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janeyseymour · 10 months ago

Note

As per your request! I just copied and pasted it from my comment!!

Also. Love your stories. Love it when you post them. They’re just always so short!! I’m so greedy! I always want more!! I’m always full of ideas so if you need any just ask. (I feel like you don’t need them though you do so well writing!) I’m far to ADHD to actually write any of them so happy for you to create the magic lol

They randomly meet a few weeks/months later in a coffee shop and sit down and chat… or she just happens to Bert her bestie Ava at the school hoping to get a glimpse of her!!

I dunno. You’re the artist! As long as it’s happy and smooshy!! 🥰

Thank you for your sweet, sweet words! As requested, here is part 2! I definitely didn't follow the prompt at all, but this is what I came up with, and I hope it's okay!

Enchanted- pt 2

Part 1

WC: ~2.4k

You went to text Ava the next day after meeting Melissa, but you just couldn’t find the courage. So here you are, still just sitting at your desk job, thinking about her. Your mind is filled with what she could be doing right now- actually you know what she’s doing: it’s 11 am on a Monday morning. She’s at school, probably teaching her second graders. You sit there for another half an hour before it’s finally time for your lunch break, and you take the walk down to the Wawa around the corner like you usually do.

Melissa opens up her Tupperware container, only to let out a loud groan at the odor that comes out of it.

“What the hell is that smell?” Ava scrunches her nose up as she walks in.

“I knew it was a risk bringing this today,” the redhead grumbles as she dumps the contents out into the trash can. “But I thought I could get another day out of it.”

“Damn, girl,” the principal laughs. “That sucks. Wawa lunch for you, I guess.”

“Anyone want anything?” the second grade teacher asks as she slings her bag over her shoulder. Jacob goes to say something, but he’s cut off by Melissa loudly announcing, “Alright, if no one wants anything, I’ll be back in twenty minutes.”

She storms her way down to the convenience store- the same convenience store that you’re currently standing in. She sees you as soon as she walks in.

You’re not nearly as dressed up as you were the other night when she saw you, and you look to be in deep concentration as you decide what you want for lunch that day. She chuckles as she watches your furrow your brows deeper than she ever thought possible. She’s absolutely enamored.

“For Christ’s sake, Y/N,” you chastise yourself quietly. “Just pick something.”

She stands behind you and laughs softly. “You know, you can’t go wrong with their quesadillas.”

You nearly jump three feet in the air. You weren’t expecting anybody to come up behind you, and you certainly weren’t ready for the woman that has been occupying your thoughts to be there.

“Oh my…” you take a deep breath as you look at her. She looks… wow. Your cheeks instantly heat up. “Hey, Melissa.”

“Hey, hun,” she chuckles. “You forget lunch today too?”

You don’t really want to admit this, but you aren’t about to lie. “I usually take a walk down here everyday for lunch.”

“Everyday?”

“Like clock work,” you tell her, as you still mull over what to get for lunch. “It’s so bad most of the employees here know me by name.”

As if on cue, one of the workers there looks up and gives you a grin. “Hey, Y/N! The usual today?”

“Usual?” Melissa smirks.

“Aw, yeah!” the employee grins. “Homegirl comes in everyday!”

“Damn, you weren’t kidding’,” the redhead mutters, smirk still written on her face. She hip checks you lightly, effectively making you move over. She hits a few buttons, and then looks at you expectantly. You just stand there, not quite sure what you’re supposed to do.

“Oi,” the woman rolls her eyes. “Put in your order before I order for you.”

“Oh, no,” you stumble out. “I- I couldn’t ask you to pay for my-”

“You didn’t ask, I’m just doin’ it. And I ain’t gonna hear any arguments,” she tells you sternly.

“Melissa, I-”

“Hey, kid!” the teacher calls to the employee that greeted you. “What’s her order?”

He rattles it off as Melissa taps through the different screens, and you give him a look of betrayal. She prints off the ticket, wanders over to the drinks and grabs a raspberry tea before heading for the register.

“Melissa, you really don’t have to,” you try again.

She’s already handing the ticket over to the man behind the counter and pulling her card out of her wallet though.

“At least let me give you cash… or Venmo?”

“Absolutely not,” she rolls her eyes. The two of you stand and wait for them to make your meals, and when she hands in the printed paper and gets your food, she hands it to you with a smile. “Enchanted.”

With a hair toss, she makes her way out. The entire walk back to your office, you grin. She bought you lunch. She said, ‘enchanted’ again. Then, you mentally kick yourself because you didn’t ask her out, you didn’t ask for her number, you didn’t tell her you would get the next meal, you didn’t even reply with that one word that seems to be your thing now.

You eat your usual order from Wawa, and there’s something about it… it just tastes so much better.

As Melissa struts back into the school, she has that confident smile on her face.

“Damn, what happened to you in that Wawa, girl?” Ava laughs as she watches the redhead settle back into her seat and take a bite of her hoagie.

“Oh, nothin’,” the redhead shrugs. “Just saw a friend there.”

The next day, Melissa doesn’t come into school with a container full of her own cooking like she usually does. She doesn’t even enter the staff room when lunchtime rolls around. Instead, she grabs her bag and heads down the street to hopefully run into you again at the Wawa.

You’re standing there again, ordering your meal, although you look a little frustrated today. She doesn’t know that your frustration is because you had been standing there for ten minutes, hoping she would come in. You had just admitted defeat and decided to order when she waltzed in.

“Rough day?” the redhead saunters over and asks you.

Your eyes go wide, and the mental fog is lifted when you hear her voice and smell her perfume. “Hey.”

“Rough day?” she repeats.

You shake your head. “Just a little tired,” you tell her as you move to the side so she can put in her order. “I can’t focus on anything at work.”

She taps away on the screen, ordering hers and then also yours.

You swallow hard. “You remember my order?”

“Course I do,” she shrugs. She hits the button to print the ticket, but as she goes to grab it, you take it first. You make your way over to the drink stations, grab a diet coke, and gesture for her to get her own drink. She grabs a raspberry tea again and then follows you to the register. As you go to hand your card over, a gentle hand slaps your card out of your hand and to the ground. She’s standing there with a smirk as she goes to hand her own card over.

“Aye, Schemmenti,” you playfully growl as you bend over to pick your card up. “It’s my turn to buy.”

“Nah, I got this one,” she chuckles. She also goes to hand her card over, but you smack it out of her hand and throw your card at the employee- a man who is used to seeing you come in and actually checked the two of you out yesterday.

“It’s her turn,” the man shrugs with a cheeky smile as he takes your card, although he does slightly cower at Melissa’s glare. Then the redhead turns to you and immediately turns softer.

“Thank you,” she places a gentle hand on your shoulder. “But I got next one.”

“Alright, alright,” you laugh as the two of you head over to the counter to wait for your meals.

“So, you forgot your lunch again?” you ask her.

“Yeah,” she sighs. “Had it out on the counter and left it.” It’s a complete and total lie. She knew she had to test fate to see you again.

The two of you chat while they get your order together, and once again, she’s bidding you a goodbye with a gentle, ‘enchanted’. This time, you get to say it back, and your smiles and blushes are quite similar to each other.

This continues for the next few weeks, until one day she doesn’t show up at the Wawa like she usually does. Your day sucks. And you’re supposed to meet with Ava after the school day to go get your nails done. You know she’s going to be onto you when you show up in a bad mood.

“Damn girl,” she rolls her eyes and raises a brow. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

“Nothin’,” you roll your eyes back. “Let’s just get our nails done and gossip.”

“You know I’m always down for that shit,” she laughs.

The two of you talk for a while as the ladies do your nails before it the conversation turns to your love life.

“Well, who is it this week?” your best friend asks you.

“No one,” you sigh.

“Well no wonder you’re in a bitch mood- you need to get some!”

“Girl, you make me sound like I’m with someone new every weekend, and you know for a fact that I am very much not like that,” you roll your eyes.

“You have to have your eye on someone,” the principal says. “Otherwise you would be out at the bar looking for someone!”

You mull over telling her, and before you know it, the words are spilling out of your mouth, “Well, I do have my eye on one person, but it’ll never happen, so…”

“Ooh, girl! You got tea! Spill it!”

“It’s really not a big deal,” you tell her, hoping she doesn’t pry. Of course she does, it’s Ava, so you have to go about describing Melissa without Ava being able to catch on.

“She’s a little older than us, she’s tough on the outside but has a soft spot for me,” you tell her. “Easy on the eyes, smart as a whip.”

“Girl, why didn’t you tell me you were practically dating someone?! If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you’re describing Schemmenti."

“I’m not,” you roll your eyes. “I really just see M- this woman when we run into each other at Wawa.”

“What’s her name?” the principal wiggles her eyebrows, all too interested in your love life.

“Enough about my love life,” you shut her down. “Anything interesting happen at school today?”

“I had to cover Schemmenti’s classes today,” Ava tells you. “Woman sounded awful today when she was calling out.”

It clicks in your head that that’s why she wasn’t there to meet you at the Wawa like she usually did, and it isn’t like she has your number to let you know she wasn’t going to meet you. You instantly feel a bit of relief that she didn’t just decide not to come- but you feel bad that she isn’t feeling well.

“Oh?” you try to hide how you actually feel about it. “Is she alright?”

“Nasty cough,” your best friend tells you. “But she assured me she’d be back tomorrow… Red never calls out, so I knew she was feeling pretty shitty.”

“That sucks,” you sigh softly. “Hopefully she’s back tomorrow.”

“So you can ‘run into her at Wawa’?” your best friend blind sides you with her casual remark.

“What? I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you say quickly, hoping to cover yourself.

“Oh, please,” she waves the hand that isn’t being painted right now. “I saw the eyes the two of you were giving each other at the fundraiser, and Melissa has been going to Wawa everyday since the one day her lunch went bad. I know she’s going to the same Wawa you go to everyday, and she always comes back in a better mood. I put it together about a week in. And you just confirmed it.”

“I did not.”

“Girl, remember, I’ve known you since we were five. I know when you’re lying. Listen, she’s your type, your hers. I say go for it.”

“Maybe I will… if she’s feeling better and at school tomorrow.”

“If I know Schemmenti, she will be,” Ava rolls her eyes. “She might be half asleep, and an absolute bitch tomorrow, but she’ll be there.”

Melissa looks like hell as she drags herself into the Wawa, but to you she still looks gorgeous as ever. When she spots you, her eyes light up.

“The usual?” she asks you as the two of you head to the ordering stations. Her voice is barely there.

“Mel, you should be home resting,” you tell her pointedly.

“I’m fine,” she grumbles. “Besides, I can’t miss. The kids have important tests coming up, and-” she interrupts herself to cough. It sounds awful.

You lay a gentle hand on her shoulder and rub it soothingly. Once she’s finished coughing, she sighs.

“Soup instead of your usual hoagie?” you ask her, already pressing buttons to order her a chicken noodle soup.

She looks defeated but nods. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

You insist on paying, telling her to let herself be taken care of. She begrudgingly listens, mumbling about how she’s a Philly girl and she can handle herself. You roll your eyes, but you assure her that she’s still a tough Philly girl- that it’s okay to lean on someone else. As the two of you are standing there, she coughs a few times. Again, you lay a gentle hand on her shoulder. When she’s finally done coughing, she quite literally leans into your body just slightly.

“Sorry I ditched ya yesterday,” she wheezes out. “I couldn’t drag myself out of bed.”

“No need to apologize,” you assure her. “I’m glad you were home getting some rest.”

“I just kept wishing I had a way to tell you,” she mutters.

“Well, why don’t I just give you my number, so if that happens again… or you want to get something besides Wawa with me, we can text?” you shoot your shot with the woman.

“That sounds… enchanting,” she smiles softly. “When I’m feeling better, I’ll make us dinner? I’m one hell of a cook.”

“I’d be enchanted,” you tell her warmly.

As the two of you separate, you get a text from her. Enchanted.

By the time the end of the work day is over, Ava has texted you too. Bitchhh! I’m assuming you shot your shot. Red came back into the school practically dancing.

Yeah. You’re just starting this chapter of life- that one night was truly enchanting, and it really was the very first page.

#melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfiction #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary

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treason-and-plot · 4 months ago

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“There you are!” exclaims Kaleb to Mia as she rejoins him next to the dancefloor. His voice is loud and raucous, booming over the music. “Where did you go?’

Mia clutches her Bellini tightly in her perspiring palm and gives a shrug. “Nowhere.”

“Anyway, guess what!” Kaleb continues shouting at her. “The guy I was talking to before? Nathan? He owns a couple of prestige car dealerships and he’s doing really well. Except his website sucks. The layout’s totally unresponsive, the branding and the colours are all off, and the navigation’s horrible. So I talked him into letting me custom-build a completely new site for him! He’s coming to see me on Monday at 11 am. That’s an easy two grand, baby!”

“Congratulations,” says Mia. "Wow. Two grand. I could only dream about making that sort of money."

“Don't worry babe, I’ll buy you something nice next week to celebrate. What about a new handbag? Or some shoes?”

“I don’t want anything,” says Mia.

“You’re saying no to shoes? Are you okay? Actually, you look a bit pale. Maybe you should lay off those drinks. How many have you had now? Four? Five? I think we’d better go before you start getting messy. I don’t want you vomiting all over my car seats on the way home.”

"That's really rude and uncalled for, Kaleb. You know what? We're finished," says Mia. "Fuck you."

"Woah, those drinks have made you really feisty," says Kaleb. "I like it. Can you bring some of that energy into the bedroom when we get back to my place? Roawarrrr!"

#mia #kaleb #5 years later #return to isla paradiso

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sparklypinkflightsuit · 7 months ago

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Stars Align: Part 2

Pairing: Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Eventual Smut, Fluff, Mentions of Abuse, Violence, Angry Bradley, Alcohol Misuse.

-- Part 1 Here --

_______________________

18+ Only

_______________________

Present:

Bradley stood looking at you in awe and shock. He couldn't believe his eyes. In front of him stood a gorgeous woman, breathtakingly beautiful, and surprisingly confident having just nearly fallen. The woman in front of him was a stark contrast to the shy girl he'd known years ago, yet she was exactly the same somehow.

"Birdy is that really you?" He blinked as his strong beefy hands held you in place.

You chuckled, your mouth curling into a grin as you looked into the familiar brown eyes that kept you sane throughout high school.

"It sure is, but I'm having a hard time believing it's you, Brad." You took in his enormous stature, tanned muscles bulging under his tight shirt sleeves, sweat glistening off of his exposed chest under the colourful lights. He now had a strong moustache, a chiselled jawline replaced his chubby cheeks, and his mop of dark hair now neat blond-chestnut curls, complimenting his sun kissed skin.

You and Bradley stared at one another for what felt like forever, before he huffed a laugh of disbelief, shook his head, and pulled you in for a hug, the familiar feeling catching you off guard and you sucked in a deep breath. He still smelled the same, like tobacco and cedar wood, just without the sweaty teen boy odour.

You gingerly wrapped your arms around him and squeezed, you forgot how much you'd missed him.

You must have been holding one another for a long time, because Gabby suddenly cleared her throat and pulled you from your bubble. You pulled away and looked at her awkwardly as she raised an eyebrow at you.

"Been here literally 2 minutes and you've already pulled." She scoffed jokingly.

You laughed, "Uhm, Gabs this is Bradley, my old best friend I was telling you about."

"Hi." Bradley smiled and stuck out a hand. She shook his hand and mouthed a not so secret 'wow' at you. You rolled your eyes and turned to Bradley.

"What are you doing here?"

"Oh, it's my friends bachelor party tonight, he's around here somewhere." Bradley scanned the room but came up short. "What about you...two?"

"I just moved here, Gabby's showing me around, I guess you could say." You chuckled awkwardly.

"I'll... let you two catch up. I need the bathroom anyway." She winked at you as she handed you her drink to watch.

"So, you're not in New York for long then I'd imagine?" You asked.

"Nah, just until after the wedding. I'm out of here Monday." He explained as you walked a little way out of the crowd to a quiet corner. You nodded.

"That's a pity, would be nice to catch up. Look Brad, I'm sorry I stopped responding to your texts, I-"

"Hey, say no more. Life gets busy, I get it." He gave you a reassuring smile. Bradley had no idea just how busy and crazy life had gotten after you moved. "While you're here, do you wanna go for a drink?"

"What you mean, like, now?" You asked. "Aren't you here with your friends? Plus I'm with Gabby, I shouldn't..."

"Okay, how about after?"

You thought for a moment, and nodded. "Yeah, okay. I'll have a few drinks with Gabs, and you can come grab me when you're finished?"

Bradley nodded and bit his lip to stop a grin, "Good. We've got a lot of catching up to do, Birdy. I've missed you." and like the old days, Bradley ruffled your hair and left. You huffed and fixed your hair just as Gabby came back from the bathroom, and you struggled to keep your focus on her for the rest of the evening.

