#it was one of those phones that only connects to the front desk i think??

[reiderwriter]

📃 Desk Duty 📃

Unit Chief Spencer Reid x Fem Reader

For the CM Kink Bingo Challenge 2024

Summary: After taking a bullet on a case, Spencer orders you to desk duty. After two months of pushing papers and his pushing you away for fear of hurting you, you've had enough.

Warnings: Established BDSM scenario, public sex, masturbation (female and male), mentions of sex toys, breaking and entering, multiple orgasms, squirting, shoe riding, slapping (ass, face, pussy), wet/dirty/messy sex, deep-throaring, face fucking, exhibitionism, risky sex, creampie, sloppy sex, pet play (puppy), Hard Dom Spencer, bratty sub reader, degradation (slut, whore, bitch used). Confessions of love at the end because I'm not a monster.

A/N: Hello, it's me, painfully single, back with another in a series of fics that I think will haunt my (wet) dreams for eternity. Thank you to @lightvixxen for requesting shoe riding all those moons ago, I am so glad we share in the same brand of brain rot. Enjoy~♡

Masterlist || Bingo Board

The first time you were shot, you were surprised it hurt so much. Of course, you knew it was going to hurt. You knew you'd eventually be shot. 

But the graze to your arm stung like a bitch, and had you whimpering on the floor of a warehouse like a small child who'd fallen off their bike for the first time. 

You'd picked yourself back up, and, luckily, the shot had avoided doing any serious damage, but you were relegated to desk duty for two months after. Just until you could prove you weren't traumatised, and there wasn't any permanent damage to your arm.

Two months of staying home while your boss gallivanted around the country, happily diving in front of bullets and jumping on bombs. Two months of staying home waiting for him to come back and rail you. 

You'd been sleeping with Spencer Reid practically since he'd become the Unit Chief, and with the announcement that there were only a few more weeks left until Emily Prentiss came back from her special task force, you were really losing time alone in the office you'd been enjoying the pleasures of one another in. 

Of course, there would still be motel rooms for you later, but soon he wouldn't have the keys to your room, making your secret trysts slightly riskier. You weren't sure you wanted everyone in the office to know just what it was the two of you were getting up to in your spare time. 

So, with your last two months of freedom relegated to desk duty, you sulked. 

Spencer was clear that he was leaving you behind so you could recuperate, but you didn't exactly expect him to go cold turkey. 

You'd been apart before, having been sent on separate inmate interviews, and you'd made do with a poorly connected video call, a dildo and your hands, getting all the inspiration you needed watching him pump his cock in his fist.  

But somehow, your injury had made him borderline chaste, and he refused to even touch you while you were still in - his words, not yours - recovery. 

It had been a month since he'd fucked you. Hell, it had been a month since you'd even seen his cock. A month since you'd had any kind of orgasm, first because your dominant hand had been out of action, and then because you'd felt so frustrated without him, you couldn't bring yourself to do it alone. 

He messaged you daily, called practically once every eight hours, and made sure you were eating and sleeping even from halfway across the country. 

But he didn't make any mention of your growing frustration, even as you tried your best to tempt him into sin. 

A month into purgatory, you'd started hinting at your own needs. Your teammates had taken a case in Atlanta, and you'd stuck behind a days drive away and heard absolutely nothing. 

You'd called, and Luke had picked up, making his presence known before you could royally screw up and beg for something to fuck. 

“H-Hi, Luke. I was just wondering how the case was going. Is there anything I can help with from the office?” You asked, stammering on the phone as you pulled your hand out from between your thighs. 

“You want to help? At 11pm at night?”

“Sure do! You know me… go-getter?” You stuttered the words, not even believing them yourself, biting your lip in anxiety and hoping that Luke would just think you were going stir crazy. 

“I'll hand you to Reid, he's been talking about some case files you might be able to help with.” 

“Thank you,” you said, breathing a sigh of relief. 

You heard the phone switch hands, and then you heard movement until the line went quieter, and Spencer's voice popped into your ear. 

“Y/N?” 

“I miss you,” you sighed before you could say anything else, fingers sliding between your thighs before you could think to stop yourself. 

“I miss you, too,” he whispered hesitantly, but you heard the smile in his voice as he answered. 

“You're working so late tonight, I'd hoped…” you trailed off, feeling your skin heat as your free hands lipped into your underwear and you touched yourself for real this time. 

“We think he's working under the same MO as the Night Stalker, like a copycat, so we're keeping to late hours. What's that sound?” 

“Nothing,” you said, giving your lie away almost immediately with a moan. 

“Are you… Y/N, are you touching yourself?” He asked, already knowing the answer. 

“I told you I missed you. It's been a month since you've touched me, someone has to do it-” 

“Stop it.” 

His words were blunt, and there was no hint of excitement in them, no telling if he was saying this so he could play a part in your unravelling. 

“What?” 

“Stop touching yourself. Y/N, you are not allowed to touch yourself.” 

“Not-? Spencer, what the fuck!” You exploded, sitting up from your comfortable position on the bed, set alight in indignance. 

“I'm the only one that gets to touch you like that, you're not allowed to cum unless I'm there,” he ground out, and just as you heard the smile in his voice earlier, you heard the frustration and arousal now. 

“Well, Spencer, if you'd have brought me along on this case instead of leaving me here, maybe you'd get a say in who gets to make me cum.” 

“Y/N, you're injured, and you haven't been cleared to fly. A doctor needs to-”

“You're a doctor. Technically. You could sign off on me. You could've had me right there in your bed tonight, but no.” 

He scoffed down the line, and you saw his face flash so vividly in your head that it pissed you off. He was hotter when he was angry. 

“Nice try. I tried that myself once, but it doesn't work. Now go to sleep and get some rest.” 

You opened your mouth to argue, but he hung up. His words lit a fire in the pit of your stomach, and you threw the phone down in frustration. 

He wasn't listening again, and you were sick of it, and you we're sick of pushing paper at a cubical when you should've been out in the field doing your actual job. You were sick of being celibate and at home alone, when you should've been in a dark corner somewhere letting your boss use your body, letting him pin you to the wall and work out his frustrations.  

You should've had your lips wrapped around his cock, you should've had his hands buried in your cunt, slapping your ass, his teeth teasing your nipples, something. 

Instead, you had your phone camera and a bed, and a personal vendetta against the word 'no' coming from Spencer Reid's mouth. If he wanted you to stop touching yourself, he'd better get his ass home and make you. 

Shedding your clothes, you set up your camera and began your week long crusade. 

The first video received a response in the form of a call you let go straight to voice mail as you recorded the second one. 

He didn't call again after that, but you knew he watched each and every video you sent. 

You knew he watched the video of you fucking yourself on a wall mounted dildo in the shower. You wondered if he let him imagine it was him, taking his cock in hand in the morning as he washed and prepared himself for the day. 

You knew he watched the video of you playing with your boobs alone in the elevator at work after hours. You wondered if he was still working late when he saw that one, or if, like last time, maybe Luke had grabbed his phone first and seen it before him. . 

You knew he watched the video you shot in his apartment. It wasn't that hard to get into, knowing exactly where the spare key was hidden and letting yourself in comfortably. You let yourself dress in one of his shirts and set the camera up, pushing a bullet vibe inside yourself, and turning on the camera, playing with the hem of the shirt and the sheets below until you finally flashed the camera and him the sight of your wet cunt. 

You filmed a few videos there, fingering yourself, spreading yourself so he could see just how far you'd opened yourself up for him, sinking down on to progressively bigger silicone cocks and mumbling his name over and over again. 

You knew he watched every video, even though you'd sent ten over the space of an evening. You knew he was likely somewhere stroking his large, hot cock, wishing he was buried deep in you, but too stubborn to let you know that now. 

The day after the case ended, you knew that his return meant punishment, but you couldn't stop yourself. 

An hour before the teams expected arrival time, you excused yourself to Spencer's office. The first time he'd fucked you had been in there. He'd pushed you over his lap and slapped some sense into you, spanking you until you were a drippy mess waiting for his cock to enter you sharp and fast. 

You'd since sucked his cock under the desk more times than you could count, and the view from the window was more than familiar to you as you enjoyed being pushed up against it as he took you from behind, the both of you revelling in the fact that anyone could see you defiling the building together. 

With half an hour to spare before he returned and ended your fun and games, you mounted the arm of his couch and began rubbing yourself against it. You rocked your hips slowly back and forth against it - as horny as you were, it was still embarrassing to be so horny you'd resulted to humping pieces of furniture to meet your needs. 

You'd thought about getting drunk and finding a random dick to take home with you, but it didn't interest you half so much as fucking with Spencer Reid did. You'd never had the talk about exclusivity, but you knew just as well as he did that you were locked in. He was your boyfriend, whether he realised it or not.

And now, you simply needed his cock so badly, nothing else would do. The closest you could get was a piece of furniture he'd fucked you on before. 

You slipped your panties off quickly as your timer sounded a ten minute warning, knowing his plane would be landing any second now. You'd factored in the walk from the jet to the office, praying to the gods above that he took the initiative to get ahead on paperwork instead of going straight home. 

You rocked back and forth on the arm of the couch until his door opened narrowly and he let himself in, just as your clit rubbed the corner of the couch and you moaned out gloriously. 

“Y/N,” he hissed as he slammed the door shut. You didn't stop even as he crossed the room and grabbed your hips, instead lunging for his lips and meeting them with your own. 

Your tongue clashed with him for the first time in a lifetime, and you whimpered at how good he still felt pressed up against you. His chest was a solid shield, and your puffy nipples pushed up against it, rubbing deliciously with each grind. His hands were large, his fingers long as they clawed themselves around your hips and drew you up.

“You just can't follow orders, can you?” He asked between kisses, between breaths where you weren't sure if he'd slap you or shove his fingers down your throat. “I should fire you,” he whispered as he reluctantly pulled away. 

“But Spencer,” you said, gasping jokingly as you pawed at the front of his pants. “Who would you fuck on cases then? Who would be your controversially young fuck doll?” 

You meant it to be a joke, but the slap he delivered to your ass made you think twice as you clapped a hand over your mouth. 

His hands roughly pulled you into him again, and you were unable to rise up enough again before he hit you again. You jilted forwards with a little moan and just gave in to the sensation, pressing your face into the pillows as your hips rose. 

“You're acting like such a desperate little slut, I don't think you deserve to even lick my cock. Fuck, I don't even think you deserve to lick my shoe,” his words cut deep as you realised how angry he was, his fingers tangling in your hair he yanked you upwards. 

“Wait, please - Spencer, please, I need-” 

“Need what? You need to suck cock? You need to put yourself on display in a public place? Need everyone around you to know just what it is we do when we're alone?” With each question, he worked on bruising your ass cheeks harder, until he finally pushed you to the floor, and you sank down, automatically spreading your legs for him. 

“Pathetic. You don't deserve this cock, baby.” 

“No!” You cried out, not willing to accept that outcome at all as you panicked. “I'll do anything, please, Spencer, I'll do anything!” 

You whimpered and cried out in real frustration and fear, knowing that he absolutely would kick you out if you didn't act fast. Spencer may have been fine with you taking control some days, but this obviously wasn't one of them. You sat yourself on your knees and clasped your hands together, attempting to seem half the serious devotee and half the irresistible vixen whose chest was accentuated by the movement.

“Okay. Show me just how much of a desperate slut you are,” he said, lifting his foot from the ground and nudging it between your thighs. 

Reluctantly, you widened your stance, spreading apart just enough for him to notch his shoe against your clothed pussy. 

“Ride my shoe, Y/N. You're such a good little boot-licker. It shouldn't be a problem, right?” As if to answer your own question for you, he bobbed his knee gently, and your clit ground into the edge of his shoelaces, causing a sharp, fast burst of pleasure to spark through you. 

You still were too shocked to answer, but he smoothed your hair from your eyes as he continued to bounce his foot, and you left all of your concerns behind, slowly grinding down. 

“What a dirty little slut, I didn't think you'd actually do it.”

Wrapping your arms around his leg, you pressed your hips up and down hesitantly, looking into his eyes as your mouth dropped open in a silent moan. 

“That's it, good girl,” he said, letting his leg go still as you did all the work, shaking your hips back and forth on his shoe as you gave him pleading looks, unable to form words for the overwhelming shame and embarrassment.  

“You look like a puppy,” he blurted out, grabbing a handful of hair and pulling it back, hard, exposing your throat to him as he watched you with curious eyes. “Like one of those puppies who gets so excited to see you, she starts humping you. So fucking horny and desperate. You wouldn't even care who was in the room with us, right now, would you? You'd just keep going until yiu came.” 

You gasped as he slapped your face, tongue falling out of your mouth as he inspected his little play puppy. He smiled, as if happy with your reactions, and leant back on the sofa, releasing your hair from his grip as you continued to struggle in vain toward your orgasm. 

It was another two or three seconds before you realised he was pulling his hard cock from his pants, and another moment or two before he slid his hands back into your hair and guided your dumb, stupid, wet mouth over the top of his cock quickly. 

You let him move your head just how he liked, let him push you down almost farther than you thought you could go. You ground your bare clit down into his shoe as you deepened your breaths, relaxing your body as you took inch after inch of his cock down your throat. 

His hands were wound so tight in your hair that there wasn't space to move. You gagged, once and twice, but he held you in place still, enjoying the spit that spluttered around the base of his cock, the spasms of your contracting throat against the tip and length of his cock. You breathed deeply, ignoring the feeling of his pubic hair tickling your nose, scratching your cheek as you flattened out your tongue under his cock. You wished he would move, wished he would give you the space you needed to cum faster. 

The desperation of the last few months built up and built up, and you knew that you were close to cumming, your hips rocking out of tempo now, crashing into his foot wildly, ass shaking as you felt his shoelaces rubbing uncomfortably against your thighs. 

“God, what a pathetic little bitch, are you going to cum? Cum on my shoe, whore, show me how fucking desperate you are.” 

You felt the exact moment your body convulsed against him, you knew the exact movement that made you cum, because you felt the flood of moisture pool underneath you as you squirted all over his floor. You made a note of reminding him to replace the rug before Emily returned. 

Your whole body shook as you sat in the pool of your own cum, but he refused to let you pull away. 

“Has my little puppy made a mess? What a shame. You can't stop yet, though.” 

His grip on your face somehow became stronger, though not unpleasant, as he pulled your head up the length of his cock. You spluttered slightly, feeling the tension slip out of you as he emptied your throat. You didn't have more than a second to react before he quickly snapped your head back down over his cock, down to the base of his dick. 

“Keep up, Y/N, this is what you wanted, remember.” 

You choked on his cock, and he smiled down at you, taking your gags for nods as he proceeded to fuck your throat, deep and hard. 

“So wet and warm for me, like a perfect little pet,” he said, hips already lifting off the couch as he tried to sink deeper into you. 

You knew from experience that he'd soon grow tired of the limits of your mouth. He liked to hear you. He liked to see you drooling rather than feel it on his skin. As much as he could force his cock down your throat - and you deeply enjoyed when he did - he could get deeper if he sank into your pussy and you both knew it. 

This part was just to lube his cock up, nice and wet, until he could take you nice and quick without having to touch your pussy. He needed you nice and wet and ready for him, especially on days like today where you'd been nothing but a cock tease in need of a harsh fucking. You deserved nothing more.

As predicted, he pulled your head off his cock after a few seconds and hauled you to your feet. You tried to climb onto him, to grip his cock in your hand and just sink down where you belonged, but he stood, too, lifting you up with him. 

“Window,” he said, and you knew he must be close if he was ordering you around one word at a time. You nodded, but he kept his hands on you, moving you to the window quickly. 

You knew he'd bend you over, take you against the outdoor window, whispering in your ear that anyone outside could see you if they just looked up. Instead, this time, he moved you to the opposite side of the office. The window he pressed you against was the one overlooking your desks, the one where, should he happen to open the blinds, every member of your team would be able to look up and watch you take his dick. 

“Everyone left,” he whispered quickly as he shifted the blinds up an inch so you could see. 

You breathed a sigh of relief noting that it was as empty as he claimed, but it didn't last long as he gently pressed his cock into your cunt, finally filling you how you'd needed to be filled for the last 60 days. 

“Fuck, t-thank you, sir!” 

All thoughts about the office below faded as he lifted your leg in his hand and let it rest on the edge of the window, pushing your face against the cold glass. Your office may have been empty, but that wasn't to say that there wasn't someone working late in the other departments, a janitor happening to pass through. 

You knew, but you didn't care as you begged him to fill you up more and more. 

“Just like that, just like that, yes!!! Fuck yes, Spencer I missed this, I missed you. Missed you so much,” you moaned as your hands slipped down the glass, already fogged with condensation, your hot breath hitting the cold glass. 

“Needed this? You've been fucking yourself nightly for the last week. You didn't need this like I needed this,” he moaned, biting into your neck with a sharp kiss as you moaned loudly for him.

“Two m-months. You haven't fucked me for two months, what else was I supposed to do?” 

He groaned in your ear again, reaching a hand around you and slapping your clit as he formulated an answer. 

“Rest, you were supposed to rest,” he said, thrusts speeding up as your cunt gripped him tighter and tighter the closer you got to your second orgasm. 

He groaned and pressed your face into the glass, holding you there and screwing his eyes shut as you both chased release. 

“I didn't want to rest, I w-wanted to be by your side.” 

His head rested against your shoulder as he felt the last waves of pleasure race towards him. His hand pushed down to your clit and rubbed you, sending you right over the edge with him as he filled you with his cum. 

Neither of you could stay upright, collapsing down to the floor in a heap. Usually when he came inside you, he waited a few moments to pull out so he didn't make so much mess when he did. But in his exhaustion, in your shared bliss of finally reaching that precipice after so long, he slipped out early, as cum was still shooting from him. 

You heaped together on the floor, chests heaving as you lay on top of him, your peace only broken by a single thought. 

“We..-’ you gasped, breathing unsteady. “We need to deep clean this office before Emily comes back.” 

He looked down at you, a look so serious and shocked you wondered if he was angry. And then he laughed. Short and soft, he giggled, and you couldn't help but join in, wrapping your arms around your stomach as it began to hurt, chest heaving from the pain of all your joy. 

He sat up and gave you a hand up as well as you surveyed the damage. 

“The rug has to go,” you said, feeling hot and embarrassed as you noticed the new wet stain on the near offensive fluffy thing. 

“We should probably get some new throw pillows, too,” he remarked, and you nodded with a grimace. You made to stand up, but your legs felt weak, and you wobbled, but he was there to catch you, as he stood. 

"Maybe just a new couch," you muttered, flushed with heat as you remembered how you'd humped the arm rest not even twenty minutes ago.

He closed the blinds before moving back to the couch and sitting you down on his lap once again, such a familiar place for you to be these days.

“You….” He started, worrying g his bottom lip with his teeth. “You really missed me?” 

You startled, taken aback by the question. You thought the videos had made it clear, let alone the last half hour of intimacy. 

“I… Yes, Spencer. I missed you a lot. I always miss you.” 

“You… you do?” 

You nodded again and tucked a lock of hair behind his ear. 

“Y/N, when I am no longer your boss, in approximately a weeks time, would you possibly consider being my girlfriend?” 

For the second time in the last two minutes, the man had you floored. And perhaps a little bit angry.

“I'm not… I'm not your girlfriend now?” 

“Hmm? Oh, I-” 

“Because I already told my friends about you, and I was definitely saying the word boyfriend, but if that's not what this is, I can correc-” 

You saw the panicked look in his eye as he pulled you in for one last kiss. 

“That's what this is!” he said frantically, cutting you off when you opened your mouth with another kiss. “I thought you wouldn't think that this was- no!” He kissed you again as you tried again to speak. 

“Listen to me! I'm o-older than you, I thought I had to ask still. Do people not ask anymore?” He kissed you before you could answer. 

“Rhetorical question.”

“I love yo-” you attempted to confess, but his lips covered yours swiftly, even as his eyes opened wide when he pulled away. 

“Wait, no, say that again,” he begged, eyes weak and shiny and absolutely endearingly pathetic. 

You shook your head and sealed your lips, miming, zipping them shut and throwing away the key. 

“Y/N! Tell me again, tell me you love me again,” he said, kissing each of your cheeks. You poked his chest hard, and he kissed you once more. 

“I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, and kissed you again, trying to draw from your lips the words he had cut off earlier, losing himself in the pleasure of the moment as you sat together in the dark office, totally enamoured with one another. 

[ashomodeus]

Hi all, it's been a minute... Work has been really rough. I promise I haven't disappeared again. Here's this.

Where is each brother + Dateables favorite place to... connect with Mc.

Gn!Mc, Smut warning, bad grammar, take a shot every time breeding is mentioned, food porn for Beel.

Why am I at work for 12 hours???

Thank you, Beyonce, for providing me with this phone to write. She's my ghost writer if anyone asks. If her lawyers ask, this is a joke.

Lucifer 》 His study

●With under the desk support from Mc all his stress is magically gone.

●No one bothers him when he's in his study, meaning hours... and I mean hours could go past and no one would question why he's in there so long.

●Would test Mc's limits, having them cock warm him as he finishes his last bit of work. Don't think that Mc is the only one being teased. Lucifer has always been able to focus on one thing at a time but with Mc there? Forget it. 'How would Mc look bent over there, How about on my desk, or right in front of the door for his brother's to hear MC is all his for the night'

●Mc giving him head while he's trying to have an important conference call.

●Having Mc lay on the couch exposing their filled holes threatening to drip out while he finishes his work.

●He has some things in his office for Mc like a designated drawer for Mc that only Mc and Lucifer can access like rope, towels, a change of underwear, some toys for Mc to use while Lucifer is busy.

Mammon 》His car

●Two things that he loves.

●His favorite thing is to recieve head while driving. He enjoys edging and pushing himself as far as possible until he has to pull over. He wants to pull over because he wants to be milked until he's weak.

● He would want to drive while pounding into Mc.He would never be able to drive without Mc again without having to pull over and masturbate to the idea of Mc being there.

●Mammon likes to convince Mc to go run an errand with him just for them to both to come back disheveled. Mammon doesn't want anyone to see Mc in that way and doesn't want anyone to hear them so he'll find a few places.

●Once Mc did a nude photo shoot in Mammons car and those photos will always remain in his empty wallet.

●Mammon hates messes in his car but he so his seats have waterproof covers for certain reasons...

Levi 》Anywhere with water

●Listen water can make you feel weightless. Since water is his strong suit he knows how to control water and make sure Mc doesn't drown.

●Beach trips normally involve Mc and Levi leaving for a swim and not coming back for hours. Mc would think the sand would get everywhere but devildoms sand is so much different.

●Levi loves sneaking into the shower while Mc is showering. Sometimes, he just loves to watch Mc. He especially gets turned on if Mc doesn't notice he's there watching. He slowly strips as he walks into the shower with Mc, only startling them for a second. He loves taking the shower head and putting it on sensitive places of Mc's increasing water pressure the more sensitive Mc got.

● He loves "accidentally" spilling water on Mc while gaming together.

Satan 》 Library

●Knowledge is power and just when he think he's read every book. There's a new series he can read. Once he met Mc it was a bit difficult to focus on both reading and Mc. He soon realized he can have it both.

●Having Mc read to him while he fucks them. He would stop everytime Mc would stop. He just loved felling Mc tense as he stopped.

●Another fun thing to him is that Mc would have to keep quiet since they were in a public place. The rush he got thinking of someone walking in on him having his cock rammed into the beloved Mc.

●He keeps a list of books to the said that he thinks would sound a lot better with Mc's breathy moans. He also finds it as great stress relief. They would sneak into the library after hours so Mc could make as much noise as possible.

●Sometimes when they're reading together Satan makes Mc wear a vibrating toy and silently turns it on and off when he pleases.

Asmo 》His bedroom

●Asmo is an expert when it comes to connecting. His room has all the necessities. Sound proofing, toys, ropes, leashes, wax, towels, everything. He could give Mc a facial mask after giving them facial.

●Theres a mirror on the ceiling that is right above the bed, mirrors everywhere. If Mc was having a low confidence day he would cover up the mirrors or fuck Mc in front of them in every position to show them how hot they truly are.

●Asmo room also has a camera that follows sound so he can record whenever they are fucking but of course that involves being loud enough.

●Sometimes Asmo will indulge in black coffee because he doesn't want to loose energy or stamina. He wants Mc to do so many things and make sure that Mc's mind is just full of how good they feel and how horny they are.

Beel 》 Kitchen or bedroom

●Duh

●Food play. He loves nyotaimori/ namtaimori; Body sushi, Human tray. He loves to layout his favorite foods on Mc, keeping them as protected as possible. He also would love to fuck Mc with a certain things then eat them. Ie: Cucumber. He wants to see how much of the thick cucumber Mc could take, licking the cucumber in-between tries. Then proceeding to eat it after.

●His fantasy would involve him coming down for a midnight snack and Mc is there surrounded by his favorite food. Mc being just as hungry for Beel as he is for them.

●Ever since the few nights Mc slept on Beels bed. He's been hungry. Their smell is permanently embedded into the bed. He would want to fuck Mc in that bed. He would give Mc a lot of oral. Making sure to taste every drop of them.

●He would to fill up Mc with his load to make sure Mc is as full as he is.Though he's very considerate Mc should expect a bit of soreness next day.

Belphie 》 Attic

●A place to be by himself in a cozy bed Mc riding him as he's slowly woken up.

●The attic is a quiet place. He normally dreams the most about Mc in this room. If anyone tries to interrupt their time together Belphie will quickly cum inside Mc and plug their hole with their underwear. He likes to see them squirm around at the discomfort of the underwear getting soaked with Belphie's juices.

●He likes waking up Mc with him about to cum on their face. He also loves sleepy horny sex where they can't even tell what's where.

●Belphie is extremely possessive so everything is on his stuff. It's not because he's lazy It's because their sent keeps him calm and makes him want- actually NEED them.

●He once used bedsheets to tie up Mc to the bed to overstimulate and exhaust them.

Solomon 》 Anywhere and everywhere

●Mc's room, his room, over here, over there, everywhere. Solomon is proud he scored the hottest human out there. He will fuck Mc when he wants wherever he wants. The idea of someone walking in on them makes him fuck Mc’s throat harder.

●One of his favorite places is the empty classroom right next to an active classroom.

●He admits to watching Mc change in their bedroom from an enchanted mirror he gifted them.

●He loves to tease Mc while they are out. Together they can make a single trip turn into an 8 hour errands day. Once he had Mc pinned in an alleyway while feeling them up and giving them aggressive hickies. He walked away as if nothing happened and Mc weak knees would struggle to carry themselves.Mc would get so desprate that they would drag Solomon to another alleyway and they would be at it for at least an hour.

Diavolo》 The balcony of the Castle or even hidden rooms

●He loves to show what he can offer Mc besides he massive cock. Of course he's anxious to rule devildom but he will do what needs to be done. Mc grounds him. What he doesn't tell Mc is that it's practically impossible to see that balcony. He would never jeopardize Mc or anyone's respect. The balcony gives him time to think a time to feel and reflect. Making Mc feels good makes him feel good.

●He loves exposing Mc's gaping hole towards the balcony. It shows everyone that only he can fill that hole.

●Diavolo is constantly hiding from Barbatos and he loves to drag Mc with him. Sometimes Diavolo forgets what rooms are in this huge castle so it's an adventure with Mc. Small rooms where Mc can barely move due to being pinned by Diavolo. He loves the rush of hiding and trying to be as quickly as possible. He wants to please every part of Mc.

●He loves when Barbatos finds themsawsee and he awkwardly leaves while Diavolo continues.

Barbatos 》 Mc's room

●He wants Mc to be as comfortable as they can be. He enjoys giving Mc massages. Waiting on Mc hand and foot. He wants Mc as comfortable as possible.

●He's more of a pleasure dom than anything. He gets off by just seeing Mc sprawled out on the bed shaking from pleasure. He could simply cum to the thought of it. It's private and quiet. He doesn't have to worry about anyone else except Mc. After he Mc into mush he'll be in the kitchen cooking them their favorite meal. Just to give them enough energy for a round two. He would snap photos of the exhausted Mc to keep for later just to stare.

●Mc's room is also good for Barbatos because Diavolo won't bother him as much. Barbatos only uses his demon form when he wants to fill all of Mcs holes.

●Any messes made in the room he'll clean it up. Since he knows he'll be cleaning anything that happens to get dirty. He's into a lot of WAM (wet and messy) Mainly with saliva, cum, sweat. The more the better it shows him he's doing a good job at pleasing Mc.

Simeon 》 Mc’s bedroom

●He wants Mc to be comfortable. He's never really felt as calm and confident ever since meeting Mc. When Mc looks like they are calm it calms him. Simeon feels safe to sort of lose control. He's a tease outside of the bedroom but now he can actually act out everything he wants to do. By everything, he means everything. Everyday he thinks of a new way He could fuck Mc or even have Mc fuck him.

●Mc's room feels familiar enough for the both of them. Of course it's a bit difficult when the brothers are home but that's when Simeon implements the quiet game. He slams himself into Mc and see how long it takes for Mc to almost give out.

●He loves texting Mc to meet him in their room. He's just so excited to be able to show Mc he's not just an Angel. He can make Mc feel things that they have yet to feel.

●They barely use the bed. Simeon likes to make sure there's a different position everytime. His mind is corrupted by how many positions or how many times can he make Mc cum that night.

[sincerelyneo]

wildest dreams | z.cl

“lets get out of this town, drive out of the city”

💿now playing: wildest dreams by taylor swift

❯ summary: Chenle swears he’s going going crazy with cabin fever inside your shared house — and there’s no way you’re saying no to a late night drive with the roommate you so desperately have a crush on. Who cares if his original story was a lie and, secretly, he just wanted to be alone with you.

❯ pairings: chenle x fem!reader

❯ genre: roommates, friends to lovers, smut, so much fluff i have a tooth ache.

❯ words: 5.6k

❯ tags: 18+ minors dni!, smut, fluff, unprotected sex (don’t do this!), creampie, a lot of marking, bruising, oral sex (f receiving), heavy petting, lots of kissing, reader uses she/her pronouns, chenle is smitten for reader, very slight mention of possessive chenle, chenle takes his friend for a drive with the intention of fucking her.

It didn’t take much. Five words, to be exact.

The clock at the bottom of your screen reads 2:16 am when there is a low knock on your bedroom door. You twist your neck to look over your shoulder to yell for your roommate to come in.

Chenle pushes the door open just enough to stick his shoulder and head in. Dressed in a dark grey hoodie, light blue jeans, and his high-top converse; he already has his keys in his hand and is ready to bolt.

“You wanna take a drive?”

“Fuck yeah,” you say with no hesitation as you push your hands against your desk you were studying at. You grab the closest hoodie and pair of shoes before following him outside without another sentence exchange.

Sitting in the passenger’s seat of Chenle’s car, you watch the warm yellow streetlights create shadows on his face as he drives you both out of the city, looking for quiet roads with no other people around.

Low music flows from the speakers that were connected to his phone. The familiar lyrics to some song has him humming along as his foot steadies on the gas pedal. The beat is just loud enough to fill the comfortable silence.

With your head leaning against the headrest and arms folded over your chest, you roll your neck to look over at Chenle. His body is relaxed as he drives with one hand on top of the wheel and his other laying in his lap. 

His thick eyebrows slightly furrow as he pays close attention to the dark roads. The strands of hair curling ruthlessly around the edges of his forehead are messy, and they make the roommate in front of you look so fucking gorgeous, and he definitely knows it too. 

You take a deep breath as you cross your leg over the other, “So, why’d you wanna take a drive?”

He shrugs, stealing a quick glance over at you, “Was starting to feel a bit cooped up in that house.”

“Really, why didn’t you ask Jeno or Haechan to come with us? I swear I could hear them still playing video games?”

He raises his eyebrow at you. You and he both knew better than to disturb those two when they were five hours deep into a gaming session. 

“Okay, yeah, never mind.”

He laughs so hard that his nose scrunches up like it always does when he laughs genuinely.

The lampposts start getting fewer and farther apart the longer he drives. The only light in the car comes from the radio and the few random lights on his dashboard. 

“I don’t think I’ve ever been this far out of the city,” you say to break the silence.

“Well, I don’t drive as much but I know my way around. We’re pretty much out of the busy part now.” 

He leans forward in his seat as he presses on the brake for an upcoming stop sign. A sign in the road. Only left or right.

“Which way?” He asks. 

“Why do I have to pick?”

“I’m driving so you pick the direction.”

“Umm, okay, left then.”

He laughs to himself and it’s breathy, “always so predictable.” 

“Hey! I can hear you; you know!?”

He clicks his tongue and spins the wheel, one-handed. Your eyes follow as his fingers flex to grip back around the leather of the steering wheel once the turn is complete.

