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heartthrobin · 5 months ago

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the hate game (1)

oliver wood x female!reader

wc: 13.3k

warnings: enemies to lovers, so damn much pining, set in poa, timeline is a bit wonky, limited use of y/n, super grumpy!oliver, oliver's scottish accent (it's a warning in itself), alcohol consumption, super! duper! cheesy! (sorry not sorry)

an: just survived the worst two weeks of my life, but the fic is finally here! this fic was originally a full 50 chapter fic i had planned for wattpad like three years ago but i found my draft for it recently and decided it needed a revival. so enjoy it, and don't forget to comment and repost to support your favourite writers :)

summary: the only thing more grating than Oliver's foul moods and his permanent scowl, has to be the fact that he's so damn pretty. you fucking hate him for it.

part two/final part

Movies, as is their premise, glamourise plenty of things - high school, politics, tiny Greek islands - but none more than the classic sucker-punch.

The teeth-crunching, blood-spitting moment where skin meets skin in a satisfying thump that sends an unsuspecting victim to the floor. Music plays and the hero grins, grabbing the girl round the waist: dipping low to kiss her.

What’s consistently (conveniently) left out is how bloody painful it is to be on the sending end of that fist.

The first, and only, time you’d ever punched someone was in second year.

It had seemed like a great idea in the moment, quickly succeeded by the mind-numbing pain that shot up your arm where knuckle met face.

You’d aimed for his jaw, but as it turns out: in addition to painful, punching someone wasn’t a particularly accurate sport for a beginner and your slippery skin found a round-tipped nose instead.

A collective gasp and a month’s worth of detention waited for you on the other side of your act of rage.

And sure, while afternoons in Snape’s classroom every Friday sucked: it was all worth it.

Every purple knuckle that throbbed with the slightest brush, the points lost to Hufflepuff, the pages and pages of Hogwarts Does Not Condon Physical Violence you’d been forced to write was worth seeing the trickle of blood running down from Oliver Wood’s nose.

To see that smug fucking look wiped clean from his face. To watch how he doubled over in pain, grappling onto his friend for balance.

“Tyler fancying you? Any bloke would rather snog a goblin.”

His little comment had earned him a broken nose.

It had been the start of a five year long feud.

It’s the reason - now - why the ground is racing up to meet you, the nose of your broomstick pressed down towards it and wind whipping so hard against your face it draws tears. You knock into the ground, catching yourself on wobbly legs. A few feet away, Oliver Wood has done the same.

He’s marching towards you with the same ferocity that’s curdling in your chest:

“Tha’s blatching and you know it!” His accent is ringing, thick and blistering with heat like it always is when he talks to you. At you, rather.

The accusation is crystal clear, and loud despite the echoing din of the quidditch stands above. From the field where you're parked, you can hear the chatter and the cheers and the boos all conglomerating into a fuzzy uproar.

There’s still twelve brooms floating in the air, spewing irritated shouts from players in both yellow and red:

Just let it go, Wood!

Come on, Cap, can we just finish the match please!

You promptly ignore them. Oliver follows suit.

“What?” You scoff, face hot as a kettle on a lit stove. “As if Laurel and Hardy haven’t been elbowing my girls all game!”

It goes without saying that you’re referring to Gryffindor’s red-head twin-set of beaters.

“Bullshit.” He seethes, it’s purposefully quiet enough that McGonagall’s approaching figure doesn’t pick it up.

She, unlike yourself, is less patient and knobby vein-webbed hands come out to knock you both against your chests: widening the gap to a safe enough distance between the opposing captains.

“You two are exhausting.” And she sounds it too. Her glasses tremble at the edge of her nose, sun shining down on her aged face. "If one more match this season is interrupted because you two can't control your tempers, you will both be stripped of captainship and you will not fly until you graduate. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

But Oliver isn't looking at her. His eyes are focused on yours over her cloaked shoulder.

He's taking the predictable route of not replying first.

"Crystal clear, Professor." You resign to speaking first, skewing a grin at his anger-sewn face.

It’s another long boring moment before he cuts his gaze from yours, kicks up a patch of grass and grits through his teeth.

“Yes, professor.”

As can be imagined, things between you and Oliver Wood have been tense since the day he’d hobbled up to the hospital wing with a palm over his face and blood dripping down over his already red tie.

But with age, came ferocity, and what started as passing glares in the corridor melted into anger-drowned faces and sharp words flung with intent to scar.

Things got infinitely worse when you were elected captain of the Hufflepuff quidditch team in the same year Oliver was made captain for Gryffindor. It stoked the already sizzling embers that made moments around him warm and stuffy and hard to breathe.

The murky history swirled with what should be friendly competition, instead frothing into a bubbling pot of annoyed teammates and exasperated teachers and more sessions of detention than you would have ever had if you'd never met the son of a bitch that is Oliver Wood.

It's what puts you in situations like the ones you find yourself in the middle of before you even know how you got yourself there.

"You two," Professor Burbage had never held you in particularly high favour. It was just your luck that Oliver received the same courtesy. "One more word out of either of you and I will be seeing both of you this afternoon for detention in my classroom."

It was even unluckier that she'd sat you two barely three wizards away from one another and one fly-away comment had blown out into another heat-filled exchange. It always does.

"But professor--" you try.

"Right then. I'll see you both at five o' clock."

Oliver sighs, hands running up over his head between chestnut locks: "Fucking perfect. Thanks, big-mouth."

"Would you like to make it two days, Mr Wood?"

He huffs like an angry dog, tightening the grip on his writing-feather but says nothing else.

The end of the lesson doesn't come soon enough and when it does, Oliver is first out of his seat. You're grateful for it.

Cherry bumps you in the shoulder where she throws her bag over it. "You just can't help yourself, can you?"

You grin, despite the sunken feeling hollowing your chest with the acknowledgment that you're gonna be spending yet another afternoon at the mercy of an under-paid staff member alongside the hothead that was the Gryffindor captain.

"Come on, that wasn't my fault and you know it."

Her tight red curls dance when she shakes her head. They match her blood red tie. "Somehow it never is."

To your dismay, but not surprise, Enzo shares Cherry's views when he waltzes into step beside you in the corridor between Muggle Studies and Divination. His arm drapes over your shoulders and his tall frame shakes when he laughs.

"You know," his voice is thick and gravelly. "You two are gonna have to fuck it out eventually."

You roll your eyes, shoving him off you with a chuckle. The sentiment isn't anything new. "Oh, shut up."

The day folds blurrily between classes and lunch and greenhouse visits that by the time you look up it's just about five o clock.

Burbage's office door stares down at you.

The corridor is ghostly all the way behind you and it's emptiness means it's easy to make out Oliver's heavy footsteps down the stone floor. They're not slow, in an arrogant strut, neither quick like he has somewhere to be.

He trudges. Like the weight of the world is strapping him to invisible pins in the floor. It's easy to figure that your existence doesn't lighten his load any.

You don't turn. He simply falls into place beside you, keeping a good foot distance between your tightened shoulders.

The door opens.

Charity Burbage is insufferable in the way that she forces you and Oliver to sit almost on top of each other behind a scratched up desk where she can watch you under the curtain of her ratty blond hair.

You inch the chair dramatically away from Oliver's.

She's set a stack of pages by him and a wet stamp. "Stamp these and sign the date."

Additionally, she's dropped a stack of envelopes under your nose. "Tuck and seal. When you're done, you can leave."

You eye the papers. There must be hundreds.

To Whom It May Concern,

Hogwarts would like to remind all parents and guardians that the third-years will require prior permission before being allowed to visit the nearby village of Hogsmeade--

You jump when Oliver's elbow knocks yours (more violently than what was really necessary). He holds the first page out to you silently, face dripping with impatience.

When you take the page, his thumb brushes yours.

The paper is delicate in your fingers where you fold it. You tuck and seal, and by the time you've set it aside Oliver is offering the next page to you again.

His thumb brushes yours for a second time.

You find that it does for every letter that's passed on.

It's hard not to watch him out the corner of your eye. Oliver has this dark brown, nearly black, hair that's thick and almost too long and untamed all over. It's matched by bushy eyebrows and speckled freckles over the bridge of his nose.

If you didn't hate him as much as you did, you might think he was pretty. You might think that anyway.

Time stretches until the sun is setting the classroom afire with golden light and it's boredom that causes it, or possibly a desire to hear his voice at such tight quarters, but you speak.

"You know," it's soft enough that Burbage doesn't look up from her Witch Weekly magazine. "Even if - in some act of God - Scotland qualifies for the semi-finals, Luxembourg is gonna flatten them. I mean, think about it unemotionally, Wood: they have Luca Schmit as seeker. It's really a no brainer--"

"Are y’really just stupid or are you purposefully trynna start another argument?" His gaze flickers up to eye Burbage's desk warily, she still doesn't react.

Maybe it's both. After all, the subject of the Quidditch World Cup had been what put you both there in the first place.

You shrug, unfazed by his scathing remark.

"I'm just trying to make conversation."

"Well don't."

His hand brushes yours again.

Every second Friday, generally at the tail-end of lunch, Hooch's grey barn owl swoops low over your head and drops a smaller-than-average white envelope right into your mashed potatoes. Cherry yelps in surprise every time.

Then you watch the bird drop the same over the Gryffindor, Slytherin and Ravenclaw tables.

Good afternoon,

Reminder of Captain's meeting this afternoon in my office. Six o' clock, don't be late.

Regards,

Madam Hooch.

The letter says the same thing it has since you became captain and it's a wonder you still take the effort to break the seal on the envelope.

But come six o' clock, you're traipsing towards the west end of the castle. Lavender streaks caress the sky under the last impression of sunlight through the ornate stone arch of the corridor windows and an autumn chill creeps up your arms where your sweater isn't thick enough.

Hooch's office is in a quiet alcove, nearly impossible to find if you didn't know where to look, and the lamps are lit. Beyond the door, you can hear voices: you grin.

The door creaks noisily where you push it open. Inside it's cramped and cluttered with shelves of quidditch equipment - broken brooms, punctured quaffles and loose kits draping every open surface - but it's warm and smells like leather and is maybe your favourite little room in the whole castle.

The quidditch legend herself, Rolanda Hooch, has her legs kicked up on her desk and the boys are standing ahead of it locked in animated chatter.

She's laughing at something they said, and smiles when you enter.

"Sorry I'm late, coach."

It's nothing new and she waves you in with a smile. "Come in, poppet."

"Merlin," Marcus' shoulder finds yours and the force of the bump nearly sends you off your feet. "You'd be late to your own funeral hey, Puffers?"

You laugh, shoving him back with as much force as you can muster against the giant brute that is Slytherin captain Marcus Flint. It barely nudges him but he barks out a laugh, rough like tractor tires over crumbly concrete.

"I'm worth the wait." You quip back, leaning around Marcus to wink at Roger Davies. "Isn't that right, Rodger?"

He flirts back, "Always, sweetheart."

Roger is the antithesis of Marcus: all pale skin, blue eyes and short blonde hair. Easy on the eyes.

Oliver lingers just behind him, the tallest of the captains. You catch his eye, face slipping into something more serious, and nod. "Hey, Wood."

He nods in return, curt like how a ministry wizard's might be.

"Right," Hooch sits up straight in her high-back chair. "There are just a couple things we need to get through tonight, we won't be long."

The dynamic between the captains would be easy, if not for Oliver.

You're the only girl and that made for tough beginnings. Marcus is naturally brash and brutish, but - as you found - easy to impress with a couple showy tricks on the broom. A single promise to show him how to pull off a Woollongong Shimmy had him eating out your hand: the favour of a couple Slytherins was generally hard to buy and invaluable to a plushy Hufflepuff such as yourself.

Roger popped out the womb with a wink at the nurse. Impeccably charming and impossibly negotiable. Beyond being slightly dim, it was hard to say a bad thing about the Ravenclaw captain

On the other hand, Oliver was … well, Oliver.

Hooch tapped the sharp end of a writing feather rhythmically at a spot on her desk, eyes roving her clipboard.

"Next week we're doing a clean up of the supply room down by the pitch. I've set you each up on days, the whole team needs to be down to help unless they're excused by a teacher: I want a written letter."

She offers a piece of parchment without looking up.

"As you all know, it's the Slytherin versus Ravenclaw game next week."

You bump your elbow to Marcus'. He looks down and grins a mouthful of crooked teeth before turning to Roger. "Ready, pretty boy?"

Roger rolls crystal blue eyes, but he's smiling too. "Bring it on, tough-shit."

"Oy," Hooch interrupts them with a cool sigh, "The last thing, you all submitted your autumn practice requests for the pitch: Roger, Marcus, you have the days you want--"

They nod. Your shoulders stiffen.

"--Oliver, Y/n. You both want Wednesday afternoons. Monday afternoon is open, I'll let you two decide between each other who is gonna move their practice. I want a decision before tomorrow night."

Marcus is sniggering under his breath. The edges of your mouth sink into a frown, of course he wants the same day as me.

You can feel the heat of Oliver's eyes on the side of your face. You don't indulge him, keeping your gaze settled on Hooch's face.

"We'll figure it out, coach."

"Unlikely." Roger's quip is barely a whisper but you catch it.

"Alright." Hooch doesn't. "You're dismissed, go get some dinner kids."

The office door bounces back off the stone wall where Marcus tosses it carelessly open, echoing all the way down the empty corridor.

Frosty air chases over your face and the boys start down towards the Great Hall. Roger is complaining about a potions essay he hasn't started and Marcus is shrugging him off with a suggestion that includes something along the vein of blackmailing a sixth year into doing it for him but you can't focus long enough to follow.

"Oliver." Irritation is prickling at the surface of your skin. It flares into an almost rash when he stops walking, glancing over his shoulder with an unconcerned expression. "Who's giving Wednesday up?"

His arms fold against his chest. You're working extremely hard not to look down where his biceps stretch the seams on his Hogwarts jumper. "Well, you obviously."

Marcus barks another laugh, he calls down the corridor: "We'll see you kids at dinner."

"Yeah, don't kill each other! It's only practice!"

You huff in disbelief, unconcerned with the running commentary.

"Uh," you mirror Oliver by folding your own arms. "no it's not. Come on, we can negotiate like civil people can't we?"

Thick caterpillar eyebrows disappear beyond the overgrowth hiding his forehead. "Negotiate? I'm the one who wasted three hours of my life in detention last week thanks to your big fat mouth. Wednesday is mine."

"That was a joint effort, twat." You can feel where your throat is flush with rising anger. It wires your jaw tight. "Are you really so bloody difficult that we can't even come to a simple agreement?"

"Difficult?" His arms have shifted from his chest to perch against his hips. "Just because I'm not giving you what you want? Cry me a fucking river, darling. Sorry Puffers, but I'm not your precious Marcus or Roger. I'm not gonna fold just cause you bat yer pretty little eyelashes at me."

Pretty?

You blink in surprise. It's brushed quickly aside for more pressing matters. Your hands scrunch into fists at your side:

"Well. I'm not giving it up. I want Wednesday."

"Neither am I."

"Fuck you."

"In your dreams."

Oliver collapses loudly into the open spot at the Gryffindor dining table. His callousness knocks Archie's goblet of pumpkin juice across the shiny wooden surface between dishes of sausages and peas and roast potatoes.

"Bloody hell, what's got you in a mood?" He's patting down the table with a serviette, transforming it into a orange lump under his palm.

Shaking his head, as if it would joggle the thought of you loose, Oliver stabs a chicken drumstick from the top of a nearby pile with his fork. He doesn't respond.

"Wait, let me guess." Archie presses the elbows of his red jumper into the still wet surface beside his plate. "Something to do with your little Hufflepuff sweetheart?"

Oliver grunted around a mouthful, looking annoyed. "Not mine and not a sweetheart. A fucking brat."

Archie seems to find something funny, leaning back on the bench with a haughty laugh. "Right. What she do this time?"

"Wants the pitch the same day as me for practice." He's mumbling around a mouthful of chicken, tipping forward to shove a spoon teetering with peas alongside it. "Refuses to give in, despite the fact that she put me in detention last week with Burbage."

Shifting to the edge of his seat, Archie leans around Oliver's frame to find your figure across the Hall at the yellow-lined table. He nods, seemingly finding you. "Yeah, she don't look too happy either."

"I don't care."

Oliver is trying very hard not to give into the itch to look back.

"Whatever," Archie's gaze finds his again. "in better news ... I spoke to the twins just before dinner. They're still on for tomorrow."

He's twitching in his seat, eyebrows dancing and grinning around his words like a kid who's found a matchbox.

Right. The twins.

Specifically, Daisy and Delilah Dawson: two Ravenclaw sisters a year below Oliver.

They're peng, Archie had reasoned, you need a little fling to get your mind off quidditch. You're too strung up, mate.

And sure, they were, but Oliver had more important things to do than gallivant across Hogsmeade attached to the hip of some sixth year who just wants to earn her I Kissed The Quidditch Captain! badge.

He'd groaned and whined and glowered at the prospect. Was it petulant? Naturally, but spending five sickles on subpar hot chocolate and making false conversation with some Ravenclaw was a waste of precious time in Oliver's humble opinion.

His priorities are, as they've always been, crystal clear in his mind.

1. Win Gryffindor the Quidditch Cup 2. Refer to point (1)

There was little wiggle room for the introduction of girls into any spot on that list.

You're the only one who came almost close to the tight list. Only because if there had to be a third priority, "shove winning the cup in Hufflepuff's face" might just crack it. He thought about you significantly more than any other girl in the castle and maybe that might mean something if he thought about too long about it, but fortunately, he refused to.

Regardless, Archie was adamant and more than a little pathetic when he mentioned that Daisy only agreed to see him if he had a date for Delilah. It was all settled very quickly.

And it's in this show of loyalty to his dearest friend that Oliver finds himself walking the cobblestone path down into Hogsmeade on a crisp Saturday morning.

The little village is bustling with students - it normally is - and the crowd has him knocking shoulders with Delilah who's walking in step beside him.

He's uncomfortable to find that she's staring dreamily up at the underside of his jaw.

On Oliver's other side: Archie is talking Daisy's ear off, making another pitiful attempt at holding her hand. He doesn't quite manage it and Oliver can't tell whether it's because she genuinely doesn't notice or she just can't be arsed.

"So," Delilah's voice is light and sweet. Delicate. "You mentioned that you take Arithmancy? I've heard it's tough."

Oliver nods airily. "Yeah ... yeah, it's difficult."

He tightens his jacket closer over his frame. The wind is whipping between their bodies and he thinks that maybe she didn't hear him over it's howling if her confused expression is anything to go by. He finds he's not bothered enough to repeat it.

The entrance of Madam Puddifoot's comes into view at the end of the walkway.

Oliver’s relieved. It's freezing out here and maybe he'll be more in the mood for flirtatious conversation once he's gotten some food in his stomach (Archie had insisted they skip breakfast: we have to order something to eat, so we can sit longer).

There's a jingle of a bell overhead when Archie pushes the door open, standing awkwardly aside to let the ladies in first.

Inside the shop, it's more than busy: powdery blue walls barely visible beyond the sea of Hogwarts couples crammed around tiny circle tables and waiters in red uniform knocking the back of their chairs with wobbling trays.

There's music coming from ... somewhere, it sounds like The Weird Sisters and at the sound, Oliver can't imagine how this morning could possibly go any worse.

Oh wait, yes he can.

You could be sitting at a table right by the door across a too-small-table knocking knees with some Slytherin prick. Like you are right there right now.

Delilah tugs on his wrist, it's gentle and he almost doesn't feel where he's being lead between tables towards an open booth across the room. He falls unceremoniously down against the torn leather, eyes never leaving your table.

You haven't noticed his presence, he knows because your lips are stretching around a giggle he can't hear but can already imagine. You don't smile around him, that's for sure.

Oliver's stomach is frothing and bubbling and he's trying really hard to tune back in where Archie's knocking a menu into his hand.

Of course you're there. To ruin his mood and his day, because you're just bloody perfect at it.

"So, am I seeing you girls at the Quidditch match on Saturday?" Archie's voice carries somewhere over his head.

Delilah laughs. Or maybe it's Daisy, Oliver doesn't look.

"Maybe," she says, "Depends if Oliver's gonna be there. You're gonna be there, right?"

He feels a hand nudge at his forearm. Definitely Delilah.

His gaze floats back over the table to offer a fraction of eye contact, he nods. "Oh, uh ... yeah. Sure, definitely."

Archie saves him by speaking again and your table finds Oliver's attention just in time for him to watch the boy sitting across from you swipe away a smudge of hot chocolate over your cheek. You smile, looking bashful and a little bit flushed.

A suffocating, searing heat rushes from the soles of Oliver's feet up between his every organ and over every tendril of hair on his head. His jaw tightens.

Of course he recognises the pratt across you.

Ryo Yoshida.

Every girl in the castle's wet dream, if the rumours he's heard are anything to go by. With his fucking sleek black hair and his Japanese accent that had witches flocking to him in the dozens.

He doesn't wonder why you're here with him.

Oliver is a proud man, but even he could admit that you're beautiful. Albeit reluctantly.

With your wide wet eyes that make him a little sick in a way that turns his stomach warm and the way you do your hair and those fucking dangly earrings that clink when you loose your cool on him.

That's without even mentioning the sound of your laugh - the one he only ever overhears - and your legs in the school uniform skirt and the way you look when you're diving on your broom under the light of a sunny day.

Alright, maybe he couldn't admit to all of it ... but you were okay.

Okay enough to crack a date with Ryo Yoshida or any other schmuck in the castle if you wanted.

"Anything good to eat here, Oliver?"

He pretends he doesn't hear her at first, but the kick at his shin under the table is harder to ignore.

Archie is glaring at him across the table. Dude, don't fuck this up for me.

Oliver's eyes find Delilah. She's scooted up close under his elbow and, to be fair to the poor girl, she was pretty too. Red lipstick smeared across her smiling lips, painted nails edging closer to his arm and perfectly styled hair sitting over her shoulder.

He nods, reaching for the menu: "Yeah. Actually, last time I had the Merlin Meal and it was pretty good."

She perks up, cherry red smile widening at his reply. "Oh, I thought that looked good!"

Training his eyes on the menu, Oliver wills himself not to look back at you. You're already souring his mood and you haven't even said a bloody word.

It's just what you do. What you do to him: infuriating him with the threat of an argument around any and every corner.

The waiter comes by and Oliver finds himself generous enough to gift Delilah with an arm draped over the back of her seat. She giggles and he pretends he doesn't notice when she mouths something that looked suspiciously like 'he's so hot' to her sister across the table.

Archie seems pleased too. Daisy has granted him, finally, her hand and his arm bends at an awkward angle to maintain the grip in hers under the table. He's positively beaming.

But despite Oliver’s best efforts to stay engaged, he still catches himself - only when it's too late - and his eyes are already glued to watching the way your jeans are hugging your thighs where you shift in your seat.

Your table is sat by the door. The chime of the bell calls for his gaze every time it tolls and every time he finds you let off a violent shiver in your seat as the autumn crisp rolls over your shoulders.

The door shuts again and you still.

Oliver can feel where the tips of his ears are burning red and his bones are itching: Ryo’s black suede coat is hanging over the back of his chair.

You’re still talking - hands rubbing together, fighting for warmth - he’s leaned over with his chin in palm to listen and his jacket sits unused behind his shoulders while you fucking shiver in the breeze.

It’s pathetic, really. He’s not sure whether he’s referring to himself or you: but Oliver is still looking and you’re still shaking like a leaf and he’s halfway to flipping tables to get to you and just give you his own fucking coat so you’ll stop shaking and stop annoying him—

“Oliver was just telling me about wanting to join the Hogwarts Choir.” He turns again to find Archie waiting with an expectant face, it's laced in a little bit of smugness: caught you. "Weren't you, mate?"

When he looks back you’re gone.

There's a short pile of sickles abandoned on the table and he hopes that Ryo at least had the good sense to pay for your drink after forcing you to sit in the freezing cold.

He shakes the thought off. Who cares.

In fact, he hopes you catch a cold.

The day passes like swimming through molasses: slow and sticky and exhausting.

It's nearly seven when Oliver presses a sympathy kiss into Delilah's cheek - Daisy allows for no such thing from Archie - and the two sisters skip off down the west wing corridor with a wiggle of their fingers over their shoulders at the boys.

"I think that went well." Archie's grinning, hands on his hip and glasses edging down his brown nose.

It's the first thing that genuinely brings a jolt of life out of Oliver all day. He teeters back on his heels, hands gripping his stomach where he laughs. Laughs like a madman.

"I think you need to get yer fucking head checked, mate."

The tail end of his outburst is simmering down, now barely a breathy chuckle, when a voice washes over him from down the other end of the corridor. "Wood!"

He'd recognise that voice anywhere. From the dead of sleep or the depth of the ocean.

He's slow when he turns on his heel, the remnants of his smile dripping all the way off the edge of his jaw until he's nearly frowning.

You're jogging, scarf bouncing at your shoulder with the movement, and coming to a stop right under his chin.

"What?"

There's a sharp edge to his tone - there always is - but he really hopes you haven't noticed how the syllable wobbled at the end. Now that you're right beneath his frame and not across the room, it's harder to ignore the lashes kissing at the corner of your eyes. You're wearing lip gloss and he knows it's for Ryo.

