#I didn’t know donut offerings were a thing for him

[chubbycelebs]

The Boss Body

Mr Kit Connor had worked very hard at his current occupation within the office. He had worked through the roles of the company and reaped its rewards. his efforts for the company did not go unnoticed and it wasn’t long until he was ask to come see the head of the company.

“Morning Kit. You want to sit down there for me.” The boss was a middle aged man, sporting a thick beard across his face which grew down his next and into his thick chest hair. His dark blue button up was stretched tightly across his rather big dad bod, with some of his buttons straining slightly, his hairy belly licking through. He was a nice boss to everyone and everyone loved him. Kit sat down in the seat opposite him. “I just want to say how grateful i am for you Kit. You really are the perfect example of a perfect employee. You have no faults to you. In fact you are almost annoyingly perfect.” The boss said laughing slightly, resting his hand on his jiggling belly. “Oh anyway Kit I didn’t bring you in here to sing my praises for you no. I wanted to offer you my position.” Kit was taken aback by this and it showed in his face. “I know I know it seems very sudden but I’ve just realised that I’m getting older now and I’m definitely not getting any younger,” he says pocking his rounded belly. “I just wanted to scale back my work load. Work somewhere with less demand and spend more time with the family.” Kit was nodding starting to understand what he was hearing after the initial shock wore off. “You are perfect to take over my roll Kit. You are so in control with your work life home life personal life you just have everything sorted and there’s no one better to take over the company then you.” The boss grunted as he pushed him self up. He held his chubby hand out across the desk waiting for Kit to take him up on his offer. Kit looked at his hand for a while still not fully understanding what has just been said. Kit finally snaps out of it and stands up shaking his boss hand. “Oh I’m so happy for you Kit you’ve made the right choice. Now I best move my things out before Monday then.” the boss says grabbing the final donut from the dozen and placing it into his mouth.

The weekend came and went and before he knew it Kit was the boss of the company. He could hardly believe it still but he had to snap out of it now. He was in charge and things needed doing. When he arrived at the office Monday morning he was greeted with many different presents on his desk. He couldn’t help but grin at the sight of them. He was pleased that his ex coworkers were happy for him. He put down his coat and bag on the chair and started to look through the presents. The first one was a selection box of chocolates. Kit pulled it out and looked at the contents of the box and was pleased to see that every chocolate within the box looked delicious. He put that down and look into the next box. It was a dozen freshly baked donuts. The smell from the box was outstanding his toned stomach rumbled slightly. Kit took one donut out of the box and placed it into his mouth. His mouth watered as the sugary dough melted away. Kit finished off the donut and moved the rest of them to the side. The final present was a card. He opened it up and a load of paper cuttings fell out. He picked them up and examined them. They were all discounts for fast food places. Kit looked over at the card which read “We know how busy you’ll be as our new boss so here’s your dinner sorted for you. On us - your employees.” Kit was taken a back by how sweet all these gifts were. It also made more sense why the last boss was so heavy by the time he left. But Kit vowed to stay in shape. He knew it would be difficult but he knew he had the self control to do it. Kit places the donuts in the common area of the office and put a note on them saying “for everyone! enjoy!” as he knew he couldn’t eat a dozen of those donuts in a day even though they were so tasty and so sweet.

It was mid day on Kits first day and Kit was sat at his desk typing up some office stats. He heard a knock on the door and his old coworker, Toby walked in carrying the donuts. Toby was a very sweet guy, slightly porky and always wearing clothes a little small for him but a lovely guy all the less. “Alright Toby! How are you doing?” Kit asks standing up from his desk. “I’m good Kit thanks. Erm we just wondered, do you not like donuts or..? Cos we saw you out then out for everyone else to eat and we just wondered if-“

“Oh no no I didn’t mean for it to come across as that no. I just put them out for everyone to have. You’ve all given me plenty of food I’m sure I’ll survive without the donuts.”

“Oh right. Well no offence Kit but the donuts were for you. We’d kinda hoped that you’d enjoy them. We don’t need anything I’m sure you do plenty for us.” “ Well that’s very kind of you all but honestly there’s no way I would eat all them donuts before they go stale.”

“Well why didn’t you say. Look you sit down at your desk and I’ll help you out.” Kit was a bit taken a back by this. He wasn’t sure what to think so he just sat down at his desk and looked at Toby confused. “Right you just get to work don’t worry about me. Just open your lips whenever you feel the donut press up against them.” Kit sat there with a confused expression on his face. He started typing away on his laptop when he felt the first donut push against lips. The sugary dough was already making his mouth water as he opens his lips. Toby pushed the whole donut into his mouth. Kit made a little muffled noise in shock. “They need eating quick boss already. You just focus on your work.” Kit did as Toby said and carried on working and chewing the delicious doughy goodness. He opened his mouth for the next one and then the next and then the next. It was at about the eighth donut when Kit started to struggle with the consumption of sweet treats. Toby placed a hand on Kits stomach and started to rub it in circle motions. Kit looked at Toby with a confused look, still chewing the food. “Oh ignore me it just helps with freeing up space for the rest. Helped a lot with the last boss.” Kit opened his mouth for the next donut when his heart dropped to his stomach. No wonder our last boss had to get new shirts every year with coworkers like this. They fattened him up and now they are trying to do the same to him. Kit remember that the old boss hired him because he had so much control over his personal life but this wasn’t showing self control. Kit was in deep though and didn’t realise that he had just eaten the final donut. “Good job boss.” Toby said with a pat on his distended gut. “Remember if you need any help with eating the treats we’ll get you just let me know. I’m very well trained in it” Toby said with a wink as he left the office. Kit sat there for a bit in shock as to what just happened. He looked over at the empty box of donuts and was almost disgusted in his self for mindlessly eating them all. He then looked at his shirt which was stretched out slightly by his full belly. He felt the pressure in his belt as it was too tight against his bloated stomach. Kit poked it and let out a stifled burp. “Oh god. This cant continue.” He said just as another one of his employees knocked on his door with another present in hand. “This is going to be very hard” Kit thought as he gestured for them to come in.

A few weeks had passed and Kit was still trying to figure out this new work life balance along side with the constant feeding his employees offer to him. Kit had always been a disciplined guy, always kept in shape and never over indulged. His weight had always been pretty constant apart from the odd bulk or two he had tried back when he was in university. Back then his body would just spring back to his athletic stature but nower says he doesn’t dare try it. He was happy with his body but things had started to change. Another thing about Kit is he was so polite and nice and could never say no to anyone. So when his employees come in with sugary sweets and treats for him, he struggles to resist. He’d never had people so adamant in making sure he was so well fed. Every night Kit was going home with an over full belly and tightening suit. After the first week or so of his employees still endlessly feeding him, Kit decided to hatch a plan. He would go the gym after work every day to work off every pound he could have possibly put on due to their feeding. This went well for the first week but as the boss his hours were long he would almost always finish very late. Sometimes he would just go straight home after work and pass out on his bed whilst other nights he attempted to go the gym but after just 5 minutes on the treadmill he was too exhausted to carry on leaving almost instantly after. The roll of the boss was no joke.

This all resulted in the slowly thickening of Kit. His once toned body and well defined muscles slowly melted away replaced with a soft layer of chub. His thighs and ass slowly filled out his suit trousers, his shirts clung to his widening waist line, his chest and soft arms barely squeezed in to the tight shirt. It wasn’t a drastic gain as Kit was always a big guy but the change from muscly big to now slowly fattening big was starting to be noticed. Kit first was made away that his body was changing when Toby was in his office feeding him spoon fulls of ice cream before they all melted. He was working hard on a coming up meeting and mindlessly just eating the pints of ice cream Toby was feeding him. Kit started to wriggle in his chair as he finished his third pint and Toby asked him if he could take his belt off to release the pressure. Kit just waved his hand and said “yeah sure just let me finish this.” But the sudden release of his gut made him stop working all together. He looked down and saw his shirt skin tight even a few gaps forming between the lower few buttons. His soft lower belly was looking around the waist band of his trousers. Kit noticed his his trousers had been unbuttoned and unzipped all the way down. He turned to Toby now uncomfortable and asked “I told you to take my belt off Toby not my trousers. If this carries on I will have-“ but was cut off by Toby saying. “Woah Kit I’d never do that without you saying. I undid your belt and the top button of your trousers pop off and your zip was pushed down. It was non of my doing Jesus not my fault.” Kit looked at Toby for a second and then looked down at his stomach. He notice his button say on the floor across his office. Toby was right it wasn’t him. It was his own gluttony.

“Oh right. Erm yeah sorry Toby it does seem to have been my own erm..” he trailed off embarrassed to admit the truth. Toby wasn’t very happy with how Kit had spoken to him just then. He poured the rest of the ice cream down Kits throat and then walked out without saying a word to him. Toby sat down at his desk in annoyance. “You alright Toby?” His coworker Sam said. Sam used to have the same body as Kit once had, toned looked after and in shape but once getting a job here his muscle clad body soon transformed into one resembling a man who’s never played sport in his life. Sitting at 275lbs the big guy had transformed working at this work place. “No Sam not really. He’s starting to get push back a bit. He realises the damages we’ve done. We have to push harder. He has to be huge” Toby said giving a glaring look at Kit as they watched him in his office trying to buckle up his trousers again.

As months go on the feeding only continues and much much more. Kit couldn’t even help it anymore. His stomach was stretched so even if he was to say “oh no sorry I really am full” his own gut would give him away as it rumbles yearning for more food. After the button of his trousers had popped off due to his own fattening body, he decided he’d invest in the next size up clothes. Hoping he would figure out a way to stop growing and fit comfortably into a size XXL. However no matter the amount of wishful thinking, he couldn’t help but be filled to fattness every single shift. He would come to work fitting comfortably into his clothes and leave the office like 12 hours later helplessly sucking in as to not break through more clothes. It was the weekend and Kit finally had time to not be stuffed by his employees. He rolled out of bed and went to the bathroom. He stood in the mirror and just looked at his body.

He just couldn’t believe his eyes. He got up a photo of his body a year ago on his holiday to Spain and compared it to the lard arse standing in front of him. The way his belly bugged out over his clothes pushing at the sides of his trousers. His whole body had been pumped full of fat and he couldn’t believe it. What had his coworkers done to him. Kit went back to his room. He was going through his clothes trying to find something that would make him feel good. He found one of his old tshirt which he loved cos it showed off his strong arms. He pulled his tight black shirt off and grabbed the other one and pulled it over his head. He put his arms through it first and the tightness around his shoulders made him think he was still muscly and built. However when he pulled it down over his chest it became painfully obvious that he was not still built. He was infact too large to even fit the shirt over his hanging belly. In frustrating he pulled hard at the shirt to go over his gut to sit below his belly button. As he yanked it down he heard a rip omit from the shirt. He had ripped it right across the top of his gut. He let go of his shirt and it pinged back sitting above his deepening belly button.

He slapped his belly and slumped on the floor of his room. He lay there for a while looking up at the ceiling with his belly rising up and down. He looked down at his gut as it pushed high into the sky. Kit started to poke it, feeling the softness of his body. The pokes turned to grabbing handfuls of fat which quickly turned into him shaking his belly watching as it jiggles, causing his shirt to ride up becoming a bra. He started to shake it harder which caused his trousers to pop open. Kit felt the release as his fattened body surged downwards. This sparked a pulse in his boxers. Kit had never felt his cock pulse this way before. He started grabbing his hairy under belly and squeezing at its softness. His dick got hard and pulsed harder, jumping slightly in bus tight boxers. Kit pulled his trousers down and reached down to the waist band of his boxers. He couldn’t see his dick anymore but he could feel it pressing hard against his underbelly. He pulled his boxers off over the large dump truck of an ass he had grown. He started to rub his cock back and forth letting the tip push hard into his belly. He started to rub faster feeling the pre cum stain his underbelly. He got quicker causing his whole body to jiggle with the motion. He pumped harder and harder getting closer and closer to climax. He thought of his old boss and how big he had grown over the years at the company. He thought back to the boss before that and how he could barely fit through the door ways. He looked down at his transformed body. What once was a Greek like physic had now turned into one that resembles a hog. He was following the legacy and he couldn’t wait to add to it. He thought about being the size of his old bosses as he dick got closer and closer to exploding. He thought about how if his old boss saw him now how disappointed he’d be that Kit had lost his discipline. He thought about getting fatter then his old boss, him coming to visit and seeing the obese hog he had turned into. With this final thought Kit exploded all over his huge belly, thick hot white cum covering his gut like a donut in glaze. Kit lay there panting and sweating thinking about what he’d just done. His shame and humiliation had turned him on, made him blow. Maybe this wasn’t so bad.

Kit marched through the office Monday morning. His clothes clung tight to his jiggling body. Just as he threw an empty bag of McDonald’s breakfast in the bin he took a big gulp of the chocolate milkshake. As he finished that off he pattered his belly and gave a low rumbling belch. He binned the milkshake and walked to Tobys desk. Toby turned around to face his fattened boss and grinned. “Alright Kit?”

“My office now” Kit demanded. He then turned around and stomped to his office. Toby watched as Kits jiggling ass walked away before he closed the door to his office. “You’ve really done a number in this one bud” Sam says leaning over to Toby’s desk. “He’s bloody huge.”

“It’s one of my many special talents fattening up men to get what I want. You’d know eh Sam” Toby said getting up from his desk and patting Sam on the gut before walking over the bosses office, leaving Sam all flustered and red faced. Toby opened the door to the office and saw that all the blinds were closed. Kit was sat at his desk writing. “Erm you wanted to see me Kit?” Toby says sliding into the office. “Yes Toby I did. Please take a seat.” Kit gestures to chair opposite him. Toby sits. Kit pushes him self out of his chair and starts to pace the room. Toby noticed the slight jiggle to his walk. “So quite evidently you gave a talent Toby, a talent at fattening up people.” Toby looks confused wondering where this is going. “Well Toby I wanna make you a very important asset to this business. It seems your efforts are wasted on the call floor. I want you to be my personal assistant.” At this point Kit had walk around the desk and now stood right next to Toby looking down at him. Toby looking up getting an eye full of his soft belly rising and falling as he breaths. “Oh wow erm let me see. That sounds like a good offer” Toby says thinking about the offer. “Will this continue?” He pokes Kits under belly wiggling his finger in between the buttons and touching his bare stomach. “Oh yes. In fact the whole reason I hired you is to continue this” Kit said slowly unbuttoning the top of his shirt. “Well then. I’m all for it then. When do I start?”

“Right now. I need you to go to every one of these fast food places and get me the largest meal you can” Kit handed him vouchers he was given in his first day in office. Toby looked at them and grinned. He quickly turned around and went on his travels. Once Toby returned with all the food Kit didn’t even pay him attention. Toby paused for a second waiting for instruction but when non was stated he just went for the usual. Kit worked and ate for hours and hours devouring every bag of fast food there was. By just after mid day his belt was off and his shirt was unbuttoned. By the evening his shirt was off and trousers too. As Kit finished off his final bag, his belly was spilled very far over his fatty lap. Toby was itching for more now. He’d never seen his boss this full before or this naked, just very tight bright red underwear keeping nothing to the imagination. Kit had just finished his prep for the meeting and looked at Toby. “Finish me off please Toby. I’ve got a lot of pent up frustration.” Toby couldn’t believe the words his boss just said to him. He’d fattened up a lot of men in his life but never had one been so demanding. He’s usually the one making orders. Toby got under the desk and pulled down Kits tight underwear. Kits dick was hardly seen due to the expanding belly over the top of it so Toby grabbed Kits belly and move it up, pushing Kits soft chest up. Toby started slowly focusing on the tip then working harder and harder on the shaft. Kits moans filled the room as Toby suck harder and harder going faster getting the boss closer to cumming all over his face. Toby grabbed hard onto Kits fat gut digging his fingers deep into it. Kit couldn’t hold it anymore. He thrusted his dick to the back of Tobys throat as he released his entire load into Tobys mouth, with him swallowing every last drop. Toby got up with sweat dripping down his face. Kit noticed that his shirt was tight across Tobys belly now that it was filled full of his sweet nectar. It was long until Toby was bent over the desk naked getting fucked by the fatten boss whilst he stuffed his face with the left over food from the fridge in the office. After that day the two had established that they both needed and wanted to fatten the other up and that they did.

After a few years now as the boss of the company, Kit had really settled into the roll. He became more authoritative and more demanding of a boss and made the company boom with sales. Not to mention the company wide increase on free food and snacks for all to enjoy. He’d noticed the impact he’d had on his employees when he saw many of the men comparing their gut sizes. Kit couldn’t help but laugh knowing how he was once their size and how quickly that had changed. Kit had grown so much as a boss figuratively and literally. He was the biggest boss the company had ever seen and of course he was still growing. Toby still worked closely with him making sure he was eating well and getting the attention he required. The pair had become an unstoppable force taking the company from large to HUGE!