“Any idea in mind of where we’re going?” You ask, curious. 

He hums for a moment as he rests his forearm on the console between you, driving with his left hand on top of the wheel. “It’s pretty much just fields in this direction.”

Sitting up to get a good look up and out the windshield, you glance up at the night sky. It’s almost pitch black around here. Perfect. 

“Wanna drive for another minute or so; before stopping to look at some stars?” You offer. 

Chenle smiles as he turns his attention away from the road over to you for just a second, “Sounds good to me.”

You couldn’t help but flush in the darkness as you bow your head away from him. Warmth floods your face as your mind sticks to thoughts about him.

You and Chenle had always gotten along. A shared living room meant shared conversations; a shared kitchen quickly turned into shared meals; and your rooms being completely opposite from each other lead to awkward small talk. Often, Chenle appears in your doorway with offers of watching a new tv show with takeout from his favourite restaurant; or asking if he could just lay on your bed while you studied. 

You were good friends. Still, your mind couldn’t help but wonder if there was any possibility of something more. You adored him, honestly. 

Your gaze flicks down to look at his hand that was resting on the console. Staring at it, hoping it would just move at your will to get even closer; to touch you in any way possible.

Shaking your head lightly, purging the thoughts of his fingers and palms from your mind, you shift to look out the passenger window. The horizon starts to slow as Chenle presses his foot down on the brake to pull off the road, letting his car drive on the grass field that seems to go on for acres.

He puts the car in park and pockets his keys as you climb out of the seat, jogging a few feet away with your head craned all the way back to look up at the night sky. The light from the headlights casts your shadow as you spin on your heel at the sound of Chenle’s door opening and closing.

“I figured here was a good enough spot,” He calls out as he went around the back of his car to open up the trunk.

“Whatcha lookin’ for?” You asked as you throw your hand over your eyes to squint, trying to figure out what he was grabbing.

The trunk closes with a slam as he reappears with a white-knitted blanket in his arms.

How long has he had that in his car? 

You spread out the blanket on the ground before he lays himself down on top of it, letting out a groan as he rests one hand behind his head. He looks up at you. His dark eyes starting to dilate.

His free arm rises up with his hand making grabby motions at you, “Come on. Lay next to me.”

You couldn’t help but smile as you take his hand to sit down next to him. Instead of laying down right away, you sit with your legs crisscrossed, dropping his hand the second you’re settled on the ground.

Chenle lets out a small huff as he sits up a bit to lean on his elbows. His brows draw in a frown. 

“What?” You ask him.

He shakes his head. 

“I said,” he leans over to hook his arm over your waist, pushing you to lay flat on the ground, “to lay next to me.”

Your hair flares out against the blanket as he lays back down on his side to look at you. He’s situated a couple of inches lower than where you ended up, the side of his head resting against your shoulder.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You didn’t listen to me.”

“Whatever,” you close your eyes for a moment as you roll your head to look up at the stars. “The stars are pretty tonight.”

“They always look like that.”

You huff, “You’re such a guy.”

“Excuse me?” He laughs as he tilts his head over at you.

You sigh as you rest your hands on your stomach.

“You don’t appreciate the beauty of everyday life. Yes, stars look the same, but we don’t see them all the time. So, they are pretty tonight.”

Chenle lets out another laugh, “I appreciate plenty of beauty every day.”

“Really? Like what?” You turn your head to look down at him.

“Jeno is a pretty guy,” he says without hesitation.

You let out a laugh as you agree with him, “hmm good point. Jeno is pretty cute.”

“But I’m cuter,” It sounded like a statement, but his voice got a pitch higher, almost like he was asking you a question.

You both nod your head as you look down at him for a second before turning back towards the stars, “Yes, Chenle, you are.”

He rolls onto his back but leaves his head on your shoulder to look up at the visible stars in the sky. 

He let out a huff, “I don’t even know what I’m supposed to be looking for. I don’t see shit.”

“Easy, I’ll show you,” you shuffle down to his level and flip onto your side to get your head close to his to understand where exactly he was looking. “Okay, over here. You see those cluster of staggered stars right there?” you raise your hand to point off to the right side of him.

“Maybe?” He furrows his eyebrows as he squints up at the dots in the black sky.

Taking a deep breath, you wiggle closer, body practically right up against his. Leaning over just a tad bit more.

“Follow my finger,” you turn your head to look over at him for a moment only to find him already looking at your face. “Chenle, come on.”

“Okay, okay, where?” He let out a sigh as he twists his head back to where your hand is.

“Right here,” your finger traces over the constellation. “Those stars are the Archer constellation.”

“The what?”

“The archer is another word for the Sagittarius constellation. I think that’s your zodiac—” your hand moves away from the set of stars realising you were being a bit full-on and obvious. 

Luckily, you could tell Chenle wasn’t paying attention. Feeling his breath on the side of your face and not looking at the stars or listening to anything you were saying. Thankfully, it was dark as all hell out here so he couldn’t completely see how nervous he truly made you.

“Chenle,” you sigh as he only hums back at you, “if you aren’t going to pay attention, why did you agree?”

Your noses are almost touching when you turn your head to look back at him. 

“Because you wanted to do this,” his voice is barely louder than a whisper. The answer is simple enough, but it speaks volumes.

“You’re the one who wanted to take a drive,” you try to deflect. 

“No. I just wanted to spend more time with you.”

You raise your eyebrows at him, “I thought you were going stir crazy?”

He bites his bottom lip as he slowly closes his eyes, realising you caught onto his tiny white lie. 

“Okay, fine, you got me,” he lets out a breath as he reopens his eyes.

You swallow nervously as you watch his eyes comb over your face as you fall silent once again. The only sounds now are the crickets and your breathing, but you could also hear the pounding from your own heartbeat. You felt like you were trembling from his gaze alone. 

The tension in the air is thick and heavy as the cool breeze blows past you. You want to break it, but don't know how. You don’t want to try and make a joke just for it to land flat and make the tension not only thicker but also awkward.

Feeling the need to break eye contact, your eyes fall down to follow the column of his throat down to his chest which is covered by the fabric of his hoodie.

“Please tell me I’m reading this right?” he asks you lowly; then he rolls over and lifts himself up onto his elbow to look down at you. 

You reach up to twist your finger around the string of his hoodie, letting your eyelids fall just a bit as you wrap the string between your fingers. You shrug slightly as you lick your lips, tilting your head to the side a bit.

“And what if you are?”

He doesn’t say anything else. This tension is definitely not friendly in any kind of way. Not with how close he is; with the way he is hovering above you. Not with the way you’re both breathing. And definitely not with the way you’re looking at each other.

“What’s stopping you?” You ask him, tilting your head back to look up at him. Your eyes search his, urging him on with your words to just take the bait.

Please. Take the bait.

His gaze flicks down to your lips before his hand comes up to rest on the side of your neck, leaning down to slot your lips together.

The kiss doesn’t last long. He pulls back just enough to look at you — faces still close enough to have breaths shared.

You want him.

Tilting your chin up to chase his mouth, you kiss him again and you both equally melt against each other. His thumb starts running back and forth against your cheek; and his other arm keeps him up high enough not to crush you with all his body weight.

“W-we-,” He pulls away, distracted by your boldness, only to be brought back to what was important as you use your hand to grab his chin, and turn his head back to you.

“Pay attention.”

His eyes blow wide as a smile begins to spread across his face before you’re pulling him back down to connect his mouth with yours again. 

Your body wasn’t trembling but tingling with the way his hands had started caressing your side as your mouths kept moving harder against each other.

A shiver runs through your body once Chenle’s hand trails down to your waist and under your own hoodie to glide across your stomach for a moment before going back to your side. Your arms wrap around his neck while your hand tangles itself into his hair. His clustered strands successfully keep your fingers against his scalp.

Accidentally, pulling on his hair, he lets out a groan and you can’t help but have a reaction of your own as you arch your back into him. 

Chenle shifts to move completely over you and your legs fall open without a second thought as he settles himself in between them. The kiss is growing more desperate and rougher with every passing moment.

He finally pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours. His nose brushes against the side of yours as you take a break to let air back into your lungs.

“I never thought you’d be into me,” Chenle breathes out, his eyes closing as he tries to calm his racing pulse.

“That’s ridiculous,” you reply as you lay your hand on the back of his neck to pull him back in for another kiss. Biting his lip when you pull away to speak this time, “You’re hot as fuck.”

You lean back up to kiss his jaw. “A complete loser, maybe…” you keep trailing up his jaw with every compliment you give him.

“…but a sweet and thoughtful, a confident and cute…” 

When you reach his ear, you couldn’t help but bite lightly before saying, “Incredibly sexy loser.” 

His entire body shivers as he pushes you back down, flat against the ground to connect your lips again, his tongue sliding into your mouth as a gasp flies out of you.

You don’t know how you found the consciousness to wrap your legs around his waist and use your heels to push him even closer, but you do, and his reaction is completely welcomed as he lets out another guttural groan.

Soft pants fill the air as you’re completely wrapped around each other. A whimper escapes every so often from your mouth as Chenle shifts upwards to place his arm by your head to tower over you. His lower body is grinding against yours and the friction feels amazing. 

“Chenle,” you moan out as you felt his fingers dance across the skin of your stomach again. The hand that isn’t keeping him upright almost never leaves your skin.

When he does pull away, his lips are red and swollen. Eyelids half-lidded, a red blush prominent on his cheeks all the way down to his neck. 

You did that. 

You made him like that. 

His thumb hooks into your sweatpants and traces the sensitive skin just under your underwear.

“I want to taste you.”

You squeeze your eyes shut as a whine comes out of your throat. “Oh, fuck,” you whisper and throw your head back. 

He didn’t even have to do anything, simply his words and pretty much him alone could pull such a reaction out of you.

You kick off your shoes as he pulls your pants down, along with your underwear in one fell swoop, tossing them to the side. You feel like you’re going to pass out any second from how worked up you are.

“You’re soaked, baby,” Chenle says as his thumbs rub circles into your hip bones. The cool air raises goosebumps to the exposed skin of your now naked thighs. “You okay with this?”

“Yes, just please,” you beg as your hands grip at his shoulders, trying to move him back to you.

He presses light kisses up your thigh, completely avoiding where you needed him. His nose brushes against your skin as he keeps moving upwards towards your stomach, raking up your hoodie and shirt to your ribs. His rough fingers start trailing across you as he makes his way up towards your boobs.

“Chenle, please,”  you moan, as his hands slid back down towards your hips. “Stop teasing.”

“Easy,” he lifts his gaze to look up at you. A boyish smirk is now plastered on his face. His lips touch your skin as he speaks, “I’ve waited months for this. And I sure as fuck think I deserve to take my time with you.”

You let out a shaky sigh, “Well, I need you to do something, anything!”

You try to push him by his shoulders to get him to move in the right direction, but he doesn't even budge. Instead, his thumbs dig hard enough into your hips that you knew there would be bruises in a few hours. Hissing but also throwing your head back, your fingers grip the fabric of his hoodie, and you could feel the smile on his face against your ribs.

“You like being marked up?”

All you could do is nod as his grip somehow tightens.

“Words. I need words.”

“Yes,” was all you manage to get out. 

“Good, ‘cause I intend to mark every part of you,” he says as he starts to move back down your body, finally going to the place where you really needed him. 

Your breath hitches when you eventually feel him lick a stripe up your folds. “You taste amazing. I’m never letting you have anyone else.”

Letting out a shaky moan as fingers raked through his hair, you say, “I don’t want anyone else.”

Twitches consume your whole body every time his nose hits your clit. Your hips buck every single time until he uses one hand to keep them against the ground.

“Stop. Moving.” He warns through tight teeth. 

But you couldn’t, not with his skin brushing up the insides of your thighs with his every move. Not with the way he glares up at you like you were his last meal.

The feeling of his tongue all over your cunt shocks your entire nervous system; whimpering, as his lips attack and suck at your clit, your hips moving wildly from the newest sensation.

“Fucking stop moving,” his voice had somehow gotten even deeper, and you couldn’t help but clench around nothing.

You whine when he lifts his head a couple of inches away from your pussy. His mouth and jaw shiny with your slick. “Gonna be a good girl?”

Your fingers start to shake as you try to keep them against his scalp. You nod dumbfoundedly. You would do anything to get him to go back to what he was doing.

“Yes, I will. Please, keep going. Please.”

Without another word, Chenle adds two of his fingers as his mouth goes back to your clit. Moans turn into yelps and whines turn into whimpers as you just bask in the feeling of having all his attention on your cunt.

Somehow finding the strength to pick your head up, you could clearly see Chenle grinding his own hips into the ground, giving himself some friction.

“Fuck,” you whine out as your eyes roll into the back of your head, letting it fall backwards again and hitting the ground with a thump. The sight of seeing him chasing some of his own pleasure while eating you out was enough to coast you straight into the beginning of your orgasm.

You could feel him smile against your wet pussy. His fingers keep their pace, but you swear he starts sucking harder while intertwining kitten licks to your clit.

“Chenle.” You moan, “Chen-, please. I’m-”

He doesn’t even give you a chance to speak as he starts to curl the fingers he had inside of you, resulting in your thighs beginning to twitch and tremble. 

With your back arching, you sing out his name in the most delicate moan as you crest over. His hands try their best to keep your lower body flat on the ground to let you ride it out. You could feel your voice starting to go raw from how good he was making you feel.

You can’t wait to feel him inside you.

Your chest starts heaving as Chenle slowly makes his way back up your body, placing kisses on every spot of skin as he rises up to your face. He has a stupid, dumb smile on his face as he ducks his head into the crook of your neck.

“That good, hmm?”

You’re unresponsive, all the muscles in your body starting to relax as he begins to leave small bites and kisses on the side of your neck. Your hands roam over his back as you try to piece your mind back together.

“Holy fuck,” you breathe out. You let out a chuckle yourself as you drag your nails against the hoodie on his back, “Yeah, it was that good.”

Your eyes open as you feel a new rush of need, watching his shoulders move while he tuns his tongue against the side of your neck. The feeling of his hard cock against your sensitive cunt, the same place his face was just a moment before, made you slide your hands down to the bottom of his top.

You need him to have less clothes on. You want to feel him just as much as he felt you.

You tug on the bottom of his grey hoodie, signalling to him you wanted it off. He obviously gets the hint as he rises to his knees while still in between your legs to pull the article of clothing off. His shirt follows a split second before it falls back down to its proper spot.

“Take off your fucking pants,” you order him as you pull up his shirt, trying your best to find the button and zipper of his jeans with your fingers still shaking.

He laughs as he sits on the back of his knees, “Whoa, chill. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Yeah, but you’re still not close enough,” you use whatever core strength you had left in you to lift your body up to kiss him once more. “You’re not inside me.”

He closes his eyes and lifts his eyebrows while swallowing thickly, “Fuck, okay.”

The second his cock springs free from his pants, your hand goes straight to it, stroking it as he sucks in a breath and almost doubles over. A moan falls from his mouth as your thumb runs over his tip.

His hand snakes back to your face to cup your cheek as he kisses you, slowly pushing you back against the ground. He knocks your hand away from his cock as he positions his body back on top of yours. Grabbing your thigh with his other hand to move your leg to wrap around his waist.

“Sure you wanna do this?” He mumbles breathlessly against your lips as he runs the tip against your pussy.

“Yes,” you slur, drunk on his attention.

Gasps come out of both your mouths when he pushes himself in. Eyebrows pinching as you tilt your head back. He takes that opportunity to dip his head and start kissing and nipping at your open collarbones.

“Oh my god,” you whimper. The stretch from his cock burns but also feels too fucking good. He is like the perfect size — made entirely for you. Your eyes roll into the back of your head once he fully stills inside you till the hilt. 

Chenle pulls his head away from your neck to rest his forehead against yours. His harsh and heavy breaths hit your skin as he searches your face for any discomfort, “All good?”

You nod, “Move, please.”

You don’t have to ask twice as he begins to drag his cock in and out of you. Hitting the perfect places every time he thrusts, each time mewls and whimpers of noise escape your throat without much thought.

You’re loud — you both are. You knew you were, so it was a good thing you were in the middle of fucking nowhere because there was no way you were going to silence yourself.

Your hands slip under his shirt and pull it up to his shoulder blades where you dig your nails into his pretty skin. He lets out a hiss as his thrusts get harder resulting in you creating even more scratches on his back.

“I thought I was supposed to be the one leaving marks,” Chenle huffs as he pushes his hips hard enough that there was an audible slap from your hips meeting.

“Then fucking do it.”

He doesn’t hesitate. He rucks your hoodie and shirt back up and over your bra and drops his head to start his work on the swell of your breasts. All you could do is sigh and wait until later to see the extent of his creation. The image of seeing all the bruises and marks on your chest makes your pussy flutter around his cock, resulting in Chenle groaning against your skin along with his hips stuttering.

“You can’t do that.”

“Why not?” You challenge and clench around him again to be a brat.

“Because,” he lets out through his teeth as he gave you one particularly rough thrust that makes your entire body rock against his, “I won’t last if you keep at it.” 

You keep clawing at his back as his thrusts don’t falter nor lose any force. The smirk on his face comes back. 

“And I don’t think you want this to end anytime soon.”

You don’t know if you are going to last much longer. The pressure of his body against yours, the hard yet rhythmic fuck of his hips, the bites and licks against your chest, not to mention the stretch in your cunt. 

Your mind was putty and Chenle was the only consistent and clear thought in it.

Your legs somehow get impossibly tighter around his waist as his finger comes to rub circles into your swollen clit. The only things coming out of your mouth are small and fast pants — with the occasional drop of his name — as your eyebrows furrow and your head throws as far back as it could go.

“You’re close,” he softly speaks into your ear, his pace never slowing. “I can feel you getting close.”

“Please, please,” you beg.

Chenle’s fingers quicken on your clit, as his other hand grabs yours to intertwine your fingers with his and place them next to your head. Your other hand grips his bicep as your thighs start to twitch again.

“Come on. Do it,” he presses his forehead into your temple, as whimpers and pleads start falling from your lips.

It feels embarrassing how fast you’re cumming around his cock, but with how good it felt, you couldn't hold out any longer. His name is the last thing on your tongue as your second orgasm takes over all senses and muscles in your body. 

Chenle slows his pace but keeps moving as he mouths at the side of your neck, creating more marks as you’re high on pleasure from him.

“Welcome back,” he smiles into your skin after releasing it from between his teeth. His lips move to your jaw as the hand on his arm loosens its grip.

“Hi,” your voice is light and floaty as Chenle lifts his head to look at you. The sweat on his forehead makes his hair wet and sticks his bangs to his skin.

His face is bright red as you lift your hand to push his hair back, running your nails against his scalp.

“You feel good?” he asks as he was barely moving. His hips move back and forth just enough to feel something instead of him being still.

“Very,” you smile at him before slipping your hand out from his and using both of them to push him over onto his back with you in his lap, never disconnecting. “It’s your turn now.”

Chenle’s eyes widen as you lean down to give him one kiss, which he eagerly accepts before you rise to your knees to drag him half out of you just to harshly sit back down. You happily swallow the moan that comes out of his mouth as you start to bounce on his dick.

“Fuck, fuck,” he curses as you lean yourself back to rest your hands on his chest, wanting to make him feel as good as he made you.

His fingers dig into the sides of your thighs as you ride him, his own thighs starting to shake as his face scrunches up from pleasure. The feeling of his cock throbbing and twitching inside you makes you want even more — despite all that he already gave you. 

Your slurred name comes from his mouth giving you the power boost you need to keep up your own pace, ignoring the burning in your thighs. His eyes shut tight as his head rolls to the side. His short, blunt nails were definitely leaving crescent-shaped marks on your skin, but you’re too riled up to care. 

You lean down to kiss his jaw, as he sputters out curses and moans while you keep grinding down on his cock. Trying to give him a mind-blowing orgasm like he had given you, you clench around him.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck-” he cries out as his hands slide up to your waist, grip tightening as your mouth went up to his ear.

“Cum, baby,” you duck down just enough to kiss the skin right under his ear. “Cum inside me.”

You give him a low breathy moan that apparently pushes him just over the edge. His entire body stilling and trembling as you feel him cum inside you. 

Gasps fly out of his mouth as he slowly opens his eyes. The look on his face is one of lustful intoxication. His hands come up to your face to pull you back over to his mouth to give you a kiss as he rides out his own high.

“Holy shit,” he mutters as you smirk down at him.

“You feel good?” You ask him the same thing he asked you.

He scoffs and blinks a few times, “I think I literally lost my mind for a moment.”

You lean over to kiss his cheek, beaming from the praise as you slowly raise yourself to slide his softening dick out of your pussy. Being careful not to overstimulate him with how sensitive he had to be. 

Before flopping back down next to him, you grab your phone from your discarded pants to check the time. Instead, you’re greeted with a few texts from your other roommates.

Jeno 2:37 am

Where are you?

Haechan 2:38 am

Did you leave with Chenle?

Jeno 2:40 am 

Could’ve at least let us know you were leaving, we thought you were kidnapped. 

Jeno 2:42 am

Well, have fun. 

Haechan 2:45 am

Use protection ;) 

You stifle a laugh as you toss your phone back to the side as Chenle looks over at you while slipping his boxers back on.

“What’s up?” He asks as he leans back on his elbows. His face is still relaxed and his eyes half-lidded, obviously still in post-orgasm bliss.

“Jeno and Haechan were wondering where we were,” you answer him as you go to find your underwear, but grimace when you feel something wet slide down the inside of your thighs. 

Biting your lip, you look over at Chenle, “You got anything to clean myself up with?”

He twists his mouth and squints his right eye as he tilts his head back and forth, “I got some napkins in the car, but… I have a better idea.”

You raise an eyebrow, “Which is? I’m not a fan of being sticky.”

Chenle smirks at you as he leans over to kiss you, pushing you down on your back again.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be clean in a few minutes.”

[1lenii]

💋 1 girl = 1 kiss 💋

42!miles x female!reader

Notes: there is Spanish in here so, uh yk translate<3.

Idea from someone in my feed I’ll tag them when I find them🏃🏽‍♀️ @cuddl3s4shur1

Honestly creds to that person because this is a nice concept, and there’s definitely a better way to write this, but without further ado, enjoy!!<3

****************************************************

(Y/N) follows miles body as he talks to one of his classmates. A girl who seems nice, but a little to close for comfort.

The girl finally leaves bidding miles a goodbye while giddily leaving the classroom.

Miles walks back to his seat getting ready to pack his bag, noticing the mood change in his gf.

“You good ma?”

“Mhm”

(Y/N) gets up from her seat and heading to the door, miles takes this as a sign to hurry up, while hastily walking behind his girl, inevitably tripping on his laces. (Y/N) stifled a laugh before waiting for her lover.

Miles quickly gets up playing it off luckily it was only them two in the hallway, catching up to (Y/N).

————————————

The next day in the cafeteria miles gets called over by one of his frds, quickly bringing him to the group that consisted of 3 girls 4 boys. Only chilling with them for moments till (Y/N) came down from her previous class

Miles catches (Y/N) and calls her over. She scans the table, taking notes of the mutual connection sat at the table.

“Edna you met someone new??” Miles asks taking a bite from his tray

“Idk he kinda weird, wish he were more like Jason or even you” she pouts

Miles laughs it off while (Y/N) pinches him under the table signaling she didn’t like that.

————————————

Miles was now at Strike 3.

After class he told (Y/N) to wait with his things as she watched him stop a girl and give her something. While quickly going back to his now fuming girlfriend.

(Y/N) shoves his things into his chest while storming out of the school complex on her way to her dorm.

“Estoy halta, no puedo mas” (Y/N) murmures as she struggles with her keys, entering the complex looking for signs of her roommate. Seems that they left with food already prepared.

(Y/N) takes the plate of food to her room setting her bag down at her desk while turning on the TV.

As she stress eating, her phone buzzes with all too familiar notification

Miles<3: yo ma?? Que te pasa?

Miles<3: you can talk to me, lo que sea

Leaving miles on delivered she shuts off her phone, 15 minutes pass as she hear the front door.

(Y/N) stays put as she assumes it’s her roommate coming back from whatever it was deciding to thank them for the food later.

“Don’t go ignoring me mami.” Miles says sternly while standing at the door frame.

(Y/N) looks at him gives him the plate to take back to the kitchen and continues watching her show

Miles puts the plate down on the table next to her bed and sit down next her on the bed reaching to caress her cheek

(Y/N) avoids his touch, leaving miles offended in a way

“Dime, que te pasa?”

“Nothing go talk to your other hoes”

Miles is dumbfounded as he blankly stares at (Y/N)

“Hoes? Quit playing ma, you know I only got eyes fo you”

“That’s not what the last three days have been showing”

“What you talm bout”

“For last 3 days you been up In girls faces, ion wanna hear no bum ass excuse gomf thank you.”

“Ma.. those are friends, I’ll gladly cut them off for yo-“

“Do me one better”

“Aiii.. fine”

Miles says as he takes his position next you on the bed, he takes out his phone and hits record on (preferred app)

Grabbing your face he pulls (Y/N) into a deep kiss, shortly breaking the kiss to press one to your temple, making sure it was all recorded

Shortly after he pressed post on the corner of his phone screen.

“I did you one better ma you forgive me??”

“I guess” (Y/N) roles her eyes slapping his chest playfully

“You know I love you ma, I would kiss you in front of every girl you think that wants me.”

(Y/N) giggles snuggling up to him for warmth

——————————————————————

Bonus:

3 days later*

“You remember how you said you would kiss me in front of every girl I think that wants you?”

“Yea..”

“So does that include your hair braider”

“Including my braider, ma. I meant it” he laughs pressing a kiss to your forehead”

********************************************

[originalfatfiction]

Andy's Assistant

“Hello, excuse me.” There was a gentle rapping at my office door that caused me to look up from my computer. “Are you Andrew Reynolds?” I looked at a young guy obviously in his early twenties. He smiled cheerily as he stood in the doorway, waiting for my response. His smile was gorgeous, his teeth immaculate.

“Yes, I’m Andrew Reynolds,” I replied. “How can I help you?” He smiled again before he continued, walking a little further into my office. 

“Well, the receptionist at the desk in the waiting area said it would be okay if I came on back.” I nodded, allowing him to continue. “My name is Parker Jeong and I applied for the job as your assistant. We had the interview over the phone early last week. I was in the process of moving to the area.”

“Oh, yes, I remember.” Recent college grad. Moving from California. Could start working immediately.

“I know that you mentioned wanting to meet in person before finalizing my employment.” He smiled again, and even with the wholesome smile on his face, I could see in his eyes that he was nervous. He had beautiful almond-shaped brown eyes, and he did his best to hold my gaze. He toyed anxiously with the crisp sheet of paper in his hand, which I assumed was a hard copy of his resumé. He was probably scared I wouldn’t want to hire him after all. Imagine moving across the country for a job only to be told the position had already been filled.

“I know you just graduated a few months ago,” I verbalized. “But from what I remember you telling me during our phone conversation and what I saw on the resumé you emailed over, you’re more than qualified to work as an administrative assistant.”  

“Thank you, sir. I brought a hard copy of my resumé with me,” he said.

“Let me take another look.” He walked closer to my desk and handed it to me. I looked it over, recalling most of the standout credentials. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other. 

Parker had majored in marketing with a minor in graphic design. He’d spent his final semester involved in a mentorship program for Asian-Americans interested in working in advertising. He graduated magna cum laude. Hell, he was overqualified for this position. 

“You’re sure you want this job?” I asked. “You could definitely get a position as a copywriter at another agency.” 

“Hathaway and Associates is the best agency in the entire Midwest. I’ve dreamed of working here since I decided I wanted to go into advertising. The commercials you all put out for Nike were astonishing.” The kid had done his research. 

“What about those commercials did you like so much?” 

“They had this sense of authenticity that I don’t think we see much of anymore. Those ads gave me the courage to join a gym.” I wondered what he’d think if he knew the portly executive in front of him had come up with the concept that inspired his fitness journey. 

“I want more for my career, yes, but I don’t plan on shirking my responsibilities as your assistant. I’ll do whatever it takes to make sure you’re taken care of, sir.”  

I was a pretty good judge of character, and I didn’t think Parker would let me down. I liked his honesty. It was refreshing. My previous assistants had never been my choice, often young adults that had some sort of connection to the other executives at the agency. “Well, I look forward to working with you.”

“I look forward to working with you too,” he replied, reaching out to shake my hand. I stood, and his eyes traveled upwards to my face. Maybe he couldn’t tell I was so tall behind my desk, but it seemed like he was surprised by my size. I tended to have this effect on people. I grabbed his hand, and we shook to seal the deal of his hiring.

“Head to human resources and get your paperwork finalized. I’ll see you first thing tomorrow morning. We start at nine.” He thanked me again, clutching his over-the-shoulder bag as he left my office. I bet he skipped down the hallway all the way to HR.

I knew he’d work hard. That was certain. But when it came to how sexy he was, I wasn’t sure what I was getting myself into. I assumed Parker was gay, and he was definitely a little snack I could see myself sinking my teeth into, but I had to remind myself that I was in a position of power over him. Even if I wanted to see what he was working with underneath his exquisitely tailored slacks, flirting with him was a no-go. And besides, that little gym bunny probably had no interest in a grizzly bear like me.

The next morning, I got to work a little early and Parker was sitting at his station right outside of my office. He had a dozen donuts on his desk and two coffees, one much larger than the other.

“Hello Mr. Reynolds,” he said. “Please let me know what I can do to help you this morning.” He handed me the larger coffee and a napkin before smoothly opening the box of donuts. I recognized them immediately. They were from a trendy new spot that had opened a few months ago. They specialized in unique flavors, like maple-bacon and Fruity Pebbles.

“You sure know how to make an impression.” 

“I told you that I’d do whatever it takes to make sure you’re taken care of.” I grabbed one of the donuts, knowing I’d be coming back out for another within the next fifteen minutes.

“Let me get situated and I’ll let you know what you can do for me.”

“Yes sir.”

I wondered if he knew what he was doing to me with all this “Mr. Reynolds” and “Yes sir” business. My last assistant was a statuesque redhead who never tried to go above and beyond the requirements of her position. Which was fine, I got it. She did what she was paid for. But sometimes I think she messed things up on purpose so I wouldn’t give her more work to do. I barely got a hello from her in the morning, and she left promptly at five without so much as a farewell. 

I shuffled into my office, tossing my bag on one of the chairs opposite my desk. I bit into the donut, savoring its sweetness. It tasted like a Biscoff cookie, and I was almost certain the glaze was made from cookie butter. I took a slightly larger bite before shoving the rest of the pastry into my awaiting mouth. That donut never stood a chance. I already wanted another, but I needed to show some self-restraint. I couldn’t let Parker know I spent my working hours inhaling food three minutes into his first day.

About ten minutes later, Parker was knocking at my door, box of donuts in hand.

“We’re celebrating today, Mr. Reynolds,” he said, walking towards my desk. “I’ve already had two of these. I’m going to leave the box with you so you don’t have to worry about coming back for more.”

“Well, uh, you don’t want to offer them to some of the other assistants?”

“No, sir,” he said, coyly setting the box to the left of me at my L-shaped desk. “This is for me and you, sir.”

Damn did Parker know the way to a big man’s heart. Having the box within arm’s reach, I finished the rest of that dozen by noon.

The donuts were one thing, but Parker was constantly supplying me with snacks throughout the day. He’d brought me homemade blueberry muffins and brown butter chocolate chip cookies. He’d made me buttery croissants, decadent fudge brownies, and Oreo cheesecake bites. I wondered if he was making his way through a cookbook.

“It’s just a hobby,” he said offhandedly when I mentioned he didn’t have to bring me so many treats. “I guess I got carried away.”

“You just always bring so much. I hope you know I’m not expecting you to bring something every single day. I don’t want you to feel put out.”

“It’s just how I unwind,” he said. “Before I moved here, I had three roommates. Now that I live alone, I don’t have anyone else to share them with. I’m really sorry for assuming you wanted them.”

“Whoa!” I interjected. “I never said I didn’t want them.” This made him laugh. I didn’t mind the baked goods. I woke up salivating thinking about what new thing he’d have for me to munch on, but it was never just a sampling of his work. The portions were huge. When he showed up with his reusable containers, it always brought to mind something that would normally be placed in the breakroom for everyone in the office to sample—like a baker’s dozen of white chocolate raspberry mini-Bundt cakes or an entire pan of M&M Rice Krispie Treats.

The baked goods were just the cherry on top of having an excellent assistant. He was definitely the best one I’d ever had, a really fast learner for sure, but his competence as an office worker was second to his ability to cater to my often insatiable hunger. A month of Parker’s special treatment was damaging to my waistline. Being catered to by him turned me on beyond belief, and it was something new for me. In my past relationships, my love of food was never celebrated. Parker’s eyes seemed to light up when I munched on whatever he brought me. “It’s not too chocolatey?” he’d asked, pushing another confection my way. It was never too chocolatey. It was always perfect, just like him.