_____________________

Past:

You'd just finished getting ready, your baby pink prom dress looked super cute and your mom had loosely French Braided your unruly waves. She'd skilfully applied makeup so that your skin looked flawless and your eyes popped. You'd never felt more beautiful, and suddenly you felt less nervous. Maybe Bradley would see you and forget all about Michelle.

The doorbell rang and your dad went to answer it, you could hear him and Bradley talking about the latest football game.

"You ready?" Your mom grinned, "You look beautiful, pumpkin."

You nodded with a grin and you walked to the front door. Bradley turned as he saw you and his jaw dropped.

"Jeez, Birdy, you look pretty." He breathed.

"Oh shut up." You blushed, "You look nice too. But what's with the red tie, you look like a rooster." You teased. Bradley scoffed with mock offense.

"Right, Birdy and Rooster, get out of my house." Your dad laughed. "Have a good time, but make sure she's home by 11, son."

"Yes sir, have a good night!" Bradley waved goodbye to your parents and you shot them awkward looks, telling them to close the door and go inside.

You mom pulled your dad inside and shut the door.

Bradley helped you into his truck, carefully lifting your dress so it wouldn't rub against the dirty sides, and even went so far as to buckle you in. Your faces were inches apart, and you scanned the face you'd gotten so used to for the millionth time, only he seemed different now.

As he climbed into the front seat, he stopped to look at you for a while.

"What?" You asked, feeling self conscious suddenly.

"Nothing, you just really do look pretty. Didn't realise you could clean up so good." He grinned as he started the truck and pulled away.

You scoffed, "Speak for yourself, Bradshaw. Other than the tie you look like a real man."

"I am a real man, thank you. If only you could see what's under these pants, you'd be-"

"Ew, shut up." You smacked him playfully on the arm and Bradley laughed.

You pulled up to Michelle's house and you waited in the car as Bradley walked up the long drive to her front door. He knocked and Michelle walked out, looking stunning in a figure hugging red dress, her boobs almost spilling over the top.

You sighed as you watched Bradleys eyes light up as they walked down to the car. Michelle stopped in front of your door, looking at you expectantly. Bradley moved around her to open the back door for her to get in, but she didn't budge.

You looked at her and rolled down the window.

"Hi Michelle."

"Hello, aren't you gonna... you know?" Her voice was steely and bored.

"You want me to move?" You asked in disbelief.

"Well yeah, I am his date. What are people gonna think when they see me climbing out of the back of this thing?" she scoffed.

"Okay." You mumbled, unbuckling your seat belt.

"No, Birdy. Michelle, she's already sitting there, it's not a big deal, can't you just climb in the back? It's less than 2 minutes to the hall." Bradley argued, and you stopped in your tracks.

Michelle raised her eyebrows at him, and immediately you sensed the energy shift.

"No, it's fine." You opened the door and hopped out, Michelle immediately taking your place.

"What are you doing? That's always your spot." Bradley whispered to you as you climbed into the back.

"Keeping the peace." you whispered back.

Bradley huffed out a sigh and shook his head, crossing over to the front and climbing in.

The drive to the school hall was silent and awkward, and you noticed Bradleys eyes flitting to you in the back seat through the rear view mirror every so often.

When the car stopped, you hopped out, and Michelle waited for Bradley to cross to her end and help her out of the truck.

The three of you walked towards the school, and as more people came into view, Michelle's energy shifted again. She was all smiles as she hung on to Bradleys arm, you awkwardly falling behind.

"Smile for the camera Brad." She forced through her grin, and planted a kiss on his cheek as the school reported snapped a picture.

This would be a long evening and you knew it.

_________________________

Present:

The night moved quickly, and the drinks were flowing as you and Gabby took to the dance floor. You lost yourself in the music until you were out of breath and beckoned for Gabby to join you outside, but she gestured to the guy she was dancing with. You nodded and went out to the balcony.

The night air was beginning to cool and you welcomed the goosebumps that covered your too hot skin. Your feet were killing you, so you leaned against the balcony railing to take some of the weight off of them.

As you watched the people on the street below, you gradually regained your breath. You stood up to go back inside, but you felt a body bump up against you.

"Oh sorry." you apologised for them, as you stepped away, giving the drunk man a polite nod.

"Wait, baby, where are you going? I was hoping to get to know you, been watching you all night. You dance real good." The man slurred, grabbing your wrist.

You pulled out of his grip, "Sorry I have to get back to my friend." You turned to walk inside, but he suddenly wrapped a hand around your waist and pulled his hand against your stomach until you were pressed up against him.

You writhed against him, but his grip was too strong.

"Let go." You demanded, "Get off of me." You tried to pry his hands away, but even in his drunken state he was too strong for you.

"Come on, lady, I just wanna buy you a drink, stop being such a fuckin' prude." He struggled against you, his hot breath gliding across your cheek.

"I said get OFF!" You elbowed the man in the chest and he loosened his grip as he gasped, and you went flying away from him.

For the second time that evening, you collided into someone else, and looked up to see concerned, familiar eyes. Bradley scanned your face for a second, and once he was sure you were ok, he turned his attention to the man.

An angry scowl you had only seen once before appeared on his face as she crossed the balcony and lifted the man by his shirt.

As the man dangled a couple feet off of the ground, he whimpered. Your jaw dropped at the sheer strength Bradley possessed. You guessed those muscles weren't just for show.

"If I don't see you leave in the next 2 minutes, I swear to god I'm gonna ruin that pretty boy face of yours. You touch my girl again, or any other girl while I'm around, that's end game for you, buddy. Got it?" He growled.

The man nodded, "I'm sorry, I- I didn't know she was spoken for, honest." He whimpered, and Bradley threw him to the ground.

"Get out."

The man hurried to his feet and passed you. Sure enough after a couple minutes he exited the building quickly and you watched as he ran down the street below, before turning your attention back to Bradley.

"That was incredible." You mumbled.

"Are you okay?" Bradley asked, crossing the balcony to inspect you fully. His hands smoother over your bare arms and then his hands cupped your face.

"I'm ok, Brad, he literally just grabbed me, I'm fine." You pushed his hands away.

Bradley nodded, and let out a breath of relief as his big hands ran through his curls.

"You ready to go get that drink?"

_____________________________________

Past:

"Oh my god, Y/N! You look so pretty!" Sophie from your English class commented.

"Thanks Soph, so do you!" You turned and made pleasant conversation with Sophie and another girl, while Bradley did his rounds with Michelle and her friends. It was all fake smiles and posing for pictures, and Bradley found himself growing bored quickly.

"Hey, I'm gonna go grab some soda, you want one?" Bradley offered, and Michelle nodded, turning back to her friends.

"You look hot, girl, and so does Mr Bradshaw over there, did he get... bigger, over the summer?" Jessica asked Michelle, their whole group giggling.

Michelle rolled her eyes, "Ugh, maybe, I don't know. I'm having the worst time. His little friend is tagging along as a pity invite. It's like having his little sister along for the ride."

"Who?" Jessica asked.

"Y/N Y/L/N." she pointed to you in the corner of the room. "I doubt I'm gonna get my V card swiped tonight, wanna ditch?"

Bradley hadn't noticed when Michelle and her friends slipped out. Jessica had a fake licence, and they'd decided to buy some drinks and hit a house party instead.

When he turned around, she was gone, and he scanned the room for her. When he saw you, he immediately crossed over to you and handed you your soda.

"Thanks, 'Rooster'." You said playfully, as you opened the can.

"Have you seen Michelle anywhere?" He asked, distracted.

You shook your head, "Last place I saw her was over by the DJ booth talking to her friends. Maybe ask the DJ?"

Bradley nodded and walked over as you stood against the wall and watched your school mates dancing and chatting away.

A few minutes later, Bradley stormed over to you.

"Did you find her?" You asked over the music, Bradleys eyes were dark and his eyebrows were creased, he was pissed.

"What did you say to her?" He demanded. You straigtened.

"What do you mean?"

"What did you say to Michelle? The DJ says she was talking about you and then wanted to leave." his face was red now, and his chest was heaving.

"I didn't say anything to her, I've literally just been standing here the-"

"You must have done something. God, that's just like you, Y/N. Just because you didn't get asked to Prom you thought it would be better to scare her away so I'd be all yours instead, didn't you? Didn't you?" He demanded, and you were too shocked to say anything. Bradley took this as confirmation.

He scoffed and his hands fell to his hips as he nodded.

"Yeah, of course you did. Thanks a lot, you ruined my fucking night."

You watched as Bradley stormed out of the hall, and hot tears rolled down your face, ruining your perfect makeup.

"Y/N, are you okay?" Sophie asked, having witnessed the whole thing, gently taking your arm and pulling you to a table to sit. You wiped your eyes and nodded, your eyes trained on the door, hoping Bradley would come back in for you.

After a few minutes, Sophie having done her best to console you, you excused yourself and walked outside. You looked around for Bradley, but he wasn't among the few students and teachers outside, so you crossed the lawn and made your way down the sidewalk to where Bradley had parked the truck.

Your lip quivered as you realised, dread suddenly washing over you. Bradley had left you behind.

________________________________

-- Part 3 Here --

#miles teller x reader #miles teller #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x you #top gun rooster #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #rooster x you #top gun fandom #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick #top gun #top gun fic #top gun maverick fanfiction

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the-soliloquies-of-sadists · 1 year ago

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#367

“That’s it? That’s all you have to say? Seriously? You call me in on my day off. I cancel my afternoon with my Marine buddies at the lake. Ok fine, I’ll catch up with them later. I drive twenty minutes to get here. There’s hardly anybody else around. I come over and you want to talk about landscaping this back region, something that could have waited until Monday? Really? I thought considering what happened yesterday that you would be asking to give me a blowjob or something….

“…Oh for fuck’s sake! Do not fucking pretend that you and I weren’t at Ruby’s bookstore yesterday at the same time. You and I were in the last two booths on opposite sides of a good sized glory hole. You sucked my dick for fifteen minutes, edging me a couple times. You whispered, ‘Let me lick your ass.’ You did just that when I turned and offered my crack for your tongue. Then I flooded your mouth with my usual massive load. Now do you remember?

“Good. You can knock this coy shit off. You called me to come in, brought me to the back part of the property where no one ever goes, in hopes of doing what? Did you think that we would play strip parchesi?

“I get it. You want me to do this, to take the initiative. You want me to ask for a blow job? You don’t have the balls to ask yourself.

“For fuck’s sake. There’s no need for me to ask you. You are a fucking cock hound. Yeah, you may have a wife, three kids in a ten-bedroom house on twenty-four acres, with a detached five-car garage with a two bedroom mother-in-law suite above it, a vacation home in the Virgin Islands, a mid-seven-figure job, and yet you drive half an hour to the nasty industrial part of town to suck rank blue collar dick at a glory hole at Ruby’s bookstore.

“The thing is that you clearly have been doing it for a long time. That wasn’t a casual blow job you gave me. You knew how to manage my fat sausage, like an expert. Your tongue never stopped hitting my sensitive spot. You throated me with a mild struggle, but you didn’t give up. And then, you knew how to read my cock to sense when I was getting close in order to edge me properly.

“So how long have you been sucking dick?... Junior high? Wow. Let me guess. It was some blue-collar factory worker. Probably some big and beefy guy like me. Was it?... Thought so.

“Henry, the guy working the front counter who I have known for years—fucked him a few times—told me that you are a regular, and you pay him a hundred bucks to direct the big guys your way. That’s kinda bold. Hell, that’s how I wound up at your hole.

“I’m surprised I didn’t pick up your sperm burping vibes until now. When I came out of the booth yesterday, you threw open your door to see whose dick you had been sucking. Once we made eye contact, your face went from curious, to excited, and finally to panicked all in one second. You bolted out of there so fast.

“So here we are…. …Faggot? What do you want to do? Your silence is not going to get you my dick in your mouth. You want my dick? Tell me….

“…No, no, no. I know if I were to whip my cock out that you would be on your knees throating me down in no time flat. No, I am asking do you want my dick in your life?… To rule your life?

“Good. What about my ass? Your tongue liked the sweaty musk. You must be an ass eater too. You want to worship my shithole too?...

“Cunt, I better start hearing some ‘Sir’s’ after the yes’s and no’s you give. You understand?...

“That’s better. I have been using men for my own thing for decades. You ain’t the first closeted faggot I have come across. I have worked this situation before.

“Look I work for you whenever anyone else is around, but when we are alone together, I own you. I’m Sir to you, and you will be Cunt or Faggot. I will be calling the shots here. We’ll work out more later.

“When was the last time you had a man use your cunt?... That long? You may not be a virgin, but you will offer the same tightness. Get naked….

“…You don’t do anal? I don’t care. You need to be cunted. You’re gonna be cunted. Naked. Now!... Cunt, I expect you to do what I say, without hesitation. That’s better.

“You need to realize that I fully know how to work with a closet case. Yeah, we are here on a Saturday, when none of my guys are here, we are in the back of your property where no one goes, and most importantly Sarah’s SUV is gone. Considering you are back here about to be cunted, it’s safe to say that she has the kids. How long is she gone?...

“All day? Well hot damn! Walk with me. No, leave your clothes there. You need to be exposed for a bit…. In the middle of the field here.

“On your knees. Your goal is to put as much throat slime as you can on my dick. That’s the only lube I’m going to use. Reach up, unzip me, and take it out. Balls too.

“This is the cock that is going to rule you. I don’t care how many other dicks you suck, my dick is the one at the center of your universe. Suck.

“Ahh,… That’s the tongue I remember. Mmmm. This is the kind of a blowjob I like at the end of a hard day. One that I can unwind with. That’s why I stopped at Ruby’s last night. But today, I’m in control. Hands behind you and keep them there. All the way down to the root. All… the… way… down!

“When I put my hand on your head, I’m in control of the blowjob. You dedicate that airway to me. Gag motherfucker. Gagging only puts more throat lube on my dick. I’m going to give you a minute to really lube me up.

“…Struggle with that fat cock. I would have expected a more experienced deeper throat. We’ll get that trained right. Blowjobs when the man is in control are a lot different, hunh?

“…Ok turn around. On your knees…. Don’t worry while we are out in the open, no one is here. Knees spread. Shoulders on the ground. Arms at your side. Palms by your knees and face up.

“This is how to present a cunt for a cunting. And what a pretty pussy it is. So pretty, that I think you earned an extra glob of spit. There.

“Scream fucker. I always go right to the root. No fucking countdown. No time to accommodate. Oh, fuck you are tight. Man. This cunt is mine now. I decide what to do with it. We are going to have some fun.

“You like blue collar men? Cunt, I am going to whore you out to some nasty big brutes. I know places where cunts are used and tossed aside. There are a few rest stops on the interstate, some truck stop with old school showers, there’s even a mechanic shop I know with a nasty bathroom around back. I can’t wait to transform this cunt a perpetual sloppy mess.

“Remember I told you I was going to the lake with my Marine buds? We are all hard-working men who enjoy using cunt fags. That’s why we go to the lake, to use them hard. If you think you can get away from the family for an overnight, we’ll go up there later today.

“Oh there you go. Now keep that cunt relaxed. Tightness is hot in the beginning, but ultimately, I like it sloppy. Oh man. I’m getting close. Fucking close. This cunt was made for my dick. Here it cums! Here it fucking cums! Ahhhh! Ahhhh!

“Goddamn. Cunt, you may give great blowjobs, but this cunt is gold.

“When I pull out, your mouth will move to clean me up. If you want to jack off while doing it, go for it.

“…Oh look, there’s a little blood mixed in with my load. A tiny skid mark. It all goes in your mouth…. Fuck! Does that feel good.

“Ok Cunt. This is what’s going to happen. I will rule your cunt, your dick, your mouth, basically you. I don’t care if you still go to Ruby’s to suck on more blue collar dick. I’m not that kind of possessive. But when I want your holes, I want them now. I understand there is the wife thing. I can work around that.

“I want to know all details of all the loads you take. If you spend an afternoon at the glory holes, I want to know how many cocks did you suck, and how many loads did you swallow. You’ll have a tracker on your phone so I know where you are at all times.

“Getting away to service me is going to require some changes from you. The one that pops into mind is get Sarah’s goddamned yoga studio out from over the garage. I’m going to move in there. It makes sense to have me on grounds in general, but now I will have a room nearby for my cock to enjoy some nearby cunt.

“I will also accept a raise. If I’m going to be fucking you, it will cost extra. Yeah that makes me a whore, but I’m fine with that.

“Now we get to the part of the conversation where you realize just how much you are owned by me. You know Ruby’s has hidden cameras throughout their booths? No? Not many are aware. Henry showed me a few very clear videos of you going to town on some rather big dicks. I have copies on my phone….