I really hope you guys enjoy this story. I have spent ages and ages working on it. Lemme know what other stories you guys would like

#male weight gain #men getting fatter #fat #full belly #cute belly #fatty #fat men #fat belly #fit to fat #fatboy #fat guy #fat piggy #immobile #gaining weight #fatter #big belies #big beautiful men #big fatty #bigger is better #getting bigger #gained weight #weight gain #gaining weight on purpose #beer belly #feedee belly #sexy belly #belly expansion #chubby #exjock #gay gainer

[bothoutsiders]

ok so you know the hero gets kidnapped and no one comes and the villain gets pissed on their captive’s behalf and treats them better than their former associates did trope ?

i need that with early red hood jason and robin tim

jason steals tim expecting the calvary to come racing in

but ,,, no one comes

and ok jason can understand why timbit's little baby hero team didn't come

superboy, wonder girl and impulse are all currently off planet

but the batfam isn't

the girls are in hong kong for whatever reason but dick and bruce are across town from where him and tim are

he's had tim for over a week they have to have realized that he's missing at this point

and now jason's like "actually fuck them i'm keeping you"

hello anon! thank you for your request. i think it came a bit small; first jaytim thing i type with my new keyboard B) but it was fun. it's a bit domestic tho, hope you enjoy :)

--

It has been a little over a week since Robin got here. 

It somehow felt like those parents who forgot to pick up their kids at school. Robin had been at the mercy of Red Hood for a week and a few days and there was no sign of anyone coming to rescue him anytime soon.

Jason even went through his notes, every piece of information he had, and his own plan. Many times.

Something didn’t click.

When he kidnapped Robin, he knew Batman would come for him. Knew there would be a big fight, some spilled blood and maybe broken bones. He then would be able to torture Robin in front of Bruce and make him beg, maybe even cry. Satiate his own thirst for vengeance with Bruce’s suffering.

But nothing like that happened.

Robin’s friends were not around and Jason knew that. It was excusable but… What was the explanation for Batman to ignore this? Was he trying to play some kind of sick game with his mind or did he actually not care about Tim?

He didn’t even send Nightwing either. There was no Justice League. There was nobody.

No one.

What was the point of torturing or doing something to Robin if Bruce wasn’t here to witness it?

“Do you have golden grahams?”

Jason turned to look at the teen and thought about what was happening. There was no way Bruce hadn’t realised his new Robin was missing. Nor that Jason had kidnapped him and now was even feeding him.

“No, but I can buy some later.” He said as he placed a windowed box on the table and pushed it toward Tim slowly. “I got you donuts though.”

“Oh?” Robin looked at the box, interested when he had heard it was donuts. Right now he was wearing Jason’s clothes and had come out from a nice shower. “They’re from  Holesome Dough! Great!”

Jason watched him devour one after another while he thought about the situation. He was definitely not imagining things. It was happening.

He looked down and noticed Tim’s bare feet, some drops of his wet hair making a mess around. “I’ve told you to wear shoes and to dry your hair properly. I’m not going to clean that.”

Tim looked down for a few moments before he’d go and sit down in a chair, enjoying his snack.

Stupid Batman was ignoring his own Robin, who was definitely in danger. If Jason were completely fucked up, right now he would have had Tim’s head on display and probably had sent some parts of his body to Bruce, just as a silly joke.

Bruce knew where he was and didn’t even care!

He didn’t care.

Jason rubbed his eyes, tired and frustrated. “I’m not really surprised. Just disappointed.”

“About what?” Tim turned to look at him, a crumb on his upper lip. “Oh. I’ll dry my hair after this. You want some?” He offered him the donut he was eating since it was the last one.

“He’s not coming, is he?” This felt so familiar.

“Bruce?” Tim shrugged. “He might think I have it under control.”

“Replacement, I beat you up. You passed out as you bled when I took you with me. If you were able to handle it, you would’ve contacted him. He didn’t even call you. What’s his excuse?” He snorted and took a seat. “He’s across town, yeah, Gotham is big but not that big that he can’t come to rescue his sidekick.”

Of course it pissed him off. Days prior Jason had gone to check if Batman was around, to make sure he wasn’t out of Gotham doing something else that stopped him from coming to rescue his young, new soldier. The worst of all this? Batman was in Gotham.

It made Jason furious.

This Robin could have the same ending as he did, history would repeat and Bruce didn’t give a fuck about it. It didn’t seem as if Batman wanted a Robin, at least not one to last.

He just can’t be responsible like a proper adult, maybe that’s why he doesn’t have children or pets. Maybe this is why he doesn’t have a family.

He snorted, so close to pulling from his own hair. If someone has a sidekick, they teach them, they protect them. Where was Batman when he was needed? With how things went, Jason suspected that Bruce decided to give Tim to him. As those who throw meat to wild dogs, to keep them busy, keep them away.

“Fuck it. Fuck Bruce, fuck Dick, fuck everyone, I’m keeping you.”

#JayTim #Jason Todd #Tim Drake #w: story #request

[slf-nights]

Angel Voices - Vash x Reader

4.1k words / minors DNI / takes place in trigun '98 canon

CW: reader has breasts, wears a bra, and has a vagina/vulva/clit, but no specific use of pronouns in fic (though one mention of "goddess"), no mention of skin color, hair color or texture. Both reader and Vash are written with the mindset of bisexual switches.

Use of nicknames like baby and good boy, mentions and descriptions of Vash's scars, oral (m on f + f on m), 69, f squirting on m's face, discussion of contraceptive method, piv sex (sitting with f on top, cowgirl, and missionary), monsterfucking (since Vash is a sentient plant; discussion of plant sex differences and weird plant cum), overstimulation, cum eating (only a little), brief aftercare (as there might be a fic part 2)

AN: Thank you to everyone for waiting on this! I wrote this with so much love for the original source material and I hope it captures the slightly goofy spirit of the Trigun 98 dub, both for Vash and reader 💖

Morning again…

Slowly waking, you scrunch up your face, taking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. From behind, you can hear soft, even breaths and feel a warm hand around your waist.

We must have fallen asleep after the mission…

Closing your eyes, you take in the sensation of Vash’s body around you: his left arm slung around your waist, fingers tucked slightly under your shirt and legs tangled between yours.

You had only meant to talk for bit and process the day’s adventure, but even one beer and leftover donuts from the morning was enough to relax Vash and make him realize just how much energy he had used up.

He was staying at a hotel down the road, so you offered to let him rest a minute before heading back. He had obliged, slipping his jacket off and removing his metal prosthesis, showing you just how much he trusted you.

When you had sat down next to him, petting his hair as he relaxed, you must have fallen asleep too, lulled by the repetitive motion and gentle hums from Vash. You were supposed to wake him up, but instead you were laying next to him, the closest you’d ever been to the man you had a huge crush on.

He really should have been able to figure it by now…

For all his “reputation” as a womanizer, besides some harmless flirting, you had never witnessed Vash make a move on anyone. He seemed to prefer the company of drinking buddies or a bag of fresh donuts more than a night with a woman.

You knew why, though.

Beneath the handsome and charming outer surface, Vash the Stampede kept a secret perfectly contained. You’d never guess it by a glance, but he was pushing 150 years old, and hidden under layers of crimson leather and cloth were relics of his past—scars, surgeries, repairs, and metal prosthetics.

With a flashy enough jacket, no one usually asked questions about what was underneath.

You hadn’t seen them for yourself more than a quick glance when Vash stretched and his shirt rode up, but you had heard about the extent of his injuries from Meryl and Milly.

The insurance girls had become your friends quickly, often hanging out together and commiserating over how much trouble you all got into around Vash and Wolfwood.

You didn’t mind the adventures. Sure, danger followed you at every step, but you always seemed to come out alright—Vash and Nick always found a way to turn things around.

Which is how you ended up here, snuggled in the arms of the infamous gunslinger, the humanoid typhoon, and the man currently pressed up against your back, half-hard and sleepy, holding onto you like a touch-starved lover.

You knew if Vash woke up right now he would apologize furiously and move away from you instantly, but you didn’t want him to leave.

You wanted to go further—spend the morning in bed and explore…

You don't know how to cross that emotional barrier yet, but have time to think, cheeks burning as Vash’s fingers ghost over your stomach, almost dipping below your underwear waistband. Sucking in a breath, sensitive, you move your hips slowly, closing your eyes and waiting for Vash to wake up.

Only he doesn't.

He lets out a few breathy moans in his sleep, holding onto you tighter and nuzzling into your shoulder. You lay there, blushing, feeling Vash’s cock swelling into your back and starting to pant softly. You're already so wet without being touched, but don't feel comfortable going any further without consent.

Fuck, this was going to be awkward.

“Vash?”

He only stirs slightly, still lost in his sleepy haze.

“Vash, wake up.”

“Hmmmm??”

You needed only wait a moment before Vash’s hand promptly flies away with an embarrassed “WHAAAAYAGHHHH!!!” and the string of apologies comes as expected.

Instead of accepting them, however, you shove Vash back down onto the pillows and climb onto his hips, raising a finger to talk to him.

“Stop that!!!”

He immediately shuts up, cheeks still flushed, and stares up at you, dumbfounded.

“I like you, Vash.” You go right to the point, bluntly, so he has no excuses. “I like you romantically… sexually… and I don’t want your apologies!!!! I want you to stay.”

Vash’s mouth pops open, looking you over to see if you're really telling the truth, then asks sheepishly, “Why didn’t you say anything before???”

Frowning, you remain in your position, looking down at the gunman. “Do you know how hard it is to get a moment with you alone??? I appreciate the gentleman act and all, but it makes it hard to get to know each other.”

Turning his gaze away, Vash mumbles out, “Maybe you don’t want to know the real me.”

Reaching down to take his face in your hands, you gently turn his head back toward you. “Look, this doesn’t have to be anything permanent. But I don’t want to waste the time I have with you. You’re constantly getting into trouble and I never know if I’m even going to see you tomorrow.”

His brows furrow, but gaze softens towards you. “The life of an outlaw isn’t a safe one. Danger and destruction follows me everywhere I go. And I don’t want you to be collateral.”

Reaching for his hand, you lace your fingers between his, squeezing tight. “I don’t know what today holds, but you’re here with me now.”

Vash looks like he’s tearing up, having resigned himself to a life of loneliness long ago. “Do you really want me?”

You break into a grin, all the anxiety you had felt lifting away. “I do. All of you.”

“I…” He starts, then hesitates, swallowing nervously. “I’m not all that pretty. My face maybe, but. I’ve been around a long time, you understand? And fought so many battles…”

You nod, dragging your hand out of his grip and settling both of palms on his stomach. “I understand. Meryl and Milly told me a little about your past… But I don’t care about that. I care about you. However you are.”

“Ah, shucks.” He laughs, carefully putting his hand on your waist. “You’re gonna make me blush~”

“I believe I’ve already done that this morning, Mr. Stampede~”

He grins, his playfulness finally returning. “Please, not my full name!! It’s just Vash to you.”

“Vash.” You say his name out loud once more, uttering it with reverence and adoration.

“My Vash.”

His gaze meets yours, tracking down to your lips, then back up. “Can I kiss you?”

You nod, licking your lips unconsciously, then lean forward, setting your fingertips under Vash’s jaw and tilting your head. He meets your lips with his own, gripping your hip tightly as he whimpers into your mouth.

It had been far too long since he had been this close with anyone and your touch was electrifying.

Pulling back for a moment, though still desperate, Vash gets out between soft pecks, “Wait, wait. Lemme get my arm. Go to the bathroom. Wanna do this right.”

You sigh, sitting up. “Alright, hang on.”

Climbing off of him, you stand up and ask him to wait, then go to pick up his arm, making a little “oof!” sound as you return, struggling slightly with the metal’s weight.

Presenting the device to him, you watch as he aligns the locking mechanism, wrinkling up his nose as his arm reattaches, and letting out a sigh of relief out when he can finally move his arm again.

“I don’t usually take it off since it hurts to reattach, but my shoulder was aching so bad last night, I needed a break.”

You tilt your head, eyes traveling to his shoulders. “Do you need me to look at your shoulder? Did you get hurt?”

He shakes his head. “I’ll check it in the bathroom. Be right back.”

As soon as the door closes, you run to your drawers to look for lingerie, digging until you find a red bra, the same shade as his jacket, and a clean pair of bottoms. Shoving them into a cloth bag, you wait impatiently to swap places so you can surprise him.

Soon, Vash peeks out, hiding slightly with his clothes slung over his arm. He’s shirtless now with just boxers on, his scars fully on display. You walk over to him, kissing his upper arm and glancing up. “I’ll be right back. There’s water and snacks if you’re hungry.”

“Mhm.” Vash smiles, ruffling your hair affectionately. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Vash has half a pudding eaten when you finally return, dropping his spoon and his jaw when he sees you step out of the bathroom.

“You all good?” Clasping your hands in front of your stomach, you sway slightly, watching as Vash sets the pudding aside and rushes toward you, getting on his knees.

“You're the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen in the whole galaxy…”

“That’s not possible, there are objectively prettier things than me. Like… the Horsehead Nebula.”

Vash laughs, still on the ground. “Nerd.”

Reaching out a hand to pat his hair, you drag your fingertips over his scalp, grinning down at him. “Dweeb.”

Grabbing the backs of both your thighs, Vash pulls closer as you shiver at the cold metal on your skin, a slight damp patch already forming on your panties. Mouthing over the cotton fabric, Vash inhales deeply, drunk on the smell of you. You look down, embarrassed, pushing his head away. “Vash…”

“Sorry, was that too much?”

“You don’t waste any time, huh? Is it possible you’re really a ‘ladykiller’ like the legends say?~”

“Mmmh.” Vash raises his eyebrows, squeezing your thighs and making you squirm. “No more talking.”

Tucking his fingers into your waistband, he yanks the material down and lets you step out, tossing the garment to an unknown corner of the room. The air in the room is sticky with the desert heat, but Vash’s hands on you are making you sweat even more, starting to pant hard as he ghosts his breath over your now-bare pussy.

He’s maddening, teasing you without giving you what you want, making you only imagine what his tongue feels like.

Instead of kissing your clit, he moves to your thighs, kissing and sucking faint hickeys into your skin. He can’t contain his own pleasure, moaning softly as he leaves gentle bites, making you jump and suck in a sharp breath as he moves closer and closer to your dripping cunt.

Grabbing his hair, you desperately pull him up onto you and he makes a surprised “mmpf!” as his nose bumps your clit. Your cheeks flush even deeper, finally feeling Vash’s tongue dart out and collect your slick, sucking messily as he traces his tongue over your folds.

When he’s teased you enough, he pauses a moment, looking up at you with sparkling eyes, pussy-drunk, then dives back down, finally wrapping his soft lips around your clit.

“Nnnnh!!!”

Bracing yourself against the hotel wall, you bring a hand to your mouth to stifle your moans, remembering there are other guests just across the wall. Hissing out a, “Vash!” you point to the bed, knees buckling slightly as he rubs his thumb over your clit and gives you a false-innocent questioning look.

“Need something?~”

“Can we—“ Interrupting yourself with another high-pitched moan, you try again, voice wavering. “Bed. Please?”

“Well since you said please and all~”

Wiping off his mouth and grinning, Vash stands, sauntering over to the bed and pulling back the covers, waiting for you to lay down first.

When you finally do, he stares down at you quietly, watching as you cross your legs, pull your arms over your chest, and look away, suddenly shy at the intensity of his gaze roaming over you.

“No, please, don’t hide.” Vash sits down on the edge of the bed next to you, tracing his fingers over the bottom edge of your bra. “You look so beautiful right now…”

Finally meeting his eyes again, your heart leaps, seeing his softer side come out—his smile is warm and sincere, making you smile in return, sharing his happiness.

As you study Vash a moment longer, you notice little details: his eyes are wide and full of desire, hair disheveled from your touch, and lips still puffy from eating you out. You can feel warmth blossoming in your chest and cheeks, silently drawing your heart closer to him.

Leaning up quickly, you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him down into a kiss, tasting yourself on his tongue. He moans when your tongue finds his, exploring your mouth softly as he climbs onto the bed. One leg settles between both of yours and his hands reach for your face, neck, breasts—anything he can hold onto and get closer to you.

When you finally break for air, Vash is giggling with the biggest, goofiest grin on his face. “Why didn’t we do this sooner?? This is great!!”

Laughing too, you pull the back of your hand over your eyes and grin, cheeks flushed and breath coming out in soft pants.

You had noticed lately that Vash had two aspects to his personality: the hardened, tough, expert outlaw gunslinger side, and the very playful, hopeful, trusting and almost child-like side. In this moment, you loved being on the receiving end of the latter.

Moving your hand enough to peek an eye open, you see Vash grinning down at you again, tilting his head curiously and waiting for you to catch your breath. “You all good??”

You nod and sit up, pulling him into a hug. “Just happy you’re here with me is all.”

