#or else will would be wearing short shorts

[shencomix]

How to Be The Dominant Male in Any Situation

Let's say you walk into a party.

You are wet and pathetic. Not only are you a worm, but even among worms you are the runt of the litter.

There's a way to fix that. Even you can be the alpha male in every situation you're in. Here's how:

Alpha Male Rule 1: Stand Tall or Very Short

In some things in nature, like rats and giraffes, the biggest creature in is leader.

However, in other things in nature, like the mafia, which has large goons but a small boss, the smallest creature is the leader.

You need to lean into whichever option is closest to you. If you are almost short, try wearing a big suit like a mob boss would wear to also make yourself wider like a mob boss. If are you almost tall, like I am, trying wearing these bad boys:

Now, I know what you're thinking: "High heels?? But isn't that for women???" Women have been hiding them from us men because they are afraid of how powerful we would be with them. But, why do women alone get to augment so much about themselves?? Look at all the eyeliner and mascara they need to even begin to mimic the power and seductiveness of our male eyelashes:

So, let's take a look at how we're doing now having applied just this one piece of advice:

It's a whole new situation. Let's move onto rule 2:

Alpha Male Rule 2: Always Get What You Want But Never Ask For It

I notice the man next to me has cookies. I would like one. Not only that, but there's also a woman next to me, watching. Asking another man for a cookie is extremely un-alpha behavior, so here's how you go about this situation:

1) Point out that someone else has something that you want

2) Cry until they give it to you

If everything has gone according the plan, you now have a cookie, and the woman is thinking something like this:

Let's move onto the last rule.

Alpha Male Rule 3: Always Up the Ante

Whatever you want to do or say, do or say it at least 3 times as hard as a regular person. When your coffee is $3, you should give $9 to show how wealthy you are. When you say "I'll be back in 5 minutes" you should actually be back in 15 minutes -- but really, you should say "I'll be back in 15 minutes" and be back in 45 minutes.

You should also start every task at step 3 rather than step 1. So, a normal (read: beta) guy might tell a girl "I think you're pretty" and then later ask "will you be my girlfriend?' But you should just say this:

99% of women will say yes, but if she needs further convincing, it can be helpful to offer her a small present, like a trinket or snack.

Congratulations. You have now learned how to be the most dominant male in any situation. Here are a few more tips for the road:

Claim to be descended from an ancient king or emperor. You can make a map or your lineage and fold it up to carry it in your pocket, so that you may unfold it whenever it needs to be presented.

If a woman takes a genuine interest in you, do the full body blush animation rising from bottom to top like you're a cup filling up, then run away, leaving behind a small cloud and a few speed lines. The idea that woman can actually like you is a lie perpetuated by Big Women.

If you want to further increase your height, try wearing bunny ears.

[patchwork-crow-writes]

The Roaring Knight encounter at the end of Chapter 3 is a masterclass at showing you that the REAL protagonist of Deltarune isn't Kris - it's Susie.

This doesn't really make much sense at first glance - you can't even really FIGHT the thing on equal footing without the Shadow Mantle, and to even get that Kris has to go through a harrowing gauntlet and fight a whole OTHER secret boss that doesn't even use the battle mechanics we've grown accustomed to. Kris Suffers to get that item, the one thing that can let them stand up to the Knight's merciless assaults. Hell, the game won't even let you retry if you lose until you have the Mantle in your possession. You would therefore assume that the Mantle belongs to Kris, and that they are the ones who should wear it.

And yet. Even when you don't have this item, who stands up to defy it? Susie. Who stops it from doing... whatever it was trying to do to Toriel, TWICE? Susie. And who gives chase across the boundary between light and dark, across the entirety of hometown, to stop it from abducting Undyne? Why, it's Susie. Her actions are those of a hero standing up to a terrible villain of unknowable power, and she does it without a shred of hesitation, even faced with the very real prospect of being killed.

And if that were it, it'd be kind of boring. But that's not it at all, because the reinforcement of this idea continues into the fight itself. Because if you can keep Susie alive for five turns, she starts monologuing against the boss, telling it how much it sucks and that she'll always have her friends behind her.

The Knight is presented to us as unknowable, invincible, unstoppable. Regular attacks bounce off of its absurdly high HP, it cannot be Checked like a normal enemy, attempts to reason with it fall on deaf ears. And yet, what's the one spell that can meaningfully hurt the Knight, to the point of temporarily disrupting its form? Susie's Rude Buster.

And then, when you throw yourself at the Knight again and again, trying to figure out its weakness, trying to outlast its brutal onslaught, it hits you - the Shadow Mantle does NOTHING for Kris in this fight, but it does EVERYTHING for Susie. Susie's the one doing all the damage. Susie's high HP perfectly compliments the shadow mantle's protection against the Knight's more absurd attacks. Ralsei has no way to meaningfully contribute to the fight at all, and while Kris can use Hold Breath to give the SOUL a boost, their utility begins and ends there. The most that either of them can really do is to act as TP and healing bots for Susie, and to equip weak armours that have beneficial effects, such as the TwinRibbon, Silver Watch, Blue Ribbon, TensionBow and Lodestone - the effects of these items persist regardless of whether the character wearing them is DOWNed or not, and, you guessed it, are equipped not to help them survive, but to allow them to support Susie even when incapacitated.

Then you start seeing it in other areas. Who is it that facilitates change in the other characters - Ralsei, Noelle, Berdly? Susie does, each and every time. She effortlessly upends their own myopic views of the world, defying them to change and be better, without even really realising that's what she's doing - is it any wonder that EVERYONE in the main cast seems to have a thing for her? She's magnetic in the way that heroes are, not despite her brashness and short temper but BECAUSE of them - because she cuts so effortlessly through the FICTIONS that other characters cling to, the stories they tell themselves about who they are, what they can do, and how they ought to be. Susie shatters those preconceptions and offers an alternative - live how you want to live, make the choices that you want to make, and let no-one else ever tell you who you are.

Susie is the hero of Deltarune, and the Roaring Knight's fight encapsulates why perfectly, without ever once drawing attention to the fact. It's sheer genius on Toby's part and I salute the skill with which it conveys those ideas in such an organic way.

[jacksabbotts]

spencer reid x bsf!fem!reader

tw .' suggestive themes , nsfw ( mdi 18+ )

imagine spencer reid getting a boner after looking down your shirt at work

it would start with you sitting next to him on the jet during a normal briefing, tablet in hand. his brain would short circuit for a whole minute ( longer if he'd gotten a glimpse at the lacy blue bra you'd had on ) scratch that, of course he noticed and due to his eidetic memory, he would never forget it

you, however, you had gone and done it on purpose. you would lie and say that you just wanted to show him something in a crime scene photo but you had specifically been wearing his favorite color lingerie and a strategically chosen a white button up with the first two buttons undone in the hopes that he would notice

his whole face would probably turn redder than a tomato and he would have to physically tear his eyes away from your cleavage. it wouldn't even cross his mind that you had wanted him to see it, so he would spiral in to guilt for looking. he would label himself a creep and flush red for a whole other reason

the other reason being that he could feel the his slacks tightening in the area of his groin. his body had betrayed him in a monumental way. and what was even worse is that you were still sitting next to him. your thigh touching his ( dare you say innocently )

he'd apologize to you in his head seventeen different ways. each starting with 'im so sorry, its biological' and ending with 'please, don't stop being my friend'. not that he'd ever have the courage to even begin to broach this subject with you and even if he could, he'd couldn't lie to you

yes, his body was having an uncontrollable reaction to you but he couldn't lie to your face and that that was the only reason

he'd start trying to think of anything else, anything but the color of your bra and what it might look like on the floor of his bedroom. or what you might look like sans the white shirt and deep blue bralette—

no! reid, get yourself together. this is your best friend you are thinking about and she definitely doesn't deserve your perverse thoughts. think about schrödinger’s cat, the fibonacci sequence—

he couldn't even look at you right now. would he ever be able to look at you again? he couldn't last more than two minute without thinking about your face, how would he survive never seeing it again once you decided he was a pervert for looking down your shirt?

his slack were beginning to feel uncomfortable and it was still growing. he reached for his water bottle, bringing it to his lip. when did he get to thirsty? oh my god—

string theory, think of the periodic table, anything other than the curve of her—

'spence, are you ok?' you had interrupted his spiral when you placed your hand on his upper thigh, suspiciously close to his raging boner. the mere touch alone made him grow even more in size. it had also made him choke on his water

he coughed violently and you moved your hand to his back as he leaned forward. but the action, while in attempt to help him, only made him cough harder

'i’m—fine—i just… water went down the wrong pipe.'

you smirked and then returned your hand to his thigh. only this time you placed your hand higher, your thumb rubbed the inseam of his pants. and spencer reid never wanted to die and live at the same time

he stood abruptly. your hand fell from his leg and he fumbled his way around you, desperately trying not to touch you as he tried to get to the aisle. in hindsight he probably should have faced away from you while shimming past as you got a full view of his bulge he tried to so hard to hide

'restroom!' he squeaked and gave you no time to protest

he'd stare at himself in the mirror, bead of sweat beginning to form in his hair line, his glasses slightly fogging

this is fine, just gotta wait it out, spence. five to seven minutes. blood redistribution. standard physiological response. this is science, not—

buzzzzz

he froze and slowly but robotically ( praying it wasn't morgan texting him to say he'd seen spence's little huge problem ) after seeing who it was from, he took back his praying

he'd wished it was morgan, or hotch telling him he was fired for borderline sexual harassment. but he would never be so lucky. no, the text was from you. with bated breath he opened the message

lmk if you need any help with you little problem, spencey

what?!

he swore his heart stopped right then and there. not only had you known about . . . but you were offering to help. his first instinct was to hurl the phone, as if it burned him. the second was to drop dead and hope that if there was some kind of afterlife that it would be kind to him. neither sounded very productive to him.

he leaned against the door and mumbled, 'i'm gonna die in this bathroom.'

THE END | masterlist

[scotchfairy]

I guess fuzzy sweater gays are done, then. They used to be the clones in the Castro (San Francisco) arguing that we'd get marriage rights and custody and adoption laws would suddenly be fair if we JUST STOPPED LOOKING LIKE THOSE FREAKS (of which I was one). Kacki pants, fuzzy sweaters, topsiders shoes, short hair and a little caterpillar moustache. Just as faceless as if they'd been frat boys. Their whole thing was "try and look like everyone else" (fail).

Thinking about it, the sweater fags and the conformity police of the 1980s and 90s have morphed into the neo puritans, puriteens, and performative morality crowd. Where wearing the improper outfit gets one accused of somehow committing acts in public.

Might as well just fly your freak flag proudly.

cleared so hard

[jinjoohaa]

Room for One more?

Pairing - JJK Men x reader

CW: obsessive behavior, dubcon/free use themes, sexual exhaustion, manipulation, smut-heavy content, degradation, group dynamics, rough language, Gojo being an unhinged menace, humor mixed with filth.

prev | next | M. list

Chapter 20

Gojo had always been insatiable, but now he became something else entirely. Something unhinged. He wasn’t just using you—he was devouring you, every part of you, all day, every day, with that same sugar-sweet voice and pretty blue eyes that masked the fact he was a walking, talking, sex-starved maniac.

You couldn’t walk into a room without him turning it into his personal fantasy.

He’d fuck you over the sink while brushing his teeth, his mouth full of foam, smearing it along your neck as he groaned, “I knew you were gonna look hot in these panties today, baby… you wear ‘em just for me?”

Sometimes he didn’t even bother touching you. He’d jerk off just watching you—when you were sleeping, when you were reading, when you were just curled up on the couch in a big shirt with your legs tucked under you. He’d sit across from you, eyes glazed, fist working his cock under a blanket like he didn’t care who noticed.

“You don’t even need to do anything,” he’d sigh. “Just exist. That’s all it takes, angel. Just sit there and let me cum all over myself like the pathetic little perv I am, yeah?”

And he’d do it.

But it wasn’t always just for himself.

There were times he’d bend you over the coffee table three times before lunch, tongue buried deep between your legs like he was starving, whimpering sweet nothings against your clit.

“Ngh—don’t run, don’t move, baby, just let me—fuck, you taste so good today, did you eat fruit or something? You always taste sweeter after mangoes. God, I love you—love your pussy, love your thighs, love the way you go all dumb and whiny just for me—”

By the time evening rolled around, your legs were shaking. You’d be half-asleep on the couch while Gojo was still wide-eyed and grinning, pawing at you like a cat in heat.

He wasn’t rough. He never hurt you. That was the worst part—he was so gentle about it, so loving, always kissing your cheeks and whispering praise, coaxing you through orgasm after orgasm like it was nothing.

“Still with me, pretty girl? I know it’s the third time, but I swear this one’s gonna be the best—please, just one more, and I’ll let you nap on my chest all evening, promise.”

He’d say that. Then thirty minutes later he’d be hard again.

At first you loved it.

The way he's obsessed with you like a maniac. The way his world revolved around you. The way all his energy and attention went straight to you. The way he spoils you. The way he comes home right after work so he could cuddle you, love you or bend you over and fuck you right after.

But you couldn't lie, it was getting a bit too much.

You were exhausted.

Your thighs ached. Your voice went hoarse. You couldn’t focus on anything. You’d try to make breakfast and Gojo would come up behind you, cock already hard in his shorts, and start grinding against your ass while pretending he was just trying to reach the kettle.

“Oops. Sorry, baby. It’s just so warm back here… don’t mind me.”

But it never stopped there. His “just one more time” turned into two, then three, then more.

And when you finally gathered the nerve to talk to him—one evening, after sex had made your whole body sore—you sat him down gently and said, “Satoru… maybe uhmm. . . we could take it slow for a few days? Just a little?”

He blinked.

Then tilted his head and gave you that look—the big, glassy, hurt-puppy stare.

“...What’s wrong, baby? Don’t I make you feel good?”

“I’m not hurting you, am I? I’m always so careful…”

“You don’t love me anymore? That’s it, right? You love Geto more now? Or Nanami? I knew it. It’s ‘cause Toji’s stronger, isn’t it?”

He rambled like that for ten straight minutes while you panicked and backtracked, apologizing and hugging him, promising that you loved him more than anything. And so… you never brought it up again.

But the exhaustion didn’t go unnoticed.

Geto saw the way your legs trembled at breakfast. Nanami caught you dozing off mid-task. Toji had to hold you up once during laundry because your knees nearly gave out.

When you confessed to Geto—quietly, while Gojo was out—that you were overwhelmed, he’d simply nodded.

“I’ll talk to him.”

And so they did.

It all came to a head the next evening.

You were folding laundry in the living room, soft music playing in the background, Geto and Nanami nearby. Toji was resting on the recliner.

Then came the sound of the door slamming.

Gojo stumbled in, sweaty from a jog, plastic bag swinging from one hand, his silver hair stuck to his forehead. He was muttering to himself—something about getting the spicy curry you liked—and didn’t even take off his shoes before he tossed the bag aside, palming his crotch, and started marching toward you with his cock already half-hard.

“Sweetheart,” he panted, “I missed you so fucking much—lemme just—just a quick one, I need you—can’t think—”

His eyes were glazed, pupils blown wide. He was panting like a man possessed, shirt damp, skin flushed, all but vibrating as he started crossing the room.

Before he could get two steps closer, a hand shot out and grabbed him by the collar.

Toji.

With one swift yank, he dragged Gojo back like an unruly mutt and tossed him bodily onto the couch.

Gojo landed with a grunt, flopping like a ragdoll.

“What the fuck, Toji?!” he groaned, sitting up, hair even messier than before.

“You need to cool it,” Toji snapped. “You’ve been walking around with your dick out more than your clothes this week.”

Gojo blinked. “Okay, but… who's complaining?”

“Her! She’s fucking exhausted.”

“I’m gentle—!”

“And constant,” Nanami cut in, calm but sharp. “There’s a difference between loving and smothering, Satoru.”

Gojo’s jaw clenched. He looked to you—wide-eyed, breathless, heart in his throat.

“You said you liked it… I make you feel good…”

“And now she’s barely sleeping,” Geto said, sighing as he moved to your side, tugging you gently into his lap. “You have no off switch. It’s too much.”

“She didn’t say anything—!”

“Because every time she tries, you guilt her,” Nanami said flatly. “You twist it into something it’s not. That’s manipulative.”

“I just… I just love her so much…”

“We all love her,” Toji said, rubbing his temples. “But if you keep acting like you’re the only one who deserves her, we’re gonna have a problem.”

Gojo slumped back against the couch, staring at the ceiling, breathing heavily. His cock was still twitching, shamelessly, against his thigh.

“…Can I at least jerk off while watching her then?” he muttered.

“Toji, hold him down.” Nanami snapped.

“Oh for fuck’s sake—”

Gojo sat on the couch, legs spread like he owned the place, flushed and breathing heavily as if he had been the one unfairly manhandled. His cock was still half-hard in his pants and twitching with every annoyed shift of his hips.

“I seriously don’t get what the big deal is,” he muttered, lip jutting out in a pout. “She likes it. She lets me. She moans. I’m gentle. You guys are just pissed because she loves me the most.”

There was a pause.

Toji’s head turned, slow and sharp, like a predator hearing a challenge.

“What did you just say?”

“I said,” Gojo grinned, too smug for his own good, “she loves me the most. That’s why you’re all mad. You don’t see her face when I make her cum. You don’t hear the little sounds she makes when I eat her out till she cries. You don’t know the way she grabs my hair like she’s gonna die without me. That’s love, baby.”

Toji was already on his feet, cracking his neck.

“You wanna say that again, pretty boy?”

“You mad, Toji?” Gojo smirked. “Didn’t get enough last time you begged to taste her? Want me to describe how she sounds when she—”

"You fucker—" Toji was ready to throw hands.

“Toji,” Nanami said firmly, hand on his chest. “Don’t.”

Toji growled but stayed still, eyes burning holes through Gojo.

Gojo huffed, crossing his arms. “Everyone uses the free-use thing. So why am I the only one getting ganged up on like this? You guys fuck her too. Why aren’t you all getting dragged? Huh?”

“Because none of us are fucking her four times a day,” Geto snapped.

Gojo blinked. “That’s not true. Maybe three.”

“Do you want the list?” Nanami asked, deadpan.

Gojo shrugged. “Go ahead. Bet none of it sounds that bad.”

Nanami sighed. “Fine. You asked.”

He held up one finger.

“Last Wednesday. You fucked her in the laundry room on top of the detergent. The cap was still open. It spilled. She sat in it. Her thighs were raw. She couldn’t walk properly.”

Gojo shrugged. “It was hypoallergenic. Also, she said the floor was cold, I was trying to keep her warm.”

Toji rubbed his temples.

Geto jumped in. “That same day, you asked her to hold your cock in her mouth while you played video games. You told her it was ‘team bonding’ and if she loved you, she’d keep it warm until the match ended.”

Gojo raised his hand, as if correcting a fact. “First of all, it was two matches. And second, it was bonding. She was humming. That’s, like, advanced affection.”

Nanami glared. “She was humming because she couldn’t breathe and was trying to make noise.”

Gojo blinked. “...Details.”

Toji snorted. “For fuck's sake. Remember Sunday brunch? She was wearing a dress. We were all eating. You kept fingering her under the table. She dropped her goddamn fork. Three times.”

“She looked pretty,” Gojo replied defensively. “And I was helping her relax. You know how she gets nervous during meals.”

“She choked on orange juice,” Toji snapped.

“She’s clumsy!” Gojo threw his hands up. “I was gonna Heimlich her if it got bad. Geez.”

Nanami’s jaw clenched.