“No, no, keep cleaning the mess you left on my cock. I can show the videos to you later. My buds at the lake will definitely appreciate seeing them. You know, having it on my phone, I can show them to anyone.

“If you think that our relationship is going to be all fucking and sucking, I’ve only just begun. I keep telling you that I own you; I really do fucking own you.

“OMG are you cumming?... Fuck yeah!... You are a sick faggot!”

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sluttywonwoo · 1 year ago

Note

thoughts on flustered joshua!!!<33

flustered joshua is such a fav ok

joshua doesn’t get embarrassed easily. that’s what he tells everyone and that’s what seems to be true. that iconic mistake on stage in pretty u? it’s in the past. sucking at kickball? he can’t be good at everything! they want him to do the worm again in front of everyone? ok, well if they insist!

you’re convinced you’re dating the most self-assured, well-adjusted man in the world— at least, until you hear all of his friends laughing in your living room one night. you only notice something’s off because of the absence of your favorite laugh, his laugh, mixed in with everyone else’s. were they laughing at him? you venture out of the office to check.

it’s the first thing you see when you walk into the room: the harness for your strap, lying on the coffee table

you don’t know how they found it— it’s not like you just keep it out in the open… it had been tucked away in one of the drawers of the tv stand last you checked. maybe the living room wasn’t the best place to put it but you kept it there for… reasons.

joshua’s back is turned to you but you can see that the tips of his ears are bright red. you imagine his face is too.

“what’s going on?” you ask, immediately drawing everyone’s attention to you.

the boys look like they’ve seen a ghost. everyone’s smile drops except for yours and joshua sinks even further into his seat.

“i don’t get what’s so funny. do you guys not have sex with your girlfriends?”

mingyu chokes on seemingly nothing, sputtering defensively, “w-we do we just don’t—”

“don’t what? let them top you?”

“babe,” joshua tries, voice urgent.

you ignore him.

“wow, and i thought you guys were feminists,” you say disapprovingly.

“wha- we are!” jun insists.

“then why are you acting like you’ve never seen a strap before?”

no one answers you this time.

“c’mon, you’re telling me that if you came home to your girlfriend wearing this,” you pause and reach over joshua’s shoulder to snatch the thing off the table.

joshua tenses even more as you step through the legs and pull the harness up around your waist. “baby, what are you doing?”

again, you ignore him.

“you’re telling me that if you came home to your girlfriend wearing this, you wouldn’t get hard?”

“i don’t know how you want us to answer that,” mingyu admits, rubbing his hands on his jeans.

joshua clears his throat and yanks you by the harness to stand behind where he’s sitting on the couch so that his friends’ view of you in it is at least mostly obstructed.

“i think an apology to my boyfriend would suffice,” you suggest.

there’s a chorus of sheepish apologies before a long silence, everyone too scared to step out of line again.

“uh, should we go?” seokmin asks finally, trading looks with the others.

“that would probably be best,” joshua says. he’s surprisingly composed considering what’s just happened and how obviously turned on he is by it. his hands don’t leave his lap as he adds, “see you monday?”

“if your hole isn’t destroyed by then,” soonyoung jokes, easily dodging the pillow joshua throws at him as he winks and ducks out the door after the others.

#answered #seventeen smut #svt smut #joshua smut #joshua hong smut #hong jisoo smut

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visceral-stories · 1 year ago

Text

Inheritance

I’m back! Thank you all for staying with me during my long hiatus! I truly appreciate it and I hope you enjoy the story!

Ko-fi |Twitter

6:30 PM seemed like a rather late time for a job interview, but it had been the only option to work with Garrett Carmichael’s hectic schedule. An ambitious high school senior, his weekday afternoons were usually fully booked. On Tuesdays and Thursdays, he participated on his high school’s Quiz Bowl team and on Mondays, Wednesdays, and Fridays, he attended meetings with his math league. Unfortunately, being a productive, ambitious scholar was not a lucrative venture, save for the college scholarships he was already applying for. Garrett’s nonexistent financials were what brought him to apply for the position of a waiter at his town’s local banquet hall.

He also needed something to balance out the drag that high school had become. He didn’t mind the schoolwork or classes as much, but none of his few close friends - or acquaintances even - shared his same classes. It felt like he was just going through the motions, forced to interact with people who he didn’t care for. The absolute worst was his fourth hour in World History where a gaggle of dim-witted football jocks made the class a living hell. They weren’t physical with him by any means, but they were the type to whisper under their breaths and mock the way he talked or his answers to questions. As a result, it made him far more apprehensive to raise his hand whenever he knew the answer in class. School sucked and on the weekends, he was free. Too free. Having abundant free time was nice, but it wasn’t like he had many hobbies outside of playing videogames with his fellow math league teammates or doing deep-dives on the internet about the multitude of scientific topics that interested him. Not only did he need money, but he just wanted to get out of the house for a few hours and not watch the Saturdays and Sundays glide past him every week.

The application process had been momentarily bewildering for Garrett who had no clue how the website worked and he had to ask his mom what the digits to his social security number were. Every other high schooler his age had gotten a job already and he felt dumb for getting daunted by the simple process, but ultimately he persevered. Butterflies fluttered in his stomach as he stepped out of his car and walked to the front door.

“Wow,” Garrett said with awe as he stepped into the nicest waiting room he’d ever seen. An immaculate tessellation of white and yellow rectangles adorned the ceilings accented by bold, curving polygons painted emerald green to resemble vines. The design appeared to extend far beyond the puny waiting room he was in and across the ceilings and walls of the main banquet hall, which he could see for a long distance.

“Can I help you, sir?” croaked a male voice.

Garrett looked back in front of him to see a man sitting inside a booth in the corner labeled “COAT CHECK” - the only other fixture in this small, open space. He had broad shoulders and was wearing a fancy tuxedo, nearly filling up the whole window with his width. “I-ummm,” Garrett coughed and cleared his throat, peeved at the inopportune phlegm that had formed. “I’m here for a job interview to be a waiter here.”

A warm feeling of dread filled Garrett’s body when the coat check guy just looked at him with a puzzled look on his face. Garrett remembered the man he’d been messaging in his emails. “I’m supposed to talk to a uhh…Mr. Clifford Atkinson.”

Thankfully, the man’s stoic face lit up with recognition. “Oh yes, he should be here within the next 15 minutes. His reservation starts at 6:45.”

“Oh, okay,” Garrett replied. He adjusted his glasses and wondered why the Clifford guy needed a reservation. Didn’t he work here?

“You can take a seat over there and wait for him if you’d like,” the man offered with a faint smile.

Garrett curtly nodded and quickly sat down in one of the few dark red office chairs outside the front door. He pulled out his phone and searched for that email he’d received from Mr. Atkinson. He could’ve sworn the email he’d received yesterday had told him to arrive at 6:30, but unfortunately it was nowhere to be found no matter how hard he searched for it. Crud. He must’ve deleted it or something. Emails were weird.

The next ten minutes ticked slowly by, leaving Garrett with minimal entertainment besides a few men and women who intermittently came and went through the front door. They were dressed up in tuxedos just like the coat check guy. It was intimidating the way they moved to and fro. Their solid black jackets with stark white shirts bounced up and down with their movements, taunting Garrett with their sophistication. A layer of sweat formed around him as he realized he might’ve come to this thing underdressed. His casual attire of a light blue short-sleeved shirt, a Mandalorian Star Wars tie, and brown cargo shorts clashed heavily with the fashion here. He’d just gotten here and he’d already made a mistake. It was too late to go back home and change clothes so he decided to drown his fears by scrolling through social media. As he was catching up on IGN’s most recent game review, the door flung open. Garrett glanced up, expecting to see Mr. Atkinson, but instead, the last person he wanted to see stumbled inside.

A tall, muscular jock stepped inside, dressed in a light gray short-sleeve t-shirt tucked into a pair of blue jeans, and of course - a signature backward cap. “Hey, what’s up man?” he announced as he swaggered up to the man in the coat check booth. “I’m here for the uh…waiter position.”

Garrett’s blood ran cold. It was Devon Kearney - one of the dumbest guys alive and unfortunately, the most prolific nuisance in his fourth-hour World History class. Every day, his deep, stupid voice filled the room as he tended to share every impulsive thought he had with the other football jocks in the class. He was a real menace, rude to everyone besides his little clique or, of course, girls in the class he found attractive.

Garrett watched the employee gesture for Devon to sit in the chair next to him and a wave of fear filled his body as the jock’s face lit up.

“Well, I’ll be damned!” he boomed as he sidled over to Garrett, causing heads to turn. “You’re that kid from history class!” He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. “Carmichael, Carmichael, Carmichael. Shit, what’s the first name?” he asked aloud as if Garrett wasn’t even there.

Garrett clenched his fists. “My name is Garrett, you big-”

“Ah! That’s right, that’s right! I knew that!” Devon roared as he sat down two chairs away from his far skinnier comrade. “You look like a Garrett too,” he snickered with a cocky sneer that made Garrett want to strangle him. Devon was so fake, trying to act all cool and friendly with him as if he hadn’t spent the last three months mocking Garrett in class. Most of the time when Garrett raised his hand to answer a question, he could hear Devon or one of his stupid friends whisper to each other and giggle. Those jerks. Garrett couldn’t wait till he graduated in May and never had to interact with those bozos ever again.

“So what the hell are you doing here, man? Are you applying for a job too?” Devon asked.

Garrett sighed. He wanted to tell Devon to screw off, but that sure as hell wouldn’t go over well at school tomorrow. It wasn’t like the jocks had ever been physical, but he didn’t want to find out. “I’m applying for a job,” he said, not even bothering to continue eye contact.

“No way! What position? Dishwasher?”

Garrett held his ground as he felt the spit in the back of his throat dry up. “Waiter.”

“You? A waiter? No way, that’s the role I’m training for too!” Devon let out a boisterous laugh that made Garrett’s skin crawl. “Hey, I support it man, but no offense, I…uh….I don’t see you being super social. Being a waiter means like…talking to people a bunch and making ‘em your friends to get stacks of tip money! And at a real fancy place like this, they’re gonna have fat bank accounts! No cap!”

“Whatever,” Garrett huffed quietly, cringing at the “no cap” comment the most. He turned his phone back on and released an embittered breath.

“It is what it is, man,” Devon snarkily added. He began talking, mostly to himself, again as he pulled out his phone. “Oh man, wait till I tell the boys about who I found at the banquet hall!”

An awkward silence filled the hall once more, save for Devon’s subtly obnoxious open-mouthed breathing, but moments later, the door swung open and a middle-aged man waddled inside. Garrett caught a faint glimpse of his massive torso out of the corner of his eye. His silver-haired head looked like a snow-covered peak nestled in between the two mountains that were his massive shoulders. Even more shocking was the fact that his pecs were even larger than his bodybuilder-level deltoids. They had entered the room before he did and only drew more attention as they were thinly veiled beneath the strained white dress shirt he was wearing. The top three buttons were undone, revealing a scandalous amount of male cleavage complemented by a light dusting of silver chest hair.

Garrett noticed that even Devon was also gawking at this colossal guy as he trudged over to the coat check. He leaned over on the desk as he talked with the attendant and Garrett’s cheeks turned pink as he gazed at the man’s massive, imperious figure. Especially his round butt. The dude was absolutely caked up! The buttons of the back pockets of his blue dress pants looked ready to snap. He’d never even considered the idea that men could have butts that big.

All of a sudden, the hefty stranger spun around on his heels and made direct eye contact with the two teenagers who were obviously gawking at his size. His jaw was the size of a lantern and his eyes had a piercing sapphire coloration to them. He looked like he was plucked straight from Hollywood or something. “Ah, Gentlemen, welcome! It’s nice to see you!” he boomed, the volume of his bassy voice sending a shockwave through Garrett and Devon.

“Nice to see you too, man!” Devon replied, clearly in awe of the massive male specimen in front of him

“Sorry about the outfit, boys. These tits of mine have been fighting me to get dressed today,” Cliff said with a playful jiggle of his partially-exposed pecs. “Getting dressed up is quite the hassle isn’t it?”

“Yeah for sure!” Devon said, intentionally lowering his voice to match the other man’s volume. What a kiss-ass. Garrett didn’t even know how to react. He just watched as the other young man hopped to his feet and extended his arm out for a handshake to which the man obliged. “I’m Devon.”

“Cliff Atkinson,” the man boomed as he shook Devon’s hand. Garrett promptly hopped to his feet as the man turned to him. “And who might you be?” he asked. “Just kidding, Garrett. I know who you are. Bring it in. I’m so proud of you.”

Before Garrett could even process what was happening, the man had pulled him in for a bear hug. It was unbelievably awkward, considering he had to hunch over to get down to Garrett’s 5’6” height. As Cliff gave him a firm, tender beat hug as tight as a vice, Garrett swore he could feel his lungs compressing from the immense pressure. It wasn’t like he knew what to say anyway. He had never seen this man before and now he was talking to him so intimately. It was so weird. When Cliff released him and gave him a tender pat on the back, he was nothing short of disoriented.

Garrett was gasping for breath. Before he could voice his confusion, the mountainous man stood straight up again and clapped his dumbbell-sized hands together with a smile. “I am quite glad to see you both, but I must say both of your outfits are quite unbecoming. The guests should be showing within a half hour. Maybe even earlier.” He turned to Devon. “I’m sure you are new here so all is forgiven, but this is a high-class banquet hall and we take attire very seriously here. Not to worry though, we have some proper clothes for you! Do you know where the dressing rooms are?”

“No sir,” Devon replied. Garrett peered over and locked eyes with a very sour-faced Devon, whose eyes were still boggling wide with disbelief.

Cliff smiled. “Not a problem, I’m happy to show you.” He turned to Garrett. “Garrett can go with you too. We must get you out of those dreadful street clothes. It’s your very special day after all.”

Garrett’s throat was dry from how shocked he was, but Cliff had already started leading the way before he could ask him a question - and he certainly had many options! Like “why the hell did you say you’re proud of me?” Or “what do you mean by special day?” But just the thought of questioning this hulking beast of man seemed way too daunting, no matter how tame he seemed.

Cliff turned and led the two boys into the banquet hall, which was far more capacious than Garrett had expected. The place must’ve been at least three-thousand square feet, with every inch of it decorated with Italian Renaissance artwork similar to what was in the lobby. Intricate geometric patterns lined the walls and surrounded the various paintings around the hall, which were also complemented by beige accents around the perimeters. There also had to be around fifty or so round tables all spread out in the open area. Some of the chairs were so close together that Cliff had to walk sideways just to get his broad figure past.

“So how the hell does a guy like you know a guy like that?” Devon whispered as the two traveled through the array of round tables, his voice rife with envy.

“I have no clue,” Garrett replied - the exact same question was on his mind.

“Whatever,” Devon snarled, his tone rich with vicious envy. “I’m a better fit for the job than you anyway. You don’t even know how to talk to girls.”

Garrett coiled his fists. He wanted to retaliate, but he knew that wouldn’t end well. Imagining the five other football players targeting him would be a living hell. He decided to voice a general comment anyway. “Well Devon, it appears that we may have both gotten the job. I mean he never said otherwise.”

“Bullshit, sir,” Devon hissed before his eyes widened with confusion after a few moments. “Wait, why did I just call you, sir? I-”

Before Garrett could respond, Cliff’s roaring bass silenced the boys’ tiff. “Downstairs is the staff apparel room,” he boomed as they reached a locked door on the opposite end of the hall and twisted a key in the lock. “Devon, was it? We have freshly laundered uniforms listed by size and you can find what best correlates with your size. We will meet you back here when you are dressed.”

“Okay. Yes sir! Sounds good, sir!” Devon replied, raising his voice to feign confidence. Garrett grunted in frustration. He wanted to wipe that stupid smug grin off that suck-up’s face.

Garrett winced as he felt a firm hand on his shoulder. “You’d best follow him too,” Cliff added. “You know better than to dress like that. I’d expect that out of Devon because he’s just showing up to work, but your apparel is usually not this…pedestrian.”

Garrett’s heart leapt into his throat. Why on earth was this man commenting on his apparel of all things? He just got here! And why was he talking to him like he’d already gotten the job? Yet at the same time, Cliff was talking to him like he’d known him for years. “Oh, I uh…okay,” Garrett meekly apologized, acquiescing to the man’s strange claims. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to ask the man about his inappropriate hug earlier. “Say, when you said you were proud of me earlier, what did you-”

A marimba ringtone suddenly blared from Cliff’s pocket. He held up his index finger and produced an iPhone from his pocket although his meaty hands made it look like a toy.

“Sorry Garrett, it’s the caterers,” Cliff barked. “I’ll meetcha back here in 15, alright?”

