#fantasizing about him this fine saturday morning

[girl-drink-drunk]

i love that thing john larroquette does when he's playing a jerk and he smiles in a way that would be comforting on any other person but when he does it it's downright terrifying. bonus points if he's got facial hair and smiles, making him look like santa and it reminds me i'm going to die. it's the hottest thing i've ever seen

[gabseyoo]

FORE! — GOJŌ SATORU

content: female reader, golf instructor!gojo, rich!gojo, rich!reader, public sex, sex in a golf cart, fingering, reverse cowgirl, vaginal / unprotected sex, slight degradation, creampie. word count: 2.3k.

note: hellooo. it´s here! i started writing this months ago and just finished it, hehe. i feel weird posting this days after jjk ended (i have a lot to say about the ending, sigh) still, i hope you like it <3

Three weeks. 

It has only been three weeks since Satoru Gojo offered to teach you how to play golf, which he did as an excuse to spend time alone with you. 

You had known each other for a few months, when your parents started doing business together.  The attraction you had for each other was obvious from the first moment you met, but for some reason or another you had never had the chance to be alone, since you used to see each other at gala events or dinner parties, where you would flirt, chat for a few minutes before going your separate ways and forgetting about each other's existence until the next time you met again. 

Four weeks ago, he saw you again at the birthday party of an acquaintance of your parents, where you looked incredibly beautiful and sexy in that blue dress that Satoru fantasized about taking off— but let’s leave that aside for now.

He remembers how he greeted you, kissing your hand in an act of chivalry before offering you a glass of champagne and inviting you to sit down together for a chat. 

Everything was going well, you were an entertaining person to talk to, both of you were sharing things about your lives and stuff like likes, dislikes and hobbies. It was at this point in the conversation where he mentioned how he had always been a golf fanatic, and with some arrogance he told you how good he was at the game and that he even won quite a few competitions in his teens before focusing on the family business. 

That’s when you said, “Wow, you should teach me how to play one of these days.”

And Satoru saw it as the perfect opportunity to say, “If you’re free on Saturday mornings, I can teach you.”

It’s been three weeks since then.

And Satoru was going to explode. 

From the first day you showed up at his family’s country club in that short skirt and looked at him with those doe eyes full of false innocence, Satoru realized that you would be the death of him. And this thought was confirmed as the hours went by that day, a day on which Satoru surprised himself by his self-control of not having an erection in the middle of a golf lesson. Because God, he knew you were a flirt, but he never imagined to what extent. But well… let's be honest— it would be a lie to say that he didn’t play along, just as it would be a lie to say that these flirtations wouldn’t continue Saturday after Saturday. 

The way you batted your eyelashes when you looked up at him, the way your body lightly brushed against his when you walked back and forth, how you moved closer to him when he showed you the video of your shot and explained where you could improve with the excuse of wanting to hear him better. 

It was all reciprocated by the way Satoru would look at your lips when you spoke, by the way he would shamelessly ogle you when you arrived in those cute little outfits, how he would praise you when you hit the ball and how occasionally he would caress your shoulders or your lower back when fixing your posture—which he was sure you were doing wrong on purpose just so he could correct you, but hey, it’s not like he had a problem with it—.

This whole little game had reached the point where the sexual tension that emerged when you were together could be cut with a butter knife, and it was only a matter of time before the two of you crossed a fine line. 

And right now, that Satoru and you were in a secluded area of the course practicing your shots, the tension was so high that it seemed like that day would be today. 

Satoru was a few steps behind you, with one hand resting on the golf bag and the other on his hip, watching intently as you prepared to hit the ball, unable to stop his eyes of admiring your bare legs thanks to the short skirt you were wearing. Fuck, he wanted to caress them, squeeze them and feel them against his chest while fuc…

“Am I doing this right?” Your question brought him out of his not very decent thoughts. 

Satoru sighed when he saw your posture, not in annoyance but in amusement because you were clearly doing it wrong and didn’t even bother to hide the mischief in your voice. 

“You already know you’re not.” He muttered, still walking towards you to position himself behind your figure while you could barely contain the smirk that wanted to creep onto your face. 

“I’m not?” You pretended surprise, “Well, it’s a good thing you’re here to help me then.”

Satoru smiled sideways as he moved a little closer to your body than necessary, placing his hands on your shoulders before speaking softly in your ear, “Lean a little forward.” 

You obediently listened to his direction, slowly leaning forward until your butt made contact with Satoru’s crotch, who almost let out a gasp at the sudden physical contact. Although you have been somewhat touchy with each other, this was the first time you made such a lustful, shameless move. And he loved it. 

“Like this?” You asked in an innocent voice. 

“Yeah, that’s perfect.” Instead of pulling away, he pressed his bulge a little harder as his hands descended from your shoulders, taking his time to feel the skin of your arms against his fingers until he wrapped his hands around yours that held the golf club, “Do you also need help to hit it?” He asked, almost in a whisper, and your voice sounded the same when you responded: “I think I do.” 

With his hands on yours, he helped swing the golf club back and then hit the little ball that got lost in the distance. Neither of you seemed to care about the good shot he had helped you achieve, the only thing going through your heads at that moment was the closeness of your bodies. His breath was heavy against your ear, his dick growing bigger against your ass. 

You straightened your posture until your back bumped against his chest. He was quick to move his hands to your hips, calling your name with lust in his tone. 

“Tell me.” You replied. 

“Are you sure about this?” The question was superfluous when it was obvious what you both wanted, but he wanted to tease you a little bit.

You turned your head until your lips were millimeters away from his cheek. “You think I’m not?” You murmured before you dropped the golf club to put your hands around his wrists and slowly brought one of his palms up to one of your tits and down the other to the hem of your skirt. 

Satoru didn’t think twice about squeezing your breast and caress your pussy over the fabric of your skirt, making you let out a moan when he pressed his fingers against your clit. 

“We’re outdoors, someone may come, you know?” It was true, you were in the middle of a golf course where anyone could walk by even though it was a lonely area, but right now, not even Satoru himself believed that being in a practically public place mattered to him, not when he finally had in his hands, literally, the woman he has desired with all his might for weeks. 

He felt you smile against the skin of his cheek as you caressed his forearm. “Then we have to make sure that whoever comes has a good show.”

That was the last push Satoru needed to kiss you. It was so fucking messy. It was so fucking lewd. But nothing was stopping both of you now, especially when, one way and another, you managed to get on the golf cart in which you arrived here amidst the desperate kissing and touching. 

Satoru sat in the back seat and you claimed your place on top of his lap, taking the opportunity to kiss your way down his chin to his neck as he slipped his hand once again between your legs to pull your panties aside and finally have direct contact with the place where you needed him the most. 

“Fuck. You’re so wet.” He said as he slipped two of his fingers into your pussy, “And so fucking tight.”  He added with a pleasing tone, closing his eyes when you sucked the skin of his neck between your uncontrollable whimpers at the pleasurable rhythm his digits set. 

His other hand went to your ass to spank hard and then squeeze to his liking, meanwhile you worked on unbuckling his belt and unzipping his pants to slip your hand into his boxers, wrapping your hand around his dick. 

“And you’re so big.” You mimicked his earlier tone and raised your eyes to look at the man, finding a proud smile on his face. 

“Want to feel it?” Satoru asked as he curled his fingers inside you, delighted by how you opened your mouth in pleasure and nodded in response to his question. “Yeah? You want it? Turn around then.” 

You let out a moan when he pulled out his fingers from your insides, and without wasting any more time, you managed to turn around in the confined space of the golf cart. 

Now with your back to him, sitting back on his legs with your view towards the beautiful horizon of the course, Satoru hiked up your skirt to appreciate more of your ass and smiled when he noticed that you were wearing an expensive lace thong that fit you perfectly. 

“You were planning this, weren’t you?” He said, stretching the fabric on the side of your hip. “I don’t think this is very comfortable for golfing around.” He added before letting go of the garment, hitting your skin.

“In fact, I found out that they are.” You looked at him over your shoulder with a smirk. “I’ve been wearing lingerie for you since the beginning.”

The admission almost made Satoru groan as something bestial possessed him. The thought of you wearing lingerie for him sent his libido through the roof. He brought both of his hands to the edges of your underwear to start pulling them down, you lifted your hips a little to help him remove them until they ended up on the floor of the golf cart.

“So you’re admitting that you were ready for me to fuck you from the start?” Satoru said as he pulled his pants down a little more along with his boxers until his cock sprang completely free and ready for you. “You’re such a slut, did you know that?” He added before placing one hand on your waist and the other went to grab his member to line it up at your entrance, impatient to finally feel you. “C’mon, sit.”

It was like heaven when you began to sit on it. This had been his fantasy all along, this position, with you. The place wasn’t exactly what he imagined, but at this moment that was the last thing he cared about. 

Satoru did his best to keep his eyes open to appreciate how you sucked him in deeper and deeper until you were completely seated on top of him. Fuck. He was about to lose his mind, your pussy felt so hot, so wet, so tight. It was perfect and he swore he could cum right there if he didn’t apply what was left of his mental strength. Which he thought was going to be an impossible task the moment you started to move your hips. 

God, you moved so well. And the view was a paradise for him. 

The way his cock disappeared inside you every time you went up and down was driving him crazy. Add to that how your walls squeezed him so deliciously and the sound of your skins colliding. It was all unbelievably lewd. 

“Fuck, you ride dick so good.” He praised, admiring your bottom and squeezing your cheeks with both hands before letting one of his palms fall in a hard spank that made you groan. “Had I known, I’d have fucked you since day one.”

His last words caused a giggle to come out of you, and without stopping your delicious movements, you said, “I think I’m the one fucking you.”

He let out a chuckle before placing both of his hands firmly on your waist, stopping you, “Right, we need to change that.”

Satoru began to move his hips. It was hard, almost beastly, that it was a surprise that the golf cart was still in place. Your moans increased, as did the wet sounds that came from every time Satoru rammed into you. 

Suddenly, he pulled you by the neck until your back made contact with his chest, ran one of his hands under your knee to pull your leg up and get better access to your clit with his other hand. Once in this new position, he resumed his movements, now thrusting deeper and harder as he circled your sensitive spot. 

Satoru moaned, loud, the moment he reached his peak and let out all his cum deep inside you. That wasn’t really his intention, but he didn’t find it in himself to pull out, not when your pussy was squeezing him too good when you came at the same time. 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” He mumbled as he tried to regulate his breathing with his forehead resting on your shoulder. “That was good.” 

“I know.” You said between breaths as you brought a hand behind Satoru’s head to gently stroke his white hair. “I think it’s time to admit that I’m actually a pretty good golfer.”

Your words made both of you laugh. 

“Don’t worry.” He said when your laughter ceased and kissed your cheek before adding, “I knew.”

[succcession]

We're gonna have a fucking baby

Kendall Roy x f!reader (Smut) 3.2k word count

Summary: After spending the day with Kendall and his two kids, Kendall admits he frequently fantasizes about having another baby with you. This conversation quickly leads to an intimate night of him trying to make that happen.

“I mean, is this all my life is y/n? Forty years of fucking up”.

“Ken, your life is forty years of being an amazing older brother, a hardworking son, and a great dad! Maybe with a few hiccups along the way but…who's counting?” you exclaimed as you placed a fresh cup of coffee in front of your emotionless boyfriend. His large eyes staring back at his reflection in the black liquid.

“The press is counting, my family is fucking counting. And you don’t have to lie y/n, I know I am neglectful in all those relationships. Especially with my kids” he roughly remarked.

For weeks you had been pushing the idea of Kendall spending more time with his kids. Whenever he had a day off you would throw out suggestions like, “Hey Ken, the weathers great! Maybe we should bring Sophia and Iverson to Central Park.” Or “NYC has so many museums, we should take Sophia to the ballet, and Iverson to the Hall of Science”. Never intending to make Kendall feel like a deadbeat dad. You knew how he admired his kids. Occasionally he just needed a little push to be there for them. 

Due to Kendall’s lackluster attitude you figured today wasn’t the day to ask kendall if he wanted to make plans with his kids. Maybe it was the warm Saturday morning air flooding the usually chilling apartment, or the fact that Kendall was finally not in the office on a weekend but you just had to throw out the idea one more time. “Ken, I know you're having a rough day” you said softly as you reached out to squeeze his open hand. “But maybe not being cooped up in the office or your apartment will make you feel better-”

“Look, I know where you're going with this y/n and I’m not going to another one of your fucking pilates classes.” Kendall directly cutting off your sentence before you could finish. You couldn’t help but laugh at your boyfriend's consistent apathy.

“Damn, but I just love seeing you so worked up and sweaty” you retort. “No Ken, I was going to say, why don't we take Sophia and Iverson to the zoo today?” you cheerfully presented. To your surprise Kendalls eyes nearly seemed to light up at the word “zoo” as if something clicked inside of him, almost breaking his depressive state. Kendall responded with a quick “let me call Rava”.

You watched the rows of skyscrapers pass as you and Kendall sat in suffocating silence on the way to Rava’s apartment. Kendall fidgeted in his seat, pulling on his t-shirt, mindlessly switching between apps on his phone before eventually letting out a quiet “you know, you don't have to come if you don't want to y/n, I can pick them up by myself if it makes you more comfortable.” You placed your hand gently on his upper thigh giving a light squeeze as you explained. “Ken, it's really okay. I mean she's the mother of your children! We can't exactly avoid each other forever.” you said, showing a soft smile to assure Kendall of your confidence. Honestly, you and Rava got along fine. Although she was slow to warm up to you, you never took it personally. Who wouldn't be cautious of their drug addict, ex husbands, new girlfriend. Over time her cold demeanor shifted as you two began having small conversations whenever she would pick the kids up. You almost admired Rava in a way. She was beautiful, always looked elegantly put together, successful in her career, and she was an amazing mother. Everything you secretly hoped to one day be for Kendall.

 As the car pulled up to Rava’s apartment you mind began to picture how your future might look with Kendall if things continued at the pace they were. Of course, Kendall had joked many times about getting you pregnant and running away together to get married. But you two never had a real discussion about what you saw for your future. You couldn't help but occasionally daydream of you and Kendall standing in an empty room deciding between sage green or soft peach, paint swatches for a nursery. Or rocking your baby to sleep as Kendall softly wrapped his arms around your waist, humming gently in your ear. 

Your mind wandered further into your maternal daydream as your day at the zoo went on. Observing how patient and gentle Kendall was Iverson and how lovingly he doted on Sophia, had your heart skipping beats every minute. Making sure to capture hundreds of photos of all the adorable moments. Kendall typically only showed his love in undisclosed ways but with his children it was on full display. 

As you and Iverson stared into a tank of swimming otters counting each one that passed, Kendall realized for the first time in weeks he didn’t feel like the world was collapsing in on him. There was something reassuring about watching you point out different frog species with Iverson and hold hands with Sophia, skipping together to each animal. Everytime he heard one of his kids yell “Dad, come look!” served as a reminder that he still had people in his life who cared about him. Who needed him. 

Kendalls wandering thoughts were interrupted by a small tug on his sleeve and he looked down to find his daughter sweetly beaming up at him.

“What's up Princess? Are you having a good time?”

 “Dad! y/n is so cool and you’re always happier when you're with her!” The young girl exclaimed.

Kendalls entire demeanor softened, and he kneeled down to wrap his arms around Sophia. Hearing those words nearly broke his heart. He was highly aware he wasn’t always at his best when around his kids, but he always tried to fake it for Sophia and Iverson. The fact that his kids could see past the facade made him sick. Just another reminder of the ways he was becoming like his father. 

Kendall attempted to hide his shame from Sophia, responding smoothly “Yeah Soph, I guess you’re right about that. Lucky for us, I think y/n is here to stay.” In spite of her fathers hopefully tone, Sophia was hardly a young kid anymore and she could still see the fragment of sadness Kendall felt. She pleaded further “Please dad! y/n is the best! I want her around forever!”. After his divorce Kendall decided remarrying was out of the question for him. The thought of being like his dad; multiple wives with kids he ignored from each, practically gave him nightmares. However, Kendall couldn’t deny that when he met you, his mindset instantly changed. Within only a few months the thought of you having his child definitely crossed his mind more than once. He would catch himself picturing moments like you handing him a pregnancy test with a bright ‘+’ result. Staring up at him with your soft eyes anticipating his reaction. How he would scoop you up in his arms and yell “we're having a baby!” kissing you all over and reminding you how he would take care of you forever. Nonetheless, he always pushed those thoughts aside and never revealed how he really dreamed of you two ending up. The press already had a field day with your age gap, you were really starting to build momentum in your career and the last thing he ever wanted to do was make you feel trapped.

That night you and Kendall sat snuggling on the couch, scrolling through all of the silly photos taken throughout the day. You felt especially safe wrapped in Kendall's arms tonight. Assuming it was just the effects of getting to see Kendalls paternal instincts. He left gentle pecks along your forehead while giggling at every photo of Iverson and Sophia posing with the animals. The effortless time with his kids paired now with your warm body cuddled on top of him reliving the memories was already filling him with a mellow nostalgia. 

As you scrolled past a selfie of you kissing Kendall on the cheek you giggled “we would make such cute babies.” Instantly Kendalls ears perked up seeing as he was the one usually joking about making babies. 

“Are you kidding? Our kids would be like the next super model, techno DJ, fucking ultra geniuses!” 

You expected Kendall to have to have such a teasing reaction but honestly you were being serious. 

“Fuck yeah they would!” you joked back, pressing a peck to your boyfriend's lips. Kendall quickly deepened the kiss before pulling back to look at you.

“Did I ever tell you how sexy I think you would look pregnant?” Kendall whispered. “What? Omg Kendall no! You have never told me that” you laughed.

“Come on. What do you think… I think about after I cum in you?” he said with a large grin. 

“Ken I- are you serious? Do you really think about you?”

 Despite the giggle you let out as you asked, you knew Kendall caught on to the trace of hopefulness behind your question. 

“Uh of course, I think about how fucking beautiful my girlfriend would be with my child, yeah.” Kendall assured. 

Your heart was nearly pounding out of your chest. Despite being unsure if Kendall was being honest or simply pulling your heartstrings hearing him say those words was making you melt deeper into his arms.

“Mm really? How often?” you teased, hoping to gather more confirmation that Kendall wasn’t just joking.

“Um okay, you want me to be honest?” he asked.

“One hundred percent.” you said.

“Like. Everyday.”

Stunned by his answer, your mouth fell open and stumbled to come up with a response. 

“Seeing you with Sophia and Iverson, waking up to you every morning, fuck y/n, you have no idea how bad I want to come home to you and our family.” Kendall continued.

“Our family?” you questioned.

 You could sense Kendalls discomfort with your reaction. You hadn’t intended to say that thought aloud but you were speechless. It felt as if the delusional world in your head and reality were swapping places. 

Kendalls large eyes were staring into your eyes, anxiety flooding his body, praying you say something else. 

“Ken I-” you began, before being interrupted by a distressing Kendall.

“Look y/n its just a thought, I mean I’m definitely not trying to push for something you’re not ready for, like I know your young and-”

Crashing your lips into Kendalls was the only way you knew to shut him up from his fearful rambling.

“But…I want you, Kendall.” you said.

 Your hands holding his face to look directly into his dark eyes. “I want all of you. All of your bad habits. All of your ex-wife, Roy family drama baggage. And especially…to have your babies.” you drew out slowly, letting a devilish smile creep onto your face. 

That was all the reassurance Kendall needed before he was kissing you deeply , moving to positioning himself in between your thighs, hovering above you.  

“Is that really what you want y/n? You want me to make you mine?” His previously trembling voice was now confident and nearly patronizing.

“Mhm baby, only yours” you replied sweetly while attempting to grind your hips up to Kendalls. That slight bit of friction was met with a repressed grunt from Kendall, his hands moving to tightly grip your hips, halting any movement. You could tell Kendall was already craving you. You could feel his dick growing harder as it pressed firmly against your clothed center. The truth was Kendall was hard since the conversation had begun. Even when you had simply joked earlier about making cute babies Kendall couldn’t help the blood that instantly rushed to his cock, causing it to throb against his sweats.

Kendall moved slowly to remove the soft sweater you were wearing, gently helping you to pull out each arm before lifting it over your head. His lips softly connected to your neck. Leaving light pecks, stopping occasionally to gently suck on the skin and admire the small blemishes he was leaving behind. His large hands softly massaging your breasts before his tongue swiftly moved to draw light circles around your nipples. Taking the small bud between his lips and sucking tenderly, making sure to give each nipple equal attention. Your body pushed your chest forward desperately giving in to his delicate touch. His ability to instantly turn you into a moaning mess never failed. 

You squirmed beneath him searching for something to grind against, desperate to stimulate the area he was ignoring. 

“This is what you’ve been waiting for isn’t it? For me to fuck you and make you mine? Already so eager for my fucking cum in you. My pretty girl” Kendall taunted softy. Watching you gasp as your back arched into him. 

“Please Ken” you pleaded.

His fingers trace slowly down your body, finally making contact with your touch deprived center. Using two fingers to rub soft circles on your clit and slide them through your slick folds pressing firmly against your slit. His fingers were instantly covered in your wetness before he even dipped them into your pussy. 

Kendall stared into your eyes as he brought the first finger he used to spread your pussy to his lips. Sliding the digit slowly into his mouth, “Fuck! You taste so good”. Bringing his second finger to your mouth with a commanding “suck”. You gladly accepted and softly sucked on the flesh tasting yourself before Kendall removed the finger with a loud popping sound. 

He quickly moved from between your thighs to kneeling at the edge of the bed, wrapping his arms firmly around your thighs and pulling your dripping pussy level to his mouth. You cried out as his lips connected directly to your exposed clit. Kendall hummed into your pussy as he tongued the sensitive bundle of nerves. Your hands grasped desperately searching for something to hold onto as you felt your orgasm building in your stomach. Kendall removed his firm grasp from around your hips and found your hands, interlocking his fingers with yours. “Fuck Ken! You’re gonna- make me cum! Please- please don't stop!” You cried out, squeezing his hands harder feeling your eyes close shut. On nights when Kendall was feeling especially dominating, now is when he would completely pull away. Always trying to see how many times he could bring you to the edge before he finally gave you permission to cum. However, tonight was different. Kendall was on a mission to prove just how good he could make you feel, how bad he wanted to give you everything, that he would truly take care of you. His cock was leaking with precum appreciating every sound that left your body as he continued working your pussy. Rapidly licking at your slit and sucking on your clit until finally the knot building in your stomach released. You couldn't stop the dramatic stream of moans that left your body.

“Oh my God Ken!” 

 “Good girl” Kendall hummed as you attempted to catch your breath feeling your sensitive pussy throbbing inside. 

You yelped, as you felt Kendalls mouth return to your overstimulated clit leaving light kisses while he worked to remove his sweatpants and boxers. 

Kendall gently lifted you in both arms and softly laid you back down in the center of the bed. Taking his time to kiss you deeply as he wrapped his arms tightly around you. His chest heaving against yours as he lowered his waist. His dick finally making contact where you had been craving it most, smoothly grinding his tip in between your folds. 

He buried his head in the crook of your neck, his dark voice whispering lowly into your ear “You’re my fucking girl.”

“I’m all yours Ken.”

“And this.” Kendall moved his hands to lightly slap his dripping head against your clit, “is my fucking pussy.” His aggressive words muttered with affection and tenderness.

“It’s your pussy Kendall. Forever”

Gradually Kendall began pushing his tip into your soaking entrance, taking his time to guide his cock deeper. Halting his movements frequently to feel you stretch around him.

 “Fuck! I love you.” He grunted when his cock finally bottomed out. Dropping all his weight onto your hips, rocking deeply into you. His body was pressed so tightly against yours making you feel especially small and protected. His pelvic bone brushing against your clit with every thrust as he smoothly gained aggression.  

Breathy mumbles of “I love you too Kendall, I love you so much” left your lips. His powerful thrust sending electricity straight from your brain to your pussy and through every inch of your body. The sound of your wet pussy dripping around Kendalls cock, his warm breath brushing your neck as he moaned deeply instinctively made you wrap your legs tightly around his hips. Although Kendall had intended to be soft with you tonight he couldn't stop himself from pounding into you ruthlessly. He could feel your pussy tightening around his cock with each thrust signaling you were close to cumming once again. 

“Fuck baby! Why are you so fucking wet for me huh? Does it turn you on knowing I’m gonna cum in that fucking pussy? My pretty girl, gonna have my baby?” 

He wasn’t expecting a real answer, only seeking to push you closer to cumming on his cock. He was using everything in him not to cum before you and you could feel his smooth pace become more erratic as he snapped his hips harshly against yours.

 Letting go of his tight grasp around your body to balance with his forearms on either side of your head. Holding your face with his hands, pressing his forehead lightly atop yours. 

“You want my fucking cum?” He questioned, doing his best to maintain a firm tone as he held back his orgasm.

“Yes Ken! I want your cum, baby! Please!” you cried out.

“Tell me where you want it. Tell me where you want me to cum baby”. He was fucking into you at a brutual pace watching as tears began forming in the corners of your eyes.

“Fuck! In my pussy Ken, please cum inside me!” you pleaded as his words drew you to your second orgasm. That was all Kendall needed to hear before he was releasing deep inside you with a powerful thrust. It felt as if you could feel his cum hitting your cervix as he maintained his rough pace, fucking his cum deeper into you. Kendall could feel his orgasm rushing through his entire body, his cock throbbing inside of you, twitching, as he felt your nails drag down his back and your pussy squeezing around him. Milking every ounce of pleasure. 

Kendall slowly pulled out you with a deep sigh. The loss of contact, already causing you to feel empty. You were yearning for him to reach out his arms again and pull you into a deep hug. Kendall traced his fingers lightly over your stomach, remaining silent as he studied every inch of your body before dropping to lay down on his back next to you. “Is he already regretting this?” You thought to yourself as Kendall laid silently staring up at the ceiling. You could feel you heart slowly sinking, letting out a soft sigh as you sat up and began shuffling off the bed. Your movements, quickly interrupted by Kendall reaching to pull your body into his lap. Straddling him, his toned arms pulled you into him tightly. Your chests rose and fell in sync as you both breathe in deeply. You feel Kendalls chests begin to vibrate beneath you and he lets out a loud chuckle, brightly exclaiming “We’re gonna have a fucking baby!”

[jinkoh]

now playing: etta james - a sunday kind of love

juyeon x gn!reader

8th fic for my anniversary event | requested by anon

wc: 0.4k, fluff, situationship, feelings™

could be read as being the same couple from here

a/n: just had to post this one on a sunday (well it's sunday in my timezone)~

event masterlist | tbz masterlist

Waking up early is a very lucky thing, Juyeon thinks, because it means he gets to see you like this, sleeping peacefully next to him with tousled hair and puffy cheeks. It makes him feel like this thing between the two of you is more, and the truth is for him it is. He wants more than this little weekend game you have going on, he wants a love to last past Saturday night. He wants Sunday mornings that aren’t over the moment you wake up and leave. He wants to hold you close and cuddle and he wants your arms to keep him warm in return. He wants you to care and he wants to take care of you. 

It’s silly to fantasize about what could be without ever saying anything. He knows it leads nowhere. But it’s scary to put his feelings out there. After all you may not want the same thing and then he’ll lose what you have now. 

It’s scary, it’s so scary, but perhaps he can dare to cross that line anyway. Because when he looks at you lying next to him like this, he wishes Monday would never roll around so he could drown in this Sunday kind of love forever. So he could have you in his arms and not let go.

You start to stir in your sleep, subconsciously moving closer to him before your eyes blink open. He can’t stop himself from smiling.

“Morning,” he says softly, his own voice still raspy.

“‘m tired,” you mumble and it’s so cute Juyeon feels like he is going to burst at the seams with affection.

“You can still sleep.” It's said selfishly, hoping to have you around just a little longer.

“I need to go home.” But contradictory to your words you close your eyes again.

“You don’t have to,” he says softly, pulling you into his arms, “you can stay.” There is no reply and Juyeon thinks you have probably already drifted off to sleep again. But it's fine, he doesn't mind. Because that means he can spend more time with you like this, resting his chin on top of your head as you snuggle further into his embrace.

event masterlist | tbz masterlist

[dan-whoell]

rebrand

Word count: 3915

Phil makes some changes and meets a boy named Dan.

Read on AO3

There’s a boy in Phil’s bed.

It’s Saturday morning and there’s a boy in his bed and he can only half remember how they got there. He knows it started late on Thursday night, scrolling through an ex-friend’s instagram, watching the two of them grow up side by side until it was only one of them changing. Not ex-friend in the sense that it ended particularly badly, but in the sense that phone calls and texts came less often, because as people grow older they often grow apart. They become different people and that’s just life, isn’t it? The friend cut his hair, started wearing proper adult clothes, has a beard. (Phil had one too, for a while, but then he no longer wanted to string someone along like that and so they broke up. He’s pretty sure she’s engaged now.) He watched years pass and appear in his friend’s face, and he watched himself plateau, stay exactly the same and never step outside of his comfort zone. Easier to remain perpetually a child than realize his evolution was wrong.