His stomach is churning and your face is twisting into something he is struggling to recognise.

"I--" your hands wring, eyes flickering behind to where Archie's watching curiously (you wave awkwardly). "You ... you can have Wednesday."

It's not what Oliver is anticipating. He almost takes a full step back in surprise.

"Why?"

Your eyes roll in a comfortably familiar way, "Because Hooch wants an answer tonight and one of us had to be the bigger person."

His brow tightens, eyes roving down the stitching of your sweater. It's cute. He's quiet.

"You not gonna argue?" You throw your words quickly, snatching them back before he can answer: "Perfect. I'll send her an owl before bed."

You're marching back down the corridor before he has chance to say anything else and he's watching your retreating figure with the hope - that he’s not gonna address - you’re not going to cozy up somewhere in the Slytherin dorm room.

“Well.” Archie’s running a hand over his thick black curls. “That was unexpected.”

Oliver huffs. “It’s been a weird day.”

An uneasy air has settled over Hogwarts.

It came in like a storm front, drifting in on the wind that dropped the article at the door of the castle.

The same copy of The Daily Prophet has been doing the rounds between dormitories and class rooms all week: Sirius Black, Azkaban’s most infamous prisoner and recent escapee, has been sighted in Dufftown by an astute Muggle, The Daily Prophet reports.

Dufftown. A barely twenty minute ride by carriage from Hogwarts bridge.

It’s got the castle on edge, it’s got you on edge. Creeping around the castle like Sirius Black is gonna jump out from around any corner.

Dumbledore stationing dementors at the edges of the castle was the tipping point for the cold drip of trickling fear in your chest that's become easy to ignore in daylight - when Cherry and Enzo are flittering around you between classes - but in moments like these, like now, when you’re on the tail end of a quidditch practice, grow like a poisonous black vine up around every nerve in your body. A Monday night, the team’s kit weighing heavy in your arms - broomstick tucked precariously in the bend of one elbow - and following the siren call of the dormitory showers.

You’d promised the team you’d get them to the house elves before the upcoming match on Saturday. The match against Gryffindor.

But for tonight, they’re gonna live in a pile at the end of your bed.��

You’re exhausted: calves burning, sweat sticking loose hairs to your forehead and probably smelling like wet socks and broomstick polish.

The touch of night is suffocating the flicker of the corridor lamps. It’s long past the recently set curfew and you know that if McGonagall finds you out you’re likely in deep enough trouble to get you off Saturday’s match roster.

Despite the prospect, you don’t dwell on it. You find you’re more worried about escaped Azkaban convicts: the echo of your own footsteps setting you further on edge.

You’ve craned your neck over your shoulder enough times to form a knot there. Each time you’re relieved to find that Sirius Black hasn’t crept up behind you.

Suddenly, the squeak of your boots against the stone floor are un-alone.

Someone is marching and right in your direction. Your heart bangs wildly on the inside of your ribcage - blood turning to an icy slurry in your veins, but you don’t move.

The corner is sharp when the figure turns into the corridor you stand and the scream is halfway out your throat when your eyes find his face.

Absent is the matted black hair and sunken eyes you’re anticipating. Instead, warm brown rings reflect the fire of the lit torches.

Your broomstick clutters to the floor, warm relief flooding down to your fingertips. “Fucking hell, Wood.”

He looks just as surprised as you. Only for a moment, though, before his gaze is tightening in annoyance again.

“I thought you were Sirius Black.“

“Well that’s stupid isn’t it.”

You huff, shifting the weight of the team’s robes precariously between your arms: squatting to try scoop up your broomstick off the floor again. You’re halfway successful when it clatters loudly back against the stone floor.

“What are you even doin’ out here so late? You know curfew is passed, don’t you?” His voice curls with something that might be mistaken for concern if you didn’t know who you were talking to.

“I could ask you the same thing.”

You’re reaching down again. A robe on the top of the pile slips off, landing beside the broomstick.

“Aye right. Whatever, goodnight.”

He’s brushing past you.

In a movement neither of you anticipated, driven by the fear shooting up your spine again, your hand finds his wrist. “Wait—“

Oliver freezes: eyes dropping to where you’re connected. You rip your hand back, as if scalded.

“I …” the words mash and wrestle at the back of your throat. “Could …”

You glance down the darkened corridor awaiting you in the journey back to your dorm before meeting his face again. It’s unreadable.

His brow scrunches. “Yes?"

"Could you want me to walk my common room?”

Embarrassment sears at your cheeks. On a normal day, you’d sooner go dancing naked under the Whomping Willow before asking Oliver Wood a favour but that was before the image of Sirius Black swum behind your eyes everywhere you looked.

Oliver would be fairly useless if faced with the criminal, naturally, but at least you wouldn’t die alone.

“Please?” Your voice is quiet and you think it’s the gentlest word you’ve ever said to him.

There’s a long stretch of quiet. His eyes flicker between your face and the broomstick on the floor. It’s quickly stretching past the blurring boundaries of an appropriate time for consideration.

You’re practically melting in embarrassment now, electing to make the decision for him.

“Never mind.” You squat again, successful this time in sticking the broomstick back under your arm. The dropped robe is more difficult but you manage to replace it. “Forget I asked.”

Oliver’s moving before you’re stood straight up again. He’s reaching for your broomstick, you instinctively yank it back but he sticks you with a firm look and his thumb is unexpectedly soft where it caresses over your knuckle wrapped around the handle.

Your grip loosens and he perches the broomstick over his shoulder with ease. He surprises you again by taking half the load of laundry in your arms into his own.

“C’mon, before someone catches us out here. I’m not doing any more detention because of you.”

He’s already three feet ahead when blood rushes down to your legs, prompting them to chase after his figure. The movement is easier, lightened by Oliver’s surprise act of kindness.

You fall into step beside him, half-tempted to comment on his willingness to share your burden, but knowing him, one wrong word and he’d dump it all back into your arms.

It’s quiet.

You don’t make a move to talk and Oliver doesn’t look your way. It dawns on you that Gryffindor dormitory is in the other direction and you’re still deciding whether to feel guilty or flattered over the fact when Oliver speaks.

“Why’re you out here alone?”

You look, met with the side of his face: it’s still like he hadn’t said anything at all. There’s a tugging instinct to snap at him.

Why do you care?

But his tone is perceptibly gentle enough that you think maybe, just this once, it won’t end in an argument. You test the tepid waters.

“Uh …” your head knocks sideways, tilted as you speak. “I let the team come up early while I sorted the quaffles in the sports closet by the pitch. Didn’t want them walking up in the dark.”

You’re tempted to mention that it was his team last week that left it in such a mess. You don’t.

"And now you’re walking in the dark yourself? Smart move, princess."

Your breath hitches.

It’s not the first time he’s called you that. Princess. A couple times over the years, usually in the heat of a spiraling argument, but never so benign. While still ungentle, the tone is soft enough that it rings in your ears.

You choose not to succumb to the antagonization of his reply. Humming, you shrug. "Rather me than them."

His eyes flicker, almost barely, to the high apple of your cheek. You notice in the corner of your eye how his jaw twitches, like he wants to say something.

He seemingly decides otherwise because he focuses his eyes ahead of him and stays silent.

The overhanging ceiling art is sloping down, air going sticky with the scents of the kitchen the further you go: it’s the trademark of the approaching Hufflepuff common room.

Another two turns and it will be the end of your little journey with Oliver Wood.

"‘M surprised Ryo didn’t walk you up."

You're more surprised than you've been since finding him, eyes widening in confusion. He grants you another look out the side of his eye.

"How do you know about that?"

Oliver shrugs, shifting your broomstick to the other shoulder.

"The whole world saw your little date down at Madam Puddifoot's the other day."

Of course. Word travels faster through seventh year than a new Firebolt.

"Yeah. Well." You hum. "That's not gonna be happening again anytime soon.”

It had all been good and well. The rush of having Ryo Yoshida, Hogwart's most eligible bachelor, ask you out and - to be fair - the date had been fine. Ryo was funny and made good conversation but nothing near thrilling enough to daydream over and you'd allowed yourself to brush over a couple red flags because of it, until Cherry came bursting into your dormitory less than a day after your date relaying how he'd caught her between classes to ask her out to the same spot.

"Why's that?"

You're confused now, why Oliver cares or how he'd become curious enough to actually ask. You're even more confused as to why you decide to answer him. You shrug, "He asked Cherry out the very next day. She said no, obviously, but that was enough to let the whole thing go."

You expect him to say something malicious, quip something spiteful about What you did you think would happen? You're nowhere near in his league.

He doesn't.

"He's an idiot."

Not for the first time in the last five minutes, you're not sure what to say. You think this is the longest a conversation has gone without an argument. You sigh, "Yeah."

The stack-up of barrels comes into view. You dig into you the deep pocket on the inside of your robe, emerging with your wand.

Oliver stops, eyes flickering between the barrels and his shining black boots.

You step ahead, tapping the barrels in the rhythm that's become second-nature and the entryway opens.

Turning to him, you offer out an arm and he sets the robes back into your hands. The awkwardness is stifling. He leans forward, tucking the broomstick under your arm, hand wavering to make sure it doesn't fall again. The gesture makes the hold in your knees wobbly.

He nods. "Right. Goodnight."

You nod back, so quickly that you hear your earrings jingle. "Yeah, g'night."

Oliver turns, marching back the way you came and you watch him: biting your bottom lip so hard you're half expecting to draw blood.

"Thank you!" It leaps from your mouth before you have you moment to let it marinate on your tongue. You wince immediately.

He pauses, turning halfway on his heel. He smiles, it's not wide enough for teeth, but definitely wide enough to have your heart falling through your stomach. He nods again and then he's gone.

Saturday arrives gloomy and dripping.

It makes for good quidditch conditions, but the chill in the air is still hard to ignore when you step out into mushy grass under stadium lights. The roar of the crowd nearly deafens you, but it'll only take a couple minutes in the air for it to burn down to a soft hum.

In the middle of the stadium floor: Hooch is standing with a whistle to her lips, her figure blurred by the drizzle. Oliver stands beside her, and behind you, your team is clambering onto their brooms and rising into the air with the freshly washed kit over their backs.

You go to walk, but the icy glance Oliver is sending your way convinces you into a jog. He's always impatient before a game, itchy, antsy.

"On time as usual." Hooch hums when you land beside her.

"Got the whole bloody school waiting on her." Oliver mutters but Hooch shrugs him off, pulling the game coin out from inside her robes.

"Perfect." She positions it so we can see, "Gryffindor?"

Oliver straightens out, chest swelling: "Heads."

Hooch nods and before you can suck in another breath, the coin is in the air. She catches it with a skilled hand, flipping and revealing it to the set of captains.

"Hufflepuff, first ball!" She shouts loud enough that the floating players can hear. They nod, some groaning.

The coach turns back on the captains, "I want a fair game kids, no fighting."

"Me and Ollie? Fight?" You smile, "Never, coach."

Oliver rolls his eyes. "Yes, coach."

Suddenly you're above the pitch, sucking in breaths of wet air and struck with that familiar feeling like you could conquer the world on just your broomstick.

The quaffle flies and you stoop to catch it, twisting around Alicia Spinnet to snatch the ball before she's even noticed you're there.

Rain pelts on heads and the game goes on.

Oliver is shouting like a madman from his place in front of the goals behind you - you’ve long learnt to drown it out. He does it half to annoy his own team and half to distract yours.

You're spinning, flying, swooping and - as you predicted - the crowd has become a distant call, a blurring sight of yellow and red.

An hour passes and the game is already halfway into the next when there's a rise in the crowd. It's not the normal yells and whoops and hollers, but you still don't look up: you're calling over to Jane and Wyatt, your beaters.

“Get between the twins, and stay there!”

Below, Harry Potter and your own seeker, Cedric Diggory, are flying in circles around each other. The call of Cedric's name is on the tip of your tongue when there’s another ripple of sound off the crowd and this one draws your eyes. It’s there for a second before you find the army of figures descending on the pitch.

Your breath catches in your throat, freezing solid so you can’t swallow.

The dementors are even more ghostly this close. You'd never seen so many.

A darkness is permeating the air, the sight of the supporters in the stand dissipating into black. They’re floating in from every corner, drifting at a pace that’s too fast for you to make a move in any direction.

There’s a scream and your gaze finds the body falling through the sky: it’s Harry.

The ground is racing up to meet him and adrenaline drives your hand to tip your broom, to chase after his quickly disappearing shape when a blurry figure blocks your way.

Someone yells your name but you don’t hear it.

You’d never imagined examining a dementor, much less this up close, but even if you had: nothing your imagination could conjure up would ever come close to the harrowing darkness of its empty eye-sockets.

Its silhouette spreads over every corner of your vision, black like night and blocking the view of the sky. Your nose is so close you could tip forward and meet it's silken cloak.

A cold washes over your body like you've never felt, like you're freezing over: ice creeping up your fingertips, shoulders and face.

Your brain looses all grip on thought, replaced with a seeping dread. It barely acknowledges where a scabbed, decomposing hand is reaching out to you.

Charcoal fingertips brush your cheek when you're tugged back, all the way off your broomstick.

There's not even a last coherent thought to panic when you're engulfed in a warm chest, a hand stabilising around your waist onto a new broomstick. It dips and the green grass is reaching up to you.

The new heat engulfs you through to your bones. You grasp blindly for the expanse of a thick veined neck, wrapping yourself around him.

Digging your face into his shoulder, it takes one glance at the scarlet robes to know who it is. Oliver's panting, one hand holding you against him while the other steers the broomstick down to the floor.

You're trembling, no thought occupying any space beyond Oliver, Oliver, Oliver, Oliver--

"What the bloody hell were you thinking?"

The voice is distant, said against your temple but echoing as if from the end of a long corridor. You don't register where hot tears are wetting your cheeks, erupting over your face without being called.

His words prompt you closer: a tight arm furling over his shoulders and wrapping around him like a vine around an old tree.

"O-Oliver ..."

The hand over your waist tightens. "Sh ... it's fine. You're fine."

The broomstick lands shakily, Oliver's boots squelching into muddy grass. You barely realise you're back on ground when another hand is tugging you off, but you cling tighter to the sweaty red neck: shaking your wet face against his well-pressed robes.

"C'mon, princess ..." His calloused hands pry you from him, gently like you're a piece of china sitting on the very edge of a high shelf. "It's Pomfrey, she's gonna look after you."

You think you feel a kiss press into your hairline before you're being scooped up into a new set of arms. Madam Pomfrey is warm too, smelling like antiseptic and maple syrup.

There's another swell of noise erupting from the supporters above and you're being lead away.

Oliver watches your figure, slumped against the school nurse until you've disappeared into the medical tent.

His heart is going wild, slamming against the walls of his ribcage. Beside him his hands are shaking and he's sucking in thick gulps of air, he finds it still isn't enough oxygen.

There's another splatter where Angelina has landed a few feet behind him. She's panting too, tugging on the edge of his robes and pointing up into the sky.

"Wood!" She's frantic, "They won, Cedric caught the snitch!"

His mouth is dry when he swallows. Rain catches in his eye when he looks up, half the Hufflepuff team is no longer in the sky and the Gryffindors are all on their way down.

"I ..." feeling is returning to his fingertips, "is ... where's Harry?"

Angelina points in the direction of the medical tent. Above, the pitch is engulfed in a bright white light and Oliver catches the wispy end of a shining phoenix chasing between disappearing Dementors. It's a patronus. Dumbledore's, Oliver figures somewhere in his muddy brain.

"Is everyone else okay?"

Angelina nods. Her eyes flicker to the medical tent then back at him. "Is she?"

The image returns to him: the mass of darkness engulfing your figure in the sky. The terror that ripped through him like he was being torn apart from the inside, the whistle of the wind that stung over his ears and how it blocked out his mutterings of please, please, please--

He shakes his head. "She's too tough for her own good. She'll ... she'll be fine."

But it comes out like he's trying to convince himself more than Angelina.

Oliver doesn't see you for a few days.

Two, to be exact, and his skin itches the entire time. A deep itch, like it's coming from his bones.

It's only on Monday evening at dinner, with the Hufflepuff table whooping, that you come strolling back into the light of his eyes.

Your head is down, flushed with all the attention, and when you sit, kids are rising from their seats to tackle you into side hugs. He can tell you're embarrassed but he can't gather himself enough to care: the warm rush of relief flooding his stomach so much so that if he dared open his mouth it would all come rushing out.

You look fine. All limbs attached and smiling, it settles him.

He doesn't snap at Archie when he knocks his shoulder with a "you're staring" and his dinner suddenly looks more appetising when he peels his eyes off your figure down to his plate. He finds that he doesn't care as much as he usually does where Enzo's lanky arm is strung over your shoulder.

The week passes in a flurry.

While you share several classes, Oliver doesn't share a single word with you. It's hard not to notice that you're working very hard not to interact with him.

In Muggle Studies, you arrive late and keep your nose tucked deep into the pages of a textbook he knows you couldn't care less about. You're up and out of the classroom before he's even zipped up his bag. It's the same in Potions and Arithmacy.

While going days without talking to each other is not unusual, this time he can tell it’s on purpose. He pretends that he doesn't care.

The rain has cleared and when Friday arrives the sunset is red and orange and purple, granting Oliver with a rare enchanting view out his bedroom window where it's setting behind the East tower.

It's in this quiet, peaceful moment that Archie comes bouncing in with some news of a party happening in the Ravenclaw dormitory.

He's indifferent but Archie is nothing if not convincing.

"Come on, dude. You're literally a hermit crab." He sighs, falling back against his own poster bed across Oliver's. "There will be girls."

"There's girls everywhere, Arch."

His eyebrows wiggle, "And alcohol."

It takes a bit more pestering and the Weasley twins rushing in after him with the same news (and a far less patient approach) to get him up off his bed.

He digs in his cupboard for the last pair of clean jeans and a somewhat suitable purple jumper, tugging them on with a grumble, before he's being dragged by both arms - a twin on each side - across the castle to the West tower wherein resides the Ravenclaw population.

The common room is bustling with seventh years, he recognises them from all houses, and a table set up to the side with some trays of food. He's barely made himself comfortable when Katie Bell is shoving a red solo cup into his hand:

"It's Angelina's brew." She informs him.

He can believe that. The liquid is strong, burning down his throat followed by the barely there after-taste of pumpkin juice. Oliver downs the whole thing in one go.

The music swells louder and he's three cups of Angelina's concoction deep when you come tumbling through the entrance portal.

You're drunk yourself, he can tell by the way you're giggling and half leaning on Cherry Stretton. Bumping through people, not passing without leaning back to apologise to them tipsily, you head straight into the arms of Angelina and Alicia Spinnet. They smile in surprise, engulfing you in their arms.

Despite his and your long-held rivalry, it had done nothing to stop the rest of his team from sweetening up to you. The twins called you their favourite yellow tie at regular intervals and the girls found you nothing less than endearing. Oliver could lie and say he hated it.

Instead, he wrestles his way to where Katie is situated with more to drink, filling his cup and downing it.

The room is twisting in a flurry of colours and faces and it's the lightest you've felt in almost a week. You giggle against Enzo, his dreads tucked safely back in a bun while Cedric sets a Dragon-Barrel Brandy shot on fire and hands it carefully over.

Enzo's head knocks back, slipping the burning liquid down his throat with a wince. There's a cheer at his accomplishment, and suddenly Cedric's knocking your elbow: "you're next, Cap!"

After the match-gone-wrong, Madam Pomfrey had held you down in the infirmary until Monday morning. You were fed copious amounts of chocolate - in the form of bars and drinks and cakes and ice creams. By Saturday night you were - surely a couple kilograms heavier - and feeling fine, but Pomfrey was nothing if not paranoid:

"That was no light ordeal you went through, dear. I'm not letting you out of my sight until I'm happy with you."

In all honesty, you'd prefer if the whole school forgot it ever happened.

If Pomfrey didn't fret and your friends didn't come by every meal time and your team stopped sending you get better! letters and nobody mentioned it ever again.

More than anyone, you wished Oliver would forget. The ordeal, or maybe just you as a person.

You'd made a stupid decision under the heat of stadium lights and the influence of racing adrenaline, trying to chase for Harry, and he'd made a stupider decision coming to save you from yourself.

When it got quiet in the infirmary past dusk and Harry's shadowy figure was long since snoring in the bed across yours, you could feel Oliver's touch. Could feel it's strong hold wrapped around your waist and the voice against you the back of your neck and the lips at your temple.

You never reminisced long: for with his touch came the writhing, scalding fear burrowing a hole in your chest.

He could tease you, he will tease you.

Oliver had saved you from the clutches of a dementor moments from your soul being sucked out your body and you'd cried in his chest the whole time, refused to let him go in front of the whole school. It was a mortification you would never live down. And if Oliver decided he was going to use it against you, even once, you were sure you'd melt into the floor in shame.

It's what's made the Firewhiskey and Lemon squash concoction Cherry had handed you back in her room so easy to toss back. It stung and steam rose out your mouth where you'd panted for air. There was another ... and another, they went down the same.

The walk across the castle to reach the Ravenclaw Tower had been wobbly and you'd laughed with your friends loud enough to wake up the whole castle you're sure, but it dissolved the fear that clung to your bones. The fear that he was here, lingering between the people in the crowded blue common room.

Now the liquor is fading. Numbing to a dull buzz and you decline Cedric's offer at a burning shot, thinking about how proud you'll be of yourself when you wake up tomorrow morning in bed rather than wrapped around a toilet seat and hauling up guts into the bowl.

The party, not unlike yourself, is dimming.

Students are crawling away into all corners, each with their own excuse. I have a potions essay to do or No, dude, I'm too drunk for this or Flint wants us down at the pitch for drills at eight tomorrow morning, I gotta head to bed.

The crowd, though thinning, is beginning to clump into respective circles across the room. You glance annoyed at the fireplace where the flames crack merrily. Even with your short skirt and thin satin top, the heat of the common room is stifling.

Enzo is on his fourth burning shot, it's lost it's appeal to the crowd but he seems undeterred, knocking Cedric in the shoulder with the empty shot glass motioning: another! You yawn, playing mindlessly with the ruffled sleeve of your shirt.

"Oh no," A harsh tug at your hand draws you from the lure of sleep that's fogging your mind. "The night is young, no yawning!"

Cherry has your wrist in her grip, Enzo's in the other. He blinks blearily down at his friends.

"Huh?"

"Come on," Cherry's brown eyes roll far back in her head. "Fred says they're starting Seven Minutes In Heaven. Let's go join--"

"Seven minutes--?" you laugh between words, "Cher, are you mad?"

She whines, pouting like a kicked dog. "It'll be fun. Besides, when last did you have a good fucking snog? Too long, I say!"

Somehow, you're not only convinced across the room into a spot onto the floor in a circle of a couple others, but a drink has ended up in your hand and its contents quickly down your gullet.

For the nerves, you assure yourself.

Before you know it, Angelina - who's conveniently settled beside you - is topping up your plastic cup with a nearly empty bottle of Daisyroot Draught. "This is the good stuff. Katie stashed it in, her sister works at a brewery."

You smile nervously, nod, and take a tentative sip. The pre-existing buzz in your head convinces you it's not so bad.

In the circle is a couple Gryffindors you recognise, some giggling Slytherin girls, a Ravenclaw you can't name and three members of your quidditch team. There's an open spot on the side you don't take note of.

That is until Archie Kumar is steering a grumpy, visibly drunk Oliver Wood into the open place and collapsing beside him.

Your breath catches in your throat, heart sinking into your stomach like a stone. You're halfway off the floor, suddenly desperate for the loo, when Cherry - on your left side - drags you back down to the floor.

Maybe it's Katie's sister's brew, but you tumble too easily back onto your bum.

"Relax. Just don't look at him, okay?"

You suck in another breath, eyes trained on the white moon outline sewn into the rug. "Yeah ... okay."

It doesn't hold long and when you find the Gryffindor captain again, his gaze is trained on your face. It's stone cold. You gasp quietly and look away.

"Right!" George Weasley is on his feet, setting an empty Firewhisky bottle into the centre. "Who's first?"

Alicia shuffles forward on her knees, the first of the group to move, and the bottle goes spinning. It lands on the Ravenclaw boy. He grins and she does too: Fred wolf-whistles when they stand.

The "heaven" in question is a tall oak cabinet leaning against the back wall of the common room. The pair disappear into its depths and conversation rises again as the circle waits.

You sip your drink in large gulps, trying to hold conversation with Angelina against Oliver's hot gaze that's burning a hole through the side of your face. It's difficult: the Gryffindor girl is so drunk that she's talking with her eyes closed.

Seven minutes later, there's a chorus of "time's up!", Alicia and the boy emerge another ten seconds later. They're rearranging their clothes and Alicia is as scarlet as her quidditch robes. The boy is grinning like the cat who caught the canary. You're suddenly struck with the violent urge to throw up.

The game goes on like that, round after round. Lee Jordan and Jane Emmet (your beater), Katie and Wyatt (your other beater), Cherry and a pretty Slytherin girl you don't know - she's especially chuffed when she returns, red lipstick smeared over her chin.