“Oh um..I just-”

Cliff had already answered the phone and started walking away, revealing another glimpse at his broad backside. Garrett readjusted his big glasses and sulked. As he watched the burly stranger depart, he couldn’t help but feel some kind of attachment to him: a benevolence of sorts. It was almost eerie how overly-nice he was being, but it seemed earnest. Perhaps he could tell that Garrett was internally sweating bullets just to be here and was being accommodating. At least it appeared that he’d gotten the job without question? Both he and Devon. God, he didn’t wanna work with that doofus, but it appeared he had no choice. He also didn’t want to let Cliff down after all. The man had been generous enough to hire him on the spot.

Descending down the old, stone staircase, Garrett entered a far less decorated area of the banquet hall. It smelled ancient down here. The air had a decadent, musty odor of men’s colognes mixed with a faint hint of mildew. As he rounded the corner, he noticed Devon was already sifting through a cabinet full of what appeared to be black uniforms. This room looked quite old and was rather charmless, save for a few photos of past galas and smiling well-dressed people on the walls. Something about this place was giving Garrett the creeps, but he couldn’t quite place it.

There was something different about Devon too. Even though his back was to Garrett, his entire outfit seemed a lot more…faded somehow? Maybe the light was playing tricks on him because the jock’s light denim jeans looked much silkier…and greyer in this light for some reason. Unfortunately, the poor basement lighting could not explain the shirt collar that had materialized around the jock’s neck.

“How do they not have my size?” Devon griped, his back still to Garrett.

As Garrett walked closer to his acquaintance, a hazy feeling filled his head, as if he’d inhaled way too much of the dust down here. The ground started to feel farther away for some reason. “Wait, why are you shorter…than me?” he asked aloud.

“Shorter?” Devon snorted, now spinning around to face Garrett. “I’m not-”

The two boys stared at each other with unspoken shock as Devon’s tall figure began to squash down. He looked down in horror as the tall, muscular legs he used to score touchdowns were quickly reduced to two chubbier-looking nubs. The dramatic truncation left him at a condensed height of 5’8”, six inches shorter than before. His athletic torso appeared virtually unchanged, but his height - one of his most defining attributes - had been cruelly taken from him in an instant. “WHAT THE HELL DID YOU DO TO ME?” Devon roared, his composure gone in a flash.

“I-I-I didn’t do this!” Garrett squeaked. If he wasn’t so terrified from Devon’s uproar, he would’ve giggled at his puny height. The jock’s muscular stature looked a lot cuter with his height condensed down - like he was a junior version of himself. “I…promise I didn’t. I don’t even-WHOA!”

Garrett’s plea was cut short as he promptly shot up like a weed. At one point he’d been eye-level with Devon, but his legs and lower torso just kept stretching taller and taller until stopping at an imposing height. He flailed his arms out for a moment as his new 6’6” body nearly toppled over. It felt like he was walking on stilts! “Whoa! What the heck is happening?” he asked as he placed a hand on his forehead. Glancing upward, the newly-minted lanky sapling of a boy realized he was now only a few inches from touching the low, old ceiling. “No, no, I c-can’t be tall,” he stuttered. From the flabbergasted look on Devon’s face, he could tell he was shocked and quite jealous. Mostly jealous.

Devon craned his neck up at Garrett and scowled with disgust. “This doesn’t even make any-DUDE, your clothes!”

“My clothes?” Garrett asked. He glimpsed down and watched as his clothes suddenly started to cascade down his body. The first thing he saw were his t-shirt sleeves gliding down from his upper arms to his elbows until they stopped at his wrists. A pair of French cuffs formed on the ends of his new flowy sleeves, accompanied by a pair of distinct “POPS!” as two golden cufflinks materialized. They were nothing short of glossy, refracting the shoddy basement lighting beautifully. Simultaneously, Garrett’s cargo shorts started shuddering all on their own. They too began to distend further and further to the floor until they rested just above his sneakers. Darkness intruded upon the brown coloration of his shorts, turning them into a maroon and then a vibrant sable. A silky fabric also enveloped the khaki of the cargo shorts, stealing away their bagginess and eradicating the oversized front pockets.

“What the hell is happening to us?” For once, Devon’s confident voice wavered, giving way to audible apprehension.

“I…I don't KNOW!” Garrett squealed as his new pair of pants was suddenly hoisted up by an invisible force. Or it wasn’t invisible, it appeared to be a pair of brown, leathery suspenders with metal clips that glistened in the light…which had magically materialized over him somehow? They locked in place and pulled Garrett’s pants up around his stomach. The movement scrunched up his t-shirt for a moment before the fabric magically levitated and gingerly tucked itself in, leaving zero wrinkles behind. “Y-you’re s-seeing this too, right?” he stuttered.

“Of course I fucking am!” Devon snarled, his face red with anger and embarrassment. Garrett’s eyes goggled incredulously as Devon’s new outfit looked even more elaborate than his. Gone forever was his grey t-shirt and blue jeans and instead he now sported a long-sleeved dress shirt fit with an array of vibrant mother-of-pearl buttons complemented by a pair of black suit pants. Devon’s new dapper attire accentuated every ripple of his body from his larger-than-average arms and legs. Most interestingly, his belly had a faint bump to it now, like he was bloated or something.

Garrett was mesmerized as he watched the jock struggle in his new, expertly-tailored clothes. Simultaneously, he couldn’t resist the urge to steal glances at himself and watch as his shirt dyed itself blue and his new dress pants dyed themselves a relaxing shade of light grey. In unison, both of their respective waterfalls of new clothing entered their final cascade. To mark its near terminus, a brand new pair of black suspenders sprung up from Devon’s dress pants. They yanked his pants up high up past his belly button. “GUH!” Devon cried in anguish as the suspenders attached around his shoulders and locked his pants in a painful-looking position. Garrett didn’t dare look for long, but he noticed that the jock’s genitals were bulged up in the pants’ fly as a result.

“This fucking hurts!” Devon cried, unable to hold in his rage “I can’t even feel my co-o--ock!”

Unlike Garrett, Devon’s clothes had a few more tricks up their sleeves. Firstly, an ocean of black stitching materialized over his pristine white dress shirt. It started at his shirt collar and promptly swallowed up his back and his pecs, until finally stopping just above his waist. Devon’s attempts to undo his tight suspenders were cruelly cut short as a brand new black suit jacket concealed his entire torso. Garrett gawked in disbelief, no longer concealing his curious glances. Devon pulled and picked at his new blazer with much ire. Three buttons appeared in the center of the boxy item of clothing and promptly fastened themselves. Devon’s abdomen and self-proclaimed “rock-hard abs” were concealed by the jacket while the top half of the blazer allowed for a triangle of view of his dress shirt. To complete his new expensive outfit, two black ribbons appeared on either side of his neck. Gracefully, they pirouetted around each other and promptly fastened a tight knot, leaving a spiffy black bowtie just under Devon’s Adam’s Apple. As a final touch, a purple strand of satin formed around the young man’s waist of all things. It wrapped around his obliques and banded over his lower back, creating a brand new indigo cumberbund and finalizing Devon’s extravagant uniform.

To finalize Garrett’s much less-invasive changes, a suit jacket of his own materialized and gently wrapped itself around his upper body. A checkerboard of green and white squares covered the illustrious, new fabric. He moved his arms around in it and was surprised to find that it felt light and breathable. Garrett’s eyes fell back onto Devon, who looked like a deer in headlights. Neither knew what to say. The strangest part was the fact that Devon’s pants were so tight - tight enough that Garrett could even see his balls all bunched up in the front. What was that called again? A camel toe? A moose-knuckle? Devon Kearney, one of the douchiest jocks in school, had an actual moose-knuckle. Before Garrett could stop himself, a small chuckle escaped his lips.

“You think this is fucking funny?” Devon snarled before immediately placing a hand on Garrett’s chest and forcefully shoving him into the wall. For a body three-quarters as tall as it once was, he still retained quite a lot of strength.

Garrett was petrified. “No, no, Devon, I-”

“This is all your fault somehow!” Devon roared, now inches from Garrett’s face. “Of course, being paired with Garrett Carmicheal of all people would result in some fucking weird nerdy black magic shit!” He tugged at his dapper uniform in disgust. The only remnant of his street clothes was the baseball cap still on his head. “I look like such a fucking dork!”

Devon was speechless. It was disturbing to see the jock’s unflappable, cocky exterior completely shattered, replaced by flagrant rage. “Devon, I-”

“Give me one reason why I shouldn't pound the shit out of you!”

“Devon, no…stop!” Garrett stuttered, overcome with fear.

Then, the strangest thing happened. Instantly, Devon obeyed the command. He released his tight grip on Garrett’s sternum and stepped back in an almost robotic fashion. “Huh?”

“My sincerest apologies, sir,” Devon replied, placing his muscular arms to his side and standing up as straight as possible. He shook his head. “Wuh, why did I…do that?”

Garrett wasn’t sure how to react. Instead, he just focused on catching his breath and peering down at his disoriented comrade. It was wild to think that Devon, the 6’4” tall linebacker who towered over Garrett in history class, had been reduced to a meager 5’8” height. Even crazier was the fact that he actually obeyed a command.

POP! POP!

It took a moment for Garrett to realize that the two sharp pings had actually been his top two shirt buttons flying loose. “My shirt…” was all he could say as he wordlessly glanced down at his now, partially-exposed chest. Instead of seeing a flat chest and distinct collar bone, he was surprised to see that his pecs were actually protruding out? And they were still inflating!

“Goodness gracious!” Devon exclaimed before putting a hand over his mouth.

The two boys could only watch helplessly while Garrett’s chest continued inflating. His pecs were a statement now - two growing muscular slabs, as sturdy as bricks, that tempted with their masculinity. Short, spindly dark chest hairs sprouted up in the center, which had now formed a small chasm. Although Garrett was enticed, he was unbelievably confused. A scrawny geek like him wasn’t supposed to have tits like this! He’d never even set foot in a gym. Or maybe he had? After all, it must’ve taken a decade’s worth of vigorous exercise to get pecs this round and supple. They were so huge that even his nipples had been pushed to the side and had puffed out, now each closely resembling the tip of a baby’s bottle. They were so sensitive too. He could imagine them tensing up every time his French cuffs grazed them or whenever he would give them loving squeezes in private. In fact, he could recall they gave him some kind of unorthodox pride - seeing them perked up in every formal picture he’d ever taken. His bros would even joke and call him Kate Upton because of it.

Garrett’s cock ascended, and noticeably tented his wool dress pants. Absent-mindedly, he ran a hand through his thick, long hair and parted it to one side - something he’d never done before. Of course, the hair didn’t stick due to the lack of product and instead, it just hung there as a gnarled mess with most of it flattened down and the other half sticking straight up like a porcupine’s quills. “God, what is happening to me,” Garrett huffed as he impulsively grabbed at his bulge.

“It appears you’re changing, sir,” Devon aptly replied, his voice sounding a lot more monotone.

“I…I really am,” Garrett replied, his voice nearly crescendoing into a moan as he gave his bulge a shake. “I look different, don’t I? More cleaned up, eh? More prim and proper. More mature, even.”

“T-that you do,” Devon confirmed, stuttering his words as he was forced to swallow a snarky rebuttal. He was losing his will to be a contrarian. Instead, his disposition was becoming far more accommodating and congenial, accompanied by an enhancing vocabulary. “Me too!” he pouted, his monotone voice once again possessing his familiar churlishness. “I hate this tux thing I’m dressed in. I don’t want to look mature! Although spectacular, my regalia is quite oleaginous, isn’t it? GAHH! What am I saying?!”

Garrett gazed back up at Devon, or rather peered down at him - the fear and frustration was evident on the other teen’s distraught face. He also appeared to have put on a few more pounds somehow. His growing arms and pec muscles took on a far more squishy shape and his tight stomach crafted by years of high school football had a much pudgier contour to it.

“GUHH!” Garrett roared, at a low register, similar to Devon’s voice, realizing the changes were far from over. Two shockwaves of blood surged through his arms, immediately filling them with volatility. A pair of massive, bodybuilder-sized biceps gradually inflated within the confines of the bespoke twill shirt. Garrett could only watch transfixed as his skinny, noodle arms - the things he’d hated the most about himself - became nothing of the sort. The muscles in his forearms followed suit as they pulled apart and tightened up with protein-laden muscle, becoming permanent, cylindrical-shaped obtrusions in every shirt he would ever wear. Around fifteen seconds later, Garrett’s barrel-sized arms were now tastefully concealed beneath the tight, stretchy fabric of his dress shirt. Mercifully, his golden cufflinks remained intact and undisturbed, their dazzling opulence a necessary accentuation of his rigid wrists. Garrett was in awe. Even his hands looked manlier - they looked more plump and more formidable somehow. His nails were perfectly manicured and his digits must’ve doubled in size, dropping their nimble slimness in favor of a more boxing glove-like shape.

A wave of growth undulated through his abdomen as it began to slowly extend forward to a similar breadth of his mighty pecs. With it came two distinct pops, but this time it came from deep within his abs. It felt like he was flexing abdominal muscles that had never made themselves known before. To confirm his suspicion, the two pops multiplied into four and then six until concluding on eight square-shaped indentations etched into his abdomen. Bespoke twill felt incredible against his brand new eight-pack. “God, I’m really filling out, huh?” Garrett smirked as an impulsive affirmation to himself.

“Yes, I am too,” Devon answered nervously.

Garrett glanced down and the first thing he noticed about Devon was the bulbous sphere that his belly had become. It wasn’t like he was obese or anything, but to call Devon a jock would be laughably inaccurate. This stomach of his had to be at least fifty pounds and it jutted straight out like a boulder. It didn’t sag low like a belly normally would, it hung high and tall, suspended by hidden, rigid muscle. Something told Garrett it would only get bigger.

“AGH!” Garrett yelped as he felt two muscles viciously tingle each of his shoulders before they began to stretch upward. A pair of glorious trapezius muscles flared out, giving him a menacing hood of muscle around his neck similar to a king cobra. Quickly, their immensity made his small, boyish head and mop of brown, unkempt bowl cut look extremely out of place. As Garrett’s trap muscles finished their transition into ones that a bodybuilder would envy, he attempted to turn his head 90 degrees, but found that to be quite a challenge. His neck too had also stretched wider to compete with the overgrown atoll of his trap muscles. Eliminating the soreness in his new muscular neck, Garrett rocked it back and forth and felt his bones and veins snap into place. The process sent a giant tear through the back of his Star Wars tie, whose lopsided Windsor knot had also fared no match for Garrett’s expanding, meaty neck and shoulder. It now hung loosely, dangling precariously over his massive tits about to plop to the ground.

“Pardon me sir, your tie is askew,” Devon piped up.

Before Garrett could react, his portly acquaintance gingerly removed the tie from his figure and was running it through his hands. He blinked and all of a sudden, Devon’s hands were concealed beneath a pair of satin white gloves. Paired with that, his hands looked larger too - like two baseball mitts.

“What is with this tie?” Devon added, staring at the Star Wars Mandalorian emblems on the tie. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“Yeah, it’s my good luck tie,” Garrett replied. “I wore it for…the interview…” He trailed off for a moment as his memories of an interview grew a little hazier. They were both here for some reason, but this seemed like a strange situation for an interview. “Have you always been wearing gloves?” It was a straightforward thing for him to ask, but he genuinely was curious.

“Yeah, it’s a part of the uniform,” Devon nodded although his brow furrowed with confusion over his own comment. It was as if he didn’t know what he was going to say next.

“Okay,” Garrett replied intently, giving Devon a snide smirk. His cock bobbed in his trousers as he thought of the idea of a football player bending to his whim and being involuntarily supportive.

Devon’s face didn’t show much more emotion. Instead, he was putting his new man-hands to work some magic on the tattered tie. As he rolled up the tie, the array of Mandalorian emblems began to fade. First, the helmet’s outline faded before diffusing in all directions and melting into the navy blue coloration of the tie. In some miraculous animation, Garrett watched as the colors danced into each other before brightening until they reached a divine, subdued seafoam green. With a firm shake from Devon’s hands, the tie fattened up and lost any trace of its former self.

“What did you do?” Garrett asked, his heart sunk as his favorite tie from one of his favorite movies was gone forever.

“Hermés,” Devon said, answering a question never asked. “Mint is quite the nice touch for the outfit too.” He handed it to Garrett who just looked at it dumbly. “You know how to tie a tie don’t you?” Devon asked smugly, his voice sounding much more…posh and preppy. “We don’t want that Cliff fellow to be mad.”

“Yeah for sure,” Garrett replied as he unconsciously wrapped the tie around his collar. In only a few seconds and a few deft maneuvers, his hands nimbly created a Windsor knot.