Feeling the warmth of his skin against yours and his hands resting gently on your back, you calm down instantly, taking a moment to rest. This was the first time you had been close to his scars and you reach out, gently tracing over some of them, watching for a response in case you were overstepping boundaries.

He lets you keep going, however, watching carefully as your fingers trace his skin’s memories of the past—the metal grating, the permanent clamps, the burned patches, old bullet wounds, and healed-over gashes.

Pressing your lips to the biggest scar on his chest, you slowly kiss your way up to his neck while your left hand slips down his stomach to his cock, rubbing through his underwear as you continue your gentle barrage of kisses and nips.

Whimpering, Vash tosses his head back, arching into your touch. “Feels… so good!” He whines, tilting his neck so you have better access. With a grin, you lick a stripe up his pulse point, making him shiver and sending even more blood rushing to his cock.

“Don’t stop. Pleeeease.” Vash grinds against your hand, desperation bleeding into his voice. You squeeze his cock gently, making him let out a strangled “aaaah!” and lean his forehead onto your shoulder. “Baby, please… You’re killin’ me.”

Laughing softly, you free him from his boxers, tapping your fingers on the precum leaking from the tip and stringing it out, then slicking your palm over the head. His reaction is instant—whole body shaking and cheeks flushing hot as he unsuccessfully tries to keep his composure, letting out a loud “fuck!”

Using the collected slick as lube, you grip tightly around his cock, jerking the shaft slowly and avoiding grazing the head until he calms down.

“Good boyyyyy. Look at you being so good for me, Vash~”

He whines again, thrusting up into your hand and biting his lip, completely at your mercy. The greatest outlaw in history and he was absolute putty in your hands.

“W-what—” Vash chokes out while you continue stroking. “What about you??” Gripping the sheets, Vash closes his eyes and moans loudly when you lean down to flick over the head with your tongue.

“What about me?~” You look up at him, still holding onto his cock with your mouth open, drops of pearly pre on your tongue.

He huffs out a sigh, trying to compose himself. “You make it really hard to think, you know that?”

Nodding, you close your mouth and swallow, noting a slightly different flavor—more earthy, green notes than any you’d tasted before. Weird?

“I mean…” Vash reaches out and pulls you up into a kiss, then holds onto your shoulder. “What if we worked at the same time??”

oH…

“Are you sure?”

He grins again, nodding fast. Crawling up to the pillows, Vash holds out his hands and motions for you to scoot back towards him. You oblige, glad your face is hidden as he grabs your hips and pulls you to his mouth, immediately licking around the edges of your still-wet folds.

Letting out a pitiful whine, your focus falters momentarily, lost in the haze of pleasure Vash’s tongue is bringing you. You reach out to find his cock, having to stretch a bit to reach (since he’s so tall), but returning quickly to your pattern of stroking the shaft and teasing the head.

All you can do is focus on your rhythm as Vash continues to distract you with his flicks and sucks as he moans into your pussy. You can feel yourself getting wetter as both of you work, slick beginning to drip down your thighs (and you imagine, Vash’s face).

Crying out in pleasure, you pull away from Vash’s cock, clenching your legs as you feel yourself come close. “No, Vash’s it’s—!!”

You didn’t want to come so fast, but your body had other ideas, letting out a small gush of fluid as Vash teases your slit and rubs your clit, making you spill over the edge. You squeeze your eyes shut in embarrassment, feeling Vash sit up and lower your hips to his waist.

“Are you ready now??~”

You expect him to be upset or shy, but when you look back, he has another stupid grin on and looks happier than ever.

The humanoid typhoon sure was something.

“Ye-yeah, if you are…”

Vash finds a washcloth on the nightstand and dries his face while he watches you take off your bra, asking, “I don’t think we have any protection right now… Do you want me to pull out, or…??”

“I think that’s the only thing we can do? Unless you want to pause and go find some~”

He laughs, shaking his head. “I know I’m clean, I got a big checkup from the guy who made my arm just a week or two ago. Plus, we don’t really know if Plant DNA is compatible with human…”

“Hm?” He had said it so nonchalantly that you almost didn’t notice. “Plant? Like, the energy sources?”

Putting a hand to his chest, he nods. “I’m a plant. Not exactly the same variety as the ones in the power cells, but the same genetics. My caretaker Rem always said me and my brother were a ‘miracle’.”

“Can we talk about it more later?” You prompt gently, glancing down at his cock. “I’m glad I unlocked some Vash the Stampede lore, but I think we were in the middle of something??~~”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah, of course.”

There’s a twinge of sadness in his gaze now and you move forward, taking his face in your hands again. “I can’t wait for you to be inside me, Vash. Please. Fuck me.”

Smiling softly, Vash eases you onto his lap and holds securely around your waist with his metal arm. With his other hand, he guides his cock to your entrance, going slow and giving you time to adjust to his size as he eases inside you. When he hits the base, he leans into your shoulder, cockwarming himself a few moments as you acclimate.

“Jeez, you feel so good…” Vash murmurs into your hair, sighing happily. You wrap your legs around his waist tighter, trusting him to keep you upright. He fills you snugly, but not so much it hurts, and you clench around him once, letting out a whimper as he still refuses to move.

Pressing your hips down, you grind onto his pelvis, rocking yourself slowly as you hide into Vash’s neck and moan softly. He keeps the moment slow and intimate, rocking his hips up into you, matching your pace and energy until you’re ready for more.

It’s all so intimate—the sweat-drenched skin, panting breaths, hands grabbing into hair, feverish kisses, and complete trust. You’re intoxicated with the way Vash treats you like a goddess; a being worthy of worship and devotion. The way he kisses your breasts, grabs at your hips and waist, the way he times and angles his thrusts—his every thought is of pleasing you.

Laying back, Vash lets you stay on top, moving his hands to your hips to help you ride him. Bucking up with increasingly desperate thrusts, he lets out strings of “ah!!!” and “nnh!” with every motion, matching your chorus of whimpering cries. As you ride him, you reach down to your clit, rubbing slow circles as Vash pounds your sensitive pussy from below.

You can feel your second orgasm of the morning build quickly as your legs shake, your endurance starting to wane even as Vash continues unhindered. Holding still, you quietly scream out Vash’s name when your peak finally hits hard, squeezing your breasts through the shockwaves to heighten your sensations.

He watches you, lost in bliss, and memorizes every moment for later. He’s never seen anyone look as beautiful as you do in this moment: face contorted in pleasure and every part of you caught alight in bliss because of him.

Vash is feeling overwhelmed in the moment too; it can take time for a plant to come, even though they’re highly sensitive, as their complex sensory and nervous system has to partially restructure to prepare for genetic transfer. Vash can feel his non-metal arm go slightly numb as he gets even harder, noting that he’ll need to drink more water and be out in the sun again to regenerate later.

“Hey…” Vash smiles at you, watching as you slump onto his stomach. “I’m still not quite ready yet. Can you take more??”

Raising your head up from his stomach, you give him a weak but happy thumbs up.

He coos softly, pulling you up to lay on the pillows, “Don’t worry. I’ll do all the work. Just rest.”

Laying back, warmth still flowing out to your hands and feet from your high, you close your eyes as Vash lifts your hips to rest against his thighs. You soon feel his slick tip meet your slit and push forward, settling himself inside again. This time, however, the slow pace from the start is all but forgotten, Vash chasing his relief as he slams himself flush against you.

You can only focus on the sensory aspect of it all: the sound of his skin slapping against yours, the way neither of you can catch your breath, and how his grunts and moans get louder the faster he pounds.

Pushing toward your next orgasm, your clit is getting overstimulated by the metal of Vash’s thumb, mimicking your own motions from earlier and bringing tears to your eyes. You almost tell him to stop, but hold out, knowing he has to be close as he slows down, spluttering out, “I’m!!! I’m— nnh!!”

Sitting up onto your elbows, you watch as Vash pulls out of you, his tip bright red and swollen. He’s whimpering, almost crying, as he reaches down to swipe your slick onto his fingers and palm, making a fist and punching his cock through at a relentless pace.

“I’m so close!!! Gah!!! I’m! I’m coming—!!!” Vash is panting desperately, moaning out your name as he finally releases, splashing warm cum onto your stomach and thighs.

Completely drained, Vash shuffles on his knees to you and flops down, hiding his face into the pillows.

Sitting all the way up, you glance down at Vash’s cum on you and pick up a strand, analyzing it quietly: it’s slightly greenish in tint, a bit shimmery, and has a consistency more akin to translucent aloe vera than human cum. Popping your finger into your mouth, the same strange taste is still there—like lemongrass or cucumber mixed with a warm buttery taste.

Vash was full of surprises…

Looking over at your bed companion, you smile, seeing him already half asleep.

“Heyyyy, you did so good, baby. Rest, I’ll be right back…”

Petting his hair, just like the night before, you press a kiss to his forehead and go to clean up, leaving a sleepy Stampede to recharge until your return.

Do not repost or recc this work on tiktok / ao3 / wattpad, etc. It is meant for a tumblr-exclusive audience only 😚❤️‍🩹

#vash x reader #vash the stampede x reader #n/s/f/w #trigun smut #vash smut #x reader #angel voices #vash the stampede

[trashpandato]

Art

Kara is a doodler. 

Anytime she has a pen or pencil in her hand, she doodles. Initially, it started off as a way for Kara to find a credible explanation for when she was drawing Kryptonian symbols on the edges of her school work in high school.

“Kara likes to doodle,” Jeremiah explained to her teacher who had pointed it out during a parent-teacher meeting. 

Kara had to ask Jeremiah what doodling meant, and then vehemently disagreed with him that that is what she was doing. But then Jeremiah reminded her, again, that she could never let anyone know that she wasn’t human and really shouldn’t be writing Kryptonian words on anything that could be seen in public.

From that moment on, Kara learned to stay away from words and began to try and capture her memories of Krypton as images. She still doddled, as Jeremiah called it, because all anyone not familiar with Kara’s background would see on the page were circles (not Krypton’s moons) or abstract shapes (not the skyline of buildings Kara remembered seeing from her bedroom window).

Over time, Kara’s doodles became less about Krypton and more about things she had seen on Earth. Cat Grant famously asked her about a scribble of a cat in a tree that showed up on the upper left edge of a printed press release Kara had handed to her. Kara stammered her way through an apology and explained that she had rescued a cat during her lunch break and the image must have stuck in her head somehow.

Most of the time, Kara’s doodles are about food, though.

She draws little pizzas, dumplings still in their steamer baskets, croissants that make a decorative edge around the notes from her latest interview. It’s mindless fun and keeps her hands entertained when she’s bored or needs some release valve for her extra energy.

“It’s almost Freudian with you” Alex joked once when she found a small ink pen drawing of a box of donuts on a few notes Kara made while listening to a briefing at the DEO.

“I told you not to schedule the briefing over lunch,” Kara shot back and then immediately launched herself into the skies in search of her favourite donuts in National City.

And then she meets Lena, and it doesn’t take long for Kara’s doodles to include little chess pieces, loops that remind her of the earrings Lena wore that day, sharp lines that look a lot like a certain building with a large L on its facade.

It’s years into their friendship when Lena finally asks her about it.

Kara is sitting at her kitchen island, lost in thought. She’s spent the last few days frantically trying to help organize Alex and Kelly’s wedding. She’s exhausted, and Lena has offered to make them some tea to help Kara relax when she turns around and asks.

“What’s that?”

Kara frowns but looks up at Lena then.

“What’s what?”

“You’re, I don’t know, scribbling something. Or drawing. I’m not sure because it almost didn’t look like you were even paying attention to what your hand was doing.”

“Oh,” Kara feels a little like Lena caught her with her hand in the cookie jar. “It’s nothing. Just a doodle.”

Kara wants to cover up the paper in front of her but Lena is already there, craning her neck to see the small image that has appeared on the edge of Kara’s to-do list for the wedding.

It’s a small portrait of Lena. Next to a larger doodled heart.

It’s not subtle, but then again, none of Kara’s doodles ever are. It’s just that usually no one else sees them. But when Lena does see this one, she freezes. For a brief moment, Kara wishes a portal would open up in her kitchen so she could disappear rather than have to explain. But then, Lena turns to face her, eyes wide but oh so full of hope and Kara knows this is it, the final step for them.

Years later, Sam finds the framed doodle in Lena’s and Kara’s apartment, hanging just to the side of several photos they’ve taken over the years of their friends and family. Sam turns to Kara and smirks.

“This is high art. You should feature it more prominently.”

Kara smacks Sam’s arm but can’t help the broad smile overtaking her features. 

“I’m sure if I move the Kandinsky to hang this one up by the fireplace instead, Lena is going to divorce me.”

Sam laughs but then says: “Lena loves you so much, she would let you doodle on that Kandinsky.”

And Kara isn’t so sure about that. It’s an original, after all. But she is sure that Lena loves her, so she just nods and pulls Sam back into the living room to re-join their friends.

Kara does draw a small portrait of Lena on the side of her Yahtzee score sheet later, though.

#supercorp #kara x lena #supercorptober2023 #supercorptober

[haet-sal]

Tatsächlich Liebe (Love, Actually)//jun x fem!reader (smut included)

Tags: cute single dad!boss!jun with a crush, mini-wen involved, office romance, shower sex, public sex, sort of cheating bc you have a sort-of-boyfriend, pining i suppose?, jun with a crush, went a little ANGSTY, Bestie!minghao

You’re the wide-eyed, clueless-but-on-top secretary to Wen Junhui, and it all starts, with one new year’s kiss… well, new year’s fuck.

Mr. Wen likes you. It should have been obvious, whenever he seemed to forgive your inadequate work ethics and frequent unfailing mishaps, and how much he trusted you, no matter how many mistakes you made, how much he hated hearing about your life with your boyfriend… and what kind of boss goes shopping for their employee, privately, anyway?

Warnings: y/n is incredibly seductive and more dominant and a bit of a fuckgirl, anxious Jun, cheating, Guanhang from nct is here as your very mean and distant bf