He greeted me with baked goods each morning and made sure to say goodbye before heading out every evening, carrying with him an empty Tupperware container or pie dish. Aside from the extra thousand-plus calories a day I was inhaling from his delicious goodies, he always made sure to have lunch delivered for me.

He talked to me more than any of my other assistants ever had. Almost like he was trying to get to know me on a more personal level. It had me looking forward to going to work, a feeling I hadn’t had in quite a while. It might have been unintentional, but Parker’s interest, even if it was just platonic, was boosting my ego. My old assistants barely ever looked in my direction, but this guy wanted to know what my favorite movies were and what I liked to do for fun. This attention from him was electrifying. My brain knew being this infatuated with him was no good, but my heart (and my stomach) didn’t care.

Even now, none of the interns or other assistants ever talked to me unless absolutely necessary. That didn’t mean I wasn’t a topic of conversation. They all definitely talked about me. I was big, yes. But I also had a resting serious face. Combined with my intimidating frame, they thought of me as some sort of beast. I once made an intern cry during a pitch meeting because I “looked like I was going to bite her head off.” I now made more of an effort to smile, even when there was no reason to. I also tried to ignore the implications of this, considering I was one of four black men on staff.

To the other execs, I was more of the office joke. I was younger than most of them by fifteen years, so they viewed me as some sort of kid brother. It was always a crack here or a joke there. When I landed the Nike account they all thought it was the funniest thing to ever happen in the history of the world.

“Andy?” one of them had guffawed, barely able to get out what he wanted to say. “When was the last time you saw the inside of a gym? And Nike went with your pitch?”  

But it was something I had become accustomed to; all throughout school I was the big guy people joked about or avoided. Adults always thought I was with the wrong group of kids in elementary school because I was a head taller than the other boys. As if I wasn’t already too big, I had another growth spurt the summer before freshman year of high school. At fourteen my dad began teaching me how to lift weights. My body developed rapidly, and it took me a long time to get comfortable with those changes. By the time I was eighteen, I was larger than my father, who was by no means a small man. My weight sort of leveled out in my early twenties, and I graduated college at my current height and 270 pounds.

Joining the workforce was frightening, yet liberating. I had disposable income and the ability to make my own life decisions. I began working where I was currently employed as a copywriter two months after getting my degree. Lots of late nights and hard work helped me rise in the ranks. I was promoted to the executive level three years ago, and had run through five assistants in that time. I was now thirty-two, unmarried, and a little stifled.

I spent most of my time working. I hadn’t had a hookup in literal years, and to be frank, I didn’t see one happening in the near future. I used to be able to lean into being the big, burly guy who’d had one too many beers. I walked the line between dad-bod and straight-up fat guy for as long as I could before I was promoted. Being an executive meant a lot more responsibility and a lot less free time. My tri-weekly lifting sessions were now a thing of the past. I thought I could stand to lose a few pounds then, but now I was over 350 pounds.

Having Parker as my assistant only exacerbated my feelings of loneliness (and horniness). He probably didn’t even know I was gay and very much into his tight slacks and obedient disposition. The last month had been amazing, yet torturous.

“I have your forms, Mr. Reynolds.”

I told him he could call me Andy, or even just Andrew, but he never did. It was about lunch time and I was getting a bit restless. Maybe I’d run off my other assistants with my multiple food orders throughout the day. I seemed to simply exist in a state of hunger. I was also slightly convinced I couldn’t do my best work on an empty stomach.

I looked at Parker standing in front of me. His dark brown hair was short and very stylish. My hair was cut in a neat fade and my facial hair was thick. I’d kept a standing appointment with my barber every Sunday morning at ten for the last five years.

“Thank you,” I said, holding out my hand to take the manila folder that contained the forms from him. Like some cheesy porno with ridiculous circumstances to set up a sexual scenario, the folder fell through my fingers, all the papers scattering on my office floor.

“Oh, sorry!” he exclaimed. “That’s my bad.” He bent over to pick up the documents, noticing there were more papers to gather than he first realized. He then got on his knees in front of my desk and once again I got to take in his beautiful ass. The fabric of his slacks pulled tight against his butt. His back was slightly arched, as if advertising himself to me. What I wouldn’t give to be bucking my hips behind him. I thought about fucking him constantly, and it had become an obsession. I’d definitely gotten the vibe that he was gay, but I had some serious doubts he’d ever want to hook up with me. “Here you go,” he said, hopping to his feet and handing me the papers.

Almost like it was trying to embarrass me and purposely kill my arousal, my stomach growled.

“Sorry,” I said. I couldn’t believe how hot my face got. My stomach growling was only going to draw attention to the fact that I was twice his size. The portion of goodies I received from Parker at the start of the day was on the smaller side, so that hadn’t helped to dull my hunger pains.

“It’s okay.” He smiled. “It’s lunchtime.” I felt my face go hot once more.

“Yeah, I guess I am kind of hungry.”

“You’re a pretty big guy. I get it.” He fidgeted with one of the buttons on his dress shirt. “Do you, maybe, want to take lunch with me today?” 

“I’ve never eaten with one of my assistants before,” I said, in disbelief he wanted to spend time with me outside of the office.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I can just pick something up for you if you’d prefer—”

I stood quickly, not wanting to pass up any opportunity to talk to him about topics not related to copies or signatures or meetings. My gut shook a bit with the momentum. The buttons had given me a difficult time when getting dressed, and I needed to get some new shirts.

“I’m free for lunch,” I exclaimed. “We can go now.”

There were a ton of restaurants in the downtown area. I asked what he wanted to eat and he deferred to me, claiming he wanted me to get whatever I was craving. If I were able to get whatever I was craving, it would be the Parker Jeong meal, extra sauce. He’d probably think that was so cringe. I sighed to myself.

“There’s this place called The Coop,” I said, giving my second choice for lunch. “They serve Nashville style hot chicken.”

At the restaurant he got a normal sized portion of food for a normal sized person, and I wanted to be good, but I needed to replace the lust I was feeling with something else, and that something else was two Nashville hot chicken sandwiches, a large fry, baked beans, coleslaw, and a strawberry mint frozen lemonade.

He didn’t even bat an eye, offering to pick up our trays while I waited at the table. I knew he was just being nice to me because I was his boss. I’d paid for the food, so he was probably just still in assistant mode.

“Order up,” he said, returning to where we sat, setting my overstuffed tray in front of me.

“Thank you,” I said, taking in his tray with three tenders and a medium fry.

“Do you like to eat here a lot?” he asked, sipping from his unsweetened iced tea. Coming from someone else, that would’ve felt like a jab, but from him it just felt conversational.

“I do like this place a lot. Especially for the downtown area. The portions aren’t skimpy and it tastes pretty good too.”

“What other places do you like?”

“Oh, well that’s easy,” I said, digging into my first sandwich. “There’s Tripp’s for seafood, Curry House for Indian, Miss Janie’s for BBQ, oh yeah—Sub Daddy has these huge hoagies. Best in the city. And they’re open late!”

“Sub Daddy?” he laughed. “What kind of name is that?”

“Well, maybe they’re leaning into the innuendo?”

“Hmm, maybe,” he said, looking down at his tenders. “We’ll have to eat there together soon, though Dom Daddies are actually more my speed.”

Was that directed towards me? There was no chance. Absolutely no way. He wasn’t flirting. He wasn’t coming on to me. But still—even if his comment meant nothing, I could feel myself getting hard. 

I took another big bite of my sandwich, trying not to fuck things up. If I lost another assistant they’d probably open an investigation or something to figure out what I did to keep running them off.

“So, um, how’s your food?” I asked, deflecting. 

The vibes never quite got back on track after that. I was too wound up and way too invested in my food. If my inability to hold conversation wasn’t enough to scare him off, me stuffing my face for fifteen minutes straight surely did the job.

We made our way back to the office and finished up for the day. It was a little after five when Parker peeked his head into my office. 

“Have a good night, Mr. Reynolds.” He hesitated for a moment. “Oh, and thanks for lunch.” 

“No problem. I enjoyed your company.” I did enjoy his company. Even with how poorly I felt things went, it was nice being out in public with him. I had to remind myself it wasn’t a date and only lunch between colleagues.

“About the joke I made,” he started, stepping completely into my office and closing the door. “I am so sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I’ve been thinking about it all afternoon.”

“Don’t even sweat it,” I said, knowing I sent him into this spiral because I was now inept at talking to cute men. Things had been so much easier ten years ago.

“I am gay,” he continued. “I know some people feel a type of way about that sort of thing. I just don’t want it to ruin our relationship.”

“You don’t need to disclose your sexual orientation, there are policies in place to protect people from discrimination in the workplace and I’d never treat you poorly because of something like that because—”

“Because you’re a really good boss, I know. I’m sorry I even thought you’d treat me differently. It’s just—the real world is way different than a college campus.”

I was about to come out to him. What did I even think was going to happen? Were we going to fuck, me taking control as his sought after Dom Daddy? I was being ridiculous. Of course he was concerned about his career. 

“Are you going to be much longer?” he asked.

“Yeah, I have to catch up on some work for that supercenter presentation next week.” He started to take off his jacket. “No need to do that, Parker.”

“I can help,” he said. 

“No, that’s okay. Don’t ruin your evening,” I said, still feeling embarrassed by this whole debacle. I could use his help. The copy room was unbearably small and I didn’t want to have to keep squeezing in and out of there. 

“But if you need my help, I can help.” He smiled. “It’s my job. I’m your assistant.” 

I was glad he wanted to help me. He was truly the best assistant I‘d ever had and not just because he had such a fantastic ass. I didn’t want to come across as demanding or difficult to work with, but selfishly, I wanted to spend more time with him.

“Well, okay,” I relented. “As long as you’re free.” 

“I’ll order us something from Sub Daddy,” he said, heading back out to his station. “It’s been hours since lunch. You can’t focus on an empty stomach.”

After that, we worked late a lot, and went to lunch together even more often. He was more than willing to try new restaurants with me, always encouraging me to order as much as I wanted. He always offered to treat me, but I never let him. What sense did that make? He only ever ate a fourth of what I did.

His personality was pleasant, which didn’t make it easier for me to stifle my crush on him. Who wouldn’t be into him? He was smart, hardworking, fun, and considerate. He knew how to bake and never made me feel bad about eating what I wanted. I had gotten into the habit of eating more and more when I was around him. I hardly noticed until all the food was gone. I found myself to be less nervous when I was stuffing my face. It felt less likely that I’d say something dumb. When I was 70 pounds lighter, I was way more willing to flirt or say something corny to make a guy laugh. But now I felt like everything I said or did seemed desperate. And so instead of talking, I stuffed my face. In the two months Parker had been working with me, I’d gained ten pounds.

On our late nights, I always told him he could leave but he never did. Not once.

That was enough to keep my delusional fantasies about him going.

He started mentioning clubs and bars, asking if I’d ever want to go with. I figured it was just a gesture, and I was way too rusty to ever take him up on the offer, but maybe one day I could. The more I got to know him, the more I found myself thinking that maybe, just maybe, he was interested in me too.

My pants had gotten even tighter; I needed some new ones. My thighs filled them out completely and my ass was getting pretty big too. I’d never gotten around to getting those new shirts, and now I needed new pants. I had to face it. I was fat, and with my habits, I was just going to keep getting fatter.

It was late October, and one of the other execs was celebrating his fiftieth. His assistant and a few of the interns had organized a little office party for him after lunch. I’d already eaten these really delicious chocolate covered pretzel sticks Parker made me and something he’d picked up for me from The Coop for lunch.

Everyone filed into our largest conference room. There were a few toasts and it was a decent time overall. Then the cake was revealed. It was from a nice bakery near our office that people always used when doing festive things like this. 

It was time to admit to myself that I loved sweets, and with Parker’s kind gestures, I had tried tons of things I’d never eaten before.

I moseyed on over to the cake, planning to only have a piece. Just enough to be polite to the planning committee. But it was delicious. It was a strawberry lemon layer cake, the perfect marriage between tart and sweet flavors. The lemon cake layers were separated by a delightful strawberry compote (a term I’d learned from Parker), which was also incorporated into the rich buttercream frosting. 

By the time I finished my (substantial) piece, Parker discreetly replaced my empty plate with another that had an even larger slice. He did this three more times while we mingled with others from the office. I must have ended up having a third of that cake to myself. 

Returning to my office after the celebration gave me time to reflect. I tried to get some work done, but it was hard to focus, especially with the buttons on my yet to be replaced shirt and slacks straining.

What was Parker trying to do? Was he simply being an attentive assistant or was he subtly making fun of me? Or maybe I was just too in my head and he was attracted to me? He’d never done or said anything that alluded to disliking me because of my size. But that didn’t mean he was attracted to me because of it either. I looped through variations of the same arguments over and over.

I must’ve overanalyzed those different scenarios for a good fifteen minutes before shifting my focus back to work. I’d already sent Parker to the art department to collect some mock-ups we’d need, but I couldn’t move forward in my current task without making some photocopies. 

I was going to have to face the dreaded copy room.

Minutes later, I stood outside of the copy room. I paused momentarily to psych myself up before proceeding. The room was not spacious to begin with, but with multiple built-in cabinets full of office supplies on one wall and a line of photocopiers on the other, the only space for a person to move was a narrow strip of floor down the middle of the room. I walked up the aisle to one of the machines in the center of the room.

So far, so good. I made one of my copies, and proceeded to the next. Still good. I moved on to my last document. That’s when the machine jammed.

“Fuck me,” I said to myself, sighing. I took a step back, my ass already brushing against a cabinet. I leaned forward, opening the side panel and noticing the jammed paper immediately. This would be an easy fix, thankfully. I was bending my knees slightly, and I could feel the fabric of my slacks pulling tight against my beefy behind. It might have just been my anxiety, but I swear I could feel the stitch on the rise of my pants stretching to its limit. I made a mental note to myself that at this point some new items in my wardrobe were necessary, not optional.

I removed the jammed paper, made my last copy, and swiftly made my exit from that claustrophobic space. Bull in a china shop, meet Andrew Reynolds in the copy room. 

I paused for a moment, as I could hear Parker’s voice.

“I really should be getting back.”

“Come on, Parker. You can’t actually like working with Andy.” I backpedaled before I could be seen. It was Antoinette, one of the office gossips. She’d been close with my previous administrative assistant.

“Yeah, I do,” Parker said, sounding somewhat bothered. “He’s really very nice. And super smart.” Whoa. He was actually sticking up for me. I could hardly believe it.

“You’re gay, right?”

What a segue. Antoinette was likely upset he wasn’t down to badmouth me, ready to move the conversation in a direction she found more interesting.

“Uh, yeah, I am,” he said, his tone slightly more annoyed. 

“You don’t like him, do you?” Antoinette pushed. “Because you’re probably barking up the wrong tree with that one. He’s never been with anyone since I started here, and it’s been seven years.”

“Mr. Reynolds might just be a private person. He could have a wife and kids at home. You don’t know.” At this, she laughed.

“I highly doubt that.” Parker likely made a face, as she then said, “Now don’t give me that look. I wasn’t trying to upset you. I hadn’t realized how much you looked up to Andy.” She couldn’t have sounded more sarcastic.

“Like I said,” he reiterated. “I really should be getting back.”

“Okay, wait. I only bring it up because there’s someone else in the office who is interested in you.” She sounded like some sort of matchmaker.

“Toni, please.” He sounded even more irritated. “I don’t think my love life is any of your business, and I don’t need you to hook me up with anyone.”

“Mark is the one that wanted me to talk to you. He really likes you,” Antoinette continued. Mark was a copywriter that had started two or three years after I did. He’d never gotten over the fact that I’d been promoted and he hadn’t.

“I’m flattered, truly,” Parker replied. “But please tell him I’m not interested.”

“Fine, but here’s his card anyway.” There was a slight pause. “But you’ve got to be real with me. Working with Andy must be hard. I heard from his last assistant that he was so demanding, and not about work matters. She spent most of her time placing food orders and picking up his take-out.” She laughed. “Did you see all that cake he ate at Dave’s party this afternoon? That’s why he’s not with somebody. Who wants to date a pig?” I felt my stomach tighten in embarrassment.

“Watch how you speak about my boss,” Parker responded. “This conversation is over.”

“Fine, I swear—” I could hear her heels clicking on the linoleum of the hallway as she walked away from the corner in which they’d been speaking. I could then hear Parker’s steps as he headed towards the copy room. 

I froze.

What could I do? There was nowhere to hide. I was in the world’s smallest copy room, and even if there was somewhere to hide, there was no way I’d fit into that hiding spot. I just stood there, ready to face the awkwardness. He turned the corner quickly, bumping into my stomach.

He stumbled back, almost losing his balance. He dropped all the samples from the art department. I could feel that tight feeling in my stomach again, my mouth going dry. He must have known I was listening.

“Mr. Reynolds?” he mused. “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t paying attention.” He knelt down and started picking up the papers.

“No apologies, please. It’s my fault.” 

I bent over quickly to help him and there was a loud ripping sound. The same seam in my pants that had worried me moments before gave way. I could tell immediately that my pants had split down the back.

I stood up straight immediately. I could feel his eyes on my face. 

“Andrew,” he said softly. 

No, not the pity. I could feel it coming, and that would make me feel worse. I pushed past him, leaving him alone in that tiny room to gather the scattered papers. I waddled awkwardly back to my office to grab my jacket. I didn’t want the pants to rip anymore than they already had. I needed to get some new slacks. 

Taking a moment, I looked in the mirror on the back of my office door. My blue button up shirt didn’t hide my large, round belly. I’d really let things get bad these last few months. I had completely lost all restraint since meeting Parker. I was happy-eating when he brought me his baked goods. I was nervous-eating when we went out to lunch together. I was sad-eating at home when I thought about how much it sucked to have unrequited feelings. 

My love handles sloped away from my torso down over the side of my pants. My pants looked like they’d been painted on my meaty thighs. When did my face get so round? If I shaved my beard how many chins would I find? More than the one I remembered when I started working here ten years ago? I had once had a square jaw, but I knew now it would be backed by a second chin, with a new layer of fat likely being formed behind that. My round cheeks made my eyes look smaller than they were in my youth. I even had a light dabbling of sweat on my forehead from my dash back into my office.

“Mr. Reynolds?” Parker called gently as he knocked at my door. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes,” I said, speaking slowly. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure?” he inquired. 

“Yes, I’m sure. I need to head out for an errand, so please make sure you reschedule the rest of my meetings this afternoon.” 

“Do you need to go shopping?” he asked. 

I could have leaped from my office window—and we were on the twentieth floor. Any chance of ever being with Parker was surely ruined. I needed to rip off the Band-Aid and get this interaction over with. I opened my office door. 

“I could help you pick some things out,” he suggested. “I am your assistant. And I know it’s a stereotype, but I have a pretty good fashion sense.” He was trying so hard to be nice to me. 

“This is my problem.” I was still speaking slowly, forcing the words out in a way that likely came off as short. “This is a personal matter, not something to do with work.”

He didn’t say anything. He turned and walked over to his desk, rummaging in one of the drawers. He held a tiny sewing kit in his hands as he strode back over to where I stood. He placed his hand on my stomach, pushing me back into the office before closing the door.

“I understand you would rather shop alone, but I’m not going to let my boss walk around with a split in his pants.” What was he expecting me to do? Strip? There was no way.

“Parker—”

“We don’t have to make a big deal out of this, sir,” he said. “Just take off your pants and hand them here. I can mend them in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Really, that’s not necessary.”

He just stood there, looking at me expectantly. I didn’t want to walk around exposed until I could get to a clothing store. It would only take him fifteen minutes. I took a deep breath and unbuckled my belt. It was a brown leather material that matched my loafers, which I’d slid out of before shimmying out of my too-tight navy slacks.

I could see myself in the mirror behind my office door again. Here I was in my boxer briefs, Parker standing right in front of me, and it wasn’t a scenario I’d previously imagined. He crouched down in front of me, grabbing the pants so I wouldn’t have to bend over.

He inspected the rip for a moment. “This is perfect. It’s not frayed or anything.”

“You really think you can fix them?”

“A temporary fix, yes.” He walked towards one of the extra chairs in my office and had a seat. Things were silent for a few minutes as he threaded the needle and got started on the repair. I’d taken a seat behind my desk and watched him work.

His skin was so smooth, his lips kissably full, his nose a little large for his face.

“I can see why these split,” he said, not looking up from his work. His words abruptly hit me and filled the silence in a way that sat heavy on my mind.

“Me too.” He still hadn’t looked up at me. He just continued mending my pants. 

“I knew I needed new ones, and I—” The words got caught in my throat. I was already embarrassed, so maybe it was time for me to just speak honestly, but speaking honestly kind of felt like admitting defeat. It felt like I was giving up on taking things in an intimate direction with Parker. “I’ve been putting it off. They probably could’ve held on a bit longer, but I’ve put on some weight recently.”

“There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“Guys like you don’t get it. You could have anyone you wanted.”

“What if I wanted you, Andrew?”

He finally looked up from his work. I must’ve been looking at him stone faced, because his bravado faltered almost immediately.

“Mr. Reynolds—I’m so sorry. That was out of line.”

Parker’s confession allowed me to push past that voice in my head that explained away all the things he did as platonic. He liked me. He wanted me. He’d said so himself.

Before the self-doubt set in, I had to shoot my shot. I’d sulk about my split pants late at night years from now, but right at this moment I refused to return to that negative place. He wanted a Dom Daddy, and that was a role I was more than willing to play.

“What if I told you I wanted to fuck you right now?” His face reddened considerably. I’d never seen him so worked up before, and that made me more confident. “Since the day I hired you, I’ve thought about what it’d feel like to be inside of that sweet ass.”

“Sir—”

“C’mere,” I said in a low voice. He stood, placing my slacks in the seat he’d gotten up from, and gingerly made his way to where I sat behind my desk. He looked down at me slightly as I sat, but we were essentially still on eye level with one another. I could see his chest rising and falling with each breath he took, his lips parted slightly in lust. He pressed his crotch into my gut as he leaned down to kiss me. I could feel his erection through his khakis.

I reached up and palmed his ass, holding a cheek in each hand. He really was stacked back there. He moaned slightly, pressing his dick further into my stomach. We continued kissing, and I pulled him even closer into myself.

I could have kissed him like this for hours, but he pulled away after a few minutes. His palms were pressed against my sagging chest, which sat atop my heavy middle. He slid his hands down my front before resting them on the part of my gut that sat out the farthest. Normally, my first instinct would have been to suck it in, but I realized how useless that would have been. There was no hiding it anymore.

He patted my stomach gently before moving his hands beneath it, lifting it and bouncing it up and down slowly. I could see his hardness through his khakis, so it was clear that he was enjoying himself. If I were to be honest with myself, I was enjoying the belly play too. I’d never had someone focus so intently on my gut before.

I stood up, and he tilted his head back to continue meeting my gaze. I had to play this correctly. I knew he made a joke about liking dominant men, but I wasn’t certain it was actually what he was into.

“Get on your knees,” I said, staring down at him.

“Yes sir.”

He knew what I wanted. He pawed at my underwear until it was around my ankles. My dick bobbed freely now, level with his line of sight. The closer he got to me, the harder I got and the harder it was to see him. He reached up with one hand to hold my belly out of the way and with the other he grabbed the base of my dick.

“Get to work,” I instructed. I grabbed a fistful of his hair as he wrapped his mouth around my dick. It had been a while, but I couldn’t recall a better blow. He was a perfectionist in every sense of the word. His one hand gently massaged the base of my gut as he continued sucking me off. I’d been with people who liked that I wasn’t rail thin, but never with someone like Parker. Everything was adding up. The special treats, the lunches together, the cake at the party this afternoon. He liked me being fat, and I was now fairly certain he wanted me even fatter. “I’m about to cum.”

He didn’t stop his work. He simply slowed his pace, teasing my dick with his tongue in a different way. The switch in sensation caused me to erupt. A heavy stream of cum shot from my dick into his mouth and he made sure to get every last drop. I let go of his hair, stepping back so I could have a seat.

I was panting heavily, my underwear around my ankles, gut rising and falling with each deep breath I took. He looked up at me from his place on the floor. His hair was disheveled and his face was flushed. I could still see his erection through his khakis. Damn, he was the hottest guy I’d ever seen. I could hardly believe he was experiencing such intense lust over me.

“You’re something else,” I said, still catching my breath. “And I can’t believe it, but I’d kill for another piece of that cake right now.”

That had him up on his feet, speed-walking from my office and back to the conference room. He was so out of it, he’d probably run to that bakery to get me another piece if he had to.

This shift in our relationship was going to be interesting.

I wasn’t sure what was supposed to happen immediately following our initial sexual encounter, but we went about our weekends like nothing had changed. After eating one of the final slices of that cake from the office party, I left early to purchase some new clothing items. He texted me, and I replied, but neither of us mentioned what had happened.

So Monday morning came and I had spent the entire weekend eating optimistically. I thought about how much he’d want me to be eating good. At one point, I googled “gay fat fetish” and found there was a whole world of people not only into big guys, but into big guys getting even bigger. Maybe he’d bring it up, but now I wanted to test the waters a little. What sort of things would get him going? I was excited to find out. Monday morning, I was hard the entire commute to work thinking about demolishing whatever Parker planned to put in front of me. 

I walked into the elevator, pressing the button that would lead me to the twentieth floor. I noticed Parker making his way toward the elevators. Just seeing him existing in the world made me so fucking happy. I almost didn’t even notice that Mark was right next to him. I hit the door open button quickly, wanting to be near Parker as soon as possible, even if that meant sharing the space with Mark. The doors stayed open, and they both got on.

“Good Morning, Mr. Reynolds.” He smiled up at me. He was carrying a tote bag, and like some sort of sugar-addicted bloodhound, I was almost certain I could smell cinnamon. 

“Parker, hey,” I said, covering my crotch with my bag. Just hearing him say my name was turning me on, giving me a semi. “It’s nice to see you.”

“Hello Andrew,” Mark said. To be completely honest, I’d blocked him out almost immediately. He and I weren’t on the best terms, especially after my promotion.

“Hey Mark.”

“Are you still hitting the gym?” he asked. “Since you got that promotion, I’ve noticed a change in your appearance. I’m sure you’re eating well on that executive salary.”

“I do have a hand in that,” Parker said plainly. “Mr. Reynolds is very kind to indulge my personal baking hobby.”

“But still,” Mark pressed. “Sometimes we’ve got to push ourselves, you know? Once you hit thirty it takes more effort to stay in shape.”

“I think he looks great,” Parker offered, turning to look at Mark. He gave him an obvious once over, his eyes traveling from the top of his head all the way to his shoes. “Do you work out, Mark?”

“Yeah, I do actually,” Mark responded proudly. “Six days a week.”

“Really?” Parker inquired. “I’d have never thought that.”

The man was too stunned to speak.

We all stood silent, the whir of the elevator’s mechanisms the only source of sound. The elevator finally stopped on our floor. Parker and I went towards my office while Mark made his way to his cubicle. Parker placed the tote bag on his desk and I stopped for a moment.

“You didn’t have to do that,” I said, giving a knowing smile.

“I didn’t say anything I didn’t mean.”

“You’re something else.”

“I’m nothing special,” he said, removing two Tupperware containers from the tote bag. “So today you have options. You could have some millionaire shortbread bars or carrot cake cinnamon rolls.”

“Or? You act like I’m not going to polish off both of these containers before we head out for lunch.”

“Uh—well, I—I didn’t think you’d want—”

He looked up at me in surprise, like he’d been found out. I’d known Parker for a couple of months now, and I’d never seen him so flustered. It made me weirdly satisfied. He wanted me to eat? He wanted me to put on a few pounds? If he kept blowing me like he had last week, I’d eat whatever he wanted for the rest of my life.

“I bought some new pants, so I can probably keep indulging for a little while. I need my assistant to make sure I don’t go hungry. That’s not a problem, is it?”

“No, sir,” he said. “Not a problem at all, sir.”

“I didn’t think it would be.” I grabbed both containers and went into my office, peeling off both lids and diving into the baked goods with unabashed enthusiasm. Over that first hour of the day, I ate a dozen shortbread bars and six hefty cinnamon rolls. 

Once I’d finished both desserts, I sat back at my desk. I felt my chair sag, groaning slightly as I allowed my bulk to settle into the seat. This was so unhinged. What was happening to me? Maybe it was all the sugar, but I was in some sort of stupor. My only thought was how I wanted Parker between my legs again, his hands all over my gut. I leaned forward and put my head in my hands. I must’ve sat there for about ten minutes before there was a knock at my door. “Mr. Reynolds?”

“Come in.” Parker opened the door and walked up to my desk. I watched him survey the scene. I laughed a little to myself at the shocked expression on his face as he took in both containers sitting empty in front of me.

“You already finished the–the–the shortbread bars?”

“And the cinnamon rolls,” I added. “They were both phenomenal. You’ve got quite the talent.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I only wish I’d had some milk to wash it all down with.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that for next time.”

“There is something you could do for me right now,” I said. He looked back at my office door, which he’d left open. He went over to the door and closed it quietly.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Reynolds?”

“You could get that ass over here, for starters.”

He made his way to where I sat behind my desk, like he had on Friday. We looked at one another for a moment, both taking in the moment. It probably wasn’t smart to fuck my assistant before 10 AM on a Monday, but I’d spent nearly two years involuntarily celibate.

“Get undressed.”

He didn’t question me. He immediately began unbuttoning his crisp, white dress shirt. He tossed it on my desk and then peeled his undershirt off over his head. He shimmied out of his navy-colored chinos. He was in nothing but a pair of stylish briefs. It was obvious he worked out, as his quads bulged with muscle as did his arms. He had well-defined abs, firm pecs. 

His body was completely opposite to my own. My legs and arms were large, yes, but not defined with muscle as they had been in the past. I’d never had abs in my entire life. My stomach sat heavy in front of me, packed full of sugary snacks. And even though I’d just eaten enough baked goods for a small get-together, I was already thinking about what I’d be having for lunch.

“What’re we doing for lunch?” I asked. His whole face reddened, all the way to his ears. I reached out to pull him closer, so I could feel his body with my mouth. I kissed his chest softly, enjoying his scent in the process. “I asked you what we’re doing for lunch.”

He moaned loudly.

“Last—last week you mentioned you wanted an—an Italian beef from—” I bit his nipple gently, sucking it afterwards. “Big Beef’s.”

“Fuck that sounds good. With extra hot peppers and a cheese sauce on the side.” He pawed at his briefs, exposing himself to me. He had a nice dick, a respectable size. He was getting off on this for sure. I let go of his waist and began to unbutton my own shirt. He watched me intently, still stroking his penis. I tossed it on the desk with his clothing items.

He paused his masturbatory efforts to help me remove my undershirt. His briefs were now around his ankles and he pressed his dick into my gut. I grabbed at his ass, lightly teasing his hole with my finger as he grinded against me. He didn’t last long after that, coming all over my bloated stomach. He took a step back. Looking down, I could see his cum glistening as it coated the fuzz of my belly. “You’re not done,” I said, lifting my gut to reveal my belt buckle.

A man of excellent intuition, Parker immediately got me out of my pants and gave me some very thorough head.

Oh, and lunch at Big Beef’s that afternoon was stupendous.

We fell into a routine that made every work day well worth it. He was still bringing me his baked goods (beverages now included). We left the office whenever possible to grab a bite to eat during our lunch hour, and when we couldn’t get away he made sure to pick something up for me or to have it delivered. But the best part had to be our sexual escapades. I’d had nearly every part of his body in my mouth at least once. And he was excellent at taking direction. I was pretty sure at this point that he craved it, being told what to do. He was my good boy, doing what I requested, often going above and beyond like there was a chance of being promoted.

From the end of October to the start of the winter holidays, he and I were completely engrossed with one another. Although, even with how intense things had been within the four walls of my office, we had yet to move beyond them.

It was now the second week of December. I was nearing 400 pounds, a thought that was slightly frightening to me. I’d never been this big in my entire life. People around the office had taken notice of my rapid weight gain. It was the elephant in the room. But the food was good, and the sex mind-blowing. I was also intoxicated by Parker’s adoration. With each pound I gained, he seemed to get more and more excited to service me. I wondered how much longer my wardrobe would last before needing to be updated again.

“Excuse me, Mr. Reynolds.” I looked up from the email I was drafting. “I’ve been wanting to ask you something.”

“Yeah? What is it?” I inquired, wondering what it was Parker had been mulling over. He was shifting his weight back and forth, nervously smiling in my direction like the day I hired him.