“I taught you well,” Devon applauded, his eyebrow crooked as he dissected his statement. Still, his mouth continued its whimsical dialogue. “You can tie a tie as fast as I can tie my shoes. Or at least as fast as I used to be able to tie them.” He gestured at his bass drum of a belly and chuckled at himself.

Garrett couldn’t help but snicker too. Devon’s bubbly nature was somewhat infectious. It was kind of hot - imagining the portly ex-jock catering to his needs, but also being a genuinely nice person. That would be a nice change.

“Isn’t that better?” Devon asked. A faint panic still permeated his eyes, as if he wasn’t sure why he was asking these questions and indulging Garrett like this.

“Yeah,” Garrett smiled with a conceited grin as he ran a hand through his floppy, greasy mop of crumpled hair. The movement caused more strands to flop down successfully, causing them to be quaffed straight back as if they were drenched in gel. Garrett didn’t pay it any mind. He just enjoyed how perfectly his mint tie complemented the checkered pattern of his blazer. This nearly-gaudy attire - he wanted to hate it - but he couldn’t. It accentuated his muscles perfectly! Oh yeah. His muscles. “I feel like a million bucks!” Garrett said with an honorary flex.

“Good, good,” Devon jovially replied. In accordance with his jolliness, a new layer of fat formed around his stomach and stretched out his resplendent tuxedo even further. A wave of compassion and maturity overcame him, replacing his adolescent panic. Looking at a burgeoning young stud like Garrett made him feel…proud in a way? It made him feel oddly paternal, as if their ages were different or something? “You have to look your best for your special day,” Devon added, before grimacing at how cringe he sounded. Still, it felt eerily correct to assist Garrett with his newfound sartorial knowledge.

“My special day?” Garrett asked before smirking once more. “That’s right. It…is my special day. I just can’t remember why.”

“Me neither,” Devon admitted. His adolescent rage towards Garrett had faded completely. It was impossible to get mad a young, promising stud like him. Instead, he glared down at his new rotund body ruefully. “I look like a fucking gumdrop,” he pouted as he poked and prodded at his round belly and pecs. He craned his stubby neck to see that even his broad, hulking thighs made his dress pants look vacuum-sealed. It reminded him of wearing padded football pants. His chest was ridiculously huge too - his pecs were like two airbags resting atop a giant, protrusive boulder. Thankfully, his pecs didn’t sag like other older men’s man-boobs often did. They just hung there, taunting Devon with their undeniable stoutness. It was enthralling in a way - the idea of his cannonball-shaped stomach on display in every shirt he ever wore. That made him feel so…mature, like a father figure of sorts. His corpulence, unapologetically masculine, equally disgusted and excited him. At least his plump body looked well-dressed and concealed perfectly by this uniform. Devon could picture so many men his age, or…his father’s age, who didn’t know how to dress themselves - the type to have the undersides of their bellies exposed in public and who wore thin, ill-fitting t-shirts with visible, nasty sweat stains. Devon felt some strange pleasure in the fact that his clothes were tailored just for him. It made him feel much more…powerful that way. This well-dressed, paunchy body of his was an extension of his own masculinity.

Garrett was lost in his own self-indulgent thoughts as he inspected his own chest. He gave his nipples a tweak and winced at how sensitive they were. Rubbing the back of his meaty hand against the expensive fabric, he could feel a God, he loved being a man. A huge, hunky, muscular, young, confident man. One whose body jutted out in every direction in his formal clothes - kinda like Devon’s did, only Garrett’s were far more perky and traditionally attractive. He’d never clamored over his body like that before. It was quite the rush - a premonition of his constantly evolving virility and an extension of his own masculinity.

“Wait, do you hear that?” Garrett asked abruptly, causing Devon to return back to reality. The two of them froze and sure enough, they realized that there was now an abundance of noise emanating above them. A faint bassline and drums could be heard accompanied by a moderately-loud chatter of people conversing. “There’s people upstairs.”

Devon turned white as a ghost. “Oh no, oh shit dude, people can’t see me like…like this!” he cried, holding up his pudgy, balloon-shaped belly in rife disgust.

“Yeah, you look like a blimp,” Garrett chuckled. For a moment, he almost regretted saying it, but his fear of Devon was dissipating. They were equals now - no longer bound by archaic notions of a teenage hierarchy.

“Manners please,” Devon retorted, primping his suit. He didn’t appear to be that offended by the comment though, considering he didn't give Garrett any vicious retaliation. In fact, he seemed to be captivated by his tuxedo jacket. “My coattails. They nearly stretch to the floor!” he said with dopey astonishment, stretching his neck to inspect the way the coat draped over his pot-bellied frame. “They kinda look like a superhero’s cape. It’s quite…marvelous, isn’t it?”

“Whoa, your voice! It sounds British!” Garrett laughed. “Would you like some tea and crumpets, governor?”

Devon was not amused. “Sir, please,” he huffed, far more displeased than angry. “I don’t think it’s quite appropriate to make fun of my accent. I surely don't mock you for your deep voice.”

A twinge of guilt pulsed through Garrett. If a jerk like Devon could learn politeness, surely he could too. “Right, right, I’m sorry,” he said, completely oblivious while his voice lost its teenage squeak in favor of a commanding, baritone register. “I guess I never expected a football player to act so formal.” The voice that Garrett now had sounded like it belonged to a male country singer rather than a raspy 18 year old.

“Football?” Devon gasped. He could recall playing it for a brief moment, but the memories of it all came crashing down instantly. Like a piece of paper being incinerated to ash. A man of his rotund stature certainly wouldn’t be the greatest at the sport unless he was an offensive lineman. “I have…never played football before,” Devon said, almost in a state of shock as the words left his lips. “I wouldn’t be too fast on the field. Not with a belly like…OOOFF…like this.” Without warning, fifty more pounds were piled onto Devon’s stomach, causing him to look like even more of a portly freak. This monster gut looked ready to rip free from his uniform at any moment, but thankfully it had swiftly stretched with his beastly proportions to prevent that.

“Oh yeah, that’s right, it’s not called soccer where you’re from.”

“Huh? I…oh yes, that’s quite correct.” Devon’s head was spinning. His definition of the sport was changing. Football was nothing like it was here in the States. It was a far less violent and barbaric sport in the U.K. but most importantly, it was an excuse to get a pint with the lads and watch his favorite team whenever he went back home. Or wait, wasn’t this home? Everything was getting fuzzy.

Garrett was feeling the same way as he zoned out for a moment, gazing down at his sophisticated clothes. Or rather hunky, sophisticated body - the clothes were just an extension of himself. “Well, I think we should head upstairs and talk to that Cliff guy and maybe he can help us.”

“Ah Cliff, what a fine gentleman!” Devon perked up, like a robot coming to life. His deep, Welsh accent teeming with merriment. “Yes, let’s!”

Garrett tried his hardest not to snicker as Devon led the way. His bouncy, blubbery figure certainly didn’t move the way it once did. At first, he clearly was trying to move at the speed of a highschool quarterback, but his gait was reduced to a sluggish waddle. Something else had also changed about Devon. It was his back - which looked quite broader for some reason. Paired with his angular shoulders, his upper body was turning into quite an imposing-shaped rectangle. For a man of smaller stature, his figure was still quite imposing.

“I’m sure everyone is waiting to see you.” Devon said merrily as he reached the wooden stairs.

“Ah that’s right,” Garrett replied and a burst of dopamine suddenly hit his brain, promptly inhibiting any more questioning of their predicament. It was his special day. Being the center of attention was something he craved - people all gathered around him, listening to him talk in length - it was like adrenaline to him : a formative adrenaline. He cherished all the accolades his hulking muscles would receive. From friends, from family members, from romantic partners. After all, he’d put in years of hard work!

Garrett was aghast as he walked up the steps behind his paunchy companion. Devon already had the tight, muscle butt of a high school quarterback, but the ascent up the staircase immediately began shaping it into an enormous cushion that was impossible to ignore. With each step upward, his glutes flared outward in all directions, stretching his wool dress pants like lycra. Inflating like balloons, Devon’s mountainous asscheeks lost some of their muscled firmness. They rhymically bobbed up and down over and over, indicative of their increased fat concentration. By the time they reached the top of the stairs, two mounds the size of basketballs and as wide as pillows had replaced Devon’s former ass. He appeared to be none the wiser as he turned sideways for a moment and readjusted his cummerbund.

Garrett froze. His cock had risen to full mast and he hated it. Illuminated by a single overhead light, Devon’s mammoth figure cast a marvelous silhouette. The equal breadth of his glorious, distended stomach and protruding suited buttocks were so oddly compelling. And stupidly erotic. Then again, Garrett had been hard since the changes started…or for the past hour while he’d been getting ready. Yeah. That was right. Dressing up always got his hormones firing.

“It seems like only yesterday you had gotten into college,” Devon reminisced as he turned his stubby neck up to Garrett who climbed to the top step.

“College?” Garrett asked. He hadn’t even graduated high school. “I don’t think-”

“Look at yourself, Garrett, ” Devon boomed. The newfound sagacity in his voice sent a shiver up Garrett’s spine. “You’ve really changed from the small, precocious lad you once were. You heed advice and apply it into your own life. In university and in bodybuilding. Why, I remember when I used to be larger than you. Hah hah hah! That’s not quite the case anymore, is it?”

“Bodybuilding? College?” Garrett was dumbfounded. Two retrospections ran parallel in his brain. In one, he was a teenage misanthrope who would much rather keep to himself and his hobbies while another, more forceful side of him savored the attention of being a heartthrob, junior bodybuilder. He craved it, actually. He wanted to loathe the feeling, but he couldn’t. Everything around him was spinning out of control so beautifully, but something told him that this was a very good thing.

“Why yes,” Devon replied, “We’re all so proud of you. You have that ambition that’s going to get you very far in life.” His voice cracked a bit. “I wish I had more of that when I was a lad.”

Before Garrett could stop himself, he’d already wrapped his arms around the portly man. Given their height difference, he’d had to lean down slightly, but he didn’t even realize he’d done that. Devon quickly reciprocated and a mutual wave of growth radiated through the two of them. It was a weird burst of unbridled sympathy the two had never felt for each other once. But it was real.

Firstly, Devon’s belly gained a final thirty more pounds, swelling larger than a yoga ball and tight as a bass drum. At one point, he’d competed in bodybuilding competitions just like Garrett was…or was going to. But now, a stout aging man like Devon much preferred to possess a distended, glorious muscle gut formed from decades of hard work and newfound relaxation. His body type was truly one of a kind - he had to make his own custom clothes for it too - and nothing made him more enthusiastic that Garrett appeared to be following the same fate of growing gigantic. Finishing its inflation, Devon’s belly pressed tightly against Garrett’s abdomen, which was starting to shrink in exchange. Any remaining pudge Garrett had was trimmed away and repurposed into a lean, X-shaped of a competition-ready bodybuilder. His nonexistent butt also began to change, promptly losing its shapelessness as it inflated into two boulders. His rear was only around three-quarters the size of Devon’s, but it had equal strength. Garrett had an enormous, perky muscle butt formed by nearly a decade of strenuous squatting and consistent training. In tandem, Garrett’s slender thighs beefed up, becoming a set of poles that could effortlessly support his hulking frame. Subconsciously, he rocked back and forth on them and the new muscles tightened into pillars as thick as stone.

“Thank you,” Devon replied as the two pulled apart. His eyes were glassy and his face had a myriad of more pronounced lines on it now. He was so happy now, happier than he had ever been from his life as a football player. Being a British butler, a man of superlative etiquette, and passing eclectic style and machismo onto a man like Garrett - that was his new purpose. “You’ve become the man deep down that I knew you always could be.”

“Of course,” Garrett smiled. He felt like his heart was going to explode. While studying Devon’s new venerable face and more mature sunken eyes, he blinked and all of a sudden, his baseball cap disappeared! Not only that, Devon’s head of vibrant blonde hair had vanished too, leaving behind a faint horseshoe of hair. He pictured Devon as having a younger, boyish face in his head, but those memories were crinkling away as he looked into this new, mature man.“Your…your hat,” was all Garrett could say.

Faint wrinkles texturized themselves around Devon’s face as he smiled. “Yes, the bowler hat felt a little unfitting on a very formal occasion like this.”

“No, you were wearing a…” Garrett trailed off, immediately forgetting that a bald, astute gentleman like Devon would ever wear a baseball cap. That seemed too…juvenile for him. Whenever he did wear a hat, it was usually a top hat or something. Even more paralyzing to Garrett was the fact that this man in front of him didn’t feel like a stranger anymore. He felt like a family member. Like a mentor of sorts. It made sense. After all, he’d known Devon his entire life. A hazy memory traveled through Garrett’s brain. He could remember being young, back when Devon had a full head of hair and he’d wanted so badly to impress him. Now he had and the family butler couldn’t be more proud. Wait, family butler? That seemed correct for some reason, but it make any-

“Have a fun night, kid,” Devon smiled, uniquely giving the words a staccato affectation with his charming British accent, as he opened up the wooden door to the banquet hall.

Bright lights inundated Garrett’s corneas, like he’d stepped into heaven. When his eyes adjusted, he could make out around what appeared to be one hundred or so people occupying the previously vacant hall. Their attire was ritzy - like nothing Garrett had ever seen. Women adorned with beautiful, stylish dresses paired next to men dressed up in bespoke three-piece suits of various colors. A multitude of tuxedoed waitstaff were maneuvering in between the crowd of affluent guests. All parties involved seemed to be engrossed in pleasant, light-hearted conversation.

Seeing them all sent a tidal wave of fear through Garrett and the same teenage nerves he thought he’d banished inundated his brain. “Devon, there are so many-”

He turned, but Devon had already begun conversing with a crowd of five male waiters nearby who were dressed in identical tuxedos. He wanted to chuckle at how Devon’s cartoonishly massive butt eclipsed his view of the men he was talking to, but he couldn’t. In his peripheral vision, he could see people start noticing him. All the confidence he’d once had vanished instantly replaced by his familiar teenage nerves. He hated crowds - hated them so much. And now here he was trapped in the middle of one of the largest ones he’d ever seen.

Just as Garrett took his first step forward to try and slink towards the wall, he nearly collided with the silhouette of a huge, imposing man who nearly knocked him to his feet. Luckily, his reflexes were quick and he jumped back on his heels.

“Vince, there you are!” thundered the familiar, lofty stranger. It was Cliff - his interviewer of all people? He also looked more put together than before. His massive pecs were thinly concealed by a tight dress shirt preventing any chest hair from peeking through. At his side was a breathtaking entourage of beautiful guests, a group of men wearing flashy, velvety suits and a group of women wearing extravagant, ruched dresses. “We were wondering what was taking you so long!”

“Huh? My name’s not-” Garrett stopped. His deep voice, almost as low as Cliff’s, startled him and reminded him how manly he sounded. Before he could analyze it, two new heels abruptly shot out of Garrett’s sneakers, launching him a half-inch higher into the air - allowing him to become eye level with Cliff - the man who’d previously towered over him. He wanted to tremble, but there was something so comforting about the older man’s face. It made him feel seen. There was a broad, beaming smile on Cliff’s brick-shaped jaw, emanating the same sage-like reverence as Devon had.

“There’s the man of the hour!” another well-dressed man around three-quarters the size of Garrett exclaimed. By this point, the group of guests had swarmed all around him, rendering any chance of escape impossible. His heart felt like it was going to explode out of chest, from stress and a weird, weird sense of familiarity with these people, especially one of the men in front of him. His face was devoid of wrinkles and his forehead devoid of furrows. Must’ve been a lot of Botox. Even his hairline mirrored Garrett’s, which was impressive given he looked to be in his sixties or so. “Put ‘err there, Vince!” the dapper stranger exclaimed, extending out his hand.

Garrett acquiesced, not wanting to be rude. He didn’t realize how clammy his hands were until they were against this man’s dry ones. “Thanks, Uncle James. It’s so good to see you,” he replied before flinching at his weird, automatic response.

The man didn’t seem to care about being Garrett’s uncle. It did seem to make sense though. He looked like Cliff, only a few years older. “Look at that! He already got himself a Rolex! Lookin’ sharp, son!”

“A…what?” Garrett looked down at his right wrist and sure enough, there was a watch with a rich, emerald hue that looked nothing short of expensive. Upon further inspection, he realized it was the same green shade as his preppy checkered blazer and it had the same eye-catching shimmer of his cufflinks. Fuck. That turned him on for some reason. Luxury. Power. Being all dressed up. “Yeah, doesn’t it have a marvelous sparkle to it?” Garrett added, unable to contain his excitement. His voice sounded different now - a little more pompous. He was really holding the vowels of words in his mouth for longer now. It reminded him of the rich kids from his high school. Wait, where did he go to school again?