W.c.: 11k

~~~~~

You might not be very good at your job. And you realize this when you spill Jun’s coffee for the fifth time since you started working (6 months now). That was 0.8 coffees per month.

Times 2, and 3: You forgot to cap the coffee all the way right, after opening it because you FORGOT to ask for the sugar and you had to open it, put a packetful in, stir and cap it again, and Jun spills it on his shirt on his first attempt to drink it. Your penalty: Jun offers a tight lipped smile and caps it himself. “That’ll be all, thanks, Y/n.”

Time 1: you didn’t lay the cup right on his desk. It only spilled maybe 4 drops. Yay. That’s a win, in the book of Y/n. Penalty: nothing.

Time 4, the worst of them all: YOU SPILLED IT ON THE DOCUMENTS HE HAD ON HIS DESK. You don’t even know how, but the full fucking cup spilled. Penalty: “I got it, thanks,” Jun said (thanks for what? He lost documents and three quarters of his coffee) “could you print these again?”

Time 5: this time the coffee didn’t even make it onto his desk, you trip and spill it on yourself. To be fair, you were carrying the lunch orders of the others in your office, so it was a precarious situation.

“I’ll go get a new one!” you called out, since Jun was watching from behind the foggy, half translucent glass door of his office, where he could definitely see you from the way he was angled, but you only saw a part of his dark oakwood table.

There would be a line at the cafe, it was lunch time. But you were determined to make yourself important and cut in line, no matter what it took. “I WORK FOR THE BOSS” would be one thing you could say.

As you head back for the elevator, Jun’s head peeks out of the aforementioned glass door. “y/n,” he called—you like that he never called you like he was demanding your presence, like a rude guest you were waiting on, but rather… softly. Jun just had a softness to him. “Hey, actually, forget the coffee, if it’s not here—can you go get one of those donuts with sprinkles on it?”

“Pink,” came a very boyish little voice from behind the door.

“Pink, with sprinkles, like Homer Simpson eats.”

You walk back to the office, and open it wider, so the little boy could finally appear to you. “Hey, mini-Mr. Wen. Would you like to walk there with me, so you can pick what you’d like?” Jun was very paranoid, but also a very at-ease parent. Meaning: he did let his son go places without him, with other guardians, but also had a terrible anxiety that left him imagining all the worst scenarios until the boy was back in front of his eyes. And yet, you still asked, because you knew Jun was busy. He couldn’t be watching the kid right now.

Hao—that was his name, ‘inspired’ by his father’s love for his best friend, although Jun would say he lost a bet and that’s all it was—nodded, but he wasn’t walking on his feet: he immediately extended both arms out for you to carry him. “Alright, buddy! Let’s go!”

Jun managed a half-absentminded, half-grateful smile at you, mouthing his thanks. And then the door closed.

“Donuts,” Hao says quietly.

“Yes, donuts! We’re getting donuts, getting donuts…” you sang as you walked towards the elevator.

.

Today Jun’s aforementioned best friend and trades partner was in the office with him, because he wanted to come see his little namesake. As Minghao talked business and life with Jun, he saw how relaxed Jun usually was, rather than be the ball of anxiety he turned into whenever his son was somewhere in public not holding onto his own hand.

“You actually trust that intern,” Minghao drew his conclusions.

“She’s permanently employed!” Jun says with a smile. “Do you want me to text her and tell her to bring you a coffee?”

“Where’s yours?”

“She…” There was no way to sugarcoat this in a way that Minghao would feel sympathetic towards you. “Kinda spilled it.”

“... You permanently employed a secretary who couldn’t even bring you coffee.” Seeing Jun’s shocked eyes (how dare you bring that up, Minghao! He was probably thinking), Minghao continued: “didn’t she cause that delay with that shipping company because of her other-and-frequent mishaps, and you had to ask them to deliver the papers all over again? Why would you keep her after that?”

“I don’t know,” Jun says, pondering on his systems himself, “I’ve been through a lot of short-term interns, but I just employed her permanently because, I don’t know, it’s actually became a chore sifting through new secretaries, and she just feels right.”

Minghao cocked an eyebrow. Pushed his glasses up to his forehead. “Feels… right…” Jun did not return any ripostes to the accusations Minghao’s raised eyebrows were throwing. “But I’ve never seen you trust anybody with little Hao this much.”

“Y/n’s a natural around Hao,” Jun’s praise of you came lightly, and he broke into a smile. “Hao loves her.”

“Jun… just because she’s good with your kid doesn’t mean she’s good at her job.”

“Give her a chance!” Jun says with a nudge of his elbows. “She gets my order just right—I swear, no one gets the sugar-to-coffee ratio as right as she does.”

“Maybe because she’s the one delivering it. You know drinks taste sweeter when you like the person serving them.”

Jun groaned. “Hao…” Suddenly red in the cheeks, Jun brought his hands to cover his face, feigning that he was yawning or scratching his cheek or something. But Minghao saw through everything.

“All I’m saying is, I wonder if she really is good at her job—”

The door opened, and you and the Mini-Wen peeked through, with the little boy holding two cups of coffee. “I got your orders!” you say. “Well, Hao got them! I’ll keep watching him, if you want?”

“But I wanna sit on papa’s chair–!”

You grabbed the little boy gently. “Papa’s in a serious talk with uncle Hao, do you think we can hang out at my desk? I have games!”

Minghao shot a look at Jun, as the two of you walked back out of the office. He reached for the cup of coffee with ‘Xu’ written on its side, handing Jun the other. “Anyway,” he says, “back to our ‘serious discussion—” He took a sip of his drink, and suddenly looked completely apprehensive, like he wanted to spit it out.

But under the light of Jun’s alarmed gaze, Minghao slowly swallowed it, and then placed it back on the desk. “This is… this is not my order.”

“She just can’t tell between everybody’s orders,” Jun offered. “She’s still learning!”

Minghao took another sip. “I think this is oatmilk… I can sort of get behind it.”

.

.

.

Today was Christmas, which was why Hao was at the office: he was going to be picked up by his mom to go to her parents’ house, where he would spend the holidays. Jun and the mom never really interacted, or so says everyone at the office–you had never met her. Jun preferred that the handing away of the kid be done through third parties, from babysitters who would text as soon as she had come to take him away, through secretaries, or even through the office receptionist. Whatever it took to not see her.

You’re not good at your job. You’re clumsy, distracted, inadequate, and most of the time you gossiped away, or at least listened to all the gossip instead of concentrating on your job. What you’ve heard about the matrimony of Jun and his ex was: there wasn’t even a wedding. They got pregnant, they became engaged, apparently the wife got cold feet before the wedding and just decided she didn’t want to be a mother and a wife forever. She asked that one of her flings take her away to somewhere exclusive before the ceremony—someone says it was to the swiss alps, someone says they holed up at an air bnb just out of town—and never even showed up for the wedding planning and the ceremony had to be canceled.

As the story goes… her family had been glad, thinking Jun wasn’t the right person to get settled with. Back then he was handling the up-and-coming company, but they didn’t have faith in his line of work—they did, however, want their little grandson, and the custody battle turned ugly, which added to why Jun didn’t want to see his ex or hear anything about them. Ultimately he got full custody, as the mother didn’t even really want Hao.

Whenever you saw the almost-Mrs. Wen, she was incredibly cool, hiding behind oversized sunglasses. You’d have an actual sense of respect for her, if only her mere presence didn’t make her own son’s face fall like someone had taken his sweets from him.

But today she had her hair in bunches, and she impatiently took the little boy into her arms, and thanked you. “Tell your boss pick-up time’s 5 p.m. on the thirty-first,” she told you. “Or sooner, that’s fine too.”

As she walked away, you were in awe of how much she seemed like Jun’s type: sexy, but cute, and cool. She knew how to dress, for sure. You wrote down the pick-up time: 6 p.m., did she say? And tried to go back to work. You should clear his schedule on New Year’s Eve, but in the office it was still a work day, although the general consensus had decided to have a party in the office, going til midnight. You didn’t know if Jun wanted to stay, since usually he spent holidays with his son.

You see someone in flashy colors sashaying towards your desk, and erect your head, expectant.

“Heyyyyy!” It’s Arin, from the reception. “Guess what?” she says, bringing out the box she was hiding behind her back. “Look! You have a good boss.”

As you took the present and the card—where it was simply written ‘Merry Christmas, Y/n’ and nothing more, thank God because if you knew just how many drafts Jun went through—you leaned over the desk and into Jun’s office, where you saw a blur of his silhouette.

You unwrapped it messily, with as much expertise as you always have on the job, and out comes three bottles of perfume. You press the communications button to Junhui’s office. “I got the presents!”

“That’s great, you’re welcome.”

“Thank you, Jun!”

Minghao, in Jun’s office, watched as Jun got flustered, blinking the shock away. “You… you never call me that,” is what you hear over the speaker.

“Damn. When did he shop for these?” You press the button again. “When did you shop for these, Mr. Wen?! I’m meant to be doing your shopping!”

“Uh, just back in November!” The red light of the device wasn’t alight anymore, which meant the conversation was over. (Jun turned to Minghao in the office. “I may have done this in September, and also had a whole personal-shopper ensemble help me.”)

“So,” Arin says, sitting on your desk now, “you got your boss giving you gifts! What about that boyfriend of yours?”

“Guanhang?” Your expression turned a little sour. “He’s got a big family, so we went shopping for like, the six of them back in November, but he never got one for me? I figured he didn’t want to buy anything for me in front of me, but—oh, bye, Mr. Xu—” Jun and Minghao had come out of the office, as Jun parted from his best friend— “but I never woke up to presents. I mean, it’s only Christmas. I guess I can wait until he remembers?”

Arin grimaced. “Uh-uh. Today’s the deadline.”

“On Valentine’s day he just ate me out each night for the entire month and said that was his present,” you say quietly.

Arin laughed. She made a joke about cunnilingus or something or the other, which brings you to howl with laughter.

“I mean, it is a good gift, if only he didn’t pick the shortest month of the year to do it!” You’re about to go on about more of Guanhang’s antics when—

Jun’s shadow loomed over Arin’s figure, and sensing his presence, she moved over.

“Get back to work, please,” he told her. “Especially you, Y/n, your… work…” he fumbled over his words, before settling with: “is inadequate. And careless. And messy. I… expect better.”

You pouted up at him. Jun looked away before it could affect him more than he liked. “Back to work, please,” he repeated, “And Arin, your job is at the desk, which is like, thirty feet away.” The glass door to his office half-slams, particularly loudly that it sounded like it would shatter.

“Must be in a bad mood,” Arin adjudged. With a sigh, she just left the remaining files and letters designated towards you and Jun at your desk. “Text me about the boyfriend things, alright?”

Feeling sort of shamed (you sucked at your job and you didn’t like being reminded of it), you silently go through the files, not even unpacking Jun’s perfumes out of their boxes. When Jun asks of Hao later, you just tell him he’ll be home on New Year’s Eve, omitting the part where he has to be picked up.

.

.

.

“Mei.” Jun pretended to multitask, going over his documents while on the phone, but in truth he was getting nothing done. What a shitty day to come into work. “Mei, please. Don’t do this to me. Please bring him back home, at least.”

“Jun, I’m not going to drive to your apartment, there’s traffic and I have an appointment with someone! I literally told your assistant the pick-up time—Pick. Up. I never said I’d bring him. Didn’t she tell you?” Jun felt like kicking himself, he looked out the blinds into the street, and yes, absolutely there is traffic. They’re closing up roads for the city’s new year’s party, fireworks inclusive. “How useless is that secretary?”

“Of course she told me!" He snaps defensively. "I’m just busy all of a sudden. Can’t your parents drive him?”

“Papa just had cornea surgery, Jun. Mama has to be with him at all times.”

Jun hits himself. “Fine, fine, can you leave Hao with your parents, then? Just go to your party—we’ll pick him up at home.”

“It’s not a party, it’s an appointment.” But Jun heard heels clinking, sighs, yelling to her parents, a car door opening. “Fine. I’ll hear from you on Easter or something, then.”

Jun immediately pressed the button to call your desk in, before the call even ended. Soon enough, you’re walking in, taller than he remembers you, but he distracts himself from looking at you (it wasn’t healthy for him to look at you, he gets heartburn). “Could you pick my son up?” he asked. “Take my car. After that I swear you can take the day off, just come back to bring my keys b—”

His eyes finally land on you, and there’s silver sequins peeking out from under the blazer. He leans over the table, trying to look at your footwear: heels that made you taller than Mingyu from sales. “Um… is that for the party?”

“I’m going clubbing!” you answered. “With my boyfriend.”

Jun looked away from you. The sequinned dress was low-necked, distractingly so. “Alright, well… Hao’s usual sitter will be home, so you can just ring the bell.”

“I know the code to your door, anyway,” you say. “See ya, Mr. Wen!”

.

.

.

The New Year’s party was starting, with the attending employees taking advantage of every resource in the office: speakers blaring music, the main lights dimmed and LED lights strewn across the walls so carelessly it looked like they were there by accident; everything was a total mess. There wasn’t a reason to stay there anymore if he wasn’t celebrating, but Jun couldn’t leave: he needed his car.

It’s almost ten when you come back, and as much as it was long-awaited, it even felt unreal that you’d come back.

“Y/n!” He didn’t realize how his anxiety had crept up on him, even when concerning you—he knew Hao was safe home, but you were his main concern. Sort of weird, that it’d be that way. “I’m so glad you’re okay!”

“Bad news,” you say as you come into his office, basically screaming over the music, “I barely escaped when I came, but they’re blocking every street around here for the parade.”

Jun stood over his tiptoes to see the state of the roads: the parades were already setting in, and the roads were blocked everywhere. The only other option would be to wait it out, until it’s past midnight and everyone is back home in their beds.

He sighed. “I think I’ll have to stay until the end of the party.” He pulled out his phone, urgently texting the babysitter.

But Jun immediately turned into his usual anxious character, not being able to get home at his son’s bedtime. He paced around the party, sometimes paying attention to the music, although it was just grating for him at some point, and, not wanting to return home drunk, refused all booze and decided to chaperone the party.

He finds you at the hard liquor corner, during his many rounds around the office. You’re leaned back and sipping out of a full bottle. Jun hasn’t drunk in a while, because hangovers and being drunk in general made him unable to parent. He knows moderation looks different to everybody, but you weren’t it.

“... all I said was he spends a comically high amount of time with that girl from work! And he’s like, you’re always tailing after Jun, and I’m like, yeah, that’s my job? And then he says, I'm not his girlfriend, I just live with him, he can do whatever he wants.”

You take another mouthful out of the straight bottle. “What’d you say?” Arin edges you on.

“Told him that’s rich coming from the guy that was balls deep in my—”

Jun cringes with scrunched and avoidant eyes, as he comes over to take the bottle away from you. Setting it down on a desk behind him, he notices that the people around had started to clear out, not wanting a chaperoning boss to ruin the fun. They rushed to the windows and the balcony.

“I thought you were going clubbing on your night off?” he asks you, standing two feet planted in front of you. You were holding yourself really horribly, and ended up resting your head on his stomach without a thought in your head. If you had thought it through, maybe you wouldn't have done it.

“Fight,” you explained. “With the guy I live with.”

“I see…” Jun tenderly combed his fingers through your hair, but only used it to pull your head off his stomach. “Well, I guess office party’s just as fun, huh?”

You snorted as a reply.

“Last sixty seconds, guys!” someone yells. They’d opened the windows so the sounds of the parade in the street were full-blown blaring distantly, and you were about forty stories up in the air, the night breeze blowing with a vengeful cold.

You’re tired, your feet hurt and you just wanted to collapse into your bed. Unable to hold yourself up any longer, you fall face-flat into his stomach, again. Your arms wrapped around him, as if you were imagining him as a body pillow.

You feel Jun still, and you almost think he’s just uncomfortable being so close to you, but then you… realize something.

Mr. Wen likes you. It should have been obvious, whenever he seemed to forgive your inadequate work ethics and frequent unfailing mishaps, and how much he trusted you, no matter how many mistakes you made, how much he hated hearing about your life with your boyfriend… and what kind of boss goes shopping for their employee, privately, anyway?

You’re suddenly more awake than you were five seconds ago. You stand up, and there’s commotion—everyone’s crowding around the window, yelling the countdown as loud as their voices went. You look into Jun’s eyes. Sober, clean, worried.

“Do you think we can kiss, Mr. Wen?” you asked.

Jun stilled. Palms sweating, there was a moment where he swore his heart stopped, before he remembered how to breathe and regain all brain-control functions again. It might be what people call ‘skipping a beat’ meets ‘brain freeze’. “What?” he basically mumbled, unable to talk very loud, but you heard.

“We’re the only ones with no date,” you told him. “Everyone’s partnered up.” It was true, even people without dates had struck up deals for a new year’s kiss.

“It–it’s just not a good idea,” Jun stuttered.

“It’s a kiss for luck!” Every step you took towards him, Jun stepped back from you until his back hit a desk. Pouting, you add: “I want to have lots of luck next year.”

You must have had a lot of those schnapps and shots from the reception, Jun concludes, but too late: right after he takes the steps backwards, you had pulled him towards you by his tie. Hungry eyes, if he’d ever seen any. “Y/n,” he breathed out against your lips, which came close to him with every passing second, “we can’t.” You pull him in even closer, controlling him by the tie.

You do whatever the fuck you want when you’re drunk, Jun concludes. But it’s setting him into a full-blown panic. “Y–Y/n.”

The countdown starts, and you’re right—everyone’s gathered at the high-rise windows, looking at the parade under the office. No one’s looking back at you, and even if they were, they wouldn’t be able to tell who you were from the mere blue silhouettes of your bodies. At best, they’d just be able to see his white shirt. His entire body shrouded you.