He has other friends, acquaintances, and they make jokes about how he hasn’t changed in over a decade. Okay, fine, his hair has gotten the tiniest bit shorter but it’s still the same style. A graphic tee and skinny jeans? Groundbreaking. He swapped his old shoes for converses that have rainbows on the soles, but he makes sure to keep his feet on the ground, always. It normally doesn’t bother him. Sure, there’s been an itch under his skin for several years now, a prickling sensation when yet another person claims to know him. That doesn’t mean that he isn’t fine. He is fine. He’s great. The itch comes and he ignores it and things continue on.

But that night. That night he let himself scratch it, nails digging into soil beneath his skin, down and down and down until he unearthed a version of himself that he’d long since buried. A version that was open, outspoken, unapologetic. A version that saw opportunities and seized them. A version that never asked can I but only how will I. 

He thought that by Friday morning the itch would be gone, the desire mentally explored enough that he could move on. It wasn’t, of course. In fact, it was so much worse than it had ever been. All of his rumination had made it seem possible. He could make changes. He had the power to call a salon and make an appointment for an hour out. He could so easily get on the train afterward and find a store full of the clothing he’s fantasized about for years. Then a bar, have some drinks, maybe even meet someone. Truly embody the kind of confidence he’s only ever dreamed about. He had the power to do anything he wanted.

There’s a boy in Phil’s bed and yes, technically speaking he knows exactly how they got there. A mental spiral and a few too many drinks can take a guy anywhere, but the details are fuzzy. He can’t remember whose idea it was first, which of them plucked up the courage to suggest spending the night together, who insisted on it being Phil’s flat that they stumbled back to. All he knows is a dimple, warm brown eyes and knees pressing into his own. Glances from strangers gave him goosebumps, but a hand on a wrist and a soft laugh in his ear drowned out everything else. A night unlike any other that Phil has experienced.

But it’s morning now, and the person beside him is a stranger. He doesn’t know what the protocol is here. His first instinct is escape, slinking off to his kitchen to make coffee and pretend like he does this all the time. Maybe the guy would get the hint and they’d avoid interaction all together. Or should he say something, wake him and tell him to get lost? That seems harsh, and besides, he’s not entirely sure he wants to say goodbye just yet. There was so much laughter last night. So much light. And maybe some of it was nerves but not all. Part of him wants to see if there could be something here, something more than one night and an awkward morning.

Phil takes a breath, leaning heavily toward running away, but then the stranger stirs, blinking and looking at Phil through his eyelashes. Christ, who gave this guy warm brown eyes like that, a vat of chocolate he could fucking drown in and say thank you for the opportunity. Add it to the list of reasons they ended up here. In Phil’s bed. In the morning.

He has to get out of here.

“Morning,” the stranger says just as Phil manages to stammer out “Coffee!”.

There’s a beat of silence between them as they stare at one another, neither of them quite sure what to say. It becomes one of those moments when someone’s brain is screaming at them to say something, anything, but there are no words available. The silence stretches, and with every passing second it just gets more awkward. This right here might actually be the longest two people in this situation have ever gone without speaking. It must be. It’s fucking excruciating, and-

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

But Phil doesn’t hear what it is the stranger didn’t mean to do, because the broken silence has propelled him from the bed, and the room, and before he even realizes he’s moving he’s in his kitchen.  Thank whatever gods above that he’d at least worn boxers to bed. God, why didn’t he think this through? How had he failed so spectacularly in his stupid personal transformation? How the fuck did he think changing his clothes and acting out of character would actually change his personality? He’s anxious by nature and he hates unfamiliar situations. Of course, bring a stranger home. That should go well.

“Good job, Phil,” he mumbles to himself, shaking ground coffee into the filter a little more enthusiastically than is strictly necessary. He ends up with dried coffee all over his counter, which is pretty par for the course this morning. “This just gets better and better.”

From behind him comes the sound of a throat clearing, and when he spins around he finds the stranger, dressed, and with a small smile on his lips. “Everything alright?”

“Oh yeah,” Phil lies, figuring it’s better than the slight breakdown truth. “Made a mess, um- do you want coffee?” He hooks a thumb toward the aforementioned mess, desperate for something to do with his hands. He’s acutely aware that he’s in boxers and nothing else. Meanwhile the guy is in dark jeans and some kind of black and white lace print button down. There’s an image in there he can’t quite make out. A skull maybe? He’s hot, is the point, and Phil is wildly undressed for the occasion. “It- It’ll be a few minutes, but you’re welcome to stay and wait.” This is another lie, Phil would very much like to have his freak out alone, thank you, but he’s not really in charge of his own words at the moment. “Not stay, I just mean- you know, wait for coffee-”

“It’s okay,” the stranger cuts him off. “I have shit to take care of this morning, but thanks.”

“Right, of course.” Of course the guy doesn’t want to stay. Why would he? “Then I guess I’ll see you later…uh-” He’d been so ready to use the guys name, used the obvious intonation. Except he can't remember the guy’s name and he just feels like an idiot.

But his ineptitude only gets him a smile. “I’m Dan.”

“Dan,” he repeats like an automatic reflex. “I knew that, too, I just-”

“Sure you did.”

“I did, it was on the tip of my tongue!”

“Believe me, I know where it was, Phil.”

There’s a beat of silence before they both dissolve into giggles, and something like relief floods through Phil. He’s okay. They’re laughing, and it suddenly feels so easy. He can relax with this guy. With Dan.

Still, he has to explain himself a little.

“I- christ, I’m sorry,” he manages . “I don’t really do this.”

“Do what?” The corner of Dan’s mouth pulls up in a crooked smile. “Bring home random guys you meet in clubs? Or have conversations with them the next morning?”

“Neither,” he admits. “I was having a weird day yesterday-”

Dan nods, and for a brief second the tiny spark of hope he’d felt flares up in his chest. “Understood. I’ll go and we can forget this ever happened.” Just like that the flame is gone, snuffed out with just a few words. What was he thinking? How did he think he could be this person? The drinks and the clothes and the-

“Oh god.” He’d forgotten. Somehow, in all of the excitement of the new confident self he’d decided on, he’d forgotten about his hair. “I’m blonde, aren’t I?”

He’s met with a raised eyebrow from the boy who said he was leaving, but hasn’t. “You are. Is this news for you?” He gestures over his shoulder. “Should I call someone? Are you having a breakdown?”

“No, I-” God, how the fuck did he get here? A crisis of self, yeah, but how did that spiral become explaining his fucking crisis to a stranger in his home? A stranger who slept in his bed and kissed him breathless and touched him so gently he thought he might melt. He owes this man some sort of an explanation, but he cant bring himself to start at the beginning. “It’s new,” he says finally, like that explains anything at all. “I just had it done yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” Dan echoes, his eyebrows very nearly hitting his hairline. “You dyed your hair blonde then picked me up in a club?” Of course, Phil has to nod because that is the exact sequence of events, minus the crop top and leather jacket purchase. Dan just shakes his head. “Is this a crisis twink thing?”

“No,” Phil says quickly. Because it’s not. At least, he doesn’t think it is. His breakdown has very little to do with his sexuality he’s pretty sure. Okay, there is the undeniable fact that his breakdown directly lead to the stranger in front of him. But it’s not like he was having the breakdown about his sexuality, it was his entire existence that caused the problem, and part of the solution happened to be casual sex with a beautiful stranger. Dan is simply a side effect. Correlation, not causation. Something like that. “No, this isn’t a crisis twink thing.”

“Right…” It comes out slow, and he knows that Dan does not believe him. “Well we can unpack that later, right now I’m actually late and there are people who will kill me for such an infraction.”

Phil finds himself nodding. “Okay, yeah, don’t want to be responsible for your murder.”

It isn’t until after the door is closed and he’s all alone does he wonder what Dan meant by later. They have no way of contacting one another since they never exchanged numbers, and he can’t imagine Dan intends on randomly showing up at his door. What if Phil had some prior commitment and he won’t be home? He will be, of course, because he’s almost always home, but that’s beside the point.

It occurs to him that Dan might have said it out of habit, that he didn’t mean it literally. Yes, that has to be it. They had one night together and that was it. Odds are, he will never see Dan again.

***

A few hours later Phil’s phone buzzes in the middle of an episode of The Office. Initially he assumes it’s a family member checking on him, maybe a friend he hasn’t gotten back to recently. Basically, the usual. Instead it’s a number he doesn’t recognize but a name he does.

is dan

want to resume our earlier conversation? free therapy that’s worth what you’re paying?

??

howd you get my number?

can’t reveal my secrets unless i know you’re really cool

im very cool. remember my hair and my jacket?

i called myself from your phone after you fell asleep

why??

bc i knew we’d have that deep conversation this morning

really?

no you walnut i wanted to hook up again. then the conversation happened and now i want to see you for multiple reasons.

okay

do you want to meet somewhere?

i literally woke up next to you i already know where you live.

im at lunch now but i’ll text you when im on my way later

He sends a thumbs up then tosses his phone to the other end of the couch, hands shaking. There’s no reason for him to be so stressed out at the prospect of seeing Dan again, and yet. It dominates his thoughts all day, an ever changing monologue of what he’s going to say in regards to his mild breakdown this morning. The easy thing to do would be start at… not the beginning, exactly, but close enough. The instagram post and all the thoughts it dredged up. He won’t go into detail about every issue, or how long they’ve been going on, but he’ll give the general idea. Nonchalantly, he suddenly realized he wanted a change and he went after it. No big deal.

The important thing is that he’s prepared.

***

Some time after nine pm there’s a knock on his door, followed immediately by a text.

open up

Phil takes a deep breath, steeling himself for this. He can be cool. He can get his shit together and be a normal, regular person. He definitely knows how to do that. He starts pacing. There’s definitely not a pit of anxiety in his stomach, begging him to block Dan and pretend that he’s not home. Maybe he could move. The odds of his landlord noticing him leaving are slim, it would only become a problem when the guy doesn’t get his rent check. Could he manage pay another month and secure a new place to live? It’s possible. He could call his parents and have an extended visit, he’d figure it out-

His thought spiral is interrupted by his name being called through the door. “Phil? You know I can hear you moving around in there, right?”

Shit. Even with an entire day to have it together, he hasn’t thought it through enough. He should have said no earlier, he should have never gone out last night, he should never have let Dan think he’s someone worth getting to know. He’s too awkward and too anxious and-

Again, his name through the door. “Phil? Will you please let me in before your neighbors call the police?”

With no other choice, he opens the door to find Dan, but he’s different than he was earlier. Gone is the hot, put together guy from this morning, and in his place is a pair of black sweatpants and a black t-shirt that reads I think he’s gay with an arrow pointing up. Somehow this is even hotter than the lace print version of Dan, and Phil kind of has zero interest in exploring the state of his mental health right now. He has far more important matters on his mind.

“Hi.”

"Hi."

He doesn't know who reaches for who first, or how after one night together they've managed to get on the same wavelength where they don't even need to say words out loud to one another. But they are, and before he knows it they're horizontal on the couch, all kiss swollen mouths and wandering hands. With Dan on top of him, it's like nothing else matters, it all melts away into nothingness.

By eleven there’s a boy in Phil’s bed again.

“So,” Dan says, his head on Phil’s chest and his fingertips drawing idle patterns around Phil’s collarbone. “Are you gonna tell me about the blonde now?”

Right, the actual talking portion of this get together. He’d kind of forgotten about that part of the agreement, more interested in losing himself in sensation and fully ignoring any lurking anxieties. “It’s not as big a deal as I made it out to be. It’s just a change.” So much for his carefully prepared monologue.

“A change,” Dan echoes. “You dyed your hair blonde then took a strange man home, both things that are admittedly out of the ordinary for you. It sounds like more than just a change.”

Phil wants to ask if this is how casual hookups usually go. It had been awhile before Dan, and he’s never been great at the casual part of it all. He has a tendency to grow attached rather quickly, sometimes blowing things up bigger than they are. Making them more important than they are.

But this, the way Dan is curled into him, the way every touch is incredibly gentle and full of something akin to adoration- he can't be alone in how he's feeling. Can he? After all, Dan was the one to put the pieces together on Phil's crisis. He thinks of the text now i want to see you for multiple reasons. In twenty four hours they've made something here, and nothing good starts without the truth.

So he explains it all. The rotted ties and the instagram spiral and the itch deep under his skin. He tells Dan how he’d always wanted to go blonde, had even tried once but royally fucked it up. It happened when he was still figuring out his emo aesthetic, and it was such a brief period everyone forgets it ever happened. He feels ridiculous, pouring out all of his insecurities to this person he’s only just met, but there’s also a strange sense of peace. Dan has no preconceived ideas of him, so he can be really, genuinely honest and he doesn’t have to worry about the repercussions.

“Let me ask you this,” Dan says when he’s finished, and there’s so little judgment in his tone it’s almost jarring. He simply sounds curious. “The black emo fringe, graphic tee and skinny jeans thing- why’d you start doing it?”

Phil considers it, but the question doesn't make any sense to him. “What do you mean why?”

“Well, you started dressing a certain way when you were a teenager. Why that way? Why not a different aesthetic completely, or something like what you’re trying to achieve now?”

It still seems like a weird question, but he gives it his best shot. “Because I wanted to, I guess? I liked the look, I thought it was really cool.”

“And now you don’t.”

“No, it's still cool, it’s just-”

“Not who you are anymore.”

A beat of quiet. “Not who I want to be, I think.”

“Good news, Phil, you can be literally whoever you want. People change. You wanted to do the emo thing for a while, so you did. And now you want to do the blonde crisis twink thing, so you are. It’s fine.”

“It’s not a crisis twink thing!” he insists, but he can’t help the laugh that accompanies the protest. It dies down quickly though, thoughts of his family and friends’ reactions creeping into his head. “Is it weird that I’m worried about telling people? Like, it’s a joke that I haven’t changed, but also it’s not? I kind of feel like I should have just stuck it out, made more gradual changes.”

“It’s your life, Phil. You should be doing what you want.”

“See logically I know that, but in practice…” he lets the sentence trail off, skimming his fingertips up Dan’s arm. In practice he’s done it before, hasn’t he? He’d wanted to go blonde, so he did. He wanted new clothes, so he bought some. He wanted Dan, and now here’s Dan in his bed, encouraging him to continue being selfish. "I'm thinking about how they'll react."

"Does it matter? It's your hair." He reaches up to tousle it, knuckles dragging gently across Phil's cheekbone before his hand settles back to where it was. "You were who they wanted for long enough."

"I was who I wanted to be too, it wasn't just about them."

“At one point it was about you, and then it became about your brand-”

“No,” Phil protests . “I'm just a normal guy, I don't have a brand. ”

“Everyone has a brand, Phil. It's the way people perceive you.” Dan props himself up some, hand sliding from Phil's collarbone to his sternum, right in the middle of his chest. “Here's the thing, right, no one actually knows another person, they only know their idea of them. We get the bones of someone, standard facts and childhood stories or whatever, and then we fill in all the gaps. But we're just making shit up. We might get it close but it's never a true representation of who that person is.”

The way Dan presents it, he finds it hard to disagree. But. “What's that got to do with me treating myself like a brand?”

���You figured out how people fill you in, and now you're scared to tell them they're wrong. It sounds like you're doing the opposite, like you're leaning into the idea they have of you even though it's not who you really are.”

Phil cannot speak. The weight of Dan's hand feels enormous, pressing down into his heart.  How is it that Dan, a virtual stranger, has cut so succinctly into him when friends he's had for years can't see it? Maybe it’s simply a matter of Dan’s outside perspective, maybe it would be just as obvious to anyone else hearing Phil’s story. Maybe his friends are too close to see him objectively. Maybe Dan is extremely observant and it’s a total coincidence that they’ve stumbled upon each other.

Maybe it’s more than that.

“To be honest,” he manages to say “I’m not sure I actually know who I am.”

Dan does not miss a beat. “You’re the person who picks up random guys in clubs then pours your heart out to them the next night,” he says, grinning. “And you’re blonde while you do it.

It cuts the tension in him like a hot knife through butter.“I am not the pick up random guys guy, I promise you,” he says, the words coming out around a scoff.

“Oh no?” Dan dips his head, ghosting his lips along Phil's jaw. “What makes me special then?

Truthfully, Phil doesn’t know the answer. But it is an accurate statement. Dan is special, somehow sees past the brand as it were and into Phil’s heart, right under where he has his hand. “I don’t know,” he says. “Glad it happened though.”

“Where else are you gonna get a free private therapist who will also have sex with you?”

“I could probably call around.”

Dan presses his face into Phil’s neck, his laugh warm and wet in the skin there. “Right,” he says, turning his head, gentle breath skimming over Phil’s throat. “Well if anyone answers let me know. Until then if you need help figuring shit out, I’m happy to be a sounding board."

It is quite possibly the greatest offer Phil has ever heard. “Might take you up on that.”

“Good. You’d better.”

There’s a boy in Phil’s bed, and he thinks it might be the start of something real.

[voraciousvore]

The Half-Blood Giant (35/51)

***Contains soft, safe, willing, sexual vore***

Chapter 35: Inside You

Pedro had survived his first week at his new job. Being on the giant side of town had been a wild ride so far, but he was looking forward to spending the weekend with Ray. Unfortunately, Ray had to pick up an extra shift on Saturday to cover for a sick coworker, spoiling their plans for a date yet again. Ray woke up very early in the morning, as usual. What was not usual for him was waking up with a tiny man sleeping on his plushy belly. He attempted to get up without waking his miniature lover, but Pedro opened his eyes when Ray nudged him into his hands. 

“Good morning, my Ray of sun,” Pedro yawned, rubbing his eyes. “My, my, it’s so early.” 

“Sorry to wake you,” Ray apologized. “You know me. Gotta go for my morning jog as usual.” 

Pedro perked up. “Let me come with you!” 

Ray chuckled. “I don’t think you’ll be able to keep up.” As he talked, he got out of bed, setting Pedro down on the sheets, and dressed in his workout clothes. 

“Nah, I’ll just ride on your shoulder or something.” 

“You’ll fall off, little buddy.” 

“I’ll cling to your hair,” Pedro reasoned.  

Ray pondered before grasping Pedro and sticking him on top of his head. “What about this?” Pedro looked around in amazement at the forest of shiny black hair around him. He was so high up. He had thought it a little scary at first to be carried in giant hands, but he was practically in the clouds at this staggering height. He gripped a few thick tufts of hair securely in his hands. 

“I think this will work.” Ray took a few steps. Pedro hung on for dear life and managed not to fall off. Assured that Pedro was secure on his head, Ray went outside on his porch and did a few warm-up stretches, keeping his head upright. The two men breathed in the cool morning air, refreshed. The sun had yet to peek above the horizon, tinting the world with a dark velvet blue. 

Ray jogged down the street, starting off slow to make sure Pedro didn’t fall off. At first, Pedro was jumbled around wildly, but he dug his feet into Ray’s scalp and pulled on his hair to create a more stable stance. Once he was certain Pedro was secure, Ray increased his pace gradually until he was jogging at his normal rhythm. Pedro was having the time of his life; he never imagined he’d be riding around on a giant’s head. Ray ran so fast, with such long, powerful strides, that Pedro felt as if he were flying at a dazzling height in the sky. The effect was intensified by the cold breeze that blew through Ray’s hair, whipping it around. 

Ray started to sweat, making his head and hair slippery, but Pedro successfully held on. The giant ran towards the sunrise as the sky lit up with resplendent orange and yellow highlights. He paused briefly to catch his breath and admire the fiery display. He was glad to share the moment with Pedro, in the tranquil stillness of the crisp morning. He experienced a light tickle as Pedro rubbed the top of his head with his tiny hand. Sucking in lungfuls of clean air, Ray jogged back to his house with the rising sun kissing his back and painting the scenery with gold highlights.  

By now, he had worked up quite an appetite with all the exercise. He placed Pedro on the counter in the kitchen to keep him company and whipped up a quick breakfast of pancakes. 

“Regrettably, I don’t have any blueberries or anything to flavor the batter,” Ray noted as he poured the pancake mix into the pan. He dripped a single drop next to his big pancake to make one appropriately sized for Pedro. 

“Oh, that’s fine,” Pedro said. “Next time though, we should get some chocolate chips!” 

Ray chuckled. “It doesn’t surprise me that you like chocolate chips, considering you taste like one yourself.” He bit his lip and went quiet as he immediately regretted his faux pas. He didn’t want Pedro to know that he fantasized about eating him. He didn’t even want to think about his strange new cravings himself. He suddenly became very preoccupied with flipping the pancakes, sheepishly averting his eyes from Pedro. 

“Uh, what was that?” Pedro asked. He wasn’t sure if he’d heard Ray correctly. 

“Oh, nothing, nothing! Forget it!” Ray exclaimed with a bloom of fresh pink tinting his cheeks. “Here, take a pancake!” He slapped Pedro’s miniature pancake down in front of him. Pedro looked up at him with confusion at his response. Ray flung his much larger pancake down on a plate and stuffed a hardy chunk in his mouth so he wouldn’t have to clarify his words. “Mmmmm, isn’t that good?” he said, barely coherent with his mouth full. 

Pedro cocked an eyebrow as he took a small bite out of his own breakfast. “Yes, it’s delicious. Thank you, Ray,” he said softly. The two ate in awkward silence. Pedro gave Ray a questioning look, but Ray made it abundantly clear he wasn’t ready to talk about it as he continued to scarf down his breakfast. As he gulped down the final bite, he made a show of checking his watch. 

“Oh, look at the time! I need to hurry up and get ready for work!” he yelled, at a louder volume than necessary, and rushed out of the kitchen. Pedro stared after him, increasingly dumbfounded. Ray was acting very oddly, and he didn’t understand why. Ray returned soon after, groomed and suited up in his police uniform. He looked stunningly handsome, freshly shaved and washed and with his hair neatly combed and parted. He made sure Pedro was all set up with access to everything he could potentially need, since he was restricted in the giant house with his miniscule size, and left in a hurry before Pedro could ask any uncomfortable questions. 

Pedro sat by himself in the giant house, which felt so empty without the rumble of Ray’s clumsy feet. He thought about what Ray had said that rendered him so flustered. It didn’t make any sense. If Pedro had heard him correctly, Ray claimed he tasted like chocolate chips. But that was impossible, wasn’t it? Pedro looked down at his arm, thinking hard. Ray had lapped him all over with his enormous tongue when they had sex. He gave his arm an exploratory lick. He didn’t think he tasted particularly flavorful—definitely not like chocolate—but then again, he wasn’t a giant, was he? Were giant taste buds different? 

He grabbed his phone and searched the one place where he knew he could get definitive answers: the internet. What he found was... disturbing, to say the least. Giants did eat humans. Apparently, the practice wasn’t common, but some giants had a natural urge to eat humans after tasting or swallowing one for the first time. Pedro wondered to himself if Ray had ever eaten a human before. Obviously, he had tasted a human: himself.  

He dug deeper. There was so much. He found recipes for cooking humans, suggestions for pairing humans with complimentary dishes or wines, advice for how to lure in humans or convince them to allow themselves to be eaten. How to predict what a human tasted like based on their appearance or personality, what foods to feed them to improve their flavor, the differences in taste between men and women. Pedro was surprised to learn that humans came in a wide variety of flavors, ranging from sweet to savory or meaty. From what Ray had told him, he was solidly in the “sweet” category. 

He ventured further down the rabbit hole. He was stunned to discover that giants could experience erotic pleasure from consuming live humans. The feeling of a living creature squirming on the way down their throats or inside their guts, rubbing their insides, was arousing. Furthermore, there was a safe way to eat a human without fatally digesting him. Special “human pills” existed that made a human immune to digestion. Pedro read articles describing the experience from a giant’s perspective. He even found erotica and porn that he had to admit was pretty hot when he imagined himself and Ray performing the act together. 

Pedro was fascinated. The concept was too intriguing to ignore; he had to try it with Ray. Pedro was quite the adventurer, and pleasuring his giant lover in a way that he was uniquely suited to was too alluring an opportunity to pass up. Ray’s behavior suggested he wanted it too but was probably nervous to ask. Pedro smiled to himself as he ordered a human pill kit online. After some thought, he purchased a packet of brownie mix as well. The advice online had suggested pairing the correct food flavors, after all. He made sure to choose express, same-day shipping, despite the extra fee. He was too exhilarated to wait—perhaps nervous as well, but the danger was part of the thrill. 

When Ray came home from work, he was surprised to find a couple of packages sitting on his porch. He brought them in, puzzling. “Pedro? Are these yours?” 

“Ah, yes!” Pedro called back with excitement. “Open them up!” Ray complied, tearing open the plastic on the larger package. 

“Brownie mix?” he questioned with confusion, holding up the box. 

“Yes!” Pedro shouted with enthusiasm. “I’ve been craving brownies! Can you make them? Pretty please?” He gave Ray sweet puppy dog eyes. 

“Well, sure, if that’s what you want.” Ray thought it odd, for Pedro to be so enthused about a dessert, but he happily complied. He had quite the sweet tooth himself, and brownies sounded delicious. He placed Pedro down on the counter next to the second package, forgetting it as he prepared the mix. He threw the brownies in the oven to cook and left to go change out of his work clothes in the interim. While he was gone, Pedro labored to poke a hole in the wrapping of the second package until he finally succeeded in opening it. He popped open the pill bottle and took one of the anti-digestion pills. He was ready. 

He tingled all over with elation as Ray removed the brownies out of the oven to let them cool. The giant had no idea what he was getting into as he carved the confection into squares with a knife and pulled a big serving out of the baking dish and onto a plate. He figured, since the brownies were soft, Pedro could tear off small pieces as he pleased, so he didn’t need to break it into crumbs for him. He inhaled the rich chocolate aroma with delight. His stomach was grumbling with hunger. 

Ray looked away for a moment to serve up a second brownie, and Pedro saw his chance. He stripped off his clothes and climbed up on the gigantic brownie, striking what he hoped was a seductive pose. The giant turned back, and his eyes boggled out of his head. He dropped the plate he was carrying in shock, but didn’t even acknowledge it as it shattered on the floor. He was fixated on Pedro. 

“Pedro!” he gasped. “What-” He couldn’t bring himself to finish as his eyes wandered over his naked form, the tasty little topping for an irresistible dessert. He licked his lips, his eyes wide as saucers. 

“Do I look appetizing?” Pedro purred, rubbing a handful of chocolate on his chest. Ray nodded wordlessly, his face heating up with passion. “Then take a bite, big boy. Eat me up.” He winked and bit his lip, sliding his hand down over his nude body sensually. He stopped on his hard cock, gripping it in his hand.  

Ray was lightheaded as his heart thrummed in his chest. He felt pressure in his groin as blood flowed to his extremity with physical arousal. Was he dreaming? He felt disconnected from his body as he watched his hand reach out of its own volition to grasp the brownie, with Pedro on top. He brought the brownie up close to his mouth. His lips quivered. Pedro gazed up at his expansive face with rapturous eyes. He lifted his tiny hand up to those huge, soft lips and grazed them reverently with his fingers. Ray flinched slightly at his touch. 

The giant gulped nervously. Pedro couldn’t repress a shiver as he heard the squelching sound of his massive throat as he swallowed, watched his oversized Adam’s apple pulse under the skin on his neck. As eager as he was to pleasure his giant lover, the idea of being eaten alive was still frightening. Regardless, he remained firm in his resolve, even as Ray wavered. 

“I-I can’t…” Ray murmured fearfully. “I might… kill you…” He began to pull away, but Pedro grabbed his lips to stop him. Pedro tickled his mustache with his fingers, teasing him. 

“Shhh… no need to worry,” Pedro assured him in a soothing tone. “I took a pill. You can swallow me and I’ll be safe and cozy inside you.” He slid his hand between the giant’s humongous lips, worming his arm inside up to his shoulder. His hand brushed against the slick surface of Ray’s massive teeth. He felt the incisors separate, and his hand contacted the fleshy tip of Ray’s tongue. The tongue sampled him, coating his hand in saliva. The slimy, bumpy appendage moved up his arm, exploring. Ray’s lips opened with longing, revealing the deep, dark cavity within. 

Pedro froze up as he stared into the gargantuan mouth, with its fearsome teeth, the great arch of the hard palate above like the roof of a cathedral, and the passage to the back of the throat that he knew would entirely engulf him, and drag him down to the depths of the forbidden inner sanctum, the stomach. He suddenly felt very, very small and vulnerable, as he experienced the raw power of the hefty tongue licking his skin. He was insignificant enough to be nothing more than a snack. His pulse spiked as he realized this act would be the ultimate test of trust: He would be giving himself up entirely to Ray, permitting the giant man to consume him whole, completely dependent on him to let him back out, helpless in his fate. His life was in Ray’s hands, soon to be in his mouth and digestive system. 

Pedro trusted Ray. He willingly entered the giant’s mouth as Ray hesitantly opened his jaws wider to immerse him, along with the brownie. He passed through the pearly white gates of teeth to be inside Ray. The ivory tiles of bone closed around him, and he was fully submerged in his body. He gave himself up to the giant as the tongue moved to separate him from the brownie. He sat on the colossal sensory organ, jostled about as he watched the brownie disintegrate into mush under the powerful crushing force of the huge molars. A thrill of anxiety jolted through his heart as he observed the masticated food get sucked down the fleshy shaft of the throat in a tremendous, yet effortless, gulp, with the knowledge that he would soon follow. 