A lady in a lavender velvet dress holding a bubbling glass of champagne spoke next. She used big gestures to the group, as if she was showing Garrett off like a trophy. “Our son - the Yale graduate,” she declared, her voice sounding as proud as Cliff’s and as proud as Devon’s. “I can’t believe he finally did it.”

“Top of his class too!” Cliff added, sipping on a glass of scotch. “Don’t forget about that, Pauline.”

“Of course,” the woman smiled. “We never doubted our son for a second.”

“Graduated? From Yale? No, I’m…” Garrett sputtered as the final realization hit him. This was a party. All for him. And Cliff and Pauline. They were…his parents? That didn’t seem right, but Garrett had trouble recalling any other alternative. He could recall glimpses of his upbringing in opulent rooms, going to high-class events and developing a sartorial affinity. He now truly felt like an adult just like them. His parents’ positive words echoed in his head, filling him up with joy. For the first time in a long time, Garrett felt proud of himself. His memories of a recluse were fading while recollections of being a valedictorian and relaxed, sociable young athlete took their place.

“Looks like he’s been hitting the gym at the same time!” Uncle James piped in. “What’s your current weight?”

“280,” Garrett replied and instinctively performed a front lat spread to the group who all laughed pompously.

“Don’t get him started,” Pauline replied with a playful tap on Garrett’s shoulder.

Another man spoke up who looked muscular too, although not as muscular as Garrett. “Even during football, you were never half this size. You really took to bodybuilding during college! I can’t believe I’m looking at the same kid!”

Garrett beamed with pride and his posh accent swallowed up his old one completely. “Once I knew football wasn’t in the cards for me, I decided to take weightlifting more seriously and it really helped me.”

“Isn’t that great,” one of the ladies in the crowd smiled.

“He sure takes after his old man!” Cliff smiled, wrapping his arm around his equally-strapping son.

Garrett froze as he fully took in the breadth of his alleged father. For lack of a better word, he was just so manly. Even being a man in his fifties, he still had some incredible size to him. He must’ve been sixty pounds heavier than Garrett, which was nothing short of impressive. Cliff’s cerulean three-piece suit looked ready to rip off. Garrett could recall some strong feelings about that: the idea of getting to a massive size where all of his suits had to be custom-made to contain his sheer width. He could faintly recall a short, plump man measuring him with yellow tape as he crafted measurements for him.

Holy shit. That man was his family butler. The one he’d just seen earlier. What was his name again? Acrid guilt pulsed through Garrett’s head. This butler had been with his family his entire life and he couldn’t even remember his name. Even Garrett’s own name was growing harder to remember, but he knew one thing for sure. His name certainly wasn’t Vincent.

“Any refills on champagne?” chirped a familiar ebullient voice.

“Yes please, thank you Reginald,” one of the ladies chirped back as the butler filled up her tall glass.

Garrett turned and sure enough, his family butler was right there: Reginald Chapman - a 400 pound intimidating colossus who was actually a kind-hearted giant.

Garrett tried not to laugh. This whole situation was so far-fetched. It reminded him of that one Rick & Morty episode where the family in the show had gained memories of a butler who they thought had always been part of their family. But this situation was different from a silly cartoon like that. It wasn’t like Reginald lived with them although he was over at the house working full-time. Hell, he’d even gone on family vacations with the Atkinsons. He’d even brought his husband along. It had been a strange sight - seeing the family butler and his equally-large middle-aged husband on the beach, but it had been illuminating. But still, Reginald had his own life. He was simply the Atkinsons’ staff member. A lifelong, steadfast one at that. Happy to cater to Garrett’s needs whenever necessary and give him advice on life and bodybuilding. It seemed weird to have a private butler, but not for a family like the Atkinsons who were filthy rich.

For a moment, Garrett found that somewhat exciting - the idea of a massive man catering to his needs, but it wasn’t weird like that. Even with his portly figure, Reginald had been quite an inspiration for Garrett to take bodybuilding seriously. He’d wanted to grow - to get as big as one of his idols - a kind-hearted Englishman who was like his second father. In fact, it had been a conversation on a Bahamian beach with Reginald and his burly partner Oliver that had made Garrett realize he was bisexual - a whole separate epiphany.

“I assume the college grad over here needs a fresh glass too!” Reginald piped up, producing a clean wine glass for Garrett. He poured the perfect amount of the liquid into it and smiled. “He’s truly one of a kind isn’t he?”

The group smiled and laughed in agreement. Garrett took notice of the other patrons in the background who were also turning his way. Reginald had the volume of a foghorn after all. In the crowd, Garrett could make out a few guys and girls his age - some of the friends from college. Some of them were really attractive. This really was quite the celebration. And it was all for him.

“Dom perignon, sir,” Reginald smiled, handing Garrett the glass, his fifty-six year old face glowing with adulation.

Garrett took a sip and smiled - the expensive liquor tasted incredible. He swore he could feel the bubbles fizzing in his mouth after he swallowed.

“Raise your glasses, please!” Reginald boomed. The guests immediately obeyed, all with smiles on their faces as they stared warmly at Garrett. “To Vincent Atkinson!” Reginald thundered as the background chatter quieted down. “A young man who has changed my life as much as I hope I’ve changed his!”

There was that name again. Garrett wanted to reply, but instead a warm, compassionate feeling overcame him. He was touched by the sweetness of the family butler - a man who inspired him every day.

A cheer from all of the guests echoed through the banquet hall. They all took a sip except for Reginald who just warmly smiled. “Have a glorious night you all,” he said with a bow of his head before swiftly walking away to tend to other patrons. That’s right. Reginald was on the clock. That enthusiastic, diligent butler. Garrett watched as his plump body bounced within the confines of his long, dangling coattails as as he sidled over to another crowd.

“Vince has grown up so fast!” chimed in a male patron as the chatter started back up. “He’s sure got that Atkinson family chin!”

“Wait until he gets those Atkinson family veneers!” chimed in another who received a chastising shove from his wife.

“Family…chin?” Garrett mumbled as he felt a bubbling sensation emanating from the bottom of his face. It was the weirdest feeling, like someone was popping bubble wrap under his chin. The final piece of him was changing - his face. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to see it happen in real time. He just had to. “Excuse me, please,” Garrett said before promptly darting away before any patron could stop him. With each distinct footstep, his dress shoes grew more and more glossy, echoing throughout the opulent hall. Luckily, he located a bathroom nearby and promptly slunk inside, but not before feeling his broad shoulders scrape against the sides of the old, wooden doorframe. Garrett skulked to the mirror a panicked, breathy mess and promptly froze with disbelief at his strapping reflection.

Everything about him was huge. Unbelievably huge.

He turned to his side and ogled over his humongous chest and back jutting out in either direction. Even his biceps looked prime to rip right out of his checkered suit jacket. Lower on his body, his bulge and tight, muscle ass also jutted out from his midsection, quivering with his movements, both exuding undoubtable manliness. Now in complete privacy, Garrett’s cock rose back up to full mast. His body - it reminded him of Cliff’s - his new father - unyieldingly masculine and provocative. He was burning up under this sexy yet stifling outfit his butler had picked out.

“I’m an Atkninson,” he said to himself, eager to look like just his father - his idol.

With a distinct set of cracks, his stubby chin erupted forward, immediately doubling its width and acquiring a brand new shovel-shape. Any awkward half-grown teenage facial hair vanished with it, endowing Garrett with a clean-shaven, spotless chin accompanied by the subtle aroma of expensive aftershave. Next his lips inflated like two balloons, puffing out to an extremely kissable level. His teeth straightened and became a pure shade of white. Transfixed by his reflection, Garrett watched in wonder as his unsightly pimples and zits were eradicated from his face. In one swift blink, his eyes changed from hazel to a bright blue accompanied by a slightly thicker yet attractive nose. Propelled down by an invisible wave, Garrett’s unkempt bowl cut was finally subdued and all of the long, strands shortened to a preppy, professional length. An expertly-placed layer of gel coated the young man’s greasy brown hair, slicking it back in an instant, taking off a few inches with it.

“Mmm fuck,” Garrett huffed as he swore he felt a gust of air rush over his head. A glorious tidal wave of bright blond hair came next, swallowing up his old bushy brunette forever. He wanted to be mad at how preppy he looked, but it didn’t make sense why. This was how he’d dressed his whole life.

“I’m an Atkinson,” Garrett repeated, hard as a rock while he watched his boyish features mature ever so slightly, eradicating anyone ever mistaking him for a teenager ever again and aging him up in a man in his early 20s. That wasn’t who he was after all. Everyone was here tonight for his college graduation.

Garrett was treated to a final, illustrious animation of his altering face in the mirror as any remaining “Garrett-hood” he had was eliminated. His hairline pulled down slightly making his forehead less prominent, his eyes grew a little closer together, and his ears shrunk ever so slightly. And then as if Garrett had been staring at some magic-eye poster, it all clicked into place. His handsome face looked just like a younger version of his father. “Fuck yeah, I’m…Vincent Atkinson,” he trembled, his voice rife with anticipation.

That utterance - it sent a shockwave through Vincent. In an instant, an invisible sonic boom erupted through the room. It forced down his eyes and locked all of his handsome new attributes in place - never to be taken from him. Simultaneously, his rock-hard cock became flaccid. When Vincent reopened his eyes, he was left staring at his reflection in the mirror and there was a watery sheen over his aquamarine-shaded eyes. He was on the verge of crying for some reason? He blinked a few times and the tears only welled up further in his eyes. The lifetime of Garrett Carmicheal disappeared, replaced by a brand new handsome stud. Forever.

The instant Vincent’s mind transformed, the bathroom door flung open and in stepped a familiar, enormous man.

He flinched. His eyes were still watering. Why wouldn’t they stop? Why did he feel so sentimental all of a sudden?

Vincent’s father’s stern face immediately softened as he sidled up to his son. “Hey, hey, it’s alright to cry at these things, Vince,” he soothed his father as he wrapped his tree trunk of an arm around his son’s shoulders.

Vincent sighed and a single tear rolled down his cheek before he could stop it. The emotions were so much. He couldn’t believe what he’d been through. All of the schooling and now this - a graduation: which felt like the destruction of his youth. “I don’t even know why I’m crying,” he admitted, his voice hardly trembling. “It’s just so much. I can’t believe I’m like…like a real adult now.”

“It’s alright. Sometimes the emotions can be too much to endure. Come on, bring it in,” Vincent’s dad said, pulling his son in close for a mighty bear hug, which was immediately reciprocated. Immense strength radiated between the Atkinson men as they squeezed each other tenderly as hard as they could. The immeasurable comfort of his father - the man who had helped shape him into the confident, buff specimen he was meant to be - was so much to bear. An involuntary whimper escaped Vincent’s lips as he rested his head on top of one of his father’s strong shoulders. “I love you, kid. I’m so proud of you. We all are!” Vincent’s father added as the two released each other. He wiped a tear of his own from his own face and exhaled.

“Thanks dad,” Vincent replied before coughing and standing up straight again. He sighed and re-flattened one of his French cuffs - obsessed with the idea that his clothes were just an extension of his masculinity. Formalwear was always such a confidence-booster. Reginald had helped inspire that in him. “I think I’m alright now,” Vincent smiled. “I really needed that.”

“Anytime,” Vincent’s dad replied and the two of them headed back to the bathroom door, their two muscular butts both wider than the doorway. “How’s it feel to be a graduate?”

“Incredible,” Vincent smiled. “Like the world is at my fingertips.”

#male tf story #age progression #mental change #reality change #age progression tf #male transformation #muscle growth tf #businessman #male transformtaion #sartorial #weight gain tf #weight gain #wealthy #jock #preppy #socialite #butler

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written-in-flowers · 8 days ago

Text

Lovesick: Chan x Male!Reader Pt. 4

Pairing: Bang Chan x Male!Reader | Side pairings: Minho x Chan, Minho x Male!Reader (unrequited)

Word Count: 7k

Genre: Horror, Angst, Smut | AU: Yandere!au, Videogame!AU, Highschool!AU

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Summary: After being sucked into the dating simulator "Lovesick", Park YN has to defeat five rivals to reach his goal. However, he soon learns his rivals aren't the only thing he must contend with for Chan's love.

Tags: Graphic depictions of violence, Main Character Death, dark fic, dead dove: do not eat, yandere behaviors, yandere!reader, stalking, murder/violence, blood and violence, toxic relationships, mentions of murder, unrequited love, mentions of domestic violence, school massacre/genocide, implied teacher/student relationship, homophobic parents, mentions of bullying/trauma, obsession, possessiveness, manipulation, high school setting, anal sex, anal fingering, edging, eventual smut, pool sex, locker room sex, blowjobs, choking.

A/N: PLEASE READ TAGS BEFORE READING! I'm not responsible for any feelings you end up having because you ignored this warning and the ones above.

Han Jisung: Tuesday < | > Seo Changbin: Monday

****

You arrived at school before either Jisung or Chan reached their lockers. Despite your growing desire to stalk Chan, you followed Jisung instead. You noticed the gift box he carried throughout the school, and wondered what was actually inside. No doubt it will be a new manga or an anime-related item. You briefly thought of what gift you'd give Chan, but instantly shut it down. That’s not who you are. Chan is a game character; you can’t take him home when you win the game.

‘Ah, but how nice it’d be to keep him.’

You pushed that out of your head and kept walking. You followed Jisung up the stairs to the second floor, and waited for him to enter his classroom. As you stood by the drinking fountain watching the door, someone came up behind you.

“Ah, Minho-hyung!” you jumped back into the wall, seeing the older boy standing there with a small grin. “You scared me!”

“I’m sorry, YN-ssi,” he frowned, “I didn’t mean to. You seemed deep in thought and I didn’t want to bother you. You’re on the sophomore floor again.”

You’d throttle him if you could. Lee Minho was becoming a pest that you couldn’t flick off. “Um, yeah, I stopped for some water,” you gestured to the fountain. “I was heading up to the library to study some before class.”

“Wow, such a diligent student,” he grinned. “Most kids go back outside or mess around in the classroom.”

“I guess so…yeah.”

Minho gazed around the hallway then shortened the space between you. In a whisper, he said, “Look, YN, I’m not going to turn you in or anything, but I wanted to warn you: getting involved with Hwang Hyunjin is a bad idea.”

You froze and examined Minho’s face. He saw the seriousness in the narrow, dark brown eyes, mixing with a tinge of concern. “I don’t know what you mean,” you replied innocently.

“I was throwing away some trash from the student council room when I saw you talking to Hyunjin in the art room,” he began. “I saw you…purchasing…some stuff from him, and I wanted to warn you that you shouldn’t do it again. What if a teacher caught you with that stuff? You could get in serious trouble and get kicked out of school.”

“What I do in my free time isn’t your business, Minho-hyung.”

“I know it’s not, but I…I don’t want you to get kicked out over something stupid.”

“Why would you care if they kicked me out?”

“Because…” Minho hesitated, swallowing a lump in his throat. You saw him give your face a once over before saying, “Because, the school is known for having high academic achievements. A lot of the students here come from prominent families who want their children to receive the best education. I think having someone like you here makes this place look better. You have really high marks, good examination scores, and you’re part of the school’s swim team. I’d hate to see all that potential go to waste because you decided to start interacting with somebody like him.”

“I appreciate your concern,” you said, “But, I have my reasons for meeting Hyunjin. We’re not friends or anything. I just needed some stuff from him.”

“I see…” he nodded. “Still, Hyunjin runs with a bad crowd, and it’d be a shame if you got mixed up in it.” He changed topics and said, “I was actually heading to the library too. The student council is starting a campaign for school safety. The council and I feel it's important we make people aware of safety tips they can use when they’re alone. I was going to start designing the pamphlets to hand out. Maybe you can help me with them; I hear you’re very creative.”

How could he have heard that? You haven't talked to anyone besides Chan. “No thanks, Hyung. That sounds admirable and everything, but I gotta go do something before the library and I might miss it if I keep dawdling. I’ll see you around.”

“But, YN-”

You slipped away before he could say anything else. Who did Minho think he was butting into your business like that? He had some nerve thinking you should take his advice. You managed to make it to Jisung’s classroom, and your heart dropped. Jisung’s bag was hanging from his desk hook, but the gift box he’d brought with him was gone. You frantically gazed around the room to see if Jisung left it somewhere else, but it was pointless. Quickly, you went back down the corridor to the staircase. If you were lucky, you might catch Jisung before he gave the gift to Chan. They’d most likely meet in the school garden. You felt your phone buzzing, and you hastily pulled it out.

“Lee Minho seems to really like you.”

“Whatever. I don’t care about him.”

“You should reconsider Chan, to be honest.”

“What?! No way! Then I’d be stuck here!”

“But, isn’t Minho the more obvious choice here? He’s handsome, intelligent, successful, ambitious, and strong. People really look up to him, and being seen with him would raise your reputation A LOT.”