Three!

You’re in every single part of Jun’s senses. He can smell you wearing the perfume he gave you, he can hear the low hum of your breath in his ears, he sees you, he sees the flimsy little dress with the spaghetti straps that keep dropping down to reveal more and more, he just…

Two!

He just has to taste you.

One!

He’s the one that takes the step to meet your lips, and now you’re kissing. You taste like soft cream and feel like good sleep. His tongue darts out, and you welcome it in your mouth.

Jun let out what he thinks is a sigh, but really was more of a moan, a sound that went unsuppressably past his throat and vibrated across your tongue. He thought you looked killer, the spaghetti straps of your dress would sometimes fall just a bit that he could see so much… flesh… from the side, but he won’t think about it, he won’t even look, he won’t be that pervert, the older guy that wants what he can’t have because you’re too shiny and spectacular and just the personification of a starry night, especially in this dress—and he can’t have you! He needed to get that through his head.

You had a boyfriend, you were literally about to go clubbing with him, you were taken, so what was he doing, what was he doing?

When he’s panting post-kiss, he doesn’t know if it’s the kissing making him breathless, or if it’s all his thoughts tiring him out.

“Wanna continue this?” you whispered to him, eyelashes hooding your expression. Jun doesn’t understand why you’d want to—yes, he wants to, but why do you—?

But he nods. He’s the one that grabs your hand, and walks over to his office, and you’re following him. Every time he told himself this was it and there’s no way you’d go further, you do. What the fuck.

The office is almost unrecognizable in the dark, with only the fireworks outside to light it up. You locked the door, and he realizes it hadn’t even crossed his mind.

You push him against the window, and for a second you looked over his shoulder at all the fireworks. He watches them reflect in your eyes, and the sight of you is just haunting.

And then you’re kissing him, his hands are on you again, this time peeling the spaghetti straps off, feeling your bare shoulders, just the feeling of your skin—he hadn’t been with anyone in a long, long time, too busy with his son or work, and to finally have this–with the person he’d been pining for so long…

He almost rips the dress off you, but restrains himself. Your lips feel soft and healing against his own, and then they’re on his neck. He doesn’t even stop you to tell you you can’t leave hickeys–it doesn’t even occur to him. His nose is just buried in your hair, as you trail kisses down his chest—when did you even undo the buttons?—and, when he messes with the straps of your dress again, it just drops to the floor at your feet.

He doesn’t even have the chance to take your form in, in just your strapless bra and panties. You’re rubbing him over his pants, and he’s hard, he wants it, yes, but he’s also dead sober and he couldn’t even stay drunk on you that long.

“Wait,” Jun says, holding up his hand, perhaps to keep some distance from you. “You’re drunk, we can’t go that far.”

With a lick of your lips, you’re undoing his belt and flinging it over your shoulder. When you can’t kiss him the way you wanted, you simply pull him by the tie so he’s on top of you, pinning you down on his desk. You want to kiss, you want his hands on you again, but he’s hesitant, only coming where you pull him.

“Y/n,” he gasped. “Y/n, please—this is a lawsuit.”

You giggled. “I’ll sign an NDA, if you want.”

Jun sighed, heavily breathing. “That’s not the problem.”

But he wants you, and if you want him now, there isn't a choice but to give in. Your naked legs wrap around his waist, and he just trails his hands down them, until they reach your heel-clad feet. It’s so hot, the way he’s allowed you to entrap him.

Jun is fervently kissing down your chest, your bra pulled down, as he enters you. He’s so hard, so bothered, and wet with precum. So hot it could sizzle. You throw your head back and let out a pornographic moan, but he cups his hand over your mouth, wordlessly reminding you that you were only a wall separated from a whole party of people.

Jun hadn’t been this way with anyone in a long time. There had been dates from time to time, but never with someone he actually truly liked. Trembling, his hips stutter, so does his lips, which are moaning your name. He tries to be as quiet and composed as he could, but he feels like he might let the loudest grunt, alerting everyone outside. He bites down on his lip.

He hadn’t been doing this in a while. This makes him impossibly sensitive, and he might release, even if it’s just too soon. You sense it in the stutter of his thrusts and immediately slip off him, and he’s glad, because he knows he can’t cum inside you, but also it was embarrassing to have to tell you. You kneel in front of him, open-mouthed, and he could spasm from the mere sight, before you take him in your hands.

Jun hisses sharply. “Do you see how it’s so white, you were so wet around me—” He interrupts himself with a sharp inhale.

But you’re going slowly, as if you were inexperienced with your tongue, or just wanted to drag the torture out for him. Jun’s hand grip at the table behind him.

“Please,” he moaned. “It hurts.” When he reaches out to touch you it’s fervent, hot. You’re the only thing in the world that could ease the pain and quench the thirst. His hands wrap around your hair, although to him it’s more like you hair had come alive and entangled themselves all over his digits. Your mouth feels so—fuck!

He’s cumming down your throat. Jun whimpered as the sensation of you never truly left him, you take care of him. Until the last of it spills onto the carpet. And he’s just watching you through his eyelashes, tired and giddy. He speaks your name.

You look up for a moment, before your gaze turns towards the door. Someone else was calling your name.

“It’s Arin,” you observe carefully. “You should count to like, three minutes before you come out, maybe more. I’ll go first, okay?”

He wondered if you’ve done these things before, as you strutted outside. The lights were back on outside in the hallway, and he shrouded himself in the shadows, feeling embarrassed but not ashamed.

When he exits the office later, locking the door behind him, there’s a man at your desk, figure defined by a dark puffer coat over a pastel hoodie. “Sorry I missed the kiss,” he was saying.

“I got kissed already,” you told him, avoiding eye-contact.

Guanhang didn’t believe you one bit, especially when you couldn’t meet him in the eye. “Yeah?” he says. “Who was it?”

“Arin,” you say plainly. Guanhang laughs. He grabs your hand.

“Wanna go watch the parade? I’ll put you on my shoulders and everything.” He looked past you, and sees Jun, and offers a tight-lipped smile. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your boss?”

“I don’t see why you’d need to, you’re just some guy I live with, right?”

You grabbed your handbag and strutted towards the elevator, but later Jun hears that Guanhang did put you on his shoulder to see the rest of the parade.

.

.

.

The second of January and business is back, you sit down at your desk after an uncomfortable subway ride and check a day’s worth of missed emails. When Jun comes to work, finally, you offer a smile, but don’t meet him in the eyes. He wasn’t looking at you, either.

“Good morning,” he basically grunted, clearing his throat. He knew it was impersonal, but he didn’t want to say your name, because whenever he spoke your name there was an embarrassing adoration in his voice.

“I’ll get you your coffee,” you told Jun.

You’re beating yourself up while waiting for the order, and you pull out your phone. These were words you couldn’t literally say to him, but on text you felt brave, hiding behind a screen. Not having to read his expressions.

You: hi, i just wanted to tell you…

It’s immediately read, although he doesn’t reply. He's waiting for you.

You: if you can just forget everything! It would be cool

You: what happened that night, I mean

You: I can’t be doing this, I have a boyfriend

Mr. Wen: we can do that.

Mr. Wen: i’m sorry, by the way

You: don’t be.

You: I liked it

Jun tries to forget.

.

.

A few days after New Year’s was Jun’s European business trip, and you were glad you wouldn’t have to see him after all. And yet, sitting at your desk two feet away from the office where it all happened made you feel weird. As all your drunk escapades make you feel.

He’d been gone since Monday, and was due back today, to land in the evening. But as you check in with him, you find out his flight’s been delayed.

“There’s engine issues,” he told you. “I don’t know, fingers crossed I make it in time before Hao’s bedtime.”

But an hour later he called you in a panic. “Y/n, fuck—what do I—I don’t even—” When you ask him to tell you, slowly, he tries to calm down. “The babysitter! I told them my flight’s delayed, and she can’t stay all night—I don’t think my plane will land until dawn. Now she’s mad I’m demanding too many hours, because she stayed all night on New Year’s, too…”

You cringed, thinking about New Year’s night.

“I don’t know what to do, can you go to my apartment? I already called Seungkwan, and then I tried Joshua, but—”

“Of course I’ll do it!” you interrupt. “You can’t call your friends, they’re busy men… I’ve got nothing going on, it’s fine. I’ll go.”

Jun sighed in relief. “You sure?”

You looked over at the make-shift dining room table in your apartment. Guanhang promised to be home for dinner, but he hadn’t come home at all. “Yeah,” you told him. “Just try to have a safe flight, okay?”

.

.

.

Hao’s crying, and the babysitter is panicking when you come into the apartment. You quickly explain the situation to her, and she’s soon excused, leaving you and the sobbing boy alone, but at least seeing you, who he associated with his dad, calmed him down a little.

“Your dad’s at the airport,” you explain to the little boy patiently. “You remember airports, right? You’ve been there with daddy?”

He pulls out a plane and asks if Jun is in a similar one, and you answer yes.

“But papa’s always here when I go to sleep,” Hao whined. “And I need someone to watch my back, so the monsters don’t creep up.”

“Do you want me to put you to sleep?” you asked. “Hey, why don’t we sleep in the master bedroom, huh? So you can surprise daddy when he’s home.”

Jun’s giant apartment actually had an office and three bedrooms, but the master bedroom was his, the other was Hao’s—with a little kid-sized bed—and he turned the third bedroom into a playroom, so guests were never expected. You decided once you put Hao to bed, you would go sleep on the couch in the living room, wake up and go home once Jun’s home, you get a day off, anyway.

.

.

.

Jun took a taxi back home. The sun wouldn’t rise for hours. He’d been microdosing on first-class flight champagne all night, and it only made him feel sleepy and unsharp. Plus, he’d been up for an entire day.

He’s stumbling into his apartment, not even taking his shoes off—if he sat down to do it, he’d fall asleep immediately—and only takes them off when he’s in his bedroom. He hears Hao’s little breaths and sniffles, and concludes he’s in his bed.

But when he turns to finally look, you’re there, too, lying on the blankets, not under them. You must have fallen asleep putting Hao to sleep…

Jun tucks you into bed, intending to keep you and Hao there and sleep in the living room, but he can’t deny the welcoming pliability of his bed, so he would just rest his head, on the familiar navy pillows, just a blink, just to shut his eyes…

.

When you wake up, it's because there’s something in your hand. You blink the sleep out of your eyes, to see that you were holding onto Jun’s hand, held over his sleeping son’s chest.

You flinch away, and with the rustle of the bedsheets, he’s awake.

You’d been sleeping, forehead to forehead and holding hands over the sleeping boy, like you were a family.

You murmur your apologies. He excuses you, and tells you you can keep sleeping for a bit, he’s going to take a shower anyway, he’ll make you and Hao breakfast and then you could leave.

You’re having this whole conversation still lying on the bed like a mom and dad, and he reached over, patting your head. Your hair’s messy, and still had clips in it, never having taken them off. He pets you as if you were something beloved—but you pulled away. Cleared your throat. “Um. You should go shower.”

He’s so tired he doesn’t even know what he’s doing, whole body running on autopilot until he wakes up watching the steam rise out of the showerhead. Jun lets the warm water rush all over his body, pitter-pattering over his closed eyelids and down his broad shoulder. He sighed. He’s travel-weary, and jetlagged, and everything sucked. And he was embarrassed, because of the way you had flinched away from his touch…

Suddenly he heard footsteps outside the bathroom, and despite the sounds of the water, he heard everything (damn you, expensive rich-people shower!).

“I was home until 10, and you’re the one that didn’t come home!” He realized you were screaming, and you were near the bathroom because you had to scream—it was the farthest from where Hao was sleeping, so a blindspot.

“Heng, I had work!”

“Don’t give me that work bullshit, how is there work at fucking midnight?!” Damn. He could hear it despite the call not being on speaker, and also through the sounds of the water. Guanhang could yell, for sure.

“There just was! I’m an assistant–I’m sorry, alright, I’m sorry! I tried to call you last night—”

“Stop fucking calling me, then, fucking leave me alone!” You went quiet, which made Guanhang snap: “why aren’t you saying anything?!”

Jun hears you groan. He tries to tune it out, until at one point he can’t hear anything anymore. It must be over. Hao must still be asleep, although he bets not for long. Jun weighs his options, what he could make for breakfast for the three of you. He lets the warmth of the shower and the prospect of good food lull him into a another open-eyed nap.

Your whereabouts in the house were unknown to him, until he sees your figure enter the bathroom, through steam-mist shrouded silhouettes. He doesn’t say anything, letting you get ready on your own for the day—but you open the door to the shower.

Jun basically jumps back, but sees that now you’re in your tank top, the one you wore under your sweater, and… panties. His eyes don’t linger that long there.

“I wanted to shower, too,” you told him. He doesn’t say anything, half in shock, still tired. But he does watch everything, the way you peeled the pieces of clothing off of you so slowly, and then, under his gaze, felt strange and so cover your breasts with your arms. You look like a pin-up girl, which makes his brain chemistry go woah. You join him under the water, looking as if you didn’t even realize he was there, focused on wetting all of your hair, with closed eyes concentrated on the feeling of the water.

Can he touch you? Jun decided not to bet on it, and leaned back, watching you, dazed. He didn’t even understand what was happening.

You pull him in by the back of his hair, making him lean down to kiss you. As soon as that awkward seal broke, Jun’s on your skin, kissing your naked chest, trying to cover more ground than the water does. But you need his lips on your own, stat, so you yank his head up with a sharp, painful pull of his hair. He winces, but finds he likes the pain—like your coffee, everything you give him is sweet.

“This time you can cum inside of me,” you say raspily against his ears, which makes him feral, turning you around and pressing you up against the glass walls of the shower. He lets out a low growl, reminiscent of his days as a bachelor, before his ex, before Hao. He felt like he was just dripping in that youth again, being inside of you.

It doesn’t occur to him how weird it was. Why would you not even let him pat you on the head, but kiss him naked in the shower? Of course, he came to a conclusive construct in the end: Guanhang. Every time your own boyfriend disappointed you, you came to him.

.

.

The next morning, right before he set out to drive to work, came the text:

(2) New messages from Y/N

Forget about yesterday, please

I feel really bad. We shouldn’t have.

.

.

.

Jun would wait. Until Guanhang makes you feel unneeded again, he would wait. He didn’t see it as taking advantage of your sadness—in fact, it was a sadness mutualism. He was there for you when you felt down, and he… Well, he was always sad. You made it worse when you left, but when you were around it felt like heaven.

Guanhang spends nights out, and you wanted to limit your meetings with Jun to just that, but sometimes, you’d take his car to his apartment, fuck, and then he’d drop you off, right before Guanhang comes home from work or whatever he does. You never get caught—Guanhang doesn’t expect you back so quickly. There were nights you spent completely at his apartment, where you’d talk more than you’d fuck, and also play house with Hao, like a little family, and Jun’s never had that, that he begins to actually fool himself. He knows it’s insane, of course, but sometimes between sleepover nights and making you breakfast, he wishes you were Hao’s mom. He thought he’d given up on that a long time ago, but you made him revisit what it feels like to be young and in love.

At the office, you act naturally. You never even show half a glimmer of interest in him, you do your job. No one catches on. Your acting was genuinely convincing, that he’d wonder if you even liked him at all, but once work is over and he’s driving you back, you’re all over him.

He knows, of course, that it all depended on Guanhang, agonizingly so—you only paid attention to Jun when Guanhang wasn’t paying attention to you. And sometimes Jun gave you presents here and there, shopping trips and premium subscriptions—and one time you wanted to give Guanhang a video game as a present, so you siphoned off Jun’s money for that. He knows it’s wrong, you’re stringing him along, but sometimes he knew no better. He chose to know no better.

“She’s just a user,” Minghao told Jun when he finally admitted to it. “If she only comes to you when her boyfriend has off-days, I’m sorry, she’s a user. Nothing more to it.”

Jun knew you didn’t love him, of course, but it’s hard to imagine you completely indifferent to him. You were nice when you’re together.

“Either way,” Minghao says, “It’s a dangerous game. What if she extorts you?”

“She wouldn’t!”

“She has a boyfriend, what if he finds out and blackmails you?!”

Jun admitted to the possibility, but told Minghao not to worry. He was willing to go down for you, although he didn’t dare admit it to his friends.

But Jun let you in every time you knocked, until you became as familiar to him as the back of his hand.

.

.

.

“I’m taking Tuesday afternoon off,” Jun says as he lazily thrusts into you, “We’re trying to get Hao into one of those high-end nursery schools, next year.” He moved in you, and it’s tight and wet, but for you it just feels full, with no movement. You feel a little crazy.

If you weren’t trying so hard to cum, maybe you could have made a joke about how high-end nursery schools can be. But you just nod, peeking at him through scrunched eyes. “Uh-huh!” you squeaked. He’s moving again, and you throw your head back and moan.

“I think I’ll need you there,” Jun says. “I mean, I’ll need to look important and be hands-on, it’s nice to have an assistant there.”

You shiver around his cock, he’s moving but only minimally, and you need the full violent, bottom-out-and-thrusting-in action. You whine.

“Y/n? Are you getting this? I’ll meet you at the office, alright?”

You simply groan, pushing him back and trying to find… whatever was the pussy equivalent of ‘footing’. You try to gain leverage on the desk behind you and bounce, fucking yourself on his cock, and it’s still not enough.