“Well, my parents bought me these tickets to a musical a few weeks ago, and I know that it’s last minute, but I was really hoping you would come with me to see it.”

“A musical?”

“What can I say?” he offered, shrugging slightly. “I’m as stereotypical as they come.”

“When is it?” I asked.

“Tomorrow.” A Saturday.

Was Parker trying to take things to the next level? This was an exciting development. I would love to spend time with him outside of working hours. I could only imagine how much fun we’d have late into the evening post dinnertime.

“If it’s too much, I understand.”

Too much? Not at all. We both wanted more. It was like a weight had been lifted from me (metaphorically, of course). The office sexcapades were nice, there was no doubt about that, but he too wanted to be more than just a hook-up.

“You just can’t get enough of me, huh?”

He laughed.

“I’m kind of obsessed, can’t you tell?”

“I love being adored,” I said, smiling at him playfully. “And now I’m really looking forward to this musical tomorrow. What’s the runtime? Over two hours, I’m sure. I’ll probably need to eat something beforehand.”

“I’ll make a reservation,” he declared enthusiastically, always delighted at an opportunity to get me eating. I was only half-serious with my comment about needing to eat beforehand, but I wasn’t so sure I’d make it the two and a half hours without a meal prior to the curtain rising. I felt incredibly lucky. We’d be getting dinner and seeing a show (and hopefully having even more fun at one of our apartments after).

Once he made the reservation, he emailed over all the info—the restaurant, the reservation time, the name of the theater, the showtime. I could hardly wait. I’d be counting the milliseconds until then. 

The next evening, I dressed to meet Parker for our date. I wore a pair of dark jeans and some Nikes. When I first landed that account, they’d sent over at least ten different pairs. I had lots of dress shirts that fit fairly well since I re-upped, but I wanted to be a little more casual. I found a burgundy crew neck in the back of my dresser that had been a staple in my wardrobe last winter. I pulled it on and found myself shocked at how it fit. I figured there’d be some resistance, but the fabric clung to my plump chest and protruding belly in a way that was much more form-fitting than I anticipated. I tugged at the bottom trying to pull it down to cover the entirety of my stomach. If I moved my arms too much, it exposed some of my brown skin, even though I was also wearing an undershirt.

My first inclination was to change. I wouldn’t have normally wanted to draw attention to my size. But I knew what Parker liked, and I loved pressing his buttons, so I put on my jacket and grabbed my keys, deciding to keep on the sweater. I hoped I wouldn’t come to regret my outfit choice later on.

I was right on time to Haraboji’s, and as I entered the restaurant, I noticed my perfectly punctual assistant had already beaten me to the establishment.

“Mr. Reynolds, over here!” He waved at me from a seat at the bar. I felt silly for being this excited, considering we ate together in restaurants every other day, but this was no work-lunch. This was a Saturday night dinner. A date.

“Parker, hey,” I said, smiling down at my companion for the evening. He was still wearing his jacket, a stylish, olive-green duffle coat. He had on a pair of platform Chelsea boots and dark chinos. “Please, call me Andy, or Andrew—even Drew would be fine.” 

“Oh, yes, of course,” he said with a nervous chuckle. “I guess we aren’t in the office.”

“That’s exciting, isn’t it?”

“It is,” he replied. “I’ve wanted to eat here with you for months.”

“I’ve heard this place is really good.”

“Have you ever had Korean barbecue before?” he asked. “I haven’t been to a Korean restaurant since I moved here.”

“I haven’t, but you know I’ll try anything. I trust you to make sure I have something tasty.”

After that the hostess called Parker’s name and we were seated. It was pretty crowded, every table filled. In front of us was a little grilling station. Our waiter came and Parker took the reins, ordering what seemed like a lot of food for just two people. He asked for bulgogi, pork belly, garlic butter chicken, and brisket. He also ordered fried seaweed rolls and tteokbokki. Our waiter brought out a lot of little dishes with different vegetables on them.

“These are banchan—um, side dishes,” Parker explained. “They’re really good with the grilled meats. That one is cucumber, that one is potato, and that one is zucchini.”

“And that one is kimchi.”

“Yes, exactly!”

Our waiter returned with another worker to assist him. One of them held our appetizers, the other numerous plates of raw meat on a serving platter. Once all the plates were set out in front of us, it seemed truly excessive. Parker got to work immediately, oiling the grill and placing meat on it strategically. As things were cooked he piled them high on my plate. Everything tasted great and I followed every suggestion he gave me. “Eat this with that,” he’d say, hyper focused on his grilling. “Ooo, you’ve got to try that with this dipping sauce.”

Halfway through the meal, I noticed that he was no longer eating. I seemed to be his main priority. I was now regretting my earlier boldness when getting dressed for this outing. My sweater rose slightly on my stomach exposing the light layer of dark hair on my underbelly. Parker didn’t stop either, making sure to cook every piece of meat that had been provided to us.

“There’s also Korean fried chicken on the menu,” he said, having just finished grilling the last bit of bulgogi and pork belly. “They come in orders of four.”

I groaned slightly, sitting back in my seat and resting my hand on the top of my gut.

That was when the waiter returned, taking in my gorged state his face reddened on my behalf and he focused his attention on Parker. “Is there anything else I can get for you guys?”

“Yes, we wanted a double order of the fried chicken wings and a bottle of peach soju.”

The waiter glanced in my direction and then back at Parker. He probably couldn’t believe we were ordering more food. I couldn’t believe we were ordering more food, but my date was a man on a mission. We did have about forty minutes before we needed to be at the theater, but I still thought he was cutting it close.

“I’ll put that in right now.” I waited for our server to leave before speaking. 

“I’m spilling out of my sweater and you're still shoving food in my direction.”

“Andy,” he said innocently. “You don’t want to be hungry while the show is going on. You said so yourself, remember?”

“How considerate of you,” I responded, sitting up. I grabbed my fork and started in on the last bit of meat he’d put on my plate. “And I can’t wait to thank you at my place after the show.”

After dinner at Haraboji’s, we made our way to the theater for the musical. I’d already parked my Buick Enclave in a parking garage on the same street as the restaurant. He informed me that he picked this restaurant not only because he’d been wanting to try it, but also because it was only a block away from where we’d be seeing the show.

I was so full I didn’t feel like doing anything, especially walking. I was perspiring a little bit so I left my jacket open to air myself out. I could feel a cool breeze on my stomach, but I just ignored it. Parker was leading the way, glancing my way every so often to check me out. If his parents hadn’t gone through the trouble of buying him these tickets, we’d already be halfway to my place.

We made it to the lobby and the worker scanned the tickets on Parker’s phone. There was about ten minutes until the show would start so we made our way to our seats. This was where things got awkward.

Personally, when purchasing tickets in advance, I always tried to get the seat closest to the aisle. But these two seats were right in the middle of a row. Not everyone was in their seats yet, but we’d still need to shimmy past five or so people. Parker seemed somewhat oblivious to this issue, and in his defense, he likely never faced this sort of problem. Being bigger meant anticipating any obstacle. Would there be a lot of walking? Would there be a lot of stairs? How sturdy were the seats? I’d always thought about these things, but having gained fifty pounds in the last five months created even more complications I needed to be ready for.

“Excuse us,” Parker said, making his way into the row. He got by the first person with ease, whereas the man needed to stand up for me and press himself as far back into his seat as possible. Even then, my gut pushed up against him as I made my way past him. This happened four more times until we made it to our seats.

I sat in the chair and it creaked loudly. It was a really tight squeeze. This was not a theater that had been updated this century. It had probably been forty or fifty years since there had been any type of alteration to the seating. The armrests could not be lifted, so I sat there as they dug into the sides of my bloated gut. Fuck, I thought. Maybe we shouldn’t have gone so hard at dinner.

“Isn’t there like a special section for bigger people?” the woman next to me asked the man she was with. She was at least trying to whisper, but considering the fact I was sitting right next to her that didn’t do much to keep me from hearing her. “It’s just, these seats are so small, you know? Even for someone regularly sized.”

I’d been feeling pretty good before all of this happened. I was used to people making comments. But something about this made me really think hard about what I’d been doing to my body. I was already fat. I’d already had horrible eating habits. But should I have let this thing with Parker push me so completely into gluttony? I was the one who had to deal with the wardrobe malfunctions and too-small theater seats. 

Parker was a great person and a masterful lover, but he was also ten years younger than me. If this dalliance were to end, he could go about his life unchanged. But me? How much bigger would I be by the time he got bored of me?

“Andy,” Parker said, his hand on my thigh. “Are you okay?”

“Oh yeah, I’m fine,” I lied. This wasn’t the time or place to share my thoughts with him.

“I didn’t pick the seats,” he explained. “Next time, I’ll make sure that we’re on the end.” 

“Thanks.” I exhaled, feeling a little better. Him saying that didn’t absolve all of my fears, but it reminded me of how thoughtful Parker was. Maybe he didn’t know what it was like to be my size, but he did try to consider how my size affected my day-to-day life.

The lights dimmed and the show started a few minutes later. It was pretty funny and the music was enjoyable. I never thought a musical adaptation of an 80’s fantasy-horror-comedy would be any good, but I’d see it again if given the chance. After the cast took their bows we waited for our row to clear out before we got up. I could tell he really enjoyed himself, so that made the two and half hours in that seat from hell worth it.

“I Ubered here from my apartment,” he said once we were outside.

“I’m in that parking garage by the restaurant,” I said. “I could give you a ride home.”

“You did say you needed to thank me at dinner.”

“Oh, I know just how to thank you.” It was nearly ten, and aside from the people who were also leaving the theater, there weren’t a ton of people around. I grabbed Parker’s hand and we went to my car. I asked him where he lived and other than that I just listened to all the fun facts he had about the production. We were soon out front. “You’re coming up, right?” he asked.

“Yeah, of course.” I parked and we made our way towards the entrance. He led me up some stairs to his fourth floor apartment. If he lived any higher, we’d have had to call it a night. His place was pretty small, a one bedroom. It was also super neat and tidy. Everything about Parker was that way.

He took off his jacket and hung it in the closet, offering to take mine too in the process. He told me to take a seat on the couch. I sat and realized how little it was. I guess a couch of this size was all he really needed, but it was more like a chair. I filled it up three-fourths of the way.

He carried in a tray with some vanilla oat milk and a container of cookies. He placed it on the coffee table and sat on the remaining one-fourth of sofa. “Consider these as a thank you for a great evening,” he said. “They’re lemon shortbread.”

“You must spend a fortune on butter and eggs.”

“Not at all, I just started buying in bulk when I realized I had someone to bake for.”

“I appreciate getting to eat everything you’ve made for me,” I said, pulling at my sweater, “though I should probably slow down on all the baked goods.” I looked in his direction, wondering how he’d take in that information. He looked a little hurt, a little embarrassed.

“Is everything okay, Andy?” he asked. “With us, I mean. I just thought—”

I could just keep all of these concerns to myself, but that wouldn’t solve anything. It was probably better to have this conversation now instead of later. “I’ve gained a substantial amount of weight since we started sleeping together. I know we haven’t put into words what this is, but I’m pretty sure you’re a feeder—or an encourager—which term is it?” I thought about all the information I found back when I investigated gay fat fetishes a few months ago.

“I think they’re pretty interchangeable.” He wasn’t looking at me. “And I guess that I am, yes.”  He actually looked super pale. Was he scared? Did he think I was upset? I figured he was aware that he’d been found out months ago. He was always so focused on my weight and overfeeding me. His preferences were kind of obvious.

“I’m not upset,” I said, trying to sound reassuring. “If I’m being honest, I’m pretty into it.”

He looked up at me, relief overtaking his previously sullen expression. “You are?”

“I think you know I like to eat. And getting bigger is kind of hot when I have someone so into it.”

“I’m into it for sure.”

“My main concern is how serious you are, Parker.” He looked at me intently, waiting for me to continue speaking. “You’re young. You’re still fairly new to the area. When it comes down to it, you’re a hot commodity. Any guy would be lucky to be with you. With how big I was, with how big I’ve gotten, I’m limiting myself. My prospects were slim before, but I’ve probably made the margins even smaller in regards to my marketability.”

“Andrew, I am very serious about you,” he said. “You are the sexiest guy I’ve ever been with. You’re also the biggest guy I've ever been with. Whatever you’re comfortable with, I am willing to do. If you want to lose weight, that’s fine. If you want me to stop with the baking, that’s fine. I just want you. I like you.”

“I like you too. I have since you first started working for me.” Our eyes were locked on one another. This conversation felt so real, so needed. This guy was serious about me. What a relief. “And let’s not be too hasty about the baking. I’ll let you know if we need to slow down, Mr. Feeder.”

This caused his whole face to redden, all the way to his ears. I loved when that happened. It was so funny to see his emotions so clearly. “Now bring that container of cookies over here. I’m hungry.”

Maybe it was reckless of me. Maybe I should’ve taken the out Parker had offered me. But I kept on eating like I had been. I blew past 400 pounds as we entered the new year. He’d flown home for the holidays, so I spent time with my own family. They all showed great concern for how big I’d gotten, but that didn’t stop them from piling my plate high with soul food at Christmas dinner. That was just how my family operated. It’s why I was so big growing up to begin with.

That first Monday back after the winter holidays was nice because we were able to fall back into our normal routine, which included copious amounts of food and a great deal sex. While most people around the office set goals for having a healthier diet or joining a gym, I did nothing of the sort. It was somewhat freeing to know there was no resolution I was bound to break.

Over the first few months of the new year, Parker began spending more and more time at my apartment. Suddenly there was a toothbrush, and then extra pairs of underwear, and then, an item that let me know how serious things had gotten between us, his KitchenAid Stand Mixer.

“You’re here more than at your place,” I said one Saturday evening in April. We’d ordered pizza for dinner, and even though Parker had stopped eating thirty minutes ago, I was still working on an extra-large, tavern-style sausage and pepperoni. I’d already eaten some buffalo wings and a Caesar salad (for balance, of course). “When does your lease end?”

“Well, it ends August of this year.”

“Cancel it.”

“Cancel it?”

“Yeah,” I said, reaching for another slice. “I’ll pay whatever fee your landlord charges for breaking your lease.”

The next week he moved into my three-bedroom apartment. I had more than enough room for his stuff. Even his dollhouse-sized couch fit comfortably against a wall in the home office. This did mean my office baked goods were a thing of the past. They were never able to last long enough after he prepared them to be brought into work. Since meeting Parker nine months ago, I was now 75 pounds heavier.

Parker and I were going to take a long weekend for Memorial Day. We’d both put in for the day off on Friday and we wouldn’t need to return to the office until Tuesday. I’d rented a house up north, about three hours away. The Thursday before we were to leave, Parker frantically entered my office a little after we returned from lunch.

I was positively beached. We were both looking forward to the weekend and he excitedly ordered for me at Rockin’ Sushi. We had purchased enough sashimi, nigiri, and maki rolls for a party of five or six people.

My belly covered my lap almost to my knees when I sat. I normally didn’t dress so casually for the office, but today I was wearing a polo. The fabric was pulled tight around my stomach and I’d been massaging the sides of my gut before Parker came to find me. If he didn’t seem so distraught, I’d have asked him to take over.

“We can’t go out of town,” he said. “We have to reevaluate your accounts.”

“What?” I asked, my eyes half-open. “I have nine major accounts and twelve smaller ones. That’s more than all the other execs.”

“Yes, that’s true, but—” he stopped talking. He probably felt like he’d been overreacting, but I wanted to make sure his worries were quelled.

“Talk to me.”

“I heard from Mr. Monroe’s assistant, who heard from Mr. Otterly’s assistant, that Mr. Otterly plans to retire at the end of June.” John Otterly was well past the age for retirement. His presence at Hathaway and Associates was really just a formality at this point. He’d been an exec at our agency since the mid-seventies. In his prime, for sure, he was incredible at pulling in clients and coming up with catchy slogans for print ads. Now, he had only one major account for a failing brand of novelty gag-gifts. “They’re looking to promote someone, but they want to make the position more robust by taking some accounts from other executives.”

“Bullshit.”

“Agreed.” He watched me heave myself out of my desk chair. “What should we do?”

“Follow me.”

I might have moved a little bit more slowly these days, but with Parker’s help I’d acquired two new clients in the last nine months and strengthened our agency’s relationship with all my original accounts. I wasn’t just some overweight behemoth who didn’t do any work. I was a heavy hitter. I’d recently had a confidence about myself that, shamefully, came from the idolization and devotion Parker gave to me. I was the biggest I’d ever been, but I didn’t feel ashamed of myself. I was already going to draw attention entering a room so I might as well not give a fuck what people thought.

We stopped outside of William Hathaway’s office, whose grandfather had actually founded Hathaway and Associates almost a century ago. We executives kept things running while he received a great deal of the credit, considering he was only in office two days a week. He did hold a forty-five percent share on the board of directors, which was the largest portion of any member. This meant he had a great deal of influence when the board made the large decisions that affected day-to-day operations.

“He’s preparing to leave early for the holiday weekend,” his administrative assistant said plainly. She was also the office manager. Mr. Hathaway’s schedule allowed her to take on more responsibilities, so she helped to organize the tasks for the interns and other assistants. “He doesn’t want to be bothered, especially after the meeting he just had.”

“Martha,” Parker said gently, smiling in her direction. “Mr. Reynolds was hoping to speak with Mr. Hathaway before he left. If he’s not terribly busy, would you please let him?”

“I don’t know. He was pretty adamant that he didn’t want to see anyone else.”

“Didn’t you say your husband liked the chocolate-dipped almond biscotti I made you for your anniversary?”

“Those were divine,” she said, taking more interest in Parker’s plea. I remembered those biscotti. I’d eaten two test batches before he felt confident enough to share them with Martha.

“Weren’t they?” I added. “I don’t know how he does it, but he’s incredibly talented.”

“My husband’s birthday is coming up,” she pondered aloud. “Have you ever made a cake before?”

“Of course!”

They ironed out some details and settled on a tiramisu inspired layer cake. She hopped out of her seat giddily and went to inform Hathaway of our arrival. We got the go ahead to enter and there he was waiting for us behind his desk nursing a scotch.

“Reynolds, you’re bigger every time I see you.”

Hathaway wasn’t one to mince words.

“You’re one to talk. I’m not the only one carrying around a spare tire.” This made him laugh.

“I’m in my sixties, what’s your excuse?” He didn’t stop. “And I’ve got a spare tire, you’ve got a whole Goodyear.”

“Okay, okay,” I said, allowing him to think his ribbing had gotten to me. “I’m just eating good. And my assistant here is a master baker.”

“He is, eh?” Hathaway asked, drinking from his scotch. “You're the biscotti boy?”

“Yes sir. That’s me.”

“Martha, that stingy bitch, only let me have one. Said they were for her anniversary. I’ve got an anniversary. And a birthday.”

“I’ll get those dates from Martha, sir.” Hathaway gave an impressed smirk and took another sip from his drink.

After that, we were finally able to talk business. I asked about Otterly. His retirement was true, a decision “strongly encouraged” by all members of the board. The position being padded with the accounts of other executives was also true. We would be asked in the coming month to choose one or two of our large scale accounts to let go of. When I asked why they didn’t just cut the position, they were concerned about losing their lead copywriter, who voiced concerns about a lack of upward mobility at Hathaway and Associates. He claimed he’d be willing to walk away from the agency unless he was seriously considered for Otterly’s position. 

That lead copywriter? Mark.

If it were anyone else, I would have thought twice about my next course of action. But for Mark? I couldn't care less.

“Well,” I started, hoping I was playing this right. “I say cut Otterly’s position. Give his few accounts to one of us execs, and if he walks, he walks.”

“He’s done good work,” Hathaway offered.

“You can save a great deal by cutting the position. Promote one of the junior copywriters to Mark’s position. And for good measure, Parker here can take the open junior copywriter role.” Parker made a sound of surprise but did his best to recover.

“Biscotti boy?”

“He’s got the Andrew Reynolds seal of approval.” This meant a great deal. I had the most accounts out of all eleven execs. I also had the greatest renewal rates. “I’d be losing the world’s greatest assistant, but I’d do anything for Hathaway and Associates.”

“My great-niece did just graduate from Columbia,” Hathaway said. “I’m sure she’ll need help finding a job with a degree in art history.” If I had to deal with another nepo-baby, so be it. I was keeping my accounts and helping Parker advance in his career.

“Just think about it,” I said, ending our conversation. As we left his office, Martha entered. Before the door closed completely, I heard him mentioning that the board needed to convene after the holiday weekend to vote about an important matter. I had a good feeling that things were going to change for my little Biscotti Boy.

We did still manage to make it up to the house I rented. Fortunately, it was somewhat secluded, the houses pretty far apart from each other. They were only really visible to one another from the front yard. Parker had a long list of grocery items he needed, so our first stop after checking into the rental was the local supercenter. He was obviously grateful for what I’d done in Hathaway’s office, and he spent the weekend showing me that gratitude with his culinary skills and physical flexibility. My favorite memory from our trip would be how he’d gotten me on the floor after grilling some brats and making s’mores.

“Okay, so bend your knees,” he said, swinging his leg around my waist after tossing me a pillow for underneath my head. There wasn’t a ton of space between my bent knees and my bulging belly, but Parker fit there perfectly. He looked down at me as he sat atop my waist, sliding all nine inches of my penis inside himself. He rested his hands on my stomach. Their warmth penetrated me to my core. 

I reached up to grab at his butt as he rode me. It felt good in my hands, and the thought of what it looked like as I fucked him had me salivating. Always the hard worker, Parker swiveled his hips back and forth rhythmically. His dick was angled upwards, sandwiched between the bottom of my gut and his flat stomach. He leaned forward slightly, his hands sliding up my stomach to my chest. He grabbed my slightly puffy nipples and pinched them gently. That intensified the pleasure I was feeling and I lifted him slightly by raising my legs, pushing myself deeper inside of his ass. 

“Oh God,” he moaned, sitting straight up. He bounced up and down like this for nearly a minute before he came. His cum shot up his front, some landing on the floor and on my gut. The look of sheer pleasure on his face was intoxicating. That did it for me too, and had me shooting my load as well.

We stayed on the floor longer than intended. I couldn’t get up just yet, so he covered both of our naked bodies with a large blanket and cuddled up close to me. Losing him as my assistant was going to be tough, but moments like these would make up for it.

Returning to work on Tuesday was fine. I’d have preferred another week in a secluded lake house with Parker, but the real world was waiting for us. Antoinette was in rare form, flitting from assistant to assistant spreading gossip. She was Hathaway and Associates' very own Lady Whistledown, though a lot less discreet. 

Before lunch, the board met to discuss the future of Mr. Otterly’s position. Antoinette made sure everyone knew how they voted, openly voicing her dismay that her good friend Mark would not be shifting to an executive role, as John Otterly’s position would be closed and his accounts redistributed amongst some of the remaining executives.

The ball was now in Mark’s court. He could keep his current job or he could quit. I was hoping for the latter, so Parker could shine in the field he’d gone to school for.

We worked all day and at exactly five we clocked out. We entered the elevator and Mark followed behind us. “That’s some shit you pulled Andy,” he spat. I noticed a cardboard box in his hands.

“You’re referring to what exactly?” I asked, feigning ignorance.

“Oh please,” he said. “You get a little ass from your assistant and you’re bending over backwards to get him a promotion. It’s pathetic, but it makes a lot of sense. Why else would he ever waste his time trying to find your dick under that massive gut?”

“You’re out of line,” I said, stepping towards him.

“He’s a sneak and you’re a gullible, desperate, sorry excuse for a professional.” He was upset, understandably, but his job had still been intact. He could’ve continued in his role as lead copywriter, a position I held for over four years before my promotion, and one day he’d be seen as ready to move up in the agency. He’d only been lead copywriter for a year and a half, a role in which he’d been given when the previous lead stepped down to take care of her newborn twins. Mark expected things to be handed to him without putting in the work. Now he was throwing a tantrum, and he wanted to take out his anger on us because he thought we were easy targets.

“Have you ever considered the fact that you just aren’t that likable?” I asked, staring down at him, forcing him into the corner of the elevator. “You’re talented, sure, but you are just so fucking hard to like. Hathaway knows this, the other execs know this. Why do you think it was so easy to encourage them to close Otterly’s position? They don’t want to work any more closely with you than they already do.”

I looked down at the cardboard box. Like a baby, he’d quit when he didn’t get his way. “Or should I say did?”

The elevator stopped on the main floor and the doors opened. Mark looked up at me and then over at Parker. “Fuck the both of you,” he said, pushing past me with slight difficulty. Parker looked pretty mortified, his entire face red with embarrassment.

My little ingénue. He was still very green, and I loved that about him, but I needed him to stand up for himself if he was going to survive in this industry. People made jokes or rude comments. There’d be backstabbing and petty office gossip. At the end of the day it didn’t matter. I was proof of that. There’d been talk about my weight for months, and I was still one of the most successful people on staff.

I’d for sure been in a slump before I met Parker, but I was becoming the man I’d been in my early twenties (metaphorically, not physically). There was a lot less self-doubt and self-loathing. I liked looking at myself in the mirror. I knew that I was good at what I did, and I knew I just needed to carry myself like I had when I was grinding as a junior copywriter. 

“That was really intense,” he said. We’d slowed, pausing in a stairwell. We were halfway between the lobby and the underground parking garage. “I would never sleep with you for that. I swear that I would never do that.”

“I know.” I felt myself smiling. It made me feel good that he liked me so much. His first thought was how I felt. He was always looking out for me, and if he did get a new role as a copywriter, no assistant would ever live up to what he was capable of.

“I love you,” he said, looking at me seriously. I couldn’t believe he’d just said that to me. How we’d gotten to this point, I’d never fully grasp, but I was glad that we did.

“I love you too,” I said. We were silent for a moment, and I took the opportunity to joke with him. “And I have to say, what an elaborate scheme you pulled. The baked goods, the lunches, the head. All for a promotion. You’re truly a mastermind.”

He laughed, swatting me on the ass. “And this is only Phase One. Mu-ha-ha.”

“What’s Phase Two?”

“Hmm, I’ll let you know when I think of it.”

“Maybe you aren’t the mastermind I thought you were—”

“Shut up!” he said, laughing. “Now let’s get you something good to eat for defending my honor.”

A month later, Parker was officially offered a position as a junior copywriter. He’d taken me shopping for some summer clothing items—both work attire and casual items. The number of X’s on my shirts and shorts was a little shocking, but he did have a knack for picking flattering cuts and patterns. I may have been over 400 pounds, but I’d never looked more stylish.

“Are you ready yet?” Parker called from the living room. It was the last Saturday in June and all of Parker’s old roommates from California were in town for the last weekend of Pride and to celebrate his promotion.

“Yeah,” I called in response. I walked out of our bedroom. “But you’re sure you want me to wear this to meet your friends?”

“Oh, come on,” he said. “It’s just a pair of shorts and a polo. It’s not risqué.”

The shorts were much shorter than I’d buy for myself, but they did fit me very well. They were a good three inches above my knees. He saw them on some Instagram ad and bought me three different pairs. The polo was much more out of my comfort zone. It was cream-colored and a crochet knit. You could see glimpses of my brown skin through the hundreds of small holes that made up the shirt.

“But it seems like you guys want to dance and that’s not really my scene anymore. Can’t you all celebrate tonight and then we all meet up for brunch tomorrow?”

“Okay, what about we all meet up tonight and go out to brunch tomorrow morning?” he countered in rhetorical fashion. “And besides, if you don’t want to burn any calories, you can just have some bar food and a beer.”

“They have those soft pretzels there don’t they?”

“They sure do,” he said, handing me my keys. “Now let’s go please.”

Fortunately I was able to find a good parking spot not too far from the bar. I parked and we walked the block to Dudes. The day had cooled considerably, which I was grateful for. It’d been in the eighties, but it was only about seventy now that the sun had set. They asked to see Parker’s ID and then we made our way inside.

“Parker!” I looked for who had shouted his name. It was another Asian guy who was about Parker’s height.

“Yedam, hey!” Parker looked at me. “Andy, this is Yedam. Yedam, this is my boyfriend Andy.”

“Oh wow,” Yedam said, taking me in. He smiled, like he was trying to stifle a laugh. “Um, it’s nice to meet you.” He locked eyes with Parker, raising his eyebrows theatrically. Was this a good interaction or not? I was having trouble reading the situation. Two other guys made their way to where we stood, both holding drinks. One of the guys handed a glass to Yedam.

“Mike, Sam, this is my boyfriend Andy.” Mike was white and very blond. Sam was black, a little lighter than I was. Overall, they all had the same vibe as Parker. Very put-together, the same height and build.

“This makes sense,” Sam said, gesturing back and forth with his pointer finger between Parker and I.

“Oh yeah, a thousand percent,” Mike added.

I felt like I was missing something, but I was hopeful Parker would fill me in later. The guys all told me I was very handsome and very large. It wasn’t in a sarcastic way, or a flirtatious way even. They presented it like they were simply stating facts. I ordered my pretzels and a round of shots for Parker and his friends. They were all laughing and joking and hanging off of one another. It was almost enough to make me jealous,  but I knew I was what Parker wanted. I didn’t need to worry about his friends.

After another shot Parker pulled me towards the crowded dance floor. “Ready?” he asked, leaning into me.

“I thought I was supposed to drink my beer and eat bar food.” I scanned the whole place; I was the biggest guy in the entire club.

“You’ve got all night to eat bar food. You can dance with me for a few minutes.” He started to move his body and I did too. I wasn’t a bad dancer; it was just something I tended to avoid. He turned slowly, his butt against my crotch.

It seemed like the music got faster and louder, and the entire time I couldn’t take my eyes off of Parker. He was absolutely gorgeous. I leaned down, kissing his neck. He lifted his arms, wrapping them around my neck. I stepped back and felt a foot under me. 

“Shit, man, watch where you’re going! You’re gonna break someone’s foot!” This guy was drunk.

“What was that?” I asked. Six months ago, I’d have left the dance floor completely mortified. But now, why would I ever stop living my life because I took up just a little too much space? The world was a big place, and people would just have to make room for me.

“Nothing, nothing,” he said, adjusting his tone. “Just be more careful. Sorry.”

“That dude was an ass,” Parker said, turning to face me, resting his hands on my waist.

“As crowded as it is, I was bound to step on someone’s foot.” I leaned down so I didn’t have to shout this next part so loudly. “Although it does probably hurt a little more when the one doing the stepping is over 425 pounds.” Parker smiled at me, and I think it was a relief to him that I was being a good sport. 

“Parker! Andy!” It was Sam waving us over to the bar.

He and the rest of Parker’s friends wanted to do another shot and my pretzels were waiting for me. “They were just delivered,” Yedam said. “And we didn’t want them to get cold.”

The rest of the night went pretty well. Parker was always so reserved and in control of himself, so it was nice to see him having fun and letting loose. They were all pretty toasted by midnight, and Mike drunkenly started talking about getting something to eat.

“Why did we drink so much?” he bemoaned, leaning against Yedam as we left the bar. “We should’ve gotten dinner before the bar.”

“You were the one convinced you were getting laid tonight,” Sam stated, stumbling right along next to them.

“Andy knows a place,” Parker said, leaning against me. “Isn’t Sub Daddy’s second location near here?”

“Uh, yeah, it is,” I offered. “I can drive, though you all better not puke.”

“We won’t!” they all sang in unison.

We made it to my Buick unscathed, and I made sure everyone was buckled up. Looking at Parker in the seat next to me and his three drunk besties in the back seat was hilarious to me. It looked like I’d kidnapped a bunch of intoxicated twinks.

“So did Parker used to bake a lot when you all lived together?” I asked, making conversation as we drove.

“Constantly,” Yedam said, sounding comically exasperated. “We had this neighbor.”

“Oh yeah!” Mike interjected. “Big Idris.”

“Your neighbor went by ‘Big Idris?’ Seriously?” I asked.

“Of course not!” Sam exclaimed, cracking up. “I think his real name was Tyler or something?”

“Tyson,” Parker clarified, his entire face and ears covered in a red blush that I didn’t think was entirely from the alcohol.

“Tyson, right,” Sam continued. “We called him Big Idris because he was hot like a young Idris Elba, but much bigger. I mean, not huge.” There was a slight pause, as if he was second guessing his next statement. “Like you’re way bigger than he was.”

“Okay, so he wasn’t fat-fat, got it.”

“So anyway, Big Idris was our neighbor across the hall. When we moved in at the start of our fall semester junior year, Parker baked little treats for everyone on the floor. Big Idris was the only one who came back asking for seconds.” The three of them roared with laughter. I could see where this story was going. Yedam continued the tale.

“It was just like when we were in the dorms. He didn’t have access to a kitchen, but Parker made sure this guy who lived on the floor above us never went without a snack. Insomnia Cookies should probably erect a statue in Parker’s honor. What was his name? Owen?”