“My reputation is fine, thanks.”

“His family is extremely rich too. His mother is a politician. His dad owns the largest chain of department stores in the world. He could make you happy, give you the world on a platter. You would want nothing with him on your arm.”

You stared at the screen. “I don’t want Minho. I want Chan.”

“Okay, yeah, but does Chan want you?”

“He does! That’s what I rebuilt this whole game for! I rebuilt it so that I could get closer to him and make him love me!”

The confusion fueled your desperation. Without saying anything else, you put the phone back in your pocket and continued onwards. The phone continued vibrating against your leg. Bott’s dumb advice could wait. You walked through the school until you reached the outside, which was still packed with students heading to their destinations. You’d reached the school garden entrance when you gasped.

“Here, Chan,” Jisung and Chan stood by the shed again. He held out the white and red gift box, and said, “I got you something. I felt awful about yesterday and the day before, and I hope this makes it up to you somehow.”

“Jisung-ah,” Chan smiled fondly, “You didn’t have to get me a gift.”

“I wanted to,” he said, a light blush on his cheeks. “You’re…you’re very special to me. I look up to you a lot, and I’d hate it if you thought less of me.”

You prayed that Chan wouldn’t open the gift. You prayed that somehow, someway, he’d save it for later and give you time to replace it with your own. Unfortunately, the cards weren’t in your favor. Chan untied the bow and opened the box. He pulled out a new copy of Eternal Light, which made Chan’s face light up.

“Wow! Jisung!” Chan nearly laughed, “This is the newest one! How’d you get it? It isn’t supposed to be out yet here for a few months.”

“My dad had sent it to me,” he smiled. “He’s in Osaka right now, and he saw it in one of the anime shops. He thought I’d like to have it. I read it all in one night, and I thought you’d like to keep this one. It's a special edition too! The creator signed the inside!”

“Jisung-ah, I couldn’t keep this. It’s yours.”

“No, no, it’s okay!” Jisung insisted. “I preordered mine ages ago, so I’ll have my own. I wanted you to have this one.”

“This is…this is really wonderful, Jisung. I really love it. Thank you.”

You bit down on his lip so hard, you nearly drew blood. Everything you’d done yesterday had been for nothing. You wanted to kick something. You wanted to scream. You’d failed to stop one of the interactions. Your odds of ruining their friendship dropped a few points. Rage burned through every vein in your body, scorching the delight to make way for the anger, and the world turned gray and red again.

“Doesn't killing him sound better now?” Bott’s newest message came. “You lost a chance at sabotage. It'll be hard to make up for that now. Like I said, the second floor is usually empty after school. There's a supply closet with some things you could use. Ooh! There's this cool knife in the Occult club you can use or this big wand thing in Drama. They make great weapons.”

“I'm going to have to do something else. Murder would be too suspicious right now.”

“Where's the fun in that? That's one of the best parts!”

“Maybe I can gossip about Jisung? You know, lower his reputation so he leaves school. If I start now, then it should work by the end of the week.”

“Or you can just KILL THE FUCKER!”

Your heart started pounding in your ears, making it hard to keep your breath steady. You stayed by the entrance as both Jisung and Chan left together, trying to control the anger burning inside you. You observed Chan’s form as he walked away. You wanted him so badly. You wanted every part of him. Nobody would love him the way you would; nobody cared about him like you did. Had you not proved that much with all the trouble you went through for him?

“Killing these rivals literally makes your life so much easier. It's fun. Not all this sneaking around stuff.”

Wait, no. You are doing this to get home. You had no interest in really staying with Chan. But, you’d bring him along home if you could. Then, you could have him all to yourself.

“Take advantage of your rage mode, and find Jisung! A little bit of murder doesn't hurt anyone.”

Needing to control your “rage mode”, you stormed up to the boy’s bathroom where solitude lived in the tiled room. Hints of cleaning chemicals and fluids reached your nose as you bent over the sink. You tried splashing water on your face to remove the vision, but it didn’t seem to work. It only grew darker thinking of Chan in Jisung’s arms. You pictured a successful confession that led to the pair becoming a couple, and you receiving a ‘game over’. Then, you’d die. You thought of Chan being kissed and touched by Jisung; them going on dates, going on trips and enjoying life together. That should be you. That was going to be you. You slammed your hands on the sides of the sink as you thought of the couple somewhere else right now. What if all his new coding caused Jisung to reveal his feelings earlier? They could all think for themselves now after all. It was possible.

You screamed through gritted teeth and smacked the hard porcelain again. You couldn’t let that happen. You just couldn’t. You cursed yourself for having messed with the game’s design in the first place. Pride and ambition put you on this path, and now you have to redo everything over again. You took out your phone.

“Hello?”

You gasped at the high voice of Han Jisung from the bathroom’s entrance. You spun around to see him walk in with concern on his face. “Are you okay?” he asked, seeing your wet, red face. “You look sick. You should go see the nurse.”

“And you should stop seeing Chan!” you retorted.

“Huh? What do you mean?”

“I see how you look at him! I see the way you’re always going after him! Leave him alone, he’s not yours!”

“Look, I don't know what's going on with you, but you should probably go to the infirmary and lie down. It’s not good to let stress get to your head like that.”

“You better not confess your feelings before Friday,” you said through gritted teeth, death in your gaze. “Or I’ll kill you. I swear to god! I’ll fucking kill you!”

“You shouldn’t say things like that to people,” Jisung frowned. “That’s a serious threat to make. I could report you for that, but…I can see you’re very upset right now, so I’m not going to take it seriously.” He moved carefully towards you, “Now, as for Chan, he’s my friend. Yeah, I have a crush on him and I want to tell him how I feel, but you’re nobody to be telling me what I can and can’t do. I like him, and I’m going to tell him.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am.”

Too deep in your anger, you had not noticed the change in personality. Jisung was normally soft-spoken and shy. But, here he was standing his ground and almost provoking you. It was a trick. It was a damned dirty trick.

“Chan probably doesn’t even like you,” Jisung spat, “You’re the weird new kid who follows him around. You think I don’t see you constantly stalking him whenever he leaves the garden? Or how you leer at him during lunch times? I know it was you who stole the book from my bag. I know it was you who poisoned his lunch. I’m not gonna let you keep sabotaging my friendship with Chan because you’re a creepy little shit.”

“I’m not creepy…and Chan does like me! He will like me!” the words ripped through your throat and out of your mouth like venom. You grabbed the sink with trembling hands, trying to steady yourself.

“Psh, as if. Why would he want you when he could have someone who actually cares about him?”

“Because he won’t have a fucking choice!”

In a howl of fury, you launched forward and tackled Jisung to the ground. Straddling the skinny boy, you grabbed both sides of his head and slammed it into the hard floor. Too dazed from the first hit, Jisung didn’t have time to try pushing you off or fighting back. Your screams filled the small room. You could feel the tips of your fingers hitting the floor at the same time as Jisung’s head, blood starting to soak through the dark curls and onto the skin. You finally stopped when you heard the final crack, and saw Jisung’s head split like an egg. Blood poured out onto the floor, and pink brain matter showed beneath the split bone. You heard nothing except the loud pumping of your heart. You stayed kneeling on top of Jisung as you took in the boy’s lifeless expression. Pure wrath powered through you, your fists curling as they shook. You couldn’t stop it. Simply seeing his pretty face underneath you, bloody and lifeless, only made you angrier.

Maybe killing was the fastest way to get home.

“YN?”

Through the pulsating grayness, you saw Minho standing at the door. You should scramble from the body. You should come up with a lie that Jisung attacked you; that this was self-defense and you weren’t at fault. However, all Minho did was calmly lock the bathroom door.

“I guess that’s a wrap for Han Jisung,” he sighed, hands in his pockets. “This won’t be hard to clean up.”

“Wha-what?”

“Jisung is the sabotage route,” he said, “But I told you murder is a better option.”

“But-B-But…”

“Don’t worry about the students,” he dismissed, “I sped up time so everyone is in class right now. I normally stick to the phone, but when you freaking ditched me, I might have amped him up a bit. I knew you might crack but, shit, dude…You did a number on him,” he said with a soft laugh.

His voice wasn’t scolding or angry. It was soft. Soothing.

“I’ll admit though,” he continued, not concerned by your shocked expression, “Watching you sneak around school and come up with ways to sabotage your rival was getting intriguing. But, when you spurned me today…I guess I got carried away with the coding.” He looked down at Jisung with you, “You know, I never get tired of seeing them killed? I know that sounds weird, but you’d be surprised at the creative ways people think of murdering their rivals. One guy tried setting him on fire once,” he snorted a laugh. “Another player beheaded him. I made so many interesting, unique ways of getting through the levels, and you chose the sabotage route. I used to call it the pacifist route since it doesn’t involve murdering or kidnapping anyone, but you’ve made it quite interesting. Like, that thing with distracting the nurse! Most people waited until she went into the next room. I really like your thoroughness.”

“What are you talking about? What’s going on?”

Minho pulled out a smartphone from his pocket, started texting and waited. The pink phone vibrated loudly. You fished quickly to pull it out and read Bott’s next message.

“Hey, dumbass. Did you really think I wasn’t in the game with you?”

The older boy laughed at your dumbfounded expression. “You’re…Bott?”

“Yup,” he nodded. “I'm the developer’s self insert character. I am Bott, your know it all guide to Lovesick. I usually just drop suggestions and hints on what to do, but you made me curious. I didn’t think you’d explode like this though,” he chuckled. “Jesus, you obliterated him.”

“I…I don’t know what’s happened to me,” you admitted, looking at the blood drying on your fingers. “I don’t know what came over me. It’s like all the pent up frustration at this game lashed out.”

“That and not having Chan, right?”

“I couldn’t stop myself. It’s like my anger has this tight grip on me, and makes me do it. When Jisung started saying that Chan would never love me, I lost it.”

“I don’t blame you,” he said. “It was the same for me when I lost Chan.”

“When you lost Chan?”

“The real Chan,” he elaborated. “In the real world, he’d been a guy that I knew from school. I had a super big crush on him, but was too scared to say anything,” he said. “I thought I could make an exact replica of him. He’d be in my image and he’d love nobody but me. I figured if I couldn’t have Chan in the real world, I could have him in a fantasy one. I created Lovesick as sort of an rpg horror game where you had to kill other people who wanted your crush. Chan was my muse, my inspiration, my whole world. I wanted him so badly. I wanted to kill anyone who got in my way.”

“Did you?”

“Obviously not.” He then said, “Things only got worse when I finally plucked up the courage to tell Chan about my feelings.”

“What happened?”

“He rejected me…I told him how I’d felt about him for a long time. I said that I wanted nobody but him. He made me feel alive; he gave me a purpose to keep going in life. I told him he’d be happy with me; that we’d be so happy together…but he said no.” You saw sadness begin to creep over Minho’s face, “He told me a friend of his found out about the game. They said that I’d created a love interest that looked like him, and he said it freaked him out a little. I tried saying it was a coincidence, but he didn’t believe me. He said I had no right to use his likeness in a video game without his consent, as well as using his name. He threatened to sue me if I didn’t take him out of the game.”

“That must’ve really hurt.”

“It tore me apart. I couldn’t give up the game, which was my only source of true happiness and validation. But, I also wanted to keep Chan in my life. Later, I was served papers to either take down the game or remove Chan from it. Lovesick’s Chan was the only piece of him I had left. It was the only thing that still kept him in my life, even if it wasn’t in reality. I wanted to die. If I couldn’t have Chan or Lovesick, then why should I keep living? So, I took a kitchen knife and killed myself…I don’t know how it happened or who was responsible for it, but my soul somehow latched itself to the game. I woke up the way you did: in the bedroom before school.”

“You played the game then?”

“And won,” he grinned proudly. “I thought I’d finally get to have Chan, and life would be great, but then the game restarted. I didn’t get to keep Chan. I stayed within the game, though Chan continued to be out of reach. It’s like this place is some hellish time loop. Whoever gets stuck here, stays here until they either win or die.” He sat back on the floor, despite the blood pooling nearby. “I continued playing the game in an endless cycle, killing my opponents in a variety of ways just to have a few seconds of Chan’s love. It became tedious. I got tired of having to do all the hard work whenever I killed or ruined someone. Then, it was like the game itself answered my prayers.

“Some idiot picked up the game after it had been developed and released into the world. I don’t know if he died or was hypnotized or what, but he somehow ended up here like me. He suddenly became the game’s main character, and I was booted into a regular NPC. Well, dude, this is my game. I can’t be a damn side character. I made myself a rival by messing around in the control room like you did. I changed my appearance, gave myself top boss-level status, and lived within this little world I’d made in my basement. I created the persona of Bott, a sassy, know-it-all who guides players through the game, and watches the chaos happen. I knew nobody would ever actually reach Chan, since I always outsmarted or simply killed them before they could get to him. When they lost, they’d get a cut scene of me confessing my feelings and Chan accepting them, followed by him kissing me.”

He turned his head to you, “It wasn’t until you came that things got interesting. I normally keep my distance from players until they reach my level, but when you redesigned the game to work in your favor, I couldn’t help myself. I meant it when I said I’ve never had a player like you before. You’re following the rules of the game, but you’re not at the same time. I’ve really enjoyed it so far.”

“Um…thanks.”

“I also didn’t expect you to actually develop feelings for Channie,” Minho said. “The other players might’ve found him attractive, but they never tried making connections with him before.”

“I don’t know what I’m feeling exactly,” you admitted, looking at your blood stained hands. “I thought it might be Sunghoon’s coding still in my system, but it doesn’t feel that way anymore. It feels so…real.”

Minho stared at you for a moment, taking in your expression and he clenched his jaw. “I know what you mean. Things can feel pretty real in a video game world, huh?” He stood up from the ground, and lent you his hand, “Come on. Lunch time is gonna start soon, and you gotta get cleaned up.”

You felt too exhausted to say anything else. You helped Minho wrap up Jisung’s body, and clean up the bathroom like you’d done the first time. You carried the corpse through the empty hallways and outside to the school garden. You both thought it’d be fitting for Jisung to be buried near his precious strawberries. You watched Minho as the latter dug up the hole with you.

His story sounded like something out of an anime or a really cheesy drama. The betrayal and heartbreak made sense, but something about the story worried you. Killing himself over a video game was pathetic. You thought back to Jeongin’s warning from before. He told you not to listen to Him, and you suspected he meant Minho.

“Well,” Minho breathed out, brushing dirt off his hands, “That’s him settled. Changbin’s next.”

“I know.”

“Got any ideas on what you’re gonna do with him?”

“Not really. I know nothing about him aside from him being athletic, and that’s pushing it,” you said, doing the same and putting the shovel back in the garden shed.

You’d have to check the student info before proceeding forward. You figured you’d tail Changbin tomorrow to get a feel of his routine and the people in his life. Perhaps then you could come up with something. You still had many things to process before moving on to the next day.

“Wanna grab lunch together?” Minho asked. Before you could decline, he added, “Being seen with me would boost your reputation immensely.”

You chuckled, “Eh, I think my reputation is good enough, thanks.” You really wanted to see Chan. Your body ached to be near him. The morning left you feeling drained, and Chan always brought so much relief. “I gotta get started on getting some skill points.”

Minho saw right through the lie, “You can get those later at after-school activities. I’ve seen your friends list, and it isn’t as long or as balanced as you think.” He took your hand in his own. You noticed how cold Minho’s hands were, the bony fingers slipping between your warmer ones. Rather than connecting you, you felt it separating you more. “I’m telling you. Reputation and friends help in the long run. Can’t you humor me for a bit?” You heard the hopefulness in Minho’s tone, “I did just help you bury a body. You could at least have lunch with me.”

Chan might be in the cafeteria by now. You guessed walking with Minho wasn’t as bad as going alone. You nodded, and you both set out for the cafeteria. Walking beside Minho, people smiled and nodded their heads at you. You worried that maybe they knew what you’d done to Jisung, but that really was foolish. You didn’t have blood on you anymore, and all evidence laid buried in the garden. As they walked towards the cooking club room, a younger student came out holding a tray of pecan swirls. You noticed the pink streaks weaved into her thin black hair.

“Hey YN-oppa! Hey Minho-oppa,” she beamed, “You guys want some swirls? We just finished making them to promote the club!”

“Thanks, Chorong-ssi,” Minho smiled, taking one with a napkin to bite into. He spotted your stunned face, “YN-ah, aren’t you gonna take one? Chorong and the club worked hard on these.”

“Sure.”

You took one and bit into it, seeing the pleased smile on the girl’s face. It was delicious, with its mixture of cinnamon and pecan flavors.

“It’s great,” you grinned at her, “Thanks.”