Ray was in no hurry to swallow Pedro, however. His flavor was marvelous and put the brownie to shame. He rolled the tiny man around on his tongue, feeling every inch of his body from his head to his feet, stroking and caressing him with sublime sensual pleasure. Pedro went limp as he allowed himself to be handled however Ray pleased. The mouth pooled with saliva, soaking him like a warm bath. He looked around with wonder at all the inner details of the mouth, the teeth and gums and gullet, blown up on such a vast scale. 

He found himself sliding down the curve of the tongue towards the throat, and realized Ray was ready to swallow him. He took a deep breath to steady himself as he gazed down into the slippery red tube into darkness. With a flash of determination, he dived in. The throat muscles seized him and dragged him down with shocking force, squeezing him tightly. Pedro’s heart pounded as he was pulled down with frightening rapidity and strength in a controlled drop. Ray’s colossal heart and lungs thundered around him when he passed through his chest. By the time he dropped down into his stomach, he was a bit overwhelmed and dizzy. 

He plopped into a puddle of gastric juices inside a wet, churning, gurgling sack and realized he had completed his wild journey. He was deep inside Ray’s core, almost a part of him. He explored the pitch blackness, walking around and feeling the squishy, pulsing walls surrounding him with astonishment. He could feel Ray’s movements as he shifted his mass and hear his soft moans of contentment reverberating through his viscera. Recalling what he had read about how giants enjoyed their insides rubbed, Pedro caressed the stomach walls around him. Being inside Ray meant he could pick up on every subtle physiological response of the giant’s body, including changes in his heartbeat, breathing, and body temperature, and Pedro marveled at how intimate it felt. He nestled into a fold of the stomach lining and curled up with comfort. He felt warm, cozy, and safe. 

From the outside, Ray rubbed his belly with fondness. He had been scared to swallow Pedro, but now that the man was inside him, he felt full and satiated. He had to admit that Joey was right: Eating a human was a special and remarkable feeling, comparable to sexual satisfaction. Every small movement from Pedro, as he walked around inside his gut and fondled his insides, filled him with intense pleasure. He carefully sprawled out on the couch, trying his best not to jostle Pedro within, and kneaded his belly with his hands like pizza dough. He was in heaven. 

Chapter 36

Chapter 1

[bunnykawa]

hungry (osamu miya x f. reader)

summary: You have a big crush on the handsome owner of an onigiri shop. He thinks it’s annoying. Or does he?

a/n: eh idk what this is. timeskip love haha. but this might be a triggering so please keep that in mind and read the warnings

warnings: 18+, yandere themes, noncon/dubcon/rape, raw sex, kinda public sex?, some degradation, little bit of spanking and hairpulling, abusive language, violence, stalking, mentions of past sexual abuse, you vomit but it's not sexualized it's trauma-induced, timeskip!osamu :)

The energy of the restaurant is oddly calm tonight. Nights are almost never tranquil at Onigiri Miya with the constant parade of people coming in, so you hum in satisfaction when you scan the restaurant and there's barely anyone here. You stare down at your half-eaten onigiri and the loyalty stamp card that you filled up from how often you come here. After nine visits, you get a free onigiri on your tenth one as long as you show them your stamp card. 

This is your hundredth visit—you remember because the first time you entered Onigiri Miya was ten stamp cards ago. The staff already know your name, if not by your face and your timid behavior that makes you stutter when ordering the same thing every time they see you. As peculiar as they think you are (for coming to Onigiri Miya at the same time on Fridays and Saturdays for the past six months and sitting alone quietly until they close), they warmly welcome you.

It's only you in the dining area tonight. The few employees that Onigri Miya has must have left earlier than usual. You suddenly tense up in your seat and grip onto your cup of freshly-poured hot tea tightly between tremulous fingers. The familiar male figure, standing at over six feet tall with beautiful broad shoulders, passes by the front counter, disappearing as he makes his way to the back. 

After you let out a harsh breath, you adjust your phone from behind your purse on the table. Your phone is propped up behind it, the camera lens slightly peeking over the faux leather. Butterflies form in your stomach when you see that you were still recording and you caught him on camera. 

Yes, you go to Onigiri Miya because the food is amazing. Somehow, they make a dish as simple as a rice ball so delectable and appetizing and you adore them because of it. But hyperfixation is a fucking bitch, your thought process is a little flawed, and the real reason why you frequent the establishment is because Osamu Miya is absolutely gorgeous. Every time you see him, you're left wondering what it would be like to run your fingers through his dark hair or how his lips feel pressed against yours. Your thoughts run wild. How does he like his eggs in the morning? What's his family like? Does he sleep on the right side of the bed? Left side? In the middle? Does he have space for you on his bed? 

How does it feel to be loved by Osamu Miya?

Every time you visit the restaurant, visibly nervous with anxiety beating in your chest and your throat closing as you try to speak, you feel that you're one step close to finding out. And maybe you did feel it once. Just once. You're unsure if that one special moment you shared with Osamu was genuine from his heart with good intentions, but you would do anything for that feeling to last forever. And if that made your whole being feel as if you were floating, then why wouldn't it be the same for him?

So, that's why you're here. To relive that special moment in the way that you fantasized about—something that can become a fond memory instead of a dream deep inside your head that leaves you yearning for physicality. Desire is the only sensation that you've felt for the past six months and it's torture to watch the man that you've fallen in love with barely acknowledge you as a person even if he's seen your face in his restaurant consistently every week since you first met. Since he saved you. 

Six months later. Six months to move on. Six months to get help and yet you're still digging your hands into your panties and biting onto your sheets to gag yourself because of one man after every visit to his restaurant.

"Hey."

Oh, that voice makes your thighs tremble every time you hear it. As stoic and impassive as it is, it's the same voice that gave you solace when you were beaten down in the dark to bleed on concrete. You're gritting your teeth—nearly moaning at the sweet sound—as that voice almost breaks you out of your thoughts. Almost. 

"(Y/N), are you okay?" Osamu asks in a deadpan tone from his place behind the counter. You jolt suddenly. For someone who's so obsessive with small details, you sure don't pay much attention to your surroundings. You quickly shake your head when you realize that he's talking to you. 

"Y-yes. I'm...I'm fine, O...samu," you squeak in embarrassment. You don't realize it, but you're clutching onto your stamp card with white knuckles. His gray hooded eyes seem to be staring right through you, as if he knows why you're here tonight, what you're looking for. But whatever he does notice, he doesn't mention. His eyes dart down to your purse before he maintains eye contact with you. 

He places his hand on the counter to lean on it. The small action makes your mouth dry. He's so fucking beautiful. "It's almost ten-o'clock. I'm gonna close up. You should leave soon." 

But you don't want to leave yet. Tonight was supposed to be the night that you finally made your dreams come true. It's only him and you in the restaurant tonight, so it must mean something.

"Where...where's the rest of the c-crew?" you ask shakily. Fuck, get yourself together. You just need an excuse not to leave. And he might know your name, but he doesn't know you. Not yet.

He raises a thick eyebrow at your question before answering, "Left early tonight. Just me taking care of the shop." You should have noticed. This is why you leave your phone recording while you're there—you don't want to miss anything in case you get distracted.

But does he want you to leave? Your heart aches at the thought of him not wanting your presence when you've been craving his for so long. "I see," you mutter awkwardly.

What do I do now?

"You've got a lot of nerve, you know that?" he says after a few seconds of awkward silence. You haven't moved from your seat and neither has Osamu moved from his spot to "close up" as he said he would. You wonder if the door is already locked.

"What do you mean?" Your heart is thumping more now than it has in the past three hours you've been here. Osamu lives in your brain rent-free yet you can barely breathe around him. Now he's speaking to you. Actually speaking to you.

"You know exactly what I mean," he calmly accuses you. The unexpected shift in his tone makes your blood run cold. "Wonder if your phone has run out of storage yet. Funny you go out of your way to come here twice a week just to record me."

"What?!" you cry out, suddenly shooting up from your seat. Your chair skids a few inches across the floor behind you before it tilts and hits the ground with a crash. The quick movement causes the table in front of you to shake and make your phone to fall back as well, the screen smashing against the wood and the camera lens facing up towards the ceiling. You feel like you're about to have a heart attack. Your vision goes blurry from tears suddenly threatening to overflow because were you that obvious?

"I noticed. A long time ago. Remember you from that night back in the alley. Very unique face you got there," Osamu hums. He steps around the counter to make his way towards you. You cower into the wall beside your table, your eyes darting from your phone and Osamu's threatening figure.

Back in the alley. The image of the back alley behind Onigiri Miya flashes in your mind. Dark, wet, and sadly gray. That's where you first met him.

"Didn't expect to see you back here. Thought you might've developed PTSD or something with how you were crying. Now you're stalking me." 

"No," you loudly plead, shaking your head side to side, "I don't know what you're talking about!" You're lying straight through your teeth. That's funny—you've been coming to his restaurant for a chance to see him again, but he's coming closer and closer and you're terrified instead of happy. Your knees buckle as you press your back against the wall. You squeeze your eyes shut as the memories come flooding back into your system in vivid detail. 

He continues on, "Don't even lie to me. Stalking me like a crazy bitch. I wasn't sure what I should do about you. I felt bad for you and let you continue doing this, even thought about calling the police for a little bit, but…"

Osamu almost never talks to you, maybe a few times where he's handling the register and the orders and he has to talk to you, but he's always in the open kitchen where you can freely admire him when you want to, always an arm's length away. When you would think about what your first conversation together would be like, you always imagined his words to be kind. Sweet. Maybe he'd say he admired you—

"...you're a little fucked up in the head, huh?" 

His tone is hostile. There's no love laced in any of the syllables falling from his tongue. He's annoyed. He hates the fact that you want him—it's that obvious but you don't want to believe it, especially when you think you worked so hard. It's not fair.

Your mind is hazy as he's coming closer and closer to your trembling form. You see his lips moving and the calm expression on his face turn into hard evil, but your ears can't decipher what he's saying. His words have faded into white noise. And you've seen him multiple times, traced his face through the screen of your phone, admired him from afar at the same spot in his restaurant for months, but his face is sharper, harsher, and almost unrecognizable. Is this really the man that saved you? Is this really Osamu Miya?

Your blood is pumping loudly in your ears. It's the only sound that you can make out other than your heavy breathing. God, if he gets any closer...

Then, the adrenaline kicks in and you're lunging at him with your arms outstretched towards his large frame. You don't know what you're going to do and sure as hell you're no match for him, but your body is screaming at you. Your senses are running wild, like the aura that Osamu is emitting is lighting you on fire and making you act on primal instinct. It's telling you to fight. 

To fight him. To bash your tiny fists against his handsome face because he should have fallen in love with you the moment that you fell in love with him, but he has the audacity to leave you hanging for half a year and call you a stalker.

And it's painful. You're not sure which hurts more, but at this moment, the physical pain is excruciating. You can't breathe anymore, not when his calloused hands (from years of training on the court, which you found out from the internet, and in the kitchen) are wrapped around your throat. You can't think straight either—your head hit the ground a little too hard and the world is spinning. Osamu's face is contorted in anger and even if your world is spinning, his features are as clear as day. 

Your memories start crashing down inside your brain in fragments. The pain, frustration, and sadness hit you all at once—it’s nauseating. It’s as if Osamu can sense this, too, because as soon as he notices your sick expression, he flips you over to force you on your knees with one arm around your waist, his hand in your scalp to hold your head in place towards the floor and then you’re heaving and gagging out the rice balls you consumed earlier. Your throat is on fire and you're still coughing up pieces of rice.

“You gross bitch,” he mutters.

You gross bitch.

It's bouncing around in your ear drum until it fades into cotton, a familiar set of words that cut you deep that you were able to pick up on easily among the other curses he's been throwing at you. The same words from six months ago. A trigger? Yeah, that's what the internet calls it. You almost died, or at least that's what it felt like. That's the only way you can describe it, the only way you were able to make sense of what happened, because you feel that you might as well have. 

It was from someone else's mouth—a disgusting, grimy man whose face haunted your dreams for months, a man with greasy fingers that put his hands on you, who beat you until you were nearly unconscious with blood dripping down your chin, who ripped you away of your pride and worth until you were nothing. The concrete was wet and cold, scraping against your sensitive skin and breaking through layers as he rutted into you. His breath fucking stunk and for fuck's sake, you don't know if you've seen anyone uglier, but as fucked up as it is, he made you feel ugly. 

You thought you saw an angel that day. The backdoor to Onigiri Miya opened up and when you finally opened your eyes and looked up, there he was—with blank gray eyes that stared down at the scene before him in slight disgust, and then he ripped the repulsive body off of your half-naked form. You were too weak. 

While you were weak and scared and incoherent, Osamu saw you and didn't hesitate to protect you. At the end of every dream you've had since then, Osamu always came to help you. 

And that should've been the end of it. That should've been the last time. You can't go through that again. No, no, no. You don't deserve to go through that again. 

You don't deserve it.

You don't deserve it.

You don't deserve it.

You're more responsive and awake once Osamu bends you over the table you were sitting at, then your senses are overloading, telling you to resist, to keep fighting. You're so tired, at this point you're completely heartbroken, but you can't—you can't just give up yet. He's holding you down, restraining your wrists with one hand while his other hand is at your waistband pulling your shorts down your thighs. You're kicking at him with whatever strength you have left even if the taste in your mouth is vile, he's much stronger than you, and your head is pounding from the anxiety. You're grateful that you can even breathe.

But it feels like your body has failed you, once again, and for a second you think that you do deserve it. The adrenaline is almost gone, you can barely lift a finger, you feel like passing out, and—fuck—you're so stupid, so dependent on one person to make you feel high. With Osamu...you don't even know what to think. The image you dreamed of is long gone. It's sad that reality can crash over you so easily and ruin everything. 

"Get off of me!" you scream. Over and over again. Until your voice cracks and your throat is on the brink of bleeding, coughing out your poor lungs. Until it's nothing but the essence of your torment. Your cup of tea, now warm, has spilled all over the table and is slowly seeping into your hair as your cheek rubs against the wood. And there's nothing else you can do, because Osamu is still behind you with your hands trapped by his. Your shorts and your panties are around your ankles. His jeans are unbuttoned and it's out. 

You don't want to fight anymore, you're fucking terrified. So terrified that you can't bring yourself to move. As soon as you stop fighting, his breathing becomes steady and he's using less force on you. Sobs rack through your body hysterically when you feel it.

It's throbbing against your thigh—warm, leaking precum, long, and thick. The skin-to-skin contact in such an intimate area is making the hairs on the back of your neck rise. That tiny voice inside of your head is telling you to look back at it to see if his dick matches the image you made up in your head. Is it exactly how you pictured it? Is it as pretty?

He's wiping his precum against your tense skin. When you flinch at the tip of his cock rubbing against you, he bites his lip and kneads one of your ass cheeks with his free hand, spreading your holes open and ever so gently brushing his thumb over your pussy. 

"You're...wet," he comments. You hear it. He dips his thumb between your folds and swipes it up and down and you hear the squelching of your cunt over your heavy breathing. That's—that's not right. No, you shouldn't be feeling this way. He pushes his thumb deeper into your cunt and slowly pulls it back out. You flinch and arch your back slightly at the sudden sensation, making you push your ass towards him. He lets out a breathy laugh at your reaction. 

His thumb disappears for a second but it's instantly replaced with his dick probing at your entrance. With a roll of his hips, he breaks through your squishy flesh with some difficulty. 

A loud yelp and a slurry of protests falls from your wet desperate lips. You wriggle your bottom, trying to create space between your two bodies, jerking away from him with whatever strength you have left. However, Osamu keeps going until he's completely bottomed out, filling you up until his tip is flush against your cervix. He lets go of your wrists so he could keep a firm grip on your hips instead. Whenever you moved, it burned.

Stop.

The stretch is unbearable—it's been half a year since you've had someone else inside you. The burn of having your hole forcefully split open wide again against your will has your head going delirious with so many mixed emotions. Fuck's sake, this isn't right and it's been heavily engraved in your brain for months that you have every right to fight back. Although you haven't been thinking straight for a long time, you're still lucid enough for your ears to work and soak up information like a sponge. He's moving, rutting his hips into your hot cunt cruelly. You can still fight him off, maybe you'd win if you tried again. 

But this is Osamu. Your heart fucking aches for him and you want to get away, but it's Osamu drilling into your heat and it's just not fair. It's not fair because your body is still responding to his malicious touch. It's not fair because even if it hurts—and fuck, it hurts so damn much—you're involuntarily grinding your ass into him. It's not fucking fair because you can't hate him.

Why is life never fair?

"No," you sob, "No, no, no. It hurts. It hurts. Please stop." Your hot tears are mixing with the puddle of tea that's pooling underneath your cheek and your tongue still tastes foul from your little episode. You’re scared you might start gagging again.

"Stop?" he muses, "Haven't you been loitering in my restaurant because you've been craving my cock? You wanted this for months and the one time I give it to you, you're telling me to stop?" Osamu slams into your poor little cunt despite your pained cries and babbling. Your pussy is clamping around him, your body trying to accommodate his length and girth breaking into you so suddenly.

"Osamu." His name would've tasted so good if the situation was different. Little did you know that you pushed him passed his breaking point a long time ago. But Osamu knew that you were beyond yours ever since he met you. If only you weren't so fucking weird, maybe then he would've pitied you—maybe he would've genuinely felt something for you. 

What a shame that you fell in love with a man who wouldn't be able to understand you. 

"I'm tired of you coming into my restaurant," he grunts, snapping his hips against yours roughly, "-and treating me like I'm some kind of animal. Do I look like a fucking animal to you?"

You choke, “No. You don’t—that’s not why—please. You don’t understand.” 

“Then tell me," he coaxes. But how do you tell him? Are you supposed to be honest? You're afraid that if you are honest, Osamu will treat you just as badly as he is now. It's also hard for you to collect your thoughts and find a sincere explanation that he could listen to—you're too focused on the many sensations pulsing through you. He raises a bulky arm only bring it down instantly to smack your ass with rough hands. The sudden impact forces you forward for a split second. Then he brings his hand down a few more times, until he's satisfied with the dark red hand print with tiny splotches dotted across your skin. 

Is this a punishment for everything that you've done within the last six months? Punishment for admiring him through sneaky videos and pictures? Punishment for thinking about him all the time? You feel like a criminal, caught red-handed and forced to go through torture and suffer for your ungodly sins. Each time he hits you, you're twitching from the painful sting and praying for forgiveness. 

"Stop it!" you beg through tears, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. It hurts so much." Apologies start spilling from your sore throat impulsively. 

I'm sorry, Osamu. 

Please stop, Osamu.

It really hurts, Osamu.

But nothing that comes out of your mouth convinces him, and after awhile it's more like you're trying to convince yourself more. Suddenly the burning in your sensitive cunt is replaced with the inebriating desire and hunger for more friction between your two bodies and it leaves a shameful tint to bloom over you. You're salivating over his dick—you wanna see it so bad even if you're scared—and the guilt is eating at you on the inside. It feels good, actually enough to have you gripping onto the edge of the table and sucking Osamu into your cunt so that he doesn't pull back too far. 

"Don't tell me that it hurts," he groans, "Your pussy is creaming all over me. You can't lie to me anymore."

He's right. You're lying more to yourself than him, though. You don't tell him to stop anymore, settling with swear words and a chorus of Osamu! Osamu! Osamu! It's amazing, intoxicating, and it also makes you feel disgusting. The way his cock fills up your tight pussy perfectly and how his balls are consistently smacking your clit and stimulating it—you're drooling from the pleasure.

"Does it feel good?" he huffs, "Is this what you wanted? To be a cockwhore for me?" 

Your body betrays you and you're left moaning and crying at the same time with breathy words that Osamu can't decipher because you're a complete mess, but he swears he can hear you agree without hesitation. "Y-yes, fuck yes! Your cock is s-so amazing," you cry out, "Hurts so good, Osamu!"

It's not enough. Although you're gradually submitting to him, it's still not enough for the sadistic side of him. He wants to hear more of you, to push you until you're braindead and nothing more than a hole to stretch and tear apart just for the hell of it. He leans over you just to grab you by the disheveled hair on your scalp. Another scream leaves you as he pulls you up to be able to growl in your ear.

"Tell me everything, you whore," he breathes, softly yet maliciously. You try to answer him but the angle he has your neck at from the grip on your hair is choking you. 

"Why'd you keep coming here? Obsessive little bitch. Why're you still here?" It's like he's laughing in your face even if his voice and expression say otherwise. He's mocking your pain, making you relive your trauma as if it was all a fucking joke. As if you’re incapable of feeling pain.

This isn't even supposed to feel as good as it does, yet it does. The way he calls you an obsessive little bitch has your stomach doing flips and your cheeks to flush even more. Then you're confused. You're enjoying his cock forced inside you and it's damn confusing. 

Fuck, it’s enough to further damage your overstimulated psyche and turn you into someone you never thought you would be. An empty shell of the person you used to be because your body doesn’t even fucking feel like your body anymore. Nothing feels real anymore, like you're shifting through universes and living lifetimes but you're stuck in one place at the same time. Why do you always come back here? 

You turn your head to the side, enough for you to see his face. His eyebrows are furrowed, probably from concentration on your slick pussy, and then he notices you staring at him. You don't utter another word, you might just choke and spew if you even open your mouth to attempt to (and holy shit, you don't want to embarrass yourself anymore), but your eyes—they answer his question in heavy silence. It’s enough for him to understand and see right through you. Loud and clear although you don't speak. 

Because you saved me.

Your eyes roll into the back of your head as you let out another sob, but this cry is full of guilty pleasure instead with barely any tears. It has you nearly passing out and feeling sick to your stomach and just please—make it stop hurting. But it feels so damn good at the same time, to have the tip of his swelling cock kissing your cervix every time he slams into you, grinding his hips against your sweet cunt. Your body contracts violently as you release your liquids all around Osamu's cock, pushing your ass against his pelvis and knocking your empty tea cup and purse off the table. Intitially, the loud crash makes you jolt but it's nothing compared to how your orgasm crashing over you has you screaming and thrashing around pathetically. 

You're cumming. You're cumming. You can't believe you're fucking cumming. You've never felt this way before and you always believed that sex was painful but you're still cumming long and hard on Osamu's cock. Your juices are being forced out of you.

And you didn't even want it.

You're embarrassed and oddly satisfied at the same time. Your cum is dribbling down your legs and there's no doubt that it's dripping down Osamu's pelvis and thighs, too. He lets go of your hair and your head drops forward onto the table with a thump. You wince at the contact, but you don't move.

After a few silent minutes (silent other than your audible panting) exhaustion finally hits you, and with a heavy breath you completely collapse against the table. You finally stop your death grip on the sides of the table to let them dangle off the edge. Your scalp is sore, it makes your head pound when you move your head even slightly. 

A soft tired gasp escapes your throat in surprise; you feel little pecks going up your back and across your shoulders.

Then there’s feather-light kisses tickling your shoulder that leaves an agitated tingle in your nerves and—why? Why bother being gentle at this point? But the fluttering in your pelvis doesn't stop. He slips out of you just to turn your weak body over so you're laying on your back. You instantly move your eyes further down and—

It's pretty. Prettier than you imagined. His cock is fucking pretty. It's hypnotizing as you scan the vein running underneath the skin and the pink swollen head oozing clear liquid. It's glistening, dripping, with juices. 

Holy shit, those are your juices. 

It dawns on you that you both connected. Although not in the way that you had hoped, definitely not, but...you connected in the most physically intimate way possible. You felt him, his warmth, his damp skin, everything. Your eyes drift upwards. He's breathing heavily, his chest visibly moving. He has a firm grip on your thighs to keep you in place—you're not going anywhere. You don't want to go anywhere. Examining his face, you can see everything, every single detail. His lips, his lidded eyes, his cute nose, the shape of his face, and—wow—Osamu is pretty. So pretty. He's nearly angelic when you take a closer look. You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him before.

You hope you're not imagining it, because you see something different behind his blank stare as if he's in as much of an awe as you are while you look up at him lovingly, like he didn't just hurt you. He took you against your will and yet you're staring at him like he just told you that you were his world. Are you a fucking idiot? Are you delusional?

"Do you love me?"

The question leaves him before he realizes his lips are forming the words. Osamu looks down at you, no other emotion laced in any of his handsome features except for distaste and...curiosity? With parted puffy lips and despair etched onto your cheeks, you slowly nod. The glazed look in your eyes draws him closer to your face, scrutinizing every part of your soft skin. He braces his hands on both sides of your trembling form. One part of your cheek is still wet from the tea that spilled earlier and your hair is disgustingly moist from a mixture of sweat and earl grey and you feel anxious again. 

"Okay," he says, voice as monotonous and dead as usual, but also worn out and accompanied with heavy breathing. You tense when he leans even closer, but quickly relax when you feel him kiss your forehead. It's a delicate kiss that makes your heart flutter. Then he trails further and connects your lips. It's short, but wet and sweet. He hadn't kissed you on your mouth the whole night, it probably would have been too weird for him to kiss a sad stalker he didn't know, especially when you vomited on his otherwise spotless floor. The taste of him is lingering on your skin—you're almost afraid to lick your lips in case this'll be the last time you ever have his against yours.

He pulls you into his chest. Your heart might just jump out of yours. His cock is brushing against your shuddering core, hard and sticky, but he doesn't enter you. Osamu simply holds you close, one of his hands in your hair and the other flat against your back. You weakly bring your arms up to wrap around his shoulders and dig your face into the crook of his neck. 

Then you cry. You let out a harsh breath and let yourself cry again, shoulders violently shaking and your chest tightening uncomfortably, for the thousandth time tonight even if you're tired and yearning for the comfort of your bed. Slowly, wet tears seep into his t-shirt. Osamu smells good—musky, sweaty, like a man. You don't understand what just happened—it brought you back to six months ago yet it feels entirely indifferent. He smells like a man, but he doesn't smell dirty like the last one who destroyed you.

He continues to hold you as you break down. Osamu thinks he understands, but you—you're more confused now more than ever.

[seongsangi]

i think about you

pairing: jaemin x reader

summary: you may or may not have a slight thing for your roommate jaemin, where will things go from here 👀

word count: 6.3k

warnings: drinking (stay responsible!! and always!! get consent!!)

It's 2 am and you can't sleep. How could you when your roommate has brought home another girl to fuck, knowing your walls are thin as hell? You think they're being extra loud on purpose to get on your nerves and it's working. You're tired and frustrated with Jaemin, can he not do this at her place? This is the second time he's done it, and you told him after the first time that he should respect your wishes to sleep peacefully, especially since you live here too.

You can't lay in bed and listen to this bullshit any more, so you throw the covers off angrily and walk down the hallway, banging on his door. "Can y'all please shut the fuck up!" The moans and groans coming from his room come to a halt and you're glad they got the message. As you turn on your heels to head back to your room, a half dressed girl comes running out of his room and shoves past you, almost knocking you over. She heads for the door before you can even see her face. You turn to look at Jaemin, covering the lower half of his body with his sheets. He's shirtless and sweaty, which would look good on any other day but you're too mad at him to think of him in that way.

"Oh shit, I didn't know you were home, I'm so sorry Y/N," he apologizes. He thought you were spending the night at your friend's house.

"I'm going tomorrow night dumbass. Do you bring someone home every time I'm not here?" you ask, hands on your hips.

"Maybe not every night," he responds, unable to look you in the eye. You scoff and head back to your room, finally able to get some sleep. You snuggle under the covers but feel your phone vibrate from a text.

jaemin [2:30 am] Are you mad at me?

you [2:30 am] yes

jaemin [2:31 am] You weren't home when I got here, I swear I didn't know you came back :(

you [2:33 am] ok i guess

jaemin [2:36 am] Sooo, there's a party my friend is throwing Saturday night, wanna go?

you [2:38 am] ... yes

jaemin [2:39 am] <3

The next morning, you're no longer mad at Jaemin. You did come home after him so you can't blame him for not knowing. You make your way into the kitchen to pour yourself some cereal. As you turn around, you almost drop the entire bowl when you run into Jaemin.

"Can you put some damn clothes on?" you huff, annoyed that he wasn't watching where he's going but even more annoyed at yourself for getting a little warm in the cheeks seeing him in only a towel, fresh out the shower.

"What, not like you haven't seen me like this before," he responds, grabbing some water out of the fridge.

That's true, but you wish he would cover up sometimes. Most days you don't bat an eye, but some days you can't deny that he looks good enough for you to swoon over him. He has to know what he's doing when he waltzes around the place shirtless so often, it's like he wants you to stare at him. You take a bite of your cereal instead of responding, not knowing what to say back.

"I know you like it," he teases with a wink, rushing back to his room before you can hit him. You hate to admit that you do. As much as he gets on your nerves, he's still fine as hell and you've caught yourself fantasizing about him more than a few times when you're together. You imagine how his lips would feel on yours, kissing you til you're out of breath. Or how his lips would feel on your neck, leaving hickies as he moves down to your chest, nipping and biting on your breasts, tongue ghosting over your nipples. Or how his hands would feel on your thighs, inching closer and closer to where he makes you tingle the most. You imagine him with that annoyingly hot smirk on his face, asking you if you want him. You think about how he'd feel underneath you as you straddle his waist, grinding your hips on him. The thought of it all makes you extremely hot and bothered.