Jun laughs. You are not getting it. You’re basically going feral from the withheld orgasm. Giving you what you wanted, he goes faster, and you nearly scream, gripping onto his white oxford in bunches, lewdly bouncing on his cock. “Want me to touch you?” he questioned, and you nod vehemently. “Yes, yes, yes, yes—”

.

There must be like 20 kids running around at this party. (“oh my god, triplets!” you whispered to Jun as you first stepped into the garden) Hao’s shy, and wants his father to carry him, preferably back into the car, but Jun refuses, making him walk. He doesn’t cry to protest, which is what you love so much about Hao. “Go play with Hoon,” Jun suggests, dropping to his knees to talk to his son. He pointed the familiar little face out. “Go on, make new friends!”

“He’s a bit like you,” you told Jun as Hao wandered off into the playpens.

Jun turned to you, curious. “How so?”

“He’s shy, but… he makes it work.” You’re back on your phone again, double-checking your boss’s schedule, checking all mail, confirming meeting times and topics. Jun waits for you on a bench until he couldn’t anymore.

He snatches the phone from you. “Work later,” he says. “I’m just like Hao, and I need you to be tailing me at all times so I can have a sense of security.”

“A false sense of security,” you say. “Wait, security from what?”

“The parents’ committee…”

So you’re the one that meets the fear-striking bunch of parents, rich trust fund kids breeding more trust fund kids, whose only purpose was to take care of their children. They might be problematically prideful and impossibly picky, but they made up for it by having an overly welcome demeanor. The triplets’ mother led the committee and also the waitlist to the nursery school, and as you pointed Hao out to her, she gushed over how cute the little guy was. Jun stands demurely behind you, not even accepting the compliment himself.

“He really is a sweet boy,” says the woman, “well it’s no wonder, when his parents are so cute!”

Jun looked at you, wanting to cut in, but he never speaks soon enough, and you’re the one that goes: “thank you!” with a grin. He doesn’t say anything anymore after that.

It’s winter, and when the party’s over the sun had set. Hao’s extra tired, from climbing up walls and running around with the other kids. When you look back at him, a few minutes after having strapped him into his little child seat, he’s out like a light. “He’s kaputt,” you informed Jun.

“Yeah?” He smiled. “Good… hey, I mean, when they thought you were his mom—”

“I hope you don’t mind!” you say. “I just… didn’t want to go through the whole I’m-actually-his-assitant and then they ask where the mom is and then the whole divorce story…”

“I’m actually grateful.” Jun’s lips are tightened but upturned in a little :] smile. “I… never like talking about his mom.” You nodded. After a few minutes of silence, he goes: “well, I mean, if they ask next time where his mom is, and you’re not there…”

“Of course I’ll be there!” you put a hand over his thigh, and squeeze. “Maybe you can keep saying that, I’m gonna be with you guys for a while, aren’t I?”

.

Jun’s the one that carries his son out of the car and into the apartment, and you follow him upstairs—he promised to make you dinner. As you get into the elevator, you text Guanhang you’ll be eating somewhere else, if he cares.

Guanhang: Where? Maybe I can join you

You: just somewhere with the girls from the office :) girls’ night?

You look up from your phone as little Hao wakes up, cheeks puffy against Jun’s shoulder. “Y/n,” he says sleepily.

“Hey, little guy. We’re home.”

“You’re home,” Hao says with a yawn, and maybe he just said it because he was half-asleep, but you stop in your tracks. You realize you’d been spending more time at your boss’s house than you do in Guanhang’s apartment.

You ran Hao a bath, and you and Jun bathed the little guy together, complete with bathbombs and bath toys. There’s sand from the garden everywhere in his scalp, which you patiently wash off.

“I want Y/n to be my mommy,” Hao says as you gently wet his hair, occasionally dunking him, which he’s patient to.

You let out a laugh, it was just awkward and you didn’t know what to say, how to parent.

You’re not the parent though, and Jun took the little boy into his arms, growing sterner. “Hey, you don’t say things like that, okay?”

“Why not?” the little boy pondered.

“Well, because she’s still young and she might not like—I mean, son, listen, motherhood—I mean, it’s just—you’re cute, don’t worry, you’re the cutest thing ever, but—you can’t just say that to everybody you like!”

“I don’t say it about everybody,” Hao says. “I just say it about y/n!”

You offer a tight-lipped smile, and Hao’s still not done: “I looove y/n. I like her more than mama. Mama’s mama, and Y/n is mommy!”

“I didn’t teach him that,” Jun says quietly. “I swear, I did not teach him that.”

.

Later when he sends you home, he’s still apologizing profusely. And then, he lights up with a smile. “It’s good he likes you, isn’t it?”

You shrugged. “I mean… yeah. I like that Hao likes me, it’s part of my job.”

.

.

.

Jun presented a little promise ring, a silver band encrusted with diamonds. Minghao sighs. “You cannot be…”

“It’s for Y/n!”

“I thought she wanted no strings attached?” probed Minghao.

Jun frowned, thinking deeply about it. “But…” he sounded as innocent as his own son as he said it, “we’ve come far enough that we can define our relationship. You don’t know what she told me.”

“What?”

“She said, she’ll be here with me and Hao. For a long time.”

“Jun,” Minghao says, sighing, “don’t… don’t do this to yourself or little Hao. Don’t play with someone that obviously doesn’t care about your feelings.”

“I don’t know, Minghao,” Jun sighed. “I think this might be it. I feel like she could… be in my life. Permanently.”

“She’s a user!” Minghao pointed out. “If she comes to you whenever her boyfriend lets her down, and takes advantage of you and your money because you’re needy with a kid, she’s a bad person.”

“She’s never asked for anything from me,” Jun says sadly. “I think you’re wrong.”

“She never denies your gifts, either.”

“Why would she refuse something I’ve already bought her?”

Minghao groans, head in his hands, his friend was not getting it—he’s just not getting it! “Listen,” he told Jun, “you are not asking someone that flaky for a real relationship. You won’t like what you get.”

“Why—”

“She’s still living with a guy!”

“You’re right,” Jun says. He sinks back down into his chair. “I’ll just ask her to move out, first.”

Minghao throws his hands up in the air and lets out the most strangled groan he’s ever made his entire life.

.

Jun can’t pop the question. It’s hard to just ask someone about their lovelife, even someone he considers to be as close as you. Of course he, with his small circle and busy life, thought you were close, and you knew everything about his life, but did you consider the same of him? He didn’t even know so much about you.

Plus, you never talk about your feelings. The only time you’d ever come close to that were the times where you talked about Guanhang, times when he eavesdropped, just to know what it’s like to be someone you loved, except it wasn’t him, and he could never imagine it being him.

So he thinks that’s where he should start: Guanhang. If you loved him, then you must hang onto him, and if he gets a straight answer about it then he’ll stop the pining. Plus, it would mean he has no chance.

He picked an evening where you were in your feelings. The sky’s a certain shade of blue, from all the citylights polluting the darkness, and it would never dim; you rolled down your side window and stared out, sometimes enjoying the velocity breeze but he just kept getting stuck in traffic, so the car was often still. “Y/n,” he says quietly, voice almost blending in with sounds of the city, “how’s Guanhang?”

“Oh, you mean the guy I live with?” you snort. You rolled your window up so you could hear him better. “He’s fine. Now that he’s taken up a second job we have less time to fight.”

“Do you love him?”

You gasp. “What?”

“Do you even believe in love?” Jun wondered. “I feel like you don’t really act that way.”

“I didn’t use to,” you answered honestly. You sounded so wise to him, he’d never heard you this way before. “But… one day, you know, Guanhang works at a studio, and I listened to one of the stuff he produced—there were like, 30 guys singing on a backtrack, but I knew immediately when his voice was in it. I could just recognize it.”

Jun’s heart clenched in his chest, and if he weren’t driving he’d double over. He hadn’t had his heart broken in so long… not since his broken engagement.

“And,” you say, “one night, Guanhang ‘borrowed’ his friend’s car and we went out of the city, to stargaze. We just had the radio to listen to, so we spent the entire ride driving past the suburbs screaming the lyrics to every song we knew. It was like a competition—and then, at one point, I stopped screaming. I just listened to him. I realized then that’s what love is? If that makes sense? Love is shutting up while you’re singing in the car because you want to hear their voice. And that’s the day I said it. ‘I love you.’ I’ve never said it to anybody before in my life.”

You looked over at Jun. “But now he’s just some guy I live with.”

Well, that wasn’t a straight answer. But he knew he could never ask you now. Guanhang was someone you’d always want to hang onto. With his ex, it had been black-and-white, she didn’t want him and he gave up. But Guanhang was always going to string you along, and he… knew he couldn’t compete. He’d never felt good enough for love, ever since his ex and the wedding debacle.

.

.

There’s a letter of resignation on his desk, a few days after that night. You had been growing cold towards him, nights where you slept over grew seldom and seldom until you just stopped. But you give him his coffee every day still, perfectly, even, without spillage, and it always tastes just as sweet, as sweet as only you could make it.

So it’s a shock to him as he read the letter, right in front of your eyes. “Why?” he demanded. He got so fired up he started speaking mandarin. “Wèishéme?!”

“I just…” you say, blinking tears away, “I just can’t do this anymore, and seeing you every day at work like we aren’t something is just...”

“Is it Guanhang?” he demanded.

“No,” you say. “No, I just… I just want positions I deserve. And I feel like I got here because… you liked me.”

“You’re here because I like the way you work,” Jun insisted. You don’t believe him. “No, I—I had this assistant that would color-code everything with custom stickers, but they were all pastel and I basically turned colorblind trying to read them, I had another guy assistant that kept asking questions and making me confirm everything myself, I had this other intern, right before you, that took pictures of me and Hao because he wanted to put it on his blog—Y/n, you’re great. I like that you don’t overcomplicate your systems, you sometimes spill things and trip and fall, but I don’t mind. It’s small flaws I never even saw—I didn’t hire you because of some… sexual ulterior motive. I like you. I like the way you work first, and then I just… fell for the rest of you.”

You looked conflicted, you watch him through your eyelashes. “I want to transfer,” you say, resolute but soft enough. “To Mr. Choi’s company—you know I’m more into that line of work, it’s what I studied. I just think a position there might be better.”

Jun tries to convince you to stay, but he was never a believer in his own self.

You leave, two months later, after treating him just like a stranger whose schedule was the only thing you knew about him.

.

.

.

Jun still has the promise ring, and it’s always somewhere in his pocket, although he hopes that one day he could just lose it, more or less accidentally, but the little velvet box always stayed somewhere in the pockets of his coats or trousers. He didn’t even know why it mattered to him, it’s not like you’d even touched it in your entire life. And yet… when he holds it in his hands, it feels to him like that sweet daydream that never became reality—he never got to touch it, but still, it’s so vivid.

Hao keeps asking why you’re not around, and Jun never knows how to answer. He explains the concept of resignation to the little boy, patiently, and Hao sort of begins to get it.

“So Y/n’s somewhere? In this city? And we just can’t see her?”

It’s supposed to be spring, but the wind still blows harsh and northern like the middle of winter, and it reminds him of you, because all the months you’d worked for him were so cold. He remembers you in your little trenchcoats and woolen things, trying to text with a smart glove on…

“Do you want to see her?” Jun asked Hao. “Maybe we just pay a little visit, for the last time?”

So him and his son are parked in front of the complex he always dropped you off, and he presses the bell for 3A, which you shared with Guanhang. When it buzzes in, Jun takes the little boy on his shoulders.

Guanhang’s waiting at the door, not knowing what he’s being visited for. “We just wanted to see Y/n,” Jun says, awkward because that was his rival he was talking to. “The little guy missed him, is it okay if he—”

“Y/n moved out,” Guanhang says plainly. “A month ago.”

But that was when you resigned. “Do you—know where?”

“That receptionist friend she had,” Guanhang says. “Moved in with her. I don’t fucking know. Don’t look at me like that, I tried to make her stay, too.” The door slams.

Jun calls the personnel office in his car with the engine on, as Hao swings his little legs on the seat. This was a revelation to him—you ended it with Guanhang, and even with him, and everything’s just so clear to Jun, now: you wanted things you deserved. You were starting over. You wanted to work for things yourself. He just wanted you back in his life, he wasn’t bad for you, he would prove it.

The phone comes through. “Hey! Good evening, it’s Jun—I just need to know where Choi Arin lives.”

“For something good, like a bonus, I hope,” replies the man working at the office.

.

Arin lives in another complex, closer to work this time. The apartment was on the third floor, and Jun climbed the stairs with Hao on his shoulders, once again, only for Arin to come out and tell him you didn’t live there anymore.

“It was just temporary,” she said. “She wanted a real place she could rent—I think Mr. Jo from security hooked her up with a free space in his flat.”

.

“Hey, Jun again… could you give me the address of Jo from security?”

.

.

.

He doesn’t know which floor you lived on, or even which side of the terrace. He tries door after door, and nice ladies here and there wanted to accompany him for the rest of the search. Then another man wants to see it through, too, and Jun entrusts that his son was grabbing the tail of his coat at all times, following him.

He’s gathered a bunch of people following him when he arrives at the new side of the terrance. He almost loses the motivation to go around asking a whole neighborhood if they knew you, when…

He could hear music, faintly coming from a ground-floor window. He followed it, knowing the melody well—you would hum it all the time, it was your favorite.

He knocks on the door it leads him to.

You come out with a bowed head, and you’re more beautiful than he remembers, although you looked even more tired. If you were living here but working at Seungcheol’s company, you must be waking up so early just to make it there at 9 a.m. Jun reaches out to touch you, as if he had been fooled and you’re just a mirage.

“Y/n!”

You extend your arms to the little boy, and he climbs up. Your laughter is light. “Hao! What are you guys—Jun? What is this?”

He doesn’t know how to start this. He fumbled around with the pockets of his paddington coat, and there were just too many pockets. After going through each of six pockets twice and coming up with just stray used tissues and car keys, he checks his pants, and there it was. He pulls out the little velvet box; a bunch of people gasp. You just mumble, “he wouldn’t.” But you don’t know if he would.

But there is a ring, although at closer inspection you notice it’s not for engagements. A simple promise ring, which you putt out to inspect, and ‘1.1. 00:00’ is engraved on the inside.

Your first kiss. You look up at him, and just when you’re about to speak, Mini-Wen wraps his arms around you. “Missed you, Y/n.”

“Y/n,” Jun starts, “I just—I—I wanted to ask you to be mine. But I was just—I was just afraid. I’ve had this phobia against relationships ever since Hao’s mom left me, and…” (the crowd ‘aww’ed) “I was afraid of getting close to someone again, if they might break my heart, and well, you did–you did, you left. But… I found out it doesn’t even matter. I’m happy to be loving you and getting my heart broken by you. I think you’ve got your fair share of broken hearts, too, but if you trust me—” you’re looking up at him with a brand new look in your eyes. He falters, splutters, as he always did when you look at him. “I can promise you I’ll always be here for you. I’ll keep your place for you, I’ll always protect you, I’ll—”

With Hao still in your arms, you step in and kiss Jun. For a second he forgets to close his eyes, and he just watches you, lips sinking into his. He knows exactly what he feels for you, except he’s just too scared to say what it is.

“Did my speech move you into kissing me?” He murmured against your lips.

“No, but there’s just too many people watching I felt the need to perform.”

Hao plants a kiss on your cheek, and suddenly you and Jun are kissing him back, on each cheek—Jun had imagined showing his son love with this, but it was only you that made it possible.

He brings you and Hao closer into him, warm and padded inside his coat.

“I think I was too preoccupied to tell you on New Year’s,” Jun says. “I hope you have a good year, Y/n.”

#jun x reader #jun scenarios #jun smut #jun angst #junhui x reader #junhui smut #junhui fic #svt fic #seventeen fic #seventeen x reader #seventeen scenarios #svt scenarios #svt x reader #svt imagines #seventeen imagines #jun imagines #junhui imagines #seventeen smut #svt smut #jun fluff #junhui fluff #seventeen oneshot

[toptierteaser]

Butterball Status: Pt. 1

A Blowup Anthology Story

“Well, well, well…seems like somebody’s hit ‘Butterball Status” today!”

The taunt, accompanied with a firm poke into his ample abdomen, carried out across the hall, audible to the dozens of Coaches and hundreds of Campers alike. Diego’s mouth fell agape, his plump cheeks reddening as the weight of what had just been said sunk into his stomach way that extra, stale donut had last night. I knew I should’ve laid off the treats for a while! Diego cursed internally.

But Coach Jason simply smiled at him. Or was it more of a sneer? It was hard to tell with Jason. ‘Chubby-chasin’ Jason,’ they called him. Behind his back, of course. Never when the handsome coach was present to make his Campers run an additional lap around the track. Watching diligently as their overblown backsides jiggled uncontrollably with all the added weight. Of course, the Coach could never fully express his predilections, as it would have been social suicide among the other Coaches. But he had his reputation among the Campers, and the fatties had eaten the rumor up faster than a bucket of fried chicken.

Naturally, Jason played up the angle of a Coach being disgusted at his camper for packing on as many pounds as Diego evidently had. And so the sharp poke into his big, juicy tummy transfigured into a grab as Jason’s hand snaked around from Diego’s front to his equally-tubby love handle. The other hand was placed on its twin and Deigo felt himself, helpless, defenseless, and in full view of half the camp, being turned toward the mirror in front of him.

The scale had confirmed it, the numbers having jumped by ten since the last weigh in—how was it even possible he had packed on that much weight in a week?—and Coach Sebastian clacked away at his calculator, racking up Diego’s routinely-increasing BMI. The nerdy coach began snickering behind his glasses as he waved the numbers up in the air. “It’s official!” said the Coach in his nasally voice. “The fat fuck is officially a butterball!”