She smiled, “I hope you join the cooking club, Oppa. We’d love to have you.”

You raised an eyebrow, nodding as you bit into the sweet treat again.

“See you around, Chorong-ssi,” Minho told her, steering you away before you said anything.

“What was that about?” You asked once out of earshot.

“I told you being with me raises your reputation.” He then said, “And, well, you’re attractive and Do Chorong likes any guy that’s remotely attractive.”

“School slut?”

“Far from it,” Minho explained, biting into his snack again. “I created her in case a player wanted to go the ‘matchmaking’ route with a rival.”

“Matchmaking?”

“Yeah, where you find out what your rival likes in their partner, mold an admirer to their taste, and then pair them up. Since Chorong likes everyone, she’s easy to use.”

You decided to keep that in mind for another time.

That was when Jeongin came walking towards you. Minho, busy finishing off the pecan swirl, did not notice the panicked realization that came over him. Other people might not see it, but you did. He looked away from you right as he passed by. You wondered what it could be about before you realized you and Minho still held hands.

Jeongin meant Minho in his warning.

Minho walked beside you with a satisfied, happy expression, nodding at faculty and students who recognized him. Someone might have thought he walked on clouds. You were unsure how to feel. A lingering uncertainty bundled as you looked at Minho. A cold sweat rushed over you, sticking to your skin and making your hands clammy, when you realized it. This is a game of manipulation and deception. You tried pulling your hand away, but Minho quickly captured it again when they reached the cafeteria doors. Walking past tables, people saw your joined hands, then started whispering to one another. You caught envious glares or excited faces from other students. You knew what they were thinking, and wished they didn’t. You slid your hand out of Minho’s once more, but he instantly recaptured it.

“Don’t do that again,” Minho warned.

“I don’t want people getting the wrong idea about us,” you said, glancing back to the room and searching quickly for Chan.

“You mean you don’t want Chan getting the wrong idea.” Minho sighed, pushing hair from his face, “It’s only lunch. I want to get to know you, YN. There’s no harm in that, is there?”

“I’m supposed to be trying to get Chan to like me.”

“No, you’re supposed to get your beloved,” Minho corrected you. “Whether he actually likes you or not isn’t important to the goal. All you’re meant to do is get him. It’s not my fault you started messing around with the universe to make things work in your favor.” He gave your hand a soft squeeze, “Don’t worry about Chan for now. Let’s grab some food and talk. I know a nice spot in the courtyard where we can get some shade.”

You guessed you owed Minho that much. If he were after you, he would’ve turned you in when he saw you on top of Jisung, but he didn’t. He’d helped instead. You nodded, and let Minho guide you into the lunch line. You hardly paid attention to the food being served or how Minho took hold of your hand again. You thought back to Chan, who was most likely on his way or would be enjoying himself in the garden. You hoped so, then you could look at him at least. Seeing Chan brought so much comfort, which you needed after today.

You and Minho took your lunch trays to the school courtyard. Disappointment sunk your stomach when you didn't see Chan anywhere. You took a seat with Minho underneath one of the trees, and wished to see Chan soon. The older boy began digging into his meal, while you idly pushed noodles around on your plate.

“What’s wrong?” Minho dared to ask, as if you'd not murdered and disposed of a body two hours ago. “Not hungry?”

“I’m fine,” you said, spooning some broth into your mouth. “Just thought Chan might be here.”

“He’s in the garden,” Minho said, “Probably on his way to the cafeteria.”

“How do you know?”

Minho smiled, biting into a piece of chicken from his plate, “He was supposed to meet Jisung there. But, now that Jisung isn’t going to show, he’s gonna assume the underclassman forgot about their meeting and go to lunch.”

You washed the noodles down with juice, though you barely tasted anything. “Somebody will notice he’s missing,” you stated.

“And they’ll tell one of the teachers-” Minho nodded.

“-The teacher will then call the police to report it-”

“-The police will probably show up here-”

“-And question everyone-”

“-Decide that they have no evidence or suspects and leave-”

“-And Jisung will be declared ‘missing’.” You then said, “I noticed nobody’s gone asking questions about Kitae. Why is that?”

“The staff did report him missing,” he ate more, “And they questioned some people, but nobody saw anything. They don’t have any reason to question you because you weren’t seen with the body or a weapon.”

“Did they question you?”

“Of course. I’m the student council president, and Kitae was the Freshman class’s representative. They asked if I knew where he went after the morning council meeting, and I said I had no idea. I told them Kitae and I weren’t particularly close, and they took it as that.” He then added, grabbing a tangerine on his tray. “As easy and fun as murder can be, it wouldn’t be wise to outright murder Changbin. The more deaths or disappearances that happen here, the higher the safety alert goes. The principal already warned the hallway monitors to keep their eyes peeled for any suspicious activity. They’re all anxious to find who’s responsible,” he eyed you as he peeled the skin, “So, we need to make it look like an accident. We need to be careful. We gotta work out a strategy for Changbin.”

“We?”

“I might as well help you openly,” he shrugged. “Bott clearly wasn't effective. If you’d played the game the way you were supposed to, then you would’ve gotten through this level quicker.”

“But, that’s so boring. It was kind of fun scheming to get my way. Difficult and tedious at times, yeah, but still fun.” You picked at the small section of kimchi the school served, “Changbin’s going to be a challenge though.”

“Why’s that?”

“I know almost nothing about him. I know he’s the athletic archetype, and is on the swimming team. His dad does business overseas, and he’s traveled around, but that’s about it.” You sat in thought for a moment, “I’ll need to tail him when his week starts, and see his routine.”

“He’s definitely a superstar athlete,” Minho agreed, “He’s not only on the swim team. He does track-and-field and soccer too. He’s got a creative side, from what I’ve seen in the art and photography clubs. He’s reasonably popular around school, but not enough that he’s surrounded by people so less witnesses and more chances to lure him away from crowds.” He looked over your shoulder, “Ah, speak of the devil.”

You glanced over to see Changbin walk into the courtyard with a group of boys. You noticed their letterman jackets all depicting different sport logos on the arms. Changbin had the swimming logo on his right sleeve, along with a running man patch and a soccer ball. He and his friends stood underneath a tree across from you and Minho, not paying attention to the people looking at them. You watched Changbin. He smiled freely and laughed often. You saw that he carried a clear green water bottle. Inside was a thick substance that could only be some kind of protein shake. You were sure Minho threw it in there so the player had opportunities to poison Changbin’s drink. But that would be too obvious and too stupid of a move right now.

“Is he smart?” you asked, seeing Changbin pretend to box with one of the other boys.

“Eh…define ‘smart’.”

“I’m sure he has to be if he’s able to stay on all these teams.”

“Not if he’s super good and has won medals and achievements for the school to brag about,” Minho said. “Whenever he obviously fails a test, the teacher passes him anyway. They need to keep their star athlete in school.”

“Why would Chan like someone so dumb? He should be dating someone on his own level intellectually. You know, somebody he can talk to and have deep conversations with,” you said, “Not a neanderthal who can do a few good laps around a pool or a track.”

“Changbin might have an empty head, but he’s thoughtful and sweet. He’s very passionate about his hobbies and interests, which is something Chan likes. They don’t share similar tastes, but Changbin is willing to teach him and Chan enjoys learning new things. He cares about other people, and always tries his best at anything he does. Chan likes that sort of thing. Changbin likes Chan because he’s athletic too, and very smart. He's Whimoon’s golden boy," Minho said, eating another piece. "Everybody likes him. It’ll be hard to convince people he’s done anything wrong.”

“Okay, so what do you suggest then?”

“Poison his shake, obviously.”

“Wouldn’t another death put the school on alert?”

“Not if it looks like an accident.”

You thought about it for a moment. Jeongin’s warning floated through your head once again. Play by the game’s rules, not Minho’s. But, surely Minho is the game if he created it? You stared at Minho’s smirk, eyes glinting with mischief, and couldn’t get Jeongin out of your head.

“Is there anything else I can do?” you asked after a while. “Poison seems so easy.”

“It is. That’s why you should do it,” he said. “It wouldn’t be hard to get poison. You can either make one in the chemistry lab or buy one from Hyunjin. It’ll cost you a lot to buy it from Hyunjin, but I can always change that for you.”

“Death sounds risky.”

“This game is all about risks. Poison him. It’ll be worth it to see him choke on his gross protein shake.”

“Shouldn’t I, as the player, get to choose my own route?”

“I’m the developer. I’m only trying to help you.”

Play by the game. “If you don’t tell me, I’ll figure out a way myself.”

Realizing he wouldn’t win this time, Minho sighed defeatedly. “Tail him next week and see if you find anything you can use against him.”

“What do you mean?”

“Everybody at this school has secrets,” he said. He moved closer to you and faced the groups in the yard. “Each of them has something that you can exploit if you choose to. Like Song Sungmi? Her parents are actually poor, and she pretends to have money so she can fit in. Jeong Yunho? He runs a secret gambling den in his family’s basement. And let’s not forget Park Yuri who sells naughty photos of herself on the internet.” He took up another piece of tangerine, and said, “Changbin has one. You only need to find out what it is, then you decide what to do with the information.”

“What’s the secret?” You asked him.

“Give me a kiss and I’ll tell you,” Minho sneered, giving you a wink.

“I’ll figure it out on my own then.”

Minho huffed, and moved away from him. “You can do several things with his secret. You can expose it so then he feels humiliated and withdraws from school. You can blackmail him and force him to stop liking Chan. You can use it to befriend him, even.”

“Huh, interesting.”

“Very.”

Exposing a dirty secret sounded like an intriguing route. You knew another disappearance could make things harder. You began wondering what Changbin’s secret could possibly be, since he seemed far too sweet to have any. You spent the rest of lunch trying to figure out what route to take with Changbin; Minho spent it staring at you.

****

You sped through the rest of the day to get to swim practice, the only place you saw Chan uninterrupted. You walked into the locker room to see the other team members preparing for the pool. You peeked into the aisles of lockers before finding Changbin. He sat on the bench in his uniform, texting and smiling at his phone. You noticed it wasn’t a smartphone but a slim black device with a plain cover. You took note of this and moved onwards.

You passed by into the next aisle where you found Chan by his locker. Like everyone else, he immediately switched from his school uniform to his swim uniform. You took a second to admire his body in the tight uniform. You'd do anything to steal those trunks and take them home. You briefly thought of the napkin you’d stolen and the faint saucy scent that had been on them.

“Hi, Chan-hyung,” you smiled, coming up beside him to open your own locker.

“Hi, YN-ah,” he replied. “I didn’t see you in class this morning. I hope everything’s okay.”

“Oh, everything’s fine,” you said. “My alarm didn’t go off and I overslept.”

“Alright, as long as you’re okay,” Chan grinned. He then hesitated as he reached for his swim cap. “YN-ah, this might sound like a personal question, and it’s none of my business, but I’m only curious.”

Your stomach churned, but you still said, “You can always ask me anything.”

“Are you and Lee Minho dating?”

You laughed nervously, pushing hair from your face, “Um, wh-what do you mean?”

“Well, I was in the cafeteria today and I saw you two holding hands. I thought maybe there was something between you guys.”

You knew this would happen. You scrambled for an excuse, any excuse, to explain it. The thought of Chan losing interest because he thinks you're taken lodged a breath in your throat. “No, no,” you said quickly, “We’re not dating. Minho’s student council president, and he wanted to show me around.”

“By the hand?”

“I guess. He said it was so I didn’t lose him in the crowds. I suppose people took it differently.”

Chan’s worried expression brightened after this. That must be a good sign. You changed into your own swimsuit, but couldn’t keep your eyes off Chan. Why had Chan worried about you dating Minho? The prospect of Chan developing feelings made you happier than you'd ever been. Perhaps you might get to leave this damned game world sooner than anticipated. But then that meant leaving Chan as well.

Walking to the pool area with Chan, you imagined him confessing his feelings to you on Friday. The game appeared to be running differently since you reconfigured it. It’d certainly speed things up if Chan fell in love with you. But, the dreadful thought occurred to you again. If you leave Lovesick, then you’d have to go home. You’d go back to your boring life that’s void of Chan. You’d have to continue life without him, and the thought alone nearly brought you to tears. You couldn’t stand the thought of not having him. You needed him. You didn’t care if it was your game files fueling these ideas; you loved Chan. You loved him more than anyone else; your rivals only liked Chan for his looks. You loved him for his heart.

You considered ways of getting Chan alone before Changbin appeared. Your blood simmered seeing the two exchange friendly words, watching the other members swim. You didn't like how Changbin looked at Chan. You didn't like the way Changbin’s boyish sweetness seemed to shine brightest around Chan. Your Chan. YOUR. Chan. You tightly gripped the towel ends on your shoulders, absentmindedly pulling them tighter on the nape of your neck. You'd love nothing more than to strangle the stupid boy until his face turned purple, but no. Another death on campus could make things more difficult. You needed to know Changbin’s secret.

Quickly, you dove into the pool and began swimming towards Changbin and Chan at the other end. When you reached them, you climbed out and rubbed off excess water from your face. Chan turned his head at the sound.

"Chan-hyung!" you smiled excitedly, "Did you see my dive? I think it was one of my best."

"I'm sorry, YN-ah," Chan said apologetically, "I didn't. But, I'm sure you were great."

"It was okay," Changbin voiced disinterestedly. "You were a bit shaky at the beginning."

"I'm still getting used to jumping off your boards," you told him, keeping the defense out of your voice. "The ones at my old school were a bit stiffer, and these boards are so springy."

"That's okay. You'll get used to them soon," Chan assured you. "I heard you're very good."

"Thanks. You're good too," you replied.

Changbin's eyes glinted with envy before turning away.

“Wanna race, Hyung?” you asked Chan, putting a daring tone into your voice. “Loser buys snacks after practice.”

Chan grinned, dimples sinking into his cheeks, “You’re on. Changbin-ah, you want in?”

Changbin stared between them, and shook his head, “Nah. You guys go ahead. I, um, have stuff to do after practice.”

“What’s up? Too chicken to race me?” You challenged with a smirk.

“YN-ah, don’t be mean,” Chan nudged you playfully. “Changbin has a busy schedule, so he’s always running off after practice. He can join in another time, right Binnie-yah?”

“Yeah. Another time.”

He was hiding something; he couldn’t meet Chan’s eyes as he responded. You headed towards the springboards with Chan, but turned to look over your shoulder. Changbin had picked up his phone from the depths of his towel, and was texting someone. A dealer? A secret lover? You were eager to discover it, but you’d have to wait for Changbin’s level. The wait alone could kill you.

“How many laps?” Chan asked, stepping onto his board.

“Two.”

You and Chan began your friendly competition. You won the first round, but Chan won the second. Declaring it a tie, you both left the pool when practice ended. You offered to still pay for the snacks, but Chan’s money hit the snack counter first. He was so sweet. You truly saw yourself becoming Chan’s boyfriend.

*** Later That Night ***

This was bad. This was very bad. They’d certainly never expected it to happen.

Minho never revealed himself to players before. He usually stuck to the shadows and played ‘Lee Minho, Student Council President’ as the player stumbled their way through the game. He'd lie in wait until the player reached the final level, then attack. He always changed how he did it too. Sometimes he killed them on the first day; other times, he toyed with them. He'd delete objects from the game right as they'd set a plan. He'd wire certain characters to stop the player from achieving their goals. The players smart enough to outwit him ended up in a fist fight with Minho at the end. He'll usually be a wild animal by then. They particularly liked it when he lost. Fondly, they recalled the time a player, a big brute of a man, grabbed the scrawny boy and bashed him into the wall repeatedly. The Game couldn't help but reward the player handsomely with a female Chan they'd created.

But, now he's outright revealed himself to you. Of course, Minho lied right to your face, but they knew the truth.

They stopped. They might not have their own body anymore, but it still stung. The burning hot pain came like a phantom ache, and they recalled the night Minho locked them away. He hacked into the game through the controls, and changed everything the creator built. They'd lost their body and their mind. They became a prisoner in their own home. Watching their captor be tortured and killed became their one source of happiness.

They went through the camera views to watch you. You laid flat on your stomach in bed, holding a stained wadded up napkin in your hand. This could not be Sunghoon’s coding anymore; other players walked around with his personality and desires, but never acted on them. Did this mean you'd naturally developed feelings for Chan now, no longer restricted to the codes? They couldn't help being joyful at the idea. You having set them free meant they could float around behind the pixels creating their world. They could never touch or speak to you, but they can watch out for you. They could help you. Unlike Minho, who has the minimum control, they made things appear out of thin air. That was the beauty of being the game's true developer.

That was the beauty of having been Bahng Chan.

****

A/N: The plot thickens!! Can Minho be trusted or should YN stick to his gut? What's up with our little binary friend too?? We'll find out. Please reblog and like <3

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