“Yes, Owen,” Parker confirmed.

“So Owen, the ex-football player, ended the year having put on the freshman fifteen.”

“Plus fifteen,” Mike added.

“Plus fifteen,” Sam followed. They all cracked up again. Parker was definitely an anomaly to them. An oddity that made for interesting stories. Their sex lives were probably pretty tame compared to what Parker and I were into.

“Owen was nothing like Big Idris though,” Yedam said. “Those 45 pounds were nothing compared to the almost a hundred Big Idris gained living across the hall from us for two years.”

Mike spoke next, saying, “To be fair, it wasn’t all Parker. This guy liked to eat, and he was always ordering DoorDash or UberEats.” 

“But Parker wasn’t innocent,” Sam said. “He baked him a different type of cookie at least three times a week.”

“What happened to Big Idris?” I asked, now extremely curious.

“His girlfriend moved in and Parker moved here to start his new job. She’s definitely helped him change his diet around. You can tell he’s lost some weight, not eating as much take-out. But he for sure doesn’t seem as happy as when Parker was visiting his apartment at two in the morning.”

“That’s a shame,” Parker said. Now that had me cracking up as I pulled into the Sub Daddy parking lot. Of course Parker would be upset to hear that all his hard work was being undone.

We went inside and ordered, and the four of them decided to split two sandwiches, which was funny because I ordered two sandwiches for myself. We sat and ate, the four of them passing tiny bags of chips back and forth to supplement their little sandwiches. After we finished eating I drove them back to their Airbnb. We made plans to meet up for brunch the next afternoon, and I was very interested to hear more about Parker as a sexy coed with feeder tendencies.

Parker was only slightly hungover the next morning. We hung out with his friends again in the afternoon. They mostly shared stories, while I mostly ate boujee brunch food. We said our goodbyes and they made plans to get together again soon. They all still lived in the old apartment, at least until their lease ended in the fall. Overall, the weekend had been a success, and I was sure Parker was excited to start his new position come Tuesday.

Monday he’d be training his replacement.

“So make sure his lunch is ordered at eleven so that he’s able to eat by noon,” Parker stated matter-of-factly. 

He had been with my new assistant all morning. She was a nice girl, and I could tell she was already a little overwhelmed by all the things Parker expected her to remember. I think Parker was sad to be shifting to a new position, even though he was really excited to be doing what he dreamed of. 

He would be on an entirely different side of the office. It was probably for the best that we had a bit of space from each other. We didn’t want to become one of those couples that couldn’t function without the other.

But still, he knew me better than anyone. I didn’t have to think about my next move because he’d already anticipate it. 

“Parker, can I see you in my office for a moment?” I asked.

“Yes, of course,” he said before turning his attention to my new assistant. “Nicolette, we can go over the best times to schedule Mr. Reynolds for a meeting after you get back from your break.” She couldn’t grab her purse fast enough. She was probably going to be updating her LinkedIn and putting in applications on Indeed.

“You need to go a bit easier on her,” I said once we were behind closed doors. “Remember that's Hathaway’s great-niece.”

“I didn’t have anyone to show me the ropes when I started,” he said. “I just want to make sure she knows what to do so things go smoothly for you.”

“I’ll be okay, babe.”

“Fine. I’ll dial it back.”

“So how about a quickie for old time’s sake?” He laughed, but he immediately loosened his tie.

I ended up seated behind my desk with my pants around my ankles. He was completely nude, claiming he didn’t want to chance getting a stain on his clothes. He kneeled in front of me and reached into my desk drawer. He grabbed a tiny bottle of lube. He squirted a moderate amount in his palm before wrapping his hand around my erection. He pumped my dick slowly, covering it with the lube. 

I watched him stand with his back to me. I got to my feet, grabbing the bottle of lube from him and covering his hole with some of it, massaging it with my fingers. Being between his fat cheeks was always a pleasure. It was the only fatty part about him, and I loved grabbing his ass roughly in these moments. I bent my knees before angling my dick so there’d be a smooth entry and pushed my penis into him slowly. I leaned my body on top of him, my gut resting on his back as I rocked my hips back and forth. I felt his body relaxing as I found a good rhythm. I continued to thrust my hips and he did his best to stifle his moans.

“I’m your biggest success story,” I said breathily, pushing a bit more forcefully. “I just know your friends are going to be shocked the next time they see me.”

“Uh—” he whimpered, his knees buckling slightly.

“Say it,” I said. “Say that you’re gonna make me bigger.”

“I–I’m gonna make you bigger.” He tugged at his dick desperately. He wasn’t going to last much longer.

“500 isn’t that far off,” I said, not entirely believing it myself. Would he want me to get that big? He did tell me that I was the biggest person he’d ever been with. Could he handle that? Could I?

“Oh fuck!” he panted, doing his best to catch his cum in his hand. I gave a few final pushes before filling him with my cum. I pulled myself from inside of him and we both got cleaned up. He got dressed, looking positively pristine, like nothing lewd had just taken place in my office. 

That’s when he turned to me and said, “I hope you’re ready for lunch.”

He had a look in his eye that let me know our sex talk wasn’t just talk. Parker had goals, and I liked a man with motivation.

I sure knew how to hire ‘em.

The End!

[therealslimshakespeare]

Dear John | Unsayable Things

Masters of the Air Fanfiction

I banged this out in an hour or two, past midnight, deep in my feels, half chatting with my baby @stylespresleyhearted who put in the initial request for this series and who is now owed a few choice lines herein. If you wanna stew in the pain of Friday’s episode- this is the angst fest for you. With a tiny bit of hope at the end. Tiny. But it’s there.

Summary: months after one drunken letter of horny (and gentlemanly) admiration was sent off by one John Egan to Miss Lana Tierney of Hollywood fame, a written rapport has formed between them, based on a refreshing freedom to be perfectly frank and even trivial in their letters -a tone set by his inarguably appaling initial correspondence. But until today, he’s never dared make use of the number she gave him to dial when he needs to say unspeakable things.

Warnings: angsty as hell? morose and possibly suicidal thought processes? it’s Egan after THAT phone call so, I imagine you can envision that it’s not exactly a stable mentality portrayed here-in.

Masterlist

Date: October 1943

The hotel lobby is as chilled as an ice box with those front doors constantly revolving, letting in gusts of autumn air that’s suddenly turned harsher than he recalled when he stepped out into the daylight this morning. His ride back to East Anglia won’t be here for another two hours and no amount of charm or haggling can get him the petrol to make the journey on his own. It’s a carpool sort of life now, every man, woman and child in Britain knows that but every minute he stays in the great metropolis feels like a betrayal to those boys who just got-

-he will get back in time.

He vowed it, he arranged it, now all there’s left to do is wait until it can be enacted. John was never good at waiting but now all the activities and pastimes he’d once relied upon to fill a slow hour seem intolerable. Imbibe any more booz and he’ll be unfit to fly, seeing the sites could get him more sights than he’d like, polite conversation makes him want to scream in the face of the next passer by that he’s lost something precious today -don’t they know? -and it would be just his luck today of all days to get answered by someone who did know, some parent with a dead child, pulverized to bits while he fucked his demons out.

So John keeps his mouth shut in a stern line and stares venomously ahead at the charming little Renoir hung in the lounge. No one has troubled him yet and by the spooked face of the desk clerk who offered him a menu, he dares to think he won’t be in future.

He is sick to death of it all, of the death itself and the brave faces and the lack of bravery he suddenly feels now and the necessity of it all. He hardly recognizes the hollowed out sinner he’s become with a head full of too many griefs to even formulate a prayer.

He was close to catatonic, eyeball deep in his self abhorrence, when he realized he was spinning round the little lacquered card she had enclosed three letters ago.

“If you ever need to say those unsayables, here’s a private line. Don’t call it if you don’t want me to answer, only you, my mama and my hair stylist have it. Xoxo, Jeanie.” 💋

The unsayable would be to call one of the most successful, desirable and busy women in the world only to admit John Egan has run outta words. But with the mounting desire to do something stupidly productive, and without the kind fist of a friend to dissuade him -he knew walking in front of busses wouldn’t get him any closer to Thorpe Abbots- a starlet’s withering rejection just might do the trick. Just might hurt enough to slice through the fog. His fingers were sweating as he spun the rotary, thumbnail tracing the underside of her extension.

God knows it would be unlikely to get through even the first connection, much less get overseas, much less find her at her home. What time of day was it back there anyway? And this entire conversation would get bugged to hell, he’d have to be careful and this was a terrible idea to start with and-

“Hello you,” the airiest voice he’s ever heard warbles over the static, teasing and warm, “I’ll admit it, that lilac did nothing for my color last night. You win, I’ve got the front page of the Whisper to confirm, please, don’t rub it in.”

John stares out of his little alcove in the lounge with watery eyes, mouthing a silent -what the fuck- to himself before recalling the obvious: only her mother, her hairstylist and him. With this line, Jeanie -or should he call her Lana on the phone?- didn’t expect a stranger. This was an anticipated call and he about hangs up in mortification at not being what she expected.

But then, the hollow idea of one and a half hours of waiting for the ride catches up and John recalls that he had in fact phoned in order to be humiliated and he was a rare sort of chump to take so poorly to a plan gone off to so dazzling a start.

“Can’t imagine a shade that wouldn’t suit you.” he finds himself saying smoothly, the flirtation on autopilot.

He can hear an audible gasp on the other end of the line and a breathy sputter and what might be sheets rustling, or perhaps it’s a dress or paper or-

“JOHNNY?” she all but squeals and he winces at the blare of the receiver in his ear, the flinching crinkle of his blue eyes not without some pleased merriment at her unabashed excitement. “This you? Finally you used it, you silly old thing! Oh gosh, oh gosh say something again, your voice is divine! Oh, I can’t believe I’m finally talking to you. I thought you were my mother! Oh say something! You’re there, aren’t you? Johnny?”

She sounds so pleased he finds his eyes smarting and suddenly this feels like the worst idea in the world. He needed her to be harsh, to fit with every other disillusionment that’s rained down on him this past month, instead he’s met with -care. His stomach roils and not even the mean suspicion that she’s putting on an act can make it calm. “Well, I’m finally somewhere I don’t have to share a line with the whole group.”

“Where’s that, Johnny?” She sounds as eager as if he’s got a lot of options.

“London.”

“Oh!” There’s a waiver to her voice, he’s not sure why, but either way she sounds unsure if she should be merry or sober. “Business or pleasure?” she inquires levelly and it’s got all the sultry teasing he’s read into her scrawled writing hundreds of times, John finds himself flushing despite the morose sentiment that comes up right behind it.

“That, well, uh, that uh“ he picks at the sleek paint on the phone base and questions whether he’s going to use precious time on the phone with the hottest dame on planet earth to throw a pity party, “-I think the intention was a rehabilitation for the nerves. Ironically the guy who suggested it is now toast.”

“Oh John.” she sounds wounded and he bites his lip in savage pleasure at hearing what he wishes he could feel. “Was it -was it someone close?”

“A couple hundred, more like.” he sulks, his jaw ticking so hard he might break a molar if he keeps on. “But yeah. Yeah today was-“ he tries to think of the censors and that makes him laugh at the thought of all their previous filthy correspondence making it through but some slip of the tongue about a dead friend could land them in the hot spot, his following laugh is snotty and he could gag at himself for it.

“Johnny, darling man, are you-“ she shifts course and he holds his breath, depending on her for something, he doesn’t even what, “-does this happen to have something to do with our duet’s harshest critic?”

He smiles at her cleverness, she’s not a complete airhead then. And she recalls Buck. Of course she does, she hasn’t stopped sending him kisses via Egan’s letters even though she didn’t recall meeting either, not even when John had sent back photographs of the both of them to jog it. The flow of correspondence hadn't stalled despite this strike out and neither had the morale boosting glamor shots of certain of her assets which John kept locked in the false bottom of his footlocker and one small one folded in in the hollowed heel of his boot.

_“keeping it handy for the emergency tug off?” Gale had scorned him but Egan liked having her with him._

“Yeah, Shirley Temple- he’s been uh, he’s been traded, ya see.” Egan manages the metaphor once more and winces at the truth it hides.

He hears Je-Lana?-Jeanie?- suck in a breath on the other end. “Gosh. John. Any sign of, of-“ she begins to stammer, “of chut-“

-chutes, she’s going to say. John coughs loudly into the reviver and her voice trails off in recognition of his warning. “This was a mistake.” he decides, “I just -you can see why- I just thought I’d like to hear a-a-a voice, a-“

“A friend!” she replies eagerly, “I’m here, I’m here don’t go, not yet, not unless you have to, Major. Are you waiting? You’ll be wanting to get back, no? Or will you be staying on? In London?”

“I’m not staying.”

“Of course.” she whispers, “I’m so terribly, terribly sorry.”

His grip on the receiver has turned white. “No,” he decides, “I’m the one who’s sorry. Bringing this up, never even talked to you before and I go and make it this the call. Pretty girl like you doesn’t need this.”

“I told you to call.” she reminds him gently, “And Johnny, I’m ever so happy to hear your voice, I’ve imagined it a million times rereading your letters and looking at your photographs. I can concede that my imagination failed.”

“You reread them?” he is amused.

“Yes. Don’t you reread mine?”

“Mhmm you bet.”

“Gosh your voice gives me shivers.” she whispers into the phone and he feels an odd rising of the hair on the back of his neck. “Are you having to beat the London women off with a baseball bat?”

“I just let ‘em swarm.” he admits and she makes a noise of intrigue, “I was with a widow last night.” He blurts. “Polish. We watched the bombs from my hotel room.”

“How relaxing.” Without missing a beat Jeanie’s soft tease comes through, “Did the one balance the other for the nerves?”

“I’m dehydrated and hungover.”

“And grieving.” she adds.

That’s an unsayable. “I just needed to talk to someone.” he decides.

“Did she not speak English?”

He’s gone this far, he might as well be honest. “She didn’t know Buck.”

“Mm.” She makes a mournful noise of assent.

“I-I’m tryin’ not to do something stupid Jeanie,” he hates how his voice shakes but to her, it sounds more like rage than fear, “and I thought if I could hear your voice I’d -id get some peace. And wait for my ride without bustin’ up the Carleton.”

“Yes, I forbid you to bust up the Carleton without me, Major.” she warns and his pulse leaps at the simple direction, it’s a joke of course but it lodges heavy and wanted in his chest. “Promise me, Johnny, one day we’ll cause a great scandal there, you and I?”

“Miss Tierney,” he bites at his lip, “it’s a kindness for me not to make promises. To girls -to anybody.” She’s got to know that, she’s just being nice. “Especially not to special little ladies with nice long futures ahead of them.”

“It’s Turner, actually, Miss Turner if you’re going to be so formal.” She corrects, not a single part of her name Hollywood hasn’t meddled with. “But you must know, it’s far too late for that John. I miss you like mad.”

“We haven’t even met.” he reasons.

“What, and you don’t miss me?”

He curses under his breath fondly and shrugs. “I adore you.”

There’s a beat of silence in which he thinks he may have blown it by being so gushing but in fact, Jeanie finds herself milking her throat to dislodge the lump of painful glee settling there.

“Then you do whatever you have to, Bucky Egan,” she commands him, imperious but fervent, “you punch and get punched and drink as much as you need and bed as many girls as it takes and go after Buck-“

“-hold up, how’d you kn-“

“-but you come home. It’s much too late to tell me not to get my hopes up. You’re all I dream about anymore. There’s got to be some future for us, there’s got to be, Johnny, I’m not asking you to promise I’m asking you to try. Do what you’re good at.”

The pause is long and heavy and Bucky thinks he hears her sniffling on the other end. Unmoored by the unprecedented honesty he’s receiving and the juxtaposition of being someone’s risky bet for happiness when just this morning he’d come to resign himself to letting go what could only ever be a passing night's comfort- “Hell of a business.” he finds himself repeating.

“But you’re the best at it.” she retorts, “So stay the best.”

Everything certain, everything he thought was a given got blown to hell with Gale’s plane today. “Used to tell him if everybody else went down it’d be just him and me. I believed that.” He mumbles into the phone, turning to tuck his neck into the device like it’s the soft crook of her neck, “Now to be the best- that’s just me, and charred Europe under me and no one else in sight. That’s what you’re asking? ‘Cause that’s how this ends.”

The sun is shining bright and brutal in California, a cheery morning to mock her cocktail hangover and now she thinks it’s to hurt him as well, everything is so far removed an ocean away. Such bleakness is hard to even fathom for her, but the man she’s come to know, to love even, on paper is hoarsely spilling his guts to her over the phone and she’s not sure what one says to such a prediction. Her agent hovers in the doorway, the angry swats of her hand not sufficient to deter him from fretting with the press conference approaching. “So what, this is a suicide note?” she winces as soon as she says it but honesty has always been their currency.

“No.” he replies at long last and her shoulders sag. “I thought- i just wanted to hear your voice once before I go up again, Jeanie.”

“And I’m glad you called.” she swears, “And now I’ll have a voice to go with all the wicked things you do in my dreams.���

“Oh fu- Jeanie that’s unfair.” He balks and she grins at the little victory.

“Alls fair in love and war, Major.” She reminds, “Now tell me, do you want to tell me about him? Buck-“

“No, fuck no!” he hisses, angry at himself, “I wanted to talk to you to forget. I wanted to hear your voice.” He repeats it like an idiot.

“Then tell me,” she soothes, unphased by his outburst, “what would you like to hear in my voice, Major? The latest score? Perhaps the front page of the Times? They brought it in with my toast. Or some dirty line from one of your letters? I’ve got them here under one of Salinger’s books. They’re safe from the fiancé there, he’s a complete ignoramus with a phobia for learning.”

Bucky chuckles at her unabashed derision for her hotel scion intended and grins at the idea of her sleeping so near to his scrawled professions of lo- obsession at the very least.

Love is another unsayable.

“Just -tell me about your day, sweetheart?“ he begs, hoarse with the need to teleport elsewhere for the remaining forty minutes of his wait.

“If you’re sure.” she sounds only mildly skeptical, “It’s been very loungey, rather frilly.”

“Perfect.” he sighs, closing his eyes.

“Well, it’s actually morning here so I haven’t been up to much,” she begins and he feels guilty for just dialing away, damn the timezones, “I’ve not even dressed.”

“What color are you wearing?” he begs before he even realizes it.

“White.”

Hey sucks his teeth and nods approvingly. “White what?”

“A silk top and- no! Go away Herbert, for the last time!” Some interruption seems to occur on her end as a man’s voice comes through in snatches and Jeanie’s raised one drifts through the hand she’s cupped over the receiver, “Herbert, for the love of God, I am talking to one of the men protecting our country, the reporters can wait!”

Jeanie’s snappy loyalty soothes some raw edge he’s felt since watching *her* leave this morning without more than a kiss. “Reporters, huh?” he sympathizes, fully ready to give her an out.

“You’d think they’d have enough to report, there’s a war on.” she seethes and he has to smile again, “Anway, where were we? Oh, my pajama shorts.”

“White.”

“Yes Johnny, white.”

“Send me a picture?”

“Awfully demanding for a man who hasn’t even promised me he’ll try to live and see them in person.”

John puffs out a laugh at being snared so easily. “Alright, I’ll try.”

“Promise?” Her voice sounds so small.

“I promise.” He’s dazed by the shift, how did he end up being the one begged by Miss Hollywood herself? Perhaps he’s still drunker than he thought.

“It’s all any of us can do, Johnny,” she says, “but we’ve gotta try. You got your pinky up?”

“What?”

“For your oath- pinky swear.”

“You're not even here.” he laughs.

“I’ve got mine crooked, come on Major, meet me halfway.”

And so John Egan finds himself sporting a watery, helpless grin as he lifts his finger into thin air and crooks it around her imaginary little digit. Her sigh sounds as if she can feel it a ocean away. Perhaps he’s gone fully looney in the way he thinks he can, too.

He doubts she’ll appreciate his choices in the next few weeks, maybe even doubt his intention to keep his oath, but what matters is he’s going to try. Even if it’s an angry, furious, blind sort of determination, it keeps him firmly out of the London bus lane until Hobbs and his transport arrive and then it’s goodbye Jean Turner, hello again Thorpe Abbots.

Taglist: (I’m sorry for tagging y’all twice in a single day, oops)

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

[villainessprefect]

~Tell It to My Heart~

title: Late Night With You

Prompt #2: Ending a phone call with an accidental “love you”

Idia x gn!reader

Read on AO3

Your eyes glide to the clock at the corner of the screen. You watch as the seconds literally tick by and bite back a sigh once you realize how late it's gotten. If the darkness enveloping your room and the main source of light coming from your computer wasn't obvious that it was well past your bedtime.

"It's getting late," you say. It is late, you mentally correct yourself.

"And?" Comes a voice from your headphones. You roll your eyes at his response. "It's not like we're doing anything tomorrow."

"You're not. I am." You fiddle with your mic that's connected to your headset. "Unless if you want to show up to class with me?"

You hear something akin to a huff and can practically feel his eye roll.

"Hard pass. These drop rates are harder than pulling for a limited edition SSR character and we're only given a week to grind for them? An event like this won't get a rerun for at least a year or two. It's now or never."

You shake your head and let out a yawn. Leave it to Idia to find importance in an online game. You don't doubt that he's right, but you're not a hardcore gamer like him. Life calls whether you want it to or not and you have to answer it.

"You make a convincing argument. Think you can get enough for me too?"

"Do you know who you're talking to? When I'm done we'll have enough materials to make a second set of weapons for display," he says with a chuckle.

A smile inches on your face at the sound. A shame that you can't hear it in person. It sounds better compared to the slightly muffled version in your ears.

"Thanks. We still on for Saturday? That's when the drop rates increase, right?"

"Yeah. I'll send you better armor so we can one-shot those raids too."

"Cool." You feel another yawn coming your way and barely manage to hold it back. You rub your eyes and feel a little guilty for not holding much of a conversation. To be fair though, keeping your eyes open isn't easy even with the blaring light of a laptop shining on your face. "Okay, I can't be up much longer. You should be heading to bed soon even if you're not going to show up for class."

"Eh? No way. I can do this all night!"

"I'll message Ortho," you threaten with a grin. Idia falls silent and you can imagine him glancing back to look at his brother. The image makes you chuckle. It wouldn't be the first time you'd manage to get Ortho to get Idia to bed. "Kidding. Anyway, see you later, Idia. Love you."

You pull off your headset and place it on your desk. You log off your account and then the laptop's screen fades to black. A whine escapes you as you're forced to adjust to the sudden darkness.

You stretch your limbs as you stand from your chair. Carefully, you navigate the walk from desk to bed. It's a short path but you don't know what lies hiding in the dark. Thankfully, your mission is successful and you land in bed with a thud.

Grim rolls around beside you, muttering something in his sleep. The monster doesn't wake, surprisingly, and you take a moment to run a hand through his fur. He purrs, getting cozy underneath your touch, and nestles closer to you. Then he mumbles something about tuna.

"Sweet dreams..." You breathe out. With one last yawn, you shut your eyes.

Only to have them shoot open as your body jerks itself upward.

"Oh my god..." You gasp, a hand flying to your mouth. You can feel your cheeks burning, your heart racing a mile a minute.

Did you...Did you really just tell Idia you love him?

You totally did not just do that.

Idia is frozen in his chair with wide eyes. He feels like a cat that's just been spooked as he repeats your goodbye over and over in his mind. Those two little words you uttered could easily OHKO him. And if you were right in front of him, he really would have died on the spot.

Idia pulls his hands off his keyboard to cover his face. His room is enveloped in a soft blue glow that stems from his hair. Now it begins to flash a light pink. His cheeks began to match the new color surrounding him.

"Th-They didn't mean to say that..." He tells himself. "I-It's late and they're just tired. Yeah. Th-That's it. N-No way they'd tell me that. Besides that's not a way they would confess..."

Not that he's thought about you confessing to him. Well, he has. A bit. Okay, more than he's ever willing to admit. And he's not going to go off about how he imagines it happening underneath a cherry blossom tree after school with flowers sparkling around your image.

"They're right, i-it's getting late..." Idia tries to calm his nerves while logging out of his game. His fingers are set on autopilot as your voice echoes in his head.

Even as he finds himself in bed, curling underneath the covers, he can't fall asleep. You are on his mind now more than ever. His heart bounces around his chest, making him feel giddy while his mind fights against it, scolding it and being realistic about your words being a tired mistake.

Regardless of which one wins, he's definitely not going out tomorrow.

Oh. That brings up another problem. Instead of looking forward to playing with you, now he's dreading it.

What the hell is going to happen on Saturday?!

[hoonieyun]

ritual chapter one: omen

ritual chapter one: omen

ʚ⁺˖↪ masterlist

warnings: mentions of death, terror, murder, horror, violence, overall 18+

word count: 3175

if there was a time to start all over, it would be now. y/n, 22 years old, lost her parents just 2 months prior to this specific moment. in a tragic car accident that led to the car flying off of a bridge and into the waters of a deep sea; y/n was the only survivor. and after being unconscious for 3 days and being under constant urgent monitoring, she was able to survive, although most times she wished she hadn’t. 

its 4am and you're packing the last of your things. a box filled with memories that hurt too much to remember. a box of old childhood photos, trinkets and things, and some of your parents well cherished items. some things you couldn’t bear to look at but could never let go. when deciding what to keep from your childhood home, you spent months trying to decide whether or not you wanted to hold onto your parents' beloved things. feeling that if you were to keep it, you’d only continue to hold onto the pain that was connected with their memories, but if you got rid of it, it would be like getting rid of those memories of your parents. 

one thing for sure, you would never get rid of the necklace your parents got you when you turned 18. after finally deciding what to keep and what to give away and donate, you were on your way to a new town. a place, thousands of miles away from your hometown, where you can start over and hopefully heal from the pain deep in her heart. 

you arrive at your new home, a quaint apartment that features 10 different units. one of which, becoming your new home. when you enter the lobby, there's an eerie atmosphere in the air. you ring the bell at the reception desk but no one answers. after a few minutes, no one arrives so you go to ring the bell once again but stop when you hear someone clear their throat behind you. you turn around and there stands an old man. skin adorned with wrinkles and freckles, his back hunched from his old age and feet dragging along the floor. “you must be y/n..” he says and you recognize his voice from the phone when you were setting up your lease for your new home. 

“yes… i am, you must be the landlord? the one i spoke to on the phone?” you ask for clarification and the old man just stares at you and groans. he turns away from you and enters a room behind the desk. his standoffish behavior throws you for a loop, a part of you somewhat starting to think this apartment may not be the best but it seems its a bit too late to back out now. when the old man returns he has 3 keys in his hand. “this key is your apartment…” he says while settling it in front of you. “mailbox and the roof.” he says while setting the other two keys adjacent to the first. “rent is due on the 4th of every month, don’t be late.” he says and you grab the keys and begin your walk to your unit. your unit was 6B and you were dreading the walk to your apartment until you realize the apartment has an elevator, sending a silent prayer, thanking god for the elevator. 

the ground floor features the lobby, the reception desk and the room in the back and a waiting area. floors 2-8 feature 2 units on each floor, each labeled by the number of the floor and either the letter A or B. the 10th floor is the rooftop, you were told it had a communal shared living space, where tenants can go and spend time. you took a mental note to check out the rooftop space at some point. earmarking it as a place where you can spend time to think when being in your home becomes a bit suffocating. 

you're taken out of your thoughts when the elevator dings, indicating that you’ve arrived on your floor. when the elevator doors open, you're facing a mirror on the wall. you get a glance of yourself, you look disheveled and get a bit self conscious when you realize this is what you looked like when speaking to… that was when you realized you never got the landlord’s name. 

you exit the elevator and look both ways, seeing that one end of the hallway was apartment 6A and the other end 6B. you make a right and head for your apartment, when you enter the key into the lock you realize that your apartment was already open. you decide to brush it off by thinking they kept the apartment open because it was vacant and had no worries of someone breaking in. thinking to yourself that you had way more to worry about than your apartment being unlocked while it was vacant. 

when you enter your new home, a slight breeze makes its way through the room, a chill wind welcoming you into your new home. you do a small tour of the place, it was a simple layout for the apartment. to the right of the entrance was the kitchen, which had the living room just across from it. you didn’t realize the apartment came with a fireplace because you hadn’t seen one in the listing and didn’t see a chimney outside when you arrived. you didn’t think much of it, but it was great to have after hearing that this part of town gets fairly cold during the winter. 

you spent the rest of your day unpacking the little you traveled with while you waited for the moving trucks to arrive. you had scheduled the movers to arrive a few hours after you arrived and they would be arriving any time soon. 

its 6PM when the movers arrive and they bring in your belongings. your once empty apartment now filled with boxes. it becomes overwhelming so you decide to save the chore for tomorrow and go to bed. you were thankful that this place offered a new bed frame and mattress. when you walked into your bedroom, a wooden bed frame was positioned into the middle of the room. atop of the bed frame was a mattress wrapped in cellophane, indicating that it was brand new. you honestly wouldn’t have minded if it wasn’t new because of how exhausted you were but you were grateful to know no one else had been asleep in your new bed. you rip the plastic off the bed with the last of your energy and with a slump into the bed, you let exhaustion take over your body. 

you were so tired you forgot to lock your front door. surely, nothing bad would happen. 

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when you wake up the next morning, the sun is shining onto your face. the warmth of the sun makes you feel fuzzy and eager to start the day. you rolled out of bed with a big stretch, you hadn’t realized how tired you were until you got out of bed; your legs were sore from the travel but you weren’t going to let that stop you from unpacking your belongings. 

you skipped breakfast because you didn’t have any groceries just yet so you went straight to unpacking for the day. determined to unbox all of your belongings, you began your day at 9AM and got to work. unpacking everything was a lot easier than you expected, each space in your home only having 3 boxes each that needed to be unpacked. you opted to only keep things you absolutely needed or couldn’t bother replacing and buying a new one, so most of your items were able to be unpacked without hassle. 

its around 4PM when you’ve finished unpacking and fully organizing your new home. you notice you feel faint, having realized you hadn’t eaten all day besides a few sips of water, you decided to have groceries delivered. you plopped down on your couch and began to scroll on your phone, deciding what groceries you needed. you chose to only get a few items, enough to make you dinner and some breakfast the next day. you took a mental note to visit the local grocery market in town to familiarize yourself and to purchase more things for your kitchen. as you press order on the grocery delivery, you feel a wave of exhaustion hit you. the groceries wouldn’t be delivered for another hour so a nap wouldn’t be that bad of a decision. as you set an alarm for 1 hour and set your phone aside, you nuzzle up to the couch arm and go for a nap. 

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you wake up and its a lot darker outside. you're confused because the sun doesn’t set until later in the evening, and you couldn’t imagine that it was very late. you take a look at your phone and the clock reads 3AM, to your shock you stumble off of the couch and head to your front door to grab your groceries; trying your best not to stumble over anything as it was dark in your apartment with the only light coming from the moon shining into the living room. 

as you approach your front door and reach for the doorknob you feel a cold chill, causing the hairs on your arms and back of your neck to instantly stand up. your head whips around and you quickly scan your apartment as if there was something or someone that could’ve caused the cold air to pass through you. you turn back towards your front door and open it to quickly grab your groceries that have unfortunately been waiting out there for several hours but fortunately, no one stole it. 

as you poke your head out of your front door and grab your groceries you notice a shadow at the end of the hall. the shadow was still and you weren’t sure if the dark was just playing tricks on you. you blink a few times and the shadow is suddenly gone. you thought that the shadow was just something you imagined but when you rub your eyes the shadow returns and this time, there’s two shadowy figures. your heart starts to beat faster and worry starts to build in your chest. you quickly move back into your apartment with your groceries and lock the door. you’re trying to convince yourself that you were just seeing things but the silhouette of the two men in the darkness felt so real. although you couldn’t see their faces and couldn’t tell which direction they were facing, the longer you stared at them the feeling of their gaze piercing into you became stronger. 

you shook your head to try and rid your mind of the intrusive thoughts. you flip the lights on and make your way to the kitchen to put away your groceries. just as you set the bags on the counter a knock on your front door startles you. you stare at your front door and swallow the dryness in your throat. your breath is still shaky and you hoped that if you ignored the knock, it would just go away. after a few minutes, when you hear nothing, you shake your head and try to clear your mind by putting away your groceries. Thankfully, none of which needed to be refrigerated right away and weren’t spoiled. it was almost 4AM when you decided to freshen up after accidentally spending all day sleeping on your couch. as you grab some new clothes from your closet and make your way to your bathroom, you stop in your tracks when another knock can be heard from your front door. 

it startles you enough to make you drop what is in your hands. you slowly bend down to pick it up but another knock erupts from the door, this time it’s a lot harder than before. it causes you to jump with a small shriek leaving your lips, causing you to slap your hand over your mouth. 

you slowly make your way to the front door, careful to not make any sound and hoping the floor beneath you doesn’t creek. when you reach the door, you peek through the peephole, afraid of what you’re going to see, but to your surprise; there was nothing there. you roll your eyes and turn back around to take your shower when you hear another knock on the door. something inside you causes you to act irrationally. annoyed and tired of the knocking, you whip your body around and just open the door to confront the culprit, but once again there was no one there. 

you peek out and the hallway was empty. no one in sight, not even the shadowy figures you had seen before. when you retract back into your apartment, you notice a small book, a diary, is on your doorstep. you pick up the diary and blow the dust off of it. you were sure you hadn’t seen this diary when you first arrived. it was leather and from the damages and its appearance, you can tell it’s very old. you go back inside your apartment and decide to sit down on your bed to look through the diary. deciding to ignore your original plans to shower because your curiosity has gotten the better of you. 

when you open the diary a wave passes through your room. it was like opening the diary released something, you could feel the room get slightly colder and the hairs on your arm begin to rise. you notice a name was engraved on the bottom of the inside of the cover. 