You're working very hard not to look at Oliver, much less think about him, but it's proving difficult. Every time the bottle takes its spin, your stomach churns.

It had occurred to you during the time that Alicia and that boy were in the closet that there was a very real chance that Oliver could be called up when one of those pretty Slytherins take their turn at the bottle. The thought had made you down the last of your drink and immediately want to vomit it all back up into your cup.

The image of their slender arms curling around his criminally wide-set shoulders, Oliver pushing them back against the inside wall of the grand closet. Would he make noise? Would he sigh or groan against their lips or whisper something about how beautiful they looked tonight in their ears--

"Ollie, you're up mate."

You can't remember who said it, but the words stripped your gaze off Angelina and straight into the pooling brown eyes you'd been avoiding all week long.

He sighed, grumbling under his breath and only with a less-than-gentle nudge from Archie, did he lean up on thighs that flexed unfairly -- bloody hell, stop it! -- and wrap his hand over the neck of the bottle: it went spinning.

The only sound you could hear was the twist of the glass against the woven rug and the hum of your own blood rushing past your ears. It stopped.

"No fucking ways." Enzo cracked from two people down.

A hand landed on your shoulder, shaking you half off your arse: Angelina. "You're up, babe! Go!"

The bottle was pointing irrefutably at your little spot in the circle.

Oliver's face was as white as you'd ever seen it when you dared look up.

"I-I'm not going in with him--" It was the first thing that came to your mind and went spluttering out your mouth.

George was laughing so hard that he'd fallen all the way onto his back. The roar of the group was ear-splitting.

"There's no ways I'm going in with her!"

"Let's end this feud once and for all," Katie bellowed over their heads. "Captain versus captain!"

You're being knocked from all sides, hands crawling under your arms and lifting you off the floor. Across the circle, Oliver is experiencing the same and before you know it: the wooden doors of the cabinet are creaking open.

"Go on!" Lee's finger is piercing your side.

Oliver is beside you but you won't look. You take one last look over your shoulder at Cherry back on the floor, she does nothing but offer a sympathetic shrug and mouths "sorry, dear".

Your hand reaches before Oliver's, flinging the door open with maybe a little too much force. It bangs against the wall behind it.

"Let's get this over with." You mumble, only half concerned that he heard you.

You slouch climbing in, the top is low and the space is even more cramped than what you assumed. To your surprise, Oliver is stepping in after you. He takes his turn at slamming the door, shutting it this time.

It's dark inside, but not enough that you can't see. Light is peaking in through the cracks and he's leaned back against the opposite wall to you.

In the narrow space, your legs are twisting around each other to stand: his one knee situated between yours. In the dimness, he folds his arms and you notice for the first time the jumper he's wearing. The purple one, you recognise it as the one he's had for years. Time has taken its toll where the jumper is clinging to life around his frame, Oliver having grown at least three times wider while the jumper has remained the same size.

"Go on, Wood, give her a kiss!"

The voice is unrecognisable but it knocks your tongue back into your mouth where you'd been ogling at his torso.

His arms are folded, proffering you with a glare that could cut through steel. He makes no visible sign that he'd heard the shout at all. You mirror him, folding your own arms.

"I'm not kissing you."

His head cocks. "Oh, so you're talking to me now?"

You suck in a sharp breath. It's not the response you're anticipating. "What?"

"So we're playing dumb?" He leans just a fraction closer. You can smell the linger of alcohol on his breath, but it doesn't work hard enough to drown out the smell of peppermint that follows him around. "Doesn't suit you, princess."

"I'm not playing anything. I don't know what you're talking about." You double down. It's probably not sustainable but the heat of his body almost against yours and the thrum of liquor in your blood makes the decision for you.

"Y've been avoiding me all week."

"I haven't"

"You're a bad liar."

You swallow hard. Embarrassment is rising again, making your head spin. Oliver's chest is puffed up in anger, you can tell because you've had five years to learn the look like the back of your hand. Except, now - as it has been for a longer time than you care to admit - it's harder to focus on the waves of fury reflecting off of him when his face is just so ... beautiful. Nose scrunched and lips pulled tight into a grimace.

It's what makes you change tactics, you think.

"So what if I was? Why does it matter?"

His arms unfold, eyes rolling so far that his head knocks back against the wood of the cupboard.

"Why?" you press, "Did you miss me, Wood?"

"Maybe I did."

He's looking at you again. For what feels like the hundredth time just tonight, your breath escapes you in a rush and your lungs struggle to grasp back at it. Your face softens without meaning to.

You blink at him.

"You did?" It's a whisper.

His arms are still folded but something clement passes like a shadow over his features.

"No."

His face betrays his words, eyes soft and lip daring to curl up at the edge.

The air in the tight space goes cold. Or maybe it's your blood. It's more likely the look on Oliver's face: like he hasn't just turned your organs to slush. You're all the way sober now.

"I'm not kissing you." You repeat dumbly, but it's gentle.

Merlin, you want to kiss him so fucking badly.

"You mentioned." He's almost, almost, smiling. It's gentle too.

The space between you falls quiet. You're suddenly overly focused on the brush of his knee between yours. His swirling brown eyes catch on the split of light creeping in past the hinge on the door.

It stays like that until your voice creeps nervously out. "I was embarrassed. Am, I am embarrassed."

A thick brow tightens in confusion. "Why?"

You huff, almost annoyed. Your eyes train on a dark spot by your intertwined feet. "Come on, Wood."

"What, about the match?" The alcohol thickens his accent.

Your silence seems to answer his question. The apples of your cheeks are warming again.

"What was I supposed to do, leave you to have you bloody soul sucked out yer body?" His voice is rising, "No, princess, I'm not apologising for that."

It's an outpour that you're not expecting. Oliver's clearly in the mood to shock and surprise tonight.

Your lips tighten around the words that are all fighting for the spot at the tip of your tongue. Silence reigns while they argue, he's still watching you with exasperation set into the lines of his face.

"Princess." You settle.

His expression twists again. "What?"

"You always call me that. Why?" It's a question that you buried long ago. But his proximity, in conjunction with the night you've had, unearths it.

It's his turn to look surprised. He grumbles some indiscernable Scottish blabber before-- "It's because y'are a princess. Spoilt and bratty. Always gets her way."

There's no malice to his response, you find. It draws a chuckle from the depths of your chest.

"Aye, right." You mimic his accent and his quip, one he's used many times at you.

He laughs. It's not a sound you hear often and it's setting your whole nervous system alight like a tangled bunch of christmas lights. His whole body's shaking with it, head resting back against the wood again, and you really do think you might grab him and kiss him -- when the door flies open again: seeping his whole body in yellow light.

Alicia's standing at the opening, grin wide as night is wide and clearly expectant on catching you with your tongues down each other's throats.

If she'd given you another three seconds she just might have.

"Oh." She slumps in disappointment, looking back over her shoulder and shaking her head to the expectant crowd. They groan collectively. "Well, love birds, your time is up."

You'd almost forgotten where you were. Oliver clears his throat, the ghost of his laugh impossible to find on his face, and clambers over your legs out into the common room again. He doesn't pass without brushing his hand over yours.

It's nearly three in the morning when Enzo finally lets up.

His long legs are sprawled across the midnight blue couch in the middle of the common room. Fiona, a lovely Ravenclaw girl you'd met just tonight, shrugs at you: "Don't stress it. He can crash here tonight."

The party is long since dead. Seven Minutes In Heaven had looped another three rounds before everyone had gotten their chance in the dusty cupboard and began to grumble in boredom.

You'd avoided Oliver's eyes the whole time again, sure that if you looked he'd be able to read the fondness on your face.

It wasn't long after that the last of the students dissolved in the direction of their respective bedrooms. With your dear friend in good hands with the Ravenclaws, you loop your arm with Cherry - knocking against her side towards the portal.

You've barely pushed it ajar when she breaks off you, "Hold on, I need to get my Transfig notes from Jacob!"

"Cher, it's three in the morning?"

Alcohol is directing her legs in the opposite direction clumsily, "I'll wake him. If I fail another quiz, Mcgee's gonna have my arse."

She's gone before she catches your call: "I'll find you outside!"

The portal creaks where you shove it open again. The corridor is dimly lit and colder than the common room and a shiver chases up your exposed legs.

"Bloody hell." You run a hand over your forearms.

It's quiet too, and empty besides the Gryffindor captain leaning against the stone wall closest to the entrance you've just emerged from.

"Merlin," your eyes find his. "Not you again."

The flush over your cheeks is warding off the chill.

Oliver shrugs. "Me again."

An awkward silence permeates. Against better judgement, you shuffle forward, leaning against the wall beside him. He doesn't react, arms folded and staring into the inky abyss of the corridor leading out to the rest of the castle.

"Why're you out here?" You ask, tucking your hands between your back and the wall.

"Archie." He huffs out, voice wrapped in annoyance. "He's in there with Penelope. I gave him ten minutes."

Ah, Penelope Clearwater. She'd joined the game in the last round. A good thing too because Oliver's friend was looking more crestfallen as the bottle spun again and again, surpassing him each time. Penelope had taken the last turn, ending up with her hair in every direction and Archie's spectacles leaning half off his face when they emerged from the cupboard.

"You?"

The eddy of average conversation is strange, but you find you like it.

"Cherry." You hum. "Something about quiz notes."

He drops his head back against the wall.

"That what they calling it now?"

It startles you, head tilting to stare up at the side of his face with a grin: "oh, Wood’s got jokes now? I didn’t know it was possible for you to make a joke."

His eyes flutter shut, a twinkle of laughter bubbling out of his frame. Tucking his head down to his chest, he shrugs against his own light chuckle. "I have them. I just don’t share them with you."

You giggle back at him. "Right. Well then you better stop smiling there, someone might walk past and think we’re friends."

He shakes his head, the sound of his snicker fading but leaving behind the imprint of a smile. "Nobody’s gonna think that."

You lean back again, eyes drifting over the low ceiling. Quiet falls again - not uncomfortable - and you let it linger for a moment. A thought tugs on a loose string in your mind, not a new one, but one you’ve carefully buried over time.

It comes falling out your mouth. "You ever think about how it might be ... if things were different?"

The question grants you a look out the side of his eye. "Different?"

"Y’know," you shrug, the very last remains of alcohol are ebbing and unsureness is replacing where it stood. "If we … we had—"

"If you hadn’t suckered me in the bloody nose?" His words are unexpectedly fond.

You laugh at him, "If you hadn’t deserved to be suckered in the bloody nose."

He draws in a long breath, not answering. It prompts you.

"We could have been friends." You whisper, more to your chest than to him really.

But he hears it. "We would never be friends."

It stings sharper than it should. Your shoulders go stiff and the corners of your eyes sting inexplicably, turning the corridor blurry. A dying fire revives in your chest, blistering the cave, reminding you why Oliver Wood has been nothing but a stake in your side since you were thirteen years old.

"Of course. How stupid of me, for a minute I forgot what an absolute arsehole you are." You push off the wall, intent in going to dig out Cherry from the depths of the Ravenclaw dormitory. "Goodnight, Wood."

An arm wraps around your waist, not unlike it'd done a week ago in the air of the quidditch pitch, lurching you into him until you're pressed back against the cool stone of the corridor wall.

Oliver looms over you, crouched so that your nose bumps against his. "Don't sulk, princess."

It all happens at once: his hands grab onto the fat of your hips, digging in there like he really does hate you, and lips crash against yours like maybe he doesn't at all.

He stays there, unmoving for a second that feels a year long.

Where the inside of your brain had been buzzing with runaway threads of thought, ribbons streaking out in all directions: they disappear in a sizzling light. Oliver Wood is kissing me.

You melt against him, tipping up onto your toes and latch onto muscled shoulders. He seemingly takes that as his cue, pressing you closer against his body with his arm - lifting you half off the wall.

He tastes like the remnants of Firewhisky and pumpkin juice, the flavour setting every nerve ending in your body on fire. Lips soft but persistent while his hands grip onto you like you'd dissolve into dust if he didn't.

It's aggressive, but familiar in that way. Oliver is nothing if not hot-blooded and his touch, darting between your hips and your face is turning you tipsy again.

"If you want a friend," It's muffled when he speaks, punctuating his words with hot wet kisses, "go be friends with Ryo."

It's only in this moment, with his desperation mirroring in the glimpses of sugar brown irises you catch where he's fluttering his eyes over your face, that it dawns on you.

"Jealous much?"

He growls lowly and it makes you giggle against him, your hands slithering up into the hairs at the base of his neck. Oliver shakes his head against you, still huffing in disbelief.

"Shut up." It's accent-heavy and bleeds a hole through the bottom of your stomach. "You're such a fucking brat."

"And you're a fucking prick."

He huffs lowly, you press harder to him: solidifying the sentiment. Somehow the bickering makes it all sweeter, like you're dissolving cotton candy against your tongue where his swoops over it.

You'd just about forgotten where you were when a creak echoes down the corridor. Halfway to ignoring it in favour of Oliver's touch, your situation dawns on you in the same moment it does him.

Like you'd both licked the end of a live wire, you and Oliver jolt back a foot, hands diving to your respective sides.

Cherry is standing against the light of the common room behind her, a lanky Archie parked beside her. Their eyes are wide and Cherry's hand is against her jaw in shock.

"Oh my god." She mumbles against it.

Blood is rushing to your face and out the corner of your eye, Oliver is running a hand over the hair that's sticking in all directions from the influence of your fingers.

Cherry is laughing breathily, eyes still wide and white in surprise. "Oh my god."

Archie's eyes are flickering between you and Oliver.

"Sorry to interrupt." He says, a smirk curling onto his features.

It jumpstarts your entire system. You step forward, grabbing Cherry by the arm.

"Well," you nod at Archie and at Oliver, not daring to meet his eyes, "goodnight then."

You march with fervour, half-dragging her in the direction of the Hufflepuff common room until your figure disappears behind the next corridor.

Oliver stands with his hands hanging at his side dumbly. He swipes a finger of his bottom lip, still tasting the strawberry lip gloss you'd left there.

"Can't say I didn't see this coming, mate." A hand claps over his shoulder.

He groans, running both hands over his face, and Archie shakes him lightly.

"So ... how was it?"

With another groan, Oliver shoves Archie's hand off of him. "Bloody hell, Arch."

Archie throws his head of curly black hair back, laughing so loud it bounces off the wall. "That good, huh?"

(part two/final part)

don't forget to comment and repost if you enjoyed :)

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arminsumi · 1 month ago

Note

Hi❣️ may i request Suguru Geto with Honey + Pure Sugar + strawberry syrup?

... a bad boy!Suguru whisks you away on his thick Harley 'n wants to put a baby in you. He proposes marriage after only knowing you for two weeks, 'cause he's fucking crazy.

ㅤ★ promptlist

ㅤ★ cws; strictly no under 18s, smut, unprotected sex, breeding kink, creampie, aftercare 🫶

Ah, fuck, why'd you always have to fall for the bad boys? Worse, why did you feel turned on when you watched their knuckles go white just before punching someone's lights out in a bar fight?

Thumb flicking off the excess blood on his cheek, Suguru Geto eyed you up and apologized in a sweet voice, "Sorry, I hate to do this in front of beautiful women." and then eyed you up for the second time before asking, "What's your name?"

That blood smudged off on your cheek 'cause immediately after introducing yourself through a horny stutter, his tongue was exploring your mouth and the two of you were indulging in the sloppiest, nastiest open-mouthed kiss right there at the bar, in the neon lights.

Lips wetted by his filthy kiss, you blinked at him like you've never been so lovestruck before and he focused in on you and only you — then he asked if you wanted to blow this joint. You batted your lashes at him and nodded with starry eyes, too turned on and starstruck to think that maybe you shouldn't abandon Girl's Night for a pierced up and tatted guy bearing a toothy grin and a biker gang emblem on his jacket.

And then you remember trotting outside to his parked motorcycle, giggling like a teenager as your friends yelled for you to come to your senses because you were hopping onto the back of a Harley with Suguru Geto. But it was no use, because you were turned on by the tattoos in his skin and the lingering smoke on his lips and the devilish look in his eyes and the greasy black hair that passed his shoulders and the way his cock made an outline in his leather pants and the way his gloved hands gripped the handles of his motorcycle and how erotic he made smoking seem.

A two week honeymoon with this bad boy, feeding on each other's lust and feasting on each other's bodies and fucking like animals against the walls of a hotel room and sometimes on the bed but nah, usually you got fucked off the bed and onto the floor.

He inhaled at your neck, getting high on your scent 'n starting to thrust harder into you 'cause of it.

"Mm, why do you smell so fucking good...? It's driving me insane." he purrs, rolling his hips 'n grinding his cockhead deep inside your weeping pussy 'till you start choking up because of the depth he reaches.

"I-I dunno, I'm probably ovulating." you innocently squeaked in reply.

"Oh, fuck... really?" he moaned at that, swallowing back his spit in a way that sounded like he started salivating at the thought of knocking you up. Then he slid his hands down and pried your pussy lips wide apart before thrusting into you, his cock frenzied for your ovulating pussy.

Practically glued together, lips locked and tongues fighting, Suguru nearly crushed you under all his muscle as he started fucking you like he was gonna breed your sweet little body.

You naturally leg-locked his slim waist, and he grunted out a "Stay still f'me, doll, 'm gonna fill you with my babies." to which you cried out a string of "Yesyesyesplease!"

Feeling your nails dig into his sides as he rocked his hips into you made his head spin and his cock explode. You rubbed frantically at your clit, came all over him, feeling the sensation of his warm cum filling you up.

Collapsing on you, a panting mess, moans still spilled from his lips as he felt the aftershocks of his orgasm. Next moment, you're giggling and he's rolling off of you and snuggling you in a sweaty afterglow.

Some surprisingly dorky joke comes out his mouth. He pinches at your cheeks. His bicep rests against your side as he holds you. Too tired to clean up yet, but that's fine because Suguru's enjoying the smell of you 'n he hopes all his clothes will smell like you for a while.

"Shit, let's get married... let's just get fucking married. What do you say?" he murmured in a daze, clutching your body tightly, a large hand coming to wipe the sweat off your cheek.

"You're crazy!" you giggled back to him, smilingly biting your thumb and kicking your feet with a ridiculous excitement. "We hardly know each other. And you're a bad boy."

"Aw, come on, I'm not that bad." he grins.

You kick your legs off the bed and sit at the edge, preparing to go to the bathroom. He checks you out; the curve of your back calling out to him to make it arch.

"Maybe you are, maybe you aren't." you teasingly shimmy your shoulders at him.

Suguru grabs at you, groaning and reluctantly letting you slip out his fingers and watching your ass intently as you trot over to the bathroom, 'till you're disappearing behind the door. He rolls over onto his back, looks up at the ceiling, and thinks about how he's gonna get you.

#★ 𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐔𝐏!#mdni #smut #tw: smut #geto smut #geto suguru smut #suguru smut #geto sugu x reader #geto suguru x you #suguru x reader #geto x reader #geto x you #suguru geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jujutssu kaisen x you

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slut4jeon · 11 months ago

Text

Everybody knows I’m a good girl, officer (jjk)

Pairing: Officer!Jk x fem reader

Sypnosis: Tiredly calling it a night after attending your workplaces celebration New Year's Eve party. You may have or not ran through a stop sign foolishly thinking no one would have been around to witness it…oh how wrong you were

Warnings: mature (18+), smut, degradation, unprotected sex, Voyeurism, don't read this if this does not interest you!! You have been warned!

Note: I had this prepared early Jan but tumblr didn’t save my writing :(( so I gave up on it lmao. I also really wanted to write smth w tsx jungkook. The police trend w the Lana song gave me inspo for this although the actual trend isn’t in the fic.

You were calling it a night, exiting the noisy building that is your workplace. There was a currently a party in the building where your coworkers were celebrating the New Year's.

You were tired. The loud music and chatters annoying you. You chose a safer route tonight, sticking to sparkling cider since you were driving yourselves home tonight.

The cold air hitting your bare skin leaving goosebumps over your entire figure as youstep out into the windy area heading towardsyour parked car.

That's the consequence of wanting to look good and presentable for a celebration, you of course always look stunning. It doesn't hurt to get ready. You were currently sporting a black ysl mini along with a deep v neckline and a pair of matching black pumps. The shoes, also annoying by how sore they left your feet.

Black heels clicking onto the floor as you begin entering your car as you drove into the pitch black night. Admiring the way the twinkling city lights look, along with the lit up buildings and lampposts. You got a little too carried away when you were oblivious to the stop sign you foolishly didn't stop and passed by.

Regret lingered in your chest as you panicked over your foolish action. Perhaps you'd be fine as it is the late night and no cars were present, oh how wrong you were.

The sound of a police siren began ringing as the bright red and blue lights gaining up on the tail of your car. You pulled onto the side of the road swiftly and put your car in park. Your trembly hands gripping both hands onto the steering wheels most definitely leaving your palms and knuckles white. That's when you heard 3 knocks on your left side window.

"Shit" you muttered. Feeling a rise of mixed movement in your lower belly as you begin lowering your window. There you met the gaze of a handsome officer.

"Driving late on New Years Day? When everybody's drinking and celebrating tonight. License and registration." He spewed with a hint of sarcasm.

"Yes, of course." Your hand quickly traveled to your glove compartment pulling out the documents. Then, pulled your license from your clutch.

As he inspected you couldn't help but gaze at him. His raven black sleek parted hair showing off a bit of forehead. His black button up dress shirt that was tucked in the matching black jeans, and rolled up from the sleeves stopping before the elbows to show off his meaty arms that were covered in artworks of tattoos.

The stern look he holds as looking at your documents. The burrowed brow and line wrinkles in between the brows. He was attractive, godly attractive.

"Step out the vehicle for me" he said. You did as told

You couldn't help but gaze at him. He was an attractive specimen. But soon you were ripped out of your thoughts.

"Walk along that yellow line"

"Officer I'm not drunk or anything of the sor-" you were interrupted

"You were given instructions. I expect you to follow them." he bluntly said

Obeying his words you stepped foot onto the yellow line. The cold air doing you no justice as you were trembling from it.

What you weren't aware of was how he stared at your ass that was threatening to spill out of the little piece of flimsy material you call a dress.

Turning around, his gaze caught you off guard at how he stared at you as a helpless little fawn about to be hunt down by a hungry wolf.

"I'm gonna pat you down. Step right by the car for me, palms flat onto the vehicle", he demanded.

Swiftly obeying, you got into position. Beginning his pat down inspection from head to toe. His muscular hands roamed over your body. You wondered whether your goosebumps was from the cold wind or his slithering fingers tracing over your open skin.

As he got lower and lower, padding the waist and soon hips he made sure to grope onto your flesh just in case of any dangerous possessions.

You were a whimpering mess, biting into your bottom lip to suppress any noise coming out of your mouth. The attractive officer had an effect on you. Especially when passing your thighs and ankles, rising back to the top his movement slowed as he reached back to your thighs.

You let out suppressed mewls as his fingers inched towards your inner thighs. Your legs were gonna give up at any threatening moment. You questioned whether he caught onto your reaction to his touch.

His fingers were dangerous close to your soaking cunt. You were took aback at his touch you could not longer suppress the noises that urged to come pass your lips. Your heat was aching for his touch.

He took notice to your glistening folds in with your juices threatening to spill out of your wine red lace panties. The officer could no longer resist the temptation of the sweet treat in front of him.

Riding your dress a bit up his face inched closer to your cunt, nose and all. Hooking his fingers onto your panties and pushing them aside, he ate you out from behind. Your knees about to give in as he ate your pussy like a starved man. His tongue lapped over your clit playing with the cute bud left you a whiny mess.

"Please” you voiced out quietly

How cute, the officer thought. His fingers lathered your juices, leaving them coated and dripping. The sudden intrusion of his long fingers intruding into the tight ring of your hole.

With your mouth agape, your mind was left into a frenzy at how good the officer worked his fingers into your soaking cunt.

"Clenching onto my fingers, aren't you a little eager thing?", he said

You looked back to him to see his pretty pouty lips all swollen and tinted from eating you out. Your juices trailing down his chin and neck. He looked too edible.

He sensed you were near as your gummy walls clamped onto his fingers. Quickly pulling them out and robbing you of your release you mewled at the empty feeling.

You were a minx he thought. His cock hardening and imprinting his jeans. The feeling got only tighter as his fingers savored the taste of your pussy juices that coated his index and middle.

He needed more. Turning your body swiftly around the officer face to face with you connected both mouths together. His hands sneaked onto your hips and lower onto your ass making sure to grip the plumpy flesh.

You couldn't help out moan into his mouth as you both were in ecstasy. You needed more.

"Need to fuck that pussy, will you let me pretty thing?", who were you to deny him?

Eagerly nodding your head in confirmation. "Words, pretty", the officer said

"Please fuck me", you said in a desperate manner. That's all it took for him to roughly turn you around and begin grinding his hard length into your ass.

Desperate for friction you pushed out for him, like a bitch in heat. Your dress being a nuisance for him he unzipped you, freeing your bare body to be in display of his hungry eyes.