Geto leaned forward. “The time you smeared whipped cream on her tits at 3AM because you ‘wanted dessert’—”

“Oh, come on,” Gojo cut in, “that one was romantic. It was her birthday.”

“Her birthday is on next month.”

Gojo blinked. “...Time is an illusion?”

Toji looked like he was about to lunge again.

Nanami just pinched the bridge of his nose.

Geto sighed. “You literally humped her thigh while she was napping on the beanbag. You thought we didn’t see, but the mirror caught it.”

“She looked like she wanted it in her sleep!”

“She was asleep.”

Gojo shrugged. “Consent is forever.”

Toji hissed through his teeth. “Oh I’m gonna—”

Nanami stepped in. “Toji.”

Gojo was on a roll now, clearly doubling down.

“Y’all are just mad cause she cuddles me more. She tells me she loves me every night. I don’t hear her saying that to you.”

“Because you make her say it,” Geto growled. “While your cock’s down her throat.”

Gojo smiled like that was a compliment. “Exactly.”

Nanami finally threw his hands up. “I can’t. I literally cannot listen to this anymore.”

“C’mon, Nanamin—”

“No.”

Nanami stood. “I’m done arguing with a hormonal raccoon in heat.”

“I’m not a raccoon!”

“You are. You’re white-haired, nocturnal, and you hump things indiscriminately.”

Gojo looked offended. “That’s racist.”

Toji burst out laughing.

Nanami shook his head and turned to leave.

“Where are you going?” Geto asked.

“To my room,” Nanami muttered. “I’d rather listen to cursed audio of Gojo moaning than hear another excuse for why he thought fucking her against the fridge during a blackout was a good idea.”

Gojo pointed at Geto. “That one was your idea!”

“I said light a candle, not rail her next to the butter drawer!”

Nanami disappeared down the hall and slammed his door shut.

Toji sat back down, rubbing his jaw. “I swear, if you keep this up, I’m gonna staple your dick to the floor.”

Gojo crossed his legs dramatically. “You’re all bullies.”

Geto flopped next to you, pulled you onto his lap, and whispered, “You okay, sweetheart?”

You nodded, half amused, half dazed from the chaos. Gojo pouted from across the room.

“She still loves me the most,” he muttered.

Toji picked up a sock and threw it at his face.

Few minutes passed.

Gojo stayed on the couch, unmoving, as if he were mourning something sacred. His long limbs sprawled across the cushions dramatically, one arm draped over his eyes like he was in the final scene of a tragic romance. The sock Toji had thrown at him was still resting on his chest.

No one said anything for a while. You were curled into Geto’s lap, and he was gently stroking your back, murmuring something soft into your ear while Toji looked through his phone like none of this ever happened.

Then Gojo let out the most obnoxiously loud sigh you’d ever heard.

“…No one even cares that I’m hurt,” he said, voice shaking slightly. “No one’s asking how I’m doing. How I’m feeling.”

Toji didn’t even glance up. “You tried to stick your dick into her while she was folding towels.”

“And you tackled me!” Gojo flailed his arms. “I have bruises! My hip hit the corner of the goddamn table! You think this is easy for me?”

“You think this—” Toji gestured at you, limp in Geto’s lap, your shirt slightly stretched and your thighs marked up with faint bruises from earlier— “is easy for her?”

“She’s glowing,” Gojo said stubbornly.

“She’s fading,” Geto corrected flatly. “She almost fell asleep while chewing cereal this morning.”

“I was just giving her vitamins,” Gojo muttered.

“By fucking them into her at sunrise?” Geto scoffed.

Gojo pouted harder, then slowly slid down the couch like a melting popsicle, his ass nearly hanging off the edge now.

“I’m not even horny right now,” he whispered.

Everyone stared at him.

“…I just wanted to cuddle.”

“Go to bed,” Toji said.

Gojo didn’t move. “You’re all gonna brainwash her against me. That’s what this is. You want her to stop loving me.”

Geto rolled his eyes. “No one’s plotting against you, you maniac.”

“I saw how she smiled at Nanamin yesterday.”

“I smile at everyone,” you said weakly, voice still raspy from earlier.

Gojo turned his head toward you slowly, like a ghost haunting a Victorian home.

“But you smiled at him differently.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake,” Toji muttered under his breath.

“I can’t help it if I’m just more sensitive,” Gojo continued, now curled into fetal position, pulling the sock onto his hand like a puppet.

“You guys don’t get it. She’s everything to me. Every time I touch her, it’s like a religious experience.”

“You came in your pants before even touching her last night,” Geto said.

“Exactly!” Gojo looked betrayed that Geto didn’t see the poetry in that. “That’s how powerful it is. I don’t need any of you to understand.”

He turned toward you again, lip trembling like he was really about to cry.

“Baby,” he whispered, crawling across the couch like a sad, horny panther. “You still love me, right? You still want me? I’m your good boy, yeah?”

Geto narrowed his eyes. “Don’t answer that.”

Gojo sat upright again with a loud huff, legs crossed, arms folded.

“…I’m just gonna sleep on the floor then. Right here. Naked. Maybe she’ll trip on me and accidentally fall into my mouth. Oh no. How tragic.”

Toji grabbed a pillow and smacked him in the face.

Gojo let himself fall backward with a grunt, now fully stretched out and muttering under his breath.

“You’re all just jealous. She loves me the most. She said it while I was balls deep and sucking her tits last day. That’s basically a marriage vow.”

“I’m gonna shove that sock in your mouth,” Toji muttered.

“Not before she shoves her tits in my mouth,” Gojo sing-songed, wagging his tongue.

“Enough,” Geto said finally, shifting you onto the couch next to him and standing. He walked over and pulled Gojo up by the shirt collar.

“You wanna prove you’re not just a sex-crazed lunatic? Then back off and let her rest. Give her at least one full day without any of your dick-stupid antics.”

Gojo blinked. “What if I just cuddle her with my dick out?”

“Gojo.”

“…Okay, fine.” He deflated again. “But only because I love her more than any of you.”

Toji kicked a cushion at his head.

“I will. And I’ll make her say it too, next time she’s gagging on—”

Geto clapped a hand over his mouth and started dragging him away by the collar.

Gojo muffled something that sounded suspiciously like “jealous losers.”

You let out a breath, eyes fluttering closed.

“…I'm gonna get some sleep now.” you mumbled.

Toji sat beside you, brushing your hair back with surprising gentleness.

“Sleep, baby. He’ll still be dumb when you wake up.”

to be continued in the next chapter. . . .

Comment down to get tagged for the upcoming chapters. Also I started a backup account in case something happens to my current one - just to be safe lol, So if y'all are interested, @jinjoohaa-blog do follow !

taglist: @sparkling-obsidian @yaurss @pota-hoe @shiroonii @unrxdcl @xanhnax @bunny-wunni @kkmaysen @dinokens-blog @starryyairis @stellavirgindaddy @lilahardell @dollbwun @anacod @ellieebellee @ngh-ch-choso-ahhhh @nina-from-317 @a1zennn @lenafushiguro @imoutofpot @riszei @mikasasarm @seobinghard @dontcallmedoc @savagecatsuga @satorus-sweetbunny @socksfirst1 @mimiluvzu2 @slovesyouuu @dayarncollector @pettypinkprincessblog @novyscotia @lady-haitani @airandyeah @bitchycoffeellama @odysseusmom @r0seyposey @teenbreakup @originalcrazycatlady @fairygardenprincesss @lolliibunny @yurixxiii @sukunasbigtiddiewifey @sunoooooassss @toofoxmoon @angelita-uchiha @spicytteokbokki @certifiedchangbinlover @maliciouslullaby

[hischiershoe]

Friends to lovers with Quinn I beg… I luv a slow burn.. ur the best🫶

With this prompt: 04. "you sure this looks fine?" "trust me, you look fine as hell…

tysm for requesting, i hope you like it!!

no warnings! just cute awkward quinny boy

Quinn's been buying his own suits for years now. Well, sort of on his own. He always begs you to come along with him under the guise that he needs an extra pair of eyes. When you'd asked him why he didn't ask one of the guys, he was quick to brush you off with a nervous excuse about how 'their fashion taste isn't as good as yours'.

In reality, Quinn just wanted to spend time with you in any capacity that he could, and you would never turn down an opportunity to see him. Despite the two of you only ever labeling the other as friends, you both knew there was something else between you lying just beneath the surface. It wasn't a matter of if it would ever come to light, it was merely a gamble of when it would.

His suit for the NHL awards was no exception to the undeclared rule between you, and that is exactly how you ended up on an uncomfortably expensive couch waiting for him to come through the curtain in his newly tailored suit. You were tiktok mid-scroll when you heard Quinn's muffled curses from the dressing room, and you were instantly on your feet and making your way towards him.

"Quinn," You call out, not wanting to pull back the curtain in case he was indecent, "Is everything okay?"

"I can't tie this damn tie the right way," He grumbles, his voice laced with frustration and annoyance.

"You want me to do it," You earnestly ask, your features softening though he can't see you, "I used to help my brother with his all the time."

You hear him let out a quiet sigh of relief, quickly followed by the curtain being pulled to the side so that you're able to see him entirely. Your breath gets caught in your throat as you take him in, admiring the way the suit clings to him because it was made perfectly to his body. It takes every ounce of your willpower to shake off the urge to stare, and to step into his space as he holds the tie out towards you.

"I don't usually wear ties," He awkwardly mumbles, shifting his gaze anywhere but on you.

"I know you don't," You softly chuckle as your fingers work with the material, "I think you should, though. They look nice."

Being so close to Quinn made your heart thud in your chest, it made it almost impossible to focus on tying it the correct way and pulling the cloth the right way. At one point, someone rushed behind you and Quinn was quick to move you out of their path by pulling you flush against him. The moment was short, gone almost as quickly as it had arrived, but it still made every nerve in your body fire off at once until your ears were ringing.

"Sorry," He bashfully apologizes as you tighten the knot of his tie.

"No worries," You reassure him, glancing at him before you step away, "You're all tied up. It looks good."

Quinn's cheeks redden at your compliment, but he doesn't say anything as he turns around to look at himself in the mirror. You stay a couple of feet away from him, watching as he smooths out his suit jacket and messes with its cuffs. Watching him check himself out made you have to bite your lip to keep yourself from giggling, but it made the warm feeling in your chest blossom.

"Are you sure it looks fine," He calls out over his shoulder.

"Trust me, Q. You look fine," You nod before your voice falls a few octaves and you whisper, "As hell."

"What was that," He fully turns towards you with his face twisted in slight confusion.

"I just said you looked fine. You look great, I promise. You'll easily be the best looking guy there," You vow with an encouraging smile on your face, "Now, change outta that so we can get that coffee you promised me."

"Okay, okay," He holds his hands up in mock surrender as he backs up towards the dressing room.

He steps back into it and pulls the curtain behind him, and it is only then that you let yourself take a deep breath. You sink back into the seat you had occupied before and focus on trying to get your heart rate to settle down, but you knew that wasn't going to happen until you had been dropped off at your apartment. Quinn always had that kind of effect on you, no matter what he was doing or where the two of you were.

After Quinn talks with one of the salespeople, he's got his suit protected in some fancy bag and the two of you are walking out of the shop and to his car. You weren't sure if you were imagining things or not, but it felt like he was walking closer to you on purpose. His hand and shoulder kept brushing against yours, sending jolts of electricity throughout your body with each passing touch, and it was driving you crazy.

Neither of you say anything while Quinn puts his suit in the back and you climb into the passenger seat. When he finally turns the car on, you're too busy focused on queueing up the best songs that you miss the way he was looking at you. His fingers were nervously drumming against the steering wheel, and his mouth kept dropping open like he wanted to say something, he just wasn't sure what.

"Do you think they'll have the new- What is it," You cut yourself off when you notice him, "Is something wrong?"

"Yes. Wait, no," He shakes his head before running his hand through his hair, "Nothing's wrong. It's just- Do you maybe want to go out with me? Like on a date?"

You blink once, twice and your jaw goes slack as his words echo in your skull. Quinn just asked you out. Quinn Hughes asked you out on a date.

Finally.

"Yeah," You softly smile at him, "I'd love to go on a date with you."

[feeder86]

Poster Boy

Getting a job at ‘Buzz Cut’ was certainly more lucrative than most people would have expected. After finishing college, Callum had searched, without much success, for something where he could utilise his mediocre degree in Sports Science. Bar work had not been part of the plan. However, the pay and conditions at ‘Buzz Cut’ were a world apart from any entry-level graduate positions out there. As for the bar itself, Callum couldn’t say that he had ever been. He’d seen the promotions online with the enticing, sexy guys who worked behind the bar, always dressed in very little at all. But he’d heard from others how expensive it was to get inside, and the giant mark-up on drinks. With a student’s income, and a mostly-straight friendship circle, Callum had always stuck to the less expensive, generic venues whenever he went out.

Posing for the photoshoot had been new for Callum. It was all part of the job. ‘Buzz Cut’ offered a complete ‘experience’ for its patrons, and that included bar staff they could drool over. Callum found it hard not to laugh as he saw the giant container of baby oil being dragged out, as well as the tiny underwear he was given to wear for it. He stood in front of the screen, flexing and posing, showing off his natural athleticism and good looks. It was the first time he’d met some of the other guys who worked there, as they were brought in a couple of hours early, before their shift, to pose alongside him for more promotional shots. Callum had never seen so many tight abs in one room, but the boys, many of whom were secretly straight, all seemed completely used to posing together like this now. Only Callum’s extreme height made him stand out from all the other toned and chiseled hunks the bar had on offer.

Everything Callum had heard about the bar had been absolutely right. The place was packed from early on each evening, filled with surprisingly youthful patrons who didn’t seem to mind the eye-watering prices of the drinks and snacks on offer. The music was decent and the facilities better than anywhere else in the city. Sure, there was an element of being leered at, but from behind the safety of the bar, it wasn’t as if that was much of a problem, dressed, as Callum often was, in only a pair of very short shorts. 

Callum often thought of Zach, the bar’s owner, just imagining how insane his profits must be each month, owning a place like this. The guy was there quite often, maintaining his original vision for the bar despite handing over the everyday running of things so that he could concentrate on his other business projects in the city. Good-looking, toned and still only in his late thirties, Zach must surely have been one of the city’s most eligible bachelors. Callum’s own interactions with him had been few and brief; maintaining the illusion that this was a professional atmosphere, despite the fact that Callum was little more than naked his entire shift.

Working at ‘Buzz Cut’ was a full time job. Callum could understand why Zach had always refused to hire college boys to work there. Shifts started early, at six in the evening, with promotional work or preparation. Then they would go on until the very small hours, often not getting back home until six in the next morning; especially on Saturdays. Working nights was not something Callum could say he had taken to all that well. He’d experienced the typical difficulties of maintaining his friendships after college, hampered even more by his lack of availability over the weekends. Still, they had more vacation than most at the bar, which Callum had hoarded and stored up so that he could go back home to Kansas for four whole weeks during the holiday period.

“What’s this?” asked Zach upon Callum’s return that January. 

Callum looked down at his middle where Zach was pointing. Dressed as he was, there was no hiding the extra pounds he had gained during his time at home, with his mom feeding him as if he was still that ravenous hungry teenager he had been before he left for college. But combining that with beers and no real workout routine, Callum’s abs had taken quite the beating; his stomach seeming puffy and bloated the entire time. “It’s just a little holiday weight,” he tried to explain, knowing that appearances were everything in this place.

“A little?” Zach blasted back, sweeping around Callum and spotting the slight build up on his sides; the love handles Callum had always gained whenever he bulked, slowly returning.

Callum shrugged. “I’ve just been enjoying my food a little more recently,” he answered. “I’ll soon get it off.”

Impatiently, Zach shouted over to Martine, the manager. “Stick this one on midweek shifts. He’s not to work the weekends until he’s lost this extra weight,” he declared, strolling off and shaking his head in disappointment.

Had Callum really heard that right? He was off weekends? Was that really his punishment? Only guys who had worked here for years were granted the significantly quieter weekday shifts instead. He found it hard not to smirk as he collected his things and headed home early, messaging some of the boys from his old football team to tell them he could come out for beers that night after all. 

Callum checked his contract through carefully. There were watertight clauses to stop him from messing around with patrons at the bar, very detailed outlines of what he would be required to wear and surprisingly few controls over what the club could do with the images they took of him for their promotional material. However, in no place did it mention the expectation for him to maintain his physique. An employee literally could not be fired, no matter how much weight they might gain. It was the perfect loophole, he realised, knowing that he would be in no rush to drop the extra pounds now that his job had become so much easier and less intrusive on his social life.

“Dude! You are so in for it if they find out what you’re up to,” Danny laughed, seeing Callum strutting out in his tight shorts at the start of the Tuesday night shift.

Callum chuckled and rubbed awkwardly at the swollen middle on himself. He looked as large as he ever had in his bulking phases, inadvertently gaining more weight as he attempted to prevent himself losing it. “I’m telling you, buddy,” he smiled back confidently. “They can’t fire us for gaining a few pounds.”

“If you say so!” Danny laughed, patting Callum on his slightly wider rear as he went to collect ice. “An extra five pounds is a little different to an additional thirty though, don’t you think?”

Callum rolled his eyes. He hadn’t gained that much. At least, he certainly doubted it was that much. Martine seemed to know the score and let him be about his weight the moment Callum made reference to the clauses in their contracts. He was completely in the clear.

“What the hell?” blasted Zach as he popped in one evening before the doors officially opened. “What’s THIS?” he pointed once again at Callum’s middle. “I thought you were going to sort it out and get back in shape? Not gain even more!” He stood there expectantly, waiting for Callum to answer him. Somehow, it didn’t seem like the usual excuses would fly with Zach.

“I’ve just had a busy few months,” Callum began, knowing that it would get a sigh of skepticism from Zach. 

“Told you…” Danny smirked as Zach had stormed off. “You’re in for it now!”

Callum felt uneasy and oddly conscious of his body as he bent down and felt the thickness around his waist creasing. Perhaps he had taken this a little far. He really did need to keep this job as long as possible. His rent alone was enough to cripple him financially.

“There!” Zach growled, throwing a paper bag towards Callum about twenty minutes after they had opened.

Callum opened it up and found four identical sleeveless shirts inside. He looked up, puzzled.

“Wear those when you’re working behind the bar,” Zach ordered. “The crowd in here come to see some abs. They don’t want to see that little belly of yours!”

Callum nodded obediently and slipped the first one on after pulling off the tags. It fitted perfectly. “No problem,” he agreed.

Once again, Zach charged off, leaving Danny and Callum to work the relatively quiet bar. Danny was shaking his head. “So now you don’t even have to take your shirt off anymore?” he grumbled. “How the hell is that fair?”

Callum simply grinned, despite the telling off he’d just had. He’d already been relieved of most of the promotional work for the club since his weight gain and now he wasn’t even required to dress like everyone else either. What he had essentially acquired was a normal bar job at an incredibly inflated salary. He sighed at his own good fortune and patted his little stomach as if it was an asset, rather than a hindrance. “Who needs abs when you’ve got a baby face like mine,” he teased.

It struck Callum how much weight his older brothers had gained when he next saw them that summer. Like him, they had all been college athletes and the Prom King of their day. Now though, their fast metabolisms had seemingly abandoned them and the firm-looking paunches they had been amassing, relatively unnoticed by Calllum, now seemed to stand out like never before. Scott, the eldest, who had only married his long term girlfriend last year, seemed to have sprouted a fully fledged gut, with the other brother not far behind. It seemed to be true throughout the family, with their older cousins and uncles having gone much the same way. Despite the accolades and sporting successes amongst them all, they were essentially quite the overweight family once real adulthood took over. 