“aliyah kim” you whispered as your thumb softly glided over the engraving. you spend the rest of the night flipping through the pages and reading her entries. it feels intrusive but a part of you couldn’t stop yourself from reading, but it did appear on your doorstep so what else were you to do. the diary had many entries, a lot were just of aliyah’s daily thoughts, her life here in the city and her adventures. at some point, about halfway through the diary, there was a break between the entries. 

the entry was of august 2021 and the one after that was february 2022. her tone of words had completely changed. it was like it wasn’t even the same person writing in the diary. her once happy and simple life she wrote about in her entries became dark. she wrote about being tormented by entities, 4 specifically. she wrote about how they vowed to break her down until she was nothing. how much she feared for her life and that every day she wasn’t sure if she was going to see the next sunrise. there were only a few entries after her entry from february 2022 and the diary suddenly stopped in april 2022. her last entry scared you the most. she only wrote one thing. 

“you may own my soul but i hold the truth.” you whispered to yourself. that was the only thing she wrote but she wrote it over and over again. there were several pages, back to back, of just the same sentence. the last page being some sort of symbol written in red ink. when you turned to the page with the symbol, a migraine strikes your head, causing you to drop the book and clutch your head. a high-pitched ringing surrounds the room and your vision starts to blur. the pain becomes unbearable and after a few minutes of the agonizing pain; sleep takes over your body once again. 

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you’re awoken by a stream of light peeking through your window blinds. the light directly settled over your eyes as if it was on purpose so that you would wake up. you rolled off your couch with a soft thud onto your carpet. strange, you thought to yourself. you could’ve sworn fell asleep on your bed last night. you reach over to grab your phone and see the time, it was 9am the next day and the first notification on your phone was from the delivery app letting you know your groceries had been delivered… yesterday at 6PM. you rushed over to your front door, brushing off the weird sense of deja vu as if this exact occurrence had happened once before. once you had grabbed and put away your groceries, thankful that it wasn’t stolen and nothing spoiled in the hours it was sitting outside, you decided to take a shower deciding what to do for the rest of the day. 

you exit your bathroom, a towel wrapped around your head to help dry your hair when you notice a familiar worn down diary sitting on your kitchen counter. a siren begins to go off in your head and in this moment you realize that this was more than deja vu. you snatched the diary from your kitchen counter and opened one of your drawers, pulling out matches. 

you threw the diary into your fireplace and without thinking, lit a match and tossed it with the diary. in a matter of seconds the leather bound book began to burn. the smoke that emitted from the book seemed to be almost black, you leaned in and after a closer look you thought you could hear whispers coming from the diary itself. like it was chanting something and luring you in, but you were taken out of your thoughts when your fire alarm goes off.

“shit!” you exclaimed, you hadn’t thought this far. not prepared, you had nothing to put out the fire. you grabbed a small pillow from your couch in a ditch effort to waft the smoke awake but to no avail. you quickly opened the windows in your living room and closed the rest of the doors in your apartment to prevent the smoke from spreading but nothing helped. the fire alarm was still blaring and the smoke only seemed to get thicker. at this point the smoke was getting so overbearing that you were choking on it, you made your way to your front door to get help but when you opened it you were met with a tall boy. 

he had striking features and a fire extinguisher in his hands. he doesn’t say anything as he enters your home and quickly unloads the extinguisher into your fireplace; stopping the fire and saving you from a potential life threatening event. 

⟡ next ⟢

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copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved

all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned.

[porcelana-r0ta]

The Curse of Sight, Part 3

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 4]

Summary: When Wes Weston meets Tim Drake-Wayne, the dots start connecting. And those dots form a Bat.

Ao3 Link (available only to Ao3 members)

When Wes gets home that night, he cuts off the part of Tim’s note with his name. His contact information has already been added to his phone, so he tears that part of the note up and then trashes it. The part containing his signature, Wes dumps into an envelope and scribbles out a note on a different sheet of paper: 

You owe me one. 

                —Wes

Wes seals the envelope, stamps it, and writes Tucker’s address in the center, and uses one of his mom’s fancy returning address stickers so he doesn’t have to write anymore. Then he rushes out the townhouse and drops it off at the USPS outgoing mailbox, and rushes back inside before the powers that be decide Wes should be mugged again.

Tucker may be one of the Gaslighting Trio, but he was still nice enough to help Wes in their computers class. 

xxXxx

Wes: Hi, it’s Wes! You gave me your number yesterday so I could give you coffee next time I went on a coffee run?

The reply comes unexpectedly fast for someone who runs a Fortune 500 company and is a whole entire vigilante, but maybe the coffee addiction is just that strong.

Tim: Wes! Yes, please. Have you left yet?

Wes: No, I haven’t even made the mobile order yet. Wanted to give you time to respond. Why?

Tim: Just a sec

Wes stares at his phone from his place in his mom’s office, where he sits in a brown suede chair that sits in front of her desk. His mom is typing away on her computer, a look of concentration on her face. 

“Huh,” he says to himself, then exits the chat to return to putting in orders. He’d like to just click on a past order and reuse it, but Felix and Kourtnie are always changing their orders. He’s convinced it’s because they hate him, but maybe it’s that he’s letting his experience with Jade color his vision. 

“What is it, sweetie?” his mom asks without pausing in his work. 

“Well, Tim asked me to text him next time I went to get coffee. And like, I did. And he answered, but then told me to wait a sec.”

“Can’t ignore orders from the big boss,” his mom says, and Wes nods. 

“Yeah, but I think Kourtnie will die if she waits too long for her caffeine fix.”

“She’ll have to get over it, or stop by Batbucks before she comes in.”

“I don’t think she wakes up early enough for that….”

His mom snorts, “You’re right on that front. How did you even meet Mr. Drake?”

He shrugs and looks back to his phone, “I dunno. He pressed the elevator button for me a few days ago, and now suddenly all of this—” he gestures to everything, “—is a thing.”

“Teenagers,” his mom mutters under her breath. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Nothing. Just that you suck at describing things.” 

“You’re mean. I’m disowning you as my mother.”

“Have fun on the streets of Gotham.”

“I’ll sell your credit card numbers online to buy a bus ticket back to Amity.”

“Greyhounds don’t go to Amity. Try again.”

“I’ll hitchhike and get serial killed by a semi-truck driver to get back to Amity. Then I’ll come back as a ghost and haunt you and Gotham.” 

“Not Amity Park?”

“No, they have other problems.” Like the Guys In White. Gotham has issues, but at least they aren’t government-mandated war crimes type of issues. 

His mom goes to say something, but a knock at her office door stops her. She finally looks up from her computer and makes eye contact with the interrupter, and says, “Oh, come in, Mr. Drake.”

Wes has to physically stop himself from whipping around, “Oh, hey, Tim! What’s up?” 

This is it. He’s finally figured out what I figured out and now he’s come for my kneecaps.

Okay, that was dramatic, even for him. He was making the Bats sound like a little family of mob members. Really, they were just superheroes. They couldn’t do anything harmful to Wes. At least not physically.

….Would they erase his memories? Is mind-fucking considered physical harm? 

Wes breaks into a nervous sweat. 

“I just want to help Wes out with his coffee run,” Tim explains with that charming Wayne smile that wins the hearts of anyone who feels. “I hope you don’t mind me going out with your son, Penny?” 

“Not at all,” his mom answers. “Have fun, boys. Oh, and Mr. Drake?”

“Yes?”

“Tell your brother to stop flipping off the cameras every time he spots paparazzi.” 

Tim winces, “I’ll send the message, but we can’t really run a business and control Jason at the same time.”

Jason Todd. As in Red Hood, the second Robin. The one who was pronounced dead overseas, but was miraculously found safe and somewhat sound several years later. Fantastic.

Wonder how much of that death was real? Wes has had enough ecto-exposure thanks to his stalking hijinks in Amity Park to know when he’s around others who have been touched by Death. He’s about 60% sure he could clock that in Jason Todd if he ever happened to get near him. 

Hopefully while in his civilian persona. Wes is uninterested in meeting any more vigilantes, thank you very much. 

They say their goodbyes to his mom and he gets up to follow after Tim, his knees a little wobbly. How long can he pretend to be nervous about hanging out with the guy who signs not just his paycheck, but his mom’s? 

They walk through the PR Department and make it to the elevator, painstakingly going through the motions of small talk. Wes is aware of every word he utters, carefully asking himself what could be taken the wrong way, and what is innocuous enough to say. 

“So what did you want from Batbucks?” he asks as the elevator lowers. 

“Oh, the same as what you got last time,” Tim answers, and Wes abides by that request with a single press of a button. Their conversation moves to favorite TV shows as they leave WE and head to the crosswalk to make it to the Batbucks across the street, and once there, Wes pushes the check-in button to signal to the baristas that he’s there for pickup whenever the order is finished, and they take a seat against a wall and far from the windows. 

“A Trekkie, huh?” Tim asks when Wes tells him his top five TV shows. “And a crime fan, too.”

Wes shrugs, fiddling with his fingers, “I like to figure out the ending before the characters do, and honestly, I just like George Takei.”

Tim tilts his head, “That’s fair. I like crime shows, too.”

Haha yeah, I bet you do.

“What’s your favorite?” Wes obligingly asks. 

“Oh, Criminal Minds, easily. Spencer’s a great character.” 

Wes wonders how a person with two full-time jobs like Tim has time for hobbies that include 40-minute episodes. 

“You just like seeing characters in pain, don’t you?” 

“I do not!” Tim protests, affronted. “I just think he’s a good character! With good development!” 

“That’s what I’d say, too,” Wes teases. 

Tim shakes his head, “You’re impossible. He’s just a good character! He’s so smart and awkward. What’s not to love?” 

Wes gives a half-shrug, “I mean, I guess that’s fair. He is a good character. But I’m more of a Garcia person.”

“They really make the show,” Tim agrees. “Their dynamic is iconic.”

“Speaking of iconic….” Wes takes a deep breath disguised as a sigh. Okay, so if he were going to be interrogated, it would have happened by now. So it’s probably not happening unless he’s going to see a Bat on the fire escape tonight. But if he can just reveal a tiny bit of his hand—just a little smidge—maybe he can avoid suspect altogether. 

“Yeah?” 

“I have to ask,” Wes says nervously. “It’s definitely not my business, but yesterday, when I dropped off the coffees…. I kind of saw the picture of that villain? And I was wondering… who told Mr. Wayne that the villain had a sticker of a My Immortal quote? Who had to explain to him what My Immortal is?” 

Because surely Tim knows, if not from having read the infamous fic then from doing research about the villain. 

Tim smirks and says, “That’s the best part, Wes. Bruce already knew.” 

He choked on air, “You’re kidding me!”

“I’m not. I’m really, really not. You didn’t hear this from me, but,” Tim pauses, giving a playful, sneaking look around for any listeners, and he whispers, “my brother Dick referenced it so much that Bruce read it himself.” 

“Bruce Wayne. Read My Immortal.” The fucking Batman read My Immortal? Willingly? 

“Oh yeah, he did.” 

“Did… did he recognize the quote? Did he remember?” 

“No, but he did when Dick said, ‘Damn, I hope Batman puts his middle finger up at that prep villain.’” 

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Wes knows he’s getting a modified version of what really happened, but he can fill in the gaps. Nightwing quoted My Immortal to Batman. And Batman recognized it because he once read the fic in an effort to relate to his teenage son. 

Well, vigilantes are human, too. Why shouldn’t Batman know who Vampire and Bloody Mary are? 

The next few minutes pass in friendly conversation before their order name is called, and both get up to collect. Wes tries to get two out of the three carton holders, but Tim intercepts. 

“Tim,” he says, half-chastising. 

“I just like helping! And this is getting me out of a board meeting.” 

Wes’s face screws up in distaste. “Well, that’s fair, then.” 

They make their way back to the 73rd floor of Wayne Enterprises and they are hounded in the way that has become so expected for Wes. A new addition to the coffee delivery is Rebecca’s eyes lighting up upon seeing that Tim is helping Wes. 

“Did you like last night’s meme, Mr. Drake?” Rebecca asks, collecting her venti iced mocha latte.

Tim nods, “I did. Nice work on the Photoshop. And the filming equipment should be down today.” 

Wes watches as Rebecca does her best not to squeal in excitement, “Thank you, sir!” 

He nods and turns to Wes, “I’ll see you later, yeah?” His black bangs do nothing to hide the way his eyes crinkle at the corners.

Wes nods wordlessly, his throat suddenly tight and full. Tim’s smile widens and he leaves for the elevator. 

When the doors close on his figure, Rebecca jams her index and middle fingers into Wes’s ribs, “Oh my god, were you two on a coffee date?” 

“Ow, Rebecca, what? No! He just wanted to escape the board.” Wes rubs his ribs comfortingly, his muscles stinging. “That hurt, what the hell?”

“Sorry!” She’s not sorry at all. “Do you think we can get him to do a TikTok for us?” 

He spares a glance at the elevator, which has long since taken Tim up to whatever floor he haunts. “Maybe? It’d make sense, considering the whole CEO thing. Why wouldn’t he be in a TikTok at some point?”

“No reason,” she says, but there’s a fire in her eyes and a mischievous cut to her grin that she fails to hide behind her coffee. Wes’s gut curdles in dread. 

“You terrify me.”

“Thanks! Now come to my office. You need to practice your lines for the TikTok.”

“I feel like my mom has to sign some kind of release form if I’m going to be on the WE TikTok,” he warns, but dutifully follows after her. “Also, you have a cubicle. Not an office.” 

“Hush, or I’ll take away your stool. And your mom already signed one, so ha.” 

“Hushing.” He mimes the action of locking his lips and throwing away the key. 

“Ugh, you’re adorable.” 

They get to the cubicle and each takes a seat, Rebecca immediately sorting through several stacks of papers before making a triumphant noise and handing him a sheet. Wes takes it and stares at it uncomprehendingly for a few seconds. 

“Rebecca, this is just stage directions and the lines to that Cunk on Earth audio.” 

She nods, “And if we get the TikTok approved fast enough, maybe we’ll even post it when the trend is still semi-popular.” 

“And what will I be actually saying?” 

“Don’t worry about that. Just focus on being able to lip sync.” 

“Oh boy."

xxXxx

Wes had thought he would have at least a few days to get used to the idea of having his face plastered all over the internet. Unfortunately, it would seem he underestimated Rebecca’s work ethic when it came to something she wanted because she only made him do three retakes, and then she made quick work of editing. Wayne Enterprises' first-ever TikTok would be ready to go live in the morning with his mother’s and Tim’s approval. 

The TikTok in question is Wes standing in the Wayne Enterprises lobby, smiling wide and happy at the camera when he first begins talking: “It’s hard to believe I’m walking through the ruins of the first ever city.” He pauses, drops the smile, and says, “Because I’m not: that’s in Iraq, which is miles away, and fucking dangerous.” Then, he holds up two cartons of coffee into the camera frame, all filled with (secretly) empty paper venti cups, and is swarmed by various WE employees who volunteered (or were coerced by Rebecca) to be in the TikTok. 

Rebecca doesn’t let him see exactly how she subtitled the video, but he can guess. And sure enough, when the TikTok profile and video simultaneously go live the next day and Wes sees it, he is proven mostly right. 

“It’s hard to believe I’m the new face of Wayne Enterprises’ official TikTok. Because I’m not: I’m just an intern, and I get the f*cking coffee.” 

Rebecca had even captioned it as if he were the one writing and posting: It’s at least a paid internship. The words are then followed by a string of hashtags. Well, that just goes to show that you can’t trust corporations’ social media, even if they do try to come across as real and friendly and like a person who could be your friend. Parasocial relationships are dangerous, who knew?

“The likes and comments are coming in fast,” Rebecca says, staring down at the WE phone that Tim had sent down with the filming equipment to use for the WE TikTok. She’s also done more than she needed to with it, downloading other social media and logging into them on her personal profiles. Wes didn’t comment on it, even if he did think it was not the smartest move, but she said it was so she could get away with “studying” current trends easier. 

“It is Wayne Enterprises,” he remarks. “It’d be like if, I dunno, if Superman finally downloaded TikTok. But, like, this is more corporate greed than ‘protecting humanity’ type of thing.”

“That’s true,” she nodded. “But I mean, the Waynes are pretty generous. I make more here than I would anywhere else.”

“Yeah, fair. And paid internships aren’t exactly common, either.” 

Wes wouldn’t admit it, but while he’d given up on proving the Fenton-Phantom conspiracy and other identities, he did still have a bit of a stalking problem. So when Google sent him a news alert about the Waynes making a press statement about the break-in, he immediately hit it to read the article while Rebecca read new comments on TikTok aloud for him to hear. 

The Waynes Speak About Break-in At WE

The article discusses how grateful they were to Batman and his flock for stopping the break-in, even if they hadn’t caught the new villain. Really, it’s just a puff piece about the Princes of Gotham’s perception of the Knights of Gotham. And considering Wes’s insider knowledge, the article comes across as a little condescending and self-praising, and he’s close to exiting the website when a throwaway comment near the end of the article catches his eye, and he reads on. 

VV: And are you at liberty to say what the villain was looking for? Is it something we should have our eyes on?

BW: [laughs] Well, it’s something that has been spoken about before, I believe? I think Tim could tell you more about it than me. He’s definitely got the brains. You know, when he was—

TDW: Haha, thanks, B! I can’t give too much away because the lead scientist on the project, Dr. Michelle Amir, will get upset, but I can say that we’re expecting a breakthrough in renewable energy. 

VV: Are you sure that’s all you can tell us? 

TDW: I’m afraid so. Dr. Amir is very protective of her research.

VV: And it would seem with good reason! It’s a good thing Gotham’s own….

…And the interview returns to preaching the Batfamily’s praises.

Wes has to roll his eyes at the Brucie Wayne persona trying to take every conceivable opportunity to gush about his children. 

Still, he recognizes that the article was published just a few hours after the TikTok started to go viral. Any reports about the WE break-in will be buried under tabloids dissecting the new TikTok profile and what this means for future WE advertisements. Clever, and exactly what he expects from the Bats. 

As he exits the website, a text notification pops up at the top of his screen. It’s from Tucker Foley and all it says is, “YOU!” in all caps. 

He sighs as a rush of other texts hit his phone from his classmates at Casper High, some even including the link to the TikTok. 

And so it begins. 

xxXxx

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[nenya85]

Ficlet: Relative Losses

I wrote a ficlet a while back about the Kaiba brothers and the relatives who'd abandoned them in the orphanage and realized I’d never posted it here.

Relative Losses

Kaiba’s end of the conversation was brief.  Just a couple of grunts, a sharp, “Are you sure?”, followed by another grunt and a click as he hung up the phone.  Mokuba didn’t bother to look up until his older brother pushed himself away from his desk and strode to the office window.

“Is something wrong?”  Mokuba asked.

It was a question that rarely got an answer.  

Mokuba tried again.  “Is there a problem at Kaiba Corporation?” 

“No,” Kaiba answered without turning around.  He drew in a breath and abandoned his post at the window to pace back and forth, until he finally came to a halt in front of Mokuba.

“Do you remember our former aunt and uncle?” he asked abruptly.

“Not really.  Why?” Mokuba asked. 

“They’re dead.  They were in the Japan Airlines flight that crashed into the Tsushima Strait after takeoff.”

“What?  How did you find out?” Mokuba asked.

“They wrote me once after Gozaburo died and they realized we were billionaires.”  There was no mistaking the bitterness in Kaiba’s voice.

“They did what?”  Mokuba yelled.

Kaiba shrugged.  “I ignored it, of course.  But I had a security team keep tabs on them in case they caused trouble.  The team just notified me and confirmed their deaths.  The names will be released officially later today.”  He paused.  “Our adoption records are sealed and I changed or deleted any personal data I could get to, but it’s possible that a reporter will dig out the connection and call.”  Kaiba paused again.  “I thought you should know, just in case.”

Mokuba stared at his brother.  Kaiba had never forgiven their aunt and uncle for abandoning them.  But Mokuba didn’t remember them and it’s hard to hate an abstraction.  It was equally impossible for Mokuba to mourn one or to feel anything but a blank emptiness where he knew that some elusive, unknown emotion should be.

But before Mokuba could sort through his thoughts and pick out a response, Kaiba pivoted, returned to the window and resumed his contemplation of the view outside.  Mokuba wondered what he was seeing.

“I thought you should know.”  There was a clue in his brother’s words.  Mokuba was sure of it.  He discounted the nonsense about reporters that his brother had tossed off with trademark glibness.  There was no way anyone was ever digging up anything that Seto Kaiba had decided he wanted to keep hidden.  But maybe the truth was simpler, as plain and easy to understand as his last sentence.

Mokuba joined his brother at the window.  “How are you?” Mokuba asked hesitantly.

“Fine.”  

It was the expected answer.  It might or might not have been true.  Either way it meant that the conversation – or his brother’s part in it at any rate – was over.

Kaiba rested his hand briefly on his brother’s shoulder.  He was glad of Mokuba’s presence and even more grateful for his silence.  He’d devoted years to forgetting only to find that there were some things that even death couldn’t erase.  His aunt and uncle had been his first hatred.  He’d buried their shared family name defiantly, glad to leave it behind and forget it forever, even though it had once been his parents’ name as well.  

He’d resented them every time he’d lain awake in his orphanage bed, plotting how to free himself and Mokuba.  He’d blamed them in those first months with Gozaburo for every sleepless night, for every impossible assignment.  Now all he could think was that he was seventeen.  Even if his aunt and uncle had kept them, the result would have been the same.  He and Mokuba would have ended up in an orphanage.  It didn’t lessen his anger – an anger that suddenly had no prey – but for the first time he realized just how accurate he’d been when he’d seen their abandonment as a chance at escape.

And if they’d been the first ones to treat him like a stray dog from the gutter, they’d also, inadvertently, been the ones to push him into proving he was so much more.  Kaiba stood with Mokuba at his side and gazed upon his city.  Somewhere in the distance, 70 stories down and miles away, his aunt and uncle’s now empty house lay, too small and insignificant to be seen. 

[jasonscaramel]

i guess only the stars would know the truth - chapter four - jason todd x reader

series summary: there's something going on in gotham. you transfer into gotham university's journalism program. simultaneously, people are going missing in gotham at record rates. it's only a matter of time before your curiosity gets the best of you.

words: 2.9k

ao3 | series masterlist

You were right about Gotham being a hub for activity to report on. This goldmine, however, makes it a bit difficult to find the specifics of what you’re looking for. Truly needle in a haystack territory, you think. Your morning had started early, you brewed a large pot of coffee to prepare yourself for the day ahead, and once it was ready, you began your research.

It had taken several hours straight of research and ignoring your homework to get to where you are now. You’d nailed down every article written about each of the attacks. Some were more thorough than others, but there was a throughline in each that you were able to pin down.

No matter the article, each eyewitness said there was at least a group of three people kidnapping the one person. That’s pretty standard, you assume. But there is something you find that’s a bit less standard.

Of the fourteen articles you found, only three mentioned what the kidnappers were wearing. And because of what was described, you’re not so sure how much weight to put into it, as it sounded a bit ridiculous.

These witnesses described the kidnappers as wearing owl masks.

Which, at first, you thought was a bit fucking absurd. Owls? But when you thought about it for more than thirty seconds, you remembered that’s probably the least absurd thing you’ve seen around Gotham. With that thought in mind, you began a long deep dive into Google to find out more about the owl masks.

And unfortunately for you, owl masks gotham city wasn’t exactly yielding the results you were looking for. At one point in your research, you had to get another cup of coffee and pace around your apartment to keep from blowing a gasket.

So, here you are, several hours later, reading through old Gotham town records trying to find some mention of owl masks. You’d combed to the 1800s before you found anything you felt was remotely relevant.

The Court of Owls.

Huh. In your (limited) research into Gotham, you hadn’t heard of them before. A few searches into academic databases didn’t yield anything worth wasting time over. When you put it into Google, the only thing you found worthwhile was a book available at Gotham City Library.

Well, time to get a library card.

As you’re packing up a tote bag to go, you wonder if this is just a wild goose chase. If those witnesses were traumatized, they saw an owl nearby, and their brains created a weird connection. But now the issue is you need to know. That little voice in the back of your head isn’t letting this one go, and you can’t lie and say you don’t want to know what the hell is going on around here.

As you’re getting your shoes on, you hear your phone ding.

Tim: Hey, are you free to come over and work on the project later?

You: Yes! I have a couple errands to run, I can text you when I’m done

Tim: Sounds great.

//

The building in front of you looked more like an old church than a library. You idly wonder if it’s considered a landmark as you heave open one of the heavy double doors and enter the ornate space. As you approach the front desk, you’re met with an older woman in bright red glasses with a smile on her face. You think that this is the first time you’ve seen some southern hospitality up here.

“Hi, dear. What can I do for you?”

“Hi. Just a library card.”

It’s a quick, easy process. You hand over your ID, and a few moments later, she hands it back along with a fresh library card. You feel like an official Gothamite as you look it over. Everything feels so… official now. Set in stone. You really live here now.

“Anything else I can do for you?” She asks, and as much as you hate asking for anything, this place is way too large for you to find anything you’re looking for in a reasonable amount of time.

“Actually, I’m looking for a book, but I’m not sure where I’d find it. It’s, um,” you open your phone to make sure you get the name right. “Gotham Secret Societies Volume Two.”

You watch as her face contorts into confusion as she thinks for a moment before she nods. “We actually have an entire Gotham History section, I’m sure it’s in there. Follow me.”

She makes her way around the desk and leads you around the opulent, labyrinthian hallways. You wonder if you’ll be able to make it out of here without a guide. It’s hard to pay attention to the route when you’re distracted by stained glass windows and antique light fixtures.

She stops after entering a doorless entryway to a small room packed wall to wall with bookshelves.

“If we have any book related to Gotham, it’ll be here. Can I do anything else for you?”

You shake your head. “That’s it. Thank you so much.”

You take a deep breath before starting at the left-hand wall. You’ve got quite a bit to look through, but your spirits lift when you realize the books are in alphabetical order. Upon that realization, it doesn’t take you long to get where you need to be. You skip a few bookshelves to get to the Gs, and you’re able to find it pretty quickly after that.

As you pull it from the shelf, you flip it around to give it a once-over. It’s clearly pretty old, but still in good shape for a library book. You decide to flip open to the table of contents to see what’s in store for you, when you hear your name being stage whispered from behind you. Your head snaps up, and you look around to find the source of the sound.

There, at the entryway, you see Jason with two books in one of his hands. He’s got a grin on his face, and he waves slightly before he makes his way over to you. “Hey. Fancy running into you here. What d’you have there?”

Your face goes warm before you respond. “Hi. Good to see you. It’s, um, for a research project.” You flash him the cover, and he chuckles.

“Volume two, huh? Sounds riveting. Hey, I know a couple in the free masons if you need a source.”

Your brow quirks. Money, connections—what does this family not have? “I’m not sure if I do, but I’ll definitely let you know.” You pause, looking down and trying to figure out what books are in his hand. “What’d you get? I figured you had all the books you wanted at home.”

Jason laughed, a haughty sound that you couldn’t help but smile at. “I wish. I got the demon an anime book, and I got this for me.” He turns the book around, giving you a good look at the cover of Brave New World.

“You ever read anything from this century?”

A look of mock offense takes over Jason’s face as he struggles to stifle his smile. “You little—I’m not letting you get away with that.”

“What are you gonna do? Bore me to death by reading me one of your books?”

“Oh, that’s it, get over here.”

You let out a quiet yelp before bolting to the other side of the room. You weave in between bookshelves, hoping to lose him. As you look back to see if you can spot him, you run into something solid. You can’t help the surprised sound that leaves your mouth, and you drop the book and your phone to the ground.

“Gotcha.” Jason’s grinning as he leans down to grab your stuff. When he stands to his full height to hand them to you, he speaks again. “I wasn’t trying to be nosy, but your phone keeps vibrating.”

You smile. “Thanks.”

Tim: What’s up?

You: All done. I can head your way now

Tim: Need me to send a car?

You: Don’t worry about it

You look up at Jason, an attempt at puppy dog eyes covering your expression. He rolls his eyes expectantly. “Can I get a ride?”

“Of course, sweetheart. You’re lucky I didn’t take the bike today. Follow me.”

//

When you arrive at the manor, Jason opens the car door for you before you even realize he has gotten out. With a shy smile, you tell him thank you. He gives you a shy smile in return. Your face heats up, and you look at your shoes.

He opens the front door for you, and there stands Tim, an amused expression on his face.

“I guess that’s why you didn’t need a car.” He says. You give him an apologetic smile and he shakes his head. “Come on, let’s go finish this thing.” Tim turns around, expecting you to follow. You do, only you turn around to get one last look at Jason. He’s staring right back at you, a small smile on his face the whole time. You finally have to look away when you get to the stairs.

As you stare at Tim’s back, following him to the library, you can’t help but think about how kind Jason has been to you. He’s sweet, a quality you’re not used to seeing in men. Of course, you’ve only really spoken to him at surface level, but you really do like him so far. And his family seems to adore him, and that says a lot, too, you think. Despite how… chaotic they may seem on the outside, you can tell they all have a strong bond that’s very important to them. Seeing all fifty (exaggeration, you’re aware, but sometimes it feels like it) family members each regard Jason with the same reverence makes it easy to feel the same way about him.

You’re literally snapped out of your reverie by Tim’s hand in your face, as you’ve come to a full stop in front of the table in the library. Your face feels warm as you unload your bag and plop into a chair. Tim chuckles.

“What?” You ask, confused by his prying eyes as you open your laptop.

“Oh, come on. You showed up here with Jason and you’re just not gonna tell me what happened?” His eyes are alight with excitement. You hate to burst his bubble. (And your own.)

“It wasn’t like that. We ran into each other at the library and I asked him for a ride.” You tell him, loading up the project document on your laptop. He rolls his eyes.

“But you want it to be like that, right?”

“I mean…” You can feel your face go hot. “How could I not?” You put your elbows on the table and bury your face in your hands. Muffled, you say, “can we change the subject now?”

“Yeah, let’s finish this so you can go hang out with Jason more.”

You groan, Tim chuckles. After a brief pause, he speaks again.

“Seriously, though?” He says, and you sober up out of your embarrassment for a moment to pay attention. “He’s a great person, and he doesn’t… take interest in other people that often. I just think, whatever it is, it’d be good for the both of you.”

It was finally about 7 p.m. when the project came to a close and you were both satisfied with the finished product. It was exhausting, a lot of back and forth and finding sources for everything, but you were glad to have it completed so you could dedicate your time to other projects.

Like those fucking owls. As much as you’ve tried to stay focused while working on this project with Tim, there’s a part of your brain just itching to go home and crack open this book. This was the only tangible mention of The Court of Owls, and you were determined to follow this trail. Even if it leads to a dead end.

“You staying for dinner?” Tim asks, breaking you from your (obsessive) thoughts. You let out a sigh before you could control it—as great as dinner at the manor would be, you also neglected all your other schoolwork today.

“As much as I’d love to, I’ve got four billion assignments due by Sunday, and if I don’t start making a dent in them now, they’ll never get finished.”

Tim shakes his head, waving off your apologetic tone. “I get it. It’s like they purposely overload us this time of year. Come on, I’ll walk you out.”

After loading your stuff back into your tote, you follow Tim out of the library and down the stairs. You perk up when you hear Jason’s voice in the foyer. Tim notices, ever the watchful eye, and you try to ignore the knowing smirk on his face by focusing on Jason’s voice.

“…think they’d follow us the whole—hey sweetheart. You staying for dinner?” Jason’s attention so quickly goes from his conversation with Alfred to you that you worry he’s given himself whiplash. The amused smile on Alfred’s face tells you he doesn’t mind.