You wore no bra as the dress had padding, all you were left in was your wine lace panties. His lips traveled from your neck to breasts. Scattering marks as if he were leaving burns.

The way his teeth clamped onto your bud, sucking and pulling. Something about the way you were fully bare at his mercy as he remained fully clothed while he played with your pussy had you rubbing your thighs together.

"Officer please, fuck me!", you could no longer take it.

He smirked at your eagerness. Finding it humorously cute at how much of a cock hungry whore you are.

Your ears perked at the noise of him fumbling with his belt. His cock sprung free fully erect as he began aligning it to your entrance.

"O-oh! Fuck.., officer!", you blabbered incoherently as the intrusion of his length stretched your hole.

"-shit, such a tight little pussy", his pace greedily fastened.

You were a mess. All that was heard in the quiet night was the way he rammed his cock into your pussy. Balls slapping against your clit.

"Such a whore you are, aren't you? You like getting rammed from behind by an officer out in the outdoors?" he said as he continued abusing your cunt.

"Who would've thought a pretty thing like you was such a dirty slut, huh?" Your walls clenched by each word coming out of his filthy mouth.

"yes!yes!yes!", he fucked you deliciously good, your orgasm threatening to approach with his current pace.

You were cock drunk. Barely paying any kind of attention to the fact you were getting rammed out in public. Any person or car could pass by but your mind would only be focused on the way his dick drilled at a relentless speed.

His fingers sinked to your clit, rubbing your bud provoking your body to tremble in ecstasy of how he worked wonders on your body.

"Sir, i-it's too much!"

"You can take it ,baby. Milk my cock, make a mess.”

His words were perfectly on cue. Creaming his cock in your release. Falling limp into his arms. His release wasn't too far off yours. Head leaning into your neck as both of your panted. Silence went on for a few minutes before he helped with re-dressing you.

The officer broke the silence, "So, the names Jungkook. Could we perhaps exchange numbers, I'd like to take you out sometime soon.”

end

#jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #bts imagines #jungkook x female reader #jungkook imagine #bts jungkook #fanfiction #fanfic #bts fanfic

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amathslutsguidetofandom · 5 months ago

Note

You just moved in the house next door to Bucky’s and when he welcomes you to the neighborhood, he completely forgets what he was going to say cause he’s stunned by your beauty and he eventually asks you if you want to hangout with him and Steve which you immediately accept🥰

Never Been More Sure

PAIRINGS: Construction Worker!James "Bucky" Barnes x Reader

WARNINGS: FLUFF, overworked reader, reader needs a break, loud music. Grumpy Bucky

WORD COUNT: 1,644

*not proof-read*

ENJOY!

His grip on the hammer tightens as he hears the base from the house next door increases.

“Jesus,” he mutters, Bucky looks at his watch as see that’s it three in the afternoon. He then looks at Steve, “who the hell would be listening to music this loud at this time of day?”

Steve looks up from the blueprints and squints his eyes at the house next to the one they’re working on and hears the bass he’s best friend was talking about. “Dunno man,” he shrugs.

The house flipping project was not knew to Bucky’s experience, but it was albeit different from his usual construction work, but when the man who own the company, who also happens to be his best friend, tells him he needs some help, Bucky’s up and ready to help.

He enjoyed renovating the house, but what he did not enjoy was the loud music playing from the house next door.

It would always be the same playlist every day, at the same hour, at maximum volume.

He’d always grit his teeth as he felt the vibrations through out the entirety of the house.

***

He parks his truck in the driveway and steps out, Bucky looks up into the sky and see’s the orange hue of the rising sun tainting the blue sky.

He sighs and walks into the house gets all the equipment up and ready for action.

Steve arrives a little while later and sets up too, they talk about random updates on their lives when Steve stops to a specific topic.

“Oh, and the person next door, the one that blasts the music is apparently new to the neighbourhood too,” he says as he uses a hammer to nail in some wooden floorboards.

Bucky pauses as he holds some tiles under his arm, “yeah?”

To which Steve nods too, “yeah.”

***

There is it, again.

The bass.

Bucky shakes his head in annoyance and rubs the bridge of his nose trying to push away the oncoming headache.

Steve had to go and get some caulk for the bathroom, so it was only Bucky working out some things.

“Fuck this shit,” he drops his tools and walks out of the house in his beige construction boots.

He was on the sidewalk to the house next door; he sees the plants on the porch and the little metal porch table and chair on the corner. With each step towards the house, the bass gets louder.

Walking up to the door he clenches his jaw as he hears his heart thumps to the beat of the base, he clenches his knuckles and knocks on the door a bit too loudly.

***

Your mind was too focused on working on your code and trying to find your bug and trying to understand why your program runs on an infinite loop, that you almost did not hear the loud knock on your door.

Your mind reels itself back into the real world, where Freddie Mercury screams through your house about some woman being a killer queen.

You walk to your front door, as you do you feel the base course through your body, providing you’re tension some sort of release. You open the door to see a 6’ something beefy man with hair till his shoulders, the bluest eyes you’ve seen, and a pair of construction vest and a hard hat.

You, however, are cladded in a tank top and red flannel pyjama pants.

“Uh hi, may I help you?” you look at him confuse, like you weren’t totally checking him out a few seconds ago.

I mean you really can’t blame you, when he is doing the exact same thing as you were: checking you out.

***

Bucky taps his foot impatiently waiting for the door to be opened, and when it does the string of cuss words that he had planned to use evaporates from his tongue.

He takes in your messy hairdo and the glasses that perch on your nose.

His heart stutters for a sec, he can’t even bring himself to answer the question you asked. And when you repeat it again, he just lets out a serious of “uh’s” and “um’s”.

You look at him questioningly, wondering what a construction worker would be doing around these parts. Then you remember the house that’s being renovated on your left.

“Oh you the guys working on house next to mine, yeah?” You say as you lean against your doorframe.

Bucky stands straighter and gets himself together. “Uh, yes ma’am,” he nods he scratches his stubble.

“I’m sorry for knocking so loud, ma’am. But I’ve been working on the house for a few weeks now and I can’t help but hear the…. music from your house,” he says looking into your eyes and stuffing his hands into the hands of his cargo shorts.

You blush immediately, “shit. Oh my god, I’m so sorry it’s just when I get locked into my work. I just need some loud base so it does get loud in the noggin’,” you say and tap on your temple, and then cringe.

WHO THE FUCK SAYS NOGGIN

To your luck, Bucky chuckles at your little stunt and nods.

“What work needs music so loud that it can break the sound barrier,” he crosses his arm and gives you a smirk.

Your legs almost turn to jelly at his smirk.

“Well, um, I code…...A lot. I work in Machine Learning,” you say as your wring your hands and laugh nervously.

Bucky raises a brow, impressed at your revelation of what you do for a living.

“Impressive. Well then, I really shouldn’t say anything that would affect your work-,” he starts but you cut immediately.

“No, no, no, it’s my fault I’ll reduce the volume. I should’ve done it sooner, but I was just seriously locked in. I’m like running on five cups of coffee, it’s literally insane. My boss thinks that I am able to code an entire authentication system in two weeks, and that’s where she her screws are loose in her head. Cuz, no one in the entire world can build an entire TWO-WAY authentication system in two weeks. Like who does she think I am Mark Zuckerberg, I can’t-,”

You pause as you realise, you’re going on a rant. Bucky’s eyes are slightly raised in shock.

“Sorry I really shouldn’t be rambling about my job to some stranger, I’ll lower the volume Mr…,” you drag the last bit hoping he’ll finish it off you.

“Barnes, James Barnes. But my friends call me Bucky,” he sticks his hand out and asks for yours, which you tell gladly.

“And don’t worry, we all have those days,” he says giving you a little nod of sympathy.

You smile softly at his efforts and thank him before giving a tight smile and a “See you later” and closing the door of your humble abode.

***

Bucky notices the reduced volume of the music in the following days, he smiles as he can only hear the traces of the 80’s/90’s music you play from your home.

Steve see’s the look Bucky has as he watches your house.

“Have you met ‘em?” Steve asks as he continues to tile the kitchen.

Bucky, without looking away from the house, responds with a yes.

Steve chuckles, “you gave ‘em a piece of your mind? Threaten ‘em? Is that why their music is barely audible now, hmm?”

Bucky shakes his head, “she’s gorgeous, Steve.” He remembers how you were dressed with you first opened the door and it made his heart flutter again.

“Yeah?” Steve asks, with a smirk on his face. Bucky death glares at Steve, to which Steve chuckles at.

The blonde looks at his watch as sighs, “well it’s time for lunch, wanna clock out?” To which Bucky nods to.

Soon they make it to Bucky’s truck and Bucky can’t help but stare at your house.

“Ask her if she wanna join,” Steve pushes Bucky in your direction.

“Should I? I dunno man,” the brunette scratches the back of his neck. Steve just rolls his eyes and shoves Bucky to the stairs leading up to your porch.

***

You excepted there would be a bug in your code. But what you didn’t expect was your doorbell to ring.

You got up and felt your grey sweats unstick from your thighs, you shudder at the feeling.

You make your way to the door and open it up to reveal the man you were secretly hoping it would be.

Bucky.

“Hey Bucky, gosh I hope the music isn’t loud again,” you laugh nervously to which Bucky shakes his head and reassures you.

“It’s perfect, doll. Greatly appreciated,” he smiles giving a soft smile.

You return with your own and then a confused look glazes your face, “oh, great. Then, why are you…?”

Bucky helps you finish the sentence, “My co-worker and I were heading to grab some lunch, just wanted to check in and ask if you wanted to join us?”

“Oh,” you look behind him and see and equally handsome blonde man waving in your direction with a 100-percent-typical-American-golden-boy smile. You nervously wave back and look back at Bucky, “Oh I don’t wanna impose.”

Bucky huffs and chuckles, “you ain’t imposing, Doll. I’m offering.” He raises a brow in question, waiting for your answer.

“How long have you been at your computer?” he asks straightforward. You reel you head back in slight confusion at the sudden change of topic, “uh, since this morning?”

Bucky nods and replies, “you need a break.”

That you didn’t disagree with, since you are desperate for one.

But you feel as though you’d disturb Bucky and his friends lunch.

“You sure I won’t be imposing?” you ask him as you bite your lip.

“Never been more sure of anything else in my life, doll.”

💌💌💌

Hey Lovelies! this has been sitting in my drafts for a while now, and I FINALLY finished it. My deepest apologies @sergeantbarnessdoll for not completing it sooner, it isn't the same as you asked I hope that's all good 🤧🤧🤧.

This was also a fix I was planning to make! ( a fix that included a construction worker Bucky Barnes’s, cuz that AU is soooo underrated)

Lemme know what y'all think!

Till' then,

Stay Coquette-y,

Anya 🫶🏽🕊️🎀

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x you #james bucky barnes #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes au #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fanfic #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader smut #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x female reader #constructionworker!bucky barnes x reader

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bluerosefox · 10 months ago

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Our Strengths

"What do we do now? Tucker asked. His voice cracking with stress and worry as he stared at the scene before him not able to look away as his best friend and his family were being dragged out of their home.

Danny cuffed in anti-ghost cuffs and knocked the heck out with a ecto-gun pointed at his skull by one of the GIW agents, they eventually tossed Danny into their van that was parked right outside the Fenton Works. Jazz was pleading, begging them to let her brother go, even though she too was cuffed and not caring that another gun was at her back. Maddie was hissing like angry feral mama cat at the two agents, ignoring the other two that were holding her shoulders to keep her from squirming around and saying "you dare touch a single hair on my babies I will rip-" before she too was lead away to the GIW van. The last to come out was Jack and he looked haunted and stressed, and despite being a huge guy he was trying to make himself look small. He too was sent into the van, and one of the last things Tucker could see before the doors close was Jack kneeling down next to Danny and going to cradle him but being stopped by the GIW agent in the van.

Sam chewed on her lip, her eyes wide and wild as she tried to think of... well anything to save her friend and his family from this.

To think Vlad would be so petty after Danny finally told his parents about being Phantom and them accepting and loving him regardless and even apologizing for trying to hurt him that he would go and tattle to the GIW about Phantom.

Danny hadn't even told them about Vlad being a halfa either. Not even a bit. All Danny told them was that Vlad made him super uncomfortable. About how the guy seemed obsessed with his mom but seemed to be shifting his obsession to him.

And for once Jack listened, especially after Maddie finally told him the times the man flirted with her and had even tried getting her to leave Jack. With only Danny. No mention of Jazz, only Danny.

After that Jack turned papa bear mode.

Say what you will about Jack Fenton but his love for his family outweighs any kind of friendship.

So yeah Vlad finding himself being 'cut out' of the Fenton's lives, realizing the only times he could even get close to Maddie and Danny was because Jack was always welcoming to him, and finding out Jack point blank said he no longer wanted him around his family, he raged and decided to get back at Danny was to go tell the GIW about him being Phantom.

No doubt the creep was going to show up later, 'save' them and start making demands or indebt them to him.

And now here they were. The Fenton's, after being told about Phantom, were being unjustified hauled away by the GIW while all of Amity watches from the streets and despite the protest from, mostly teens, Amity Parkers no one could do anything with both weapons pointed at them or the 'law' decree.

Closing her eyes, Sam took a breath. When she opened them back up she finally looked away as the van and the rest of the GIW began to leave, her hands clutched so tight that her knuckles were turning a deadly white. When she finally released her grip she felt something in her hand.

Confused, Sam opened her hand and gasped as she recognized a familiarish green sticky note and words written in purple ink. She's never read any of the sticky notes CW would send Danny but she has seen them appear out of no where.

She read the note, ignoring Tuckers questioning, and once done she snapped her head to look at him. It was so fast that Tucker jumped for a second. Her eyes were alight with a new found kindle of hope, determination, and a plan.

"Sam? What is it?" Tucker finally asked once more, he had a feeling whatever she had in mind was going to be insane but if it sent by CW and meant to save his best friend he'd do it.

"We play into our strengths and get some help." She said as she brought the sticky note up for him to see.

"Help? From who?" Tucker asked as he took the note and instantly noticed the drawn symbols on the bottom. When he snapped his head back up to look at Sam his mouth fell open and he said in shock, awe, and disbelief "No. No way. Them? But I thought-"

"Gonna stop you right there Tucker. Remember what Dani told us last month? About that new under the radar teen hero group?" Sam cut in.

"OOoooh. Them.... Yeah I can totally get behind asking them over asking the adults." Tucker responded, his mind coming up with a plan as the sticky note words played into his head 'Use your strengths'

"Good we have no time to loose. I'll contact Dani to find out where we can find their base, you get ready to hack and find what you can so I can use it to help... persuade them into helping us."

-x-x-

Young Justice was having a normal, well as normal as a bunch of super-powered and very well trained teens could have day.

Or at least it was until their comms and entire system were hacked by an unknown hacker, a goth girl appearing on their main sceen and her saying this

"Hey, Young Justice right? Look I'll be blunt about this. We need help, our best friend and his family got taken by some shady government jerks that wanna experiment on him and we need to save them. It's a long story. However, we do not like the JL too much and don't trust them, we have our reasons, so to make sure you don't go crying to them, we're taking your systems hostage and blackmailing you with things our hacker found out." Her eyes narrowed at them, her face in a scowl and it left no room for negotiations at all, she was determined to get things her way "So that's the deal. Help us save our best friend and his family while not letting the JL know, and we let go of your systems and forget about what we found out."

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wttcsms · 1 year ago

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we play our fantasies out in real life ways ; shouto todoroki.

pairing shouto todoroki x f!reader word count 2.7k synopsis knocking up his sugar baby seems (and feels) like a dream come true for the future ceo and youngest son of japan’s richest conglomerate family. content contains sugar daddy!shouto, yandere themes, car sex, creampie, breeding kink, quirkless au, ceo!shouto, tiny daddy kink author’s notes this is a repost of an old fic but pls tell me we are still horny 4 shouto. also ignore the Tesla promo, i was feeling silly when i wrote this </3

He can have anything he wants, you know.

And of course you know this. Of course you do. It’s hard to ignore this fact whenever he’s the exact reason your closet is overflowing with more dresses than you know what to do with; why your dresser can barely stay shut due to the amount of lacy lingerie you’ve had to shove in them; why you’re a third year college student driving to campus with a brand new Mercedes that technically isn’t even supposed to be out on the market ‘til next month.

He can have anything he wants, and because you’re his, by extension, you have the power to make all your material wishes come true, too. All you have to do is ask him.

All you have to do is look up at him and give him those puppy dog eyes of yours and say, “please, daddy, can I cum?” and he’ll let you. You know he will, because stoic Shouto Todoroki, the future CEO and prized son of the Todoroki clan that happens to be one of the most famous conglomerate families in all of Japan, just can’t seem to say no to you. He signs off multi-billion yen deals as easily as one blinks and running multiple companies is just something he’s been born to do. It’s no easy feat to give commands to such a powerful man.

And yet, one look and a tiny whimper is all it takes to turn him into putty in your hands.

It’s always an out of body experience when you’re with Shouto. Being with him is like constantly being the main character of a movie. He rents out entire restaurants so the two of you can dine away from prying eyes. He sends you good morning and good night texts every single day. (One time you joked about him forcing his assistant to do it because there’s no way a busy man like him would ever have time to do something so insignificant; he didn’t like that you couldn’t seem to wrap your head around the concept of you being someone very important to him.) Shouto is incredibly good to you, incredibly good for you.

He’s incredibly good with a lot of things. Taking care of you, for one. Taking care of all his businesses, for another. And right now, he’s taking real good care of your cunt when he’s got three of his fingers knuckles deep in you.

The windows to his sleek, outrageously priced car are tinted so dark, even you struggle to see through the windshield. You always tell him it’s dangerous, but he reminds you that there are always reasons for the things he does. You wonder if getting tinted windows so he could fuck his college student sugar baby with some semblance of privacy is the reason.

And then all thinking on your end comes to a stop when he nips at the skin of your neck, biting down softly and getting you to let out a tiny whimper. It doesn’t hurt. You don’t think Shouto is even capable of hurting you; not because you’re some unbreakable being, but because you don’t think the calloused hands that have caressed every centimeter of your body is capable of harming you.

The two of you are currently parked in the lot right outside the building where his main office is located. In about ten minutes, the parking lot will be flooded with employees who have just clocked out and are getting ready to speed home. In about ten minutes, anyone could accidentally (or purposely) become a little voyeur to the activities going down in the future CEO’s luxury car.

Your back is pressed against his chest. More often than not, you find yourself naked while he’s practically still dressed, and it’s the same thing that’s happening right now. The buttons on his shirt are digging into your back, but you can’t find it in you to complain. Instead, you focus on gripping the wrist of the hand that’s in between your thighs. The sleeves of his button down shirt are rolled up, and if you take your tiny fingers just a bit higher, you can feel the veins running down his arm.

“Tell me what you want, baby.” The baritone of his voice is smooth, calm, collected — in control. Because you can make any request in the world, and Shouto will fulfill it for you, but that does not mean that you are the one who makes the final decisions. At the end of the day, everything you have, everything that is given to you, is because of him, because of the decisions he makes for you.

His eagerness to gift you the world thinly veils the true depth of your submission to him. A subconscious part of you is well aware of the power imbalance in this relationship, but if all has been well these past two years, then surely it’ll only be smooth sailing from here?

You lean back, leaning into his warmth, breathing deeply to inhale the scent of his spicy cologne that costs more than your textbooks (that he bought for you).

“D-daddy.” You moan out, trying to coax him deeper in your tight little cunt, as if his fingers aren’t already as deep as they can go, spreading out your hole to prep you for what he knows you truly crave.

“You’ve got to speak up, love. I can’t give you anything if you don’t tell me what to give you.” His breath is warm against your ear, and it’s so hot in the car. So, so hot. You wonder if it’s just you feeling the heat, though. Shouto seems as collected as ever, not the least bit uncomfortable at all.

“Mmm — w-want you.” You wriggle a bit in his lap, but his free hand grips your side and squeezes you with a firm, nonverbal command to stop moving. You do, immediately. Because that’s what you always do: follow his command.

“I know you do.” He coos, finally moving his fingers. It’s agonizingly slow, too slow. The car is silent save for your little pants and the obscene wet sounds that come as a result of his fingers thrusting in your wet cunt.

“Faster, daddy.” You whine out, looking up at him. The sun is setting, and despite the tint of the windows, the orange glow from the sun still shines against his smooth skin, casting his face into something that’s half sunset/half shadow. It’s a good look; a sharp contrast that matches his hair. Seeing your blatant admiration of him only spurs him to give in and go faster. He had planned on drawing this out for as long as he possibly could. He had originally wanted to coax you into as many orgasms ‘til you were nothing but a fucked out little mess, too worn out to pay attention or even care when he finishes your little session with you plugged up with his cum.

The lives of children born into the Todoroki family are more cursed than it is blessed, and Shouto had, a very long time ago, made a vow that he would never continue the bloodline. He would have no children, which would be easy because he planned on never having a lover.

And then he met you, started providing for you, realized how much he enjoyed providing, and realized even more that the only way to strengthen this transactional relationship is by forcing your hand. He likes to think that you would stay with him willingly, but there are some chances that he’s just not willing to take; there are some extremes that he’s all too entirely happy to go far to, though.

Your sweet moans mix in well with the lewd sounds of your pussy getting thoroughly fingerfucked. His fingers are so much longer than yours, can reach spots inside of you that you can’t quite reach yourself. He’s efficient with anything and everything he does, and you’re not surprised when he doesn’t slow his pace. The consistent strokes of his fingers, your lowered inhibitions when around Shouto, and the look on his face (equal parts concentration and adoration) all help in making you cum all over his hand.

“Good girl.” Shouto whispers, removing his fingers and holding his hand up. The sunlight beaming through makes his digits glisten even more, and you’re enraptured as you watch him bring his fingers to his lips to suck your essence off of them. Piercing heterochromatic eyes never leave yours as he sucks on them, and you have to turn away from embarrassment. How can he keep such a straight face when literally licking your cum off his fingers?

“Don’t turn away from me.” His hand — still wet — grips your chin and forces you to look at him again. “I don’t like it when you shy away from me.”

You nod meekly, and Shouto sighs.

“You shouldn’t be shy around me. I don’t like making you feel uncomfortable, you know that, don’t you?”

You nod again, a subtle, barely there move. He’s not impressed.

“Answer me properly.” There’s a hard edge to his tone, and you sit up a little straighter. Shouto would never lay a hand on you with the intent to physically harm you, but he’s not above roughing you up during sex. You’ve heard him get this way before, and the imprint of his fingertips and the purple hickeys littering your poor body took three days to fade properly.

“I’m sorry, daddy.” You say with a pout, trying to conjure up any sort of leniency he can spare. Judging by his facial expression and the wavering look in his eyes, he’s already softening up. You just have to make it up to him now to have his complete forgiveness.

Maneuvering in the limited space the driver’s seat gives is no easy task, but you manage to shift positions to where you’re straddling his lap, finally facing him properly. He’s leaned back, watching you with a hungry glint in his eyes that makes you feel like the most wanted girl in all of Japan. A surge of heat flows through your body, from the tips of your ears to your cheeks and all the way down to between your thighs. If you were in a different position, you could clench them together, try to rub your thighs in an attempt to ease the need for friction.

Your fingers make quick work of his belt and his zipper, pulling down on both the waistband of his slacks and his briefs to finally free his cock. He’s already hard, and you admire the way your hand can’t even wrap fully around him. The tip is flushed red, pearly beads of precum already present.

This is the part where you look up at him, almost as if you’re unsure about what to do. You don’t know what it does to him, to see you sitting on his lap with his cock looking outrageously large in your tiny hands. He can see your pretty pussy practically dripping all over his slacks. Now’s not the time for you to be playing the role of an innocent, unsure little girl, but then it hits him: you’re asking him for permission. He almost lets out a bark of laughter.

“You’ve already taken it upon yourself to tear into my pants and make a grab for my cock. Surely you don’t expect me to beg to fuck your little hole now, do you?” He has a cold smile on his face as he brings you closer to him. “I thought this was my apology. Don’t tell me you’re going to make me do all the work?”

“O-of course not!” You look startled at the suggestion, eyes going big and round. He looks at you expectantly, as if telling you to do something.

It always burns when you first take him. It doesn’t matter how many times he makes you cums, doesn’t matter how long he spends stretching you out on his fingers. By now, your pussy should have memorized the feel of his dick, should have been moulded to fit him and only him. And while there’s a tiny flash of pain and discomfort for you (which Shouto hates), it’s hard not to be in love with the feel of just how tight you are.

The stinging pain is brief, though, and is easily replaced by one of satisfaction from being stuffed by the prettiest, fattest cock you’ve ever taken in your life.

You moan, rocking your hips back and forth. Maybe this was originally supposed to be an apology to him, but it feels more like you’re using him as your own personal toy, and Shouto really couldn’t care less. After all, if it brings you pleasure, it brings him pleasure.

“Are you enjoying yourself, baby? What would happen if I never met you, hmm? Are you willing to spread those pretty legs of yours for any man?” He says the last sentence with a tone sharper than usual. You shake your head as you continue to rut against him, chasing after your own high because you might not be a simpleminded slut for anyone, but you are nothing more than a cockslut when it comes to Shouto.