Callum had started to try and control his intake, finding he couldn’t cut quite as easily as he used to. Now it seemed he only had to look at a cream cake and he’d be up a few pounds on the scale. But perhaps that wasn’t his fault. Maybe this was just the way the men in his family were built?

Callum started to feel his paunch pressing outwards from his torso and a cool breeze on the underside of his stomach as those work shirts got tighter and tighter. It was just over eighteen months since he’d started at the bar and now, with an additional fifty pounds on his body, he was no longer quite the man he had been when they hired him.

“I’m taking you off the rota,” Zach declared, commandeering Martine’s office for this chat that had been a long time coming. “This isn’t working, is it?”

“You can’t fire me for gaining weight. It’s in my contract!” Callum shot back. “It’s the Italian blood in me. It’s not my fault!” he lied, suddenly desperate.

Zach chuckled. “Let’s not bullshit each other, shall we?” he replied calmly. “We both know I’d have no problem finding an excuse to fire you.”

Callum swallowed hard.

“Look,” Zach sighed, as if about to make the death blow. “You’re a good-looking boy. The regulars like you and you’ve got a good build. I just can’t market you like I can the other guys.”

“I’ll lose it!” Callum promised. “I’ll do one of those supplement diets.”

“No you won’t,” Zach responded wearily. “Otherwise you would have done it all the other times I’ve spoken to you in recent months. I don’t have a place for you here anymore. But that doesn’t mean I won’t have a place for you elsewhere; other opportunities.”

“So… I’m not fired?” Callum asked hopefully.

“No, you’re absolutely fired,” Zach replied harshly. “But there are alternatives, if you’re interested?” He scratched his head. “How do you feel about fetish work?”

“Fetish?” Callum asked.

Zach nodded. “The ‘Bear Night’ each third Monday of the month,” Zach began. “It’s a little more kink-oriented than the name suggests.

Callum considered for a second. None of the regular crew had ever worked the ‘Bear Nights.’ It was invite-only and Zach had always brought in entirely different staff to work the bar. “What would I have to do?” he asked cautiously.

Zach leaned forward and spun the computer screen around so that Callum could see. “These are photos from when you first started,” he began, allowing Callum to view shot after shot of his lean, athletic body as it had been eighteen months earlier. “What I want to do is another photoshoot with you as you are now. I want to set up a few comparison shots for promotions.”

“But I don’t look like that anymore,” Callum pointed at the screen.

“Exactly!” Zach nodded. “You’ve gained a lot of weight. That’s very alluring to some guys.” His tone seemed lighter now; more playful. “I’d pay you what you earn now. You’d come in for a few photoshoots and work the bar each third Monday, and the rest of your time is your own.”

Callum tried to take it all in. Was he really being offered the same income for so little work? “What’s the catch?” he asked cautiously.

“No catch,” Zach responded breezily. “All I ask is that you try to limit the cardio at the gym and you don’t lose too much weight.”

“So now you don’t want me to lose weight?” Callum questioned, feeling like he could hardly keep up.

“No,” Zach replied, shaking his head. “That little belly of yours could be very marketable for me indeed.”

Once again, Callum couldn’t quite believe his luck. He had so much free time on his hands now that he didn’t have to work at the bar, and yet, just as promised, in came the paycheck on the same day that month, just as Zach had said it would. He’d been summoned to the bar early one afternoon, before any of the staff would have arrived, so that he could meet Zach and get a better understanding of the promotional work he would have to do.

“Ah! Callum!” smiled Zach, standing in the little photoshoot room they used on the third floor. The photographer he’d hired was different to the usual lady; a large, heavy set man with a thick beard. He shook Callum’s hand firmly, already eyeing up his body and seemingly thinking about how best to capture it on camera. He had a stout, similarly hairy assistant alongside him, and over in the other corner stood an almost naked model, toned and chiseled but of a slightly less than average height.

Just as Callum had expected, he’d been passed the usual tight shorts to wear for these photoshoots and he felt the eyes of all the men upon him as he returned wearing them. With his larger build, he’d always required the biggest size shorts. But now that he had gained weight, the fit was nothing short of disastrous. His fleshly love handles poured over the waistband, the butt cheeks threatened to break the seams at the back and his thicker thighs had almost prevented him from getting them on at all. There was no point in asking for a larger size. He already knew they didn’t have any. Nevertheless, he was surprised by the delighted faces on them all as he strutted into the room; the photographer setting to work before he’d even got into position. Callum turned and made all the usual poses that had been asked of him in the past, although never in the presence of the boss.

“This is awesome!” Zach called out encouragingly, directing the photographer for certain angles that he wanted more of.

Later on, the athletic model to the side was brought on to join him. They stood, side-by-side, Callum towering over him and probably weighing not far off twice his weight.

“Are you ready for some really kinky stuff?” Zach called out next.

Callum shrugged and smiled. “Why not, I guess!” he laughed, still finding it amusing that all the men were so pleased with the fit of these ridiculous shorts.

The assistant had returned with a large bag of burgers and fries from the local fast food place, and a giant armchair was positioned in front of the camera. Callum sat down and was asked to begin eating, spreading his legs to make it seem like he filled the chair out as much as possible. As time went on, the corners of his mouth were painted with a little ketchup and mustard to make it appear as if this was all part of a giant eating session. The model stood behind him, as if enjoying and encouraging it all. Finally, they posed together, with the slender guy grabbing and poking at the new fleshy areas on Callum’s body, before ending with the guy actually hand feeding him yet another burger.

“This is all absolute gold!” Zach delighted in saying, placing his arm over Callum’s shoulder and leading him into the little office to the side. “This arrangement of ours could really work well.”

“What’s going to happen to the photographs?” Callum asked, already feeling just a little embarrassed about some of the poses he’d made.

“Don’t worry. No one you know will see them. The ‘Bear Night’ is very exclusive,” Zach smiled reassuringly.

On the night of the bear event, Callum arrived an hour before opening and was unsurprised when he was presented with the same shorts for him to wear behind the bar. He was initially concerned that he would be working alone that evening until he realised that Zach really hadn’t been lying about how exclusive the event was. Little more than thirty guys trickled in, greeted personally by Zach. Callum assumed that drinks had been included in the ticket price, for he wasn’t required to use the cash register or card machine once.

The men were a mixture of overweight and extremely obese, peppered with the odd slender sidekick. A giant buffet of food had been provided, which the larger men pulled chairs up close to and were busy making quite an impact on. 

“I’ll man the bar for a little while,” Zach offered kindly. “You go get something to eat. There’s plenty there,” he grinned.

Callum smiled, his mouth having been watering for the last half an hour with all the aromas coming his way. He strolled out and grabbed a plate, heading straight for the chicken wings. Several of the guys came up to him, chatting casually about this and that, until the inevitable question of his weight gain came up. They’d all seen the comparison shots of him from eighteen months earlier and looked at him knowingly. When they asked how he’d gained it all, Callum responded honestly: he’d been enjoying his food too much, he’d become a little lazy and complacent. He’d been taken aback by how shocked some of them had been by that answer. The fact that it had been an ‘accident’ didn’t seem to be something any of the men had expected, and it was at that moment that Callum realised the large, fattened bodies of some of the men had been cultivated through years and years of deliberate overindulgence. The ‘Bear Night’ name was all one big cover. These guys were, as they explained, ‘gainers’.

As Callum returned to the bar, he watched his boss carefully. He’d never seen Zach in a  social setting before, nor looking as relaxed and in a genuinely delighted mood as he was right then. There was no way he was making any money this evening; not when you considered the salary he’d been paying Callum for the last month, all the free drinks, the buffet and the DJ. This was where his ruthless quest for profit ended; the man’s true passion in life. He sat next to the larger guys rubbing their stomachs playfully, or fetching them more food, laughing and revelling in the company of his friends. Perhaps Zach was a nice guy after all.

“Thanks for this evening,” Zach smiled, passing over a generous tip to Callum as he pulled his shirt back on, ready to leave. “You were a big hit with the boys!”

“They were nice guys,” Callum nodded. There was rarely any ‘trouble’ in this bar, but it wasn’t often that it was inhabited by people who were friendly and pleasant the entire time. 

“There’s lots of food left, so take as much as you like,” he insisted. “And just remember… no cardio,” he grinned, with a little devilish look at Callum’s stout middle that was evident even in his loose-fitting shirt.

“I think I can manage that,” Callum smiled back, patting his stomach in much the same way he had seen the other men do that night. Then he left, knowing that he didn’t need to do another shift for an entire month. It was, quite simply, the best job in the world.

Callum soon learned that he was a very unproductive person with so much free time on his hands. He couldn’t say he particularly liked his housemates, nor had much in common with them. He spent most of his time in his room, playing video games and binging on TV series. After a disastrous relationship in college, he’d mostly stuck to casual hook-ups, but even his enthusiasm for these had waned now his most recent profile picture had failed to garner him the attention he once enjoyed. There was no point in lying about the fact that he was no longer as trim as he used to be. The whole point of a hook up was to get naked with someone else, so falsely portraying his body was more than useless.

“You’ve gained a few more pounds,” Zach smiled as Callum pulled off his shirt at the start of his shift.

Callum squirmed a little. “Yeah… sorry,” he mumbled, looking down and seeing that he was in even worse shape than last month.

“Don’t apologise!” Zach beamed. “This is perfect. This is exactly what the guys want to see.”

Callum fingered his deepening belly button awkwardly. His weight had drifted so far beyond any of the bulking phases he had gone through in the past. His old high of 250lbs seemed insignificant as he knew he was at least 280. Even his pecs had started to take on a softening fullness, making them bounce a little as he walked. Just what would his old college football coach say if he could see him now? However, Zach hadn’t been wrong. The men who arrived that night were more than complimentary, sliding him plenty of tips as the end of the evening approached.

“I want to do more promo shots for the ‘Bear Night,’” Zach announced, checking his diary as Callum began preparing to leave. “How does the eighteenth work for you?”

Callum shrugged. “That’s fine,” he agreed. What else did Zach expect him to be doing?

“I’ve set up a tab for you at this place,” Zach explained, handing over a menu from a take-out joint only a few blocks from Callum’s address. “Order as much as you want, whenever you want it,” he stated seriously. “It’ll help keep your weight up for the shoot next month.”

“Are you serious?” Callum beamed, taking the menu; his eyes sparkling with delight.

Zach merely chuckled and patted him kindly on the back. “You enjoy it, my friend.”

Once again, Callum could hardly believe when his monthly paycheck came through. He’d worked a single evening the entire month, yet earned enough to pay his rent and enjoy a decent lifestyle. He’d used the take out offer from Zach on just a few occasions, not wanting to exploit the gesture too much and risk his cushy job situation. However, he’d still more than managed to prevent himself from losing any weight. For months he’d dealt with shrinking clothes, yet the last few pounds seemed to have annihilated the fit of most anything remaining. Much like his older brothers, a stubborn, stout little stomach had rounded itself out and made the great lunge forwards, whilst his butt had lost that tight athleticism to it; becoming wider, more protrusive and particularly less toned. Indeed, Callum could tell that Zach had noticed how much bigger his butt was, directing the photographer at the next shoot to take several more shots from behind than he had last time. There had been raised eyebrows between them all when he’d come into the room without his shirt on and it was obvious that they were having to rethink how to stage the shoot in light of his altered body shape.

“Another awesome session!” Zach beamed after they were done, his arm resting on the back of the photographer as they scrolled back through some of the shots. 

The new, toned model Zach had hired to pose with Callum looked across at them strangely, clearly never having worked a job quite like this one. “Good luck!” he mouthed sympatheically to Callum as he took off as fast as he could; an envelope of cash in hand.

Callum pulled his shirt back on and chuckled to himself. The fetish work really didn’t bother him all that much. Sure, it had been a bit strange at first, having his extra blubber pinched and photographed, followed by a simulation of getting fed by a more athletic guy. But, so what? Surely it was a good thing that not everyone in this world desired people who were only slim and toned. 

He put his shirt back on, ironically feeling more self conscious in that than he had been the entire time he was shirtless. The fit was so tight and unflattering, he tugged at it more and more, wishing that he could just add a couple more inches to the bottom of it so that the cool breeze of the fall didn’t bite at his slight overhang. Zach looked over and frowned. “You okay?” he asked.

“I’m fine,” Callum replied, dramatically sucking in his stomach as he tried to get his jeans on over the tight shorts he had been modelling in for the last hour. “But I am going to have to drop a few pounds this next month,” he explained. “I can’t afford to buy a whole new wardrobe!”

Zach gasped and held a hand over his mouth. “Oh, of course!” he shot back. “How thoughtless of me! I didn’t even think of that.” He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out his wallet. “Of course you must have an allowance for these things,” he stated, seeming to be very embarrassed that he hadn’t thought of it earlier. He pulled out a small wedge of notes and held them out to Callum. “Here. Take this. It’s not fair that you need to pay for things like new clothes from your own paycheck. Call it a legitimate business expense.”

A startled Callum reached a hand out to accept the offer.

“Good man!” Zach smiled, patting him on the back again before strolling off. “Catch you on Monday for the Bear Night.”

As the holidays came around again, Callum returned home to enjoy a traditional Christmas with his family. With all three of her boys home, their mother had spent hours preparing mountains of food for the entire week. Being such a traditional Italian lady, she had been delighted when her son had told her that he’d given up his job at ‘Buzz Cut.’ It wasn’t a lie exactly. Callum’s images were all wiped from the club’s socials and website after all. He just didn’t go into a great deal of detail about his new job, describing it only as ‘traditional bar work’. Okay, maybe that bit was an outright lie.

Both of Callum’s brothers had continued to pile on weight since he’d last seen them and, in return for his own silence, they politely ignored the comparatively smaller, thick stomach on him. Their mother’s authentic Italian cooking was something they all agreed was not to be missed, and their enjoyment of it was not constrained by calorie counting or portion control.

“Someone ate well over the holidays!” hooted one of the regulars at the Bear Night. 

Callum grinned and patted his stomach in the way the guys all seemed to like. “You bet I did!” he laughed back, hoping for a good tip later on.

“How much weight did you pack on in December?”

Callum shrugged. “No idea,” he answered honestly. “I don’t own any scales.”

The guy raised his eyebrows. Numbers appeared to mean a lot to the crowd here: waist circumferences, clothes sizes, measurements on the scale. Each one was part of the jigsaw that seemed to make them who they were.

Later on, when Zach manned the bar for a short while to allow Callum to grab some food from the buffet, one of the guys had approached him and asked if he could feed him a couple of the doughnuts himself. Callum had smirked at the request and shrugged his shoulders. “Why not!” he replied, sitting down and opening his mouth as requested. It was no different to the photoshoot poses he did every couple of months, only with these guys, there was likely to be a good tip at the end of the night. 

More men gathered around to watch. The evenings were well attended now, with the bar filled with easily sixty guys. They didn’t often see the way Caluum’s stomach had begun to rest in his lap as he sat down and they openly praised him for how attractive he was. They’d asked to touch his belly, which Callum had again consented to, leaning back and letting the hands all set to work as he chewed. There was definitely a kinkiness to it all that he was not adverse to, and he finished his evening with more than double his usual tips.

“You did very well this evening,” Zach smiled as the event came to an end and Callum stood at the buffet table, finishing off the last of the bits. With more guys in attendance, Zach had been coaxed into a few more shots at the bar than was usual. “I think we need to think about increasing your salary.”

Callum smiled. Zach had never praised him in his old job, yet now the compliments tumbled out of his mouth every time he saw him. “Sure!” he nodded, his mouth full of food. “I’m certainly up for that.” He could see his boss watching him with the same fascinated look as all the other kinky men that evening. Something had indeed happened to his stomach over the holidays. Fat had bloated it once more, with blubber layering itself upon already established chub. The effect had softened up his torso like never before.

“I settled your tab with the take out place the other day,” Zach went on, still watching Callum as he picked at the last of the food. “I was really pleased with how much you’d been ordering from there; especially considering you’ve been home with your family for two weeks.”

Once again, Callum chuckled to himself. He’d started using the take out a lot more in recent weeks, lured in by the convenience of it all. His housemates were so generally unpleasant, so it made it easier that he didn’t have to spend time in the kitchen. Nonetheless, he had still worried about the giant bill he must have been amassing. However, it genuinely seemed like he could do no wrong in Zach’s eyes. “I’m just living my best life!” he teased, grabbing a wedge of his belly fat and jiggling it in the way the other guys seemed to like.

Zach had followed up on his word, boosting Callum’s salary more than even he had hoped for; simultaneously requesting another photoshoot for a few weeks’ time and explaining that he’d compensate Callum accordingly.

“A pig snout? Really?” Callum had laughed upon seeing some of the props for this shoot. Just like the last time, a giant container of thick, gloopy calorie shake was out and ready for him to consume, with one of the new attendees of the Bear Nights standing by to act as today’s model; fit, toned and flirtatious as hell, Callum couldn’t deny that he was actually excited to get started.

The shoot had been a deep dive into the world of all chubby guy fetish. Callum had been fed, measured, handled and restrained. Yet, he had enjoyed all of it. Hearing both the photographer and Zach mumble in approval each time they changed their positions. 

The old shorts Callum usually wore were no longer viable; his thighs and butt had simply grown too much and there was no room in the crotch to wear them with any level of comfort. Despite his eye for detail when recreating old poses at Callum’s new weight, Zach had taken pity on him and purchased a range of new, larger underwear and outfits.

“Do you mind stepping on the scales for me?” Zach asked towards the end of the shoot.

His stomach bloated and face covered in bits of the food his handsome co-model had fed him with, Callum stepped up. This would be one for the socials, wiith Zach recording the moment on his cell phone.

“Three hundred and fifteen!” Zach blasted as the number finally settled; his voice on camera giving away the genuine excitement he usually managed to keep concealed behind an air of professionalism.

“Is that good?” Callum asked, looking around. He’d always surprised people with his weight, being much heavier than they had anticipated due to his extreme height. He couldn’t even remember what he had been before any of this weight had started to pile on.

“It’s VERY good!” smiled the kinky model behind him, providing Callum an unscripted rub of his wide butt, which also gave him yet another semi as he did so. However, it was Zach’s triumphant grin that was turning Callum on most of all. He’d always had a slight crush on his handsome, well dressed boss. But as they had started working closer together, and ever since Zach had started being so damn nice to him all the time, Callum had begun to fantasise about him more than ever before. So, when he was asked to try and finish the tray of doughnuts for the end of the shoot, Callum made sure he gave the performance of his life.

Despite the long periods of absence there was still one way that Callum knew how to get Zach’s attention. Given the high praise he’d received for running up such a high tab on the take-out orders, Callum began phoning up for food like never before. He became quietly aroused as he imagined Zach’s face as he went to settle the account in a few days’ time: the shock and delight of the kinky man he really was behind the great business presence. Then Callum would rub his large, tank-like stomach in the way he imagined Zach would; exactly like he’d seen the guy doing with several other fatties at the bear nights.

Each and every time Callum went back to the bar, Zach was surprised by his size. The wide eyes and adulation turned him on without fail. The chubby chasers had also found their way into Callum’s dating profiles and he now didn’t even flinch when someone asked to feed him something during one of their casual meet-ups. The guys who were contacting him were suddenly getting hotter again, and the more he leaned into their kinks for his chubby body, the more desperate they seemed to become for him. Zach’s tab with the take out place was coming in really handy. All Callum would have to do is order a few items from there and he’d receive the most erotic and horny messages from his admirers as he posted pictures of himself consuming it all.