You quickly finish your cereal and hurry to your room. If you can't get the thought of Jaemin pleasuring you out of your mind, you might as well do something about it. You need some kind of relief, and you sure as hell weren't about to ask him to help you with it. You'd die of embarrassment if he knew you lusted over him sometimes.

You keep a small box of toys in your bottom drawer, locked with a key so pesky little Jaemin can't stumble upon it if he were ever in your room. You pull out your favorite lavender bullet vibrator, glad that it's pretty quiet but oh does it get the job done wonderfully. You spread your legs, imagining Jaemin is kneeling between them. Your hands run up your body, fondling your breasts, imagining his hands in place of yours. You close your eyes and bite your lip, trying to be as silent as possible so he doesn't hear you from his room. Your fingers slide underneath your shorts, circling your clit slowly, feeling how wet you are even through your panties. This is what he does to you and he doesn't even know. You pinch your nipple, wishing Jaemin was here to bite on your sensitive bud.

When your imagination gets to be too much, you discard your shorts and panties, turning on the vibrator and gliding it along your core, gathering your wetness. Pressing it lightly to your clit, you turn it up to your favorite setting, letting the vibrations take over your body. You let out a small moan, which you doubt he could hear but you turn on some music anyway on your speaker, not wanting to take any chances. Your toes curl as the stimulation on your clit sends tingles up and down your spine, thinking about Jaemin pressing soft kisses to your core. You slide the vibrator in yourself, moving it in and out slowly as if it was his fingers in you.

jaemin [10:12 am] Turn your music down I'm trying to study.

you [10:15 am] since when do u study??

jaemin [10:16 am] I'm trying to ace this exam before I party hard on Saturday

you [10:18 am] oh ok, sorry good luck u can do it :)

You throw your phone back on the bed beside you, letting the thoughts of him flood your mind again. You imagine how cute he would look sitting at his desk, brows furrowed because he's stuck on a question. You imagine yourself distracting him from his studies, running your hands along his chest from behind the chair and nuzzling your face in his neck, kissing every inch of him, leaving hickies for everyone to see. You love the thought of marking him, letting the world know he's yours. He'd tell you to quit but you don't want to leave him alone. You think about how sexy it would be when he gets frustrated at you, pushing you against the desk and giving you his undivided attention that you crave so much. The vibrator is sending you into overdrive, pulsing against your clit as you think of all the ways you want Jaemin to use your body. Your high washes over you and a long drawn out moan escapes from your lips. After you calm down from your orgasm, you check your phone again, throwing it away from you in embarrassment when you see the notification.

jaemin [10:30 am] Wow, I love that song you're playing, what's it called?

Saturday night comes by and you're waiting for Jaemin to finish getting ready so you can head to the party. You're wearing an all black outfit: long-sleeve mesh sparkly shirt with a VS lace bra underneath and your favorite skort with a slit, loving the way it hugs your figure perfectly. You have on your favorite dramatic lashes and a bold red lip for a pop of color. You look and feel good about yourself, wanting to dress up a bit since you haven't been to a party in a while. As you scroll through your phone aimlessly, you're getting impatient waiting for him.

"Jaemin hurry up!" you yell at him from the kitchen. He comes out of his room in an all black outfit too, looking delectable in those tight jeans. "You look hot," he wolf whistles at you. You flip your hair and respond with a cocky "I know."

"Why are you matching me?" he checks you out as he opens the door for you. You scoff, "I was ready before you so technically you're matching me."

You climb in the driver's seat, opting to take your car instead of his. Jaemin directs you to his friend's house and you turn up the music, cruising along the dimly lit streets. As you continue driving, you can sense Jaemin stealing glances at you every once in a while. When you come to a stoplight, you turn your head to look at him. He doesn't look away like you thought he would. He's eating you up with such an intense gaze, it makes you a bit shy, body temperature rising.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Cause you look good," he responds, resting his elbow on the console, leaning in too close for comfort. You can't stop the smile that forms on your face, enjoying the simple compliment from him. You hold your hand up in front of his face, blocking yourself from his view as the light turns green. He pushes it back down, wanting to keep looking at you. His hand doesn't let go of yours, though. He traces small circles on your hand, his light touch making you tense up. You don't know why he's acting this way but you don't pull your hand back. The car ride is silent after that except for the music playing.

When you reach the house, you can tell there's a lot of people already here just by the number of cars parked along the street. Jaemin seems to know everyone he comes across, while you only recognize a few faces. You follow behind him, exchanging greetings with his friends.

"Jaeminnnn, glad you could make it bro," one of his friends turns his gaze to you, happy to see a new face. "And who is this beautiful lady?" He shoves Jaemin aside, clearly more interested in you.

Jaemin pushes his way back between the two of you, "This is Y/N."

"I'm Jeno, nice to meet you." He extends a hand and you shake it. "Do you guys want a drink?" You shake your head, telling him you're driving tonight. Jaemin doesn't waste any time following Jeno into the kitchen where they start mixing drinks. You try to maneuver your way through so many people, finding a seat at the kitchen counter where the two guys are.

"I made an A on that exam I told you about so I get to celebrate now," he winks at you, raising his red cup to do a cheers with Jeno.

"Aw, see I told you you could do it," smiling at him, resting your elbows on the counter and leaning forward. Jaemin glances at your chest, noticing the way your arms are pushing your breasts together. You don't realize it and take a look around at all the busy bodies chatting with each other. You're always doing that to him, so oblivious to the way you make him feel even from a simple act like that.

Jeno whispers in Jaemin's ear, both of them taking a look at you. Jaemin calls out to you, "Y/N, Jeno said he'd let us stay the night since there are two extra rooms."

"Yeah, my parents are out of town and I'm only offering you guys so you don't have to worry about other people," Jeno chimes in.

You're not opposed to the idea, seeing as how they're both good friends and you feel like you can trust Jeno. "But I don't have any of my stuff to spend the night."

"I may or may not have snuck a duffel bag in your car earlier today, don't worry I packed everything you needed," he says as he hands his drink to you, cocking an eyebrow, inviting you to have a little fun.

"...Did you plan on getting me drunk or something?" You take the drink from him anyway, downing it in one go. Fuck it, why not? Jaemin and Jeno cheer you on as the alcohol burns your throat. He's already making another one for you and you laugh at him. So this is what he meant by party hard.

As the time passes by and Jaemin keeps handing you drinks, you eventually have to tell him to stop. You're reaching your limit and you don't want to get too drunk at a function when you don't know most of these people. Jeno sets up a beer pong table in the living room and challenges you and Jaemin. Turns out, Jeno actually sucks at beer pong and he looks like he's about to pass out. When you feel like you can't take any more drinks, Jaemin steps in for you.

"Are you gonna be okay? You've been drinking a lot," worried he might be passing out with Jeno too.

"Nah, I'm okay, I haven't had that much, you've actually drank more than me," he says, landing the ball in another cup for Jeno to drink. You hit him on his arm, "So you really were trying to get me drunk!"

"I wouldn't give you anything you couldn't handle babe," the word makes your heart skip a beat and you feel tingly, unsure if it’s the way he said it or if it’s the drinks getting to your head. "It's your turn, you can make the last shot right?" He hands the ball to you, turning you to face the table again. You aim, hoping you can make it. Your vision is a little off as the drinks are making their way through your system. You jump up and down with excitement when the ball lands in the cup, almost stumbling over. Jaemin holds you steady, hands around your waist and your skin burns where he touches you.

"Nah, I need a rematch," Jeno slurs, obviously past his limit and trying to set the table again. Jaemin calls over a few other people to play, taking your place. "Here, sit down I'm gonna get you some water." You sit on an empty chair in the corner of the living room, trying to come back to your senses. You realize you're not as drunk as you should be given all the drinks Jaemin handed you tonight. Guess he really didn't put as much alcohol as you thought he did. You feel good, eyes a little heavy but nothing too bad. The chair next to you is suddenly occupied by someone else, and you wonder where Jaemin is gonna sit when he comes back.

He hands you the bottle of water and tells you he'll be right back. You watch him as he makes his way back to the kitchen, talking to a few of his friends. You feel a little sad, wanting him to be near you. You feel more comfortable around him than anyone else. But you don't want to pull him away from his friends just to cater to you in your drunken state. You blame your neediness on the alcohol, trying to push away the possibility that you actually want him to be around you that badly.

jaemin [11:40 pm] How are you feeling?

Your face lights up, it's cute he's still thinking of you.

you [11:40 pm] im okay :) thanks for the water i needed it

jaemin [11:41 pm] You sure you're okay? Did I give you too much?

you [11:41 pm] you didn't give me anything i couldn't handle ;)

You repeat his words from earlier, adding a wink as your inhibitions slowly fade, looking up at him to see a small smile on his face.

jaemin [11:42 pm] You're so cute

You smile widely this time, the simple text making your heart flutter.

you [11:43 pm] are u just saying that cuz im drunk

jaemin [11:43 pm] No you're always cute. But you do look particularly good in that outfit

You bite your lip, feeling warm after reading his text. You're glad he isn't saying this to you face to face. It's not much but you still don't think you could handle it.

you [11:44 pm] is that why you couldn't stop staring at me in the car

jaemin [11:44 pm] With the way you look, how could I not?

you [11:44 pm] hmm i'll give u that, i do look good tonight haha

jaemin [11:45 pm] You're confident. I love that about you

you [11:45 pm] yeah? what else do you like about me?

You press further, letting the alcohol take over.

jaemin [11:47 pm] What's there not to like?

You groan because his answer is so vague and not what you wanted to hear.

you [11:47 pm] tell meeeee i wanna know :(

You look up from your text when he doesn't respond as fast as he was earlier, seeing Jaemin lost in a conversation with his friends and not currently on his phone.

you [11:51 pm] jaeminnn come back

                          talk to meee

                         text me back :((( im gonna cry

You don't know why you feel so sad, it's only been a few minutes. You can't believe you just sent that pathetic text to him. Maybe the alcohol is doing more to you than you thought.

jaemin [11:55 pm] Babe, I was just talking with the guys. We're about to go out to the patio but I'm right here

you [11:56 pm] ... i like it when you call me babe

jaemin [11:58 pm] I can do a lot more things you might like.

Fuck, you want to find out what he means by that.

you [11:58 pm] show me what you can do jaemin

jaemin [12:00 am] Don't say that unless you really want me to.

You lock your phone at the same time the text comes in, missing the notification. You have to go to the bathroom, trying to steady yourself on your jello like legs as you get off the chair. After using the bathroom, you feel like you should chill upstairs for now, getting away from the party. You make your way into the room Jeno pointed out was yours for the night. Luckily no one is hanging out in here. You collapse on the bed, head spinning but in a good way. You close your eyes and rest for a bit, listening to the music coming from downstairs.

jaemin [12:15 am] Where did you go?

Shit, you forgot to text him back.

you [12:16 am] im in my room, im ok dont worry just needed to use the bathroom. im probably not going back downstairs tho

jaemin [12:20 am] We're kicking people out rn. We just carried Jeno's drunk ass to his room and he passed out so it's only right people should start leaving. We'll clean everything up

you [12:21 am] ok ill be here. can you get the bag from my car thx <3

The next time you open your eyes, the clock reads 1 am. The music isn't playing any more and you don't hear any voices. The duffel bag is near the door and you head to the bathroom to take a nice hot shower, head still buzzing. When you come back to your room, you see Jaemin sitting on your bed scrolling through his phone.

"What are you doing?"

"Well you took the whole bag with you and my stuff is in there too, so I was just waiting," taking the bag from you and heading to the bathroom.

15 minutes later, Jaemin comes back to your room, looking as fine as ever, clad in only a towel as he always is around you. You're starting to think he does this on purpose, to get a reaction out of you. You're still feeling the effects of the alcohol and your mind begins to wander again as it usually does. His hair is wet, a few droplets trickling down his chest and you just want to throw him on the bed and take your time with him, kissing his skin and leaving all your love marks on him.

"If you stare at me any longer, you're gonna start drooling," he laughs, snapping you out of your thoughts.

"What are you still doing in my room?" Laying down on your stomach and facing him as he pulls out the chair from the desk, taking a seat across from you.

"I didn't think either of us wanted to go to bed yet, but I can leave if you want me to."

You bite your lip, of course you don't want him to leave. You take the opportunity to bring up his earlier text, feeling a surge of confidence rush through you. "Don't go. You said you could do things I might like earlier... show me what you can do." You're beyond eager to find out, core beginning to throb at all your dirty thoughts.

His hand traces his lip, eyes narrowing at you as he takes in the curves of your body on the bed, acting all innocent for him when he knows you're being playful with him right now. "I said don't say that unless you really want me to."

“I wouldn’t be saying it if I didn’t really want you to Jaemin,” you say in a low voice, trying to make it as obvious as you can. You’re tired of him beating around the bush. The sexual tension you feel between the two of you can be cut with a knife and you want to take it to the next level.

"I don't think you're ready for it," he says, leaning back in the chair. You let out a loud groan, wondering why he won't just come over and show you what he's talking about.

You take matters into your own hands, climbing off the bed and making your way to stand in front of him. He looks up at you, waiting for what you're about to do next. You lean on one hand against the desk, cocking your head to the side and ask quietly, "Why do you keep playing with me?" Your other hand fidgets with the hem of your shorts, frustrated with the way he's eye fucking you instead of actually fucking you.

"I don't know what you mean babe," he lies through his teeth.

"That! I mean just that! You can't stop staring at me in the car, holding my hand, touching my waist, telling me how good I look tonight, calling me babe all of a sudden, and then telling me you'll do a lot of things I might like. And then! You come into my room looking like THAT and I'm supposed to just act like you don't turn me on every single time I see you." You huff, getting all your frustrations out.

He leans forward in the chair, pulling you closer to him by your thighs. "You think I don't feel the same way about you? How you walk around the whole place looking so fine when you're not even doing anything? You look good without even trying and I can't believe you've never noticed me staring at you before tonight," he responds, his eyes never leaving yours, sending shivers up your spine.

"So why didn't you say anything about it?" You ask, heart racing at his confession.

"I assumed you just thought of me as a friend. You know that reminds me, I heard you in your room the other morning." A smirk is plastered on his face as you remember. He texted you after you had just finished playing with yourself and you ignored it, thinking it wasn't that big of a deal. He didn't know you were fantasizing about him so you didn't want to say anything more about it.

"Who were you thinking about?" he continues, voice getting lower. He knows now you were thinking about him after your little outburst but he wants to hear you say it.

Your cheeks get hot and you can’t look at him any more, staring out the window to avoid his smoldering gaze. “No one in particular... I was just in the mood.”

“It wouldn’t have been me right?” His hand reaches out for yours on the hem of your shorts, gently sliding his fingers along your thigh. “You could have asked me to help, I was just one door away.” Your thighs squeeze together, unable to stop your arousal from pooling.

“But since we’re already here… do you want me to help now?” His fingers travel further underneath your shorts, inching their way along your exposed skin. He leaves a burning sensation where he touches you.

You can’t hold back any longer. You pull away from him and walk slowly back to the bed, laying down on your back, giving him your best bedroom eyes. You want him and he wants you, no doubt about it anymore. “Come here, Jaemin,” you beckon to him, hands running under your shirt, pulling it up but stopping underneath your breasts, teasing him. He makes his way towards you, standing at the edge of the bed, taking in your beautiful figure splayed out on the bed for him.

“Show me what you did the other morning,” he doesn’t touch you, wanting you to do it yourself.

“I could show you, but I want you to do it. Please?” Pulling your knees up and spreading your legs slightly, an invitation for him to make a move. He can’t resist you when you look so perfect, begging for him like that.

“Like this?” his hand finds his way to your inner thigh, so close yet so far. He gives you a squeeze before his fingers reach your core, sliding them up and down, giving you some much needed friction.

“Mmm, keep going,” you stare up at him as he keeps his eyes on you. He looks so good standing over you, making you feel reduced in his presence. His hand slips underneath your shorts, loving the way your arousal is making a mess of your panties. “I haven’t even done anything and you’re this wet.”

“I’m always like this because of you,” you tell him, knowing it’s true and wanting to feed his ego. He hums, finally making contact with your core, gathering your wetness on his fingers. The sound of your slick is like music to his ears and he can’t look away from you when you let out a soft moan. He rubs slow circles on your clit, just the way you like it. His fingers on you are even better than you imagined and you want more. You pull your shorts and panties off, inviting him back with a smile.

“You’re incredible,” he gives you what you want and slips two fingers in, making you throw your head back as he pumps them in and out of you.

“Just like that baby,” you moan out, lost in the way his fingers are making you buck your hips.

“What else did you imagine?” his thumb rubbing your clit at the same time his fingers are moving in you. You pull your shirt up further, exposing your perfect mounds to him, nipples hard and ready for his mouth. You squeeze one and play with the other, pinching it between your fingers as a silent response. He gets the message loud and clear, kneeling on the bed and wastes no time in attaching his lips to your skin. He leaves soft kisses on your stomach, moving to your chest and sucking everywhere he can. Several hickies are littered across your breasts before he takes one nipple in his mouth, making you sigh in pleasure. You watch him as he closes his eyes, focusing on giving you what you’ve imagined him doing to you. You couldn’t be more head over heels for him with his hand in your core and lips wrapped around your sensitive bud.

You hold his face and bring it up to yours, asking him to lay down, pecking a soft kiss on his lips. He reluctantly pulls his fingers out of you, bringing them to his own lips and licking your arousal off. You groan “that’s so hot” as he lays his head on the pillows, waiting for your next move. You crawl slowly towards him, swaying your hips as he’s getting more and more eager. You straddle his waist, making sure to position your core over his member, grinding back and forth on him as you pull your shirt off. You’re completely naked now and the friction of the towel on your clit makes you bite your lip. His dick twitches at your naked body on top of him, moving your hips against him.

“I imagined this too,” you lean down and kiss his neck, hands balancing yourself on his chest. You run your hands along his skin, finally getting the chance to touch him everywhere. He enjoys pleasuring you but also loves that your lips can’t seem to get enough of him. You bite at his skin gently, leaving hickies just as he did to you. You pull back a bit to admire your artwork, and he can’t look any more perfect underneath you. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger, and you don’t want to let him go. You press more kisses as you travel further down his chest and stomach, settling yourself in between his legs. You tug on the towel, asking him with your eyes to take it off. You’re both naked now, and you can’t be more excited to take him in your mouth and make him moan your name. You grab him from the base, slowly moving your hand up and down, keeping your eyes locked on his as he bites his lip. You lick him from base to tip, repeating the action several times to get his dick wet.

He’s so infatuated with you, so needy for you to do whatever you want to him. He didn’t know how much longer he could hold himself back. When he saw you tonight, something sparked in him and he couldn’t control himself. You looked so gorgeous, so sexy and you don’t even realize the effect you have on him. He originally came to the party to have a good time for himself, but he was more focused on getting you to have fun with him. His gaze would linger on you when you weren’t looking, checking you out every chance he got, wondering how it would feel to have you scream his name. Every time you laughed, your smile would make him fall more and more for you. He noticed several of his friends eyeing you, talking about you like he didn’t know. He would feel a slight tinge of jealousy, wanting you all to himself.

When you wrap your mouth around him and start sucking him off, he loses it. He’s thought about this so many times. He would pump himself in his room on some days when you looked extra good, imagining it was your lips instead of his hand. He had the same fantasies about you that you did about him. Now that you’re here with your pretty lips on him, he can’t help himself. He bucks his hips up, pushing himself further into your mouth. You still, letting him take control. You’re eager for him to fuck your mouth, and he thrusts into you, hitting the back of your throat a few times. You want to make him feel good and you’ll do anything for him. His sighs and pants make you even wetter, knowing it’s you making him get lost in pleasure. He holds your hair, letting his hips do the work. Your moans around him make his head dizzy, the vibrations adding to his pleasure. He pauses for a bit, not wanting to bust a nut in your mouth before he gets the chance to fuck you.

You pull away, hand still wrapped around him, dick wet with your saliva. He takes a mental picture of you before moving to get off the bed, standing by the edge. You follow him, excited for his next move. “Get on your knees and turn around,” his voice turning you on. You follow his orders, arching your back and poking your ass out for him. His hand smooths over your ass before giving it a quick smack, jolting you forward. He lines himself up to you, teasing your entrance with the tip of his dick. Fuck, it’s about to happen and your heart is racing. You grip the sheets as he slides in, a perfect fit for you.

“Fuuuck, you’re tight,” he sighs, gripping your thighs to keep you in place. He’s trying to control himself from going too hard right off the bat, but he just wants to ruin you. When you plead for him to go faster, he grabs a handful of your hair, pulling your back to his chest, a good pain shooting down your spine. His hips snap against your ass roughly, the sound of skin slapping and your loud moans filling the room. His hand wraps around your throat and his grip on your hair tightens, whispering in your ear. “Your pussy is too good,” making you clench around him. This is one of your favorite positions because his tip hits your spot every time, making you curse with every thrust. His hand on your throat makes your head feel light and you reach down to rub your clit, making the pleasure 10x more intense.

“You gonna cum on me babe?” He asks, fucking you even harder. You can only whimper in response, feeling it coming and you don’t want it to stop. He’s making you so crazy, such a whiny mess and you feel like putty under his hands. You let out a half moan, half scream and grab his arm as your legs shake, unable to hold yourself up as you reach cloud nine. You’d fall if his grip on you wasn’t so tight. He continues to pound into you, a bit slower this time to give you time to come down from your high. Your pussy is now unbelievably tight and he can’t bring himself to go as fast, wanting to spend more time in you. He lets go of your throat and hair and you fall face first, too tired from your orgasm to stay up. He stills in you, moving your hair to the side and leaning down to press kisses on your back, making circles on your waist.

“That was hot, but I hope you know I’m not done with you.” You turn your head to look at him and say breathlessly, “I can take it.”

“I know you can babe, you’ve got no choice.” And with that, he’s fucking you again, hands gripping your ass with such force you think he’ll leave bruises. You can’t keep quiet, throwing your hips back to meet each thrust, wanting him to use your body until he can’t any more.

“Jaemin, don’t stop please,” you moan, wanting to let him know how much you love it. “Fuck, you’re the best.” He smacks your ass again.

“I don’t want anyone but you, they couldn’t compare to your pussy,” he pulls out to the tip and slams back in, pushing your body forward. He flips you around, wanting to see your face before he cums. He leans down and kisses you hungrily, swallowing the whimpers you let out. A few more thrusts and he pulls out, pumping himself with his hand, watching as you get on your knees to face him.

“Cum for me,” you beg, wanting him to paint your face and chest with his release. You slide your hands across his thighs and waist, batting your lashes at him. You look so damn sexy to him, he finishes with a loud groan, hot cum splattering your body. You move his hand away, taking him in your mouth again as he spills the last of his cum in your mouth. Your warm mouth is getting too much for him, he can’t believe you drive him this wild.

You pull away from him with a pop, opening your mouth to let him see his release in your mouth before you swallow with a cheeky smile. Can you get any sexier? He grabs your chin and angles your head up, kissing you again, loving that he can taste himself on you.

After cleaning yourselves up and getting dressed for bed, he snuggles into the covers with you. “You have your own room, you know,” you poke at him.

“You don’t really want me to leave,” he says, knowing it’s the truth. His warm chest is the best pillow you could ever find, and he pulls you in closer to him.

“I meant it when I said you’re the best. I think about you when I’m with other girls.”

“Don’t talk about other girls after you just fucked me!” you pinch him and he laughs.

“I always think about you,” pressing a soft kiss to your forehead as you close your eyes, happy that your imaginations have turned into real life.

[a-n-conrad]

Training (Dr.Strange x Reader)

[Summary: After getting mugged a few nights ago, Dr. Stephen Strange, the sorcerer supreme, decides it’s important to teach you a thing or two. But as you start training with your friend, the two of you realize you might be closer than you originally thought. (She/her pronouns)

Warnings: blood, mentions of an attack, knife mention, swearing, insecurity

Request: From my request survey (https://forms.gle/2XeYLsGekCdFmQjD7)]

You stumbled into the New York Sactum late one night, your clothes dirty and the knees of your pants ripped. Your hands and knees were scraped from falling, a little blood dripping onto your clothes. There was a bit of blood dripping down you neck, too, soaking into your shirt where the blood met the fabric. It was really just sinking in that they had cut you. 

You had been mugged, stopped on the street when you were walking alone by a knife pressed against your neck. And you when tried to fight back, gripping your bag as hard as you could, you were just hurt more. They had cut you just a little before ripping the bag from your hands and shoving you harshly to the ground. You hadn’t even gotten a good enough look at them to give any sort of description. Not that you planned on reporting this to the police anyway. You were friends with a literal superhero. There wasn’t really anything that they could do that Stephen couldn’t. 

You were so tired by the time you made it to the sanctum. Your ankle felt like every step you took was a knife being shoved into the side of your ankle. And you supposed you a bit more of an expert on knife injuries than you were just moments before. You were limping pretty badly as you pushed the doors to the sanctum open. Honestly, you had started regretting putting your phone in your bag ages ago. You really wished that you could’ve just called Stephen to portal you somewhere.

Luckily for you, you didn’t have to try to hunt Stephen down, since he was just walking through the foyer as you stumbled in. He froze a bit when he saw you, his eyes gliding over your body, clocking every single one of your injuries. You wondered if this was how he looked at all of his patients before he worked back when he was a surgeon.

But you knew it wasn’t when the icy professionalism melted away into a warm worry that you knew his old self never really felt. He had been a lot more selfish back then. But he had grown quite a bit since then.

He was by your side in seconds, His hands, though a bit shaky, and not quite as strong as they used to be, were placed on your arms, moving your arm to rest over his shoulders so that he could guide you to one of the antique couches. 

He was gentle with you as he sat you down, almost instantly working on cleaning and examining all of your injuries. He pulled first aid supplies out of seemingly no where, though you didn’t really question it. Lately, magic had become a pretty routine part of your life every time you visited Stephen. He cleaned all of your cuts and scrapes, carefully bandaging them all up. When he reached the one on your neck, his brows furrowed just a little, though he didn’t really say anything. Instead, he just continued his work. 

“Is there anything else that hurts?” He asked, you could tell by his tone that he was holding back from scolding you until he knew that all of your injuries were treated. He knew he could be a bit harsh sometimes, and you knew that he’d rather you at least be fully taken care of before he made you upset enough to try to storm off. And something about that thought made your heart buzz. 

“Just my ankle,” You muttered, “I think I twisted it a little.”

He nodded, still clearly biting his tongue. Almost literally at this point. He moved his hands carefully towards the ankle that you had indicated, slowly moving it, carefully watching for any signs of pain. The skin of his hands was textured in a way you had never felt before, and feeling it brush so carefully against the smooth skin of your ankle made your face heat up a bit.

“You definitely have a sprained ankle,” He stated, pulling compression tape out of thin air to start wrapping your ankle. His hands were still shaky, but there a quite a few things that he could do, because they weren’t even really considered tasks to him. He had done them so many times that with a bit of extra attention he could still do them with a little extra effort, “Now would you like to explain to me what exactly happened?”

“Well, as you know, we live in New York,” You started, causing him to roll his eyes in a way that you were pretty sure he had reserved exclusively for when you made jokes at inappropriate times, “And I got mugged. As you do. In New York.”

“Did no one ever teach you how to handle that situation?” he asked, exasperated, “You’re not supposed to fight back. I can literally just track down your bag and take it back. I have magic.”

“You know that’s not really how that goes with me, Stephen. And it’s not going to change any time soon,” You stated. You had always been much too stubborn for your own good. Which was how you managed to survive being friends with Dr. Stephen Strange.

He rolled his eyes at you yet again, “At least let me teach you a few things if you’re going to insist on getting into trouble.”

Your eyes lit up in seconds, and you could tell that he noticed, “Wait, for real? Are you offering to teach me magic?”

“Well,” It was sort of like you could see the wheels turning in his head. Like he was trying to figure out how to say what he was planning to say without ruining your good mood, “Maybe a little, but I was more thinking martial arts? Knowing you, if you start going around using magic against random petty thieves on the street, you’re going to end up getting in more trouble than all of the Avengers combined.”

You mulled over his words for a few seconds, before deciding that he was right. There were enough superpowered vigilantes in New York City, and they already got into enough trouble. And you knew very well that most of them weren’t as danger-prone as you were, “Fine, I suppose I’ll settle for martial arts.”

- - - - -

It was a few days before your first lesson. Stephen, pulling his “I’m a doctor” card, had insisted that you stay at the sanctum for a bit so that he could make sure that you were healing properly. He had already set up a spare room for you a while ago, considering the amount of times that you had tried to help him fine a certain piece of information in his library and ended up falling asleep on one of the couches at about two in the morning. 

But it really wasn’t long before he cleared you to start your training. You had expected it to take him a lot longer to get around to teaching you anything. Between his studies, teaching the newest apprentices of the mystic arts, and having to constantly ensure that the universe and timeline weren’t going to fall apart any time soon, Stephen was a very busy man. In fact, most of the time that you managed to block out to spend time with him, you were either helping him study, grabbing a quick meal, or helping him tidy up the sanctum. But he actually managed to get around to your first lesson the day after he told you that you were healed enough to go back to your own place. 