Those within Diego’s earshot began to snicker and whoop, to offer snide comments about how he had “never quite been able to put the fork down, that one.” Or how it was a “good thing he’ll get bumped up a weight class. His fat ass was barely able to fit through the door as it was, poor fat fuck.”

Diego tried not to let everyone see how badly it affected him, how flustered and embarrassed it was making him. But such teasing, taunting observations weren’t even the worst of it.

                “This is your own fault, you know, pork chop?” said Jason in his ear. Now he really was smiling. “You’re the one who fed yourself up like this, weren’t you fatboy?”

                And as Diego’s round body was wheeled about, he realized the Coach was absolutely right. He almost didn’t recognize himself. Before him stood a tubby young man, the lingerings of handsomeness jutting through the added pudge on his face. but the rest of him was completely unrecognizable. In his time at the Camp, Diego had absolutely buried himself in layers of fat, his belly swelling to completely cover his fly, his thighs porking out ridiculously, his moobs pressing up against his chubbed-up neck. He looked like a big fat scoop of neopolitan ice cream, his warm brown skin busting out from underneath the tight white t-shirt that didn’t even reach his cavernous belly button and his bright pink booty shorts that looked more like painted-on briefs. It had been a while since he’d been forced to look at himself in the mirror and while he still found his shocked, embarrassed face to be handsome, he felt that the rest of him rather resembled an overinflated balloon!

                It was all too much! The image of himself, standing there, big fat legs pressing out against each other, juicy arms unable to rest because his love handles were in the way. His Coach poking and prodding and squeezing his chubby side rolls. The sight of himself, about a bite of cheesecake away from splitting his uniform, completely defenseless. An overfed blowfish who in all likeliness would only be blown up even fatter! He felt himself growing excited, the waistband of his shorts creaking as he felt himself expand within them.

                Calm down, he told himself. Just take a deep breath.

                And then he saw Brandon, the flamboyant Coach who had been a tailor and a hairdresser before they began Rounding Up fatties across the country, walking up to him, smirking with a measuring tape held taut between his hands.

                And as Coach Jason was forced to stand aside as Brandon took the helm, wrapping the tape beneath Diego’s armpits and tut-tutting as he slid down Diego’s sides to his big belly, measuring the ridiculous circumference of the fatass. “Seems like the fat fuck has ballooned his belly wider than his shoulder-width!” said the Coach. And as he said it, Diego felt himself rise, swell, and—PING—the button of his shorts went flying out across the room!

                There was another humiliating snickering that surrounded him, consuming him, driving Diego ever-more flustered.

                And then, as Diego’s obese ass and thunderous thighs were measured, Jason all but shoved Brandon out of the way, grabbing Diego by the love handles and turning him in a 180-degree fashion. “Well, biggums…I’m sad to see you leave the Bunk…but rules are rules…now, there’s only one thing left to do.” And Diego braced himself, hoping his belly covered the exposed fly of his shorts, as he felt the enormous stamp flying out across the air and pressing squarely in his extremely-wide ass.

                He gave an involuntary squeal of embarrassment that thrilled the Coaches. And then, looking more pathetic than ever, Diego turned to look at the mirror over his shoulder, taking in the stamped image of a turkey that now replaced the teddy-bear print on his caked-up ass.

                “Well, then,” said Coach Jason. “All there is for us to do now is to roll you on down to your new bunk and introduce you to the other tubby butterballs!”

#gaining weight #teaser #bhm weight gain #chubby #fatass #fatty #fat belly #fat bhm #feedee encouragement #fatboy #wg story #male wg #fat story

[jay7543]

You ask ghost if you can stack donuts on it, pt1

18+!!!!

A little silly one, I’m just making these whenever I get ideas so don’t expect it to always be this frequent lol.

Thank you all for the support, I’m happy to know there are a plethora of people on the internet as odd as me ( I mean that affectionately of course). I’m very happy to share these little stories I come up with.

In this, your ghost’s boyfriend and have seen the idea of stacking donuts on a man’s dick floating around online, you wanted to try it on him. This is part 1, I’ll probably make part 2 tomorrow.

Love you all, enjoy

(M4m)

You show up at ghosts door after texting him to ask if you can stack donuts on his huge cock, like really big, so you were curious. He responded with a boring lol but nothing else, so you decided to show up with a dozen donuts and some whipped cream. You knock on his door, he opens it in his mask, a tank top, and a pair of loose boxers, which are doing nothing to hide his cock. He is very surprised to see the items you’re holding.

Ghost-“no”

Reader-“come oooon, you didn’t say no, so I wanted too, your cock is so big babe, I wanna see how many will fit, I’ll eat them off, and maybe suck it a bit if you behave”

You say with a slight smirk and bite to your lip. Ghost squints his eyes a bit, clearly considering your offer, especially because he loves your blowjobs.

Ghost-“what’s the whipped cream for then love”

Reader-“I don’t know, to make it taste a bit better I guess. The donuts I mean, not your cock, your cock always tastes amazing. The donuts are pretty dry sometimes.”

He sighs slightly and slumps his shoulders in defeat.

Ghost-“fine, but on two conditions, you will give me that blowjob, and I’ll get to stack some on you”

Your eyes flutter a bit, surprised by his suggestion to do it to you, your cock is way smaller than his, why would he wanna do it, but whatever, it’s a damn good deal.

Reader-“sounds great”

You give him a quick kiss on his mask and walk in and head straight to his room with a smile, he follows behind slowly. You sit the donuts and cream in the bed and wait for him to sit.

Reader-“come on, get those pesky boxers off, you know, I think you should stop wearing them, so I have quick access”

You quickly yank his boxers down his legs, letting his king size cock spring out and land on his thigh with an audible slap. Ghost chuckle deeply as he shifts his position to lay down so you can get full access. You move the box of donuts and whipped cream next to his waist and take his cock in your hand.

Reader-“well, this won’t do, this guy has to be rock hard”

You take his cock into your mouth, making sure to lick his glans and stroke his full lengths to get him as hard as possible.

Ghost(after a deep moan)-“you’re such a slut sometimes love”

You pull away, still stroking his length and gasp in mock offense.

Reader-“how could you say such a thing. I need to punish you”

You say with a mischievous smirk as you reach down and lightly flick his balls making him grunt and jump a bit.

Ghost-“sorry love, won’t happen again”

You smile and give his swollen tip a deep kiss. You pull back and smile at him.

Reader-“it’s ok, I’m your slut anyway. Well, I think this guy is nice and hard and ready to have some donuts around him”

You chuckle and open the box of donuts.

Reader-“how many do you think will fit? I think 4.”

Ghost-“3, I know I’m big, but those donuts are big too”

Reader-“I think you’re underselling yourself, from where I am maybe we could get this whole box on this sledgehammer here, it’s a miracle it fits in my ass.”

You say as you take the first donut out of the box and slide it down his shaft, it takes up more of his cock than you thought but there is still a lot of cock left. You put another one on.

Reader-“That’s two, and you still have a lot of cock left, I think I’m gonna win”

Ghost-“feels tight, not as tight as your hole though love”

He says as one on the donuts rips a bit from his throbbing length. You smile and kiss his shaft before stack another one on.

Reader-“oh you flatterer, that’ll get you everywhere with me babe”

You stack another one on and are astonished at how well they fit around him.

Reader-“that’s 4, just your tip is sticking out of the top now”

You chuckle as you grab the whipped cream and put it on his tip. Ghost shakes his head and chuckles.

Ghost-“satisfied now love?”

Reader-“nope”

You take his whipped cream covered tip into your mouth and lick and suck vigorously, getting some deep hearty moans from ghost.

Ghost-“fuck love, your tongue is so bloody good”

He says as he fully lays his head back and lets you lick and suck his tip. You unlatch you lips from his tip and move down to take a bite out of one of the donuts.

Reader-“these are good, especially with the bit of your precum I have in my mouth”

You chuckle as you chew and swallow parts of the first donut. You lift the rest off so you have access to his full cock.

Reader-“I’ll save those for later, I wanna suck you so bad”

You immediately put his cock back into your mouth and start bobbing up and down, causing all of those slurps and gagging noises he loves oh so much. Ghost moves his hand down to the back of your head, guiding you deeper and deeper onto him cock.

Ghost-“fuck love, keep going, so good, I haven’t cum since the last time you were here, my balls are bloody bursting.”

You chuckle with your lips wrapped firmly around his throbbing shaft as you suck even more vigorously than before, causing your spit to overflow out of your mouth and down to his balls. Sloppy, just how he likes it. Ghost starts thrusting up into your mouth a bit as you feel his cock get even harder.

Ghost-“fuck, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum love.fuuuuuck”

You feel his scalding seed hit the back of your throat, and as you do you take his full length in your mouth, letting him pour it directly into your throat. After a few loud swallows, and animalistic grunts from ghost, you slowly pull your mouth back up his shaft and off his cock, licking you lips and wiping the spit of your chin.

Reader-“you always taste so good”

You lean back and sit flat onto the bed

Ghost-“don’t forget our deal love, now I do it to you, and it looks like you ready”

He says as he sits up and stares at your crotch, your erection visible through your loose-fitting shorts.

#18+ only #cod x reader #simon ghost riley #smut #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #m4m #boyfriend #gay #ghost smut

[underthe-redhood]

our last chance

- a/n: it's mentioned that the reader is the daughter of bruce and selina, but it's never mentioned that she's biologically related, so you could definitely interpret it as her being adopted by them!

8. blueberry icing

- synopsis\\ you watch as dick runs off after batman betrays him for the last time, causing the family to fall apart. after an explosion, and a time machine, with a speedster to help you, you have one last chance to stop history from repeating itself.

• word count: 1,253

• masterlist

INCOMING CALL: dick :3

you quickly looked up at bart, very nervous about why dick could be calling. "pick up before it goes to voicemail!" bart panicked.

"relax, there's no way we got caught," you tried to reassure him but your tone was dripping with anxiety.

"hey y/n, turns out barbara's not here. she texted saying she got an alert, is everything okay?" he asked.

this wasn't totally unexpected but nonetheless your heartbeat was speeding up. "oh uh, i can probably go down to the batcave and check?" you offered, hoping he wouldn't take you up on it.

"no that's okay, we're probably just gonna pick up some donuts and head back. they have blueberry icing, you really like that one don't you?" he suggested.

"yeah i do, you're the best," you said. saying that out loud made some of the guilt go away, because it reminded you why you were doing all of this.

"anything for you," he chuckled before hanging up. you were a little worried that your plan was going to lead to them having fights; but then that was sort of the point, wasn't it?

"what now?" bart asked you. you thought about it for a second, you couldn't just cause one small inconvenience and then move on to the next step of the plan. obviously you would need to cause several more for this part of the scheme to actually work.

"i think we should keep this up for at least like another week or so,” you told him. he nodded his head at you a little bit.

“won’t it seem suspicious if the problems just suddenly stop though?” he asked with slight concern.

“not necessarily,” you said. “if we can make the problems seem subtle enough then it should just seem like they went through a little rough patch.”

“okay yeah, that makes sense,” he said. “but what exactly are we gonna cause next?” he asked, still not totally clear on the plan. but, to be fair, neither were you as you still hadn’t even perfected the plan yet.

“i’m not really sure yet,” you looked down as you thought about it. “oh!” an idea came to you. “she works at the university’s library, so we could pose some fake events there and convince her to work extra shifts to help out with it. the more time she spends at the library, the less time she’ll have with dick,” you proposed the idea and he looked at you in thought.

“i mean yeah, i don’t see why that wouldn’t work,” he said. “we could also try convincing dick to spend some time going over some extra training with the titans. i know starfire really loves it when he comes back to visit and he seems to enjoy getting to help us out every once in a while.”

“that’s perfect,” you smiled. “then it won’t just be babs ditching dick, so it won’t be a ton of negativity just immediately dumped onto them.” you hugged him out of joy, you were so thrilled because it really seemed like things could actually work out and that you could actually get your brother back.

bart loved that you were hugging him, and he couldn’t deny that being around you felt just a little bit more special every time. it was clear to him that he was falling for you, but it didn’t bother him or freak him out. you had always been so perfect to him, even when he only saw you as a friend. it only made sense to him that he would start to catch romantic feelings for you as well.

however, he could tell that you hadn’t caught onto his actual feelings yet. you just assumed that he was a flirt the same way his cousin was before he finally got a girlfriend. and while bart was a bit like wally in some ways, it was different with you and it always would be. the real question to him, however, was how you felt about him. he knew the feelings of closeness and trust were mutual but he wasn’t sure you reciprocated the same feelings.

and, in a way, he was right. the same way you hadn’t noticed the way that he liked you, you hadn’t picked up on the subtle reasons that had led to you acting the way that you did. you weren’t sure why you let it slip that you thought he was cute. you weren’t sure why you felt bubbly when you tried to think about why you called him cute. you considered the possibility that you liked him, but you weren’t sure if you were overreading your emotions or not. that, and you already had so much to worry about with dick that you didn’t think you even had the time to really think much into it.

and so, you let it go. as special as bart was to you, you knew that you would have to work that out later. at that moment you had to worry about dick. it was a little heartwarming, however, to think about how you would never have to worry about bart. he would always be there for you, and for that you were so thankful.

“i’m sorry about your time machine,” you brought it up as your tone became faintly sorrowful. “i know going back home means a lot to you.”

“it’s okay,” he said. “the longer i stay here the more reason i have not to leave.” you didn’t know that he was referencing you, and he was maybe a little glad about that. you meant so much to him, that he would rather tease you about relationships as a friend then try one out when it wasn’t meant to be and risk everything in the process. as long as he got to be around you, it didn’t really matter to him what role he was playing.

his statement filled you with an odd feeling of joy, and still you weren’t sure why. “still, i’m always here for you too.”

then it was his turn to smile, “thank you y/n, that really does mean a lot.” but then his smile became more of a smirk, “so back to when you said ‘if we ever date’..” he trailed off.

you felt flustered, “oh my god you know what i meant!” but there was still that little voice in your head that wanted you to put more thought into it then, rather than later. because, did you know what you meant?”

“i’m just saying, fake dating is such a common trope that your brothers would never suspect it as part of a plan to rewrite the timeline,” he was doing a damn good job at selling you.

“i feel like we might just end up there with the grave i’ve been digging for myself,” you warned him. “why do you want this so bad? is this your way of secretly getting me to fall madly in love with you,” you joked.

“maybe it is, maybe it isn't,” he said with a goofy grin. he was so charming, you really were glad that the two of you became friends– even if it was under tragic circumstances. “i should probably get going before they all come back, though.”

you nodded, “i’ll call you tonight?” he had taken a few steps back but was still looking at you.

“i’m looking forward to it birdie,” he winked, and then he sped off leaving you feeling flustered once again.

taglist: @onepieceformeplease @purpleflower777 @neptunesxlover @fake-id-69 @missmystic-vampirebarbie @elarimard @nub-the-stub @xingqiusliegee @ceridwyn3 @rowena-ravenclaws-diadem @venomsvl @bassett-s @ye-old-trash-rat @slitheringss @soobsdior @fruittiest-of-loops @treebranch23 @froggityer

dm me to be removed or fill out the form on the masterlist to be added! it has been a good while so please let me know if any updates need to be made to my tag list!!!

#dick grayson x reader #batsis reader #batfam x batsis #batfam x reader #batboys x reader #batboys x you #batsis #dick grayson x batsis #bart allen x reader

[ryanmarshallryan]

One day I watched a bit of Forrest Gump and noticed Forrest had a similar personality to a gainer I dated many years ago, so I decided to write a little vore story reminiscent about that kind of connection.

Life is Like a Box of Donuts (Tom and Hank’s story)

Tom had always been more of a passive personality, or perhaps simply agreeable. Folks would offer to buy him dinner and he wouldn’t refuse, especially to those friendly feeders who admired his big belly. A stranger might ask to be his best friend and the next day they’d be playing catch together in the park. Just the other day, someone rudely called out “Why don’t you go eat another donut, pal!” to Tom. Always one to take things literally, Tom welcomed the idea, and went down to his favorite bakery and purchased a dozen donuts to bring home.

On the day our story began, Tom was visited by his close friend, Hank. Tom always considered Hank a very special friend, and always tried to bring a smile to his face. They made lunch together, as they often did, and Hank noticed the logo on the closed donut box and remarked “Ooh did you visit that bakery down the street from the park? They have the best coconut donuts I’ve ever had the privilege to taste!,”

“I got some for you, Hank,” Tom remarked, motioning to the box. Hank smiled, whispered a little note of gratitude and looked inside. There were six coconut donuts, and five sour cream donuts, which happened to be Tom’s favorite. “I wanted to wait till you visited, but I was too tempted, so I already ate one,” Tom explained.

“This is incredibly sweet, Tom, I don’t understand why anyone would be so nice to me like you are,” Hank replied.

“I want you to be happy, Hank,” Tom continued.

“I am happy! I’m happy I’m with my best friend,” Hank leaned over and gently patted Tom’s rather large belly, “And he got me some donuts!”