“So, this Zach guy who pays for all your take out…” began one very handsome chubby chaser who had come over for sex one Friday night. He’d asked many questions about Zach and the situation Callum had found himself in; getting more and more turned on as their arrangement was explained to him. “Is he, like… your feeder or something?”

Callum pondered the question. He’d learned so much about this world of kink, but he’d never really applied any of it to his own strange situation. “Um…” he mumbled to himself. It didn’t seem like the right word to describe what Zach was to him. But, then again, what other word would fit in its place? “I suppose he is,” he nodded, finding his erection was returning at the idea. “Yeah, I think he definitely is!”

At the next photoshoot, Callum had been asked to bring in a range of his old clothes that no longer fit him. He’d obliged, using the opportunity to have a good sort out in his room and had taken plenty of his things to the clothes bank. A beautiful, hired hunk stood to the side as Callum strutted in wearing pants that would not button and a t-shirt where his stomach fat poured out underneath. Even his underwear torturously stretched, and Callum could feel the air on his buttcrack. He looked over at Zach, the photographer and his usual assistant, their eyes gleaming with excitement to see him like this. The weight had been pouring onto him in recent months and he found himself surpassing three hundred and fifty pounds in quite rapid speed. His stomach was round and bulbous, without a single stretch mark upon it. His pecs had finally softened, but his chest felt enormous and powerful. He saw himself as strong and masculine, frequently referred to as ‘Big Guy’ by those around him. It felt manly and sexy. Best of all, he hadn’t needed to go to the gym once in the last twelve months in order to achieve it.

“So, are we starting with the shake?” Callum asked, seeing it waiting there on the table ready for the shoot. He sat down on the chair, his fat spreading even more. He looked up and saw Jerry, the photographer’s assistant and chuckled in surprise. “Looks like I’m not the only one struggling to fit into his clothes today!” he teased, seeing the tight fit of his shirt.

Jerry grinned and rubbed his tight gut. “I’ve been eating like a pig!” Jerry nodded proudly. “I’m up fifteen pounds since our last shoot and loving every bit of it!”

“You finally took the plunge, huh?” Callum laughed, jiggling his own belly. “I bet your boyfriend is loving every second of it!”

“You bet he is!” Jerry chuckled back, lifting his shirt briefly to show his hairy little gut.

The oblivious, hired model seemed more reticent than the rest. When Zach directed him to the funnel, he shook his head and looked at them all like some sort of freaks: Jerry’s comments, Callum spilling out of theatrically tight clothes, and the three men who were revelling in the sight from the sidelines. “Nah… I’m out!” he declared, throwing his shirt back on and strutting out despite the protests.

“Was it something I said?” Callum joked, grabbing a wedge of his belly fat and jiggling it playfully. He couldn’t say he was sorry to see the stuck-up the guy leave. He didn’t really understand why Zach still tried to get in models from outside of the scene. Some days it could just make things so awkward and tense.

After Zach returned, having failed to convince the model to stay, he shrugged his shoulders in defeat. “I guess we’ll have to reschedule,” he sighed.

Callum shook his head. “I spent all day yesterday stuffing my face in preparation for today,” he exclaimed. “We’re doing this!” He looked around at the three of them, finally settling upon an idea. “Zach! You should get in here instead. You’ve got a body just as good as that model.”

Stunned by the idea, Zach instinctively shook his head. “No, no. I couldn’t. I’m a businessman!”

“We don’t have to show your face,” Jerry added helpfully, clearly agreeing that it was a good idea.

“That settles things then,” Callum smiled, sitting back a little more in his chair and excited to see where this could go. He looked across keenly as Zach reluctantly removed his shirt and was handed the funnel.

“Just a few shots then…” Zach mumbled awkwardly.

With the model gone, the mood had changed and the four of them had relaxed. Callum settled back as the funnel was inserted into his mouth. With his tight clothes, it was obvious that he was getting hard, staring into the eyes of Zach as the shake was poured into the funnel.

Callum gave a giant burp once the shake was all down. Back in the early days, a calorie shake like that would have absolutely floored him. But now, with his stomach emptied of gas, he felt ready to continue.

“Does it feel softer than you imagined?” Callum asked Zach once the guy had been directed to rub his stomach for the first time. His hands were good: warm and assertive, sliding expertly across the expanse of stomach fat.

“It’s definitely not as firm as it looks,” Zach agreed; his eyes twinkling with a devilment Callum had never seen before.

Callum growled in kinky approval as Zach began shaking up a can of whipped cream without being directed. He leaned his head back, eyes bulging with surprise at how much his mouth was filled, then swallowed obediently. 

In very little time, the whole can was emptied and Zach seemed to have fully relaxed into the role. “Open up, Fat Boy!” he ordered, picking up the usual tray of doughnuts.

Somewhere in the background, the click of the camera could be heard, but inside that studio, Callum felt like it was only the two of them really there as an intimate, erotic feeding had properly gotten underway. Zach was doing much more than posing for the camera. He seemed to be a man who knew how to get the best from a fat guy, his words of encouragement and gentle mockery working for Callum on so many levels.

“I do good work, huh?” Zach chuckled forty minutes later, stepping back and elbowing the guy behind the camera.

The photographer exhaled in appreciation and swooned. “No one has ever gotten him this big before!” he agreed, snapping more and more shots of Callum’s painfully stretched out gut and the wincing expression on his face. “I think you did more than feed him,” he nodded at the hardness in Callum’s underwear. It had not faltered the entire time.

Callum could hear the men whispering as he sat there, feeling completely beached as he tried to burp up some gas and find release. He had no idea how many calories he had just consumed. 

All of a sudden, the other guys were leaving and the whole thing was over. “Come on!” Zach smirked at Callum. “You’d best get out of here before everyone else starts arriving.” The man was putting his shirt back on, priding himself at how much he had defeated Callum’s appetite as the boy seemed unwilling to even try moving himself. “Unless you want all your old work colleagues to see you like this?” he teased, hoping to inspire Callum to get moving so that he could start clearing up.

“I don’t care,” Callum replied, throwing a lazy arm on top of the shelf of belly fat that had been made even more extreme by the bloat. “Let them see me. I’m not ashamed of anything.”

Zach was continuing to fuss and tidy around him, checking his watch. “Come on!” he insisted, fetching Callum his clothes and throwing them towards him. “Get dressed!”

Callum heaved himself up, grunting as he reached down for his pants. “You’re embarrassed about all this, aren’t you?” he asked his boss.

Zach scowled. “Not at all,” he mumbled, wiping crumbs from the chair, now that Callum was upright.

“Then let me stick around and see everyone,” Callum chuckled, rubbing his extreme stomach bloat. “I’d love to hear what they’d have to say, seeing me as I am right now.” He caught his reflection in the mirror. “Fuck! I look enormous!” he marvelled, twisting from side to side. He looked over at his boss with interest. “You seriously know how to stuff a guy!”

“I’ll message you about the Bear Night.” Zach shot back, not even entertaining the idea of Callum hanging around as he looked about the studio one last time to ensure there was no remaining evidence of what had transpired.

Callum knew it was going to be a huge gamble. However, his dick was hard and, after looking at himself in the mirror. He knew he couldn’t just walk out of there as if nothing had happened. Throwing his t-shirt onto the floor, he charged over to Zach, reaching for his hips and spinning him around to face him. The boss seemed slightly surprised by Callum’s boldness, but his eyes instinctively moved towards his employee’s plump lips. That was the cue, Callum realised, heading in for a kiss.

Zach seemed to let his guard down for a few moments, embracing the kiss and letting his hands roam all over Callum’s fattened body. He was a good kisser: passionate and tender. But then he pulled away and rubbed his face as if he had done wrong.

“You’d better go,” he stated in a quiet panic, striding back to his office and shutting the door.

Really? Callum thought to himself. Zach had actually just walked out on him?

The boss was awkward at the next Bear Night, trying to keep out of Callum’s way as much as possible. In reality, it hadn’t been too difficult for him, given the hoards of people who surrounded the large chub that night. It had been his biggest month ever for weight gain. Not only was the number on the scale looking even more impressive, but Callum could feel the squishy blubber softening him up all over his body. Without even trying, he had arrived in clothes that were unnecessarily tight; pants that dug into his hips and a t-shirt that failed to conceal the bloating softness under his stomach. For the first time in months, he’d given himself a proper, close shave, unmasking the rather severe double chin he had developed, and it was that, more than anything else that the horny guys were marvelling at. 

In terms of his appetite, everything had seemed to click into place and he no longer got so full after even very large meals. “Three hundred and eighty pounds can do that to a guy!” smiled one of the kinky regulars, absolutely smitten by Callum’s growing physique.

“Everyone thinks I have the potential to be absolutely massive!” Callum boasted as he picked up some beer bottles after the night had come to an end. The music was over and the harsh lighting was revealing the fleshy reality of Callum’s fattened torso as it jiggled and bounced as he walked about. His stomach was like a barrel after all the guys had tipped him to push food into his mouth. It was almost unreal how far out in front of him it pushed.

“Yeah, you were definitely the biggest talking point of the night after your little 25lb gain in a single month!” Zach chuckled back, only slightly more relaxed after a couple of beers. 

“I think I’ve found my calling,” Callum joked, patting the very fat tummy that had received so much attention that night. However, it was obvious that Zach was trying not to look. “The thing is… after having such a good month, I kinda need to up my game for the next time folks see me.”

Zach laughed at that, nodding his head and continuing to avoid eye contact as he cleared up. 

Perhaps it had been the fact that Callum’s ego had been stroked the entire night long, but something inside of him was suddenly a little impatient at the lack of attention Zach was willing to give him for all his hard work, packing on the weight as he had. He pulled out a chair and sat down, folding his arms.

“What’s up with you?” Zach asked, confused.

“You know me, I’m the garbage disposal,” Callum replied childishly. “You can’t let all that food go to waste.”

“I’ll just pack it all up and you can take it home, as usual.”

“No, no, no…” Callum shot back uncompromisingly. “If you want me to eat it, you’ll need to get it down me now. I’m ready for it.”

“If you want to go home, I can just package it up now,” Zach replied; a nervousness in his voice as he could see that Callum was trying to address the awkwardness between them.

Callum only shook his head, unbuckling his pants and letting his fly down to give his stomach the optimal room to expand. He sighed, dropping his hands limply by his side and let his extreme stomach lure Zach in, without even attempting to coax him into conforming.

“Well, maybe just the pastries,” Zach mumbled, picking them up and walking over nervously. “There aren’t many of them left.”

Having spent months indulging in this world of eating kinks, Callum knew the exact moaning sound to make as the food hit his tongue. It turned him on so much to cater for these types of fetishes. Already, he could see a growing bulge in his boss’ pants, even as the guy tried so desperately hard to keep his cool. It was like a super power, being able to eat and consume, fueling these types of fantasies for men like this; sometimes making them climax like never before. All he needed to do was learn how to harness that energy from Zach.

“I’d still have my six pack if it wasn’t for you,” Callum teased his feeder.

At this, Zach scoffed. “No you wouldn’t!” he laughed.

Callum nodded in agreement, still leaving his hands limply down by his sides so that his stomach was the feature that Zach would be forced to stare at. “You’re probably right,” he smiled. “I always was a greedy boy, deep down.” He took another huge bite, staring hard into Zach’s eyes in the way that all the other kinky boys had been unable to resist. It was taking all his effort not to rub his hand over Zach’s bulgling crotch that he could see becoming more defined in front of him. He burped, knowing that that was yet another thing that these guys loved to see him do.

Zach clearly appreciated it, stepping away and fetching a large glass of soda from behind the bar. Callum didn’t waste time taking the hint, opening his throat up and swallowing it down as though it was effortless. Then, out came a roaring burp that echoed through the large, silent space. “Did you like that?” he asked Zach proudly, smirking as he prepared to take down even more pastries.

“You’re very impressive,” Zach begrudgingly acknowledged.

A great smile spread across Callum’s face. “I know I am,” he nodded a little arrogantly. “That’s why these nights are so busy now. Everyone wants to see me grow!”

“You certainly have a way of bringing people together,” his boss smiled down at him.

Callum caught Zach’s arm, just as the man was bringing another pastry towards his mouth. “You know I love doing this, right?” he asked earnestly. “I’m going to get so massive for you all. The biggest ass, the biggest gut! I want to do it all for you. I need to become the ultimate kinky boys’ fantasy!”

All at once, Zach’s defences fell. His mouth plunged onto Callum’s and they kissed with a furious burst of lust and attraction; the kind that there was no coming back from.

Despite the several sleepovers at Zach’s place the following month, no one at the next Bear Night would ever have guessed that the pair were secretly seeing each other. For the most part, that was due to the surprising blowing up of Callum’s bouncing chest that had stolen all the attention. His arms had been nudged out even further by the bulging fat growing under his armpits, with guys pinching and teasing him for the larger fat roll that had also developed at the back of his head. Even with all the exercise in Zach’s bedroom, he had still amassed a further 17lbs, continuing his longest ever winning streak of big gains.

At almost 400lbs, he’d been outgrowing things at an alarming rate; his body surrendering to the softness and jiggle like never before. He’d known for a while what fat had felt like on his body, but the thick layers of it now felt even more erotic, making guys like Zach hard whenever they caught even the slightest bit of exposed flesh on show.

“I knew you wanted to be discreet tonight, but I didn’t realise you were going to ignore me all evening,” Callum grumbled, sitting himself down by the leftovers with no intention of helping with the clean-up.

Zach had the look of a man who knew he had done wrong. He shrugged, not trying to defend himself. “I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I really didn’t intend to…”

“Are you embarrassed of me?” Callum asked.

Zach shook his head. “Absolutely not!” he declared fiercely. 

Callum could tell that Zach had fallen in love with him, despite not mustering up the courage to tell him so yet. But what was the issue that was holding him back, even now?

“I’m embarrassed of myself,” Zach finally stated. “I just feel so… pathetic when I see how confident you are in your own skin.” He pulled out a seat and sat down next to Callum. “You’ve altered so much since I’ve known you and yet you’ve embraced it every step of the way. You have this incredible ability to not care what others think about you. I envy that so much.”

Callum shrugged his shoulders. He’d always known how important Zach’s reputation was to him. It was the reason why the Bear Nights were so secretive, and why he had fought his attraction to Callum for so long, knowing that he was an employee. “I don’t want to force you to do anything you’re not comfortable with,” he nodded. “But, at the same time… I won’t be your dirty little secret.”

Zach considered the magnitude of Callum’s words. An ending had arrived. But, somehow, when he took the fat man’s hand, Callum knew that everything was going to work out okay.

“Callum!” smiled handsome Danny behind the bar of ‘Buzz Cut’ as the big man rocked up a few months later. “If you’re looking for your boyfriend, he’s in his office, pretending to be busy!”

Callum smiled at that, requesting a fresh beer. He chuckled at the memory of reintroducing himself to the old crew he used to work with here in the bar. At 465lbs, he’d been fairly unrecognisable to them, yet they had gotten used to it pretty fast, with even the sly jokes about the revelations surrounding Zach’s kinky love of fatties starting to die down.

“The new poster looks great!” Danny pointed towards the wall, where the large open advertisement for the new Gainer Night stood out sharply against everything else. Callum's old, muscular physique photoshopped back to back with his unrecognisably obese new look. “You look fantastic!” he nodded towards Callum’s proud face on the poster, beaming at the whole room and inviting them along.

“Ah! There’s my handsome boy!” cooed Zach, finally emerging from his office as soon as he had spotted Callum waiting for him at the bar. He reached in, giving his enormous lover a sweet kiss.and immediately rested his hand on the guy’s wide rear without a care for the curious stares it was attracting.

“So, where are you two lovebirds off to tonight?” Danny asked between serving other customers.

“Zach’s taking me out for dinner,” Callum smiled.

“Oh, I bet he is!” Danny chuckled, noticing the horny way his boss was gazing at Callum's giant gut. “Four hundred and ninety pounds by the holidays. That’s the goal, right?”

“That’s right,” Zach smirked back, patting Callum’s large tank of stomach fat. “So you just keep serving up all those drinks so that I can pay for it!”

“Will do, boss!” Danny nodded happily back.

“I hope you’re hungry?” Zach whispered to his lover as he held Callum’s hand and led him out of the club.

Callum grinned, looking down at the already stretched-out buttons of his shirt, determined that this would be the night he would burst through them. “Don’t you worry about that!” he smiled. “I’m a greedy boy. I know what I’m doing…”

[naomi-nana]

Hopefully this isn’t too much, can i request Jade, Floyd, Riddle, and Jamil with a female reader who pretends to be a boy in NRC by using a wig and those full face mask (like Momobami Ririka’s mask from Kakegurui), they found out that reader is a female when they saw her asleep in an empty library or somewhere quiet without her mask and wig on. Thank uu and have a great day/night!

✎ᝰ. an amateur disguise . twisted wonderland

in which, you wear a mask to hide your true identity in night raven college. how would they react?

featuring : jade, floyd, riddle, jamil

cw : f!reader, jamil's is short cuz i genuinely don't know how to write his part, may be ooc, bad grammar, not proofread

a/n : helloo! hope u have a great day/night, too!! ╰(*°▽°*)╯ so sorry for taking a little too long than usual ... i lowk struggled writing this, lol. but no worries, i had fun writing regardless!! enjoy reading:)

JADE LEECH

jade is one of the few students many are afraid of, mostly because of his enigmatic nature. so when he sees you walking around in a mask, his curiosity is piqued. he tries everything to see your face beneath that mask—but to no avail.

he'd ask you questions, too. like, "name, is there a reason as to why you're wearing a mask? oh, but don't feel pressured to answer. it is never my intention to force you to tell me—i am just a curious eel, that is all."

you never really answer him, though. you always avoid his question by making up some lies. "oh, look, i have professor crewel's class after this! better get going!" then you sprint down the hallway while he looks at you, smiling to himself and thinking, "is this not the end of the day?"

when jade enters the library to return a book he has been reading, he notices someone sleeping in the library. a girl. wait, a girl? he approaches the sleeping girl slowly, leaning down just enough to examine her face.

and that's when he sees the familiar looking mask beside her head—your head. "oh?" he chuckles upon seeing it. not only do you wear a mask to hide your face, but you're actually a girl? "name, you really need to be careful as to where you put your mask."

he takes it up from the table, gently placing it on your lap to hide it from other people. "it seems like i have succeeded unraveling yet another student's secret." he chuckles again, finally leaving the library while silently wishing to himself that he gets to ask you about it.

but never mind. it's interesting to see you wearing wigs and mask to hide your true identity. he decided to keep that secret to himself.

FLOYD LEECH

when floyd first sees you, his first thought is about how strange and cool you looked with a mask on. he thinks you're like one of those vigilantes he sees in movies.

he asks many questions, too—though unlike jade, he's very blatant about it. "ne, ne~ show me what's under all that mask, shrimpy! no? but why? it's not like you're being hunted by people or somethin'. oh, but are ya actually being hunted?"

you'll have to check first before you leave your classroom because, who knows? floyd could be standing right besides the door (yes, that happened before). of course that won't work. because somehow, even if you're hiding in a top secret place, floyd will find you. creepy, but you've grown used to it.

after running around trying to find you, floyd is bored and decided to just go back to the dorm. and that's when he sees someone sleeping in the courtyard. it's a girl. "woah, no way." he mutters under his breath before approaching the sleeping girl slowly.

he'd poke the girl (is that allowed?) out of curiosity, and when she wakes up, she screams. "hey, don't start screamin'. you're scaring me!" he frowns. "you're the one scaring me with how you're so close to my face!" you yelled back.

huh. the voice sounds so familiar. "whaaat??? shrimpy, that you?? aha!~ is this why you're wearing a mask?? i wasn't expectin' ya to be a girl. what else are ya hidin'? are you actually a super secret agent, too? tell me more!"