It was a chilly Saturday afternoon. The weather was just starting to turn a little cold. Not cold enough to be anything you really needed to worry about, but it was cold enough that you decided to put on a sweatshirt before walking to the sanctum. By the time you got there, your knuckles had started to show a bit of red and your nose was a bit cold. But you managed to ignore it, choosing instead to focus on your excitement to start training with your friend. Your mind had been wandering to how this might go almost constantly for the whole morning. 

You had been thinking about what you would be learning. Stephen had told you that the first thing he was going to teach you was how to use a sling ring. That way perhaps you could just avoid conflict. 

You were definitely fantasizing a little. Imagining things that obviously weren’t going to happen. In your mind you pictured yourself getting it on the first try, revealing yourself as some sort of magical prodigy. You pictured Wong and Stephen praising you, talking to you like you were even a little bit as impressive as a majority of the people that they talked to on a daily basis. Stephen, smiling at you with a smile that you were pretty sure you’ve really only seen in the rare romance movie with good acting, telling you how amazing you were. 

You stopped yourself before you imagined something you couldn’t just write off as needing praise. And in order to prevent your mind from wandering back to where it had been going, you decided to rush just a bit to the sanctum, managing to make it there before you ran out of other thoughts to keep your mind occupied. You took a deep breath, hoping to reset your brain before you opened the doors into the foyer.

Stephen had been waiting the foyer for you. You weren’t sure how long he had been waiting there, but you couldn’t help but smile when you saw him. He gave you a soft smile too. He had been a lot more open with caring about people since he took over the New York Sanctum, though he was still pretty walled off. He had changed a lot, but he was still Stephen, and there were a few things that were never going to change. And something about that, and the fact that you knew him well enough to know that, warmed your heart just a little.

“Alright, there’s a little field in the middle of no where that I portal to when I want to try out new spells sometimes that I think we should probably go there. Just in case,” He explained as you walked up to him. He seemed to be standing taller and the look on his face was one that you recognized from when he was teaching classes. You had to fight a little bit to keep your mind from wandering off to somewhere you didn’t want it to go as his deep, commanding voice reached your ears. He was definitely in teacher mode, and you really couldn’t say you had any reason to complain. Except for the fact that it was a little harder than usual to hide the fact that your face was beginning to heat up.

“Yeah, that’s probably a good idea,” You replied, trying your best to hide any sort of unevenness in your voice with your regular cheerfulness. 

- - - - -

It didn’t take more than half an hour of training without results for all of your excitement to fade away. Stephen had tasked you with trying to create a portal back to the foyer. He had gone over how to do it, too. The visualization, the hand motion, everything. And still, you couldn’t manage to summon a portal. 

“God fucking dammit,” You shouted, throwing your hands up into the air. You felt like an idiot. You had just been standing in a field for half an hour, spinning your hand in an attempt to create a doorway of sparks out of thin air. You knew it was possible, too, which was driving you even more insane. What was wrong with you that you couldn’t get this?

“Hey, whoa,” Stephen walked over just as you were about to through the ring in anger, stopping you just in time, “You’re really not doing all that bad. It takes time to get it down. You’ll figure it out.”

He placed one of his hands on your shoulder, the trembling stopping as it pressed against your arm. You could eel your skin heating up under his hand, and you really hoped he wouldn’t notice.

“Yeah, right,” You said, sitting down cross-legged in the plash grass that was surrounded you, “How long did this take you? Five minutes?”

He chuckled, taking a seat next to you. The deep rumble in the back of his throat when he laughed was one of your favorite sounds. It was like a thunderstorm, but specifically a thunderstorm when you were wrapped in a blanket, reading a book that you loved, “Actually, I didn’t figure out how to do this until my mentor abandoned me on Mt. Everest.”

“Wait, really?” The surprise was less about him being abandoned on Everest and more about him not figuring this out right away. He was so talented and learned everything so fast. He was the smartest person you had ever met, and you admired him more than you had ever admired anyone in your life. 

“I know that I get talked up a lot, but I’m really only good at this because of all the reading I do,” He laid back, his cloak wrapping itself around him a bit as he lounged on the ground. You had never seen him like this. Stephen Strange was a man with the weight of the world on his shoulder, gray hairs on the sides of his head well-earned. But as he laid down next to you, sprawled out on the ground among the grass and a few tiny flowers, you felt as though there could never be anything wrong in the world as long as Stephen was beside you. 

“Oh, please,” You flopped back, surprised by how soft the pillow of grass was, “You’re so talented at everything you try. Honestly, Stephen, I can’t think of a single thing you couldn’t do if you put your mind to it.”

“Is that really what you think about me?” a hint of insecurity seeped into his voice, a tone you had never heard from him before. He had always been so unwaveringly confident before.

“Of course it is, Stephen,” You turned a bit to face him. His brows were furrowed as he stared at the sky, clouds reflected in his eyes, “You’re one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. Honestly, sometimes I feel like you’re so amazing that I’m barely worth your time.”

That last sentence came out pretty sheepishly, quietly enough that for a moment you had the slightest bit of hope that maybe he didn’t hear you. That hope was quickly extinguished, though, as he turned to you, his eyebrows raised as though you had said something entirely unbelievable. 

“Barely worth my time?” He exclaimed, as though I had just insulted him, “If anyone here isn’t worth this time, it’s me. (Y/n), I’ve been such a jerk. I was cruel to you for a good majority of our friendship. I honestly don’t know how you stand me.”

You knew he had been having some self-worth issues since his accident. He had lost everything, or what he thought was everything. But you had never seen the pain so clearly in his eyes before. 

“Stephen, I know you’re not the person you were right after your accident. You’re not even the person you were before it. You’re Dr. Stephen Strange, master of the mystic arts. The savior of the earth more times than I even know about. The only person that ever offered to teach me how to defend myself. The person the patched me up after I got mugged. The person that carries me to my guest bed when I fall asleep in the library,” By the end of the rant, you had realized what you truly meant. 

You had fallen in love with Stephen since he had come back. He had grown so much as a person, changing for the better. And as you got to know this new Stephen, a person that despite still seeming cold and arrogant had learned how much good he was capable of. A person that, for the first time in a long time, remembered what it felt like to do things for others without needing any sort of reward. 

And as you look back to his eyes, which were staring at you, wide with shock, you realized that you couldn’t keep it to yourself much longer, “I love you, Stephen. I love the person you’ve grown to be.”

You really hadn’t realized, but his face was much closer to yours than you expected it to be. You could smell his cologne, a warm scent, like a chai latte from a nice cafe mixed with the smoke that always seemed to cling to his clothes. You could feel his eyes, flickering down to your lips. The world around you felt like it was both slowing down and speeding around you. Like time was irrelevant as you laid there, staring into his crystal clear eyes. 

Finally, the moment broke as he closed the gap between you, his lips softly touching your own. They were softer than you expected them to be, though his beard was a bit rough against your face. It was gentle, caring, and timid. Things that never would have been associated with the old Dr. Strange. 

He went to pull back after a few seconds, though your arms seemed to move without you telling them to. You had been waiting fo this so much longer than you even really knew, you had bottled up these feelings for so long. You pulled him back by the collar of his shirt, pulling his body to hover over your own a bit. It was nearly instinctive, the feeling of needing to be as close to him as you could be. You had been forcing yourself to stay at a distance, and it felt as though that first kiss broke the dam. 

It was a few more moments before you allowed him to pull away again, finally loosening your grip on his clothing. The way he looked at you was something that you were pretty sure you never could’ve imagined, like you were the center of the universe. Like out of all the beautiful things in the world that he had seen, you were the only one he ever wanted to see. 

You were both silent for a few moments, just taking in what had just happened. It took you a few moments to fully take in that it was real. And then a few more moments to convince yourself that this wouldn’t stop being real the second the two of you got up.

“We really should get back to training,” he finally broke the silence, a smirk plastering itself onto his face, “You only got half an hour into a four-hour lesson.”

[haddonfieldproject]

<<PREVIOUS⏺<<CONTENTS>>

1.3.11 SATURDAY NOVEMBER 1st, ‪11:46 AM

‬Haddonfield, Illinois

The man walked into the foyer of the large house, squeezing passed the very large security guard who answered the door. A large grandiose staircase arose before him and split half-way up to the second floor, veering off right and left directing toward the two wings of the giant mansion. To his left was a luxiorious dining room with seating for up to twenty. Large renassiance style portraits hung on the walls: picturesque scenes of Italian countrysides and vineyards, the kind of paintings you'd see reproduced on the walls inside of an Olive Garden, only these were no doubt original. To the man's right was a large parlor, with more vibrant paintings, sculptures, antique sofas, and a grand piano in the far corner.

An elderly woman sat on one of these. She was cross-stitching silently. She looked up at him, her eyebrows furrowed, and then she looked back at what she was doing. The man sighed, ignoring her. In front of him, to the left of the stairs was a sliding door that opened into the actual living space of the home. From there he heard the voice call to him, “Come in son, come on in.”

The man entered the room and saw his boss sitting on a large leather sofa, a persian cat on his lap. He was watching the large flatscreen television mounted above the stone-hearthed fireplace before him. More aerial shots of the burning hospital. The man was frail, liver spots speckled his olive skin. His hair, once brown, was gray and thinning at the top, his eyes once black as night has turned to the color of charcoal smoke. He wore a plush royal blue robe and an old fashioned sleeping cap that reminded the visitor of Ebeneezer Scrooge.

The man bent to one knee before the old man. The cat hissed and jumped off the elderly man's lap and ran off toward the adjacent kitchen. The old man extended his hand, “Thank you for coming so soon.”

The man kissed the old man's hand, “Sure thing Mr. Vizzini.”

“I hope I did not trouble you too much last night Andre,” Mr. Vizzini said as Andre took a seat on the couch beside him.

Andre smiled, “Hey boss...a little romp through the woods never hurt no one.”

Mr. Vizzini laughed. “Good. I didn't get to apologize to you before when we spoke. We were...” he chose his words carefully, “too busy speaking of the grave matter at hand.”

Andre nodded.

“I trust you delivered my message to Mr. Tarasenko and our beloved mayor?” Mr. Vizzini asked, turning back toward the television.

Andre turned toward the screen as well, the national news had gotten a hold of Holly West's interview with Rosalita and were now playing it to the nation.

“Yes boss,” Andre sighed, “And I would have called you sooner but I was getting some much needed sleep.”

Mr. Vizzini nodded, “Your insomnia again?”

“Yes sir, it's been a really bitch, pardon my french.”

Mr. Vizzini smiled, “Well we all need our rest. When one is tired, one cannot think.”

“Yes sir.”

“And I need everyone at the top of their mental capacities.”

“I agree.” Andre remarked.

The old man held up a small square device that he had in his lap. It was a gray box with a single solitary red button on the top. He held it up now and pushed it. Somewhere in the far reaches of the house a chime was heard, soft and tonal. After a few seconds, there was a small crackle of static, and a woman's voice could be heard on an un-seen speaker.

“Yes Mr. Vizzini?”

The old man cleared his throat, “Caterina, would you be a dear and bring my guest and I a scotch on the rocks please?”

“Certainly Mr. Vizzini.”

There was a click indicating the speaker went dead.

“So what did our friends have to say for themselves?” Mr. Vizzini cocked his head to one side inquisitively.

“Tarasenko looks shaken up.” Andre said.

Vizzini grunted and nodded.

“And Dodge wants another front, just like you said he would,” Andre smiled.

“And you told him that that would not be possible?” The old man cocked an eyebrow.

“Yes sir,” Andre said, “he asked me to ask you to reconsider, again, just as you said.”

The old man sighed and nodded. He closed his eyes as if wrapped in meditation.

There were footsteps and into the kitchen appeared a young, tall, beautiful red headed woman that Andre had seen before. It was the waitress from Lou Martini's club.

Tina Tomcat, Andre remembered.

She looked tired in the face, but smiled at the two men cheerfully, holding a small glass in each hand of the brown scotch. Little crushed ice floated in each glass. Her corset had been replaced by a very cliché french maid outfit, which covered her private parts and some more of her body, but not much else.

Mr. Vizzini smiled as he took his glass, “Andre, I'd like you to meet Caterina. Caterina this is my dear friend Mr. Andre.”

Tina smiled at Andre and held out his glass. He took it with a smile of his own.

“We've met before,” Andre replied.

The old man waved a wrinkled hand, “Ah I suppose so, at the Rabbit-in-Red!” Mr. Vizzini took a sip of his drink and then said, “Caterina came in late this morning after no doubt a night of considerable carousing. Mr. Andre and I were just discussing how important sleep is to the body.”

Tina turned and waved a hand back at him, “I'll sleep when I'm dead,” she said with a wink, “besides, I make a hell of a lot more at the Rabbit than I do at this place.”

Andre's eyes went wide. He stared at Mr. Vizzini nervously and took a sip of his drink. He winced. It was very strong.

Mr. Vizzini broke into laughter, which then turned into racked coughing. When he was done coughing, he wiped his eyes and said, “That's what I love about her.” He choked another gulp of his drink down. “I appreciate honesty in a woman.” He raised his glass to Tina.

Tina gave a little curtsy, and disappeared around the corner.

The two men looked back at the television. A picture of the Chumway brothers now dominated the screen. The big bold tag line at the bottom read: MANHUNT ENDS IN MAYHEM.

After a moment, Andre cleared his throat, “Sir, may I offer an opinion.”

Mr. Vizzini sipped and nodded, “Certainly. My appreciation for frankness is not specific to the female gender.”

“I worry that this may not be a good time to send a message to Dodge.” Andre looked down at his glass. The old man had a reputation, he didn't want to discover the fine line only after crossing it.

“You think I should give Mayor Dodge the money.” Vizzini said, very frank himself.

“I think it would be wise to, I think we can both agree the situation has changed.” Andre said, gesturing toward the television.

“I think for the better perhaps.” Vizzini replied. “To my knowledge, the shipment has yet to be...spoiled shall we say. There may be time and an opportunity here to...salvage it, and for that I'll need friends in high places, and for that I'll need leverage.”

“I haven't considered that,” Andre admitted, “But there is always the flip side. This place is now crawling with law enforcement at all levels, and no matter how good we are, there is always a trail, and eventually that trail leads to Tarasenko, which in turns leads to Dodge, which in turns leads to you.”

“I have considered it,” Vizzini said. He sucked the rest of the scotch down in the glass with a loud slurp.

“What was done with the van, if I may ask?”

Vizzini waved, “Oh that was easy. The First Congregational Church of Holiness and Power was just bequeathed a brand new cargo van for their congregation. Complete with title in the envelope signed off to the church from a Mr. Juan Pagan of Winchester Indiana and cash to obtain a new tag.”

Andre smiled and nodded approvingly.

“Mr. Pagan even called me this morning and told me the Pastor of the church called him and thanked him personally.”

“Praise God,” Andre lifted his glass.

“Indeed.” Vizzini took some ice in his mouth and chewed it.

“However.” Andre frowned, “If the cops do get the shipment and nab Tarasenko, do you think he'll talk?”

“Doubtful,” Vizzini responded.

“What about Dodge?” Andre asked. “I see the honorable mayor putting a finger on you at the first hint of trouble.”

“Oh please,” Vizzini laughed, “I have the ability to be on flight to the United Arab Emirates like that,” he snapped his gnarled fingers, “Robert Dodge would love to fantasize but as yet he possessed no such ability. He will go down, he will go down hard and he will go down alone.”

“Is that what you want?” Andre asked.

“Of course not. I'm going to give him the money Andre. This is an opportunity with two heads.”

“How so?”

“On one hand, this is a great opportunity to get more out of our arrangement with Dodge. The spotlight is on him now,” Vizzini gestured at the TV which was now in a commercial. Ramon Aguilar of the newly crowned World Champion Chicago Cubs was singing the praises of a Liberty Burger extra-value meal.

“He'll be desperate. Like an ant under a magnifying glass directing the light of the sun, he will have no where to go and he will be like puddy in my hands.”

Vizzini's eyes went dark. I'm beginning to see the reputation, Andre thought.

“From the other angle,” Vizzini continued, “this is a good time to teach a lesson. The mayor has to learn that he is becoming a liability for me. A liability that I can no longer stomach.”

Andre drained the last of his scotch. “I just worry the cops are going to nab the shipment before we can inact damage control.”

Vizzini smiled and patted the large man next to him on the knee. “Worry solves nothing. We will just have to wait and see what happens.”

Andre sighed, “I just wish I knew.”

NEXT>>

[luvrpop]

the end

source: the devil all the time part: one/? pairing: arvin russell/reader requested: no tws: n/a (canon typical in later parts but this ones safe) word count: 1652 synopsis: you make some bread, and contemplate finality. extra: i wanted to challenge myself to write a reader insert without using y/n et cetera!! im so excited for this, and very proud :) Someone once told you that there is nothing in life that isn’t a beginning or an end. You’re not quite sure what you think about that, but you figure there must be some sense of truth to it. Hell, you reckon that if those words are true every damn thing you do is the beginning of the rest of your life. This train of thought will come back to you later.

For now, you wake up in the morning to begin your day, and eventually you’ll sleep at night to end it. 

You open your dresser to begin looking for your outfit, and close the dresser to end that search. Naturally, you’ll put on your clothes to begin wearing them, and take them off at some point to end that.

You open the window in your kitchen to begin a steady flow of fresh air, but you won’t get a chance to close, and thus end, it.

Later, all the beginnings you started and endings you caused in the coming few days will become viscerally apparent to you. You’ll wonder which one is more important; those beginnings or endings? You’ll wonder if that matters at all. It probably doesn’t.

Currently, you are kneading the dough that you began only 15 minutes ago for a loaf of bread that you’ll never get to eat. Your radio plays quietly in the corner of the kitchen and you sing along, finding a rhythm in your movement. You feel as though you could live in this moment for the rest of your life and stay happy the whole time. But of course, the song ends so another can begin and your timer goes off to tell you’ve kneaded enough, and the tranquility of the moment slowly dissipates. You wet a towel and delicately place it on top of the lump of dough, and set it into a bowl and aside to begin it’s second hour of rising. That means that you have an hour to yourself, and you resign yourself to laundry. It gets boring pretty quickly, however, so you resolve to finish this load and continue a book you started reading last week. 

You’re only a few chapters from the end. You like it well enough- the characters are charming and the plot is compelling- but the pacing of it all is what’s really losing you. It started as a decent slow burn character study into the mind of a troubled woman that tragedy followed like a shy dog, which you find interesting. However, at some point it seemed like the author was as swept up in the world as you were and was caught off guard by the need for an ending. The past few chapters have been a rushed attempt at a satisfying conclusion, and the original message of the story has been lost. The woman started out as thoughtful and resilient, despite the shit life kept throwing at her. You like her a lot. At this point in the book, though, things should be calming down. They aren’t. 

You pick up the book where you left off, and immediately it seems to be trending in an unnecessarily painful direction. You wouldn’t dare tell anyone, but you definitely prefer a happy ending. The appeal in watching decent people suffer for nothing is lost on you. It makes it difficult to ignore the more uncomfortable truths of the town you live in. 

By the time you’ve gotten to the last chapter, your timer is going off again, letting you know that it’s time to move your dough from under the towel and in the bowl to the oven. You leave the book open on the counter (it stays, because you accidentally broke the spine when you first bought the book. Your best friend chided you for getting as upset as you did. “There are bigger things in life to worry about than a 50¢ paperback novel, darlin’.” He had said.) and stand to wash your hands. The front door opens and closes as you turn on the water, and you call out a greeting to your father. There is no reply while you move the dough to a pan, and you wait a moment before calling out again. This time you get an answer,  though the voice that responds is not your father. A smile creeps its way onto your face as you slide the pan into the oven and close the door. 

Something you’ve noticed about Arvin Russel is the way he refers to the people. It’s never “good afternoon,” or “thank you,” or “how are ya?”; it’s always a “good afternoon miss,” or “thank you ma’am,” or “how are ya, sir”. He calls his sister Lenora little lady or hun; his grandmother is grandma or ma’am; his grandfather is grandpa or sir. Friends are bud and fella, and enemies are any number of vile swears and adjectives. You’re doll or darlin’, and you have been since you found him hiding behind the school back on the first day of sixth grade. It’s common down here in the south to call people anything but their name whether it be from respect or the opposite, but even as a child Arvin seemed to actively avoid using someone’s name unless he was saying something that he needed you to know he meant. Most people figured he was just some overly respectful kid, but you’ve always suspected that he just understands the power of his words. As you got older, you got the sense to wonder why a kid so young seemed to know so much about power and violence, both mental and physical. You’ve heard the rumors about why he moved to Coal Creek in the first place, but it never came to you to just ask if they were true and what living in Knockemstiff was like. You never considered it your business. 

That’s all to say that when Arvin Russel greets you by name in your kitchen at 3:30 PM on a Saturday in the fine year of 1965, your hand stops on its way to the kitchen timer. A quick glance at the clock confirms that Arvin has work in 10 minutes, and you know that you live a solid 15 away from where he needs to be. You turn to face him, apprehensively studying the way he sits on a stool on the opposite side of the island that divides the room. He sits with a slump that shows an extent of exhaustion that seems deeper than the physical body. You wonder if someone’s soul could yawn. He seems like he hasn’t been able to relax all day, and even now there’s tension in his shoulders. Not to mention that his breathing’s uneven and he’s sweating like a sinner in church, so you decide to dampen a washcloth before asking any questions. He looks at you in such a way while you dab at his damp brow that chips away at your heart. He’s looked haunted since you met him, like Satan himself is dancing in his peripheral, always 3 steps away from finally claiming his soul, and you wonder for a moment if he’s always fought the devil all the time.

“Christ almighty Arvin, what happened t’you?” You ask, blotting away at his forehead.

His eyes snap into focus at that, like he’s remembering something, and he pushes out of his seat, snatching the cloth from your hand. “We gotta leave, doll,”

You look at him incredulously. “What in the world? You sit yourself back down and tell me what is goin-”

Arvin interrupts you by saying your name again. “I mean it,” he says, and you believe him. “You got- you got to get on packin’ and we gotta leave.”

“I’m not packin’ anything until you tell me what the hell is goin’ on, Arvin Russel. I mean it.” You say, and he believes you.

Unfortunately, you’ll come to understand that he doesn’t have the time to explain. 

The two of you have fantasized about skipping town more times than you could count. A couple of times, you even packed your bags into the back of Arvin’s jalopy before school, planning on picking up Lenora and never looking back at this shithole. You were serious about it too, your father and whatever spends its time haunting Arvin giving you more than enough motivation. Still, you stayed. Arvin would say he’d miss his grandmother, which was true, but you both knew it wasn't what Lenora would want. After she died, Arvin swore he should have said damn it all and left anyway.

When he makes eye contact with you again, you know whatever is happening now is different than your idealized life on the run. Every time you planned this, you both swore you’d do it all together, and that included choosing the right time. Arvin was so particular about choosing the right time. Now, it seems that whatever he did that you two are running from didn’t have a right time. It just had to happen, and he was tired of waiting. A sense of dread nags at you perversely, and you know suddenly and without a doubt that if you don’t go with him now, you’ll never see him again.

He drops the rag then and leaves the kitchen with a sense of urgency you’ve never seen, and you tear after him. You meet him in your room and you both throw together two bags of your bare essentials. You’re out the door and shoving the bags into his trunk before you even get a chance to turn off the oven.

It won’t be until you’re leaning your head on the passenger window of Arvin’s automobile, speeding past the sign that cheerily reads You are now leaving Coal Creek! We hope to see you again soon!, that you will realize that you forgot your book at home. 

[emwritesfootball]

Sotto Voce: Chapter Two | John McGinn

Word Count: 1,220 Warnings: the audio-portion of this begins; spanking, oral sex (male receiving), details of fantasies

- - -

It’s been a week and he hasn’t said anything more on the podcast idea.

“Any updates on the podcast?” She asks over coffee on a Saturday morning. He’d gotten in late the night before after an away match and she hadn’t seen much of him all week since they’d both been busy.

“Eh. I don’t think I’ll do it. It’ll be a lot of work and I’m not sure I’m ready for that. Maybe during the off-season.”

“Well, there’s always audio porn,” she jokes, taking a sip of her coffee.

“What?”

“It’s a joke, Johnny.” She smiles, rolling her eyes.

“Oh, right.”

The ‘joke’ plays on John’s mind the rest of the weekend. He does some cursory research, listening to various audio clips he finds on questionable websites. From what he’s listened to, it doesn’t seem that hard - just be a man or a woman with an attractive accent, some decent sound equipment, and be good with words. By his count, he’s two for three, and he proceeds to scour the internet and various ratings videos on the best recording equipment for making videos and audio recordings.

Within a week, he’s racked up a few thousand pounds worth of sound equipment. He decided to purchase a second laptop with the recording and editing apps he’d need so that he wasn’t using his personal computer after he’d realized his nightmare would be one of the boys accidentally finding out about his new hobby. He gets two microphones, planning on having one as a backup but realizing the moment it arrives that he can use the second to get better sound quality if he ever decides to start stroking himself ‘on air’. There are a few other odds and ends he gets just to put his mind at ease.

If she notices his purchases, she doesn’t say anything. It’s one thing John appreciates about their friendship - she always knows he’ll come to her when he’s ready, and she doesn’t push him for information he’s not ready to give.

Once he has all the equipment set up in the spare bedroom, he starts to get to work. He’s still not sure how all this is supposed to work, but he’s full of pent-up sexual frustration that he’s been saving for this moment.

“Fuck!” He curses, feeling utterly embarrassed and self-conscious as he sits down in the plush gaming chair he impulsively purchased. “Alright, John - you can do this.”

He turns on the recording equipment before he does anything else, checking the sound and reverb levels. The room isn’t soundproofed by any means, but she’s at work and John knows he has a specific window to get this recorded. The editing he can do later with noise-canceling headphones in, but the talking and wanking portion of this is on a deadline.

He squirts some lube into his palm (not a recent purchase; leftover from his last relationship, but it’s coming in handy right now - no pun intended) and closes his eyes as he starts to stroke himself, trying to mentally conjure up something.

The image comes to mind before he can stop it. She’s standing in the kitchen in one of his Scotland kits, her back to him as she balances on her tiptoes while she tries to reach for one of the bigger mugs for coffee. The way she’s angled, John can just see the barest hint of lacy panties peeking out as the jersey rides up and exposes part of her ass.

“You fucking tease.” The words leave his mouth before he can stop them and the fantasy version of his roommate turns around, giving him a sexy smile.

“So?” She smirks, setting down the mug and sauntering towards him. “What’s wrong, Johnny?” She coos, running a manicured finger down his chest.

John’s breathing picks up and he can’t stop stroking his cock. “I think you know exactly what’s wrong, baby,” he growls, his voice getting deeper. “You can’t just walk around this house in my shirt with nothing underneath and not expect consequences.”

She pouts, looking up at him with wide, innocent eyes. “What are you gonna do - spank me?”

He lets out a loud moan at his fantasy roommate’s suggestion. “I think a spanking sounds like a fine idea. Bend over.” She shakes her head at him, and he grabs her by the wrist, manhandling her. “I said: bend over.”

She thrashes and kicks as he holds her in place, lifting up the jersey so he can get a full glimpse of the lacy panties she was wearing. “Johnny, please!” She begs, whimpering now because she knows she’s really in for it now. “I’ll be good, I swear!”

“Begging won’t get you anywhere, love,” he chides, lost in the fantasy. “Now, be a good girl or I’m gonna have to take these panties off.”

“No! Please! I’ll be good - I swear!”

“How about ten?” She nods. “Good girl. I want you to thank me after each one of them and beg me for the next - got it?”

“Y-Yes, John,” she breathes, swallowing hard. “Please...spank me.”

Instinctively, John brings his hand down to smack his thigh, the sound of flesh-on-flesh making it more realistic. He takes it all in - how she sounds when his hand makes contact with her ass and the way her back arches as she begs for more - and he’s even harder by the time her spanking is over.

“You did so good for me, love,” he praises, his accent thicker as he helps her up. “Did you learn your lesson?”

She sniffles, nodding as she struggles to meet his gaze. She didn’t cry during her spanking, but John knows he’s gotten her close to tears. “I...I did.”

“Don’t worry - I’ll still let you wear revealing clothes around our house, but you have to promise me one thing.”

“Anything.”

“If you’re going to dress like that, you have to be prepared to get down on your knees and suck me off.”

She sucks in a breath, biting down on her bottom lip as she weighs her options. Slowly, she sinks to her knees, reaching for his cock.

John almost lets her name slip past his lips the moment she puts her hand on his dick, but he turns it into a groan. It’s been so long since any woman has had their lips wrapped around his dick but the image of his roommate on her knees in front of him is so vivid that he doesn’t mind. He fantasizes about getting his dick sucked, stroking himself with one hand while the other plays with his balls as he imagines her hands in his place.

He holds out as long as he can, a hissed, “Fuck! I’m cumming!” crossing his lips before he spills his seed onto his stomach. When he’s done, he sits in the chair for a few minutes, coming down from his high. He hadn’t expected to fantasize about her like that, let alone cum to the thought of her sucking his dick after he spanked her, but it’s taken some of the edge off.

By the time she comes home, he’s lounging on the sofa, his noise-canceling headphones in as he puts the finishing touches on his first-ever audio file. Later that night, he uploads it to a couple sites, nervous yet excited.