“Ah — fuck, fuck, fuck!” You moan out, falling against his chest, burying your face into the space between his shoulder and neck. “D-daddy, fuck!”

He holds you close to him as you cum, not even minding the mess you’ve made of his work pants. “Daddy’s got you.” He coos, his hand finding the back of your neck and squeezing you there, gently. “You must be tired now…”

You’re still too fucked out to really comprehend what’s exactly going on ‘til it’s happening, but even with your slow reaction times, you still manage to let out a slutty moan as you feel Shouto thrusting up into you. It must be uncomfortable, you think. This position doesn’t make it exactly easy for him to chase after his own pleasure, but then you remember that Shouto Todoroki doesn’t back down or break down when it comes to challenges.

He perseveres.

You’re like a rag doll, like a personal little fucktoy, made for him to use (and maybe even break) as he pleases. Every thrust is sharp and intense, and his teeth are clenched as he continues to use you, enjoying the warmth of your tight walls and admiring the ring of white that coats and clings to his dick every time he pulls out.

It doesn’t take him much longer to finally finish; he grabs you by your hips, raising you slightly before abruptly pushing you down on his cock, making sure that he’s nestled as deeply in you as he can be when he finally cums. He’s breathing a bit harder as he comes down, and then he’s grabbing you by your hair, making you stare at him.

His cheeks are flushed, there’s some slight sweat building up on his forehead, his shirt is wrinkled. He’s never looked better. You’ve never felt better.

Or, more accurately, never felt fuller.

“Shouto, did you c…” You can’t even finish the sentence. Did you cum inside? Not like you have to; you know the answer. Some of it is dripping out of you.

All he does is give you that small smile, the one that he rarely lets anyone see, and starts up the car.

If he doesn’t want to talk now, there’s no way you can get him to answer properly. You try to remove yourself from his lap and make your ungraceful, disgusting journey to the passenger seat, but Shouto places a firm hand on your waist, forcing you back down.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“Shouto, you can’t possibly drive while I’m sitting here on your lap.”

“I bought a Tesla for a reason.”

Right. Because everything Shouto does has a reason for it.

You think about this on the drive back to his penthouse, a little bit of fear building up in your lower belly. Shouto does everything for a reason, and what’s the reason for any man cumming inside?

#shouto todoroki x reader #todoroki x reader #shoto todoroki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #one shot #yandere #smut #shouto todoroki smut #drabble #imagine

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dilemmaontwolegs · 9 months ago

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The Perfect Life || CL16 {5}

Summary: It’s Charles first real introduction to his new employee. Warnings: angst, swearing, sarcasm, underground fighting, injuries. WC: 2.7k F1 Masterlist || One || Two || Three || Four || Five || Six Taglist: RETIRED Head over to my dedicated library blog @dilemmaslibrary and opt to get notifications from there.

The black leather pants and hoodie hid your presence well as you crept through the backyard just before midnight. After years of sneaking in and out of the property you knew exactly where to step to avoid activating the motion sensor lights and Charles followed each step carefully. He had tried to get you to stay at home but finally relented to your stubbornness and changed into more inconspicuous clothes too.

Eventually you reached the small gate that the gardeners used for supply deliveries and found Franco had left it unlocked. The gentle giant had worked security for the last 20 years and aided your escapes more than he liked to admit.

“I hope you know how to ride,” you commented as you opened the caretaker’s shed and tossed him your helmet.

Charles looked at the helmet and turned it so the moonlight caught the almost imperceptible writing on the black carbon - What doesn’t kill me makes me angry. “Fitting,” he chuckled before handing it back. “You wear it.”

“You’re the one with the career, you should wear it.” You swung your heel back and knocked the kickstand up before wheeling the motorcycle out of the shed. It wasn’t the quickest way out but you couldn’t risk waking anyone up with the engine so you always walked it down the street before climbing on.

“It’s actually in my contract that I should avoid dangerous activities and I’m pretty sure this would count as one,” he said as he hung the helmet back on the handlebars and helped push the heavy bike along.

“You’re welcome to stay here in that case, or walk.”

Charles scoffed and shook his head. “You’re not getting rid of me that easy.”

You deemed it far enough from the house and swung your leg over the seat, patting the space behind you. “Get on.”

Charles’ arms wrapped around your middle as he took the seat and kicked the riding pegs out with his boots.

“I’m not sure if you are brave or stupid,” you commented. “You do realise your life is in my hands now.”

“Ma said the two usually go hand in hand but I trust you.”

You were acutely aware of every inch of Charles that touched you for the 15 minute ride to the latest address you had received. His chest rested against your back and his hands that lay on your thighs, only shifting to hold your waist through the corners he leaned into. It was clear he had ridden before but it was probably his first time being the backpack.

“This used to be a nightclub,” Charles said with a frown as you parked in an alleyway and killed the engine.

The old staff entrance was propped open with a brick and you ushered Charles inside where the noise grew with each step.

“Phones,” Rex said as he held his hand out in front of the door that led to the club. You handed yours over first, taking the tab with a number so you could claim it after but the rules were strict, no phones, no cameras. Charles had a harder time parting with his but eventually handed it over with a frown and the doors opened.

The old three storey nightclub had an empty core surrounded by a spiralling staircase that descended two storeys into the basement and one that rose up. The biggest punters would be in the VIP area above and the spectators would line the rails to get the best view of the pit that sat central on the lowest level.

Charles looked over the rail and blanched as two regulars went face to face, blood dripping from the gashes that had been opened by the bare knuckles they fought with.

“Hey,” Arthur greeted with a beer in his hand. “I thought maybe he talked you out of coming.”

“As if, but I was hoping he would stay behind” you said, stealing his beer to take a sip. “Who’s going to bail us out if this place gets raided?”

“We’ll be fine,” Arthur joked. “He’s a runner so we can still call him.”

“Except they took my phone,” Charles grumbled.

Arthur looked at his brother’s hand that almost always held the device and laughed until he noticed the dark sweatpants and hoodie he wore. “You stole my clothes.”

“You left them in my girlfriend's room.” Charles paused and stole the beer next, finishing it off with a cringe. “That is not a sentence I ever thought I would say.”

“While you ponder what your life has become, I am going to go get ready.” You turned and kissed Arthur’s cheek in farewell. “See you down there.”

“Where’s my kiss?” Charles asked, his brow arched in a challenge.

You were already two steps away when you looked over your shoulder. “You can kiss my ass.” It unintentionally drew his eyes down your body to the leather that looked like it had been poured onto your skin and those eyes lingered on your ass until you descended the stairs and disappeared from sight.

“You do realise you are fake dating, right?”

Charles rolled his eyes and lightly shoved his younger brother. “I can still appreciate a good looking woman when I see one.”

“Well, keep those thoughts to yourself. She’s been hurt enough.”

Charles dragged a hand through his hair and nodded. “I know, she told me. I really fucked up, but I thought you were happy about the arrangement?”

“I don’t exactly have a genie lying around, so you're the next best hope she has of getting out of that hellhole.” Arthur shrugged. “I don’t have to tell you that if you fuck this up for her I will never forgive you.”

In the bathrooms of the basement you opened the duffle bag and changed into your usual sports bra and shorts before uncapping the Vaseline and smearing the gel over your cheeks. The familiar scent calmed your mind as you wiped the excess off and grabbed the tape to wrap your knuckles. The monotonous routine was your focus, the sounds outside the room fading as you stared at your reflection in the mirror. Evidence of your tears still remained in your puffy eyes but you felt better having finally told him what had weighed you down for a decade. You didn’t want to read too much into that thought as you tied your hair back into a bun so no one could pull it in the ring.

The bell for the end of the last fight rang out and you shook your head to clear it before kicking your bag under the sink and leaving. Arthur was waiting outside with Charles a few steps away and he checked your fists before walking to the ring. Blood splatters littered the vinyl floor that had been rolled out and two of the helpers were dragging an unconscious man out of the way.

“Bathroom is there if you’re gonna vomit,” you said to Charles as he swallowed nervously. From the other side of the ring Kaine was grinning at you, his mouth guard the colour of blood he was looking to spill, and you blew him a kiss.

“You’re fighting a guy!?” Charles exclaimed as he realised that was your competitor.

“There’s not exactly many female fighters to choose from.”

“You could get hurt, that man is huge.”

You rolled your shoulders out and bounced on the balls of your feet as you warmed up. “You’re really great at instilling confidence, you should have your own Ted Talk.”

“If you’re not going to help then go away,” Arthur growled before turning to face you. “Remember, he favours his right leg and Javier broke his collarbone last month. What doesn’t kill you?”

“Makes me angry.” You opened your mouth and Arthur put your mouthguard in before opening the cage door for the octagonal ring. On the floors above cash was trading hands as the bookies took the bets but you paid them no mind as you circled the floor with Kaine.

“She’s going to get killed,” Charles choked as he laced his fingers in the chain link fence. “He’s massive.”

“She’s agile. What she lacks in size she makes up for with speed. Just don’t be shocked by what you see.”

“What do you mean? I'm already shocked.”

Arthur snorted a laugh. “Just wait, I didn’t even recognise her the first time. It’s like watching a completely different person take over her body.”

All the anger and hate that lay dormant in your body awoke when the bell rang and the ref stepped out from between you and Kaine. All the emotions that you kept bottled inside were released and your eyes narrowed on the man who was going to be at the receiving end.

Kaine rushed across the mat with all the grace of a baby elephant charging on rollerskates. The very floor vibrated with each stomp of his size 14 feet and his fist reeled back and he poured his entire strength into the first punch. Unfortunately it was his bulk that slowed the punch down and you easily avoided the attack that could have probably crushed your skull. You ducked under his arm and used your spinning momentum to land a kick on his left knee. The joint twisted unnaturally and he cried out as with pain and anger.

Arthur was right, he did favour his right leg and you had just re-injured the old ailment. Off balance, he tried to follow your quick movements but you were already back in front of him, jabbing a quick one-two combo to his core. Heat flared in your fists as they connected with the hard muscle of his abs but you welcomed the rush of adrenaline that followed the pain. Kaine threw a punch of his own and you skirted away but not quick enough and his knuckles more than caressed your cheek. You had dodged the knockout blow but there would still be a bruise to show for your slow reaction.

“Nice work,” you said with a grin as you circled around each other. “You almost got me, big boy. C’mon, take another shot.”

You probably shouldn’t have taunted him because there was no avoiding the roundhouse kick that rattled your rib cage and knocked the breath out of you with a gasp. It was a mistake to look at Charles through the fence but you saw the worry in his eyes and the white-knuckled grip he had on the chain.

“Watch out,” he shouted as the concern turned to panic for what was coming behind you.

On instinct you dropped low and raised your arms to protect your head, barely missing the right hook that would have rendered you unconscious. Rage took over as he leapt forward on his good leg to attack again and you waited for him to overextend into the punch before stepping closer. It was impossible for him to defend in such a confined space and he was surprised by the sudden change. You planted your feet and drove the power of your punch up from your legs, twisting your hips as you rolled your shoulder and crashed your left fist into the softer skin protecting his kidney. A deep grunt expelled from him as he hunched over and you followed through with a right hook of your own. Right into his weak spot.

His piercing cry was almost as sharp as the snap of bone under your knuckles and he stumbled back clutching his collar that was freshly rebroken. The roar of the crowd was deafening as the bell rang for the round’s end and you threw your swollen fists into the air while your ribs protested.

Kaine limped back to his corner and shook his head to the ref, ending the fight after only one round. You tugged your mouthguard out and shook your head disappointingly. “Pussy.”

He spat his guard to the ground and winced as he cradled his arm over his chest. “Crazy bitch.”

You smiled at the insult and curled a finger. “Wanna come over here and say that?”

Unsurprisingly, he didn’t attempt to re-enter the ring so you turned and made your own exit. Arthur was waiting with a grin on his face and his arms open but before you could step into his embrace Charles was there. The shock barely registered when his arms curled around you and for a moment you felt something, but then the pain in your ribs reared its ugly head.

“Fuck,” you groaned as you shoved him away and looked down at the bruise already blooming along your side. “I think he might’ve broken one.”

“Shit, we need to get you to the hospital.”

It annoyed you how easy it was to read Charles' face. Concern, regret, anger. It was like reading a book and you wanted to tell him to relax but it was quite nice to have another person around who actually showed their feelings.

“Great idea, and what do you think we should tell them?” you asked as you started to make your way back to the bathroom. “I don’t think ‘it was an accident’ is going to satisfy them.”

“Fine,” Charles sighed, “where do you normally go when you get hurt?”

You stared at Arthur and he stared back before his lips twitched and you both laughed. An irritated growl rumbled from Charles before Arthur pointed to the messenger bag hanging from his shoulder.

“He makes a cute doctor,” you said with a wink before he followed you into the bathroom. Charles tried to follow too but you blocked the doorway. “Sorry, patient/doctor confidentiality.”

You cut off his protests with the door and leaned back against the cold wood. “Do you think he will still be there?”

Arthur nodded and opened the bag to pull out a few bandages and a bottle of arnica. “I don’t think you are getting rid of him anytime soon.”

“Great.”

“Is it really that bad?” Arthur asked as he gently dabbed the arnica over the bruises.

“Kind of hard to erase a decade of hate, even if he is hot.”

Arthur grinned and you rolled your eyes. “You think he’s hot.”

“Shut up. I’m not blind.” You unravelled the tape from your knuckles before waving a hand over him. “You’re hot too but it doesn’t mean I want to date you.”

“Thanks? I guess?”

“You know what I mean. Would you date me?”

“Are you asking me out? It’s a bit awkward since you are dating my brother.”

You huffed and glared at his amused grin. “Fake.”

“Potayto, potahto. But, no, if you really need to know, I wouldn’t date you. You’re my best friend, you know me way too well.”

“Exactly, I could never be with someone who brushes their teeth in the shower.”

“Once, for fucksake, I did that once when I was running late.”

You screwed your face up and shook your head with disgust. “There’s no excuse, Tur. We will just have to be friends.”

“Carve my heart out now,” he mocked before patting your side. “All done. Ready to go?”

You thought about the man waiting on the other side of the door and sighed at the thought of having to sleep in the same room as him. “Do you want to stay the night?”

“Oh, no, no, I am not going to be your buffer. You gotta figure out whatever is going on between you and Charles on your own.” He kissed your cheek and grinned at the sour look on your face. “Love you.”

“Ugh, I hate you,” you groaned and his smile only grew wider at the lie.

“Tell Cha to call me in the morning, so I know he is alive.”

Click here for the next part.

#charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc fanfic #f1 imagine #f1 fanfic #formula one imagine #formula 1 fanfic #formula one fanfiction #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x you

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gigi-loveless · 1 year ago

Note

Regina George esque reader who is in a situationship with Hazel and hazel fucks reader into admitting they have genuine feelings for Hazel, loser Hazel because that’s still hot to me

HOLY SHIT YES

listen to hazels spotify here, and her taylor swift jam session here ₊ ⊹₊ ⊹

reqs are open!

18+ under the cut

your life is spent terrorizing the halls of rockbridge in mini skirts and high heels. you’re untouchable, able to do anything that you please. teachers and students alike cower at the sound of your high heels click clacking through the hallway.

but, one girl never cowers.

you adore her; her shaggy brunette hair, her soft skin, the way she always smelled of musk and ivy. you love the fact that she was a loser, escaping your high profile life in between the sheets.

but she doesn’t know just how much you love her.

you were the queen of rockbridge, how are you supposed to come out guns ablazing that not only are you fucking the resident loser lesbian, but you’re in love with her? feelings are always be kept down, and you must keep a level head. nothing can get in your way with that mindset.

the sound of the bell ringing coincided with hazel slamming you against the wall of the janitors closet, pinning you down with her muscular arms.

“miss me?”

“you wish.” you spat back at her.

“my house, eight?” she asks, lips centimeters away from yours, teasing you.

“only if you promise to not be a fucking tease.” desperately grinding your heat into her thigh.

“oh baby,” she replies, “you know i don’t make promises like that.”

you hobble out, readjusting your skirt, and school continues like normal, besides hazel obviously checking you out in 6th period, to which you roll your eyes and scoff at her. it’s near impossible to do that to her, to crush her soul like that. all you want to do is run over and apologize and kiss her better.

a super moon just peeks out out from behind the clouds as you park in hazels driveway. as always, she whisks you away up into her room, stripping you before you could even think twice.

“hazel…please…” she kisses you passionately, hands still working clumsily to unbutton your skirt and discard it.

“lay down for me, angel.” god rest the soul who ever disrespects hazel callahan, so you obey. “being such a tease for me today, hm? with that little skirt, and that fucking top…” her sentence trails off as her tongue flicks across your nipple, making you groan loudly.

“you’re a cunt.”

“i know baby, but someone has to be brave enough to put the princess in her place.” hazel dips down, her rings cooling your heat, feeling your wetness. “and what might all that be for?”

“you….” you exhale into her as she slips two fingers in almost agonizingly slow. “h-h-hazel….” your eyes instinctively shut, until you suddenly remember her rule about eye contact.

“ah ah ah, eyes on me, got it?” her pumps begin to get increasingly harder, your knuckles going as white as the sheets in fists. she might look like a loser on the outside, but she knows what she’s capable of, and god does she get it hot taming the queen bee.

“alright angel, you get your reward now for being good and keeping eye contact, okay?” you nod as she leans down and plunges her face into between your legs, making you howl and writhe underneath her. there’s nothing in this world like hazels tongue. just as she gets into a rhythm, her two fingers curl up inside your walls again, making you shriek.

everything is black, all you can feel is your orgasm incoming.

“hazel- i’m- im….”

“come for me bab-“

“i’m- iloveyou…iloveyou….”

riding the high from your orgasm off, you return to earth, where hazel is staring over you with those saucer-like eyes of hers.

“did…okay i might just be hearing things…but did you say you love me?” your face goes red, realizing what you’d done, but you can’t lie to the girl.

“y-yeah….uhm..i think i should leave.” you start to gather your clothes, but as you’re rushing out, you knock right into hazel.

“it’s okay….i’m not upset…i….i need you. not just in this way,” she gestures towards the bed, “but like, in a…a new way. if- if you want to try. i’m really good at keeping secrets…”

“hazel, you know we can’t….”

“why? because jeff is gonna cream in his pants from seeing two girls together?” she sits you down on the bed, holding your hand. “i like you, so so much. i like that you’re mean, i like that you have a soft spot for me that you think isn’t obvious at all but it totally is, i like that you are so confident, i like that you’re creative….i like everything about you. i want to make this work, but only if you’re open to it….”

you nod, and connect your lips, feeling a new sense, a new spark, between you.

“you melt my heart, hazel callahan.”

#this is so cheesy but i don’t even care #hazel callahan #hazel callahan blurb #hazel callahan fanfiction #hazel callahan headcanons #hazel callahan imagine #hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan x you #hazel callahan brainrot #hazel callahan smut #hazel callahan au #bottoms 2023

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cal-flakes · 2 years ago

Note

touch starved reader with dealer!rafe? i feel like that would be really cute

DEALER!RAFE DEALER!RAFE DEALER!RAFE

╰┈➤ touch starved with dealer!rafe

warnings: mentions of violence and drugs.

summary: touch starved reader, new relationship with dealer!rafe.

the gentle rain pooled around her feet, soaking her shoes. she sat on the side of the road, chest heaving as she sobbed into her frail hands.

another argument with her drunken father resulted in another temporary eviction as he threw her clothes outside onto the wet grass.

her hands trembled as she fiddled around for her phone, looking for somebody to call. as she scrolled through her limited contacts her eyes landed on rafe’s number.

she was hestitant at first, she knew he was probably busy and didn’t want to bother him, but he was also her only option.

pressing the phone button, a shaky hand held the device up to her ear, desperate for an answer.

“hey, you okay?” a raspy voice called out. a huff of relief blew from her nose. “r-rafe?” she stuttered.

“yeah baby, what’s up?” he spoke, concerned. “do you think you could pick me up?” she whimpered, tears threatening to fall once again. “yeah of course, drop a pin and i’ll be there”

“okay, thank you..” mumbling, she tapped the phone a few more times and sent him her location.

y/n was embarrassed if anything, she always handled her problems alone. mostly because she’d taught herself not to rely on anyone, not since her mom had abandoned her.

her and rafe hadn’t been together very long, she’d met him at a party when she attempted to buy a bag from him, instead paying with her phone number.

they weren’t exactly official, but whenever he wasn’t busy, they’d spend almost every day together.

within minutes, rafe’s range rover screeched as he turned the corner, pulling up beside her.

he leapt out of the car and crouched down, draping his jacket around her shoulders. she flinched at the sudden touch as he helped her up, walking her to the passenger side.

the drive to tannyhill was comfortably quiet, rafe’s hand rested on her thigh as she tapped her foot.

pulling into the drive way, he took the chance to look over her frame. her sunken eyes were bloodshot, tears dried along her flushed cheeks.

his knuckles turned white as his eyes fell on her now ripped top. “what happened there?” he asked tentatively, motioning to the tear.

y/n clutched her chest, attempting to shrink away from his prying eyes. “it’s nothing..”

sighing, he hopped out and went to the other side, helping her out by her arm.

y/n entered his house through the front door, rafe following closely behind.

she’d been to his house many times, and every one of them she was amazed by the extravagance of it.

“do you mind if i take a shower?” she squeaked, avoiding his gaze. “no, yeah of course, you know where it is” he gestured upstairs.

after washing and changing into some of his clothes, she made her way back downstairs, trying her best to be quiet.

she didn’t want to be a burden, she knew he was a busy man, the lifestyle he lived wasn’t exactly stress free.

about to turn the corner, she overheard him on the phone. “yeah man, it’s the fourth apartment on park drive..” her eyes widened, “nah, dont do nothing like that, just scare him a bit yeah?”

the fourth apartment on park drive was her dads place. y/n mentally cursed herself for not covering the rip in her shirt. guilt washed over her for a split second, she didn’t mean for her father to get hurt, as much as he deserved it.

she couldn’t begin to imagine what rafe assumed had happened, it wasn’t anything crazy, or at least to her it wasn’t.

she was used to it. she’d get home from work, do her chores, and if they weren’t good enough, she’d go to sleep with bruises.

choosing to ignore what she’d heard, she continued to the kitchen, knocking on the open door to catch his attention.

looking up, he quickly bid his goodbyes to whoever before turning his attention to her.

a tight lipped smile appeared on his face as he met her eyes. the tears were gone and the colour in her face had returned.

she beamed up at him from the doorway, almost drowning in his hoodie that lingered around her mid-thigh.

“you have a nice shower angel?” she nodded, stepping towards him to lean against his chest. “it was great, thank you rafe..” she muttered, releasing a content sigh as she closed her eyes.

his closeness was incredibly comforting for her, she couldn’t remember the last time anyone had wrapped their arms around her the way rafe did, every time he saw her.

“would you come and lie down with me?” she pouted, staring up at him through her lashes.

he didn’t need to be asked twice, before she could blink she’d been hoisted up, legs wrapped around his waist while he sauntered over to the couch.

he lay along the cotton cushions, leaving her straddling him as she rested on top of him.

“you gonna tell me what happened with your dad?” he questioned, cupping her cheeks.

“can we talk about it tomorrow? im sleepy..” she murmured, all energy gone from her voice. he agreed and laid her head back down, stroking her hair until she dozed off.

a quiet buzz on his phone broke his trance, and he grabbed it from the table beside him.

he read the text barry had sent. ‘done’

rafe let out a huff of air, turning back to a now fast asleep y/n. he pressed a soft kiss to her head, holding her jaw with his palm gently.

“you’re safe now angel…”

#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x fem!reader #outer banks #rafe cameron #outerbanks rafe #dom!rafe #obx #rafecameron #rafe obx #protective!rafe #dealer!rafe #soft!rafe cameron

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megamett44-lover · 1 year ago

Note

can you do the reader seeing matt with a little kid (around 5 or 6) and getting some crazy baby fever? thank youu <3

UGH I LOVE THIS

Matt Sturniolo x Reader

Summary: In which Y/n brings Matt to her family reunion

Warnings/Notes: She/her pronouns

Requested? Yes!

Dress Up

Bringing Matt home with me for my annual family reunion was insisted upon by my parents. My whole family absolutely adored him, always asking me to bring him around more. Hence why now, here we were, about a ten minute drive away from my grandparents home, where everyone would be meeting.

Having never met my extended family before, it was understandable for Matt to be nervous. He held my hand as he drove, lightly brushing his thumb over my knuckles every few seconds.

“You okay?” I ask, squeezing his hand lightly.

He looks over at me, trying to hide his nervous expression. “All good.” He says.

I nod, turning my attention back to the road. “You don’t have to stress, everyone is gonna love you.”

He chuckles. “If I can win your dad over, I’m sure I can do anything.”

I roll my eyes. “Please.” I say. “You never had to win him over. He was practically calling you ‘son’ before he even met you.”

“Right.” Matt laughs.