RIDDLE ROSEHEARTS

he'd ask you if you have the permission from the headmage to wear that accessory. if you say yes, he'll let you off the hook.

he's not that curious about how your face looked like as jade and floyd are, but he does find it strange and would like to know why you wear the mask. do you perhaps have a disease? or are you some kind of a famous celebrity like vil?

so when he entered the library to borrow another volume of his favorite book and saw a girl sleeping on one of the tables, he froze. a girl? in NRC? is that allowed? is she perhaps one of the staff's daughter? questions starts to enter his mind as he's trying to find a logical answer to the unusual scene before him.

he decided that it'd be the best solution to just approach her and wake her up—mainly because he doesn't really trust the students in NRC enough to let her sleep here. and so he did just that. "a-ahem, miss ... i apologize for disturbing your nap, but i advise you to not sleep in the library. if i may ask, where do you come from?"

though when the girl literally jolts upwards and screams at the sight of riddle, he's startled. "i-i'm sorry for startling you, but please do not scream, miss. this is a library, and—ah, don't run in the library, too!" riddle sighed when she ran out the door. "honestly, why can't people just respect the rule in the library? ... hm?"

he noticed something. a mask. a very familiar mask. riddle stood still in front of the table where you once slept. "... i guess i should return this to her later ...?"

JAMIL VIPER

when he sees you wearing a mask, he paid no mind to it. he understands if you want to keep a low profile—even though wearing a mask just draws more attention to you, but he gets it. jamil has spent his entire life to be an average student, after all.

yet he can't help but feel suspicious of you. what if you're actually a problem waiting to happen? what if you're a bad person? what if you're an assassin? countless possibilities started to fill his head, but he does little to act on them.

all jamil does is observe you from afar quietly, while also occasionally talk to you. like, "if you are trying to avoid attention by keeping a low profile, wearing a full face mask does the opposite, you know?"

though when jamil walk pass an empty classroom and saw the door slightly creaked open, he can't help but take a peek. what he saw inside is a girl—you, with a mask and your wig literally laying on the table you are sleeping on.

"... figures." he mutters to himself before closing the door. the last thing jamil needs is to experience another drama just because your secret got revealed, after all.

naomi-nana. do NOT repost, do not use (with or without permission), do not recommend or talk about my works outside of tumblr.

[flawssy-227]

Day Dreaming | Harry Castillo x female reader

harry castillo x (bartender) f!reader

summary: harry is your bar regular, reeling after his breakup with Lucy, you two form an unlikely bond.

tags: 18+, female reader, always write for woc in mind, but there are no descriptions so everyone is welcome to read. unspecified age gap, classism, alcohol consumption, kissing

a/n: I can't wait for this movie omg -- loosely inspired by the best song ever, day dreaming by Aretha Franklin.

w/c: ~2700

“Your man is back again.”

You were just in the middle of making yet another old fashioned, a staple amongst the finance bros who frequented your workplace, when you looked up to see Harry Castillo gliding into the empty stool at the far end of the bar.

He had become a staple during your shifts for the last eight weeks or so, one Susan, your coworker, annoyingly loved to point out.

“Not my man,” you replied, but you couldn’t keep the smile off your face when you made eye contact. You handed the now complete old fashioned to a very inebriated man wearing a Morgan Stanley vest. He would be cute if you had eyes for anybody else.

You made your way down to Harry’s side of the bar, Susan giving you a nod of acknowledgement that you knew meant she would manage the rest of the patrons while you caught up with Harry. She was annoying as hell, but you had to admit she was one heck of a wingwoman.

The smile he gave you changed his entire demeanor. His default setting was shrewd businessman, scowling at those who tried to get too close. But with those who he tolerated, maybe even liked, he offered warm, wide smiles that spread across his face and brought life to his big, brown eyes. It made your heart catch to be on the receiving end of one of those smiles.

“Three times in one week,” you grinned at him. “What a lucky girl I am.”

“Sometimes you gotta make your own luck,” he responded. You had half a mind to question what he meant by that, but the wink he shot you succinctly short circuited your brain. This man was too cute.

You cleared your throat, trying to suppress the heat that was spreading across your face. “You want your usual?”

Harry feigned thoughtfulness, but you rolled your eyes, knowing he only ever ordered your old fashioneds. 

“Don’t know why I bothered asking.”

You got to work, peeling an orange, muddling a dark cherry and sugar cube when he broke the silence: “What time are you off tonight?”

“12. I always close on Fridays.”

Harry just hums at that, patiently waiting for you to finish making his drink. When you're done and he takes his first sip, the moan he releases at the taste is absolutely sinful. 

“Been waiting all day for this.” He leans back in the seat and takes an appreciative look at you. 

The way he was looking you over was making you feel incredibly heated. Big brown eyes scanning you up and down. You did the same, noting the way his dark brown sweater fit his shoulders perfectly. With the hours he worked, you wondered if he made time for a personal trainer and was just naturally built. He looks healthier now than he did a few weeks ago.

When you first met Harry, he was a man healing from a brutal breakup.

“She completely blindsided me,” he had told you one night when you had definitely overserved him. 

This big businessman who had been on the cover of Forbes three times in the past decade was crying to you about some matchmaker who broke his heart. It was… disarming, to say the least. You shared your own brutal breakup story with him and before you knew it, you were fast friends. It didn’t hurt that he frequently left you crisp $100 bills as a tip. Some of your other regulars would murmur about how the Harry Castillo was so close to them; you had to Google him.

And now, Harry was energetic, light even, seemingly over his heartbreak and back to being the heartbreaker himself. It was nice to see.

Two hours later, you and Susan were closing up, cashing out checks and collecting abandoned glasses. It wasn’t lost on Susan that Harry was still there, patiently sitting at the bar and responding to emails idly on his phone, glancing up at you and throwing a heart pounding grin your way when he caught you staring.

“We’re closed now, Harry,” Susan stated over the roar of the dishwasher, a cheeky smile on her face. “If you’re gonna stay here, you gotta make yourself useful.”

Harry stood up from his seat and you figured he was tired of Susan’s light ribbing. This man was an old money, multi millionaire in private equity—he didn’t need to take shit from some random bartender. You were about to tell her to lay off, if not for the fact you were harboring a tiny crush on Harry, at least for the sake of his incredibly generous tips, when he grabbed a serving tray and started collecting miscellaneous glasses from around the room. Your jaw dropped. 

“Holy shit,” Susan muttered.

Harry didn’t even turn to look back at you, he just kept bussing your tables like it was second nature. “Are you two gonna help or make me do all the work?”

Harry wasn’t doing this out of the goodness of his heart, of course. He tried to recall a summer in the early 90s where he helped buss tables at his godfather’s restaurant. His dad told him it’d help build his character, something about not relying on nepotism alone to become a success.

In truth, Harry was helping you both close down the bar for purely selfish reasons. He wasn’t sure when exactly he stopped reeling over Lucy and you began consuming all his thoughts. He had thought about putting some distance between you both, maybe skipping the bar a bit more. He forced himself to stay away on Thursday after seeing you already twice this week, but during work on Friday, in meetings he should have been more present in, it was only you that was on his mind. He worked late, finishing up all the things his workaholic self would have done to fill up his Saturday, knowing that tonight, he was going to take things with you to the next level. 

He didn’t have anything specific in mind—maybe dinner at that 24 hour diner he used to frequent when he was at Columbia for grad school or perhaps he could convince you to grab breakfast with him tomorrow morning. Hell, if you at least gave him your number he would walk away from tonight happy as a clam.

It was almost 1 AM when you finished cleaning. Typically by now you would be dead tired, aching all over but with Harry still hanging around, the promise of something new gave you an extra burst of energy. You kept catching his eye, unable to stop the smile on your face when you did.

“Alright kids,” Susan started, an easy smile on her face when she looked at the bashful looks you two were giving each other. “Let’s get outta here.”

She locked the doors, gave you both a wave and a wink before she headed to the subway. The silence was slightly awkward. After an entire evening of him drinking at the bar and helping you clean with an ease that made it seem like he had always been there to help you, he was quiet, lost in thought. Men are all the same, you thought to yourself. He was being too quiet, too pensive, and you weren’t sure if you should try to extend the evening or just call it a night. Before you could make a real decision, Harry finally speaks up:

“Wanna take a walk?”

And yes, you really do.

You don’t have much of a destination in mind, your apartment is on the other end of the island and you’re certain Harry has a driver on standby somewhere, but right now, in the middle of the night in Lower Manhattan, he’s light on his feet and ready to spend the rest of the night walking 60 blocks with you.

Harry’s equally surprised at how giggly you are this late. He knows he’s tired, but just being near you seems to recharge his soul. The conversation is too easy, easier than it ever was with Lucy and he’s punching himself a bit at being so hung up on her for so long. He wants to take you to dinner, he decides. Somewhere nice and comfortable, no tasting menu nonsense that still leaves you hungry even after 12 courses. He’s just about to ask you what night works best for you when the loud rumble of your stomach breaks up the conversation. You want to be embarrassed, but Harry just smiles at you and laughs.

“C’mon sweetheart. Let’s get you something to eat.”

The idea of a meal with Harry is enough to light up your eyes, but then your attention shifts to something just behind him. He blinks and you’re running past him, approaching a hotdog vendor. If he’s being honest, the idea of a New York City hotdog makes his stomach curdle, probably something to do with the expensive palate he’s been developing for the past two decades. But he’s helpless when you look at him with those bright eyes of yours and big smile.

“This is the best hotdog vendor below Canal street,” you tell him.

He buys two without thinking too hard.

Once you get to Tribeca, he offers you a sheepish smile and tells you his building is just a little ways away. “Nightcap?” he asks you.

He looks far too earnest for you to turn down, so you follow him to his building. The white-gloved doorman gives you a nod.

“This is where you live?” The $12 million apartment is even more grand than you imagined when you took the private elevator up. “Harry, this is…”

“Too much isn’t it?” He takes an appraising look around, clearly not phased by the size. “Figured one day I would grow into it. Get the wife and kids and annoying little dog, but…” he trailed off and looked at you. Your heart fluttered at the sight. He wants to tell you to move in, that you belong here in his oversized space. He’s certain you would make it a home and less cold to walk into after another long day filled with pointless meetings. He thinks better of it when he remembers he doesn’t even have your phone number.

Patience, Harry.

He pours two glasses of a Bordeaux he picked up in France last winter at some investment conference while you make yourself at home on his sofa. You fall into a comfortable silence, letting yourself enjoy the wine and being so close to Harry. It’s so different from being with him at work, where you’re serving him and separated by the heavy wood of the bar. Here, you’re a guest in his pristine home, not at all ashamed to still be wearing your soiled work uniform on a couch that probably costs two months rent, at least. Harry would not shame you for being working class, so you don’t shame yourself. When you turn to look at him, he’s already there, watching you.

“Harry,” you sigh, “I don’t usually go home with guys I barely know.”

“I think you know me well enough,” he responds. “Plus, I wouldn’t hold it against you.”

Harry also wasn’t the type to bring women he barely knew back to his palace, but there was just something about you. He couldn’t get you out of his head. You, with your perfect face and perfectly imperfect smile. You ran through his mind all day.

“It feels… I don’t know, different with you.” It’s the first time you’ve seen him look so bashful. 

“I get what you mean,” you tell him with a nod. “It feels like I’ve known you, really known you, for a lot longer than I have.”

He understands what you’re saying. It goes beyond some rich guy who tips you well without being creepy. There’s a pull, some sort of magnetism that brought you together.

“You know, I walked past that bar every day for the past two years and never went in.” You just look at him, soft, glossy eyes peering into his own. “I was a little depressed.”

You laugh at that, because you knew. You had seen him sallow and worn down for weeks. But there was still always something bright about him even when he looked so sad.

“And the day I finally decided to come in, it was because I saw you from my office.”

You gasp at that. “Really?”

He hums in acknowledgement and grabs your hand that isn’t holding the wine glass. “It had just stopped raining, and the sun was shining like a spotlight right in front of the doors. I looked down, and you were there, just basking in the sun like it was the first time you had seen it all winter. And I swear, it kickstarted my heart.”

You’re waiting for the other shoe to drop, for him to say something vile or vulgar and take you out of the moment. After years of being single and dating in New York, you had determined there were no earnest men left in the city. Surely no one like Harry, but here he was, laying his heart on the line for you.

“I was heartbroken and you saved me, by just being you.” Like a beacon of hope, Harry was drawn to you day in and day out for weeks. With each passing conversation, you chipped away at the ice in his heart, what had formed in a protective shell since everything happened with his ex. He was oddly grateful for her now, the way she had abandoned him, devastated him. He would have settled down with her and been happy enough, but because she was who she was, and she did what she did, he got to meet you.

“I don’t want to rush into things,” he told you, still tittling with your fingers. “But I really do care for you and I think, with time, we can have something special.”

You were at a loss for words. You liked Harry, but you figured he brought you here for a fun night or short fling, not to explore something serious with you. Perhaps you were classist, holding on to some archaic view of dating politics in high society, but it was clear, that was the furthest thing from his mind.

You decided to wear your heart on your sleeve, just like Harry. “I really like you, too.”

He didn’t say anything, but the slight brightening in his eyes told you everything. He grabbed your wine glass and set it down on the coffee table. He moved closer to you and let his thumb run across your jaw. You leaned into his touch and let your lips ghost over his. 

Harry was all consuming, ravishing your lips like he’d been waiting to kiss you for years. In a way, he had been. Constantly waiting to find the right woman, waiting to feel actual sparks when his lips met someone else’s. Waiting for the butterflies, the fireworks, the chills, and whatever else the romance movies he’d watched as a young man portrayed. He was so close to writing them off, categorizing them as the fiction they were, but you, you had proven them truthful.

You hadn’t had a makeout session in years, never enjoying a kiss as much as you were right now. Kissing Harry Castillo. His lips, his hands, his scent. You were surrounded, drowning in the best way possible, all because of him. You touched his hair, his neck, his chest. You unbuttoned his shirt and moved your hands lower, lower, until he grabbed them and separated from your lips. His breath was heaving and he let his forehead rest against your own.

“Wanna go to bed?” he asked you.

You squeaked out a quiet yes and let him lead you to yet another magnificent room. Wood and earthy tones consumed the space but you didn’t get the best look as Harry pulled your body back into his. You fit perfectly, you decided. A missing puzzle piece that slid into the side of his body, your head resting neatly on his shoulder.

“Can we take things slow?” you questioned, looking into his mocha colored eyes. “I just want to lay here, with you.”

“Of course, baby. We can do whatever you want.”

And you knew that he meant it.

[applejusue]

Ⅵ 𝔎𝔦𝔯𝔞𝔪𝔪𝔞𝔫 𖤐.ᐟ ─── Marine Encounters #005

tldr; Vi having legs seems to prove even more of a challenge than you'd thought, especially considering she attracts so much attention. When you try and do your shifts at the beach, Vi finds it very difficult not to get jealous.

cw `# orca!vi, killer whale, size difference, comfort, fluff, jealousy, drabble.

` tglist; @marvelwomenarehot0, @cherry-coffees, @sider3us, @sevikas-whore, @kittymrtnezz69, @mxya-dreams

𖤐.ᐟ ─── arcane masterlist | marine au masterlist

It had been a few days since you'd found Vi on the beach, and much to your despair she still wasn't back to normal. She was still feigning ignorance, but over all not very concerned about this predicament. Part of you wondered if this was her doing, and if she actually could change back if she wanted to. Jinx had teased her sister relentlessly about having beefy legs, but you could tell that she was jealous that Vi got to explore the land. Jinx would give anything to go on a real date, wear a pretty dress like those girls do on the beach. Vi wasn't all too concerned about things like that, too busy using the situation as an opportunity to be close to you.

With nowhere else to bring her, Vi was crashing at your place. She was in your bed, to be accurate, because god knows she was too big for the sofa. Something you'd come to realize now that Vi wasn't sleeping under water was that she snores, loudly. This morning you'd once again woken up to a big lump of a woman, suffocating you with her weight as she breathed heavily against your neck. Taking up the entire damn bed.

"Vi.. you're squishing me.."

You groaned groggily, rubbing your tired eyes. It took some heaving but you'd managed to roll her off of you and onto her side of the bed. Vi didn't even stir, head cocked back with her mouth agape, completely starfished on the mattress. How she was so high up on the foodchain you'd never understand. An amused huff left your lips as you headed to the bathroom to freshen up. As you brushed your teeth you could hear thumping footsteps, the ocassional grumble that typically signalled she was trying to find you.

As you spat out the toothpaste, Vi barged into the bathroom, as she often did. It didn't matter to her whether you were showering or peeing, the concept of privacy not a big thing in her mind, you were mates after all. She swarmed your personal space, and your brow raised in tired amusement as you looked in the mirror. Your body fit perfectly inside of her frame, well, until she wrapped herself around you. Vi leaned down over your shoulder, bearing her pointed teeth.

You rolled your eyes, glancing over the little triangles that had already made a kid cry when she smiled at him. They were a little.. intense. You grabbed your spare toothbrush, turning to face her as you pasted the bristles. She leaned down as you scrubbed at her teeth, brows scrunched at the taste. It was a habit you were glad you'd gotten the girls into, especially considering the state of their gums when you'd found them. Vi wasn't particularly fond of the sensation, but Jinx did it without needing to be told, sometimes multiple times a day.

"There, beautiful.."

You quipped sarcastically, a soft chuckle leaving your lips as you set the tooth brush back into the cup. Vi grinned, heavy arms still holding you as close as possible. The fact that Vi was usually confined to water ment you had an excuse for free time, since she couldn't exactly come with you when you had to leave the beach. Now that she had legs and the ability to follow you around, trust me, she did.

As you walked along the pier, it was unable to ignore all the stares. You'd become quite the controversy along the market line, walking around holding hands with a seven foot woman who usually just wore baggy shorts and a swim tee. Not to mention her hair, a complete mess from the sun bleaching out the ink, and her aversion to your hairbrush. She didn't give a damn though, how could she when she got to spend so much time with you?

You tried to keep her away from most of the stalls, having already gotten into the habit of leaving for work earlier to account for her nosy nature. When she smelled food from a stand or she caught eyes with something shiny laid out on a market board you were done for. As the two of you moved along the shore, Vi caught sight of some fresh fish.

"Hungry.."

Her mouth parted eagerly, tugging at your small hand in an effort to drag you over. You rolled your eyes, trying to pull her the other way instead despite the almost comical difference in strength.

"You can't be hungry sweetheart, I already gave you food before we left.."

Your voice came exasperated, trying to keep a woman twice your size on course wasn't exactly the easiest feat in the world, especially since she could just pick you up in one arm and carry you to where she wanted to go. She hadn't figured that out yet, thankfully.

Being at work was almost worse, like having your own personal body guard. Vi didn't like when you weren't in her range of sight, and she couldn't comprehend how a little thing like you was tasked with saving other humans. Still, you'd managed to scold her enough now that she doesn't hover during your shift. She'll sit by the sand wearing your floral sunglasses, or get distracted and follow around a seagull. Today, she'd found a particularly smooth rock, and so it was her sworn duty to bring it to you.