[thenakedgingerwrites]

My Personal Trainer

I met Nick five months ago when he became my personal trainer. I joined the gym in the summer to finally work my body towards my personal goals. I had been skinny all my life and knew that if I wanted to change it I would have to get serious. Five months of 3-5 workouts a week and heavy carb/protein loading I was pushing towards my goal. I was up 20 pounds of muscle and my progress pics were really showing obvious changes. I of course had taken photos every step of the way, but hadn't really shared them with anyone until recently. Nick and I had our weekly Monday appointment scheduled. Today was chest day for me and he pushed me hard through it. I was actually pretty lucky getting Nick as my trainer. He was attractive but not instantly my type. It was easier to get a solid workout in if I wasn't drooling over my trainer the entire time. Nick was probably 5'11. He had a lot of muscle but was rounded since bulking season had set in. His arms were massive, chest was broad, and butt (from what I could tell) was quite a bubble. His legs were probably the most underdeveloped part of him but they weren't thin by any means. Definitely thicker than mine. Nick was pale but had clear, unblemished skin. His hair was dark and kept short. In fact sometimes his beard would get longer than his hair before he trimmed everything up. He was one of the few trainers that didn't seem to shave everything. His legs and arms had a nice layer of thick dark hair.

I tried not to fantasize about him but couldn't help the occasional naughty thought, especially when he would demonstrate squat formations or anything that popped his butt. However, I really tried to keep things professional. No harmless flirting or ogles were done by this guy. Nick figured out I was gay probably 2 months into our routine. It didn't phase him at all and things continued as normal. He would occasionally ask about my personal life, if I was seeing anyone, and I'd ask the same. We were both helplessly single but he was straight so there were no possibilities there. I didn't shower at the gym since I lived so close and Nick always did his workouts in the afternoon before I arrived. What this meant is that I'd never even seen the guy shirtless. The most skin I'd ever seen on the man was his calves, arms, and occasional upper thigh depending on the workout. His body was still a mystery, and that was probably a good thing for me. That all changed in the 4 month mark. We were talking after my workout and just shooting the shit. He asked if I had taken progress pictures and I explained I had, but wasn't quite ready to share. Maybe one day, I told him. He understood, but offered up his own. He flipped through his phone and then handed it to me. "Don't flip too much though," Nick said with a nervous laugh. He obviously had nudes on his phone. Of him or of someone else I wondered? The screen was zoomed in to a 3 picture side-by-side, each 6 months apart. I should probably mention that it was his neck down in nothing but some tight underwear. My eyes must have bulged. His body was amazing. I mean he definitely was a 'round' muscled guy but that was absolutely my type. His chest had a light dusting of dark hair which picked back up around his belly button and continued south, growing in intensity until it was hidden below his waistband. He kept his body hair trimmed but definitely all there. I couldn't help but focus on his package. Fuck keeping things personal, I thought. The pictures weren't amazingly lit, but I could easily see the large bulge in his briefs. Whether it was cock, balls, or both I couldn't tell. Whatever it was though, it was hefty. "... and if you blend that all together, it makes a wicked easy meal with tons of calories." Oh shit! I had completely zoned out while looking at his pictures. Quick, say something. "Well it's working out really well for you Nick. This is great progress. I'd be happy with any of them, honestly." Nick laughed. "Like, for your own body or as in your boyfriend?" It had seemed innocent enough but a million thoughts were running through my head. "Umm, well I meant for my own body, but if I was lucky enough to snatch someone up with a body like yours, I'd hold on tight." Nick just gave a cheesy grin and said thanks. We talked for a few more minutes about our weeks and what I would focus on while at the gym. Unfortunately, that night I jacked off thinking about those photos. The next night, I texted Nick telling him how raw I was from the workout yesterday and he responded with the picture he showed me. "Pain builds progress" he wrote with it. That week I did nothing but masturbate to that photo. The slippery slope had started and there was no turning back. Another month went by without much significance except how I looked at Nick. He was no longer just my personal trainer, he was now an object of my lust. Every workout he showed me I couldn't help but turn it dirty in my mind. I was losing it. We had hung out a few times outside of the gym. It had always been with a bunch of the gym staff for a game or just a night out in downtown. I got a text on Saturday morning asking if I wanted to hang out and drink some beers. His roommate was out of town and he wanted to enjoy the apartment to himself while watching the football game. I agreed, trying not to fantasize about unrealistic outcomes. When I got there he was basically in gym attire. I felt a bit dressed up in my nice jeans and button up shirt but oh well. We drank while watching the game, Nick drinking much faster than me. Near the end of the 3rd quarter, it was obvious our home team was going to win and interest in the game subsided. We talked about the gym, work, girls, guys, and continued to drink. I was getting tipsy at this point but Nick was sufficiently drunk. "When are you gonna show me your progress photos, man?" Nick asked me. He actually didn't need to beg much. The alcohol helped, but it only felt fair knowing how much I'd stared at his almost naked body. "Eh, I'll show you. Remember, I was SKINNY. Don't make fun." "I would never! Plus you've grown so much. I'm so proud!" He was smiling ear to ear. It made me swoon a little. I flipped through my phone to get the most recent. It was my 5 month comparison photo. Nothing too crazy. Just standing in front of the mirror flexing one arm in my underwear. I wore skimpy briefs but it was nothing x-rated. I had clearly changed. My ribs were no longer visible and every muscle and it's own definition. Where a flat chest had been there were now pecs. Where a stick arm was there was muscled girth. "Wow! I'm so impressed; you've changed more than I imagined." "Thanks Nick." I was genuinely appreciative of his compliments. "Although, you need to get better at posing." "What?" Nick continued, "You're not showing off the right muscles in these. Like, you've grown a lot in your back but you can't tell in these." "Oh, haha. I didn't realize there was an art to gym selfies." I chastised him a little sarcastically. "There is!!" Nick was drunkenly serious. This was clearly a subject he was passionate about. "Okay, how do you feel about practicing some?" "Sure, that's fine." I said. "You'd have to take off those clothes though to see what I mean." Nick was very direct. I played along, my mind secretly hoping for something like this or more. "That's fine. You would too, right? To show me?" "Yeah, yeah. Obviously." With that Nick stripped. There was no romantic tease to it. This was clearly just what Nick said it was and nothing more. In a few seconds he had peeled out to just his tight boxer briefs. I stood there for longer than I should have because he cleared his throat and said, "you're turn." I quickly snapped back to reality and disrobed as well. I wore my tight AussieBum red briefs tonight just in case something like this happened. What can I say, I'm a planner. "Nice briefs man." Nick offered. "Nice body." He laughed. "Okay, so the first pose is really to show off your Lats and all the work you've been doing on your back." He walked through a couple poses and I imitated him. He would correct me a few times and move my arms or body in the right way. I was really proud of myself for not popping an erection at all with the contact. Minutes passed and things started to get warm in the living room from all our flexing and holding poses. Nick offered to take some photos for me on my phone and I happily agreed. They would be much better than selfies. After taking some photos Nick asked if I would do the same. I obviously agreed. We got to a pose that Nick wanted to try to accentuate his butt. He stood sideways to the camera and twisted his torso towards the lens to accentuate the roundness of his bubble butt. I took a few photos, wishing they were on my phone instead. "Does it look good? Does my butt look good?" He asked me. "It looks incredible Nick. Easily one of the hottest asses I've ever seen." I didn't really think about what I was saying anymore. We were both getting drunk by this time. "Coming from you that means a lot, thanks!" Nick replied with a cheesy smile. "Hey, I kind of want to get some more but without my briefs. Is that okay?" "You want me to take your nudes for you?" I sarcastically asked. Probably should have played that differently. He laughed loudly, "No! I can take my own dick pics thank you. I'll still cover the goods up, I just want some sexier ones without underwear." "Sure, why would I mind?" Nick shrugged, "I dunno, just wanted to make sure, ya know?" He turned around to slip his briefs off. His butt, was amazing. Two large globes of muscle sat atop his legs. They were dusted in his dark fur but he kept his butt trimmed as well. He went through the same poses but was really good at covering up his cock with either his legs or his hands. As much as I wanted to, I never actually saw what he was packing other than some heavy pubes. When Nick felt he had enough shots, he plopped down onto the couch. He grabbed his briefs and placed them over this crotch but didn't actually put them on. He asked for his phone and flipped through the photos when I handed it to him. He was clearly pleased with the photos. "Is it bad that I find myself hot?" he asked. I laughed, still standing there in my underwear. "No. Is it bad if I do?" Oops. He looked up at me. "You think I'm hot?" I didn't know what to do. I scrambled to find words that would make this alright but the drunken haze was cast over my thoughts. "Well, never mind. That answers that question." Nick was looking down on me. I followed his eyes to see my obvious erection in my briefs. Shit!! I covered up quickly and turned from him. That's when he started laughing. "Don't worry about it dude. I'm flattered. Can't say I've given a guy a hard on before. Nice to know I can." "Ha, ha" I said sarcastically, still trying to will my cock to shrink. "Really, it's not a big deal. Come'on. Come here and help me figure out what shots are the best. You'll clearly have an eye for what looks good here." I looked over my shoulder and he was patting the seat of the couch beside him. I said Fuck it in my head and went to sit by him. My erection wasn't gone at all, but at this point in my life I wasn't really that shy about nudity anymore. A few minutes of flipping through shots and adding filters here and there, Nick asked me a question out of the blue. "So you really like cocks? Like, they look good to you?" "Yeah. Don't you like the look of your dick?" I replied. "Well yeah, but that's mine, ya know. I've never thought any other dick was nice." "I guess that's the difference in being gay," i laughed at that. Nick laughed too. "I guess you're right. But like, what exactly do you like about them?" I couldn't really explain it well after I thought for a moment. "I'm not really sure there's specific things or features I like about dicks and balls. It's just linked so closely with arousal that even seeing one triggers so much sexual endorphin release in me. And it's a muscle that can't hide sexual feelings, as we've clearly seen tonight. I like how honest cocks are." Nick lost it at that. "Hahaha, you like how 'honest' cocks are! That's a new one." "I'm a sucker for an honest dick, what can I say?" I laughed with him. Nick put his phone down. "Okay, then tell me. Do I have an honest dick?" He pulled his briefs off his cock. I stared without caring how obvious I was being, plus I assumed that's what he wanted. His cock was awesome. It was still pretty soft, cut, and pretty thick from what I could tell. However, it was his balls that was giving the bulging briefs in his photos. They were massive. He kept almost all his hair closely trimmed but Nick shaved his balls. "It's um... it's... honestly awesome. Nick, your balls are huge!" was all I could put together. "Haha, yeah. They've been big since I was a teenager." He handled them with palm and moved them around a bit. I swore I saw his cock twitch a bit too. "So, this is hot to you? Like, you actually think my cock and my balls are sexy?" "Do you need reassurance?" "No, no. It's just, I'm trying to figure it out. I'm.. I just can't believe someone would find someone else's dick hot." "Well, I could prove it to you." I offered. "Oh yeah? How?" Nick said. He's not a very good actor and it seemed obvious where this was going. I played it safe though and went with another slow tell. I moved my hand to his thigh. "I could show you how much I like your cock." Nick smiled. "You may have to. I still think you're fibbin'" "I would never lie," I joked. I moved my hand the extra few inches to his soft package. It felt even bigger in my hands. I had to skip to his balls first though since they were so incredibly. I moved them around and massaged them with my fingers. I would pull on them a little bit and stretch the skin which elicited light moans from Nick. I felt adventurous for a few reasons and leaned in. I kissed his balls, first lightly, and then heavier with some wet tongue. Nick moaned more. I continued to kiss and lick his balls while loosely gripping his cock. It was filling up quickly. A few seconds later, he was hard in my hand. I backed up from his balls to take a look at his meat. It was thicker than I thought. Probably 6 inches or so in length but probably the same around. It was the hottest cock I'd ever seen. I looked up to Nick just to reassure myself it was him and that this was honestly happening. He caught my eyes and just whispered, "Please don't stop." Oh that made me wet. I got down onto the floor and moved in between his legs. I took hold of his shaft and licked that cock from base to head like a popsicle. It was delicious. He had already started to precum a little for me. I wasn't in the mood to tease and went right into it. I took as much of Nick's cock into my mouth as I could. He wasn't super long but the girth prevented me from taking him all in on the first go. As I sucked with his member filling my mouth, Nick's light moans evolved to deep rumbling groans. He was loving this which made me even hornier. A couple of bobs was all it took for me to get most of him in my throat. After that I could try my different techniques (which were admittedly rusty). I swiveled my tongue around his head, used my hand to match pace with my mouth, and used a little teeth on the retract. Nick was loving each skill and would buck uncontrollably at some. I was surprised what a gentleman he was. He didn't try and grab my head to face fuck me (although I would have been fine with it) and made it very audible how much he appreciated what I was doing. "Fuck yes. That feels so good. You're amazing. You're incredible. Please don't stop." were the only things he could muster between groans. It only took a couple of minutes before Nick's balls began to tighten. I knew he was getting close. He finally did take hold of my head, but to remove it and saying, "I"m about to cum, man." What a fucking knight. "Good," I said and fought against his grip to latch back onto his cock. He tried to pull me off him again, "No, you really don't have to do that. I don't want you to feel like you do." I continued to stroke him with my hands as I popped off to say, "You don't know what it's like to be gay, but fact one, I WANT to do this." I batted his hands away and took his cock back into my wanting mouth. He just said, "oh god, oh god." over and over as he edged towards the finish line. Nick tried to hold back his orgasm as long as he could but finally he couldn't fight anymore. I took hold of his balls with a free hand as he erupted into me. His tank had definitely been full and I almost struggled to get it all down. Jet after jet of warm seed filled my mouth and was swallowed down. Nick tried to remain still but was bucking and shaking uncontrollably between his heavy breathing. When I was sure he was done, I milked him dry with a last squeeze and popped off his still hard cock. "So," I said, "believe me now that I actually like cock?" He tried to laugh but didn't have the energy. "That. Was. Amazing. I've never gotten head like that before. You're a master." I laughed. "Stand up," Nick said. I did as commanded and rose before him. I was still rock hard in my briefs, and had actually popped out a little on top. He put his hands on my ass and pulled me in closer. I had no words for what was happening, so I just went with it. He fondled me through my briefs for a bit, getting used to the feeling of a hard cock in close proximity to his body. He swallowed, and shucked my briefs to the floor. My cock sprang out and almost hit him in the face which he wasn't expecting and jumped back a bit. I couldn't help but laugh, "You're right to be scared. He bites." "You're huge, dude!" I was definitely longer than Nick. Around 8 inches, but not near as thick. And my balls were only average compared to his massive globes a few feet below. He hesitantly took hold of my cock with one hand and slowly stroked it. This was clearly more for him than it was for me. He was exploring what another man's cock was like and I didn't want to rush him through that. Plus it was incredibly hot to see him oaf around it like a foreign object. After giving me a slow, steady hand job for a few minutes he swallowed again and licked his lips. He inched closer and closed his eyes. I was now feeling bad about this. "Nick, stop. You don't have to do this. You don't owe me anything." He finally looked up at me. "No, I know. I just, I want to see what it's like." "Okay, but go slow. Don't do anything that makes you uncomfortable and you can stop anytime." He was looking at my dick again and nodded. He inched close again and closed his eyes to lick my cock head. Once he had a taste he moved his tongue around in his mouth to figure out if he liked it or not. "It just tastes like, skin?" I laughed, "yeah, they don't come in different flavors." "I guess I just, I thought it would taste different." I explained to him that it can if a guy precums a lot, but that I didn't. My cock was a great 'beginners' cock. We both laughed a bit. He then took hold with one hand and tried to wrap his lips around my cock. He could, but didn't take too much into his mouth. He bobbed on my cock like he thought he should but only took an inch or two in at a time and without any suction. What should I have expected from a straight guy. However poor the actual blow job was going, it was Nick who was giving it and that was incredibly hot. I was loving every second of it regardless. I must have began to leak a bit because Nick pulled away with a slight disgust taste on his mouth.

"That's what I expected they tasted like." Nick said with some nervous laughter.

"Yeah, if you don't like that you definitely won't like the ending."

He looked visibly nervous. I leaned down and pushed him away from my cock. "You're done. I'm not letting you go any further. Thanks for trying."

He sighed some relief, "Thanks for letting me try. And for that amazing blow job you gave me. I just wish I could return the favor."

"Trust me Nick, I loved every minute of that probably as much as you did." We both smiled.

"Well, do you wanna shoot on my chest?" Nick said.

I froze for a second and then began dying of laughter.

"What? People do that right?" Nick looked at my confused.

"Hahahaha, sure Nick, sure they do. But rarely does a straight guy just go, 'hey wanna cum on my chest?' It was just too funny."

He leaned back and rubbed his chest seductively, playing with himself a bit too. His cock had softened up almost entirely. "Do you wanna cum on this hot piece of man or not?"

I did.

I leaned into him and put one arm on his shoulder and the other on my cock. Nick just stared at the barrel of the gun in somewhat excited anticipation actually. Having this hunk below me, wanting my cum all over him, was enough to help me finish quickly. My balls tightened as the first blast shot forward onto his pecs. 8 steams of hot spunk fell onto Nick, coating his chest, abs, and cock in my cum. I sighed in relief.

"Hot." was all Nick had to say before we both started laughing.

We stayed there for a minute while I got my breath back and then he offered we take a shower. I rubbed his back, he rubbed mine. I probably washed his ass more than I had to but he didn't stop me or protest. By the end of the shower we both had erections again but heading into the living room he put on his briefs which signaled the nights fun was over.

We both fell asleep on the couch that night and I woke up spooning him in the morning. He was snoring. I got off of him and got the rest of my clothes on to leave. Before I left I looked back at this amazing, delicious man I had known for the past few months. He was sprawled out, chest up, almost naked in his tight white briefs. He had a serious case of morning wood going on that was clearly visible.

I felt naughty and probably was risking more than I should have, but I gave into the momentary idea. I got down on my knees and fished his cock and balls out of his briefs and gave them some light kisses. Nick continued to snore obliviously.

I took a step back to admire the view. I decided to take a picture of him like this for later use. I was going to put his junk back in but last minute decided instead to bob on it a couple times for one last taste and leave.

When I got home I felt guilty about the picture. I didn't want to delete it for obvious reasons but felt like I crossed a line. I decided to text him the photo with the caption "Had a great night. Took this souvenir. Hope you don't mind ;)"

That way if he wanted me to delete it he could tell me, but at least he would know that I had it.

I woke up from a nap to a response from Nick. "Likewise"

A few seconds later a video came through. I opened it and saw myself giving Nick head, his loud moans were close to the speaker. That little shit took a video of me blowing him without me knowing. The anger was only a reflex and I quickly found it hilarious that he captured that moment.

I texted him back, "That's blackmail!"

"Maybe it is. I need something to hold onto to remember last night."

"You could always just get the real thing again if you needed a reminder."

"Deal! Deleted."

"You don't really have to delete it, you can keep it for your own spank bank."

"haha good. I wasn't actually going to delete it anyway."

"lol, dick."

....

Bling. A picture of his hard cock and balls came through.

"This one?? ;P"

I was definitely jacking off today. "Tease!"

He replied, "I think we need to have a special work out session each week after our gym sessions. There are some special muscles we need to work out."

"Deal, see you Monday."

My training sessions had become something more, and I was absolutely, fucking floored about it.

[nerdyfangirl67]

Sometimes You Lose - Criminal Minds Reader Insert

Pairing: Morgan x reader

Warnings: angst (loads of it), character death, slightly AU Morgan (nervous when confronted with reader’s feelings for him), mentions of blood and gunshot wounds, mentions of guns

Word count: 1724

A/N: Okay, so I was in some rough headspace when I wrote this so, as a result, there is no fluff ending. Rather, it is a solid angst fest. I really struggled to find a different word, other than desperate that fit this one but couldn’t. So it’s in here a few times. Hope y’all like it. And as per usual, requests are open!

Reader and Derek come to the realization that they have feelings for each other, but is it too late?

The case had been going remarkably well, at least considering the fact that you and the team were hunting down a killer. Reid had easily identified the kill zone and the profile had been built relatively quickly by the team. After canvassing the kill zone, and interviewing the two known witnesses, the team had been able to identify the unsub. Hotch quickly divided the team in two and sent one pair, you and Morgan to the unsub’s house, while he and Rossi went to the unsub’s work location. Reid and JJ stayed back at the precinct, where they continued to review the case, in case the unsub wasn’t who they currently thought.

You weren’t thrilled at the prospect of having to spend one-on-one time with Morgan. In the past, the thought alone would have had your nerves dancing with excitement and butterflies fluttering around in your stomach, like a schoolgirl with a crush. Because that is exactly what you had, a crush. 

It wasn’t just any crush though. Your thoughts were dominated by him. You spent many a free moment fantasizing about how you’d tell him about your feelings and how he’d respond. After years of pining for him, you finally decided to tell him how you felt. So you did, a few days ago. In all of your fantasies, you had never imagined any outcome other than a positive one. But, after the way he responded, you should have thought about the negative ones as well.

-Three days ago-

It was late in the afternoon and the team had spent the entire day working on the ever-growing pile of paperwork. You all had just finished a case the night before and had yet to take on a new one, therefore making it a day for paperwork. After a solid hour of casework at your desk, you decide to get up, stretch your legs, and grab a caffeinated drink. After grabbing your favorite soda out of the fridge, you take a seat next to Morgan at the small table. 

“Hey, baby girl. Taking a break from the grind?” His deep voice sends thrills racing down your spine. 

“Yeah. There is only so much paperwork I can do at once.” You answer, resting your head in your hand.

“I’m glad you chose to take a break now doll, or else I wouldn’t get to share it with you.” His words, accompanied by a wide smile, brought a deep need rising in your chest. A deep need to tell him the truth, to tell him how you felt.

“Derek I, ugh, need to talk to you. I guess I have for a while now. I don’t really know how to say this so I guess I’m just going to say it. I like you, a lot. More than a friend should like another friend. I like like you.” You were rambling out what you had been keeping a secret before you could stop yourself. He didn’t move or speak. He just sat there staring at you. 

You stare at him for a few moments, before saying, “It’s fine. I wasn’t expecting you to respond. I mean, I know what I wanted you to say, but I should have figured…” 

He suddenly cuts you off with a short “Oh, um-I gotta go.” He quickly stands, sending you a remorseful smile, before leaving you alone in the break room, with your mouth hanging open in response. 

It doesn’t take an IQ of 187 for you to realize that you had made him uncomfortable, or for you to realize that he most definitely did not feel the same way as you did.

-----

Ever since that awkward conversation in the break room, you did everything you could to avoid spending time with him. You didn’t want to make him feel as though you were obsessed with him by pushing yourself on him or forcing him into a confrontation. But now, you didn’t have a choice.

After Hotch paired the two of you up, you had geared yourself up for a very quiet, awkward ride to the unsub’s house. Yet again, it was as if the universe mocked you for thinking you knew what was going on.

Derek had only just pulled away from the precinct when he starts talking. “I need to apologize for the other day doll. You caught me off guard, but in a good way.” He sneaks a glance at you, placing his hand on top of yours on the divider. You hold your breath as you wait for him to continue, not ready to believe that he might be saying what you’d wanted to hear from him for years.

“I like like you too, Y/N. And I don’t think that I will ever be able to truly apologize for letting you think that I didn’t feel the same way.” He pauses for a moment, taking your hand and bringing it slowly up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it before he continues. “I was,  no I am, scared. I can’t lose you, baby girl, I can’t.” His broken voice causes your stomach to clench nervously. You had never seen Derek Morgan be anything but strong.

“I’m here Derek. You’re not going to lose me.” You whisper, caressing his hand, the one that was still entwined with yours, with your thumb. He gives you a small smile, accompanied by a gentle squeeze to your hand.

The rest of the drive goes by quietly, each of you lost in your own thoughts. Derek holds your hand right up until he shuts the SUV off. You both quickly strap on your Kevlar vests before exiting the vehicle. Derek knocks roughly on the door, announcing the two of you as you go around the back of the house. 

No one answers and you can make out the sound of him kicking open the door. You test the back door, noticing its unlocked, before entering the house. You draw your gun, moving swiftly through the house when you hear a series of gunshots. You rush towards the source of the sound, catching a glimpse of what you assume is the unsub fleeing the house. Moving to follow the unsub, you are stopped short by the sight off to your left. 

Derek is sprawled out on the floor, a desperate hand clutching where his neck met his shoulders. From where your standing, you can see the continuously growing pool of blood oozing out from under his hand. You don’t even take the time clear the rest of the room before you are rushing towards him, shouting for backup, and an ambulance in your comms link. You’re kneeling next to him, your hands covering his in a futile attempt to slow the bleeding before you even comprehend what your doing. 

“Stay with me. Stay with me, Derek.” You call as you watch his eyes glass over with pain and unconsciousness. You give him a little nudge with your hip, causing his eyes to clear.

“Baby girl. I’m-” A brutal cough erupts from his chest, causing the bleeding to speed up. “I’m not gonna make it.” His words shatter your already fragile heart. 

“Don’t say that Derek Morgan. You’ll make it out of this if I have anything to say about it.” You distraughtly spit out, your hands attempting to spread even further apart, to cover as much of the wound as possible. Tears slowly breach your lower eyelashes, falling steadily down your cheeks.

He weakly lifts his free hand up, using it to pull your head down to his. He presses his lips, dry, cracked, and tasting of blood, to yours. Never would you have imagined this as how your first kiss with him would go.

The kiss lasts only a moment, as another rough cough echoes through his chest. Your eyes search his, willing for this to be all a dream. You’d take having to spend the rest of your life as his friend, with him never knowing how you truly felt, over watching him die here in front of you.

“I couldn’t d-die without getting to kiss y-you.” He stammers out, the act of speaking alone taking a lot out of him.

“Shhhh. Don’t try and talk.” You sob, your chest constricting tightly as you watch the life drain out of him. “Hold on Derek. They’ll be here soon.”

He feebly shakes his head before continuing. “You’re going,” another chest-rattling cough cuts him off. “Going to have to be strong for Pen. She’s go-gonna need you.” You shake your head in an attempt to keep him from continuing, hoping in some desperate way, that if he didn’t finish, he couldn’t leave you.

He coughs again, this time causing blood to dribble out of his mouth. “Tell mom and my sis-sisters I love them.” He manages to bring his hand up to your face, caressing it lightly. “And know, if it we-were up to me, I’d spend the rest of my life with you.” His words are barely audible, but you still hear them. The significance of his words has you sobbing in earnest. 

“No Derek. Don’t say that. Hang on for me. Just a little bit longer.” You hope your words will keep him until help arrives but you can see he is at the end of his rope.

“Please, please. Don’t go.” You say longingly, not ready to lose him before you even had the chance to call him your own. 

As you watch his chest rise with his last breath, you see all your fantasies fall away, like dust in the wind. No longer can you see the two of you going on your first date or celebrating your first anniversary. Gone are the fantasies of lazy Saturday mornings with Derek in bed, or of the white picket fence, and the two kids. You’ll never hear him say he loves you, hear him call you his wife, or even hear him call you baby girl again. 

You fall across his chest, hoping and praying that he will wake up, or that you’ll wake up and it will all be a dream. But alas, it’s no dream. Rather it’s the harsh reality that you have to spend the rest of your life without the one person you truly wanted to spend it with.

[skzsauce01]

In Fair Verona︱Chapter 11

Synopsis: Jisung knows he is the Romeo to your Juliet. He could wax poetry about you all throughout rehearsal and even a little after. Except Hwang Hyunjin is the one playing Romeo in the school play, not him. Jisung is just another tech crew member that you don’t know, but he’s determined to win your heart... by any means necessary.

Warning: violent thoughts; conspiracy to murder; actual murder

Word Count: 4.5k

Pairing: fem!reader x Jisung; fem!reader x Hyunjin

updates every Wednesday and Sunday @ 11 PM PST this is the end!︱chapter list

A glooming peace this morning with it brings.

The sun, for sorrow, will not show his head.

Go hence, to have more talk of these sad things.

Some shall be pardoned, and some punishèd.

For never was a story more woe

Than this of Juliet and her Romeo.

With its stalks of purple-blue flowers, monkshood is undeniably a beautiful plant. Jisung tends to it every day, despite his mother’s insistence that she should be the one taking care of her gift. He merely shrugs, and by Thursday evening, the monkshood is sitting on his bedroom windowsill.

It’s all part of his plan, of course; Jisung has other intentions for the plant other than making the house look pretty. When his parents are soundly sleeping, Jisung clears his desk of homework and textbooks and brings over the potted monkshood. He double-gloves his hands and begins pulling out the flower. He almost feels sorry for doing so, but it’s going towards a greater cause. Once its roots are out of the soil, he puts them down on an old cutting board he found stashed in a kitchen cabinet. He picks up the fruit knife he bought yesterday and begins dicing the root as finely as he can. His desk light is dim, and he strains to see the tiny wisps.

Jisung smiles to himself as he continues his work. The sound of the knife against the wooden board is soothing to hear, and he’s pleased by his progress. He places all the bits into the mortar and pestle he stole from the chemistry stockroom, and he begins grinding it into a powder. He’s careful to not inhale any of the dust by tucking his nose into the collar of his shirt the entire time. He regrets not putting on a face mask before starting. The grinding process produces gravelly noises, and he pauses in fear of being caught. There’s no reason to worry when both his parents are heavy sleepers, but beads of sweat form at the nape of his neck anyway.