Siri breaks our conversation, telling us to turn left and our destination would be on the right. As we pulled into my grandparents drive way, a wave of nostalgia hit me. The long gravel path leading to an old white plantation house surrounded by the most beautiful flowers. I had helped my grandmother plant different flowers in her garden for many Summers when I was younger. The neatly trimmed hedges wrapping around the edge of the porch that my grandfather always insisted on keeping up himself because “nobody else could do the job right.”

I noticed many other cars parked out front, indicating a lot of my family members were already here. As we parked, I kissed the back of Matt’s hand. “Ready!” I asked.

“For sure.” Matt smiled.

As we walked onto the porch, the sound of laughter could be heard from inside. We didn’t even have a chance to knock before my grandmother opened the door.

“My Y/n!” She said, embracing me. “I’ve missed you so much!”

“Hi, Gran.” I say, returning her hug.

As we pulled away, she noticed Matt beside me.

“Now this must be the young man I’ve heard so much about.” She smiles at Matt.

“All good things, I hope.” Matt chuckles nervously.

I laugh. “Gran, this is my boyfriend, Matt.”

“Pleasure to meet you dear.” My grandmother says, embracing Matt as well. Pulling away, she smiles at us both. “Well come on, everyone has been asking for you.”

Walking instep with my grandmother and Matt slightly ahead, she leans in and whispers softly. “He’s handsome!”

“Oh, Gran!” I laugh.

“I’m serious!” She says. “If I was only 60 years younger, I’d give you a run for your money.”

As we walked into the crowded parlor, we were greeted by a chorus of “Hey” and “Welcome home”. A lot of family come up to me, since the last time I had seen most of them I was young. Most of them were eager to meet Matt, having heard I was dating a “famous Los Angeles boy”.

Excusing myself for a moment, I go grab a couple waters for Matt and I from the kitchen.

“Oh hey, Y/N.” My aunt says, seeing me enter. Her and a collection of other family members were working on tonight’s dinner, the smell immediately making me hungry.

“Smells great in here.” I compliment, grabbing two bottles of water from the fridge.

“Thanks!” She beams at me. “Oh, your cousins are around here looking for you. They wouldn’t stop talking about how excited they were to see you.”

I laugh. “I’ll keep a look out for them.”

My aunt and uncle had two twin girls, Charlotte and Katherine. They had just turned six and they were adorable. I had spent a lot of my youth babysitting them, resulting in me having an older sister relationship with the girls.

Walking back to the parlor, I notice most of the family had gone to the back yard. Scanning the yard, I cannot seem to see Matt anywhere. I grab my phone to text him, but then I hear giggling coming from down the hall followed by a deeper laugh that I recognize to be Matt’s.

Walking down the hall, I notice the light in the playroom is on. I hear a few voices coming from inside.

“We’re going to make you look so pretty.” I hear a young voice that I recognize to be Katherine’s says.

“Oh, really?” Matt asks.

“Yes!” Charlotte assures. “Y/n is going to love it!”

I peek in the doorway to the playroom to see Matt sat on the floor, with my cousins braiding his hair. I notice he has a few hair bows in, along with a feather boa around his neck.

I giggle softly, watching my cousins give him a makeover.

“Can we paint your nails?” Charlotte eagerly asks.

Matt looks down at his nails, the old paint peeling off of them.

“I think I’m in need of a manicure, so sure!” Matt agrees.

“Kat, grab the princess stickers and pink polish!” Charlotte demands.

Hearing this, I accidentally laugh too loud, giving my position away. All three of their heads whip in my direction.

“Y/N!” Charlotte and Katherine say in unison, running up and hugging my legs.

“Hi, girls.” I say, bending down to hug them. “I see you’ve stolen my boyfriend.”

“Don’t you think he looks pretty?” Katherine asks, motioning towards Matt.

“I think he looks gorgeous.” I say, making eye contact with Matt, who chuckles softly.

“We were going to paint his nails, do you wanna help?” Charlotte asks.

“Of course!” I say, eagerly.

“Yay!” Both girls say in unison.

Sitting down, we begin painting Matt’s nails a bright shade of pink, complete with princess stickers on every other finger. When we were finished, we slowly walk Matt over to the mirror to check out his new look.

“I look awesome!” Matt says, bending down to the girls level. “Thank you, girls.” He opens his arms for a hug, as both girls practically tackle him.

I smile softly, my heart warming at the sight.

“I think next time, we should bring our princess dress for you to wear.” Katherine says.

Matt laughs. “I think that would be amazing.”

“Yeah, but we have to bring the Cinderella dress.” Charlotte says. Katherine raises a puzzled eyebrow. “To match his eyes, duh!”

“What do you think, Y/n?” Charlotte asks.

“I think he would make a beautiful Cinderella.” I smile, causing Matt and the girls to laugh.

A loud voice interrupts our laughter from the kitchen.

“Girls, dinner!” I hear my Uncle call.

“Our dad wants us!” Katherine tells Matt. “But we’ll finish this makeover another day.”

“I’ll be counting on it.” Matt winks, ruffling her hair.

The girls laugh as they run down the hall to the kitchen. I look at Matt, who’s covered in glitter from the feather boa.

“I’ll be their Cinderalla, as long as I’m your Prince Charming.” Matt says, pulling the boa off.

I laugh. “God, you’re cheesy.” I grab his hands, looking at the pink artwork on his fingernails. “I can’t wait to have this life with you one day.”

He pulls me into a hug, covering me in glitter. “I promise, one day, we’ll have all of this.” He says. “Every day.”

I lean back, grabbing one of the braided strands of hair. “I’m really digging these braids, though.”

“Yeah?” Matt laughs.

“Yeah.” I smile, pressing a small kiss on his lips.

“Now c’mon, I’m starving!” I say, leading him to the kitchen.

Matt stops on his tracks. “What, dressed like this?” He asks.

I smirk. “What, you embarrassed?”

“Never.” He replies, putting his boa back on before we exit the playroom.

#matt sturniolo #chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo x you #nick sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo triplets x reader #matt sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo imagine #matthew sturniolo #nick sturniolo x reader #chris sturniolo x reader #sturniolo edit

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softshuji · 18 days ago

Text

𝟏𝟏:𝟓𝟗𝐀𝐌 | 𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐓𝐀𝐍𝐈 𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐔 | 𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐀’𝐒 𝐁𝐎𝐗

Summary: On Christmas Eve, Rindou comes to get you from a night out with friends, harsh truths coming out about what you both mean to each other.

cw: fem!reader, angst, implied cheating, reader wears makeup, some suggestive content but nothing too crazy, a lot of internal conflict from both of them, ran makes an appearance. Sorry in advance lol. Reblogs much appreciated

Rindou drums his lithe fingers on the steering wheel and waits, pausing to adjust his rearview mirror, or his collars, now open and peeled back to reveal the beginnings of the tattoo that curls along his chest, tie long discarded on the backseat. He watches every club-goer that exits the lacquered doors and sights inwardly when he realizes none of them are you. It’s Christmas Eve, and the streets are thrumming with energy, buzzing with flashing lights, neon billboards, the raucous laughter of men too deep into their drinks, and women throwing their heads back and giggling under the fluorescent streetlights.

All of it so noisy, so suffocating, that he’s glad for the hunk of metal that separates him from the cacophony, praying and wishing for the sleep that he never seems to get or eludes him completely.

His eyes ache, temple pulsing with a tight coil of pain and tension, and yet he’s here, driving you home at nearly midnight on Christmas Eve.

He considers ringing you again and makes to grab his phone when your knuckle knocking against the glass of his car window pulls him from his reverie.

‘Hey jellyfish, open up!’ You say and Rindou catches the flash of your smile, your hair falling against the condensated glass, lipstick now faded and muted to a lighter shade of red than before.

He rolls down the window and quirks an eyebrow at you, leaning back in his seat as he unlocks the car, watching you slide into the passenger seat, your head falling back against the headrest. The pulsing pain in his head simmers, a degree lesser than before when he sees your eyelids flutter shut and the sigh leak from your lips. A contented sigh, a peaceful sigh, and your arms drop to the side as you all but sink into the plush leather.

‘Do you have to call me that?’ Rindou rolls his eyes and turns the key in the ignition, leaning on the seat as he reverses out of the parking space, the buttons on his shirt straining with the effort, delicate whorls of black ink now very much visible from beneath the open buttons.

‘What? Jellyfish?’ You suppress a smile and let your head fall against the window, now dripping with the first rain of the night. It drops in rivulets, and you trace the water racing down the glass with one polished fingernail, feeling the soft and simmering happiness thrum in your chest.

‘Yeah. Such an embarrassing nickname,’ he mutters, his rough voice laced with mirth. ‘How was your time anyway?’

‘Oh, boring, you know I hate these things.’ Your eyes crease as you frown, watching the passing cars and their glaring headlights fade behind you as Rindou speeds up, one hand on the wheel, the other tapping on his thigh. ‘I’d rather be at home with you and Ran.’

He hums in agreement and curls his fingers over the gear stick. His hands are rough, calloused, blemished by cuts and bruises, scabs and scars sprinkled over his knuckles, a marked contrast to yours.

‘It’s a shame he couldn’t come,’ you say, lifting your head to watch the glow of the streetlight pass over you, and in that light, Rindou’s lilac mullet flashes a deep burnished orange, the light illuminating the patch of skin where his tattoo slides up and down.

Rindou’s neck prickles with unease. Yes, he knows Ran should be here, that he would be if he could, that he’d ditch anything in less than a minute for you.

Always the job, always the looming paperwork, the assignments far away, the haunting and yet commanding voice of Mikey that propels them further, that leaves little room for error.

Rindou swallows against the pulse of pain that snakes up his jaw. ‘He would be, if he could be.’

He knows that. He knows Ran is probably doing exactly as he is right now, drumming his fingers on a steering wheel, or resisting the urge to check his phone for the umpeenth time, knowing you’re here, that he should be here too.

Rindou had taken the call only earlier in the day, hearing his Brother huff on the other end of the line as he jammed his keys into the car, cursing low under his breath when he dropped them on the gravel.

‘... and Y/N is going out with her friends later today, y’know for the holiday. Any chance you could pick her up for me?’

Rindou had sunk in his office chair, let out a huff of air indignantly, his chest both deflating and stuttering at the prospect. If only you were easy to ignore, to relegate to just being his Brother’s Girlfriend and nothing more. Perhaps it might make things easier, might make it easier for him to ignore how hard he wanted to press his lips to yours.

‘... again?’ Rindou had let the impatience seep into his voice, blowing a tuft of hair from his eyes, his skin prickling when he happened to think of how pretty you always looked, as if you had swallowed the sun whole. He cringes at himself now, at how he always feels so full and empty at the same time, of how his chest aches with how hard he fights to keep his breath even, of how sparks flit underneath his skin whenever you’re in his vicinity.

‘I know, I know, but you know Mikey’s been on my ass recently since everyone’s going to be busy for the holiday. She likes hanging out with you anyway and you’ll be doing me a favour. Come on Brother.’ Ran had said and Rindou had known instinctively that he’d have said yes anyway, that pretending it was a chore was just a ruse. He could never deny Ran, and more recently, he was discovering he could never deny you either, that the longer he hung around you the more he craved your time, your smiles, your attention and being your unofficial bodyguard didn't make that yearning any easier to deal with.

A sharp and ugly green spasm of self loathing worms it’s way into his stomach and he hates himself a little more every time he thinks about you, every time your name falls from his lips, said fervently like a prayer, like a wish he keeps tucked under his pillow, every time he fists himself to the image of you and then somehow, shamefully, looks you in the eye the next day. This was wrong. You were Ran’s. You are Ran’s. He repeats the phrase like a mantra when he leaves the office to come and get you.

And yet all his resolve, the wall he’s built up so carefully around himself, brick by unmovable brick, comes falling down when you smile at him as you tilt your head and sink into the leather of his seats and he forces his eyes away from your thighs peeking out from your dress.

You shiver, and Rindou flicks the heating on when he sees the goosebumps break out in his periphery. He gestures to the glove compartment by your thighs with a flick of his chin.

Your eyebrows knit together and you shuffle forward to pull the glove box open.

A blanket, inlaid with tiny glowing stars, the fleece warm against the bare skin of your arms, falls into your lap alongside a sealed water bottle and a box of painkillers. You frown and Rindou marvels at the way your lips part and your tongue runs over the faded lipstick, at how you suck in a breath and your teeth pull in your bottom lip.

‘Emergency supplies,’ he says and grins sheepishly as he stops at a red light, the growl of the car’s engine slowing to a soft thrum. ‘For days like today.’

For you, he wants to say.

‘Oh.’ Warmth seeps along your skin and into your stomach.

Stop. Stop and ignore it. Ignore it, and go home and sleep in your own bed, the bed you share with his Brother and let this go, refuse to think about it again. It’s wrong, and Ran doesn’t deserve this. You love him don’t you? You said you loved him more than anything, that he was the one you called Home. It wasn’t as if it was Ran’s fault. You knew he loved you, knew that he’d rather be with you than anywhere else, that his mind was filled to the brim with thoughts of you and you only.

‘Can I ask why?’ You say and pull the blanket up to rest underneath your chin, knocking back the water to wash the taste of anxiety coating your mouth. Anxiety that’s thick and coagulated and churning with self hatred and confusion. Your tongue clings to the roof of your mouth.

‘Well, I thought, since I’m always picking you up, it would only make sense.’ He runs a hand along the nape of his neck, the inky black tattoo stark against the copper light spilling in through the window. ‘We can’t have you getting sick, or any accidents after all.’

‘Oh so I’m an accident now?’ You quirk an eyebrow.

‘You know that’s not what I meant,’ he says pointedly and you stifle a giggle at the way he puffs his cheeks and rolls his eyes.

He heart stammers in his chest when he sees your nose scrunch with the effort to crush your grin and despite himself, despite how wrong he feels, a tentative smile tugs at his lips all the same.

It doesn’t help that he’s both beautiful and attentive, that his eyes perfectly reflect the moonlight when he looks up, pearly and opalescent and clear as the surface of a lake, that his hair is shimmering lilac and gossamer silk, that you imagine it slipping through your fingers like the soft velvet of spiderwebs.

‘Besides,’ he continues, ‘I’m your bodyguard, it’s my job to look after you.’

On the days when your thoughts get the better of you, when Rindou is there on hand as soon as you dial him, you wonder what it would be like to touch him. When he keeps you company late into the night, the phone pressed between his ear and the curve of his shoulder as he shuffles into his apartment, you wonder how his lips feel, how his throat feels pulsing under your mouth, how he tastes in every way you can taste him. You hear the jingle of keys as they’re thrown onto the coffee table, the low buzz of the TV as it’s switched on and your heart aches for him, for the loneliness he can’t seem to shake, the penthouse that is always deathly quiet. You recoil from these thoughts, shut them out. Pandora’s box, locked up for eternity.

You wonder on some nights, at what point did he stop being your bodyguard, and start being something else? At what point, did you think about kissing him more often than you thought about kissing Ran? At what point did you come to expect that Ran was busy and Rindou was there, always there, to pick up the pieces?

‘My bodyguard? You can’t stand the sight of me half the time.’ You huff and pout with indignation. ‘I remember what you said!’

Rindou’s eyebrows crinkle as he purses his lips. ‘If you’re referring to me calling you weird and annoying, it’s true.’ Despite his words, his voice betrays his mirth at the memory. ‘And it's only because you think vanilla is better than strawberry!’

‘That’s because it is!’ You say, as if the most obvious thing in the world, quashing down that flutter in your throat, a butterfly flapping its wings when he rolls his eyes and chews the inside of his cheek, a tentative smile still lingering on his lips.

‘See? This is why I can’t stand you.’

You throw your head back and laugh, your hair slipping past your shoulder, clinging to the seat behind you, and Rindou hates how it sounds to him, the lilting nature of your voice, the tinkly laugh that is both high and low at the same time. God he wishes he could make you laugh forever.

There again is that persistent thought, that remnant of his conscience that tells him he’s an idiot, that he should end this friendship here, that breaking his own heart is a small price to pay for saving Ran’s. Do you not love your Brother? The errant voice says. Do you not love him despite everything he has done for you, everything he continues to do for you?

Shut up, Rindou thinks. Shut up and stop making this harder than it has to be. But the claws of that self loathing are sharp and rake down the walls of his mind regardless of what he does to crush them.

At some point, he arrives at your apartment and the car slows as he glides into the parking space outside. This is it, he says to himself. This is the final time. He’ll refuse Ran next time, he’ll flatten that mixture of longing and obligation that propels him to see you, to pick up your calls and listen to your voice sluggish with sleep late at night. And yet, even as he thinks this, he knows the opposite is true.

The car stops, the engine fizzing out as the key is turned in the ignition and Rindou sighs, letting his head drop back onto the seat, watching you with his chin jutted slightly out, the low hood of his eyes making them seem feline in the light.

‘Rindou,’ you start and your tongue is a boulder of corrugated gravel in your mouth. You swallow, and the saliva is caught in your throat. ‘There’s something we should talk about.’

Ah.

Rindou knows this conversation has been on the precipice for a while, that there was only so long you could skirt and tip-toe around the issue. That air of simmering tension would be bound to break before long. At least this way, despite the nausea building in his stomach, it could be put to rest.

His knee bounces, anxiety prickling at his skin.

‘Rin, I like you,’ you say and the tension of holding the secret for so long bleeds out of your skin. There is no easy way to say it considering the circumstances, but still, the weight pressing down on your shoulders dips once you have the words out. ‘And I think you like me too, don’t you?’

Rindou hangs his head, soft wisps of hair skimming his collarbones. ‘I do. I’m sorry, I never intended to. Not like this.’ After all, what does he have to lose now?

A lot, considering the circumstances.

‘Me neither.’ Your heart quails, falters as you reply in tandem and the terse silence thereafter only serves to heighten the incessant buzzing in your ears, the furious thumping of your heart in your ribcage.

There is no going back now and the finality of the situation hits you like a freight train. He fiddles with the hem of his jacket and pulls out a silver tin inlaid with his name in neat cursive. From you obviously, because you were always very sentimental. Perhaps that was half the issue. That for all his skills and for all his cold brutality, he wanted to feel the sun, wanted to bask in your warmth and would have spent a lifetime running after you had it meant he could taste that sunshine once. If only he had met you first.

‘How long?’ He asks and his head snaps up to meet your eyes, eyes that are turned down with barely repressed sorrow.

‘I don’t understand-’

‘How long have you known? How long have you felt the same?’

Since we met. Since that day you listened to me cry all night, had borne the fruits of that sacrifice later from Mikey and yet never, not once, made me feel guilty for it.

‘Does it matter?’ You say instead because it seems easier than telling the truth and letting that worm of self hatred gnawing at his insides fester knowing he’d assume he encouraged it.

‘I suppose it doesn’t.’ He pulls out a cigarette and lights it, letting the nicotine fill his lungs once he pulls it into his mouth. He wants to drown in it, to feel it swim through his blood till his head stops thrumming and his ribs cease to crush his heart. If anything he just wants his hands to stop shaking.

He casts a glance at you as he blows a ring of smoke and absent-mindedly his hooded gaze drops to your lips, the indent in your chin and the sharp cupid’s bone that make them so alluring. It would be so easy to kiss you now, to just bridge the distance and slot his lips against yours. To let himself be weak and stupid for one moment, maybe leave this one mistake in this year, this one Christmas where he could perhaps blame it on the alcohol and rationalise it in his head to assuage the guilt. You’d taste the smoke on his hot breath, smell the shower gel he uses and wind a hand into his hair and Ran would never know. He knows you’d never speak about it, and neither would he, The shame would be his companion to the grave.

But no, he’d never betray Ran like that, and he’d never put you in the position to deal with the shame of your sin either. Love is truly complicated and we do not choose who we love after all.

‘Rin, I love him.I love him more than anything. I want you to know that.’ The interior of the car is suddenly too close for comfort but despite the alcohol in your system that muddles your vision, your voice is firm and unflinching. ‘So this isn't going to go anywhere. Right?’

Keeping secrets was always your forte and even though Rindou has known this was coming, he can’t help the watery shake of his voice, the javelin headed straight for his heart, piercing through his chest till his back bleeds.

‘Right. We can let this go,’ he says and inhales a lungful, hoping the shake of his hands and voice doesn’t betray the squeeze of his heart. ‘We’ll never talk about it again.’

This was the best future, the one in which the three of you could stay together and squashing your feelings was a small price to pay for the glimpse of that happiness. Perhaps he could learn to be content on the sidelines like this, just barely in the corner of the picture.

Did the fact that this conversation was months in the making make it any easier to have? Or had you done nothing but prolong the pain that was inevitable for the both of you?

‘Okay good,’ you say and run a hand through your hair. A part of you is deflating, breaking. You know in another world perhaps, you’d have been perfect for each other, that the golden thread that ties you together would somehow mean you would find each other there. But other worlds and timelines don’t exist do they? And it’s best not to dwell on half-truths and regrets that gnaw at your soul.

‘Can…can we still be friends?’ His hand reaches for you, a moment of unabashed and naked tenderness, so out of character for him that he feels the shame and embarrassment of it immediately.

‘Of course we can. We’ll be friends forever, Rindou. Best friends.’ Your eyes soften, even as your heart beats against your throat. You want to kiss him, just once. No one would ever know, or tell. The secret could die here and just when you think your body is going to move of its own accord, Rindou turns away, slumping back in his seat, taking a long drag of his cigarette.

And the moment passes, and you unclip your seat belt, tucking the blanket back into the glove box, both relieved and ashamed at yourself.

‘I guess I’ll be seeing you then.’ Your voice is an earthquake tremor as you push open the door, the slicing chill of the night cutting right into your skin. ‘Drive home safe okay?’

That lump in his throat punches his chest as he watches you lean down to smile at him. ‘I will. Call me if you need anything Y/N.’

Because it’s easier to pretend like you haven’t just hurt each other, like you’re not both lying, like you don’t both feel sick with longing and shame and disgust.

You smile placidly and shut the door with your hip, bounding up the stairs to your apartment. You look back once, at his earnest stare as he raises a hand to wave, cigarette perched between his lips, both haunting and beautiful under the honeyed copper of the streetlight.

And then you shut the door just as the engine fades into the distance. Maybe some secrets were better left buried. Pandora’s box. Never to be opened again. Left to die and rot, like bones in a graveyard.

a/n: sorry everyone lol. I just wanna say thank you for all the support this year, all the fics and comments, all the interactions, I hope 2025 brings us all some peace and love and our dreams coming true. If you wouldn't mind, I would greatly appreciate if you could show some love to my small business (I make jewelry) over on my instagram here. But if you got this far, thank you so much!

Taglist : @reiners-milkbiddies @prettyiolanthe @sugusshi @snakegentleman @haitaniapologist @lonnie19 @bejeweled-night-33 @ranscutedoll @qiiuusoup-xo @hoetani @burnishedcrown @sinfulseashell @nikokopuffs @mitsuwuyaa @haruwuchiyoo @mochimiyaas @theaonlax @blackfire2013 @wotakuhime @severellamahottub @stargirlstabber @intheafterall @ljubimaya

#tokyo revengers #tokyo rev #tokyorev x reader #haitani rindou #rindou x reader #haitani ran

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taesanrot · 8 months ago

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[twenty questions] sungho x f!reader | 2.3k words college au, coworkers 2 luvrs, e2l kinda, forced proximity lolz note. thank uuuu to lovely anon who requested this <3 i need to write for sungho more this was sm funnn. nini’s summer writing era starts NOW.

park sungho is an actual fucking dumbass. he decides this as he stares at the newly formed wet spot at the front of your sweater, wincing at the deathly glare you're shooting him.

"you're kidding." you grumble, watching your wide eyed coworker scramble to the bathroom in search of napkins, and perhaps a baseball bat to knock himself out cold with.

for the longest time, you'd been the sole employee at your university's bookstore. it was a small store your uncle owned, and with how many other bookstores that ran in your college town, you didn't have much work to do or much foot traffic to counter.

but with your uncle and aunt travelling to spain for the majority of your semester, they decided to take on a couple more employees in consideration of the fact that you were just one person and the fact that you were starting university.

one of these new employees was none other than park sungho. the first time you met the boy, he was already 10 minutes late to his training shift. you let it go pretty easily though, seeing the panic on his face and the way he explained how he got lost on the way in between heavy breaths.

you found his nervous demeanor pretty cute at first, not to mention his raven hair that draped over his ears and framed his face prettily. sungho, on the other hand, was floored by you.

so floored in fact, that he'd found himself with a pretty bad habit of dropping whatever he was holding or tripping on air when he saw you.

you two had gotten into the routine of always nitpicking each other's mistakes, picking apart any little thing each other messed up. sometimes that was a mislabeled box, a mistake in the cash transactions, or stumbling on the stepladder while shelving new arrivals.

it was like you two were keeping a mental scoreboard of who was the clumsier employee, and most of the time you came out victorious, including today

the day had been nothing but ordinary, both you and sungho a bit bitter to have to be working on a saturday afternoon.

you walked up to the bookstore entrance to see sungho already leaning against the wall next to the door, scrolling on his phone before looking up and noticing you. upon your arrival, he sighed, causing you to turn and look at him as you typed in the security code into the entrance's keypad.