As Vi stumbled awkwardly along the sand, she noticed you crouched by a man. His leg was bleeding bad, and you were pressing some wet wipes to the wound and joking to calm his nerves. She didn't like that. Vi had watched you take care of kids, helping bikini malfunctions and all the sorts, but she'd never seen a human look at you like that. Her lip twitched, knowing you didn't like her to hover but feeling threatened. You could feel her shadow encompass you before she'd even made her presence known. When you did glance back she was stood behind you, arms folded.

The man's jaw was on the sand, taking in the big ass woman with thick calves and arms that could snap his neck. Part of him was intimidated, the other was fearfully turned on. You let out a huff of annoyance, continuing to wrap the bandage taut around his knee before instructing that he was free to go. He all but scattered away on a limped leg. Vi was quick to be touching up to you again, distressed and unsure on what she seemed to be feeling. She'd never had to worry about you finding someone else, a soft pout staining her lower lip.

You turned around with folded arms, raising a brow.

"Vi, baby, every girl on this damn beach is staring at you, and you're the one that's jealous?"

You teased gently, a soft scoffing leaving your lips. It was amusing to be sure, to see your half sunburnt girlfriend currently frowning like a puppy. Your words seemed to spark something in her though, an 'oh shit' moment where she now realized that the other human women here were into her. Phantom tail thump. She shrugged though, still not very confident in her English but growing more fluent from her time on land. She tugged you into her, scruffing up your hair with her fingers.

"Only wants you.."

Vi spoke proudly, free hand on your lower back. You stared up at her dumbfounded, still not even taller than her breast before laughing. You shoved her away playfully. God, what were you even going to do with her.

"Yeah.. only wants you too.."

[beholdthebangs]

No Touching

Sebastian x F!Reader

~ 18+ ~

Synopsis: Smut - Sebastian, hoping to participate in some escapism by taking his motorcycle out for a late-night ride, is instead talked into bringing you with him. How’s he supposed to long for you when you’re wrapped around him, hands all over him as he drives you through quiet highways? How’s he supposed to focus on anything else? Your persistence is maddening, but it also results in a little pit stop as Sebastian reaches his limit.

Word count: 7.4k

Warnings: dirty talk, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, creampie, oral sex, choking, praise, smoking

A/N: Finally finished one of my oldest drafts, yay! This is fully the result of my instagram algorithm feeding me hot bikers, though I’ve only scratched the surface of the kinks those men have given me.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁. . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁ ⟡ ݁ . ⊹ ₊ ݁.

Some people cope with the constant onslaught of shit thrown at them with therapy. Some choose drugs, alcohol, sex, or violence. All Sebastian has ever needed is his motorcycle… and drugs, but mostly his motorcycle.

There’s nothing like the feeling of cool air hitting his face to break him out of a spiral. It’d been his coping mechanism ever since he got his motorcycle years ago and long rides had formed into a weekly habit so long as the weather allowed it. When he drove over to Zuzu City from his home in the mountains, he felt so distanced from this small town. The two places couldn’t be less alike, and there was pretty much no chance he would ever run into someone he knew. He could exist among so many people and blend in, not be perceived for just a moment. Those moments were rare in the valley.

More often than not, he wouldn’t venture out quite that far. Sebastian often preferred to wander down empty highways lit sparsely with street lamps, no destination in mind. On shorter drives, he’d leave his helmet and jacket behind and let his guard down, the feeling of rushing air tangling his hair, smacking him in the face and waving the fabric of his shirt around wildly somewhat of a treat for him. Because yeah, safety is important, but what is life without a little risk? Even without the fear of dying adding some exhilaration to the experience, it was always nice to get out of his house, outside of the somewhat suffocating atmosphere of the community he resided in, and have time to himself to just stop thinking so much. Many of the rides this year had been less about escaping the small town he lived in and more about escaping the racing thoughts he’d been burdened with… the thoughts he’d had ever since he met you.

So Sebastian carefully rolls his bike out of the garage and over the crunchy, fire-colored leaves littering the ground, preparing for another late-night ride. He gives the motorcycle a quick once-over, making sure it’s ready to go and brushing off some of the dust that had accumulated on the metallic black body with a soft rag. As he turns to dig his helmet out of the garage, he hears none other than the voice of his troubles.

“What are you up to?”

He turns back to see you only feet away, a palm running over the outside of the gas tank, the exact spot he’d just wiped down moments ago. It’s dark, long past the early autumn sunset, but the overhead light outside the front door lends just enough vision for him to make out your sweet smile. Your baby-blue worn jeans cling to your ankles, tucked into your black boots. Despite the seasonal chill, you wear a short sleeved shirt with a low neck. He supposes he can’t pass too much judgment as he also has a thin t-shirt on, but only until he can grab his jacket. Yoba knows facing the wind at highway speeds would feel brutal this time of year.

Retreating back through the open garage door, he tucks his matching helmet to his side. “Don’t you know you’re not supposed to touch someone’s bike without asking?”

With a subtle roll of your eyes and a grin on your face, you pull back and cross your arms over your chest, the curve of your breasts growing more prominent with the motion. Sebastian struggles to pull his eyes away. “Where are you going?”

He shrugs. “Why do you want to know?”

“Maybe I want to go with.”

He takes the opportunity to rake his eyes down your body more egregiously. “You’re not dressed for it. You have short sleeves.” You look pointedly at his own arms, muscular and tattooed—and bare. “I’m going to put a jacket on,” he explains, exasperated. As if you should be clued in on his internal monologue. He knows it’s ridiculous, but he can’t help but act annoyed with you. You wear his patience thin so effortlessly.

“And you don’t own a second jacket?”

Sebastian hums, leaning against the wall behind him. “You really wanna go?”

“Yep. You promised you’d take me sometime.”

Seb shouldn’t be held to things he said when he was in a better mood. He’d been looking forward to cranking up the volume on his stereo and listening to some emo shit that would make his mom inquire about his mental health if he had done it in the comfort of his room. But here you are once again, ruining all his plans. Instead of snapping back, he simply turns away, grabbing two leather jackets and another helmet before pulling the garage door closed. Dropping all but his old leather jacket that had grown too small for him since he started helping his mom out with some manual labor woodworking projects, he holds it open for you. You turn your back to him, shimmying your arms through the sleeves with his help. He does the same with his own jacket, then sets a helmet on your head and straps it securely under your chin.

He lifts the visor up for you, revealing your eyes. “Do I look cool?” you ask with your hands shoved in the pockets of his worn jacket, his hands still lingering on your helmet.

Sebastian pauses then pulls back, looking at you at an arms length. While you tend to lack an edge in your appearance, the added apparel does bring something new to your vibe. “You look cool,” he finally confirms. Throwing his own helmet on, he asks, “Do I?”

You move closer, fumbling with his helmet and eventually pushing the visor up. Your eyes meet again, sharing a gaze Sebastian can’t deny the intensity of. Your fingers glide across the undone zipper of his jacket, gaze flickering down to break the contact. Finally you snarkily conclude, “No,” with a quick wink before moving away completely. Sebastian scowls, though he can’t help but take in a breath, your scent mixed with that of his old beloved jacket lagging behind as you close the distance with his bike. “Can I touch it?” you ask this time.

“You can touch it,” he answers quickly, because it doesn’t matter—you can touch whatever you want as long as it belongs to him. He’s intoxicated by the way you look and your scent mixed with his, something primal inside him feeling so possessive over you now that he’s marked you as his own in some way. He wants to tell himself to snap out of it, but Yoba does he like the thoughts clouding his head.

You climb carefully onto the back, leaving space for Sebastian to sit in front of you. He tugs on the sides of your borrowed jacket, zipping it up to your chin. As he takes his place, both of you swing your visors down. He starts the bike with a purr and the motion vibrates through your bodies. Even after all this time, Seb can feel the power of it between his legs, and he wonders what it feels like between yours, not used to the dull roar of the idle bike. He revs the engine a couple times and your arms fly around his torso, gripping him for dear life as he takes off down the dirt path toward the paved road.

Despite your presence, he does as he had set out to do and turns up his music, able to hear it clearly despite the wind rushing by his ears and the loud engine of his bike as you weave down the backroads. If he ignores the feeling of your tight grasp against his stomach and the heat of your chest pressed to his back, riding feels just like it always has. Part of him prefers not to ignore it though. He kind of likes the way you’re holding him like he’s your only hope.

Though he’d planned to go into the city, he cuts it short to avoid trapping you on his bike in case you’re not enjoying it, since it’s hard to check in over all the noise. Instead, he decides to head toward an overlook he loves going to, especially when he doesn’t have the time to drive all the way into the city or the patience to deal with all the people there. Pulling into the familiar dirt patch, he stops right where the trees thin to give a glimpse of the city from the top of the mountains. As he shuts off the engine, the quiet of the night is overwhelming. He’d grown so used to the noise of his bike and the blaring guitar through the speakers that the sound of dried rustling leaves in the wind and crickets chirping somewhere beyond the trees is a new, exposed feeling.

Seb climbs off, holding his hand out to assist you. You take it, wobbling on your feet as your body shivers. “You okay?” he questions, sliding the visor of his helmet up to see you better. All you can manage is a nod.

He slips the strap tucked under your chin undone, helping you pull the helmet off. Your hair is strewn wildly around your head, and though Sebastian is well aware of the curse of helmet hair, he can’t help but shake his head at how you manage to pull it off. You run a hand along your head in an attempt to tame your locks. Seb sets the helmet on his propped up bike before reaching over and combing his hand through your hair to gently pull the knots free. You freeze, eyeing him, but he doesn’t linger long enough to meet your gaze. Instead, he pulls his helmet off, resting it next to yours, and shakes his head wildly. His black hair flies around his face and instead of fixing his fringe to fall before his eyes, he simply pushes it back and it lays along either side of his head, shorter pieces framing the edges of his face. You’re still staring and he can feel it.

“What’d you think of the ride?” he inquires.

“Fast,” you breathe. He opens his mouth to apologize for his driving but is cut off. “Freeing. That was so fun.” He grins. You understand it. You understand him.

“It never gets old,” he assures you, turning to look out over the cliff at the city. You slowly move to stand next to him, facing the array of lights sticking out in the vast natural landscape. “Do you miss living there?”

You shake your head as Seb watches you from the corner of his eye. “It’s better in Pelican Town.”

Sebastian’s face falls. He can feel himself grasping onto the last of his dreams. He’d envisioned himself finding a cheap apartment, a new job that really fulfilled him, living life alone for a while. He’d never had the full autonomy to do whatever he wanted anytime he wanted. Maybe he’d meet new friends through work, or at a bar, and maybe he’d meet someone special, too. He’d thought it was surely more likely to happen in Zuzu City than the quaint town he’d spent so much time in where nothing ever changed. Until you.

“If I were you, I never would have left.”

“It’s not all it’s supposed to be,” you sigh. “I felt lonelier surrounded by all those people than I do now. No one cares about you here like they do at home.”

“Really?” You nod, but Seb shrugs. “I don’t think that would be the case for me.”

“You’d be surprised.” He turns to look at you, standing next to him in his old jacket, sleeves hanging past your wrists. “It’s hard to be someone when you’re in the city. You’ve already got so many friends and family in Pelican Town.”

“I’m just…looking for something more than that,” he admits.

“What more is there?”

He crosses his arms, turning back to the silhouette of the city. What more isn’t there? “I think it’s different for me here than it is for you. People talk to me because there’s a sense of obligation. My family didn’t choose me. My friends barely chose me, either. There are only so many kids running around the valley at once. If I can start something in the city, it’ll feel like I really earned it. I wouldn’t mind having someone to come home to every night, either.”

“Maybe you should look at it as fate. How amazing is it that these people you love all happen to be in a tiny little town where you are? That’s impressive.”

He notices the way you skirt around his last statement in particular. Maybe there’s no solace in that area that you can offer him. He pushes the gnawing feeling aside as much as he can. “I just think something will always feel like it’s missing as long as I stay.” Sebastian pulls out a cigarette, fumbling around in his jacket pocket to find his lighter. With a couple flicks, he lights the end and takes a deep breath before letting the smoke bleed out from between his lips. “So… you’re completely fulfilled now that you moved to Pelican Town, right?”

You chuckle. “Something like that.”

“What’s your secret?”

“I just got so busy that I didn’t have time to think about what I was missing anymore.”

He nods as if seriously considering that route. And honestly, it’s not that bad a plan. “And what are you missing?”

You hesitate, surveying the distant city as you speak. “It’s hard not to feel like an outsider. Everyone has known each other for so long that it’s hard to find an opening in a group, I guess.”

“I consider you a part of my friend group,” Seb replies.

“I am, but… it’s not the same. When people see you without Sam, they wonder where he is. No one looks at you without me and wonders where I am, you know?”

The idea warms his heart. Maybe it’s a little twisted of him—you’re pouring your insecurities out and he can’t help but think about the idea of you and him… so inseparable that it feels unnatural for you to be apart, even to others. “Are you trying to tell me you want to hang out more?”

You giggle. “Sure. But I don’t think I’ll ever be able to replace Sam.”

“I’m not looking for a replacement. There’s a lot that Sam can’t do for me.”

You quirk an eyebrow up, looking over to meet his gaze which hasn’t strayed from you in a while. He sucks in another drag from his cigarette. “Oh yeah? Like what?” He shrugs, refusing to elaborate further. He’s exposed himself plenty for one day and you’ve avoided that topic once in this conversation. He won’t make you do it again.

Sebastian finishes his cigarette, stomping it out and shoving the butt in his pocket to throw away when he gets home. “It’s getting late. We should head back.” He holds out your helmet before pulling on his own. When you spend too much time trying to tighten the strap, he makes quick work of it without another word before climbing on his bike and starting it back up. You climb on behind him and rest your palms on his chest, elbows draped over his shoulders. He takes off, the air a little thicker with tension than it had felt before. He can’t even begin to ignore the feel of you against his back, or the way your hands creep over the fabric of his t-shirt. Surely you can feel his heart threatening to beat out of his chest at the contact.

He turns over your discussion in his head, reading into the silence more than the words. If he were having a conversation with someone he had a romantic interest in (and he was), he would bring up romance. He’d lean into subtle flirtation. You didn’t. Maybe he should take it as an indicator that you don’t feel the same for him. That should be a relief. He’d spent the better part of his life planning and working, saving every cent he could to escape into the downtown only miles down the highway and leave the bleak, boring Pelican Town behind. Then you moved here and you began bothering him, gifting him cool rocks you’d found in the mines residing in his backyard, talking to him about whatever he pleased. The sound of footsteps scuffling down the wooden steps toward his bedroom always had him waiting with bated breath, hoping it would be you who swung the door open and interrupted his work. You made him smile and you made the stupid town feel alive.

He’s been conflicted between what he’s always wanted and what he wants right now. He’s stuck trying to figure out if you want it too. It would be so much easier to simply ask you what it is you’re searching for in spending time with him, but that’s far too exposing for the man’s taste. He could’ve pushed the point harder with you back there, but all the bad outcomes are too scary to make the elusive good outcome worth the risk. When faced with opportunity, he continually chooses the path of ignorance and coping with the consequences in favor of avoiding any uncomfortable conversations. And while he hates the feeling of unknown, he hates the idea of confrontation even more.

You pull away for a second and the fear of your hands leaving his torso scare him back into the moment. He can’t help the gasp of air he sucks in when your hands go to his thighs, running up and down the tight denim covering them. Your palm begins to venture a bit too close to his crotch for comfort and he grabs it, placing it on his stomach as if to silently ask you to just hold on. Surely you don’t understand what you’re doing, and the fact that he’s so head-over-heels for you doesn’t help his focus. Even now, fingers absentmindedly running over his abdomen, all the senses in his body are going crazy. Moving lower, lower, until they sneak below the hem and begin tracing over the line of hair on his stomach leading to the growing bulge in his pants.

“What are you doing?” he shouts over the wind and music, turning his head as much as possible while still keeping an eye on the road. Either you don’t hear him or you ignore him, because he gets nothing in return but the persistence of your fingers tracing imaginary lines over his abdomen. That’s not something a friend does. And here he was, wondering if you felt anything toward him.

He grips the handlebars hard, knuckles turning white with the force as he attempts to brush off your movements. His breathing is ragged, the skin of his abdomen burning under your fingertips. Without warning, Seb pulls off the road onto a side path that loops through the surrounding woods just outside Pelican Town. Once he comes to a stop, he kills the engine to avoid having to yell over the noise of it. Turning over his shoulder, he says, “New rule. No touching.”

“No touching?” you ask with a scoff. “That’s kind of difficult given the circumstances.”

“No…touching with your fingers,” he amends.

You undo the strap under your chin, pulling your helmet off and setting it on the ground as you climb to your feet. Standing to the side of Sebastian, you put your palms to the front of his shoulders and give him a small push, forcing him to lean back as he stares at you. The movement gives you enough space to climb on his lap, carefully straddling him. You push open his visor to reveal his eyes, wide as he tries to comprehend what you’re doing. You raise your hands as if to surrender. “So… this is allowed?”

He gulps, hoping the motion is hidden by his helmet obscuring most of his face. It must be so painfully obvious that the game you’re playing is having the desired effect on him, your heat pressed right on his bulge. Sebastian reaches out and grabs your hips, excusing the action as helping you stabilize yourself as you balance yourself precariously on his bike.

“That’s not allowed,” you tsk, tapping his fingers pressed into the skin of your side.

“The rules don’t apply to me,” he mutters, hardly able to form words at this point.

“No?” Seb shakes his head, not able to meet your eye as he looks at your chest so close to his face. “What are you going to do with that privilege?”

His mouth opens but no sound comes out. You reach over and unstrap his helmet, helping him out of it and dropping it at the wheels of the motorcycle. He’s dumbfounded and he certainly looks it, gazing up at you with your hair highlighted by the dim streetlight making its way between the trees separating you from the main road. “I wasn’t completely honest before,” you admit. “I’m missing more than just acceptance. I’m missing romance… and sex.”

“Sex,” he repeats, like he needs to say it to confirm that it’s correct. Like you surely had said something else and he’d just misheard you.

“Sex. I’m missing the excitement of some hot, surprisingly muscular,” your hand slips under his jacket, feeling his biceps through the thin cotton of his shirt, “tattooed bad boy underneath me.”

“You have a type?” he chuckles, hands slowly moving around your waist to rest on your ass.

“I do now.”

Sebastian tilts his chin up, looking down his nose at you through half-lidded eyes. His pupils are dark, part of his bottom lip tucked between his teeth, the skin around it turning white with the pressure he places on the delicate skin. All of his energy is being used to resist; this isn’t the time or place. He’s never thought of you as a one night stand and the expectations for your first time together had always been much more romantic. That didn’t mean he hadn’t spent countless nights rubbing a load out onto his stomach thinking about all the ways he’d fuck you. Because Yoba does he want to right now. But he’s a romantic underneath all the longing and hormones and he can’t make love to you in the middle of the woods and risk someone coming across it. He can’t.

Your head dips down just slightly, just enough to look at him through your long eyelashes. Your lips are pouted, so soft and pink and ready for his. Your tongue darts out just for a moment, running over your bottom lip, and that’s it.

“Fuck it.” His hand reaches toward you, fingers on the back of your neck while his palm cradles your cheek, and he has just enough grip to pull you down to crash his lips against yours. He’s respectful at first, giving you open-mouthed kisses but keeping his tongue to himself, satisfied with tasting the sweet spit from your lips. You wrap your arms around his neck, letting your tongue wander into his mouth and that boundary leaves him. It’s even better this way, able to explore the inside of your mouth and overpower you though you have the upper hand, remaining on his lap. His fingers curl into the fat of your ass, moving you back and forth over his hardening cock restrained by denim, teasing him as he aches for more. Your little moans as his pants provide friction against your clothed clit only fuel him, and he’s sure nothing exists in the world besides you right now as his hips rise to meet yours.