When he’s satisfied with the results, he carefully tips the powder into a vial identical to the one used by the play. It’s more than he needs, so he puts the extras into a ziploc bag. In order to hide the extreme bitterness of the root, he spoons some sugar — from his home kitchen, not stolen — into the vial as well. He rubs the extra grinded root around the lip of the vial, making sure that all of it is covered. He then caps and shakes it until it mixes into an unassuming light brown powder. Tomorrow he’ll complete the final steps of his potion making.

He wipes down everything around him, making sure to leave no trace of any of the monkshood. The plant is effectively dead now after his work, so he disposes it into a trash bag along with his stained gloves. If his mother asks about the flowers, he’ll say it died since he overwatered it. Then, bag in his hand, he creeps out to the garbage bins set out for trash service and drops it in.

It’s 3 AM, and he needs to wake up in three hours, but he doesn’t even feel close to tired. There’s a renewed sense of energy and purpose coursing through him. He spends the rest of the very early morning lying in bed instead of sleeping. It’s likely that he’ll regret it, but the adrenaline keeps him bright-eyed until the sunrise.

He’s nearly all prepared for the final showing of Romeo and Juliet.

—

However, before the final showing can begin, Jisung needs to get through the Saturday show. He leaves his own vial in his desk drawer and puts on his crew shirt over his hoodie. He arrives before the mandated call time, and like last week, certain actors are running lines while the scarce few members of the tech crew hang around in the back of the auditorium. Felix is demonstrating some kind of fancy footwork to Minho in the wide aisles, while Chan and Jeongin are watching with interest. He supposes that Minho’s alright, despite him being friends with Hyunjin. Speaking of Hyunjin, he or you are nowhere to be seen, so Jisung assumes the two of you are cuddling together somewhere.

Why, yes, he is still a little bitter. Not as much as monkshood root though.

As the time approaches 5:30, the rest of the crew arrives, and Minho has to return to the stage to rehearse the fight scene again. Chan’s the one who stays by the lobby doors to let crew members inside this time. You and Hyunjin eventually emerge from whatever dark corner you were cozying up in. Jisung heads backstage, and he’s essentially forced to watch the two of you flirt with each other while the other actors run lines. Hyunjin intertwines his fingers in yours, touching your knuckles and teasingly bringing them up to his lips. You take your hand back at the last second, only letting a ghost of kiss brush across your skin. It ends with strawberry red cheeks and shy laughter.

It’s a good thing that he didn’t bring the monkshood and sugar mixture with him. He would have replaced the prop with it in a heartbeat. He’s over you, he says to himself. Just in a different way.

The comms in his ears are noisy, and they grow noisier when the doors open. Audience members start coming in, and the countdown begins.

Soon, the main curtain goes up. The magic of the play — if there was even any to begin with — has died for Jisung, and he doesn’t pay too much attention to it anymore. He can hardly believe that he once compared you to the sun. Hyunjin has massively improved in the balcony scene, and you gaze lovingly at him, no acting required. A mess of emotions — envy, anger, disgust, possibly love — resurface, and Jisung snaps his eyes back to the gardening forum he was reading yesterday. He concentrates on the words on the screen.

Depolarization. Immediately. Burning. Paralysis. Asphyxia. Severe.

For most of the show, he is. When the death scene occurs, he fantasizes about the revised version that will be happening tomorrow night. He feels his spirits rise, and he replays the moment in his head over and over again. He doesn’t even realize the play ends until the lights go out and the audience starts cheering. He jerks out of his daydream and mockingly claps for the cast. You hold hands with Hyunjin and bow on stage, and the room grows louder. Hyunjin smiles at you, and before you can change your mind, you stand on your tippy toes to plant a kiss on his cheek. You bury your face in Hyunjin’s shoulder, while everyone goes wild. No one but Jisung has seen the two of you kiss off script before.

Jisung holds his own head in his hands, trying to stop his head from pounding. His whole body dissolves into shakes, and he’s angry at the reason why. He can’t have you, and the whole world seems to think you and Hyunjin are the perfect fit. He can’t take refuge in the restroom this time since there are bound to be people inside.

“Jisung?” Yugyeom asks. He gently touches his shoulder, and Jisung flinches. He takes his hand back. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he bites out. “Just got a headache.”

“Oh. You want water or something?”

“I’ll get it myself.”

He rushes out of the auditorium and to a nearby water fountain. He drinks and drinks, water dripping from his chin and onto the linoleum floor, forming small puddles. He looks and feels like a feral animal. With the back of his hand, he wipes the lower half of his face.

Then with a straighter posture and a false aura of cheeriness, he heads to the back of the auditorium as he normally would. You and Hyunjin are missing, and he can only imagine what is happening between you two now — illicit kisses and possibly more. He sinks down into the cushy seat, willing it to swallow him. All everyone wants to do is talk about the curtain call.

“Ryujin was right,” Chan says. “He really is in love with her. Did you guys see the way he looked at her?”

Jeongin pretends to swoon. “They’re actually Romeo and Juliet.”

“You are paying attention to the play, right?” Ryujin says.

As anticipated, they banter over Jeongin’s poor word choice and semantics. Jisung sinks lower into his chair until only the top of his hair is showing. Changbin, sitting beside him, nudges him and gives him a look that says, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Headache,” he lies before changing the topic back to you and your love life. “You think they’ll last?”

Ryujin and Felix nod, Seungmin and Yugyeom shrug. No one explicitly says no. Jisung is disappointed in his friends and eager to prove them wrong.

A few actors come to return their mic packs, and you’re among them. You’re out of your costume and in a familiar hoodie. Jisung looks away, doing his best to remain calm. You look like you want to talk to him, but he injects himself into Changbin and Jeongin’s conversation, leaving no point of entry for you. You eventually give up, and you’re out of his sight soon enough. Hyunjin comes down the aisle minutes later and compliments Felix for his great work.

Hyunjin is closest to Felix out of everyone in the tech crew, but Jisung can’t help it. The question, “What about the rest of us?” bitterly slips out.

Hyunjin looks taken aback, but he nervously laughs it off and assures him that everyone else was just as good. The lighthearted atmosphere fades away and is replaced by an awkward tension. Luckily, Mr. Gi saves the day by announcing that it’s time for notes. Hyunjin scurries away, grateful to be out of that situation, and everyone else, Jisung included, is relieved that they can focus on something else.

After notes, Jisung doesn’t drive home immediately. He sits in his car, which is right behind Hyunjin’s. You’ve been letting Hyunjin drive you home recently, and he expects the same thing to happen tonight. He’s holding onto a tiny thread of hope that you will break up with your new boyfriend or come to an epiphany that Hyunjin is not the right person for you. If something like that does happen, he decides, he’ll change his plan and only target Hyunjin. This is truly your final chance to change your fate.

Nothing of the sort occurs. He watches from his rearview mirror as you get into the passenger seat of Hyunjin’s car. After Hyunjin himself gets in, he tugs at the collar of your — his? — hoodie and pulls you in. So, Jisung watches as your two silhouettes become one. Before he can spiral out of control, he starts his car, revving the engine as loudly as he can to try to break the two of you apart. He tears out of the parking lot before he sees what happens next.

It doesn’t matter though. It wouldn’t change anything.

—

Sunday. D-Day.

Sunlight streams in through his bedroom window, and when he checks his phone, it’s nearly 2 PM. He stayed up until four, waiting for the adrenaline to wear off. The melatonin he took before going to bed didn’t kick in until it was too late. Now he groans, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, and stretches until he hears all the bones in his spine pop. The rest of his morning, or rather afternoon, is standard. He rotates between feeling the effects of not enough sleep and being feverish of what’s to come. His heart skips beats every time he thinks about you and Hyunjin’s final scene together. He takes out the vial of monkshood from his desk drawer and gets to work.

Again with double-gloved hands, he carefully fills the vial with water from his bathroom sink. He counted the number of drops of green food coloring Yugyeom added last week, and he drops in the exact amount with the coloring he stole from the culinary classroom. Next he adds more powder around the rim and caps it shut. He shakes it, and the mixture turns into a sickly green. He then wipes the outside of his false vial before disposing of his gloves and tucking the container in his hoodie pocket. The cast and crew shirt he wears over it is bulky, and the lumps it forms conceals the bump made by the container. On his drive to school, he touches it with his free hand to ensure it’s still there.

He’s early again, so he sits with his unsuspecting and unassuming friends in the auditorium. He wants to swap and prepare the vials already, but he doesn’t want Yugyeom to dump them out by accident. For the next ten minutes, he endures Changbin’s complaints about math and the pterodactyl screeching from some minor characters on stage.

Before the tech run through begins, Jisung heads backstage and reorganizes the props in a haphazard fashion so that when Yugyeom sees the mess, Jisung can swoop in and offer to change out the water. Yugyeom gladly lets him take care of it.

Jisung does exactly that, and no one is none the wiser. Both the poison and Juliet’s sleeping potion are laying innocently on the prop table. He smiles at his deft work and cheerfully helps Yugyeom with the rest of the reorganization process.

“Thanks, Jisung,” he says as he sets the swords to the right side. There’s still a clutter of props around. “You’re a lifesaver.”

How ironic. However, he keeps his mouth shut about it. “No problem.”

“Yeah. It was all neat last night, too,” he laments.

Jisung fake sympathetically nods, and Yugyeom continually sighs. They fortunately finish before the doors open, and there’s even time left over for Jisung to pester Felix in the comms.

You and Hyunjin arrive backstage at the same time. Jisung mindlessly replies to the remarks from Felix as he watches the two of you out of the corner of his eye. Hyunjin is being more open about his affection, and you don’t seem to mind one bit. His arms are wrapped around your shoulders, his chin rests on top of your head. You’re babbling to Ryujin about something while your hands are holding onto Hyunjin’s forearms. Jisung’s almost numb to the feeling of anger at this point, and he looks elsewhere.

The lights go out, and the main curtain goes up for the final time. There’s thundering applause before the lights turn back on to reveal the chorus members on the stage. Jisung returns to his usual schedule of following instructions from his stage manager and floor chief and scrolling through his phone. He’s diligent that night, running on and off stage with set pieces. He sees you trying to approach him while waiting, but he pretends to be engrossed in whatever silly conversation is happening in the comms. You finally catch him off guard when you’re finishing up your costume change.

He gets up to drink water — he told Changbin beforehand — and you tap him on his arm. You’re barefoot, and your new shoes are lined up neatly by your feet.

“Hi, Jisung,” you nervously greet. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you for a while now.”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“I just wanted to apologize for being rude about not taking your hoodie a few nights ago,” you quietly say. You don’t even look at his face; your eyes are pinned to the wall. “You were trying to be nice, and I’m sorry for the way I acted. And…” The next part comes out in one rushed breath. “I’m sorry if I led you on. I never meant to do that. Hyunjin mentioned that he thought you were interested in me, and I just wanted to let you know that he and I are dating now.”

“Okay.”

“What do you mean ‘okay?’”

“I understand,” he says, though the monotone voice he uses indicates otherwise. “You didn’t lead on at all. We’re good.”

“Oh! That’s— that’s good!” you reply. You seem relieved, and a little bit of your usual sunny personality is back. “Are you going to District 9 after the show?”

The conversations you have with him always go back to two things: food or the play. He has to stop himself from rolling his eyes. “Yeah, I am. I gotta go.”

“Oh! Sorry!” You step to the side and let him pass.

At the water fountain, Jisung drinks an excessive amount of water, more and more liquid dripping down his chin. He imagines what it will be like when Hyunjin takes the last sip of his life. Will you notice him struggling to stay alive? Will you care? Or will you let the show go on and suffer the same fate yourself?

He heads back and broods in his seat. You have already forgotten about him and are whispering to Yuna about the upcoming scene. He turns the volume of his headset up and joins in on the chatter to forget about you. Jeongin is muttering about how he’s hungry already, and Chan mentions that he can buy something to eat during intermission. Jisung offers to buy him something if he can name the lead actors of the play. Jeongin sighs with exasperation, while everyone else snickers at the joke.

During intermission, Jisung buys a bag of chips from the concessions table and waits in the lobby with Jeongin as he eats. He has nothing better to do in that time.

“This is definitely worth being yelled by Ryujin all those times,” he remarks. “Want one?”

Jisung hasn’t been able to view chips the same way since the first day of rehearsal. He keeps seeing Hyunjin tossing the bag to you and you stupidly smiling at him. He only bought chips for Jeongin since it was the cheapest item available. A bit of anger bubbles inside him, but he tamps it down. “I’m good.”

Jeongin nods. He tips the bag back and catches all the crumbs on his tongue. He then crumples it up and tosses it in the trash can. “See you after the show.”

“Yeah. See you.”

Jisung, instead of waiting by the soundboard, goes backstage and waits with the rest of the floor crew. There’s a group of people — made of actors and tech crew members — playing Word Chains together. You’re sandwiched between Friar Lawrence and Yugyeom.

“Hey, Jisung. Wanna play?” you ask. You still seem a little scared of him based on the way you shrink, but you’re trying to play nice.

Jisung plasters on a false apologetic smile over the snarl that’s threatening to form. “The show’s going to start soon.”

A wave of murmurs breaks out, and everyone scrambles to get ready. Yugyeom goes to reorganize the props again, and you ask Ryujin to retie the ribbon in your hair. Jisung is mildly pleased by the chaos he has created.

Intermission ends, and the play resumes with Juliet meeting Paris. The death scene is only one act away, and it’s suddenly starting to sink in that tonight will be the last time he’ll ever see you walking, talking, speaking, breathing again. And you don’t even know it.

Something inside him relishes the power he holds over your life and Hyunjin’s as well. His fake smile transforms into a real one. Jisung rests his hands behind his head and counts down to the awaited scene. As each scene passes, his heart thumps louder and louder in anticipation.

Yugyeom hands Hyunjin the vial for the last scene, not knowing there is true poison swirling in the water. Hyunjin puts it in his pocket and walks onto stage on cue. Jisung can barely contain his excitement in the moments leading up to Hyunjin drinking the poison.

He lovingly cradles your face with his hand before bringing his lips to yours. It’s the final show, and Jisung supposes he wants to go out with a bang since he kisses you, deep and slow. There’s a mixture of sighs and gasps from the audience. Even a few of the tech crew members are shocked at his brazenness.

Then he brings out the poison, and the audience watches with bated breath as he brings it to his mouth. A preteen girl shouts, “Don’t do it!” and Jisung experiences heart palpitations before realizing that the message is not about the real poison. Hyunjin hesitates momentarily before swallowing, most likely surprised by the sudden flavor. Then he sharply inhales and clutches his chest. He barely gasps his last line before dropping dead. He falls back with a heavy thud. No one expects it to be real.

“Wow, he’s going all out for the last show,” Jisung hears Chan comment.

A wicked grin spreads across Jisung’s face. He imagines the burning sensation in his mouth followed by numbness. The confusion he must have felt! He must have regretted not listening to the girl. Did he assume that it was just some sick prank that would be over in a few minutes, or did he realize what was to come? Did he think of you and what your fate would be?

It doesn’t matter though. Hyunjin’s own lips, tainted with the monkhood powder, will be your downfall.

Even though you’re right by him, you don’t know of his death. You recite your lines, and every word you say about Romeo could very well be about Hyunjin.

Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end. —

O churl, drunk all, and left no friendly drop

To help me after? I will kiss thy lips.

Haply some poison yet doth hang on them.

To make me die with a restorative.

You gently brush the stray locks of his hair from his forehead and lean down. It’s dead quiet, no background music or whispers from the audience. You kiss him slowly, letting the unknown poison reach you.

Thy lips are warm.

When Jisung catches a glimpse of your face, you look uncomfortable. The tingling effect from the monkshood is starting to make your lips swell, and you nervously lick them. Jisung chuckles to himself. Despite all the physical effects you’re feeling, you continue the scene like nothing’s wrong. You pick up the prop dagger and stab yourself, falling back like Hyunjin.

Though Juliet is supposed to be dead, Jisung can see your chest heaving as you struggle to breathe. His own heart is racing as he watches you dying in real time. Your fingers twitch and then falter as you reach out for Hyunjin to check if he’s alright. You must have realized that something is off. However, you can’t shout for help. He knows that your tongue and mouth have gone numb and that the shining light of positivity in you is hoping that it’s all a temporary experience. There’s more shallow gasps and then you stop fighting. Your chest stops moving, and Jisung can hear the sound of a heart rate monitor flatlining in his head.

The rush of euphoria he gets sends him over the edge. Love never made him feel this good. How helpless you must have felt when you could only stare at the lights above you and pray for the sweet release of death. Did you silently beg for the pain to stop, or did you ask for forgiveness?

Jisung lets out a shaky breath and holds his head in his hands. He’s done it. You and Hyunjin will no longer torment him anymore. His grin trembles, his jaw shakes, and he wants to laugh, to celebrate. The actors on stage continue like the two of you are still alive, unaware of the corpses right by their feet.

The lights go out one last time, and the audience erupts in cheers and applause. There’s a stampede of people rushing onto the stage for the curtain call. The rumble of footsteps does not disturb you or Hyunjin from your resting place. The cheery music Chan selected plays, and Jeongin turns the lights back on, revealing a crowd of people around you and Hyunjin, still lying on the floor.

Minho rolls his eyes and kicks at his friend with his foot, saying out loud, “Romeo! It’s me, Mercutio. You’re in heaven now.”

Everyone laughs, thinking it’s an elaborate joke they planned. Even in the comms, Mr. Gi asks, “Did you guys know they were going to do this?”

There’s a resounding chorus of “No.”

“Juliet, why don’t you kiss him awake?” Minho suggests when Hyunjin doesn’t move. Jisung is impressed by his improv skills.

Neither of you even twitch. The audience is eating it up and chanting, “Kiss him! Kiss him!” A few of the actors join in with Yuna being the loudest.

Yeji sighs when it becomes apparent that you aren’t going to stop. She bends down, breaking the immersion, and shakes you. “Hey, c’mon.” When you don’t move, she shakes you harder. “Y/N!”

“You too, Hyunjin,” Minho adds. He nudges him with his foot. “It’s not funny anymore.”

There’s panic in their voices, and no one knows if it’s still part of their mini sketch or not. Jisung glances at Changbin, who is also just as confused as everyone.

“Drama kids being drama kids?” he shrugs.

“I guess,” Jisung replies, hiding the sly note in his voice.

Then comes the revelation. Yeji’s stunned whisper comes over on the speakers: “She’s not breathing.”

For a second, there’s only the cheerful curtain call song. Then there’s chaos — people leaping out of their seats to leave, people too much in a state of stupor to do anything, people screaming, people rushing on stage to double-check. On the outside, he curses with Changbin and consoles Yugyeom who’s pale and looks like he’s ready to throw up. Jisung pretends to be in shock, but on the inside, he’s shouting with glee at the reaction to his handiwork. While Mr. Gi is frantically calling an ambulance, Minho quickly drops to his friend’s side and reports the same thing as Yeji: “He’s not breathing either.”

Another wave of panic hits the auditorium. Minho starts screaming at Hyunjin, begging him to wake up. Yuna has collapsed next to you, and she and Yeji are shaking you violently, pleading for you to stop whatever it is that you’re doing. Chan has the sense to turn off all the mics, so no one has to hear amplified banshee wails from everyone. At least one person faints, and Yugyeom runs to the restroom, one hand clasped around his mouth.

Jisung thinks it’s a glorious scene.

He was right though. You and Hyunjin are — sorry, were — the perfect actors for Juliet and Romeo. Like Shakespeare said:

All the world’s a stage;

And all the men and women merely players.

~ ad.gray

Thank you all for reading! I really didn’t expect the amount of attention this story received, and I hope you all enjoyed it. I know some of you were expecting a happy ending, but here on this blog, if it’s over 5k, someone’s probably going to die :P 

Thank you to ad.gold who edited it all and made sure all the details were accurate! Sorry I forgot mic tape existed.

(Shameless self promo time) If you liked this story, you might like:

1000 Roses (ad.gray) - a theatre AU featuring stage manager Chan, lead actress Y/N, all fluff, and no murder; no connection to “In Fair Verona.”

Squirrel and Wife (ad.gold) - (to heal your heart) a fluffy royalty AU featuring princess Y/N and knight Jisung.

Magic Words (ad.gray) - (to heal your heart) if you want to see Hyunjin being resurrected; it’s fluff, I swear; no connection to “In Fair Verona.”

42nd Moon (ad.gold) - (if you’re a masochist and want to shatter your heart further) a werewolf and soulmate AU featuring Jisung and Hyunjin where there may be murder.

Apologies in Advances (ad.gray) - (if you liked getting your hopes up and being let down; the title is important) secret agent AU featuring Minho and Y/N who hate each other but are forced to go on a mission together.

[jamielea81]

Conversations

Chapter 7

Description: You accompany your friends on a day trip to Animal Kingdom Theme Park where you meet Scott Evans by chance. This one afternoon leads to a year long friendship with both Chris and Scott over text messages and phone calls.

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warning: Cursing, drinking, fluff!

Word Count: 8,000

A/N: I know nothing about the lives of the Evans family and mean no harm. This is purely fiction and for fun. Reblogs and comments are much appreciated! The tag list is now closed. Each chapter tends to get reblogged from me a few times, so if you’re following me, you can’t miss it.

*Italics are internal thoughts

Catch up with chapter 6

“I swear I’ve never seen it,” you said.

“How can that possibly be true? That makes zero sense. You did go to elementary school, right? I’m pretty sure I watched that a few times when we had a substitute in fifth and sixth grade,” Chris exclaimed.

“Har-har. Yes, I went to elementary school, but you are a few years older than me Mr. Evans. Must not have been as popular by the time I was in fifth or sixth grade.”

“Whatever,” he scoffed. “M’not that much older than you. You were born in the eighties and the Princess Bride is an essential piece of classic cinema.”

“The numbers still count,” you chided.

“We’re watching it. And you’re going to like it,” Chris sternly said.

“Well you better visit. Otherwise you won’t be able to enforce that...what are we calling this? A punishment?” you offered.

The two of you had been back on your daily phone calls for the last few weeks. It felt as though you had never stopped. A part of you did worry that he would revert back to the acquaintance like relationship the two of you had the last four months if he started dating someone again. The two of you really need to have that conversation to completely clear the air. You and Chris talked about everything, just not about Courtney and Ethan. It was as though the last four months didn’t exist. You hated the idea of bringing in any negative energy to your friendship, but avoiding it felt worse.

“Punishment? Sweetheart, you’re hurting my heart,” he sighed. “And I’m working on that. Almost done filming.”

You perked up instantly. Chris visiting sounded like a dream. In a friendship way, of course. Maybe both Evans brothers liked dance parties. You’d just have to wait and see.

“Ahuh. I’ll believe it when I see it,” you replied.

“I don’t see you coming to Boston,” he retorted.

“It’s not Fall, babe. I have specific instructions on when to visit this national treasure.”

“We’ll see.”

 Screaming. That’s all you could hear and make yourself do. Sea World Orlando was hosting a media day to preview their new coaster Barracuda. This was not a fun family coaster like the Disney parks had, minus Everest of course. But this coaster was on a completely different playing field than Everest. It had a chest harness for goodness sake. A chest harness!

This is how I die.

You rarely covered actual ride openings, with the exception of Rise of the Resistance back in December. Okay, really you covered all ride openings at Disney. But in general, when it came to all other theme parks it was new lands, restaurants, hotels, that kind of thing. You especially didn’t cover coasters. This sort of thing was often saved for the local morning news channels. Sea World invited you out personally, and since you didn’t want to stop getting invites to their various food and music festivals, you accepted.

The ride started by being catapulted forward, then into a barrel roll, a loop, and to make master worse, the coaster rotated and it ended in a drop going backward.

You were given a card that allowed you two purchase five food and beverage offerings, but after riding Barracuda, you were feeling a bit green. Using one of your punches for a bottle of water, you quickly found some shade and sat down. You may have dry heaved. Thank goodness the spot you found was a little secluded.

Grabbing another chair, you put your feet up and tried to relax as best you could in a theme park nearing the end of May. Many schools were already on summer break, so the parks were definitely picking up on visitors. Fishing your phone out of your crossbody, you saw that you had a text from Brooks. He had officially left the Sentinel three months ago, but made it a game to text you random work-related questions almost daily.

Brooks: Can you run down to the first floor and grab that package their holding for me? I’m swamped.

Y/N: I’m on assignment smartass. How’s working from home?

Brooks: Glorious. I showered this morning and put my sweats back on.

Y/N: I’m sure that gets Jana’s engine roaring.

Brooks: I don’t believe you’ve seen me in sweats. I look damn fine.

Y/N: Gross

Brooks: 😈

Brooks: Lunch on Wednesday?

Y/N: Yes, but wear actual pants

Brooks: Maybe

 During your lunch date with Brooks, which you somehow got suckered into buying, Brooks told you that he and Scott were kind of friends and had been texting since he left Orlando almost a month ago. The two of them had exchanged numbers when you and Jana were in the bathroom. Per Brooks, one of their favorite things to talk about was you. Of course. You’d have to think of some way to get them back.

 It was suddenly Monday again, funny how that happens, and you were busy editing your latest article when your phone buzzed with a call on your desk. Seeing Chris’ name, you swiped to answer it.

“Hey babe.”

“Hi sweetheart. How was your weekend? Sorry I didn’t call,” he replied.

“I’m good. And no biggie. I had other boys to entertain me,” you said.

There were no boys. But he didn’t have to know that. You had to give it to him when you could.

“Boys, huh? Well, it’s a good thing you got a man right here.”

I walked right into that one.

If you could audibly swoon, you would have done it.

You let out a nervous chuckle. “Hmm. Okay.”

“Listen, last minute trip this weekend. My mom is taking my niece and nephews to Disney World. Could you meet up with me?”

“Um…”

“I wasn’t even going to go, but I figured my ma could use the help and thought maybe we could hangout. If you wanted to, I mean,” he quickly added.

Of course, you wanted to see Chris. You’d be crazy not to. All this time talking on the phone, even when you weren’t talking, all you thought about was seeing him face to face. But goodness, do you feel queasy all of a sudden.

“Like, Friday or Saturday?” you asked.

“We get in Friday morning and leave Monday morning,” he said.

“Wouldn’t I just get in the way of your family time? I don’t want to intrude.”

“No way. I want to see you. Besides, I need a ride buddy. We have an uneven number,” Chris said.

You could just see him beaming, perfect grin and all.

“I could meet you Saturday, I need to be in the office on Friday for a meeting.”

He didn’t say anything for a moment and you worried he had a change of heart.

“Ye-yeah, that works. I was hoping to see you sooner, but I’ll take what I can get,” he said.

“Geez, Evans. Really turning up the flirting, huh?”

Oh, shit. Did I really just say that?

Chris was flirty. Even Scott said he was. The two of you were nothing more than friends. Sometimes even great friends.              

It was his turn to let out a nervous chuckle. “Maybe,” he replied simply enough.

“Where am I meeting you?” you asked.

“Let me check with my ma, and I’ll text you the details when it gets closer to Saturday.”

“Sounds like a plan,” you replied.

“Now, tell me about these boys that were entertaining you,” he teased.

“You wouldn’t know them,” you teased right back.

 As the days inched closer to Saturday, you became more and more nervous. Like, palms sweating nervous. To your dismay, Scott was not joining his family on this trip, so you wouldn’t have him as your go to in case you spazzed out or said something stupid. Was this just friends meeting up or was this possibly something more? That’s what you couldn’t reason through. You didn’t dare ask Scott. That family shared way too much with each other for you to say anything about Chris. It would no doubt get back to him making Saturday more awkward than it was already was. Your logical side said this was just you hanging out with your buddy Chris. That’s all this was. Chris split his time between L.A. and Boston. You were all the way in Orlando. While you had vacation funds, you didn’t have funds to fly out once or twice a month to meet up with someone. This couldn’t possibly be anything more. But the romantic side of you fantasized about this being something more. Even for just a day.

 Chris sent you a text Friday morning when you were still in bed. It was seven in the morning and he apparently was wide awake.  

Chris: It's Friday, Friday Gotta get down on Friday Everybody's lookin' forward to the weekend, weekend

Holy geez.

You should have silenced your phone before going to bed. That wasn’t worth waking up to, even if it was from Chris.

Y/N: How do you even know that song?

Chris: Everyone knows that song.

Chris: I’m at the airport getting ready to board.

Y/N: Have a safe flight. I’m going back to bed.

Chris: Sassy…be more excited!

Y/N: Goodnight. Love you.

“What the fuck did I just type?!” you shouted, sitting straight up in your bed.

Even though you were tired, you never imagined being stupid enough to type that. Sure, you said that Jana, Brooks, even Scott, but that felt different. This was completely different. It came out so easily and you and Chris just never said that to each other. You couldn’t think of a way to back track that sentence. Seconds ticked by and you still had no clue.

The phone dinging with a new message catching your attention.

Chris: LOL love you too

LOL? How do I take that? At least he didn’t freak out about your response.

Well, now you couldn’t fall back to sleep. Instead you laid in bed contemplating the simple text you received. It was going to be a long day.