"look who’s finally here." he droned, glaring at your pretty fingers gliding across the buttons.

"oh, shut the fuck up." your eyes nearly rolled into the back of your head as you yanked the door open, nearly whacking sungho with it.

the shift dragged on as usual, boring and uneventful. you'd like to think you mentally jinxed it when you were smiling to yourself at how well the day was going. because less than a second later, sungho's chest was in your face and his cup of water from the break room was spilling onto you.

you didn't get the chance to hear what he had to say, groaning and tugging off your sweater and stomping into the break room.

after the whole water cup incident, sungho had definitely taken the brunt of the tormenting today. checking the time, he sighed and stretched out his arms. the final few shoppers were filing out and he followed behind them to lock the door after, tapping on the keypad and listening for the familiar beep and click.

cracking his knuckles, he walked behind the counter to begin closing the registers while you, now in just a tshirt, cleaned up around the store.

it was still light and balmy outside, the last rays of the sun resonating through the clear sky and casting a pinkish purple glow into the store, as you slowly found yourself squinting to read the section labels and book titles, you called out to sungho.

"sungho, it's dark, turn on the lights."

"yeah, yeah, whatever" sungho rolled his eyes even though you couldn't see him, leaving the front desk to find the light switch. you scoffed at his sarcasm, using the flashlight of your phone to illuminate your workspace.

"uhhh, y/n?" you looked toward the direction of your coworker's voice in confusion, wondering why the lights hadn't turned on yet. groaning, you hoisted yourself up to go find him, figuring that he simply couldn't operate a light switch.

"i swear to god if you're seriously getting bamboozled by a light switch--" your voice faded off as you found sungho and the switches, realizing all of them were flipped on.

"what the fuck is going on?" you asked, pushing the boy out of the way to properly look at the switchboard.

"i wish i fucking knew, y/n" he retorted sourly, clicking his phone open to check his texts. as you turned around to glare at him, you noticed his eyes widening at one of his notifications.

"what happened?" you inquired nervously, not particularly comforted by sungho's dreary expression.

"there's a fucking power outage." you groaned loudly in response, before your face blanched white.

"the back door." you stated monotonously, causing sungho to tilt his head in confusion.

"what about it?" he mumbled.

"whenever the power goes out, the emergency alarm system engages and it automatically locks all of the doors."

"does that mean-" sungho's question was interrupted as you bolted over to the back hallway. the boy stood in confusion, listening to the sound of your yanking the doorknob and kicking the back door.

"it's locked!" you yelled down the hall. sighing as you retired yourself to the break room. sungho joined you soon enough, not quite sure what else to do with himself.

"the generator will probably start up in a bit, we can just wait until then." you sighed out and sat down in defeat, laying your head down on the break room table.

maybe if i close my eyes and fall asleep this will go by quicker.

sleep was immediately out of the question, though, as the lack of heating sent a chill up your arms and legs. you really should've brought an extra sweater.

sungho watched your figure from the break room couch, looking back down at his phone to check the time. he sighed, shrugging off his jacket and moving over to you.

"here." you looked up to see the broad shouldered boy's jacket in front of you, hanging off of his outstretched hand.

"sungho, i'm fine."

"no, y/n you're shivering. plus it's my fault you're cold anyways. and come sit on the couch, it's warmer than sitting by the window." you met his eyes hesitantly as you grabbed the hoodie from his hands. slipping your arms into it, you sighed in relief as the boy's warmth encased you.

"thanks." you smiled and stood up to move and sit on the couch. sungho followed you quietly.

sitting on separate ends of the couch, an uncomfortable silence fell between the two of you. you didn't particularly want to kill the time scrolling through your phone, afraid it was going to die. looking over at sungho's side profile, you thought about how you've never really talked to him other than your stupid banter.

as if he'd read your mind, the boy turned to you.

"wanna play 20 questions?" you giggled at his silly inquiry.

"what?"

"don't you want to get to know your fabulous coworker better?" he smiled and held his chin in his hands dramatically, making you laugh again.

"sure."

over the past 15 minutes, you learned that you and park sungho liked the same music, had the same favorite show, and had fairly similar majors.

"how have i never had a class with you?" you breathed out in between giggles.

"actually, we have bio together." sungho spoke nervously, wondering what you were going to say next.

"no fucking way. you're lying." you stared at him blankly, reeling from shock. how had you never noticed him? why didn't he say anything? for a reason you couldn't decipher, it made you sad to think he might've avoided you in class.

"i'm serious! i'll show you my schedule." sungho exclaimed as he fished his phone out of his pocket. you moved over on the couch to sit next to him and peer over at his phone screen.

"why didn't you say anything?" sungho's cheeks flushed red, not that you could see it in the dark anyways, the whole room lit up dimly by the evening light.

"i don't know. i was nervous i guess." he spoke quickly, stuffing his phone back in his pocket and fiddling with his thumbs.

the idea of you making sungho nervous made your head spin. was it because you guys always bickered at work? you fought to not delude yourself into assuming it was for any other reason.

you slowly looked down at sungho's thigh that was mere inches away pressing against yours.

hm.

seeing how close he was to you, almost hearing his breathing, you don't know what came over you.

you scooted closer to him, fully letting your thigh rest against his and your shoulder kiss his bicep. sungho sucked in a breath.

this was normal, definitely. you two were just conserving body heat.

"y/n ..." sungho spoke quietly, his voice breaking the thick silence. you turned to meet his eyes just to see him avoiding your gaze.

"what?" you pouted teasingly, fighting not giggle at the way sungho was acting. you brought a hand to his lower thigh, fingers splaying across the thin fabric of his pants. sungho bit his lips and screwed his eyes shut, trying to think about anything other than you touching him.

your lungs and stomach burned as you decided to test the waters further, moving to slide your hand higher up. before you could move your fingers any further, a hand wrapped around your wrist.

"don't..." sungho's eyes bored into you in a way that made your cheeks flush. "don't play with me right now."

the boy's lips were parted slightly, expression almost pained as he breathed shallowly. your lips curled upwards. there was no going back anymore.

"i'm not playing." you whispered. that was all the boy needed to hear; before you could even blink his lips were on yours, hand moving from your wrist to slide behind your neck.

you gasped at the feeling of his plump lips against yours, hands grasping for his chest and clutching his shirt. you shifted to sit on his lap, sighing into sungho's mouth as you felt his other arm wrap around your waist. you swiped your tongue across the boy's lips. they parted immediately, beckoning for you to explore him further.

you moaned softly after feeling his fingers slide into your hair and push your face even closer to him. he tilted his face so he could meet your tongue with his, groaning into your mouth.

shaking your arm slightly, you silently asked him to help you out of your jacket. the boy took the hint immediately, pushing his hoodie down your arms and letting it fall onto the floor behind you.

running his hands up your arms, he broke away from your lips to catch his breath. you watched as the boy under you tilted his head back and sank further back into the couch. he pulled you onto him, letting his wet lips land on the soft skin of your neck.

you melted in his grasp, moaning and bringing a hand up to pull your hair out of the way. reaching his tongue out to taste your skin, sungho's hands pressed into your shoulder blades, holding you close to him. your eyes fluttered shut as you tilted your head back, sighing softly.

sungho ran his hands up and down your sides, groaning into your neck in a way that made you shake. you brought your hands to push at his shoulders lightly. breaking away from your neck with a lewd pop, the boy looked up to meet your half-lidded gaze.

you cupped his jaw with your hands and pulled him to smash his lips against yours. you moved your arms to wrap around his neck as he slid his hands up your shirt, dragging them down your back and sides. you whimpered as his hands ghosted over your boobs.

"can i?" sungho whispered against your lips, hot breath fanning onto your chin. you nodded hurriedly, aching to feel his hands on your skin.

in all honesty, sungho was ready to take you right then and there if you'd let him. luck was not in your favor, though, as the two of you were unceremoniously interrupted a loud whir and blinding light.

pulling away from the dark haired boy, you giggled.

"power's back on." you smiled as you watched the boy underneath you groan out curses. you didn't miss the feeling of something poke your thigh as you got off of his lap, laughing even louder.

...

sungho walked you to your apartment, mumbling that it was too dark for you to go alone.

before you had the chance to walk towards the entrance of your complex, you felt a hand grab your wrist, just like in the break room.

turning and smiling, you took in your coworker's nervous demeanor.

"y/n, i know we kinda got off on the wrong foot, but do you wanna ..." his voice trailed off.

"wanna what?" you played dumb, finding enjoyment in his nervous laughter and pink cheeks.

"hang out? just the two of us?" you smiled and stepped towards the boy, softly placing a hand on his shoulder and leaving a chaste kiss on his cheek. you smiled giddily at sungho as you nodded.

sungho's smile was even bigger as he pulled you in for a hug.

"are you gonna spill coffee on me this time?"

"shut up."

#bnd fics #bnd smut #bnd imagines #boynextdoor #bnd fluff #bnd x reader #boynextdoor x reader #sungho #park sungho #park sungho x reader #sungho x reader #sungho fluff #sungho smut #sungho imagines #sungho fic #park sungho fics #sungho boynextdoor #sungho bnd

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feeder86 · 1 year ago

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Law and Orders

Liam had rolled his eyes as he’d had his instructions from the chief to patrol the viewpoint that Saturday night. Three years into his service at this police force and he was still getting all of the tedious tasks that no one else wanted. This one, however, was always particulalrly awkward; knocking on the windows of steamed up cars, usually to find two horned-up teenagers ending their dates with a bit of heavy petting. He’d have to advise them that it was a public area and ask, didn’t they know that this was a form of public indecency?

Like an actor upon the stage, Liam could recall the same speech each and every time. He’d have to stand there as they squirmed in his presence, or tried not to giggle nervously at having been caught by a police officer. But was it really that much of a big deal? Not so much for Liam. He’d been there, back at the end of high school, dating his first boyfriend and coming up here for some private time, given that there was nowhere else in this small town for them to go to.

Parking up that evening, Liam could see only one car in the parking lot - not surprising, given how he’d procrastinated and delayed coming up here until it was late enough for most of the cars to have dispersed naturally. Still, the steamed-up windows were a giveaway that something was afoot inside the only remaining vehicle. He took a deep breath and quietly approached the passenger window.

Loud, longing groans were heard from inside, giving Liam the sense that his timing could not have been worse for the passionate pair. Still, he had his duty to perform.

Tap, tap, tap.

Liam’s knuckles hit the glass; firm and authoritative. The response was always the same. A sudden silence from within, followed by a sense of panic and a delay of at least ten seconds before the window was finally rolled down.

“Officer!” came a cheery and surprisingly upbeat voice from the driver’s seat. “How can I help you?”

It was a male’s voice, seemingly dripping with amusement from being caught out like this. Then the man reached his hand up to the interior light, illuminating the inside of the vehicle so that the officer could see their faces properly.

There were so many things for Liam to take in once he could see the two people inside the vehicle. Both male, there was a shocking contrast in their size and appearance. Liam recognised the driver straight away: Jesse, the star athlete from the year below him in high school. Liam remembered him smashing almost every sporting record held at the school; including some of the ones Liam had set himself during his time there. Now Jesse’s athletic and muscular body was looking fine in his perfectly fitted shirt; that handsome face still as alluring as ever. However, his date was not looking quite so immaculate; hijacking Liam’s attention as soon as he spotted the sauce stains smeared around the guy’s mouth.

Liam had had no idea that Jesse dated guys. Understandable, given how quickly this jock was known for going through girls back in high school. Still, it was jarring to see the hunk’s date that evening. A large, heavy guy with a giant, ball-like stomach, equally smeared with food stains as he tried to quickly conceal it with his fumbling hands attempting to button a shirt back up as fast as possible - and failing miserably.

“I take it you gentlemen know this is a public area?” Liam began, trying to begin his usual speech and maintain his composure, despite the confusing scene that he had walked in on.

Jesse responded immediately; a beaming smile plastered across his face as if he was genuinely enjoying seeing his date squirm so much under the scrutiny of a police officer. “Oh, yeah. Sorry,” he chuckled. “It’s just so late and my big fat boy here was so hungry…” he teased.

“Jesse!” the heavyset man from the passenger seat hissed in embarrassment as the jock began stroking the guy’s large, bloated stomach that would not return into the safety of the overly tight shirt.

“Um, well…” Liam fumbled, trying to get back on track with his usual speech. He looked around the inside of the car, noticing the piles of wrappers and fast food containers that made it all so untidy. Then, with a sudden jolt in his groin, Liam recognised immediately what was going on here. This was feedism - it had to be! All the signs seemed to suggest it. Jesse was clearly enjoying watching his date stuffing himself with food to the absolute max, then rubbing that enlarged, strained gut that was giving them both so much pleasure.

“We were just heading back now, officer,” the overweight passenger declared, finally regaining some composure as his gut was at last concealed. “We’re very sorry to have taken up your time, Sir.”

“Heading back?” Jesse smirked, not done teasing his date. “But, honey, you’ve still got all this ice cream to swallow down for me…”

Liam felt his own face flushing with blood just as much as Jesse’s date. He’d always had an interest in this sort of play. He’d seen videos of guys rubbing down mostrously overweight guts and he’d read stories about the pleasure of stuffing and fattening a man to absolute extremes. Whatever he needed to tell these two men, his entire speech had left his brain. He simply stood there, mute. Finally stepping back as the window rolled shut and the car roared into life, cruising out of the parking lot and back onto the highway.

Suddenly forced back into the cold, dark silence, Liam knew that this would be a night he could never forget.

“Have you ever had any run-ins with Jesse Rodans?” Liam asked his chief the next day.

“Scott Rodan’s lad?” the older man asked with a grimace, having had a vendetta against Jesse’s dad ever since Liam had known him. It was a small town, with old vendettas aplenty if you searched hard enough. “A couple of speeding tickets and a bit of backchat when he’s been questioned about things. But that’s what happens when daddy buys you a sports car at the age of sixteen. A typical spoiled brat. You know the type. Why do you ask?”

“Just… the speeding thing,” Liam lied, thinking on his feet. “Someone was complaining to me yesterday about seeing his car going through the middle of town at quite a pace.”

“Typical!” the chief tutted. “These rich kids are all the same. They think they own everything and that the rules don’t apply to them.”

Liam nodded, his mind still racing from his encounter the night before. Finding out that Jesse was a feeder had stirred something in him that he hadn’t felt so strongly in quite some time. He’d gazed at the body of his chief and wondered what a guy like Jesse would have made of him; almost forty, with large, sagging nipples that rested on a very large ball-shaped gut; not to mention the sheer width of the guy’s backside and the way he waddled slightly whenever he walked. It was fascinating.

“Listen, I think you should keep an eye on this Jesse and try to get to the bottom of these speeding incidents,” the chief continued, seemingly just thinking out loud. “It probably wouldn’t take much for a judge to take his driving licence away from him. And what a shame that would be, huh?” he joked, smirking wickedly as he strolled by, patting Liam on his shoulder as he did so.

Liam swallowed, half wishing that he hadn’t said anything at all.

It didn’t take long for Jesse to fall back into Liam’s orbit; especially when the young officer had waited at a concealed junction for Jesse’s drive home from the gym; just as his chief had advised. He stepped out of his vehicle, having clocked Jesse exceeding the speed limit, quite considerably, and made his way over to the driver’s window.

“Well, well, well… It’s you again,” Jesse smirked from inside his sports car, clearly unfazed from being stopped by the police.

“Do you have any idea of the speed you were just doing, sir?” Liam began.

“You know, there’s just something so sexy about a man in uniform,” Jesse continued, ignoring the question and the serious situation he was in entirely.

“Going by what I saw on Saturday night, I wouldn’t have thought I was your type,” Liam shot back breezily as he wrote out the ticket.

“Oh, don’t you worry; I’d soon fix that…” Jesse smirked, obviously checking out Liam’s tight butt as he still sat inside his own car.

Liam knew he had a job to do: issue the damn ticket and get the hell out of there. But Jesse’s words were so… indescribable to him; so unfathomably alluring and surprising. He found his concentration waning as his arousal began to spike; something that he had never experienced whilst working before.

“After all, cops love doughnuts, don’t they?” Jesse teased, simply waiting for the ticket to be handed to him and knowing that the financial penalty would mean less than nothing to him.

Liam chuckled, trying to seem more laid back than he felt. Inside his brain, every synapse seemed to be sparking with electricity. “You’re right. We do love our doughnuts,” he joked back.

Jesse smiled and didn’t respond straight away. He seemed momentarily surprised that Liam was playing along with his backchat and not just trying to stamp his authority. He raised his eyebrows and smirked. “Well then, maybe you should let me take you out for some doughnuts sometime,” he offered, brimming with his own self-confidence.

Liam felt the need to retreat, quickly. “I don’t think that would be entirely appropriate,” he mumbled.

“Neither is your boner,” Jesse retorted quickly, pointing aimlessly towards Liam’s crotch. “But, maybe if you let me take you out sometime, I’ll let it slide,” he laughed. “Here,” he offered, simultaneously taking his speeding ticket and exchanging a contact card for himself into Liam’s own hand. “Call me,” he smirked, starting up his car and racing off once more.

Left in the dust, Liam looked around in shock. What had just happened?

Thankfully, no complaint had been made against Liam the following week. He’d not slept all that well; anxious about the possibility of Jesse making an accusation against him for his conduct during the speeding ticket incident. But then there was the other reason why he hadn’t slept…

Liam had always had a bit of a fat kink for as long as he could remember; a fascination with the way the blubber spread across a body, jiggling and moving as they walked. He’d often yearned to know what that felt like and became aroused by the idea of the teasing and comments he might get if he ever was to let go in the same way that a guy like his chief had. But he’d had a goal to join the force for many years now, and that had required hard training and dedication. Even at the height of his high school sporting success, he’d never been in the peak physical condition that he was in right now. Yet, the thought of a real feeder wanting to get hold of him… he could hardly describe the arousal that gave him. Not that Liam was ever going to give Jesse a call. Not ever.

It was a late finish one Friday evening when Liam was walking out to the parking lot and saw Jesse sitting on the hood of his sports car, grinning at him. Liam froze instantly, his heart pounding.

“There you are!” Jesse smirked. “I’ve been out here over an hour waiting for your shift to finish.”

“Can I help you with something?” Liam asked, still trying to stay in work-mode and handle this professionally.

“My date tonight fell through, so I thought I’d come and find you instead. I’ve been waiting for you to call me. Guys don’t usually leave me hanging like that,,” he smiled, as if completely in control of the situation.

“Is this about the speeding ticket?” Liam asked, trying to avoid getting turned on by Jesse’s perfectly toned body, or lose himself in the guy’s deep brown eyes.

Jesse simply laughed. “You’re cute. Come on,” he beckoned, already getting himself into his car. “We’ll just grab a bite to eat.”

The lights on the sports car swivelled into life and the deep rumble of the engine rolled through the quiet evening. Still Liam stood there, frozen to the spot. And yet, there were his feet slowly starting to shuffle forwards. Jesse slid the car towards him and reached across to swing open the door. Then, just like that, Liam was sitting inside, roaring down the street with no idea where he was heading.

“I wasn’t sure whether you remembered me from high school,” Liam chuckled after they’d parked up somewhere a few minutes later and the conversation had started to flow. “After all, I was in the year above you.”

“No, I recongnised you right away,” Jesse explained. “I used to date one of your best friends. Not that he’s ever come out of the closet. Even now, after all these years.”

“You did?” Liam asked, surprised. “Who was it?”

“Your buddy, Martin.”

“Martin..? But… no! That can’t be right!” Liam spluttered. “He’s married to a woman.”

“And probably living unhappily ever after,” Jesse simply chuckled without a hint of bitterness in his voice.

“Well, I never would have guessed that!” Liam sighed in shock.

“I’m the reason he got kicked off the football team. I put 50lbs of pure fat on him within five months of dating. He was my first success story.”

“That was YOU?” Liam blasted in alarm, thinking back to how much weight Martin had gained in their final few months of high school, and how quietly erotic it had all seemed to his impressionable young mind.

“It’s amazing what a few substitutes in a protein shake can do to a guy,” Jesse sniggered.

“So he didn’t even realise what you were doing?” Liam asked, flabbergasted.

Jesse simply chuckled without regret. “I worked hard for my bad boy reputation,” he nodded proudly. “I was a horny seventeen year old, dating my first boyfriend and had free access to my dad’s credit card. I knew how to spoil a guy with a naturally good appetite, like Martin.”

“He never lost that weight, you know,” Liam continued. “I saw him a couple of months ago. He’s still pretty chubby. Even now.”

Jesse huffed with disapproval. “Yeah, but he should be fatter by now. If he hadn’t dumped me the minute his sister was close to finding out about us, I could have had him up and over 500lbs by now. That boy was an absolute pig!” he laughed nostalgically.

Liam chuckled, briefly assuming that Jesse was joking. By the time he realised he wasn’t, he felt the hardness in his crotch throb even more. He tried to change the conversation onto something more conventional but Jesse was having none of it, staring into his eyes flirtatiously and rubbing his hand across Liam’s thigh in a way that set fireworks off in his head. He leaned in and, even without thinking, Liam’s lips moved to meet his. He felt his hands brushing against Jesse’s athletic chest and his heart racing faster than ever. There was something so inescapably intoxicating about Jesse: the confidence, the swagger, the complete lack of shame. Falling into his trap felt like such a sweet dream.

“Do you want to see me again?” Jesse whispered as they came out of a long spell of passion.

“Yes,” Liam answered immediately, making Jesse smirk.

“Good,” the hunk whispered, remaining calmer and more composed than Liam could. Then he made his move, sliding his hand across Liam’s flat, muscular stomach and grinning with a wicked intention that flared every one of Liam’s senses.

Despite the pathetic speed with which Liam responded to any messages from Jesse in the coming weeks, he couldn’t honest;y say that he was ‘dating’ the man he had issued a speeding ticket to only a few weeks earlier. Jesse simply had an intoxicating, devilish way about him that Liam could never resist. They began fooling around together on a semi-regular basis. Jesse would come over and be his usual, flirtatious self. He’d begin talking about the fat guys he’d dated or fed, then smirk as he saw how Liam couldn’t quite hide his arousal. They’d kiss whilst Jesse explained some more. They’d begin stripping their clothes off as Jesse described in detail how mercilessly he’d stuffed even the very greediest guys and rejoiced in seeing their clothes getting tighter and tighter; from the sprouting of a brand new pot belly to the sagging of a monstrous tank. Those stories and minute details never failed to make Liam climax with more intensity than ever before.

“So that’s your boss?” Jesse asked, picking Liam up from the station one evening.

“That’s the chief. Yes,” Liam nodded, already sensing that the feeder was swooning over his boss’ gigantic gut.

“Now I finally understand why some folks have a thing for guys in uniform,” Jesse joked. “There’s no hiding a gut like that under those shirts! My cousin is a lucky gal!”

“Your cousin?” Liam asked.

“It’s a small town. Everyone is related somehow,” he laughed, rolling his eyes. “My dad, perhaps unfarily, inherited the entirety of his father’s business. Now the rest of the family want nothing to do with us. Which is quite a shame, considering the eye candy that’s married into it…” he joked, still admiring the fat-bellied man.

The two of them watched as the chief waddled from the station. Then they both laughed as they saw him trotting into the pizza place a couple of doors down and fished out his wallet to order something tasty for himself mid-shift.

“That’s it, Fat Boy!” Jesse whispered as he watched the obese man from the darkness of the car. “Eat up, Piggy. Bust a few more buttons on that shirt for me,” he chuckled.

Liam laughed. He had so much respect for his boss, but hearing Jesse reducing him to nothing more than a greedy glutton was also turning him on in a way that he didn’t realise it would. “I think your cousin is a bit of a feeder,” Liam went on to explain, curious to see where his observations may lead the conversation. “She’s super slim, and yet, she sends him into work with some of the biggest slices of cake I’ve ever seen.”

Jesse laughed wickedly, still eyeing the chief as the man leaned over the counter to order; displaying the full width of his broad, under-exercised butt. “Of course she does!” he nodded.”We’re probably cut from the same cloth; her and me.” Then he turned to Liam and kissed him passionately, full of arousal. “You coming back to my place?”

Despite being a year older than Jesse and considerably more well rounded in his life experiences and career, Liam had the overwhelming sense that he was being wined and dined by someone much more polished and worldly wise than himself. Jesse lived in an apartment, bought for him by his parents, and had an overpaid position within their family business that was clearly little more than an excuse to get him out of bed in the morning. Yet, whenever Liam saw him, spoke to him, was coaxed into climaxing by him, Jesse would tell one of his well crafted real-life stories about feeding and weight gain. So aroused, Liam felt like he was in the presence of someone much more remarkable than anyone he had ever met in his life. He knew that Jesse’s charm and the affection was all part of the hunk’s toolkit. How better to make him relax than to lavish him with attention and quietly suggest that they head out for some more food…

Liam was panting, having just climaxed rather forcefully for the second time that night, watching a video Jesse had recorded last year. It was one of several videos on Jesse’s cell phone of him feeding and pleasuring guys of varying levels of obesity. Indeed, Jesse was so skilled at coaxing them into overeating, so clever with his well timed name-calling and erotic coaching, so tactile in the way he handled all their fat; it was impossible not to explode everywhere the minute the feeder started swirling his hand over his groin.