Sebastian parts with you, one palm pressing to the center of your chest as he carefully pushes you back until you’re lying over the gas tank, head tilted up toward the twinkling stars illuminating the night sky. He unzips the leather jacket and lets himself feel over your torso through the thin fabric of your t-shirt. Over your hips, your waist, your stomach, the curves of your breasts. His hand settles loosely around your neck, strained as you’re stretched over his bike. He won’t apply pressure. He just needs to see how good you look with his veiny hand serving as your necklace. He’d cum imagining you in similar positions before but it’s even better than he ever thought. “You’re so beautiful.”

You look down your body at him. “You’re so hot.”

“Thanks, babe.” Pulling back, he pats the side of your thigh and you climb off him with his help. He follows, propping his bike on the kickstand and backing you into a tree only a few feet off the dirt path. His height now aids him in taking charge, looking down at you, both breathing heavily before reconnecting. Your foot slides up the side of his leg and he grabs underneath your knee, pinning it at his hip as he grinds into you. Seb’s fingers are looped into your hair, tangling into it and using it to pull you impossibly close.

His lips begin to wander. They leave sloppy, wet kisses down your chin to your neck, lingering in certain spots so long that he’s expecting you to swat him away, but you don’t. You let him mark you in such an exposed place and it drives him crazy to know that you’re going to have to go to great lengths to hide the evidence from everyone in town or show them what you let him do to you. His teeth nip at your skin until you’re whimpering, back arched against the thick trunk behind you. He moves his attacks downward, lifting the hem of your shirt under the leather jacket he lent you. Seb peppers kisses over the top of your breasts for a moment before pushing your bra up, adding it to the fabric bunched up in his hand and exposing your tits. He has to distance himself for just a moment to take in the view of your nipples, taut in the cool air of the night, surrounded by the leather of his old jacket. He couldn’t have imagined a more amazing sight if he tried. You’re biting on your lip as he surveys you, and Yoba, he could bust in his pants right now. He could die happy right now.

But he takes into consideration your anxious mewls and moves back in, licking circles around your nipples and letting the cool air meet the hot saliva he leaves on them before finally taking one in his mouth and sucking, flicking his pierced tongue over the bud and basking in the sounds you make in response. His other hand unbuttons your jeans and slips inside, over your panties, tracing over your slit. Even without putting any pressure on it, he can feel the wet fabric and he wants to sink his fingers inside and feel you. The only thing more appealing is to wait until you’re desperate for it.

Your fingers run through his hair, pulling on the messy strands as you arch into his mouth, grinding your hips on his hand in hopes of finding some much needed friction. Sebastian holds out on you for as long as he can bear, paying close attention to your other nipple as he runs his digit lightly over your covered clit. Falling to his knees, he licks a long line down your stomach, past your belly button and lands at the waistband of your jeans. You pull your bra back over your breasts to cover yourself, his head no longer blocking the view from anyone who may wander across this quiet backroad, but Sebastian stops in his tracks. “Mm-mmm, keep your tits out.”

“What if someone sees?” you ask, your voice almost a whisper. He can’t hold back a laugh as you pretend you haven’t been moaning with no regard to the noise level for the past few minutes.

“You chose to do this here,” he retorts. “That’s the risk.”

“Sebby,” you whine pleadingly. He rolls his eyes at the nickname, hoping the blush spreading over his face isn’t obvious to you.

“Haven’t you figured out that I’m making the rules?” He gets back on his feet, helping you out of his jacket despite your weak protests. He pulls off your shirt and unhooks your bra, pulling the straps down your arms. You’re clearly afraid he’s going to leave you completely exposed as a consequence of your earlier action, but he’s not that mean. He lets you slide his jacket back on, and though your nipples are still out for his viewing, at least you can cover yourself should any onlookers pass by. Though the risk of being caught does add to the blood throbbing through his dick, he isn’t about to share such a beautiful sight with anyone else.

You accept your fate without complaint and, satisfied, Sebastian kneels back down in front of you and slides your jeans down your legs. You step out of them with his help, left in your wet panties before him. He can’t help but let his tongue glide over your clothed slit, able to get a taste of you through it and his eyes roll back for a moment. You ask him to touch you as if he has any self control left, already pushing your panties aside and laying his tongue flat over your clit, flicking the tip against it as you let out a strangled moan, taken aback by the speed at which he works. The sweet wetness is heavenly and his middle finger slips into you, curling toward himself as he feels your slick pussy envelope his digit. Sebastian could eat you out forever so long as you continue to fill his ear with those pathetic whimpers, so completely under his control and eager to have given it over to him.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans into you, adding a second finger and pumping it in and out, wet leaking down his palm with the additional finger forcing your pussy to squeeze around him. He helps you lift your leg over his shoulder, boot hanging down his back as your otherwise bare leg drapes across his body. The change allows him to reach deeper, his tongue swirling over your heat faster, mixed with eager sucks and nips at your clit with careful consideration for the placement of his tongue piercing as you go a little wilder each time the silver ball drags across your swollen bud. You hold his face to you, fingers tugging at his hair as if that’s what keeps him nose-deep in your sweet cunt. Your hips writhe on top of him, riding his fingers and his talented mouth as if it’s the only thing that has ever mattered. Sebastian is pretty sure that’s true.

The way your body jolts forward, head hanging over his, it’s obvious you’re on the edge of orgasm. Your delicate pink walls suck his fingers in, the pads of his digits stuck to the spot inside you that makes your toes curl as he frantically flicks his tongue across your clit. The force of the knot in your stomach coming undone requires Sebastian to continue working your cunt while he holds you up against the tree, keeping you on your foot despite your trembling leg threatening to collapse beneath you. When you release his hair, obviously expecting him to pull back, you yelp as his assault on your clit and g-spot continues. “Seb!” you gasp out.

“Behave,” he coos, pulling away just long enough to get the words out. Your core, hypersensitive as you try to come down from such an intense high, isn’t taking Seb’s tongue as well as it was before. Your hips buck wildly, pinned to the tree with your leg still stuck over the man’s taut shoulder. Strangled whimpers leave your parted lips and he can’t help the smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth as he hears you struggle to follow orders. You have a tendency to be sassy with him, but fuck does it turn him on to see you so sweet, so eager to please him now that he’s gotten you naked and dripping. Sebastian slowly, painstakingly pulls his fingers from your tight hole, leaving your clit with a sloppy kiss and sets your other foot back on the ground before pulling himself back up to stand before you.

He takes his jacket off, throwing it in the direction of his bike. Lifting his shirt, he wipes his mouth off, sweet slick of your pussy being collected by the soft black cotton of it before he pulls it over his head and tosses it away. Sebastian’s pupils are blown out as he licks his lips, looking down at you. Despite eating you out for as long as you could bear, he still has a hunger apparent to both of you.

He ducks his head down, lips inches from yours as he looks between them and your big, pure eyes. “Let’s give those legs a break, yeah? Did so good for me.”

You nod hesitantly, eyelids fluttering closed as he closes the gap to kiss you and let you taste the remnants of mess you left on his face. The feeling of Sebastian’s hands under your knees is the only warning he gives you before pulling upward. You scramble to catch yourself but soon realize he’s got a tight grip on you, using the tree trunk to aid him. Your pussy, panties having slid back into place, sits against the denim-clad bulge Sebastian sports. He can practically feel you wet his jeans with your first orgasm and can’t pass up the opportunity to hump into you as his tongue fights itself between your lips.

“Need you,” you pant between heated nips.

Sebastian shifts your weight into one arm, using his newly freed hand to clumsily unbutton his jeans and slide his thumb into the waistband of his boxers, tugging them down just enough to free himself from the restraints. He pulls your panties to the side and runs his length between your lips. He could melt from the warmth running over his cock and seemingly spreading into his stomach. Waiting another second feels so impossible so he makes quick work of lifting you another couple inches and positioning his thick tip at your entrance, letting you slip back down into his arms as his cock pushes its way between your silky walls.

Sebastian lets out a moan brewing deep in his throat. He’d spent hours alone in his bed imagining this moment with you and while it’s so much different than he’d ever thought it would be, the sight of your chest heaving under his leather jacket, your hair messy from the bark of the tree trunk behind you, and the heavenly way your cunt squeezes around him is something he would never wish to change. Your gasp as he slides in is a sound that will reverberate around his brain for days. Pulling his hips back, he thrusts into you again and holds you tight to him, lingering as he’s bottomed out inside you.

“You feel so good,” he whimpers against your shoulder, eyes squeezed shut so you can’t see them rolled back. “Fuck, why’d we wait so long to do this?”

“You wouldn’t make a move.”

Sebastian thinks back to all the times he felt he was pretty overt with you, coming back nearly empty-handed. Maybe he had hidden it all more than he thought. “I’ll make a move in the future,” he instead promises. You giggle. “Thought about your cunt for so long.” Sebastian sets his pace, nice and slow so he can bask in the feel of how wet you are, how your warmth pulls him in as his hips grind against your thighs.

“As good as you imagined?”

“So much better.”

You wrap your arms tight around Sebastian’s neck, fingers dragging along the taut skin of his upper back as you kiss him. He’s lost all restraint now, content in giving you messy kisses as he fucks into you. And while he wishes he could tell you over and over how sexy you look in nothing but his old leather jacket, how tight you are around his cock, how bad he’s craved this since he met you, he’d rather let you shut him up like this. Even though he’s fighting back an orgasm, desperate to prolong this moment as long as possible, he lets himself take in the sensation of this thing he’d dreamed about for months.

“Feels so goood,” you whine, chest heaving as you press the back of your head to the tree trunk behind you. Your hair is tangling into the bark as he thrusts into you, body bouncing and grinding on his cock like you were made for it. Having you in his grasp like this has Sebastian’s mind spinning. He’s losing himself to lust, even more than before, and all the dirty things he’s done to you in his mind are swirling around and fuck, he’s just gonna do it.

He pulls out, carefully setting you down with your boots flat on the ground. You look inquisitively at him, almost like you’re afraid to ask if he’d cum yet. He chuckles to himself a little. So timid, when just a few minutes ago, you were trying to grab his dick through his jeans as he was driving you 80 miles an hour down the highway on a bike. “C’mere,” he gestures, walking back to the dirt path where his motorcycle remains propped up with the kickstand. He tests it with a heavy hand, trying to wobble it back and forth. Not much movement, even despite it being settled on soil. As you walk up behind him, he wraps an arm around your waist, slipped under the jacket you still wear, and leans down for a kiss before spinning you to stand in front of him and pressing on your lower back until you’re ass-up, bent over the seat of his shiny black bike.

Sebastian runs a hand down your side, leaning into you as he works to position his cock between your slightly parted thighs. “You like the bad-boy look so much, with the piercings and tattoos and motorcycle… well, I thought maybe you’d wanna get fucked on it. Huh?”

He can practically hear your nervous swallow. Just as he positions his tip at your tight hole do you nod, moaning as he pushes himself inside from behind. His eyes roll back as the feel of your tight cunt envelopes him again, feeling so much deeper now. Your moans are heavier like he’s hitting the little spot inside you and as he stands, he admires how sexy you look and how nice your ass presses against his hips with every thrust, peaking out from under the oversized jacket. You grab onto the top of the bike, anywhere you can get a grip, stabilizing yourself against his harsh movements. Seb grabs your hips, pulling you back in time to meet his. The only thing that could make this better is if you’d kept your helmet on, but fuck, your pretty little face looking over your shoulder, lips parted, isn’t something he could bear to cover even for the sake of his fetish.

Staring at you does nothing to stave off his orgasm, so he instead accepts his defeat and leans into it. His chest presses to your back, one hand snaking its way over your hipbone to rub at your clit while the other takes hold of your neck again. He doesn’t squeeze too hard, just needs to keep you close as he speeds up and coaxes out his orgasm. “Gonna be thinking about this for a long time,” he says with a breathy laugh, still in shock that he’s got you in this position out in the middle of nowhere. “Can you be a good girl and cum on my cock right now?” You whine, incoherent, but Seb doesn’t ask you to repeat it. He instead attaches his teeth to the tender spot on your neck already bruised from earlier. You grind back against him, your volume far past reasonable as you whimper his name and groan with every thrust.

Seb finally slows, taking his time to feel you pulse around his throbby length, finally holding tight to your neck as you gasp out for him. “Come f’r me, babe, fuck! That feels so good. M’ gonna cum, too. Keep goin’, keep squeezing my cock.” Seb buries his face into your hair, heavy breaths warming your neck as you cum and only a moment later, he’s nearly frozen inside you as spurts of cum shoot from his pink tip toward your cervix. “Shit, baby…. Your cunt is so fucking amazing.”

When he’s thoroughly milked his cock with your pussy, he pulls out, excruciatingly slow. The rush of white that floods out of you as he tucks his cock back into his boxers and rezips his jeans threatens to reset him, primal urges flooding his brain as he watches it drip down your thighs while you push yourself back up to stand. Seb steals one last stroke down your body before letting his palm settle on your ass, giving it one little smack before you turn to him, on your tiptoes to rest a peck to his lips. “That was fun,” you giggle.

“I’ve got a lot more to say about it than ‘fun,’” he nudges back. “Why don’t you stay undressed and I’ll drive us back like this?” You elbow him, walking past him to retrieve your clothing strewn about the ground. He watches you redress, trying to take in every moment of your exposed skin that he can since you refuse to live a little and ride naked down the little bit of highway left between here and home. Once you’re clothed again, he’s ready with your helmet, holding it over your head as you stand in front of him. He takes a kiss before sliding it on and securing the strap under your chin. He quickly does the same for himself, climbing on the bike and starting it up while you settle in behind him.

“No funny business this time,” Sebastian shouts over the motor.

“Can’t hear you,” you sing back, wrapping your arms over his stomach as he rolls his eyes, unable to stifle the goofy grin all across his face.

So Sebastian drives the remaining ten minutes home, going speed limit the entire way because your body feels better against his back than the enjoyment of an extra 30 miles per hour of wind hitting his torso. He pulls up to the garage in front of his house, turning the bike off and helping you out of your helmet. The temperature has dropped substantially since you’d first left, seemingly gone unnoticed at your little pit stop as you’d both been preoccupied with other things. “You can keep the jacket for now,” Seb offers, “as long as you go on another drive with me sometime.”

You reach out, shaking his hand to accept the proposition. “Give me a day and time. I’ll be there.”

“Want me to walk you home?”

You shake your head. “It’s not far. I’ll be fine.”

Sebastian hesitates, scratching the back of his neck. “…Do you want to come inside?”

You blush, enough for Seb to see even in the moonlight. “I don’t know if I have the energy to do that again. I’m pretty sure I’m going to pass out the second my head hits the pillow.”

“I’m happy to sleep if you are.” After all that, Seb certainly needs a substantial rest and truthfully, he just wants to get you in his bed and snuggle into you all night. “Plus, I can help you out with all those marks on your neck in the morning.”

“Wh—“ You lean over, looking into the side mirror of the motorcycle to examine your neck, quickly spotting the purpling bruise forming on the side. Seb’s pretty sure he can see the indent of his teeth embedded somewhere in there. You stand up, lips pressed together but you’re clearly hiding a smirk. “Fine. I’ll sleep here if you cover up your mess.” Seb sticks his hand out, shaking yours again to concede to your terms. They’re more than fair.

[applepiiex]

AFTER THE GLITTER FADES ! ! ! . ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ .

Nanami Kento x Male!Reader

Y/N comes home from a long shoot still wearing the lingerie from set, makeup flawless, hair styled, and tired in a way that runs deep. Nanami barely looks up. It’s not coldness—it’s patience. Because the version the world sees isn’t the one he loves most.

── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──── ⭑ ☆ ⭑ ──── ⭑ ☆ ⭑

“Which one?” Y/N asks, holding up two lingerie sets.

“You look better in warm tones,” is all Nanami says, blunt as ever.

Y/N stands there, two delicate sets dangling from each hand—one burgundy lace, the other a cooler lilac silk.

“Well, yes, but don’t you think it’s starting to wash me out? Now that I’m tanner?”

Nanami squints at the maroon against Y/N’s skin. For a moment, he considers it with his usual analytical calm. Then, without another word, he returns to his book.

This was how it always went. No matter what “sexy” outfit Y/N modeled in front of him, Nanami gave an answer like he was discussing color theory, not lingerie.

Most people didn’t get it. Y/N appreciated it more than anyone realized.

The performance of sex appeal, for him, had long since lost its spark. It was work now—camera angles, lighting, retakes. “Sexy” had become synonymous with exhaustion.

But Nanami never treated it like that. His attraction wasn’t rooted in lace or skin. If anything, the times Nanami wanted him most were the quiet ones—right before bed, when the day had stripped him down to just himself.

Not naked. Not posing.

Just Y/N —hair damp from the shower, face clean of product, an oversized sweatshirt from some old college he never attended, and shorts that were comically too short. Contacts out. Glasses resting crooked on his nose. Sleepy. Unfiltered.

That’s when Nanami looked at him like he was everything.

Sure, he could acknowledge objectively that Y/N looked stunning in lingerie. But he also saw the weight it carried—the stares, the critiques, the relentless industry gaze. And knowing that... made it something sacred, not seductive. Maybe once in a while—a birthday, an anniversary—it could mean something. But it wasn’t where desire lived.

Desire, for Nanami, was found in authenticity.

“What time do you get off today?” Nanami asked as Y/N emerged from the hallway, makeup half-done, work bag slung over his shoulder.

“Six. Not a bad shift. No retakes today,” Y/N replied, zipping the bag shut and heading into the kitchen for a snack.

“Would you mind making dinner for me?”

Nanami nodded without looking up from his book. Y/N was already kissing the side of his head, rushing out the door.

“Love you!” he called as the door clicked shut behind him.

“Love you too,” Nanami murmured, just loud enough to be heard.

Later, Nanami was in the kitchen, chopping carrots as Gojo leaned against the counter, rambling.

As always.

“You know,” Gojo said, voice laced with mischief, “I find it interesting that you have *those* pictures up.”

He nodded toward the hallway, where framed prints of Y/N’s modeling work hung—elegant, yes, but undeniably sensual.

“Someone might think you’re a perv,” Gojo teased.

“Those people wouldn’t be welcome in my home,” Nanami said calmly. “Besides, it’s art.”

“Art? Or eye candy?” Gojo shot back with a grin.

Nanami didn’t hesitate. “I’m not attracted to him like that.”

That gave Gojo pause. “That’s still so weird to me. I mean, if Suguru became a lingerie model? God, I’d be ruined. I don’t think I’d survive seeing him like that every day…” He trailed off into a mumble.

Nanami’s jaw ticked. He clicked his tongue in disapproval.

“That’s exactly the point. That’s exactly why I’m not attracted to him like that. People like you are what he has to face every time he steps in front of a camera. I'm scared he thinks he only matters when he’s dolled up. When he’s dressed for someone else's desire.”

He dumped the chopped carrots into a boiling pot, the heat hissing back at him.

“I loved him before the fame. Before the magazine covers and the runways. Don’t get me wrong—yeah, I used to be drawn to those images. But after a while? It became noise. Just... another costume. Another mask.”

Gojo leaned back, folding his arms. He was quiet for a second. Then, “So what turns you on, then?”

Nanami froze mid-stir, eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m not telling you that.”

Gojo leaned against the fridge now, arms crossed, watching Nanami like a cat that had finally found a string worth pulling.