“Hi to you too,” Tim says, poking Jason in the shoulder as he walks past him, and Jason retaliates by slapping him upside the head.

“I see you all the time.” The sour look on Jason’s face leaves immediately as he turns his attention back to you. “Dinner? It’s homemade pizza.”

You groan. “You’re making this so hard for me, I really need to go home.”

Alfred chimes in this time, “You’re sure we can’t convince you?”

With a sigh, you say, “Unfortunately, no. Believe me, if I had the time, I’d much prefer to be here.”

“At least let me drive you then,” Jason says, already fishing around in his pocket for his keys. You begin to shake your head, already writing that idea off.

“No, you don’t have to—”

“I insist, come on.” You give him a look, and he gives you one back, to the point where you both have a mini standoff to see who will break first. It still doesn’t look like you’re going to budge, so he says, “Just let me do this for you. Please?”

And fuck, how can you say no to that?

You just nod and follow his cues to say goodbye to Tim and Alfred. You ignore the sly smile on Tim’s face as you give them your goodbyes. You and Jason make your way to the garage, and get into the same flashy red sports car he put you in at the library. When you buckle in, he asks for your address, and you easily give it to him.

“Oh, Roy’s place. Cool.” He says as he begins pulling out of the never-ending driveway.

“Y’know, Tim said the same thing, but I’ve still yet to meet this Roy.”

“I’ll introduce you, don’t worry. Oh, hey, did you guys finish that project?”

You fall into easy conversation with him about school work and weather and just about anything else that pops into your mind. It just flows with him, you think, as you can’t help but stare at him while his attention is on the road. He’s so easy to talk to that you don’t even realize you’ve made it to your apartment building until he parallel parks the car and absolutely books it to make sure you don’t have to open your own door.

It’s sweet, and you can’t help your face heating up as you give him a small thank you. He shuts the car door behind you and walks with you to the door of your building.

“Thanks for the ride, I really appreciate it.” You smile up at him, unable to contain it even if you wanted to.

“It’s no problem, really, I wanted to make sure you got home safe.” He pauses, taking a deep breath and looking at his feet before returning to look in your eyes. “I also wanted to ask if you would maybe… want to go to dinner tomorrow night? There’s this Italian place that’s really good, but if you—”

“I’d love to go to dinner with you, Jason.” You’re grinning, one of those cheek-splitting smiles you just can’t help. He smiles back, and the look in his eye gives you butterflies. Everything about him gives you butterflies.

“I’ll pick you up at seven, if that works?”

“That’s perfect.”

His smile, if possible, grows even wider. “Perfect.”

“Goodnight, Jason.”

“Goodnight, sweetheart.”

You turn to scan your key, and he’s there to open the door for you. As it shuts, you give him a wave goodbye. He returns it as he walks backward toward his car, a matching grin on his face.

And when he finally can’t see you anymore, you break out into a happy dance. Dance might be a generous word for it, as you were far too excited to put any thought into what you were doing. You’re too busy jumping up and down to notice the elevator beeping to signal its arrival, or the man hopping off the elevator and stopping in the hallway to watch you with an amused look on his face.

“You good?”

You jump, startled, turning to face the voice. With his red hair, trucker hat, and tank top combo, he reminds you of the kind of men you saw back home. The familiarity puts you at ease. “Hi. Very good. Sorry.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “Good.”

When he exits through the front door, you continue your happy dance.

[bts-hyperfixation]

Outside of the fox

Chapter 12 of? 4058 words

Y/N longs for a new life when the one she'd been living comes to an abrupt stop. Without much thought to those she is leaving behind, the little fox packs a backpack and disappears. She stumbles across the shelter and makes an interim home for herself while she works out exactly what she wants from her second chance.

Last

"Good morning beautiful, how was your weekend?" Taehyung says too loudly as he walks into the office.

You glance around but none of your co-workers even acknowledge his entrance. He practically glides across the foyer to stand with you behind the front desk.

"Any messages for me today?" He asks grabbing your lunch bag, not waiting for you.

"My weekend was... interesting. Mostly lazy I guess. We can talk about it more at lunch." You answer his first question knowing he isn't really listening as he reads Jimin's note to him.

"He wants to meet me?" Taehyung asks, eyes wide.

"Well, the pack wants to invite my only friend outside the house to spend winter solstice with us... but yeah you can interpret that as him specifically wanting to meet you if you like." You shrug.

He sticks his tongue out at your response, deciding you were just jealous of the connection he and Jimin were clearly forming through their two post-it interactions. Then he steals your lunch away and continues into the office. You hope he is putting it in the fridge, but you don't remain optimistic.

It's a long day, Taehyung has a meeting at lunch, although you aren't overly sure what kind of meeting an office mail guy would need to be privy to. You eat your lunch quietly by yourself and return to the desk 20 minutes early to try and keep yourself busy. The torturous day drags to an end, and you finally head home.

You are the first to arrive.

As usual Jungkook is in the living room on his switch, although no one had had chance to reset the furniture, so he still lay on the blow-up mattress. His ears perk up as you walk through, but he makes no move to look away from his game, so you continue into the kitchen. The fridge is empty save a few bottles of juice, the cupboards have only a few cans of soup, and the bread in the container is going mouldy.

Apparently no one had had a chance to go grocery shopping this weekend.

You pull out your phone and create a new order in the supermarket app, setting the delivery time for the next evening. You try to remember everybody’s preferences, including Hobi's seeing as he was practically living at the cottage now. He claimed it was all to do with his creative process, but the whole house could hear what he and Yoongi were talking about in hushed voices in the early hours of the morning. The walls were reasonably thin.

"Kookie, anything you want on the food shop?" You call.

"Can't do the food shop until Joonie is paid on Wednesday." He calls back.

"Don't be silly, we have no food. I'm doing one now. What do you want?"

The bunny finally pauses his game and shuffles into the kitchen. He glances around at all the open cupboard doors and thinks for a few moments.

"I guess I'd like some carrot gummies... If they aren't too much." He says sheepishly.

"Of course they aren't too much, they're only sweets."

"Yeah but sweets aren't necessities, sometimes we have to go without extras." He shrugs.

"Jungkook? Are you guys struggling with money?" You ask.

It hadn't occurred to you before. You knew they weren't exactly living like kings, but they never seemed to want for anything... And they took you in without a second thought to themselves. They kept everybody fed and Yoongi and Namjoon were always working. You knew how stressed Namjoon was, but you thought it was because of deadlines not financials.

"Um... I guess so. I didn't know they hadn't mentioned it... Please don't tell them I told you. Namjoon is so proud, and all he wants is to take care of us. He is doing such a great job I can't believe I've made you think he can't look after us." Jungkook starts to hyperventilate. "He is going to be mad at me."

"Namjoon won't be mad at you Kookie." You try to re-assure him, moving to him carefully. "I won't mention it to him if it makes you feel better. Just help me with the food shop and we won't mention this conversation again okay?"

He nods and sniffles. You put a hand on his shoulder, and he lent into the warmth. He then plucks your phone from your hand a starts adding all the things you've forgotten to the shop. Each item being the cheapest option available, no name brand items anywhere to be seen. After he is finished he presses order and hands the phone back to you.

"What about dinner tonight?" You ask.

"I think Yoongi is using the last of his advance to bring home Chinese food." He answers.

You send a message to the group chat to tell them you put an order in so they could add anything they wanted. You were met with some resistance by Namjoon who insisted he would give you the money back as soon as he got home but you refused. Making up something about doing the food shop as long as you weren't paying rent, refusing to back down until he gave in.

He tried again briefly when he got home but eventually accepted his fate when Yoongi told him to shut as he lay the dinner out on the table.

It was a rare night when Hoseok hadn't joined you for the evening, instead having plans with his parents. It was oddly quiet when he wasn't there to fill in the silences. His cheerful laugh usually echoes off the walls. The house felt a little bit like it did that night Jungkook spent in the hospital, but nobody addressed it, instead blitzing through little anecdotes about their days to try and fill the space.

"Oh! Taehuyng said he would love to come for winter solstice, if that's still okay?" You look across at Jungkook and he shakes his to make sure your earlier conversation doesn't resurface.

"Of course it's okay, we love having company." Namjoon says the smile on his face genuine.

You study his face closer than you ever had before. His dark circles were getting worse by the day, fighting his need to hibernate in order to keep the pack afloat. His hair is frazzled and desperate need of a cut. And his beard is patchy and rough. Your heartaches that you didn't realise how badly the stress was getting to him sooner.

"Hobi is joining us too." Yoongi says through his spoonful of noodles.

He is met with a chorus of 'duh' that has him questioning why he bothered speaking in the first place. The rest of the evening they walk you through all of their traditions for the solstice. They start with a huge meal at sundown, filled with meats, pastries, and dessert. It sounded delicious and had your mouth watering at the thought. Then they would go up on the hill in the back garden and watch the stars if it were a clear night.

They'd light a bonfire and let go of all the things that had happened over the past year, lighting symbols of their previous misfortunes. Bonfires were common on solstice, but your husband had never liked the smell, and your parents deemed them too dangerous.

After the bonfire they would then make origami stars with their wish for their next year and keep them all in a jar together. It sounded so romantic.

As Namjoon spoke you watched Jungkook's face light up, knowing this would be his first solstice with them too. It seemed odd to picture just Namjoon and Yoongi starting these traditions together. You didn’t know the story of how they became a couple, but neither seemed to be so romantically inclined. Their love for each other was evident in their little touches and hushed moments. But wishes in jars seemed too much.

Still, you were more than excited to spend this holiday with them. It was less than a week away and you only had three more days of work until you would be given time off to spend at home. The winter solstice allowed for two weeks off to spend the time with family.

Your husband had never bothered taking the time away, owning his own company meant he never had any spare time. you'd always have a nice meal, just the two of you, but then he would be straight back to work.

Butterflies fluttered in your stomach all week at the thought of actually having a big celebration.

The rest of the week work continued to drag by but Taehuyng made sure he was around for every subsequent lunch to cheer you up just a little.

Every day when you went home something about the house was different. Instead of playing on his switch all day, Jungkook had taken to watching DIY videos and making little ornaments out of scrap paper. He had strung paper stars to the sealing on Tuesday, using Namjoon's old unedited manuscripts. On Wednesday he had made hundreds of little snowflakes out of his comic books that he had finished with. Thursday you came home after a half day to Jungkook covered in papercuts trying to make paper swans.

He had frustrated tears in his eyes as he throw another crumpled ball onto the floor, landing in a pile of about twenty failed attempts. On the table sat two completed swans that looked perfect. You shuffle noisily over to him, making sure he can hear you coming before you sit on the floor next to him. Namjoon had finally moved the blow-up mattress back to the loft yesterday, but no one had replaced the sofas yet.

"Having trouble?" You ask.

You pick up one of the crumpled pieces of paper and smooth it back out until it's useable again.

"It looked so easy in the tutorial..." He grumbled. Falling back onto the floor dramatically.

"Well you managed it twice, so you are getting somewhere." You shrug, absentmindedly folding the paper in your hands.

"They took me an hour each." He sniffles.

You finish twisting the neck on the bird in your hands and place it on his forehead. His eyes open and he looks inward and up, crossing his eyes to see what you had given him. When he realises what you've done he springs up and grabs the two swans from the table to make sure you didn't cheat.

"How did you do that?" He asks in awe.

"I had a lot of spare time at school... let’s just say I had no friends. Did you want me to teach you?"

He nods enthusiastically, pushing his stack of fresh paper towards you. Today’s choice seems to be homemade recycled paper. Likely old, shredded documents. It was tougher than regular card stock to fold and explained at least half of his issues, but you decided against pointing it out. Instead walking him steadily though each fold for a couple of birds until he felt confident doing it himself.

The two of you had an army of swans surrounding you when Hoseok let himself in.

"Am I interrupting something?" He asks looking around at the colourful array coating the table.

"No, but can you start putting these up around the house? Maybe hang them with the stars?" You ask, handing him a bunch.

"Yes mam." He salutes and takes them from you.

He tries to make them even with the stars. The whole room looked like a grade school class room when the three of you had finished but it also had a touch of magic to it. When Namjoon came home he brought a little shrub with him to act as a ceremonial offering for the holiday and each member of the house placed their gifts underneath.

It was easy to tell who brought each pile of gifts. Jungkook's were evidently handmade. Jimin's were tied with parcel string and had hand drawn hearts on the tags. Namjoon's wrapping skills were awful, with the tape peeling away at the edges. Yoongi's on the other hand were meticulously wrapped. Hobi's were mostly just made of tape, they were going to require scissors to cut.

You had tried to make each of yours match the men. You were nervous about the presents suddenly worried you had perhaps spent too much. You had bought them before your conversation with Jungkook and had used some of the money left by your husband so you could thank them properly. Really they had meant to be goodbye presents until Yoongi had talked you into staying through the holidays.

You were still considering new apartments you could move to in the new year, but with each new day you spent at the cottage you found your will to leave slipping away. You spent much more time thinking about Jimin and what Yoongi had said and how that made you feel. You also thought about the others and what you really wanted. You had been so sure you were ready to be alone. But maybe that was never the problem with your previous life.

On Friday everyone had a lazy morning. No one surfaced from their rooms until 11am. Namjoon didn't make an appearance until Yoongi opened the door to Jungkook's room and blew the smell of freshly made pancakes in, luring the bear slowly to the table. You all ate your brunch happily, munching quietly as you enjoyed the sweet treat. In the afternoon Namjoon finally got dressed and declared he would be going to brave the supermarkets in order to pick up the remainder of the supplies they would need for the feast on Sunday.

You offer to go with him, and he accepts. Although you hadn't realised quite how vicious this experience was going to be. The store had a line halfway around the building and Namjoon just laughed your shock off as if this was normal.

"I hope you're wearing enough layers." He says glancing at your puffy coat.

"How are you so okay with this. It's one day, are all these people insane?" You ask.

"This is normal for this time of year... Have you never been shopping at solstice?"

"No, I guess I've never had to."

Your family had people to do this. And your husband would've never let you go grocery shopping with him or whomever he had sent. You weren't supposed to do anything so menial.

The line shuffles forward every so often when somebody leaves. Shopping trollies filled to the brim with online orders and last-minute presents. You're freezing after half an hour on the outside, the building doing very little to shelter you from the chilly wind. It would be at least another half an hour before you reached the safety of the foyer.

You glance up at Namjoon, but he seems unphased by the harsh weather. As a bear it probably came with the genes. He notices you staring and turns back to look at you.

"Shit, Y/N your cheeks are really pink... Are you that cold?" He looks around as if a solution might appear out of thin air.

"It's okay, it's not too much longer." You put on a brave face and smile at him.

"I'd say go sit in the car, but I forgot to fill it up..."

His eyes flicker like he is lying but you don't call him on it, you assume he just didn't want to waste extra money.

"Honestly I'll be fine." But your teeth chatter and betray you.

"This might help... If it's okay." He unzips the front of both coats and pulls you into his chest.

He is like a radiator; the heat fills your bones instantly. You melt into his embrace, allowing him to warm every inch of you.

"I'm not going to make you cold am I?" You ask looking up at him.

You hadn't realised how close his face would be to yours until he looks down to speak and his lips are barely a centimetre away. Quickly you look down and bury your face into his cable knit jumper. Missing the blush on his face as you rush to hide yours.

"It's.. um it's hard to make me cold." He coughs awkwardly as his arms encircle you to keep you close. Every so often he takes one arm back to push the cart forward as he shuffles the two of you in the queue.

You chat absently as you move, careful to only turn your face up to look at him when you know he isn't looking at you. The second half of the wait definitely goes a lot quicker now that you are warm and as soon as you are inside he lets you go. The heat drains from you and you shiver as you reacclimatise to your regular temperature.

"I can definitely see why you are Jungkook's favourite cuddle partner." You say as you rezip your coat.

He shuffles awkwardly and redirects your attention to the task at hand. He runs the shopping trip like a military plan of attack. He starts with the ordered food knowing it will take the longest. He leaves you there with strict instructions to text him when it arrives. You salute him jokingly, but he just nods and continues with his mission.

By the time the order arrives he is already halfway through the remainder of the shop. He has a space in the trolley carved out specifically for the order making sure not to crush any of the food. You then follow him around the remainder of the shop watching as he inspected veg and date checked fresh sauces. Having only seen the forgetful and clumsy Namjoon at home, watching this version of him was like he'd been body snatched.

One hour later you were stood at the till as he pulled out all his coupons and finished backing his bags. You were careful as you watched him pack, waiting for your opportunity to strike. As his back turns to check the list one final time, you slide your card into the chip and pin and pay before he can stop you. He starts to argue with you, but you look around and remind him not to make a scene.

He huffs aggressively but takes a hold of the cart and pushes it back to the car. He doesn't speak to you as he opens the door for you to jump into the driver's side. He refuses your help when it comes to packing the bags into the car. You can hear the clang of the cart as he puts it back where it came from, and you start to wonder if you'd pushed it too far this time.

"Namjoon?" You ask tentatively as he slides in next to you.

"Why did you do that? Do you think I can't take care of everybody?" He asks, voice filled with disappointment.

"Of course I think you can take care of everyone." You answer calmly.

"Then why do you keep insisting on paying when that should be my job, to provide for my pack."

"Because someone should provide for you sometimes too." You reach out to touch his hand.

He doesn't pull it back but he doesn't meet your eyes either. He stares dejectedly out of the front window.

"Namjoon, I live in your house rent free, and everyone is so kind, I just want to do something for you guys too. I didn't realise it made you feel bad."

"Everyone lives in our house rent free Y/N not just you. Jimin's job certainly doesn't pay enough for housekeeping and it's not Jungkook has a job."

"But they're your partners, I'm a freeloader." You chuckle trying to lighten the mood.

"You are so much more than a freeloader. Do you not see how happy you make everyone just because we come home to you? Even Jungkook gets sad when you aren't around. He actually whined when I came home first on Wednesday not you."

"Yeah, he really has come around in the last couple days."

"I don't think you quite realise the ability you have to light up a room when you walk into it." He says it to be nice, poetic even, but it just reminds you of things your husband would say.

He and his friends would always talk about how your appearance would change the dynamic in a room, as if that was the best gift you could offer the world. Your presence was enough, no one needed to hear you too. You know it's what Namjoon meant but it still makes you hesitate. He finally meets your eyes when you pause for a little too long.

"Namjoon... that's lovely. But it doesn't appease my guilt of taking what’s not mine and giving nothing back."

"I think we might have to agree to disagree on what you owe us." He says putting the discussion on hold. "We have frozen stuff we should get home."

You make a note to revisit the conversation late, but the opportunity doesn't arise again. The remainder of the afternoon is spent marinating meats and cutting veggies ready for the next couple days.

Taehyung calls around 7pm claiming to be bored at home alone, but you suspect he may just be overeager to meet your friends. You give him the address and immediately he is on his way to the house.

He knocks the door rhythmically, leaving the last two knocks to be completed by someone on the other side. Jimin is practically giddy as he answers the knocks, enjoying this impromptu game that's been created.

The red panda opens the door coming face to face with the great panda for the first time and it feels like electricity sweeps through the room.

"Pretty." Taehyung says.

For the first time since you've meet him it seems like he might've been knocked speechless. Jimin also doesn't speak, he stutters and moves aside so Tae can walk through the door. His cheeks are as red as his hair as he takes a bag from the newcomers hands to help him into the house.

"I've never seen him so flustered." You whisper to Yoongi.

"I know... it's odd. When he met you he wouldn't shut up." He whispers back.

Taehyung seems to snap out of his trance quicker than Jimin when his eyes meet yours.

"Beautiful!" He exclaims sweeping across the room to hug you.

"Put me down Tae." You struggle in his arms as he twirls you around.

"But I missed you today." He pouts but does as he is told.

You introduce him to the room, reaching Jimin just as his voice seems to make a reappearance. He manages to actually ask Taehyung about his job, a question that Taehyung suspiciously dodges the specifics of. They disappear together as Jimin offers him the grand tour.

"Hey, I never got a full tour." Hoseok comments looking at Yoongi.

"You were never supposed to make it outside of the studio." He shrugs.

"Well that's rude. Maybe I'll leave if I'm so unwanted."

Hobi places the knife he'd been using on to the chopping board and swoops dramatically past Yoongi.

"No one said you were unwanted Angel." Yoongi grabs his arm and pulls the human back into his lap.

Yoongi kisses Hobi gently and holds him there, trapped in his embrace, not that Hobi makes any effort to escape.

They were so cute like this. Neither of them was particularly affectionate in public but they were slowly getting more comfortable with showing this side of themselves around the cottage. It was nice to watch their relationship developing past late-night talks and stolen glances.

Namjoon looks at Yoongi with all the love in the world and it doesn't escape your notice when Jungkook looks at them longingly, but it seems more like he is looking at Hoseok than he is at Yoongi.

Dinner is served by 8pm. The table is getting extremely cramped as Taehyung pulls up another chair next to you. Your elbows brush together as you eat, and it's almost too loud as three conversations carry on at once. And you couldn't be happier as you glance around finally able to say you have your own group of friends.

Outside of the fox masterlist

The next few days should be amazing.

Next

Master list

I currently have a request form running for if you want to request one shots and drabbles. Please follow this link to the Google form If you have one you would like to submit. I will be writing these alongside outside of the fox. You can submit for completely new fics or for sequels for fics I've already done

[awkward-tension-art]

Little Parasite Chp. 3

Your father, Leon's boss and the president of the united states, had called the agent to the White House for a meeting.

Extra warnings: pregnancy mentions, Reader isn't in this chapter but she's mentioned, I try my best at subtle threats, Leon being Leon, brief VERY BRIEF mention of Leon killing himself if he harmed you, petty shots at Leon’s past by the president

Leon’s steps through the hallway were steady and focused. He kept his eyes ahead, trying not to pay attention to the White House staff around him.

He had been called to the Oval Office personally. The president, your father, wanted to speak with him.

He heard the whispers. He’d be deaf not to.

Sleeping with the president's daughter.

Knocked her up.

How long have they been together?

So agent Kennedy is going to be the dad to the big man's grandkid?

Leon nodded to the secret service guarding the door. He waited for one of them to knock and announce his arrival.

“Wait a few minutes.” was his command.

It was a power play. Most likely your fathers way of saying ‘my time is more important.’ The agent knew that the president wasn't doing anything behind those double doors. Probably on his phone. Or reading a useless email.

It was his way of establishing power. Let Leon know that despite his connection to you, he was always on top.

So the agent had to wait. Bide his time. Presidencies only last 4 years. And hopefully, your relationship will last much longer.

Leon wouldn't entertain the possibility of a reelection. He was, in fact, working on being more optimistic.

After a few minutes of staring straight ahead, he was allowed inside the Oval Office.

The sun was hidden by thick curtains. The patterned cream walls were decorated with historic paintings. Several marble busts of leaders past stared straight, lifeless eyes piercing the air. At the very end of the office was the massive wooden desk.

And sitting behind it was your father. The president of the USA. His cold, stern eyes were on him.

His fucking boss.

“Mr.President, sir.” Leon saluted. He had to be an agent. This was the man he worked for. Not his future father-in-law.

“Agent Kennedy.” The president stood, “It’s been a while. After your report, you’ve been on medical leave haven't you?”

Another power play. He’s pretending not to know. Lure Leon into a false sense of security, and make the agent think he wasn’t in the leader's crosshairs. That maybe he had some fucking privacy in this job.

“Yes sir.” He nodded, keeping his answers short. The agent had to give only the required information. Nothing more. Nothing less.

“And how is that?” Your father leaned against the front of the desk, looking to his left. His eyes were down, roaming over some papers, “Going back to the field soon?”

This was another way for him to let Leon know that he didn't care about the man he called to the office.

“Recovery is fine.” Leon answered calmly, “The BSAA medical personnel have informed me I can return to field missions in about 2 weeks.”

He probably knew this already.

“Hm, good.” His future father-in-law nodded, “And my daughter?”

There it is.

“I’m sorry sir, what do you mean?” Leon asked, hoping to grab even a little bit of control. He could perhaps get his boss to say his intentions with this meeting.

“Well, you got her pregnant.” His boss responded rather coldly, “She hasn’t called me to talk about it. She’s spoken to her mother though.”

The agent’s guard was raised. Got you pregnant. The president made it seem like you were an unwilling participant. That Leon forced the baby on you.

He’d rather kill himself than do such a thing.

Leon swallowed, he took a shot, one that could frankly get him in trouble, “My fiancé is fine. So is the baby we both wanted.” His tone was less than respectful. At this point, he didn’t care that this was the president. The man signing his paychecks could be a fucking god, and he wouldn’t care.

It was a subtle ‘fuck you’. It told your father that yes, his favorite attack dog was having sex with his sweet, innocent daughter.

Oh if only he knew how ‘innocent’ you really were.

The president narrowed his stern eyes ever so lightly. He was irritated, but didn’t want Leon to know, “Good. That's good. This will be my first grandchild, you know.” His hand roamed over the file, “It's exciting, though, it's rather unfortunate that the child will have only one set of grandparents.”

Oh fuck you!

Leon swallowed. What was this? Shoving his dead parents in his face? Was this a joke?

Am I being punked? He thought, The president of the United states resorting to middle school insults?

Leon’s life was a fucking joke.

“I’m sure you and your wife will be wonderful grandparents.” The agent had to keep his tone calm and collected. He couldn’t break under his boss�� critical gaze.

The country’s leader nodded slowly, closing the file, “Agent Kennedy, I’m going to be frank and honest with you.”

What? Leon’s eyes widened, honesty? Here? In the White House?

Oh the world must be ending now.

“Sir?” The agent knew he sounded confused. Probably like an idiot. But he wasn’t expecting any form of honesty from the country’s leader.

“You are going to change the second you hold your child,” His future father-in-law said, putting a hand on Leons shoulder, “If you have a son, you would die for him. But if you have a daughter…” He tightened his grip, squeezing the agent's shoulder, “You’ll kill for her.”

Harm my daughter and I will destroy you.

Leon swallowed and nodded, “I understand.”

“You never will. Not until you do.” The president let go and stepped back, returning to his desk, “Now, your health reports have come back all clear, however, my daughter will need to continue with weekly visits to the lab until the baby is born.”

“Yes sir.” The agent nodded again, “is there anything else?”

“No, you’re dismissed.” The president waved him away without even looking up. Still Leon knew he was forced to salute before leaving.

One final show of power. Making him leave without even so much as a ‘bye.’

Once in the hallway, he took a deep breath.

God…despite the man in the Oval Office being your father, your fiance fucking hated him. He despised politics. He despised the government. He wasn’t a patriot by any means, and he wasn’t going to raise his child to fucking worship the USA.

Leon took another breath and began to walk through the halls of the White House again.

He couldn’t get to the exit and into your arms fast enough.

[lesbiankimdahyun]

can we have a sneak peek at the alphas!minayeon fic you were writing 🫣

I'll do you one better-- here's the full prologue <3

OUT OF OFFICE: PROLOGUE

1.8K words

CW: A/B/O Dynamics

A/N: my first comeback with TWICE was Eyes Wide Open, so WEV’s name is homage to that album 🥺 

also CARATS forgive me for making wonwoo the p2 ceo, im one of u!!

[A!Mina x A!Nayeon]

Nayeon squinted at her computer screen, reading the words in front of her again carefully to make sure she hadn’t misunderstood. 

“The AI allegations? Why the fuck is she talking about that?” Nayeon leaned back in her office chair for a moment in disbelief, the online article she’d been reading still displayed on her desktop monitor. “That fucking journalist, doing exactly as I asked her not to…” The Alpha let out a frustrated huff, resting her chin in her hand for a moment while she thought. “And only someone with exceptionally shitty media training would even think of saying– ” she sat up straight suddenly, cutting off her own thoughts. “Oh…” She reached for the corded phone on her desk and quickly punched a few numbers in. She hit the speaker button, then sat back and waited. 

The phone rang. And rang. Nayeon sighed, fidgeting with the hair tie pulling back her long, light brown hair. “I know you’re in the office, Myoui,” she said under her breath. Finally, the other end picked up. 

“Ah, Nayeon…”

“Mina! I thought you might be in today,” Nayeon said, mustering up a fake, cheerful tone. “The article is out,” she said pointedly, drumming her fingers on her desk slowly. “Have you seen it?”

The woman on the other end cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Yes,” she said, her voice dropping in volume. 

“You know, I liked it,” Nayeon said, nodding her head as if Mina could see her on the other end of the line. “Until I saw the headline. And the first paragraph. And the way the entire article got derailed by the one thing I made that reporter swear up and down they wouldn’t bring up. Tell me there’s no way you’d comment on our competitor’s deep legal shit when your gaming company is doing bigger, better things, right? You wouldn’t comment, not when you’ve been working for the past four years to get this game– this particular game that you first started dreaming of creating in high school– out the door, right?” Nayeon paused for just a moment in case Mina wanted to get a word in, but the other end of her line was dead silent. 

Nayeone exhaled  sharply. “Instead of building hype for the game, now all anyone’s going to notice is the fact that you’re quoted in here saying…” The Alpha swiveled back over to her computer screen. “And this is your direct quote, Myoui: ‘Only someone as naive as PixelPulse’s CEO [Jeon Wonwoo] would have been stupid enough to believe he’d never get caught cutting corners by only using AI instead of real humans to test gameplay analytics and user interface’,” Nayeon read. “‘AI doesn’t test play with epileptic people in mind and now they’re the ones paying the price. I don’t know what’s more embarrassing, the fact that it happened in the first place, or that he hasn’t resigned yet,’” she let out a quick sigh after she finished the last line of the quote. “Mina,” Nayeon said exasperatedly, “You wouldn’t believe the numbers those quotes of yours are doing online right now. Can you please tell me what happened when you spoke with the reporter?”

Nayeon could hear Mina’s rapidly growing panic on the other line, as if she was just hearing for the first time what had been printed. “I- we were just chatting casually at the start of the interview... I didn’t think she would remember–” 

A beeping sound cut off the end of Mina’s sentence. 

“Shit,” Nayeon said, holding her head in her hand and rubbing her forehead. “I have the SVP of Strategic Comms on the other line. Don’t leave for the day until we connect again,” Nayeon said, then hung up her call with Mina. She took a deep breath, steeling herself for a moment, then hit accept on the call waiting. 

*  *  *  *  *  *  *  *

 An hour later, one of the worst press team calls of Nayeon’s career was over. She had survived, but barely. When it ended, she kept her office door shut and closed her window blinds slowly. She slowly paced around the rectangular room and stress-cried for a few minutes, allowing herself to sit in her overwhelm and frustration. When she’d had enough, she sat down in her office chair and pulled out her phone, swiping through her apps for a moment. She tapped on one of her favorites: an app connected to the doggy cam she had set up so she could check in on her beloved furry source of joy, Kookeu.

She smiled as the tiny pomeranian’s image came up on her phone screen. The dogwalker always left him with a food puzzle after his afternoon walk, and as expected, Kookeu was up and walking around in the kitchen, using his nose and paws to roll a round, purple food toy that dispensed individual bits of kibble when they fell through the holes at just the right angle. He got one out, and Nayeon turned up the volume to hear the tiny crunching noises Kookeu made as he ate it. 

She sighed softly, satisfied that at least someone’s day was going well, and closed the app. Then Nayeon got up. It was time to speak with her new full-time press project: Wide-Eyed Variant Gaming Founder and Director of Engineering, Myoui Mina. 

The farther Nayeon got away from the “hands-off” side of the company’s building and closer to the side Mina frequented, she noticed a severe spike in the number of monitors people had on their desks. It was well after 5:00 now, but she was relieved to see the lights still on in Mina’s large corner office. Relieved– but weirdly nervous. She didn’t like needing to track people down or give feedback people didn’t want to hear. And Mina’s elusive, quiet temperament made it somehow harder. 

She knocked lightly on the open office door. “Mina,” she said, letting herself in. “Thank you for sticking around. I’m sorry for being so…high strung earlier.”

Mina looked up from her four screen display nervously despite also brimming with annoyance. She couldn’t believe this day: to be the founder of her own company and yet now, in this moment, she felt more like a student that had been asked to stay after class. 

To her credit, the Japanese woman was brilliant, and she and Nayeon both knew it. Mina had received her bachelor’s degree in computer science and a master’s in software engineering from some of the best programs internationally; she was a gamer from the moment she developed consciousness, really. She made the papers when she launched her company, Wide-Eyed Variants, fresh out of undergrad from her childhood home, and made headlines again when she was still able to be the director of its engineering department while going back to school full-time for her master’s. 

