
Ethan made a strangled noise that might have been agreement.
Lara's eye twitched.
Tifa turned to the crowd, arms wide. "Who here ever made Ethan cry?"
A dozen hands shot up (former bullies, mean girls, even a teacher who'd given him detention once).
Tifa smiled like an angel of vengeance.
"Line up."
What followed was twenty minutes of pure, unadulterated loyalty.
One by one, every person who had ever wronged Ethan was marched forward. Tifa made them kneel. Then she pressed her leaking nipple to their lips and forced them to drink while apologizing through humiliated tears.
"I'm sorry I called you a loser in sixth grade," sobbed Derek the linebacker, milk running down his chin.
Tifa patted his head. "Good boy. Now kiss Ethan's shoes and swear eternal protection."
He did. Crawling.
When it was over, the entire school had taken a blood oath (well, milk oath) to worship, defend, and obey Ethan forever. Several students were openly crying from the sheer overwhelming love radiating off Tifa's body.
Lara looked ready to commit homicide.
Tifa finally turned back to her, eyes sparkling.
"Your move, Croft."
Lara opened her mouth—and the bell rang.
Tifa scooped Ethan into her arms like he weighed nothing, cradling him against her naked, dripping tits.
"Time for class, baby," she chirped. "Today I'm your personal desk. You can rest your head on my tits while I take notes with one hand and jerk you off with the other."
She strode past Lara without a backward glance, Ethan's face buried in milk-soaked cleavage, his muffled voice saying something that sounded a lot like "help."
Lara stood frozen in the courtyard, fists clenched so hard her knuckles went white.
Then she smiled.
A slow, feral, terrifying smile.
Tomorrow was Wednesday.
And Lara Croft never lost twice.
Somewhere in the distance, another student who had once laughed at Ethan felt the first warm stirrings between her thighs.
The war was far from over.
But for today, Tifa reigned supreme: the loyalest, milkiest, most dangerously devoted bimbo alive, and she had the entire school as her army.
Ethan was never eating cafeteria food again.
He was on an all-Tifa diet now.