“Come on,” he pressed. “You don’t get to drop that kind of deep, ‘I love him for his soul’ monologue and then clam up like I asked you your blood type.”

Nanami gave him a flat look as he stirred the pot. “It’s none of your business.”

“Which, in Gojo-speak, means it’s absolutely my business.” He smirked. “You said he doesn’t do it for you in lingerie—but you never said what does.”

Nanami sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re exhausting.”

“And yet you keep letting me in your kitchen.”

Nanami moved to the sink to wash his hands, trying to find a polite way to tell Gojo to drop it. But Gojo wasn't known for polite, and he wasn’t dropping anything.

“I’m not trying to embarrass you, you know.” Gojo’s voice shifted—just slightly. Not quite serious, but softer. He wasn’t teasing now.

“I know how hard it is to love someone who lives under a spotlight. It’s not just about attraction. It’s about holding on to the part of them the world doesn’t get to see.”

Nanami stilled.

Gojo pushed off the fridge and walked over, dropping his voice a notch.

“You see him when no one’s looking. And you still want that version of him.” He paused. “That’s not weird. That’s rare.”

Nanami exhaled. Slowly. Like he’d been holding something in too long.

“It’s the little things,” he said finally, voice low and quiet over the bubbling stove. “When he’s tired and honest. When he takes his makeup off and leaves his hair messy. When he’s in the kitchen in the morning, grumbling at the coffee pot like it personally betrayed him.”

Gojo chuckled. Nanami kept going, almost without meaning to.

“He hums off-key when he’s happy. He forgets his own schedule but remembers mine. He wears clothes that don’t match because he dressed in the dark, and he looks... soft. Human. Real.”

He turned the stove down.

“Those are the moments that matter. That’s what I hold on to.”

Gojo nodded slowly, not mocking this time.

“That sounds... nice.”

“It is.”

There was a pause between them, filled only by the quiet simmer of dinner and the hum of the refrigerator.

Then Gojo, of course, ruined it.

“Still wouldn’t mind seeing him in thigh-highs, though.”

Nanami didn't look at him. “Out.”

“Worth a shot.”

A few hours pass, dinner nearly done and Gojo long gone. The front door clicked open with the soft sound of keys and a tired sigh.

Nanami didn’t look up right away—he was plating dinner, the table already set for two. The warm smell of ginger and garlic filled the kitchen, wrapping the quiet space in comfort.

“Hey,” came Y/N’s voice, bright but a little worn. Nanami turned.

There he was—objectively stunning.

Hair perfectly styled, not a strand out of place. Makeup still sharp, lips tinted rose and cheekbones glowing under the fading hallway light. But now, it clashed against the oversized hoodie and loose grey sweatpants he’d thrown on to beat the chill.

Y/N dropped his work bag at the door, toed off his shoes, and smiled faintly. He crossed the room, hoodie sleeves tugged down past his palms, and flopped onto the couch with a huff.

“Photoshoots ran late,” he explained, voice muffled as he leaned back into the cushions. “The lighting guy couldn’t get the angle right, so we redid half the set. I’m pretty sure there’s glitter in my scalp.”

Nanami glanced at him, eyes flicking over the smear of gold shimmer still clinging to his collarbone.

And the subtle outline of lace peeking through the thin hoodie.

He didn’t say anything. Just turned back to the stove and carefully spooned the last of the rice onto a plate.

“Dinner’s ready,” he said, tone level. Quiet. Cool.

Y/N blinked at him.

“You okay?” he asked, sitting up slightly. “You’re being... Nanami-ish.”

Nanami didn’t answer. Not really. He just walked past Y/N, setting the plates on the table.

Y/N didn’t push. He knew that voice. That posture. That line Nanami drew between what was public, performative, and real. And right now, even sitting in their home, with his makeup still perfect and lace tight against his skin, he felt like someone else’s.

That version of himself wasn't for Nanami.

So, without a word, Y/N stood, padded to the bathroom, and turned on the shower.

Fifteen minutes later, the door creaked open again. This time, steam rolled out from behind Y/N as he reentered the dining room, toweling his damp hair.

The hoodie was gone, replaced by an old cotton tee—worn thin and fraying at the hem. His sweatpants sagged slightly at the hips, and his face was bare, flushed from the heat of the water. Glasses perched lazily on his nose.

He looked like himself again.

He moved quietly to the table and sat down across from Nanami. Didn’t say a word. Just started picking at the vegetables with his chopsticks.

And that’s when Nanami looked up.

Really looked.

And smiled.

Not a smirk. Not a polite curl of the lips.

A quiet, genuine, eyes-softening kind of smile.

Y/N caught it and blinked.

“There it is,” he teased gently, nudging Nanami’s foot under the table. “I thought you were mad at me.”

Nanami shook his head slowly. “Not mad. Just... waiting.”

“Waiting for what?”

Nanami reached forward, brushing a thumb just under Y/N’s eye, right where a faint trace of glitter still clung.

“For you to come home.”

[rururarashi]

Dorm leader series pt.4 Silver

Dorm leader uniform series: ADeuce , Epel , Ortho , Silver(here) , Sebek(TBC)

ANON REQUEST Pt.1

one hand cramp later here he is!!!!! He's definetly embracing Lilia characteristics. The purple fabric was given by Lilia as a gag gift but he took it so seriously Lilia said absolutely nothing.

You could say the marks on his vest are dragon claws or lightning bolts, but my personal favourite opinion is the monster can logo

He kinda just forgot to cut his hair and let it grow to this long, he's not bothered by it enough to get it cut so he leaves it be.

The coat is thigh length but it looks kinda short at this angle. The zippers are 100% decoration and nothing else.

He was the only one in Diasomnia who didn't know he was gonna be the next Dorm Leader, mostly because in his head he just kinda thought all of the Diasomnia DL had to be some kind of fae for some reason. He even asked Crewel about Sebek's dorm leader uniform progress (much to the latters confusion)

Sebek of course fought for "the honour of Waka-sama" the second he was crowned only to lose. Silver genuinely wanted Sebek to have the position but Sebek refused, exclaimining he would be dishonouring their senpais for giving up so easily. So the sibling banter between the two began.

Sebek hauls Silver to EVERY meeting, constantly complaining that he is ruining Diasomnia's reputation by sleeping in such important occasions (the meeting was literally an excuse to gossip about the new freshmen)

Silver always has a bat and dove around him at all times, he calls them Dusk and Dawn, uses them as messengers a lot of the time.

The dorm staff is so much taller than he is he doesn't even carry it around that often. He only uses it when he has to wear his dorm uniform outside the dorm, otherwise its kepted safely in the vault I assume they have somewhere.

Yuubi had no input on his design, mostly because she was also in assumption that Sebek would win the position (much to her dismay honestly, she don't need cabbage boy screeching in her ears anymore than he does now).

Sebeks will be drawn at a later date, i need to study.

Toodles

[changelingsandothernonsense]

Yeshua the Silent circa 4E 187

From The Myriad Realms of Revelry

Teldryn had managed to convince himself that the whole massacre had been the machinations of Azura. Her revenge for him straying from her gaze. That woman bathed in twilight was probably her in disguise. Save him from the fiery ruins of his drug-induced folly only to take his tongue using the same bullshit tactic the fucking Sharmat used to use to get him to submit. It hadn’t worked for the masked bastard, what made that bitch think it would work for her? And yet here he was, unable to speak, his tongue gone from his mouth. The canvas walls of the tent he was standing in still seemed to be a little- melted. He was still high. He would be for at least another few days. Teldryn would wake up in a panic as he had that dream over and over again. The screams, the fire, the woman who silenced him forever. It made the kind Ash'abah warrior who had found him wandering through the desert, naked and delirious, a little worried to say the least. He had been trying the get Teldryn to talk for their whole journey back to Sentinel, insisting that Teldryn still had his tongue. He had given Teldryn a fresh change of clothes and some goggles to wear as they travelled through the Alik’r. It was this set of linens that he was wearing now, turns out he could pass for a Redguard well enough, albeit a rather stringy one so long as he kept his mouth shut. He had taken the name that warrior had given him too, Yeshua the Silent. Something he had given Teldryn in jest, but he didn’t mind it. When Teldryn had asked him why he chose that name, writing his queries in the sand as he was coming out of his skooma withdrawal the old warrior just shrugged and told him it was ‘the first name that popped into his head.’ When he asked him why not a Dunmeri name? He said that Teldryn was the first one he’d ever met. So naturally, he didn’t know any Dunmeri names. Teldryn didn’t bother correcting him, even after his skooma haze wore off and he’d recovered from his withdrawal, finding that he was once again able to speak. He found that he liked pretending to be someone else. He had gone by that name when he booked passage to Solstheim after the massacre. Sending Geldis and his mother a letter to tell him that he was returning in disguise. He was afraid the Vigil of Stendarr was still after him and honestly, he was still kinda paranoid that Azura was still mad at him. Geldis had told him that his letters had made absolutely no sense.

Josh in his Redguard disguise, featuring his patented goggles that's he's meant to wear all the time. Also some of his scimitars that he collected for his big collection of shiny blades. Short haired Josh for story reasons.

[impala666]

3 A.M & Quesadillas ~ John Carter x reader

I know, I know. I said I wanted more of Luka Kovac, and I've been working on a few things for him. But for some reason writing for John Carter is easier for me, I have no idea why. But I hope everyone enjoys this. Carter just needs someone to love him and be on his side for once, so that's what I did.

You found yourself waking up, at first you weren’t sure as to why. But then you felt the cold sheets on the other side of the bed. It had been a month since you and your husband John moved in to his grandmother and late grandfather’s house. It took some getting used to. Your whole life you’d lived in ranch styled houses or tiny apartments, kind of like the one you and John lived in before you moved. Now you lived in a mansion practically, and a staff that would try to wait on you hand and foot. However, you weren’t about to complain about the big bed and comfortable as hell mattress that you shared with your husband. But more and more you seemed to be waking up in the middle of the night to find John not next to you. Not that you could blame him after the trauma of the stabbing and losing Lucy, then his grandfather dying, the two of you working crazy hours at County Hospital, then of course his grandma falling ill. To which you knew the woman was practically his mother, because god forbid his mother from coming around at all to lend a helping hand or to even just to make sure that her son was okay. Then of course John had his insomnia on top of that, so he hardly slept.

Sitting up in the bed, you pushed the lush comforter off of you and moved to grab your sleep shorts from the floor to wear along with a t-shirt of John’s so you could go on search for your husband. Finally after slipping on your slippers you left the bedroom en route to the kitchen. Whenever John couldn’t sleep you could find him eating or drinking something in the kitchen, in the living room reading a medical journal, or sitting outside if it was nice. But this was Illinois, so of course it was raining. A tired smile grew on your lips when you found him cooking something at the stove. But as you quietly walked into the room you noticed the time on the stove clock, it was 3 in the morning. The two of you had worked 12 hour shifts not that long ago and the two of you had to be  up in another few hours to head out to go to your next shifts, however when you walked up behind him and wrapped your arms around his waist and felt his warmth that went out of your brain. 

“Hey, what’re you doing up?” John tiredly smiled down at you. He switched his spatula to his non dominant hand so his dominant hand could lace with the fingers of the hand that was wrapped around him.

“Shouldn’t I be asking you that? I woke up alone without my personal space heater, so I had to come find him.” You spoke into him softly as you pressed your face and nose into his back so you could embrace his warmth along with his scent. John let out a small huff of a chuckle as he took your hands from his waist so he would wrap his arm around your shoulders and bring you into his side. To which you again buried your face into once again.

“Well, you found him. He was just a little hungry, so he came down to make himself a quesadilla.” John smiled softly still as he played into the game you were playing with him. 

“A quesadilla? At 3 in the morning?” You finally took your face out of the warmth of John’s side to watch as he flipped the tortillas and cheese that were sizzling on the pan.

“Which is exactly why you should go back to bed. No sense in the both of us being miserable tomorrow. Well, I guess today, technically.” You shook your head as cheese flew out of the tortilla mid-flip, but also at his trying to take care of you. He was one to talk, the man took care of everyone else around him so that he would not have to face the problems that he was dealing with. Sure, he loved helping people, hell that’s why he became a doctor, but he also hid in it. But that was a conversation for another day. You just wanted to enjoy the quiet early, rainy morning with your husband before the two of you had to be your professional work selves.  

“Nope. No way.” You shook your head at him. “If you’re up then I’m up. So we’ll just be miserable together later. Now, scoot.” You demanded as you bumped your hip against his own to get him out of your way.

“What are you doing?” John asked in fake offense as he tried not to burst out laughing at you taking over.

“You are making a mess. Plus now I want one so I will take care of it, okay?” John just stood there with his arms crossed over his chest, not really believing that you just did that. But of course he believed it, because he knew what you were doing. You were taking care of him.

“I was doing just fine.” His voice rose an octave in defense.

“You literally just got cheese everywhere, Johnny.” You told him as you took his off of the pan and added a new tortilla to the pan to start your own. 

“ You like taking care of me don’t you?” Now it was John’s turn to wrap his arms around your waist and press a kiss to the top of your head

“It is one of my favorite pastimes.” You smiled at him. You turned yourself around in his arms and firmly put your hands on his chest. “Now, would you be so kind as to start a pot of coffee?” Asking him sweetly. 

“Coffee and a quesadilla, doctor?” Carter looked at you like he couldn’t believe the combination of food that you have chosen to have for breakfast. But it was you who was surprised. The two of you had eaten much weirder things with coffee. One of the things being sushi of all things. But when you need caffeine, you need caffeine. 

“Well I’m up now and I think you are too so we might as well start with it to keep us going.” You quirked an eyebrow up at him. 

“Hmm, touche.” John agreed with you and nodded before leaning forward to kiss your jaw before leaving your embrace to start his coffee duties. As the coffee was percolating he came back by you but you shook your head and gently grabbed his wrist. Which earned you a confused look in return.

“Sit down, relax, and let me serve you.” You said softly. John looked at you like you had grown a second head. He looked at you unsure, and a little bit like he couldn’t believe that you were doing this. 

“You know you’re not my mother right?” John asked as he took a seat on one of the bar stools that were placed at the island in the middle of the kitchen.

“I know,” you smiled to yourself slightly as you sliced both of your breakfasts. “And appreciate it that you say that, because most men just assume we’re here to fill that roll.” You placed the plate with the steaming in front of both of the seats before walking back over to the coffee pot to pour the both of you a cup. John didn’t say anything. He just sat and ate his quesadilla and stared at you like he could not believe that you were in the room with him at that moment. 

“But you don’t need to take care of me.” He finally said, very quietly while he helped you climb up into the bar stool next to him.

“I know I don’t need to, John,” you took a small sip of the hot coffee. The effects of the coffee waking you up ever so slightly. “But I want to, I mean you are my husband. Even before our wedding I wanted to.” John opened his mouth to say something, but before he could you put your hand on his arm to keep him from doing so. You needed him to hear this. “You have been killing yourself trying to take care of literally all of the adults in your life. Not just at work. You have been helping your grandmother; who might as well be your mother, considering she raised you. You have been helping her grieve your grandfather, along with her illness. Which you’re also medically helping her with also. Then your mother and father finally come back, drop the bomb on Christmas that they’re getting a divorce. Which they’re putting you in the middle, and don’t tell me they aren’t. I mean you had the worst thing happen to you last year. I mean, you were stabbed. Almost died, almost couldn’t walk again. But now they come back.” You were getting yourself all worked up thinking about his parents, you were beginning to lose your point. But John rubbed your back with one hand and put his other hand on top of your own hand to comfort you and calm you down. “So, no. I don’t mind taking care of you. Because I love you, and I want to.” You said much softer, not realizing until now that your voice grew in volume during your rant.

“Thank you for saying that.” John smiled and blushed all bashful as he reached forward to run his thumb over your chin and feel your face. You turned your head to place a kiss on his thumb before turning to start in on your food. “I love you, so much.” 

P.S- Note from author: TBH I don't know if this was finished or not. If it seems like it just ended out of no where, please let me know. It just felt done.

[bellesdomain]

Would you be possibly able to do a costume breakdown for either (or both, if you have time!) the original CB played by Michael Staniforth, or the Bochum 1992-93 era CB?

Let's have a look at London CB! I want to take a look at the few glimpses we get of CB later in the run too, if you don't mind, they're pretty rare to see!

So what are we looking at for the very first Caboose? Well, compared to later versions, we're leaning more into the American classic baseball vibes - this guy at Casey's Corner in Disneyworld is showing us so many of the same elements! John Napier wove together strands of "train" and recognisable archetypes from normal life to create costumes that tell us so much about the characters - CB is giving us All-American Wholesomeness! the moustache may seem like an interesting choice to us now, but it's absolutely in keeping with the source.

One of the things I love about him is that he's brick-red, a dusty red. We know it's not that the photos have faded, look at him next to Electra, even the candy-apple red wheel on his belt contrasts his dusty jacket! He definitely feels more like an older, sun-bleached freight, compared to the glossy Electrics. You can believe this caboose has been around a while...

On thing to remember is that most of the good pics we have are from the press call before the show opened, and before he got any shoulder boxes at all. It's more apparent in some other characters that their costumes were unfinished- I mean, the Pearl saga for example... but it's also relevant here. The photo above is from once the show opened, and while it's not the full realisation of the design, he's got SOMETHING going on with his shoulders as intended! Of course they needed photos ready before the press night, but it's a shame they didn't save the full show photography until after the costumes were finalised.

Yes, but practically, how does this costume go together? Oddly! So he basically just consists of a jacket and the leggings (plus hat, belt, gloves, kneepads...) Michael Staniforth had elaborate, padded leggings with the stripes enhanced with foam. Bobby Collins, Paul Reeves, everyone else seems to have had more simple leggings without the raised detail. That level of detail is common in the German costumes, not so much London, especially early on.

Michael Staniforth also appears to have had two belts? In the photo of him with Electra and Volta, with the jacket untucked over the belt, his belt has silver trim, matching the German version. All the other photos show plain black with the central red wheel.

His jacket is, apparently, just the one piece, which I would love to know the logic behind. The body is padded, there's a front zip hidden under the front panel - then there's excess fabric to try to tuck under the belt and hold it in place! It's meant to be three dimensional and bold, but they clearly hadn't come up with an effective way to layer the costume pieces yet. Similarly his arms are meant to appear to be short sleeves like the baseball player, over fitted black sleeves, yet they chose not to actually make the costume in two layers and the short sleeves, black under-sleeve, and details that appear to be the gauntlet of the gloves are all one piece. Was it simpler to make that way? I can't imagine it was much easier to wear and dress than if the actor had been wearing a unitard with grey body and legs and black arms, and the gloves had the gauntlets attached. And as we see in a couple of these pics including the press photo - it didn't stay in place.

Later years... the shoulders get a bit weird. What started for Michael Staniforth as a black seam between shoulder and body that would have included a gusset for more movement, and anchorage for the shoulder pads, became a full on separation of the arms from the body.

This press photo shows a really nice clean version of the costume, with the strong diagonal on the front panel. We got a couple of pics on the wiki of covers wearing this version in 1991-1992, but nothing more on this particular version!

There's this one costume worn by William Adams in 1991 for sure, where the front panel is much more prominent, and the sleeves aren't really related to the jacket at all! But we also have William wearing a costume much more in keeping with earlier versions - major armpit gussets, but a square front there.

I'm not aware of any confirmed "Final Farewell CB and Belle" footage or images, so I don't know for sure, but I assume that William Adams' bold front version was the last CB costume worn in London. I hope there was some sort of aknowledgement the last time those roles were played, before the new show took over completely!