She’d been profiled a few times by both gaming and arts and culture outlets, had hit a number of 30 under 30 lists, and even had a few op-eds ghostwritten for her in household name outlets like Forbes and The New York Times. The games Wide-Eyed Variant produced were so popular today that they hardly needed any advertising. Even other game series with heavy cult followings like The Legend of Zelda and Animal Crossing always fell short of the consumer-related numbers Wide-Eyed Variant could pull. And from the outside, she made her journey and career look totally effortless. It was no wonder she was considered a person of interest and expert in the gaming field, and that journalists constantly wanted to talk to her. But that’s why Nayeon was here. Mina’s only downfall was the media and being in the spotlight. The Japanese Alpha often got nervous while being interviewed. There was something so scary about consenting to being “on the record” to her, and even though she wasn’t a huge talker, any sign of the little red recording button tended to make her a little too chatty. 

Mina did her best to push her anxious thoughts away and braced herself for what Nayeon would have to say about it all.

“Relax, we’re fixing this,” Nayeon said, as if reading Mina’s mind. She closed Mina’s office door behind her and took a seat in one of the tan leather chairs reserved for guests across from Mina’s desk. “Crisis comms is doing damage control online and legal is working overtime in case PixelPulse comes for us with a defamation or libel case. But you should know…” Nayeon leaned in a little, her face becoming serious. “General Counsel Park Jihyo told me to tell you she’s actually going to need to speak with you like, immediately. She’s on her way down right now, she said this just couldn’t be done over the phone.”

Mina nearly jumped out of her chair. “WHAT??” 

Nayeon’s face broke into a grin and she crossed her arms. “So worth it,” she said to herself. Then, looking up at Mina, she said, “Ah, I’m sorry, that was a bad joke. I promise Counsel Park isn’t storming down here right now.” 

Mina let out a shaky breath, crumpling a bit in her seat. “What the hell, Nayeon! Don’t do that.”

Nayeon chuckled. “I won’t do it again,” she said, her smile slowly fading. “You’re safe from her wrath of legalese, but you’re not safe from me. Strategic Comms wants you to go through media training.” 

Mina couldn’t help but make a face. Hadn’t she done enough of that? “But… I already did…” 

Nayeon nodded. “Yes, you did. But that was before I joined this company. And I’m sure the training you had with whoever back then was fine. They just want you to…” Nayeon uncrossed her arms and waved her hand. “You know, refresh a few skills, maybe learn a new one or two. Plus, this will give me a chance to make sure the rest of my comms and digital teams have the most accurate sense of your voice going forward.” 

“Oh please,” Mina said, unable to hide her annoyance anymore. “Everyone is overreacting, I’m not that bad, really! This instance was– this—” 

Nayeon let out a laugh. “You’ve lost your privileges to say you’re ‘not that bad.’ At least not until we get you a better quote in another outlet,” she said. “Look, just a few media training sessions with me, and then Strategic Comms will get off my back, and I’ll get off yours. Okay?” 

Mina fought the urge to roll her eyes. “Why does it feel like I don’t actually have a choice in this?” 

Nayeon offered a weak smile. “Because you don’t. But thank you for being so willing.” Nayeon stood up, pushing in her chair as she turned to leave. “I spoke to your scheduler, by the way,” she said, opening the office door. “Plan on getting a few calendar invites from me soon.” 

[n-evermores]

Clothes Make the Man

Pairing: Alden Parker x Fem!Reader

Genre/warnings: Romance, fluff, spicy, mild sensual language, mild sexual themes: Implied oral (male receiving), implied age gap.

Summary: You and Parker are trying to keep your relationship a secret, but it's not easy when he walks in dressed like that. (Inspired by the last episode 20x15 "Unusual Suspects")

Word count: 2,600+

A/N: I honestly hate this and rewrote it like twelve times because it was a struggle. (okay so I exaggerate, but I did scrap it like twice) Anyway, I can't be the only one who thought Parker looked like a whole snack the entire episode.

Parker was trying to murder you.

The moment he turned the corner, and you saw what he was wearing, you had to resist the urge to leap over your desk, grab the lapels of his coat and crash your lips to his. The turtleneck and blazer was a look, and it looked good.

Your relationship was new but exciting. Honestly, you never thought he would return your feelings. He scoffed when you told him how you felt, thinking you were joking with him. He went silent when you told him you were serious and comically avoided you the rest of the day. You left him alone, knowing he had to stew in his thoughts. Considering his behavior, you assumed he didn't feel the same way until he texted you that night inviting you over to his apartment.

He usually went for women closer to his age. He had apprehensions, but in the end, the connection between you outweighed the concerns. And now you were trying to keep your relationship on the down low. It wasn't easy, especially at times like this, when you felt the overwhelming need to kiss him in front of everyone. Appropriate wasn't the word you would use to describe sleeping with your boss, and the simple fact that he was older than you made it a little taboo. 

But you didn't care. 

You were into him more than any other man you've ever dated, and he couldn't get enough of you either. The connection was intense but also sweet. It wasn't a relationship merely built on sex. It was a mental bond that allowed you to spend hours talking in his greenhouse. He was easy to talk to and more open than you thought he'd be. He was funny and kind and took care in the way he treated you. However, he was almost too careful with you, as if he was afraid to scare you away--because why would someone like you want someone like him? If only you could make him realize how silly that was. 

Sometimes you found yourself tangled with him on the couch, your hands threading through his hair while you desperately explored each other's mouths. But then his endeavors would become more languid and sweeter, and he'd pull away and give you that adorable smile. Those moments didn't always lead to the bedroom. Sometimes, they led to Parker showing you a new song he learned on the piano or going out for pastries together. Your relationship with him was as reposeful as it was fiery, but there were times like this the need for him was like an uncontrolled fire, and you could feel wanton desire burning through your veins.

He halted, eyeing the three oblivious agents before him. They thought it was Parker's birthday and were making complete fools of themselves. You thought to correct them, but letting them run wild was more amusing. He turned to look at you, a ghost of a smile tugging on his lips. You gave him a once over, biting your lip almost promiscuously. Honestly, you didn't have to seduce your boyfriend. He'd gladly have you without trying, but you couldn't help yourself.

 Parker tore his gaze from you and started ranting about his dad getting kicked out of his retirement home. You cracked a smile, listening as he complained about his father. You knew deep down he absolutely adored Roman, but he'd much rather keep up the façade that the man was a nuisance to him. 

The familiar buzz of the bandium app vibrated from your phones, and you averted your gaze from Parker to look at the screen.

"Fatal car crash, Rock Creek Park. Let's roll." Parker said as he grabbed his coat. You stood from your desk, briskly following behind him. You caught up to him, reaching out to touch his lower back. He turned and smiled. "What was that look for a moment ago?" He murmured, his eyes meeting yours with an intensity that made your insides flutter.

You released a shaky breath and touched his hand, gliding your fingers across his palm. "Nothing. You just look really nice today." You said, leaning closer to place a quick kiss against his jaw.

Parker grinned, lopsided and devilish, and winked. Your heart skipped, and you internally groaned. He was so distractingly handsome. You almost hated him for it. 

-

You could hardly stand it at this point. Parker knew it too. You were standing in the bullpen, reviewing the case, and your eyes continuously crossed to him. You jumped slightly when your phone buzzed inside your pocket. You checked to see a text from Parker. 

Stop being so obvious. 

Your brows creased, and you refused to meet his gaze. Instead, your thumbs moved deftly over the keypad. 

                Take off those clothes, and maybe I will

😳 y/n. 

               Don't act so surprised, Alden. 

You can't text me things like that while at work.

😘 what are you going to do about it?

He stole a glance your way, and you winked at him. He chuckled, reaching out to brush his hand against yours as he passed you on the way to his desk. You felt the weight of someone's gaze and noticed Jess giving you a curious look. You felt your body flush and offered her an uneasy smile. But judging by the look she gave you, you could tell you would get bombarded with questions later. 

"I'm going to check in on Kasie," Parker informed, and you watched him leave quicker than your brain had time to process that he was nearly halfway to the elevator. 

"Wait. I'm coming with you." You ignored the look from Jess and hurried after Parker. You slipped into the elevator with him just as the doors closed behind you.

He turned to look at you with sparkling eyes.  "Following me?" He asked, pressing the button and leaning back against the wall as he waited.

"I want to know if Kasie has anything." You responded with a shrug. 

Parker chuckled at this. "What's gotten into you? The looks, the text messages–" 

"Those clothes." You gave him another once over. "They look so good on you." You hummed, watching his Adam's apple bob at your words. 

Something about his demeanor changed, and he stepped toward you, but not before reaching out to stop the elevator. It shook, coming to a halt as the lights dimmed. "You've seen me wear something similar before." 

"Not since we've been together." You retorted lightly. You liked how Parker dressed most days, but today's outfit looked extra good on him.

Parker brushed a strand of hair from your face. You felt your skin tingle as his finger swiped over your cheek. "Now you see how I feel whenever I look at you." He murmured before wrapping his hands around your upper arms. Parker gently pressed you into the wall, and your heart began to pound inside your chest. You exhaled a sigh as he buried his face in the crook of your neck. You could feel his facial hair lightly graze your skin, causing goosebumps to form across your arms and chest. You've been thinking about this all day, and now that you had him so close to you, your head was reeling with thoughts better left for later.

"You don't want to play this game with me." He said, pressing his lips against your flushed skin.

"No, I think I do." You said, coaxing him further. 

Your fingers pressed into his scalp as he placed openmouthed kisses against your throat. Your head lolled back against the wall, and a small whimper escaped your lips. "Alden." You whispered his name like an incantation. Your fingers tangled into his hair as his lips traveled across your neck, his tongue licking the hollow of your throat before gliding over your jawline and reaching the sensitive spot beneath your ear. You pressed your body into him, and his hands slid from your arms to your waist immediately, and he pulled you flush against his chest. 

He kissed the corner of your mouth and lingered there a moment. You could feel his breath fan against your lips, and his heart beat in time with yours. "You're naughty for doing this to me while we're on a case," he murmured against your skin.

You shivered at how close he was to kissing you, wishing he'd stop teasing you and press his lips to yours. "We haven't had any time lately." You defended. Ever since his dad moved in, you didn't spend time with him like you used to. His apartment was no longer your secret oasis.

"I'm sorry." He said, pulling back to look into your eyes. "That'll change soon." He whispered as he thumbed your cheek affectionately. You smiled at the sweet gesture. Parker was always sweet to you. Even when he was rougher in bed, for every dirty word, a sweet one would follow soon after. 

"I just miss you." You said, passing your hand over his face, searching his eyes. 

"Hmm. I miss you too." He hummed. The sound was soft and thoughtful. His thumb moved from your cheek to swipe over your bottom lip. His eyes fell on your mouth, but he hesitated, reluctant to start something he couldn't stop. You parted your lips, your mouth closing over the tip of his thumb. 

"Don't do this to me." He almost pleaded, but as if his words meant nothing, all reservations left him, and he gripped the back of your neck and pressed his lips hungrily to yours. You grasped at his coat and kissed him back with just as much want and eagerness. You felt chills radiate down the back of your neck and to the soles of your feet, and you pressed closer to him again, inhaling the smell of linen and cologne. His tongue brushed over your bottom lip, asking for permission to enter, and you opened your mouth to him. His tongue met with yours, exploring and tasting you. You moaned into his mouth, wanting more as flames of desire licked at your skin, burning you from the inside out. 

Parker hummed in response and gripped the back of your neck tighter, tilting your head up to deepen the kiss. His free arm held you securely against him, yet you needed him closer. If only you were back at his place, just the two of you without a soul to disturb you.

You could feel him shift, and your fears were recognized when he started to untangle himself from you. You whimpered as his lips left yours, and he opened his eyes slowly. His gaze was gentle yet filled with desire and a yearning that you felt just as equally.

"We really need to stop now." He whispered, his voice hoarse. Despite his words, his finger traced down your face and over your lips again. Your chest rose and fell as the desire to reel him back in nearly won over, but you knew he was right. You took a deep breath, reaching out to run your fingers over the material of his shirt where it covered his neck. You licked your bottom lip, desperate to press your lips there, to taste him, but you didn't. Instead, you dropped your hand and gently pushed him back from you. 

"You're right." You lamented, watching as he began to pace the small space. Your eyes glimmered as Parker started mumbling incoherent sentences, trying to ease the desire he felt, and very obviously showed through his gray trousers. You stifled a chuckle, and he turned to look at you. 

"You think this is funny?"

"A little." You chortled, watching as he inhaled and exhaled. He bounced some, and your eyes fell onto his very obvious arousal. You pressed the back of your head against the wall, crossing your arms in amusement. "Need me to take care of that for you?"

He shot you a hard glare, "Don't." He pointed, reprimanding you like a child. He was trying to gain his composure yet failing miserably. 

"Alden," You move closer to him despite his warnings, and this time you gently pushed him against the wall. Your lips attacked his neck, pulling the collar down for better access. He groaned, his tense muscles relaxing as you nipped and licked at his skin. "Let me take care of you." You murmured into his ear. It's all you wanted to do since you saw him walk in. You would have your turn later, but right now, you wanted to take control and show him just how much you desired him. You never wanted him to doubt your love for him. Ever. 

 He gave you a quick nod of assent, and you kissed him slowly before dropping to your knees. You didn't take long to do away with his belt and unfastened his trousers. Your eyes flickered up to his. You could see the expectancy in his darkened gaze, and you could only imagine how fast his heart was beating just knowing what you were about to do to him.    

Parker was trying not to be loud as you took your time with him. He probably wanted you to hurry along, but you enjoyed teasing him. His breathing was labored, and you could tell it took everything in him to hold back moans. You wished to hear those sounds fill the small space more than anything, but that would only mean someone discovering you. 

Parker wasn't a selfish partner, far from it. He reveled in your pleasure and always made sure you were left utterly sated before ending things. This time you wanted to have the satisfaction of watching him fall apart above you, to hear him plead your name as you left him completely undone.

He was starting to unravel, and your grip on his hips tightened. You marveled at how ardently he moaned your name when you took him over the edge. His fingers threaded through your hair, using you to anchor himself. His chest rose and fell as he came down from his high.

You released him and he stared down at you in awe. "Y/N." He breathed before pulling you into his arms and pressed his lips against yours. He squeezed you tightly, and you felt your heart swell with love. You almost said it. The words nearly slipped from your lips, but you refrained.  

"This isn't over." He murmured into your hair, and you felt desire pool into your center. You helped him tidy his clothes before reaching for the button, and the elevator returned to life. 

The doors swished open, but he stopped you just before you entered Kasie's lab. He gently grabbed your shoulders and turned you toward him. He ran his fingers through your hair, putting stray hairs back into place. "Are you okay?" He asked calmly, his eyes searching yours.

"Don't ask such silly things, Alden. I enjoyed watching you enjoy me." You smiled, your gaze meeting his. The tender way he smiled back warmed your heart. He didn't say it, but you could tell he cared about you a great deal. More than he led on.

 The corner of his eyes crinkled, and he pinched your chin between his thumb and index finger. "You're going to be the death of me." He mused before allowing you to enter the lab first. It never failed to amaze you how such small, sweet gestures could bring the most promiscuous thoughts to the surface of your mind. 

You were supposed to be listening to Kasie, but your mind was filled with thoughts of the man standing next to you. Little did he know that he was going to be the death of you. 

[philtstone]

Arunmozhi & Nandini smile

after 2 months of being too mentally exhausted to write anything i produce this in 3 days .... sometimes i impress even myself if the words "modern road trip fix it au" make sense all together in a sentence, that's what this is. sorry 2 all the mutuals who have not watched six hours of convoluted 10th century south indian soap opera historical epic tragic romance adventure story. but also you should do that, so we can all adopt new and delightfully insane blorbos together. also: this is not meant to be serious. which means the geography is a mess. apologies in advance.

“… so what is it? Two rooms or three? I can’t keep asking this front desk idiot questions, his little head will explode from all the brain power needed to answer.”

Arunmozhi wishes he hadn’t misplaced his favourite bucket hat back in Kodaikkarai. The sun is hot and directly on his head, which makes it harder to focus on the dual task of listening to the person on the phone, and keeping track of the debacle that has developed by the Pazhaiyarai route gas station bathroom, the door of which Kundavai is still attempting to lecture through.

“Well,” he says. “You’ll have to give me a minute to think about it. Something of a situation has developed.”

He has known Poonguzhali for just long enough that he can tell by the sound of her breathing how she feels about something. Now, for example, it comes across as distinctly suspicious across the mobile connection.

“Why do I get the feeling this was an entirely predictable situation,” she says.

Arunmozhi admits this might be true, though not aloud.

“The rooms, Madam Detective.”

“Look, it’s either one room with two beds or two rooms with one bed each. Idiots! You’d think they’d have three rooms available! No one but us wants to stay in this dump, I bet. Only a man such as this one would think so highly of himself to presume he had clientele.”

There is the faint sound of an older male voice protesting over the line.

“Even we don’t want to stay in this dump,” says Arunmozhi pleasantly, at the same time Poonguzhali deems it fit to remind him in a declarative voice, “I’m a private investigator, you know, not a miracle worker!“ 

He’s waylaid in coming up with a fun and possibly clever response because Kundavai has reached such a point of despair in her lecturing that she turns away from the locked bathroom door, pins her flashing eyes on Arunmozhi, and says,

“Tell your idiot brother to unlock the bloody door!”

Arunmozhi grimaces. Aditha is only ever his idiot brother when circumstances are truly clownish. Most of the rest of the time Kundavai is content enough to claim ownership of the both of them, no matter how useless she thinks they are being.

“Here,” he mutters sheepishly into the phone. “Talk to Vandiyadevan for a moment, I’ve got to deal with something.”

He hands over the phone to Vandiyadevan before either party can protest. 

Then he surveys The Situation.

They are at a gas station on the road to Thanjavur, one of those with nothing but the gas and a little snack stand and yellow dust masquerading as the road. There are clucking chickens in front of the snack stand, and also occupying the poorly-tiled bathroom roof. The flies are terrible. Arunmozhi arrived this morning, traveling North from South, via Poonghuzali’s van — he had met her fortuitously while exploring the coast, and thought they could only benefit from the assistance of a private investigator whose own aunt he was trying to locate — and with a motorcycle in tow. It is he who orchestrated the rendezvous. Kundavai had been up due North to fetch their eldest sibling, and is now here in her rental, acquired because driving Aditha’s sports car down towards Lanka would be the opposite of inconspicuous. The rental is already a filthy disaster. In theory this should help them in their incognito quest, but Arunmozhi is willing to acknowledge that what he had originally supposed would be a hiccupless development in the journey might instead be putting their multipurpose attempt to save the family business and uncover the truth wholly at risk. At this point, dirty rental cars are neither here nor there.

In the quest, at the very least, they are all united: understanding the truth about their entangled pasts seems somehow significant to thwarting the various family members now vying for a slice of the proverbial Chola Incorporated throne, to say nothing of the lurking specter of their father’s old political rival, who seems to be in dire enough financial straits that he has been setting up easily traceable Zoom meetings with Chola Inc secretaries who are bored enough to be looking for drama. 

Considering the circumstances, Arunmozhi is comforted by the idea that they have discovered a capable ally. The problem is, it won’t amount to much if they never leave this gas station.

He strokes his beard a little, the way their father sometimes does, and once again wishes for his trusty bucket hat. It is, of course, very practical — this is what he tells Kundavai every time she protests it — but he also thinks it is a brilliant piece of fashion. He’d much rather look like the normal hip youths than dress up fancily in the stuffy attire of an ailing business mogul’s son.

The business in question currently being in the throes of potential jeopardy. And there is all this sticky secretive stuff of past love affairs. Arunmozhi is convinced it will all come together somehow, if only they probe a little. He has really made great strides, armed with his Regular University Student’s attire (the bucket hat) and canvas backpack, a simple nobody traveling around to find himself after finishing his degree. All one has to do is consider The Situation in front of them, to see the clear fruits of his labour.

But, ah: The Situation.

It is, he supposes, his fault. He sighs and refocuses.

The bathroom is more of an outhouse, really, with only one functional capability (its locking door), and it is within this vestibule that Aditha, about fifteen minutes ago now, had dramatically locked himself. In front of the bathroom door stands their brilliant sister, her perfect bun starting to undo and frizz, her expensive t-shirt (Kundavai cannot help but look expensive, even when she is trying very hard not to) developing sweaty stains under the armpits, and her aristocratic chin inching higher and higher in consternation. Behind her, naturally to Arunmozhi’s side, is Aditha’s old university friend — Arunmozhi’s current best friend — Vandiyadevan. He wears an old Vanar Men’s Cricket jersey and sandals, and is unsuccessfully ignoring Poonguzhali, who has started in her favorite pastime of bickering with him over the phone loudly enough that the sound carries. He’s wisely chosen to remain silent about The Situation so far; even with his clever tongue he’d surely only make things worse. In between swapping insults with their intrepid PI, Vandiyadevan keeps peering with concern at the bathroom door, fiddling with the tangled fake beard he had used to sneak into the Thenupuriswarar temple that morning (it is still adorning his handsome face), and gazing mournfully at the passing cars and buses, as if the necessary choice to leave his ornery Tata Nano behind when they crossed the river is truly haunting him.

And, in the middle of them all, perched against the seat of her motorcycle and with her arms very tightly crossed, is Nandini.

When Arunmozhi ran into her in the Periodicals section of that Sri Lankan library, desperately clutching the same fading birth announcements column he had been looking for, she had appeared – he’d thought, not uncharitably – in true mental distress. Things could not possibly be more different now. 

Unlike Kundavai, Nandini remains perfectly coiffed after multiple hours of travel in the heat and dust. Her braid is sleek and glossy, her jewelry sparkles, the delicate material of her floral dress flutters genteelly in the nonexistent wind, and every manicured fingernail — now beginning to tap impatiently against her arm — displays nothing but absolute composure. She wears dainty gold bangles on her wrists and a thick oversized motorcycle jacket that must be sweltering in the heat, and has her luminous face turned lazily in the opposite direction as the outhouse. One of the chickens clucks at her feet, rooting around for worms.

Indeed, since they arrived, Nandini has been so very good at feigning indifference that even Arunmozhi could believe her utterly unaffected. It’s only now that, after a full fifteen minutes of locked bathroom door, he can see her expression become less and less dignified and — perhaps to the detriment of the collective — more and more irate.

Hm.

Arunmozhi knocks on the bathroom door with a bit more haste than originally planned.

“Go away!” comes the expected growl from within. “Won’t you let a man shit in peace?”

He has to hand it to his brother: it has the expected reaction. Kundavai puts her face into her hands and Nandini cracks just enough to roll her eyes before determinedly reverting to lofty silence. Vandiyadevan, of course, wisely smothers his snort of laughter behind a cough; he’s taken to holding the phone an arm’s length away from his ear, while Poonghuzali, true to form, has now started interrogating the motel owner about tax breaks on the other end of the line.

Diplomatically, Vandiyadevan says, “Well, if he really does just need a minute …”

“Please,” says Kundavai, “Please, come out of the toilet. For once in your life, be normal about this.”

“I’m being very normal,” says the voice of Aditha. “I am meditating on the mysteries of life. It will take me a while, so I will stay here for now, and then meet you all again in Thanjavur later.”

“You’re being a coward!” says Kundavai.

“Oof,” Vandiyadevan winces.

“Vandiyadevan,” says Kundavai, as close to pleading as she will ever get, “you talk to him. You’re good with words. Here, I’ll take the phone.”

Vandiyadevan, who as usual seems to lose some of his easy suavity whenever Kundavai turns the full force of her general presence on him, manages to say, “I got my degree in journalism, not politics. My charms only work on the ladies.”

This is more than enough to unite the warring factions of the group; Kundavai, Nandini, and the tinny mobile voice of Poonguzhali all scoff loudly and in harmony. Even Aditha seems to make a mild noise of amusement, though that could just as well have been the harangued motel owner on Poonguzhali’s end of the line, so muffled is the sound.

“Useless then. Aditha, I’ll knock down the door with our terrible rental car.”

“Don’t do that; you’ll owe the insurance man. Look here, Kundavai, didn’t your illustrious cards say anything about this?”

“I am not in the mood to be teased, Mr. Journalist. Your beard is melting, by the way.”

“Will it really be that bad if you came out, eh?” asks Vandiyadevan, concerned for both Kundavai’s nerves and his handy accessory. He frowns as Poonghuzali says something over the phone. “Oh — the lummox wants to know whether we’re planning on renting any rooms at all. Ayyo, no, I meant the desk clerk —!”

“She clearly has you all under her thrall,” interrupts Aditha, melodramatically from behind his door, cutting through the irate exclamations emitting from the phone. “You don’t know her like I do! I don’t care what anyone says. She’s lying.”

“She hasn’t said anything yet,” growls Kundavai, still with more dignity and poise than majority of the population might have on a good day. She tosses an acid look in Nandini’s direction. Nandini glares back coolly. 

“It’s all part of her plan. She’s tricking us into complacence. Or have you forgotten that the person sitting on that bike is actually a – a – a –”

Aditha seems to have run out of words.

“She-snake?” offers Vandiyadevan tentatively.

“Poisonous witch,” recites Kundavai in a tired voice.

“Demoness,” remembers Arunmozhi, “oh, that was a good one.”

Nandini, whose indifference has since fully morphed into glaring daggers at Kundavai, pauses now to hum in contemplation, like a woman good naturedly unable to deny her many titles.

Kundavai, on the other hand, has reached her wits’ end. 

“Four,” she says, turning to Arunmozhi and gesturing very specifically at her hairline. “Four grey hairs. Can you see them? One, two, three, four. Dearest little brother, I hope you considered my four grey hairs when you concocted this plan. This is really it. We’re going to be stuck in this gas station forever, and our pathetic cousin will take over the family business.” She raises her voice, “Do you hear that, Aditha! And then who’ll stop that scumbag Pandian from buying out all of his shares and blowing our family’s legacy trying to create God via chatbot? The bloody thing keeps advocating for users to kill enemies of the faith! And it’ll all be your doing!”

Oof – Arunmozhi is the one who thinks it this time. As far as accusations go, that one is a little harsh. After all, it was Kundavai who meddled enough for the maligned couple to break up in the first place. Sure, Aditha then went and exposed a measure of Veera Pandian’s scumminess to the press a year later, out of spite, on Nandini’s birthday, which blew up rather spectacularly in his face. But there’s no need to be rubbing even more salt in old wounds, thinks Arunmozhi. 

Giving Kundavai a look which he hopes she takes to mean Relax, I got this, Arunmozhi steps forward and knocks a second time on the bathroom door.

“I told you, I won’t be lectured into participating in treason,” comes Aditha’s muffled voice, admittedly somewhat more cowed than before. “Against me, no less. Wow.”

“It’s not Kundavai,” says Arunmozhi, “it’s me.”

A long, rather mulish moment of silence follows. “Oh.”

“Yes,” says Arunmozhi, taking this to be an opening. “Won’t you unlock the door? Vandiyadevan’s disguise beard is melting in this heat. It would be a shame to have to hold a funeral for it.”

“I don’t have any other disguise beards on hand,” agrees Vandiyadevan helpfully. “I’d have to call Nambi up for one, and then I couldn’t show my face in the office for a week.”

Arunmozhi quite likes Nambi, though he’d never tell Vandiyadevan that — they work for rival newspapers — and now wonders if perhaps involving the older, nosier man at this juncture is the right call, as Nandini seems to soften wistfully in demeanour every time his name is brought up. Then again, maybe that will complicate things further, and instead of making her more agreeable, will result in another reaction hitherto unexpected. Unwisely perhaps, nobody really believed that Aditha would take one look at his ex-girlfriend, go white as a sheet, and promptly barricade himself behind the nearest locking door.

Who knows what Nandini might do with her own version of a curveball.

“I can’t believe this is your fault,” Aditha says finally, referring to Arunmozhi but sounding like he’s talking to himself. “Of course, she’d never be able to poison you. I’m just very hurt, you know.”

Kundavai throws up her hands into the sky. Vandiyadevan pinches the bridge of his nose in two fingers. Nandini, on the other hand, once more raises her eyebrows as though contemplatively conceding Aditha’s point.

Arunmozhi sighs.

“Yes,” he says. “There is that. I am sorry, Anna. Only, don’t you want to hear what she’s got to say?”

“No,” comes the finite response. Then, more despondently, “I don’t deserve it. She’ll never forgive me. I will go back to Kanchi and continue in the only honourable profession I’ve ever had.”

“For the hundredth time,” says Kundavai, breaking her silence. “Children’s camp counsellor is not a profession. Anyone can do arts and crafts and coach football. If you got your teaching degree, maybe.”

Privately, Arunmozhi thinks Aditha is uniquely good at facilitating the diligent creation of bead bracelets amongst 5 to 10 year olds. He also gets very competitive about football in a way that inspires excellence. Observing Kundavai’s twitching eyebrow, however, Arunmozhi chooses to keep these thoughts to himself. 

“I already have a business degree!” says Aditha, from within the outhouse.

“Which you refuse to put to practice!”

“This is my one use in the world, Kundavai!”

Vandiyadevan and Poonguzhali have recently given up arguing over the motel, and the former now solemnly holds the phone out microphone first so that the illustrious investigator can listen in on the proceedings. Kundavai begins lecturing again. Even the chickens seem to be clucking with exasperation rather than neutrality. It is here that Arumozhi chooses to look at Nandini. While everyone else groans at the reminder of Aditha’s derailed career trajectory, on Nandini’s face there is a sudden and even startled expression of tenderness. 

It must be terribly difficult, Arunmozhi thinks, to show up to what’s become one of the more chaotic family road trips in Tamil Nadu's history, clasp one’s hands together, and say, Well, you see, I’ve only just found out that my adoptive father is my real father and he is really quite a piece of work, factually speaking, even putting aside his God-bot delusions and general tax evasion, and the only way to find my mother, who has been alive this whole time, is with your help. But she seems fully committed to it all. It is very brave of her. 

More importantly – resourceful as Nandini is, Arunmozhi has no doubts that she already knew about the children’s camp, and the arts and crafts, and most definitely the football. So that tender little look cannot have been one of pure surprise.

He smiles to himself. Maybe he wasn’t so misled in his instincts after all.

“Anna,” he tells the door quietly, in a tone he knows his brother – ever his protector, defender, and supporter, ready to take him seriously even when in the throes of his own early-life crisis – will catch. “I really think if we all work together on this, we have a shot at fixing many wrongs. I really am sorry for springing this on you. Both of you – you know.” When there is no response, he adds, “Look – maybe there will be a silver lining. You keep complaining that you haven’t had anyone to play a good match of chess with in a while.”

There is another prolonged moment of quiet; Arunmozhi imagines Aditha, the mass of his long hair tied out of his face as usual, proud profile turned towards the wall, his arms probably crossed in a close mirror of Nandini’s far more delicate posture. Nandini’s own expression remains stuck on whatever momentary ache passed through her, but now morphed into a complicated middle ground, unsure of whether she wishes to remain thawed or to remember the many wounds that led them to this somewhat silly juncture.

“Alright,” comes Aditha’s sudden, gruff voice. 

Vandiyadevan’s mouth drops open. Kundavai freezes still as a statue in relief. Nandini, still astride the motorcycle, straightens imperceptibly; if Arunmozhi were really looking, a faint, almost imperceptible quiver of hope passes through her brows – 

“But first,” Aditha continues, “I demand she return my stolen property.”

Oh, no, Arunmozhi thinks, a split second before, in front of their despairing and disbelieving eyes, some intangible stronghold of assumed dignity snaps within Nandini’s depths.

“Stolen property?” she shrieks. The chickens scatter, clucking for their lives. An innocent farmer filling up his truck’s tank ten feet away jumps violently and covers himself in gasoline. Nandini’s beautiful face has gone the colour of chalk. “Stolen property?!”

“Yes! It is mine, and you are wearing it!”

“You gifted me this jacket, you absolute jackass!”

“Well, I am ungifting it!” yells Aditha, through the door. “Give it back!”

“I’ll kill him!” Nandini howls, springing to her feet. Her eyes shimmer with a sort of impotent rage. It’s not quite clear who she is talking to – the collective, perhaps, or the divine, or even her own self – “Do you hear me?! Your death will be at my hands, Karikalan!”

“So do it then!” comes the equally theatrical roar from the outhouse’s depths. “FINISH WHAT YOU STARTED!”

“YOU JUST TRY TO TAKE MY JACKET BACK YOURSELF, YOU GUTLESS WORM –”

As everyone scrambles to prevent physical violence (Vandiyadevan has the wherewithal to yell for Poonghuzali-on-the-phone to go ahead and book the one room, as they’ll probably all be dead before the sun sets anyway), Arunmozhi reconsiders his intuition.

… Perhaps making this work will be a little bit harder than he thought.

Rubbing a hand over his overheated head, he steps into the fray.