 Chris had sent you a few texts throughout the day. He and his family were at Magic Kingdom and were apparently hitting every ride. It sounded both fun and exhausting. He sent you a reminder text just as you were getting out of work to meet at Epcot at ten tomorrow. Epcot was your favorite park, but mainly for the drinking in various “countries” aspect. You imagined it would be quite a different day with kids in tow. Besides, you weren’t planning on drinking a drop of alcohol while out with the Evans clan. You didn’t want his mom to think you were a partier because you totally weren’t. Having a glass of wine after a tough day or out with friends once a month didn’t mean you drank a lot by any means.

You gave Scott a call when you got home. It was much earlier than your normal call time, but your nerves were shot and he was usually pretty good about grounding you.

“What’s wrong? he asked.

“What makes you think anything’s wrong?” you replied, chewing on the inside of your cheek.

“Being that you’re calling me five hours earlier than you usually do, I’m pretty sure something’s up.”

You let out a breath. Damn him being so preceptive.

“I’m meeting up with your brother tomorrow.”

“Yeah, I know. We’ve already talked about that.” Scott said.

“It’s just…I’m just so nervous about it. I really wish you were going to be here,” you whined.

“It’s Chris! You guys are friends. What are you even nervous about Sassy? You and I hung out all weekend alone. I didn’t pick up on any nervous energy from you then,” he said.

“You’re right. It’s dumb. Never mind.”

“The two of you are dumb. Now, tell me what’s really going on,” he demanded.

“Ugh, you’re so annoying,” you groaned.

“You’re so annoying,” he mimicked.

“Chris and I were barely friends for what, like almost four months? Yeah, we texted, but weren’t close, barely spoke on the phone. And now we’re close again and it’s great, because if I’m being honest, I really missed him. But I’m just worried that seeing him will change things. I know that sounds stupid, but what if he meets me and decides I’m boring. Or I’m nothing special and he’s wasted all this time getting to know me. You and I never had a break, so it didn’t feel awkward to spend time with you. Plus, your mom, niece and nephews will be there. It’s just added pressure,” you spit out all at once.

“You done now?” Scott asked.

“Jerk,” you replied.

“Finally,” he said, choosing to ignore you. “First off, you are not boring. If he isn’t bored already, he’s not going to be. I didn’t tell you this because your head is big enough, but you are pretty terrific. I promise I’m not coming on to you, but you need to know I had a such a great time with you. I was there to cheer you up, instead, you gave me a fabulous weekend. We were already close, but that weekend brought us closer. And don’t even worry about my family, my mom is going to love you. This weekend is only going to cement you and Chris’ friendship. Trust me.”

Scott is amazing and you are damn lucky to have him. Not only were you feeling better, you were kind of bummed you didn’t try to hang out with Chris tonight. It was fine though. Work was a little stressful and your hair was doing that weird thing it sometimes does. That’s not a first, no, second impression you wanted to make.

 After parking your car in the parking lot at Epcot, you took a few moments to calm your breathing. Fixing a couple smudges from your mascara in the rearview mirror, you took one final deep breath before getting out of the car.

It was nine forty five in the morning and it was already eighty degrees out. Temps were set to rise to close to ninety. Why the Evans clan didn’t take trips in the winter was beyond you. The crowds were generally lighter in early January and the weather was a lot more comfortable, but who were you to judge? You lived here year-round. Jana suggested wearing a cute sundress, but knowing it was going to be hot and you’d be running around with a few kids, dressing up didn’t seem sensible. You opted for jean shorts, a light gray tee with Mickey on the front, and a pair of slip on sneakers. The outfit was cute, but it didn’t make it seem like you were trying too hard.

Y/N: I’m here!

You made your way through bag check, skipping the line by stuffing your keys, license, and credit card in your front pockets.

Making your way to Spaceship Earth, you stopped in your tracks when your phone buzzed in your hand.

Chris: Just grabbing a couple of those spray mister fans for the kids. They’re already hot.

Chris: Where are you?

Y/N: In front of Spaceship Earth.

Minutes ticked by without a response from Chris. With one hand holding your phone, the other anxiously kept touching your hair. The humidity was already in high gear so you kept touching it, making sure it wasn’t being temperamental.

Clicking on the camera app, you switched the camera to selfie mode and used it like a mirror to check your hair and overall appearance. And then you saw him. He was attempting to sneak up behind you but failing as you could see him just slightly in frame of your camera. You didn’t mean to, but you had memorized that smile. You snapped a quick picture before turning around and startling him.

“Boo!” you shouted.

“Jesus! How’d you know I was here?”

You turned your phone to face him, showing him the selfie you captured with him in the background.

“Our first picture together,” you teased.

He grabs your phone out of your hand, throwing an arm around your shoulder. He snaps a picture, his megawatt smile on full display. In the one you captured, he was unprepared, and this one was no different, you were unprepared. So now you have two selfies on your phone with neither turning out just right.

You pull away slightly, grabbing your phone back.

“Can you warn a girl? I’d like to be prepared to take a picture. You know, maybe slap a smile on my face,” you scolded, smile peeking out even though you were trying to come across as serious.

He shakes his head at you.

“It’s nice to see you too, Sassy.”

You offer him a smile and take a step forward to hug him. The two of you don’t quite have the coordination down. Arms and shoulders bumping each other while you switch the position of your hands and finally get it right. He pulls you in tight, the brim of his ballcap hitting your forehead. The two of you chuckle at the exchange before pulling away.

He’s dressed casual in black basketball shorts, navy blue tee, sneakers, black ballcap low on his face. Even dressed so casually, he’s very easy on the eyes. Your tummy does a summersault as he takes you in.

Chris almost reaches for your hand, but then remembers that your surrounded by hundreds of onlookers who may have not noticed who he is yet, but could at any moment.

“Shall we?” he asks.

You nod your head and follow beside him, the two of you weaving in and out of the morning crowd. He stops next to a cart selling bottle water and misting fans. A woman you assume is his mother is next to three kids, all playing with their own misting fans.

“Ma,” he said, causing the woman to look up. “This is my friend Y/N. Y/N, this is my mother Lisa.”

You extend your hand for her to shake. She reaches out and does the same, offering you a smile, but it seems hesitant.

“Nice to meet you,” you offered.

“You as well,” Lisa replied.

“And these munchkins are Stella, Ethan, and Miles.” Chris said, pointing to each as he said their names. “This is my friend Y/N.”

“Hi guys!” you greet, waving at them with your hand.

The three of them all offer you a wave back.

“Should we go finding something fun to do?” Chris asked, mainly to the kids but he does glance at you and his mother.

A chorus of yeahs are said along with a fist bump or two. Chris grabs Stella and Miles’ hands and starts to walk, Ethan and Lisa walk along side of them while you trail a couple of steps behind.

The six of you make your way to Test Track where a cast member is waiting for your party. He introduces himself as Michael before leading your party through a side door you had never paid attention to before. There’s a whole design your own virtual car experience that you end up skipping since you are skipping the ride queue. Michael leads you to the side of the platform that the ride exits from. You wait one cycle before you’re allowed to load into the car. There are three seats in the front and three in the back. Chris gets into the front sliding all the way over, Stella gets into the middle seat and you next to Stella. Lisa, Miles, and Ethan slide into the backseat. Once everyone’s seatbelt is in place, the car advances forward.

As the car goes through twists, turns, and sudden stops, Stella giggles next to you while you hear Lisa say “oh no!” a few times from the back. You look at Chris who is grinning like a fool. He throws his hands in the air when the car flies through doors that open last second, leading you to a track that runs the outside perimeter of the building. The car reaches a peak speed of sixty-five miles per hour which isn’t necessarily fast on the open road, but in a convertible without a wheel or brakes, it’s pretty intense and fun. Your hair of course is shot. The wind having taken it in all sorts of directions.

The next attraction you hit is Mission: Space. Lisa opts to sit this one out with Stella, leaving you, Chris, Miles, and Ethan to ride the orange side. The orange side spins an extraordinary amount as it makes its way to Mars, while the green side is a lot tamer. The boys all wanted the orange side, so who are you to complain.

As the four of you file out the exit with Michael leading you, Miles complains that his tummy hurts. Chris picks him up and carries him the rest of the way to meet Lisa and Stella.

“I think we need to take a break. Miles isn’t feeling too well,” Chris said.

Lisa places, her hand on Miles’ head. “Are you not feeling well, sweetheart?” she asked.

He shakes his head no.

“There’s a shady spot with some tables over there,” you said, pointing to your left.

“Yeah, let’s do that,” Chris said.

“I’ll grab some waters and meet you all over there,” Michael said before dashing off.

Chris pushes a couple of the small tables together while you grab an extra chair. Michael is back before you know it, carrying a bag filled with water bottles. He takes them out of the bag one by one setting them between the two tables.

“Chris, why don’t you and your friend go on without us,” Lisa offers.

“No, Ma. I’m sure it was just the spinning. He’ll be fine in a few. Besides, I don’t think he’s letting me go anytime soon.”

Miles clings to Chris as he sits on his lap. It’s the sweetest scene, seeing Chris hold onto Miles, while gently touching his forehead, brushing his har to the side. But you can’t help feeling like you’re intruding. While Lisa has been nice, she hasn’t given you the most welcoming vibes and you can’t miss the way her body is angled, essentially leaving you out of the conversation.

Only a few minutes have passed when you start to notice that a woman at a table a few away from your group is taking pictures with her phone. She isn’t being sneaky by any means. You’re really wishing you would have worn a ballcap today to hide your face. You don’t particularly care if your face ends up in a photo with Chris, but you don’t want to have him deal with that. October wasn’t that long ago, so you in another picture with Chris at Disney will only lead to more rumors. You turn slightly in your seat so that you’re facing away from him.

“Something wrong, Y/N?” he asked.

“Someone’s taking pictures.”

“Of course. Fuck,” he mutters before quickly closing his mouth, forgetting that Miles is right there.

He stands up, still carrying Miles.

“Michael, can we find another spot?” Chris asked.

Lisa gets the other two kids to grab their bottles of water and out of their seats.

“Yes, Mr. Evans. Follow me please,” Michael answered.

He leads your group through a maze of turns, eventually entering into a door labeled “Cast Members Only”.

“Well just hang out here for a few minutes. I’m sure Miles needs the air conditioning,” Chris said.

The six of you plus Michael stand in a wide hallway just past the door. There’s a row of lockers on the wall with various open doors you can see in the distance. It’s a bit uncomfortable standing there and with no one speaking it’s downright awkward for you.

After a few minutes, Miles starts to perk up. Chris sets him down on his feet and Lisa asks if anyone is hungry.

The kids all agree that they are suddenly starving.

“Michael, is there any reservations available at Coral Reef or Garden Grill?” Lisa asked.

“I’m sure I can find something,” Michael said, pulling out his phone. “For six?”

“Just five,” she replied.

“Ma! Y/N is joining us.” Chris said.

“Oh, I didn’t know if she was spending all day with us or just the morning,” Lisa replied.

Well, now you know that uncomfortableness was with reason.

“It’s okay. I’m actually going to take off,” you said, patting your pocket to make sure you had your keys.

“Sweetheart, no. Stay with us.” He takes your arm and pulls you down the hallway a bit. “Have lunch with us. You’re welcome to. I want you to.”

You look back to his mom who quickly looks away. It’s a family trip so while she’s been a bit cold, you understand that she doesn’t know you and is probably protective of her family.

“That’s alright. This is your family trip and I’m a bit tired. I didn’t sleep so well last night,” you lied. “You guys go have a nice lunch. Call me before going to bed tonight.”

You pull Chris into a hug before he can protest. He places a kiss on your forehead before you pull away. He has a sad smile on his face that you try your best not to match.

As you walk past the group, heading to the door, you stop in front of Lisa.

“It was nice to meet you.”

“You too dear,” she replied.

“Have fun guys!” you said to three kids before pushing open the door, the sun slightly blinding you for a moment.

 Sitting at home and sulking was doing nothing to brighten your mood. Frankly, you felt like shit. You felt bad for leaving the park without spending nearly enough time with Chris. And you felt bad for not just pushing through the uncomfortable vibes Lisa was putting out. What if you would have stayed and she had gotten to know you? You were friends with both Scott and Chris, there may come a time where you would see her again and now it’s going to be just as weird.

Scott texted you around dinner time.

Scott: How’d today go? Did you and Chris get matching ears?

Y/N: It went fine.

There. That was a reasonable answer. It was fine. Sure, you only saw Chris for like two or so hours, and they were mostly fine.

Your phone buzzed in your hand. Of course, it was Scott.

“Look at you calling me so early,” you answered.

“What do you mean fine? That’s it? All this build up to fine.”

“It was just weird and I made it weirder by leaving early,” you sighed out.

“Why’d you leave early?” Scott asked.

“It just seemed like your mom didn’t want me there. And I don’t blame her. It’s a family trip and who the hell am I really?” you quickly spit out.

“Hey! I’m sure that’s not how she felt. You’re one of my best friends, she knows that. I’m sure somehow this is Chris’ fault. I’ll call you back.”

“No, Scott. You don’t have to do that,” you said.

But he didn’t reply back. The little shit hung up on you.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Scott hit the contact button for Chris, the ring sounding too many times for Scott’s patience.

“Hey, Scott,” Chris answered.

“Hey, jerk,” Scott replied.

“Why am I a jerk? Jerk!”

“I just talked to Sassy. Doesn’t sound like it went well. What happened?”

Chris sighed. “Yeah, it could have been better. Miles didn’t feel well and it kind of just went downhill from there.”

Scott groaned. “That’s too bad. She mentioned something about Ma not wanting her there.”

“I don’t think that’s true. I mean, she wasn’t acting like they were best friends. They just didn’t get a lot of time to get to know each other. Sassy’s just overthinking it,” Chris said.

“Yeah…You’re probably right. It’s just too bad you didn’t get a lot of time together.”

“Me too,” Chris said softly.

“Have a good day tomorrow.”

“Thanks, bud. Bye,” Chris said.

“Bye,” Scott said, ending the call.

“What’s going on with Sassy?” Lisa asked, startling Chris.

“Geez Ma! Ya scared me,” Chris hissed.

Lisa chuckled at her son’s response, putting her hands up. “Sorry.”

“She’s just disappointed with how today went,” Chris replied, running a hand through his hair.

“I didn’t even know you knew Sassy,” Lisa said.

“What are you talking about?” Chris asked, suddenly really confused.

“Well, Scott talks about Sassy all the time. I don’t think I’ve ever heard you mention her.”

“Ma, you’re giving me a headache. I introduced you to Sassy today. What are you going on about?” Chris asked.

“Christopher, are you telling me that Y/N is Sassy?”

“Yes!” Chris half chuckled, half groaned out.

“Oh no.” she mumbled. “I didn’t know they were one in the same! Christopher, I thought she was just some girl you met. I didn’t know she was Scott’s good friend Sassy!” Lisa exclaimed.

“Well, geez Ma. Thinkin’ so highly of me that I’d bring around just some girl on a family trip.” Chris said, running his hand through his hair once again.

“You boys don’t tell me these things. Now I feel so bad. Please apologize to her for me. Actually, you should apologize as well,” Lisa said.

“Me? What did I do?” Chris shouted.

“You didn’t make her stay,” she said matter-of-factly. “Take her out tomorrow. Go spend time with your friend. I can handle the kids just fine.”

Lisa left the room, calling out to the kids who were suddenly too quiet in one of the bedrooms.

Chris hung his head low. His mother was right. This was his first time he’s seen you since your quick meeting last fall. He didn’t want to go home leaving today as your only impression.

xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Scott had sent you a simple text that made you smile a short while later.

Scott: My brother’s a bone head

Y/N: Not disagreeing

 The last Hallmark Christmas movie you saved to your DVR was playing on the TV. Something about a singer who was trying to catch his big break and ends up skipping Christmas. By now they storylines were all starting to blur together. Your phone buzzed with a message, dragging your eyes away from the TV.

Chris: You float like a feather In a beautiful world I wish I was special You're so fuckin' special

But I'm a creep, I'm a weirdo What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here

What’s he going on about?

Y/N: Radiohead?

Your phone rang about a half a second later.

“So, you’re a creep huh?” you answered.

“Feeling like one,” Chris sighed out. “I’m sorry sweetheart. I wanted our day to be better.”

“Babe, it’s fine. It wasn’t bad. I’m sure you’ll be in town again,” you replied.

“My mother says sorry by the way. She didn’t realize you were THE Sassy. Apparently, Scott goes on and on about you.”

You chuckled at that. “That’s not embarrassing at all.”

“My mother doesn’t think to highly of me as she thought you were just someone I met and asked to hangout with us,” he groaned.

“I didn’t think my Mickey tee gave off that vibe,” you chuckled out. “Tell her it’s fine and it was still nice to meet her.”

“You are such a sweetheart,” Chris said.

There goes your stomach again. You really wished that hug earlier wasn’t so short and sloppy.

“I was wonderin’ if I could see you again, tomorrow?”

“Oh, I don’t know Chris,” you said hesitantly.

“Please? Just the two of us. Just me and you. I want to see you again before I had back to Mass.”

“But it’s your family time and I don’t want to take away from that,” you reasoned.

“Sweetheart, my ma told me she can handle tomorrow by herself. Not that I don’t want to see you.” He lets out a breath. “I really want to see you.”

There’s so much conviction in his voice. It’s so gravely that your finding yourself gripping the side of the couch cushion to stay grounded.

“Okay,” you sputter out. Clearing your throat, you try that again. “Okay.” It’s firmer and much better than screaming “yes, please!”

“Great!” You can hear the smile in his voice which instantly puts one on your face. “Can you, ah, could you pick me up? We did a car service and I figure it’s probably easier if you just come and grab me?” he said.

“That’s not a problem. Dork.”

“Oh, are we back at that again? I’m pretty sure you were the one in a Mickey Mouse t-shirt today.”

You scoff. “Mickey is your idol. Don’t even!”

He chuckles low and deep. “You got me.”

 Since it’s just you and Chris and you aren’t running around a theme park, you chose a white t-shirt dress with navy blue stripes. You added a thin brown leather belt to give the dress some form and pair it with brown strappy flat sandals. You’re picking Chris up at the villa they rented at one and then off to lunch. He’s letting you pick since you live in the area. Adding a touch of gloss to your lips, you grab your bag and walk out to your car.

 After putting your car in park in the driveway, you fire off a text letting him know you’re there. Even though you received a sorry via Chris from Lisa, you didn’t want to chance another odd meeting. They probably were at the parks anyway, but you didn’t want to take that chance.

A minute later her comes jogging to your car. The goof. He’s dressed casually but put together in navy colored shorts and crisp white V-neck t-shirt. The fact that your coordinated doesn’t slip past you.

He gets in, immediately pulling you into a hug. Chris kisses your forehead for the briefest of moments before letting go. You manage a dopey smile because damn if you aren’t smitten. Generally, you are pretty quick on your feet and would have already had something witty to say, but that kiss, even though it was innocent, really threw you off.

“Hi,” you manage to squeak out.

“Hey, sweetheart.”

You stare a little too long at his lips before shaking yourself out of it and slapping a smile on your face.

“So, lunch?” you asked.

 The two of you dine at Four Rivers Smokehouse which is one of your favorite spots for a quick bite. The food is always great with a good mix of people stopping by on their lunch break and families enjoying a meal out.

He chooses the ribs and you the brisket before grabbing a table in the corner, offering him the seat facing the wall, hoping it brings a little anonymity. The idea of being recognized in public didn’t even cross your mind as it’s not something you ever have to worry about. You regret your decision of choosing a restaurant with so many windows and frequent turn over. Despite your worries, Chris has not alluded to any discomfort as he happily eats his food. He’s added extra barbecue sauce to his ribs. Squeezing a bit from each of the six bottles at your table, sampling each one before choosing the one labeled ‘smoky’.

“This is really good. I mean, really good,” he said, sauce smeared around his lips.

He’s adorable and it takes everything in you not to reach forward to wipe the sauce from his face. You lick your own, it’s an involuntary action that his eyes get drawn too. At least you’re not the only one finding yourself distracted.

“I come here like once a week. But we keep that between me and you,” you said with a smirk. He chuckles before grabbing a napkin to wipe his face.

 Lunch has long been finished but the two of you stay seated at your table, enjoying just being together face to face. Your conversation is much like it is via phone call, but now you get to study each other’s facial expressions. Loving how his eyes crinkle when he really smiles. How his eyebrows raise when he gets serious. He’s a work of art and doesn’t even realize it.

It’s already four in the afternoon and the restaurant is in that between time after the lunch crowds and before the dinner rush. You somehow manage to remove your eyes from his and see that there are only two other tables occupied.

“I didn’t realize we’ve been here for so long,” you said, stretching your arms. “I’m also impressed you didn’t get any of that sauce on your white shirt.”

Chris chuckles and shakes his head. He reaches his hand across the table, taking yours in his.

“I don’t want to say goodbye yet.”

“We can go back to my place,” you offer, your face instantly heating up at the implication. “I mean, because I live nearby. Not that you need to come back with me. I-I just want to hangout longer,” you stutter out.

Chris smiles wide, squeezing your hand a few times. “Let’s go hangout.”

 “Cheers!” Chris said, clinking his bottle of beer against yours.

It’s the second bottle for both of you, but probably the last for you as you still need to drive him back and the whole “not drinking for a long time” promise you made yourself.

“Cheers,” you echo before taking a long pull from the bottle.

“Didn’t picture you the beer drinker, Y/N.”

“Oh, yeah? Why’s that Mr. Evans?”

“Mr. Evans? Someone’s mighty formal,” he said. You shrug your shoulders in response before taking another sip. “You just seem like wine is more your speed. Perhaps raspberry vodka,” he chuckles out.

“I could just kill your brother,” you groan out. “Pretty sure I have at least a third of the bottle left in my fridge if you want any.”

Chris shakes his head, taking a drink of beer. “I’ll leave that for you.”

“So, kind. So, kind,” you snicker.

He’s reclined on your couch while you sit in your comfy blue armchair, feet folded up under you. Chris is skimming through the music on your phone, picking a new song after the last is done rather than letting it play through.

“You wanna sync your phone to my speakers? We can play something from your phone,” you offered.

“Nah, I like a lot of your stuff.”

You hold your hand in front of your face and pretend to blow on your nails while winking at him, in that “I’m too cool” kind of way.

 The sun is starting to set and you have a good view of the painted sky from your backyard. It’s still plenty warm, but with the sun down and your ceiling fan on, the two of you are comfortable sitting on your loveseat on the lanai snacking on pizza rolls because that’s all that you had that didn’t require defrosting.

“It’s beautiful out here,” Chris said.

“Yeah, it’s not a bad view to have. Should’ve had you bring your suit. It was hard to drag Scott out of the pool,” you replied.

“How’d you put up with him the whole weekend?” Chris asked. He said it so seriously, but you can see a hint of a smile.

“Well, I’ve managed so far with you, so I can pretty much handle anything.”

He bumps you with his shoulder and shakes his head. “So, sassy.”

“That’s what they call me.”

“Who’s they?” Chris smirks.

“Just you and Scott.”

You let out a little chuckle and you notice those eye crinkles reappear.

“Good,” he agrees.

 It’s late, nearing eleven. Chris stopped drinking after three beers, the two of you switching over to water.

“You want to watch a movie?” Chris asked.

You had gone back to your living room an hour prior. Sitting in opposite corners of the couch, but facing each other, your foot bumps his leg once in awhile causing you both to blush.

“Don’t you have to get back? You have an early flight, right?”

“Not until eleven thirty. We can go if you want me to or if you’re getting tired, but I rather stay here with you,” he replied, sincerity in his voice.

Fuck. He’s going to be the death of me.

Honestly, you’d stay up for the next two days if it meant spending time together. And the fact that he wants to stay makes you want to weep tears of joy. But that’s just a little too dramatic.

“I want you to stay.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you agree, lightly slapping his bent leg resting on the couch cushion.

He grabs your hand before you can pull it away, holding it there, just resting on his leg. You shyly look up and see him looking at you. The only words that matches the two of you is heart eyes and you pray that you aren’t imaging it.

After what feels like several minutes but more like mere seconds, your mouth opens up and you break the spell.

“What do you want to watch?”

Chris lets go of your hand and your heart instantly crashes at the loss of contact.

“I think you know,” he replied. Your mouth quirks to the side while you try to figure him out. “Come on! You know.”

You put on a fake annoyed look and shake your head. “Really? Do we have to?”

“I’m pretty sure you said if I visited, we’d watch it,” Chris said.

“Fine. I’m a woman of my word,” you said.

Grabbing the Roku remote, you clicked on your Amazon app, finding The Princess Bride, and renting before Chris could offer you five dollars to pay for it.

“I’m the host! I don’t need your money babe,” you reasoned.  

The movie played on and you slowly found yourself leaning on Chris more and more. Not that he minded. The closer you got, the more hands on he became. Half way through, you were completely laying on his chest, both your legs out stretched on the couch while his rest on the floor. His left arm is stationary on the arm of the couch while the other was wrapped around you. Your right hand laid on his chest as your fingers lightly rub it without even realizing you were doing so. Chris would quietly hum now and then, bringing a smile to your face.

Friends cuddle. They totally do.

Before you even reach the end of the movie, you’ve fallen asleep. So much for seeing it all the way through. Chris readjusted so that the two of you are laying comfortably.

You awake sometime later to Chris brushing his hand through your hair. The TV is still on but nothing is playing.

“M’sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”

You sit up slightly, taking in his tired eyes. He looks back at you adoringly.

“It’s okay. I’ll make you watch it again next time,” he said softly.

The words next time make you beam inside. You sit up, setting your feet on the floor.

“Want me to bring you home?”

“Nah, we’re both too tired. Take me in the morning?” he asked.

“Of course. Do you want to go to bed? What time is it anyway?”

“I think about three.” Chris sits up on the couch, running a hand down his face. “I’m actually a little more awake after our nap,” he quietly chuckled.

“You want to pull an all-nighter?” Well, kind of all-nighter since we did sleep for a little bit.”

“Yeah, if you’re not too tired,” he said shrugging his shoulders.

“Oh, shit! Did you tell your mom you weren’t coming back?”

Chris throws his head back laughing. “It’s my ma. Of course, I sent her a text. Once we started the movie, I figured I’d be staying over.”

“Good. I don’t need her thinking I’m a bad person. Taking advantage of her baby boy.”

You get up, walking to the kitchen to grab a couple of more water bottles. Chris swats your ass just as you pass him.

 The two of you have the music back on, sitting close to one another, choosing to talk through the early hours of morning. It’s nice and you can’t help but feel closer to him. Part of you is worried that this is a one-time thing. Chris comes to Orlando once or twice a year, but probably can’t get away to spend time with you each trip. You start to do the math on your own vacation time, trying to think if there are events out of state that a publication will pay you to write about. But it’s way too early to be thinking this much, you just need to be here in the now.

You shift your focus back to Chris who’s looking at you with a dopey grin.

“So, will you?” he asked.

Huh?

“Will I what?” you asked.

“Did I lose you for a minute?” he chuckles out.

“I’m sorry. Lack of sleep. I’m with you now. What’d you ask?”

“I said.” Chris stands up. “Do you want to go for a walk?” He takes your hand and pulls you to your feet, not letting you answer. “Sun’s almost up.”

You nod your head, walking to the door to slip on a pair of sneakers. They don’t quite go with your dress, but you’ve essential been up for almost a full day.

Grabbing your keys from the table near the door, you lock up and pass your keys to Chris since you don’t have any pockets. You live on a residential street that’s a mix of vacation rentals and long-term residents like yourself. There are a few joggers out, but besides them, it’s just you two.

Chris takes your hand in his as the two of you stroll slowly around your block.

“I’m really glad you were able to hangout today,” he said.

“Me too. I actually wish you were staying longer.”

“Me too sweetheart. I don’t want to wait another seven months to see you,” he confessed.

You stop in your tracks. Keeping a hold of his hand, you turn to face him.

“You don’t?” you asked.

Where this doubt is coming from, you’re not so sure. The two of you are friends, so of course you’ll see each other again. It’s just this in between flirting and touching that has you all mixed up.

Chris gently rests his other hand on your face and leans in, slowly bringing his lips to yours. They’re soft and smooth, just like you’ve imagined. You eagerly kiss him back but don’t want to push it, so you remain solid where you stand, letting him do the work. He slowly pulls away, but not far because you can feel his warm breath on your face. His eyes are intense, asking for permission. You slightly nod your head and before you know it, his lips hit yours. It’s so quick you’ve barely shut your eyes before his other hand takes a hold of your face and he kisses you more intensely. You’re not complaining, but you are thankful it’s so early, the neighborhood is barely awake. You wrap your arms around his back and hold him tight as he kisses you senseless. He pulls back again, still holding your face gently before planting a chaste kiss on your lips.

You flutter your eyes open to see a soft smiling Chris. He’s still lightly holding your face and you hope he doesn’t stop.

“Was that okay?” he asked softly.

He knows it was. He’s just being a little shit per the usual.

You give him a small frown and quickly see a tiny bit of doubt in his eyes.

“I think I need to try that again,” you said, grabbing his face and bringing him to you. You kiss him softly on the lips. Once. Twice. Three times before you feel him smile against you. He leans his forehead against yours as you both stand there like two smiling fools.

“Of course, I don’t want to wait this long to see you again,” he breathes out.

“Me neither,” you agree.

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