“I’m guessing you enjoyed that video?” Jesse smirked, admiring the mess all over Liam’s broad chest and starting to clear it up with a towel.

“You bet I did!” Liam nodded. “You’re so awesome!” he declared, feeling so completely satisfied in that moment. “I can’t believe that I found you, right here in this town; the year below me in high school, no less! You’re the only person I’ve ever met who shares this kink with me. It’s unbelieveable. We’re just… so similar.”

Jesse smirked again; a wry knowing smile. “We’re not similar, Liam,” he chuckled to himself.

“Of course we are,” Liam shot back, snuggling into Jesse. “We both just came watching gainer porn.”

“No, you just came watching gainer porn,” Jesse corrected him, allowing Liam to rest his head on his toned chest. “I came because I was watching you.”

“What’s the difference?” Liam laughed.

Jesse kissed the back of Liam’s head. “You’re so fucking cute, you know that?” he sighed, almost patronisingly.

Liam sat up a little and turned to face Jesse so that he could see his face. “What do you mean by that?”

“You make like you don’t know what’s happening here. When I train you to climax watching all this shit,” Jesse laughed. “I’ve monopolised your time for weeks, not letting you go to the gym or choose what we’re eating.” He paused, with eyes filling with mischief. Then he simply reached his hand out to Liam’s stomach and grabbed a small fold of fat that was starting to smother the guy’s abs. “I came because I was watching my very latest piggy project.”

Liam looked down at the fold of skin between Jesse’s fingers, hardly comprehending its existence. He heard Jesse’s soft moans as his fingers gently pressed against it and he watched with amazement at how fast the guy’s flacid penis filled with blood once more and stood erect.

“Suck it!” Jesse ordered him with a sudden burst of dominance. “Suck my dick, Pig Boy!” he barked, quoting the line from the feeding video that had previously sent Liam over the edge and made him ejaculate.

Liam’s mouth watered and he felt his head drifting into Jesse’s crotch and his lips parting.

“Mmm! That’s it, Fatty!” Jesse moaned, clearly arousing himself with his own words. “Good pigs know how to make their feeders happy.”

Liam felt his arousal spiking hearing the version of Jesse he had watced so many times on the videos he had been shown, suddenly appearing right in front of him: the bossy, hedonistic dominant now ordering him around in real life. Jesse had been right, those videos were so sexy to Liam because he had always imagined himself in the position of the gainers Jesse cajoled into overindulgence. That was the ultimate difference between them both. There weren’t many things that Liam was sure of in those moments, but there was one thing he was certain of: he was going to give Jesse the best blow job of his life.

In the following days, Liam could not remember a time when he had ever been so incredibly horny. Although all talk of his miniscule weight gain had ceased, the way that Jesse was now touching and handling him had altered beyond recognition. The subtle manipulations to stop him heading to the gym or choosing healthier food options were now nothing short of blatant. When Jesse discussed the future, he spoke of Liam’s decline into obesity as if it was an inescapable inevitability; a consequence of how aroused he was by the gainer videos he got off to, or the company he kept in allowing Jesse into his life. He opened his mouth and ate what he was fed during their sexual foreplay. He allowed himself to climax looking at the bloat of his stomach and got more caught up than ever in the tales that Jesse told.

“Does this mean that I’m officially a gainer?” Liam asked, handling an increasing softness that was swallowing his abs. He knew what he wanted Jesse to tell him; to call him a greedy piggy again, or declare that his 10lb gain was just the start of something a lot more serious; to make him ejaculate as yet another fresh doughnut was pushed into his mouth.

“No. Of course you’re not a gainer,” Jesse replied simply, as if the answer had been obvious.

The response caught Liam by surprise. “Why not?” he asked back, startled by his own disappointment.

“Because you don’t look any different yet,” Jesse shot back. “Sure, I can see a little extra blubber on your stomach, but you’ve got to be realistic here. No one has even noticed. This all just looks like a little muscle bulk with the way you’re filling out your shirts so far.”

“But, this isn’t muscle,” Liam mumbled. “I mean… look at me!”

“Honey!” Jesse laughed, rubbing Liam’s butt. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I might know that you’re a greedy little piggy, but the moment other people start seeing a change, that’s when we’ll know whether you’re a gainer or not.”

Liam looked confused, but the smug look on Jesse’s face made him rethink questioning the logic further. “If you say so,” he sighed. The idea of being a gainer did sound hot, but he was never really going to commit to it long-term.

When Liam looked in the mirror over the coming weeks, he noticed the puffiness of his blossoming cheeks and neck. Whilst his built body did well to hide the emerging swell underneath his clothes, Liam did begin to wonder whether anyone had actually noticed the now over 25lbs he had gained since officially dating Jesse. It didn’t matter that his clothes had grown so tight and needed changing; if no one was actually noticing, what real difference did it make? He was indulging his kinks, having the best time with Jesse, and not having to worry about anything else. It was a win, win!

Liam was in the station when it happened the first time. He was chatting to his colleague, Sandra about the new patisserie that had opened up in a nearby town when he noticed two other colleagues seem to snigger at each other. He looked over and furrowed his eyebrows, assuming that he was imagining it. Then, when he continued talking about the pastries he most enjoyed, he noticed them doing it again, out of the corner of his eye. Now when he looked over, one of the guys elbowed the other, as if to signal that they had been caught, and the pair of them burst into laughter.

“What’s up?” Liam asked them, managing to hide his annoyance.

The pair looked at each other and smirked, as if daring themselves to admit what they had been talking about. In the end, one of them sighed and chuckled, finally turning to face Liam.

“Dude, is food the only thing you talk about these days?” he blurted out.

“Don’t be jerks,” Sandra called out to the pair of them, as if she knew where they were going with this.

“All we’re saying is…” the other guy continued, “...you may want to start laying off all those pastries you’re so obsessed with.” Then, with a very accusatory finger, he pointed directly at Liam’s midsection and chuckled once again.

Liam looked down. He hadn’t noticed the strain and obvious thickness that his shirt was clearly now showing, and he sat up in shock, swallowing hard. His heart was beating fast and he could feel his face flushing. He sucked in his stomach, but that only seemed to make the two guys laugh even more.

“Ignore them. They’re being idiots,” Sandra offered consolingly, her eyes full of sympathy. “It’s not as if they’re not carrying a few extra pounds themselves.”

Liam felt the air catch in his chest and butterflies fill his stomach. Warm blood seemed to be filling his groin and a gentle tingling sensation stimulated the tip of his penis. This was it; the moment Jesse had talked about. People were actually calling him out on dropping the ball with his gym routine, his over-indulgence with food and the not so subtle effect it was having on his once immaculate body. He couldn’t put his finger on how it was making him feel, despite the panic it set in motion in his brain. All he knew was that the semi it gave him wouldn’t go down for the entirety of his shift.

“What were the fake protein shakes you used to make for Martin back in high school?” Liam asked, almost breathless with lust the next time he caught up with Jesse.

Jesse smiled wickedly with the memory. “You don’t want to know,” he chuckled to himself.

Liam kissed the perfect, sexy specimen in front of him as if he had just given the most perfect answer. “You’re right, I don’t want to know. I just want you to feed them to me instead. Every single night.”

Jesse took a step back. “Sure thing,” he nodded, despite the fact that his tone gave away his skepticism at Liam’s sincerity.

“I’m serious,” Liam protested. “I want to get fat for you. Seriously fucking fat!”

“You’d eat or drink anything I gave you? Without question?” Jesse asked, more intrigued.

With a burst of arousal, Liam had to reach down and touch himself as Jesse considered the proposal. In that moment, he realised that this form of surrender to Jesse was the thing that he had most wanted to do since he had first seen him in that parking lot. “Yes,” he nodded. “Without question.”

“You want to be my big, fat piggy?” Jesse asked, grinning now. Excited.

Liam kissed him passionately, the pair of them collapsing onto the couch. “Do it to me!” Liam demanded. “No holding back. Give me all you’ve got. Every last dirty trick in your feeding handbook!”

Behind his calculating eyes, Liam could see Jesse’s mind whirring into life; the firing of synapses and initation of thought processes that would ultimately, and irreversibly, alter Liam’s physique even further.

Over the coming weeks, Liam learned many new things about Jesse. Firstly, the guy’s ruthless ambitions when it came to transforming Liam’s physique was very apparent. This wasn’t simply a case of growing a little paunh or pot belly: the moobs, the back fat and double chins. Jesse observed every inch of his body, waiting for the changes to occur. Also, despite knowing how smart and shrewd Jesse was, the precision with which the guy planned Liam’s diet was really quite startling. Nothing that went into Liam’s mouth hadn’t been considered and chosen with care. Nothing that was whispered into his ear in those erotic moments hadn’t been tailored with perfection to trigger Liam’s emerging kinks. And when Liam was allowed to climax, there hadn’t been a single second wasted to ensure that every single possible calorie hadn’t been pushed into his saliva-dripping mouth first.

“Hey, Handsome,” Jesse smiled as Liam walked into his place after a long shift. He kissed him and let his hands slide around to feel up the officer’s glutes at the same time. It was one of the moments Liam found most arousing, knowing that this form of inspection was ongoing. He knew that Jesse wasn’t just waiting for his tight rear to simply develop a little softness; he was willing them, forcing them and programming them to swell and widen, losing all manner of shape or athleticism.

Liam first had to explain exactly what he had eaten on his night shift and how much of the shakes Jesse had provided had actually been consumed. Then Jesse nodded, writing it all down and adjusted his measures for the shakes he would prepare today. There wouldn’t be a weigh-in. Those only happened in the mornings when Liam had slept all night and his stomach was emptied. Jesse stated that he had no desire to cloud his data with false measurements; the results of bloating or stuffings that would only be temporary.

“How’re the new pants?” Jesse asked, sitting Liam down and heading to the refrigerator for a shake.

“Better,” Liam nodded, watching his boyfriend preparing things for him as he rested his feet. He hadn’t suffered as much with his pants during his shift as he had in previous days. Still, there was something rather startling about the fact that he now had to wear a 36 inch waist and still not being entirely comfortable.

He undid his shirt buttons and allowed his increasingly puffy chest begin to appear. Then, with a final tug, he let the newly-developed, squishy fat roll around his stomach plop onto his belt and he sighed with satisfaction, knowing that it looked even better than yesterday.

Jesse’s smirk seemed to agree as he looked over and surveyed the changes. Then, with well-oiled precision, he tipped Liam’s head back, inserted the funnel and began pouring once again. “Good piggy!”

A stark contrast began to develop between Jesse and Liam. It had been the summer when they’d made their relationship official and Jesse later admitted that he’d deliberately chosen to introduce Liam to all his family and friends at pool parties or beach trip; where Liam’s former physique had been well on show. It meant that the looks Liam was now getting were nothing short of rude: the stares, the sly comments. They made Jesse laugh and they triggered the well-trained regions of Liam’s brain so that they gave him the most pathetic of hard-ons that only a true gainer could understand.

“Are you still hungry, honey?” Jesse asked as the pair of them enjoyed a house warming party at one of Jesse’s friends' places.

Liam stifled a burp and shook his head. His new paunch felt as tight as a drum and seemed particularly emphasised by the oddly fitting t-shirt that Jesse had insisted he wore.

Jesse chuckled, never failing to be particularly affectionate with him when there was an audience. “Don’t be silly, baby. I’ll go get you some more cake,” he grinned, sliding off with that wicked smile on his face.

Liam looked up awkwardly at the friends of Jesse all gazed down on him with concern. They’d all long got the measure of Jesse, having witnessed him overfeeding many overweight and swelling boyfriends in the past. But the thing that they coild not be certain of was whether Liam knew any of this. Did he know that all this weight he had amassed in recent months had been far from accidental? That Jesse was clearly getting off on this, that he was probably even boasting about it behind Liam’s back? Yet they all, every last one of them, sat back and looked on with guilt as they allowed Jesse to continue pushing slice after slice of cake on an ever fattening Liam.

“Are you still using your gym subscription?” asked Liam’s aunt one afternoon when he had gone round to help her unclog her gutters.

Liam rolled his eyes whilst on the ladder, knowing that from this angle his aunt had a perfect view of his swollen tummy pushing out from the bottom of his shirt. “Sometimes,” he lied.

“Well…” Liam’s aunt sighed, ready to begin her speech. Mentioning the gym was, as Liam had learned in recent months, the way that a lot of people had quietly begun a conversation about his sudden weight gain and how he needed to get himself back in shape. “It just seems to me that…”

However, before she could get underway, the rumble of Jesse’s sports car filled their ears and Liam’s boyfriend soon rolled into the driveway.

“Martha!” he grinned charmingly, going in for a hug, knowing that all of the women in Liam’s family were smitten with him. “I hear you need some help with these drains.”

“Oh, yes. But, Liam’s got it all under control,” she smiled, failing to keep her eyes from wandering as handsome Jesse removed his shirt to begin the dirty work.

“This guy?” Jesse joked, pointing to his lover and handing him a covert calorie shake, right there in front of his aunt. “You’ll be waiting around all day if you leave it to Liam. You two head inside and I’ll have this all wrapped up in five minutes flat,” he smiled, taking the gloves from Liam and energetically hopping up onto the ladder in his place.

“Well, if you’re sure?” Martha mumbled, looking up awkwardly as Jesse’s muscular physique flexed beautifully in the afternoon light. Her gaze shifted to Liam; bloated, strangely pot-bellied and gulping down a shake as if he had just run a marathon. Then, like most others, she began to wonder just what it was that such a handsome man saw in her now quite noticeably overweight nephew.

“I hear you’re getting married,” Liam’s chief muttered, seeing Liam alone at his desk and quietly gorging himself on a few doughnuts.

Liam nodded, always feeling a little awkward when the chief tried to talk to him about his private life. Ever since he had learned that the chief’s wife was an estranged cousin of Jesse’s, Liam had felt like he was somehow caught in the middle.

The chief sat himself down, making the desk chair squeak in protest, and the large man sighed as if he had been considering his words carefully for the last few days. “Jesse is a good looking guy, but are you sure he’s who you really want?” he asked tentatively.

Liam nodded again. “Oh yes. Definitely,” he stated with certainty.

The chief smiled and chuckled slightly at the optimism of young love. “You remind me of myself at your age,” he sighed. “I used to be just like you.”

Liam couldn’t help feeling a twinge of arousal at the comparison. His well-trained mind automatically thought of all the times Jesse had told him how monstrously fat he would be in the future, and the idea of somehow ending up just like the chief someday was particularly exciting for him.

“It’s just…” the chief tried once more, rubbing his enormous stomach as if to give him courage. “You know how our families are linked?” he asked, having never mentioned it himself to Liam before now. He then waited for Liam to nod his head before continuing. “I feel like there are quite a few similarities between my wife and your Jessie. I love her dearly, but she’s no angel,” he chuckled affectionately to himself. “She had quite a reputation for being a bad girl around town when she was younger; certainly not a respectable choice for a young officer like myself to be dating back then!”

“Yeah, I’ve heard some of the stories,” Liam smiled back.

“The thing is…” the chief pressed on. “I started putting on a lot of weight when she asked me out.” He paused, taking a moment to look thoughtfully at Liam. “I thought it was just me being greedy. But I very quickly realised that that wasn’t the case. Or, at least, it wasn’t always the case,” he conceded.

Liam rubbed the back of his head awkwardly and found himself instinctively sucking in his stomach. He knew exactly where the chief’s comments were leading and he squirmed inwardly, now unable to make eye contact with him.

“It started fairly slowly; pants not fitting, shirts getting tight. I noticed this little tire around my waist and my appetite was becoming insatiable. I started looking more closely at my diet and I could see my wife… well, she was only my girlfriend back then… I could see that she was massively overfeeding me. On purpose.”

Liam raised his eyebrows, pretending to act surprised. Everyone here pretty much knew that the chief’s wife was a feeder.

“When something like that happens, you’ve got two choices,” the chief continued, looking hard at Liam. “My wife wasn’t going to change, so I could either make a run for it and get myself back in shape, or, I could embrace it.” Then, with a sweeping stroke of his strained, oversized stomach, the chief made clear what his choice had been. “And if you don’t mind me saying so, it looks like history may be repeating itself with you…”

Liam cleared his throat nervously. “You think?” he mumbled, looking away and feeling flushed with embraracement.

“What I’m about to say may shock you, but I believe that you need to hear it. I think your fiance might be a feeder.”

Liam felt the eyes of the chief upon him, searching for a reaction. “Um, wow…” he mumbled in response. “A feeder? You really think so?”

“Trust me, I know the signs,” the chief nodded, pointing directly at the puffed up stomach on Liam.

“Wow… I, uh. I don’t know what to say,” Liam mumbled.

“Now, what you do with this information is up to you,” the chief rambled on, holding his hands up as if his job was now complete; his conscience clean. “But, do you love him?”

The chief’s question caught Liam off-guard and the man repeated it once more, as if the young officer had not heard it the first time.

“Yes,” Liam nodded sincerely. “I do.”

“And this… this thing I told you about won’t change that?”

“No. Never,” Liam stated with absolute certainty.

The chief beamed. “Well then…” he declared, reaching over and stealing one of Liam’s doughnuts. “Do yourself a favour and change that shirt of yours for something bigger. Those buttons have been straining all week. I know how hard it is when you gain a few pounds and how people talk. But if anyone says anything, I want you to come straight to me. Okay?”

Liam nodded; his eyes still wide with shock.

“However, saying that, if you want people to take you seriously around here, you’ll need to keep your uniform nice and smart and, most importantly, roomy. Always at least one size up. You hear me?”

Liam nodded and smiled. He hadn’t realised how much a simple act of acceptance could make him feel so good, as well as strangely aroused. “Yes, Chief,” he beamed.

After that day, Liam didn’t feel quite so much need to suck his stomach in at work. Jesse noticed a change in him too; the way he didn’t mind slouching in public and holding himself in a way that would obviously be rather conventionally unflattering to his appearance. It was a good thing too, for the small little paunch that had been in development was very quickly taking shape into something much more sizable. Liam rested his hands on top of it, hardly believing that the little shelf of stomach fat was actually his. He turned to his side in the mirror, marvelling at the plush love handles that had swollen from above his hips and he bounced his under-exercised glutes, getting aroused by the sheer weight and softness that had developed within them.

Jesse, meanwhile, had been training his own body in the complete opposite direction, building his chest and pecs more than ever before; never failing to take his shirt off at any opportunity. “Look at us!” the hunk would order as they both gazed at their naked reflections in the mirror; their increasingly contrasting forms exciting them both more and more each and every time.

“Only three more weeks to go until the wedding,” Jesse reminded his lover as the final calorie shake of the day sat there on the counter, waiting for Liam to be ready for it.

Liam exhaled, knowing that he would indeed have to find space in his stomach for the shake somewhere. This time of night was always the hardest; the final push before bed. However, it was also the most enoyable time; when his gut was at its tightest and it pushed out in front of him as if he was already another 30lbs heavier. “Just give me another couple of minutes and I’ll be ready,” he smiled lovingly at his finace. Even now, he couldn’t believe his luck, finding someone so sexy and fun, willing to push him to these extremes and watch him grow. “I love you,” he whispered as Jesse moved down to Liam’s crotch, stimulating his appetite by keeping him erect and horny the entire time.

“I love you too, Fat Boy!” Jesse teased back. “And I can’t wait to have you as my husband. All mine at long last!”

Liam sighed in joy. He loved this idea more than anything else; being Jesse’s plaything for the rest of his life; being shaped and moulded, just as the handsome hunk wanted. “Some days, I just can’t believe how lucky I am that you chose me,” Liam smiled; his eyes dripping with lust as Jesse’s mouth slid seductively over his hardness.

“You know exactly why I chose you,” Jesse laughed, “Out of all the fatties I’ve ever played with, none of them ever got as hard as your little dick does when I tell them how fat they’re going to get.”

Liam nodded, knowing that Jesse had indeed told him this many times; that from the first time he had reached down and held Liam’s erection, felt the strength of the muscle, the warmth of all the blood coursing through it, the throbbing with every word Jesse spoke about feeding and fattening others, Liam’s lardy fate had always been clear to him.

“If you think I’m tough on you now, just wait until after the wedding, Piggy,” Jesse grinned, standing up and grabbing Liam’s shake to hand it to him. “You’re going to be swallowing a lot more of these soon,” he laughed, stroking Liam’s double chin until the guy’s head fell back, ready for the calories to be poured in.

Liam returned from his two week honeymoon a very much changed man. It was as if all of his previous athleticism had finally been stripped from him, His chest had at last succumed to the mounting fat that was swelling across his body, and his upper arms, once so muscular and toned, had now begun to shake and jiggle as the softing mass spread underneath the surface of the skin. The photographer had sent the first shots from their wedding day and Jesse had purposefully fed Liam and sucked him off whilst he gazed at the most unflattering of all of them; his puffy cheeks, double chin and rounded gut there for all to see. Already he looked as if he had spent a lifetime with his feeder, yet it had really only just begun. He’d hit 300lbs on their honeymoon through a considerable amount of effort on both their parts. Now, back in work, his natural hunger was hard to satisfy. With help from the chief, he’d applied for, and accepted, a promotion at work, leading to greater responsibilities and more time at his desk; a very much welcome relief. Since dating Jesse, he’d gradually become more estranged from the colleagues he used to hang around with, only making it easier when he became the one to issue orders and instructions to them.

“Hi Joe,” Jesse grinned, strutting into the station and waving at the enormously obese chief, much as he always did. The large man was still so much bigger than Liam and yet, that gap was narrowing every single day. “Where’s my handsome husband got to?”

“In there,” the chief pointed to a little room to the side. “He may still be a while yet. It’s quite a complicated case.”

Jesse slumped in the chair like a spoiled brat denied his plaything. “Has he at least eaten well today?” Jesse asked his cousin’s husband. “I’m trying to get at least six thousand calories down him every day this week.”

“Oh, he’ll have hit that, no problem,” the chief nodded. “I saw him drinking three of your special shakes today and a very big lunch. Plus, I saw him coming back with a tray of doughnuts earlier and there certainly aren’t any left now. I told you those appetite stimulants would be effective in his shakes. He won’t even taste them in there if you keep adding enough syrrup to the recipe.”

Jesse nodded. He definitely had to agree. In fact, his cousin’s enormously oversized husband had been a great source of expertise from the very start.

“Since you’re here, you can look at this,” the chief chuckled, reaching into his desk drawer with a grunt. “I found it the other day; our Police staff Christmas party from four years ago. Just look at how slim and fit Liam was back then! His tiny waist! Who would have guessed he’d turn into such a porker after this?” he laughed.

Jesse laughed as well, seeing the once athletic and naturally handsome man he had since married and fattened beyond recognition; now swollen over 360lbs and fattening more every single day. “Well, you certainly guessed it,” Jesse chuckled back at his cousin’s husband. “I never would have spotted him as a potential fatty without you giving me the heads up and tyring to push us together.”

The chief chuckled to himself and nodded in agreement. “I’m fairly good at spotting guys with the same kinks as me. It was at the party…” he pointed back at the photograph in his hand, “that I spotted him looking across at my fat gut, and I just knew there was a hint of jealousy in there. All he needed was the right feeder to get their hands on him,” he laughed. “Your cousin always said you’d be ruthless once you got your own fatty to play with, and she was right. It was the least I could do, after all the help you gave us when I first got with your cousin. I was so desperate to get fat. My old abs didn’t know what had hit them once you started assisting us,” he smiled, reminising fondly. “A bit like your Liam. You should hear some of the names they call him down here behind his back now!” he grinned, clearly taking pleasure from being a part of it all.

“It looks like they’re finishing up,” Jesse noticed, seeing shadows moving behind the drawn blinds of the room where Liam was in. Then he stepped back from the chief and perched himself on Liam’s desk, waiting innocently.

Liam emerged, his hands on his wide hips and looking tired. He wore his tie long, draping over his large stomach which had started to untuck the ever-shrinking shirt that tried to contain it. “What are you doing here?” he beamed, seeing his muscular husband waiting for him. He strolled over, suddenly noticing the chief not far away and deciding to remain professional in his presence.

“Special delivery,” Jesse winked, passing over a couple of flasks of calorie shakes, which Liam immediately tried to conceal from the chief’s view. “Just because you need to work late, doesn’t mean I’m letting you slide on your calorie targets today.”

Liam smiled, but shushed Jesse nonetheless in case the chief overheard him and thought they were an even more strange and mismatched pair than he probably already did.

“You will be home soon, won’t you?” Jesse asked, grinning like a man who already knew his charms. “I’ve got something very special in the oven for my Fat Boy!” he teased, discreetly patting his husband’s gut in a way that he knew would excite him.

“I won’t be too much longer, I promise,” Liam smiled back, smitten with love and lust for the man of his dreams. “And then I’ll eat every last bite for you…”

Jesse grinned. “Good boy,” he laughed, giving Liam a quick peck on the lips and walking away, only giving the chief a simple, polite wave, as if they were mere casual acquaintances after all. “I’ll hold you to that, Fatty!”

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