“I know you sometimes like to feed me donuts, Hank, so I got lots of extra in case you did. I like when you rub my belly,” Tom replied, as they ate their lunch, glancing over at the donuts to be had soon.

Hank got up and folded a sour cream donut in a napkin and brought it over to Tom, then got a coconut one for himself.

“Sometimes I get jealous when I eat food as good as this. Jealous of how tasty food can be. Jealous, knowing how passionately someone can hunger for something this tasty, and wishing someone desired me even as much,” he said.

They sat in silence for a bit. They did this often. Tom always said he liked just sitting with someone he cared about, not needing to say anything, just simply caring. But he did have one thought he wanted to share.

“Hank, I like you more than this donut,” Tom acknowledged, “wish I could eat you up and keep you safe from all your sad thoughts, but I wouldn’t want you to miss out on finishing the coconut ones.”

Hank smiled and laughed a little bit, and replied “Maybe if I were in your belly, you could swallow coconut donuts whole for me to have in there.” He got up to get Tom another sour cream donut. Instead of taking the donut directly out of Hank’s hand, Tom took Hank’s arm and guided it to drop the donut into his mouth. Tom held Hank’s arm there, finishing the donut and sucking the crumbs off of Hank’s hand, and holding it there for a moment. He motioned for Hank to get another one, releasing his hand and repeating the process a few more times.

By the final sour cream donut, Tom had Hank’s entire hand engulfed in his mouth, and tried to mumble something. Hank laughed and pulled his hand out for Tom to say, “Looks like no more of my favorite donuts, but I still have my favorite person right here looking tasty.”

“You wanna eat me?” Hank smiled at Tom. Tom pulled Hank forward, having him straddle his lap, or as much as he could, since Tom’s rather large belly didn’t leave much room for a lap to straddle. Hank was looking down at Tom’s belly, pressing against his. Tom put his finger under Hank’s chin and guided their gazes to meet each other. Tom gave a slow nod, and raised his eyebrows slightly.

“I want you to feel as happy as all that food you’ve been jealous of.” Tom took both of Hank’s hands in his own and guided them into his mouth. Tom gave a first swallow and felt Hank’s wrists relax and slide into his esophagus. Hank gave a little smile of surprise and contentment, as his arms began to clasp tightly together, steadily sliding deeper inside of Tom. Tom slowed down to look at Hank’s face again, questioning whether to continue.

“If you don’t like what you taste I won’t be offended, but if I taste better than a sour cream donut, don’t hesitate, bud!” Hank smiled and took a breath. Tom put his hands on Hank’s hips and lifted him off of the ground, pulling his head into his maw and tasting the coconut crumbs in Hank’s beard. Tom leaned his head back a bit, to help gravity pull Hank’s broad shoulders into his mouth. Hank felt his fingers poke into Tom’s stomach, and he could feel the mixture of donuts and lunch about to break his landing. As Tom’s tongue glided across Hank’s nipples, Hank felt a surge of tingling and arousal, relaxing his back and stomach enough to easily slide into Tom’s hungry mouth. Tom relaxed his own abdomen, as his belly ballooned out with impressive volume as Hank’s entire head and torso became encased inside. Tom pushed Hank’s legs up into the air, and as Hank reflexively held them up high, Tom’s hands were free to touch and rub his belly, feeling Hank’s hands push against the other side. Tom wanted to take it slow to let Hank really enjoy and fully experience the feeling of becoming a donut, but Tom was running out of oxygen and needed his throat open soon. So with a large swallow, the help of gravity, and peristalsis of course, he pulled Hank’s legs in all the way to his feet. Hank swayed and curled around his body to better fit inside. Tom took his fingers and tickled the bottom of Hank’s feet, causing him to reflexively pull his feet away, swiftly finishing off the massive swallow as Hank’s entire body, head to toe, was curled up like a ring, or perhaps a donut, inside Tom’s now gargantuan belly.

Tom drew a massive breath, and exhaled “You sure are a big donut, Hank.”

“A big, and very happy, donut,” Hank replied, wiggling around inside Tom to make him giggle. “Hey now you can swallow those coconut donuts for me to eat!”

Tom, rubbing his incredibly distended belly, and groaning in mild discomfort replied “I don’t know if I should eat much more, I reckon my belly is the fullest it has ever been.”

“You got to eat a donut, now I want a donut! Doesn’t the human donut get a donut?” Hank replied, poking Tom’s belly.

“Oh, alright, just ‘cause I like you,” Tom replied, trying to stand up to grab the box of donuts, and immediately plummeting right back down into his chair, pulled down by his doubled weight, jostling Hank all around inside his belly.

“On the count of three I want you to lean hard to my left,” Tom began, knowing that if he could only just extend his reach a couple feet he might be able to grab the box before being pulled back down onto his chair by his big belly, “One, two…”

On the third count Hank tried to push sideways, and by some miracle it worked, Tom grasped the box by the corner before being pulled back down. He plopped the box onto the top of his belly, and slowly swallowed each of the remaining donuts, smiling as he did, knowing his best friend was happily enjoying the donuts as well, and enjoying feeling so wanted like all the food he loved.

“I should have eaten you way back when, when you mentioned liking this kinda thing,” Tom spoke, his eyes drooping in contentment.

Hank, finishing off his last donut and getting comfortable as Tom's stomach walls kneaded his body, replied “We don’t need to live in the past. I am happy right here, in this moment, and nothing but this joy and contentment matters more than right here, right now, as a donut.”

“Life is like a box of donuts; it may not last too long, but it sure can be incredibly tasty if you savor the good stuff that’s inside.”

#male vore #gayvore #m/m vore #gay vore #fat #gay gainer

[whirlwindimagines]

I love your writing so much! Finally some good Vash content 💖💖🥹 thanks for posting it really makes my day😭💖

I was wondering, would you do a Vashxreader where the poor baby is having a rough day and the reader decides to get him donuts to cheer up? Poor baby needs a tight hug and comfort food I swear 😭

Omg thank you so much for the kind words 😭 I’m having so much fun writing for him, I love him so much 💙 Also baby girl needs to be loved, I want to hug him! So he’s a nice little soft thing for y’all! Also, I am so sick I feel like I'm dying, so I need comfort lol

‘You are loved more than you know’

Vash x Reader

You lay the blanket as gently as possible over Vash’s sleeping body, hoping he’s actually asleep and not pretending to be. Smiling softly at him, and brushing his bangs back. He shuffles in his sleep and you still your hand, once it seems like he’s not going to get up you let out a sigh of relief.

Getting up quietly, you move across the room to leave. Giving Vash one last glance, before exiting the hotel room. You were going to find some breakfast for the two of you, and hopefully something sweet.

The last town the two of you were in had truly been a disaster, Vash had tried to help the best he could but it resulted in another instance of being chased out. You remember the way they spat that horrible nickname at him, ‘Humanoid typhoon’ it always made him flinch, but he still wore that gentle smile on his face. You wanted to step forward and defend him, but he placed a hand on your shoulder and with a shake of his head led you out of town.  

It pained you every time, and you couldn't imagine how Vash really felt. The walk to the next town had been quiet, you leaving Vash with his thoughts. Unsure how to help, you simply grabbed his hand and held it loosely in yours, hoping to offer some comfort. His grip tightens, and his hand trembles for a moment before dropping your hand completely and trudging ahead like he always does. 

Shaking your head, you continued on your way. One problem at a time, at least this one you could solve. You exit the hotel and head out into the street, hoping to find a cafe you didn't get a good look at the town when you entered it.  

Walking around for a couple of minutes you spotted a brightly colored cafe. The moment you walked in you were hit by the smell of all the sweet treats, this would be perfect. 

Making your purchase quickly, you waste no time heading back to the hotel. Once inside, you go back to your and Vash’s shared room. You try to open the door quietly, but Vash is awake now rubbing the sleep out of his eyes.

He turns to look at you with a pout, “you weren’t here when I woke up.” You smile softly joining him on the bed, leaning in you place a light kiss on his cheek. Your own face begins to heat up as you watch a cute blush form on his face.

“Sorry, hopefully, this makes up for it?” You asked placing the box of donuts in his lap. You watch as his eyes light up with interest, opening the box carefully to uncover the sweets inside. 

“You didn’t have to–“

“I wanted to.” You cut him off leaning your head on his shoulder and picking up one of the donuts to eat. You savor the taste, letting out an exaggerated ‘hmm’ noise. Vash watches you for a second, before grabbing a donut of his own to enjoy. 

The two of you eat in silence for a couple of minutiae, enjoying the sweet treat and each other company. Before Vash places the box on the nightstand and pulls you into his lap, you let out a startled yelp your face heating up. 

You smile moving to wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close. “Can I have a kiss?” He asked if shyly squeezing your waist, and avoiding your gaze.

“You don’t need to ask, you big baby.” You tease lightly, grabbing his chin and turning his face towards yours. You lean in, Vash meets you halfway and you close your eyes when your lips finally connect. 

Letting out a please ‘hum’ as you press in closer, Vash pulls back but not before placing another kiss on your lips. He smiles, “You taste sweet.” You let out a ‘huff’ as he looks at you with his kind eyes.

“Not as sweet as you.” You grin as Vash’s whole face goes red, he’s so easy to tease. “Let’s go back to bed.” You say with a yawn, grabbing the covers. Vash shifts you around so you are both laying down on the bed and under the covers. 

You smiled as you curl up next to him, his arms holding you close. “Thank you,” Vash says it so quietly, you nearly miss it. 

“You don’t have to thank me; I want to take care of you.” You admit to him softly, moving to place a kiss on his shoulder. He pulls you close, pushing your head to his chest, most likely to hide your gaze from his own flustered one. 

With a content sigh, you cuddle up close to Vash, and he starts to run his hand through your hair. The motion starts to lull you to sleep, the best and safest place to be will always be in Vash’s arms. 

A/n: lol can you tell I’m touch starved?

#vash the stampede x reader #vash imgaine #vash x reader #vash imagines #vash the stampede #trigun #trigun stampede imagine #trigun stampede x reader #trigun stampede #trigun x reader

[neonghostlights]

Series Masterlist

Warnings: Blood, hallucinations, nosebleed, brief mention of hospital, 18+ only, Minors DNI

Summary: You haven’t been the same since you woke up in the hospital with memory loss after the earthquake hit Hawkins. When strange things start happening and you feel like you’ve started losing your mind, a group of strangers offer to help. Even though you’ve never met them before, they seem to know you better than you think. 

Word count: 3k

Eddie Munson x Fem Reader

Part Five

Sunday, September 21st, 1986

The rumbling of Eddie’s van surprised you when you heard it Sunday morning. You hadn’t expected Eddie to come back after the disaster on Tuesday. You were content to see if he would return, and if he didn’t, come Monday you would be pulling out the phone book to call other mechanics around town. 

There was relief when you saw him already standing on your porch by the time you made it to your front door. A small smile on his face and a white box held between you. 

“What’s that?” You asked instead of a proper greeting. 

“I brought you donuts,” he replied, stretching his hands out to bring the box closer to you. You could smell the sweetness of glaze and icing radiating from it. 

You furrowed your brows in confusion. You made him cry and now he was bringing you gifts. “Why?”

“Because whether I was going to be here or not I was going to get donuts anyways. I figured it would be rude if I just sat in your driveway and ate these all by myself,” he joked. You could see the fragility in his eyes. This wasn’t just about the donuts. 

You carefully lifted the box from his hands. “How about I’ll sit out here with you and we can eat these together? And I’ll make you a coffee?” 

“Deal,” he said immediately. 

You and Eddie take your coffee the same way. Not a lot of coffee but a whole lot of cream and sugar. You're not quite sure why that makes you happy, yet it does. 

Eddie pulled one of the chairs off of your porch and pulled it close so you could talk while you shared your sugary breakfast. 

“Oh man, these ones are my favorite,” you said as you pulled out a donut with icing and sprinkles. 

There was a twinkle in his eye as he looked over his shoulder at you with a grin. “Those ones are all yours then.” 

You hummed and nodded in approval as you took a bite. 

His hands moved under the hood of the car expertly, muscles flexing under his pale skin. Occasionally he would lean down and pick up a random tool. Each time he did he would sneak a look over at you. 

You finished off the donut and wiped the excess sprinkles off on your blue jeans. 

“So, I just wanted to say sorry if I made you upset last time you were here. I honestly didn’t mean to.” You kept your voice light, like it was no big deal. 

Eddie turned to face you, his back pressed against the front of the car. “You didn’t make me upset. It was the sandwich you made me,” he said seriously with a nod. 

“The sandwich?” You asked, not understanding what he was saying. 

“Yep,” he said with a pop of his lips. “Worst turkey and cheese sandwich I’ve ever had in my life. Had to go home and rinse my mouth out and rethink this working on your car thing,” he said with a serious voice. His face betrayed the show he was trying to put on though as he crossed his arms and his mouth twitched, his muscles begging to let himself laugh. 

The shock had your jaw dropping as you hopped out of your chair, a finger pointed in the air. “Well, I’m sorry I didn’t know I had someone here with such refined taste buds. Next time I’ll make sure to make a five star meal,” you said sarcastically. 

He stepped away from the car, moving so close that you could catch the hint of cigarettes and the cologne he had probably used in an attempt to cover it up. “Good. I’ll be expecting nothing but the best,” he said with a fake posh voice. 

You gasped in disbelief, a hand reaching out to swat at his chest playfully. He caught your hand midair, fingers wrapping around your wrist firmly to hold you still. One glance at his face made you falter. Underneath his playful demeanor was a raw fragility, two brown eyes that were staring into yours in a way you didn’t quite understand. You can’t recall a time any one had ever looked at you like that, completely flustering you with one look. 

This was dangerous territory you were allowing yourself to fall into. Even you could see from your small moments that Eddie Munson was torn around the edges, maybe just as much as you were. At that moment, it felt like a strong gust of wind could blow either of you away. 

And honestly, you didn’t know why you cared about being carried away by the wind or why you worried about the man in front of you, the one you’ve only had two full conversations with in your life. But there was something about Eddie Munson, something special, that you couldn’t put a finger on. 

“Easy there, slugger,” he said in a low voice as he dropped your wrist, not before carefully running a thumb across your pulse point. If he could feel your heartbeat stutter, he didn’t show it. 

You took a large step back, clearing your throat and running a hand through your hair, like somehow your outward appearance had gotten ruined as much as your insides did. 

You cleared your throat as you sat back in your chair ungracefully, jello legs traitorously giving out on you. Eddie made no move to go back to working on the car as he continued to stare at you, an arm now crossed protectively over his chest. 

After a few long seconds he stepped back, leaning back on the car again, ankles crossed nonchalantly. 

“So,” he started, you could hear the beginning of a question on his tongue, making you perk up in your seat. “How's working at Family Video going?” 

You deflated slightly. Not the question you were expecting him to ask you. Your stomach twisted into a knot from embarrassment. You barely knew him, and from what you could tell the public's opinion of him wasn’t that great. You were conflicted, wanting to keep playing it safe but also cursing at yourself. When did you become as close minded as your mother? Had you always been this way or was this a recent development? 

Besides, what were you expecting for him to ask you anyways? You had become so isolated, loneliness eating at your brain cells, causing you to expect the guy working on your car to want to actually spend time with you. He was here for a paycheck, that’s it.

“It’s fine,” you finally croaked out. “I like Robin so far. I don’t think my boss likes me though.”

This seemed to get his attention. His jaw ticked and you could’ve sworn you saw his knuckles clench. “Steve? Why do you think that?” 

“Well, he’s just shorter with me than he is with Robin. Which, I guess makes sense since he’s known her longer than me it seems like. But he’s just kind of rude to me. I don’t know.” 

Eddie looked mad now. You immediately regretted even bringing it up. You should’ve just told him it was fine. 

“You want me to talk to him?” He asks. 

You laughed until you realized how serious he was. “Oh, no. That’ll just make it worse.”

“Listen, believe it or not I’m friends with Harrington. If he’s giving you a hard time I can talk to him.”

“No. No. I need my job. Gotta pay the bills,” you shrugged. 

Eddie nodded his head towards the house. “It is a nice place.”

“Thanks. It was my grandmas but it was empty for a couple of years before I moved in a few months ago,” you said nonchalantly. “I was actually gonna start fixing it up soon. Nothing too dramatic, maybe some paint and stuff.”

“I can help,” he said quickly. Perking up with a visible excitement that made you smile. 

Maybe he did want to spend time with you. 

Monday, September 22nd, 1986

Today made you regret not letting Eddie talk to Steve on your behalf. 

Steve was on your case, yet again. You thought since your mom had finally gotten the memo about getting you to work on time, he wouldn’t be so angry with you. But you were wrong. 

He worked up front with you and Robin today. Every time you spoke to him, or even tried to join in on him and Robin's conversations, he would just stare at you or tell you to do something on the other side of the store. 

You knew you weren’t just being sensitive because even Robin was picking up on the tension. She was constantly switching off between shooting sympathetic glances your way or angry glares at Steve.

The hours dragged on long and slow. By the point it was getting closer to closing time, you were dead on your feet. 

The bell above the door dinged, signally new customers. You watched as a group of five young teenagers, four boys and a girl, all filed in through the door, making a beeline to where you stood at the counter. You recognized the ring leader as the curly haired boy that was here when you asked Robin for an application, the same day you had your episode while looking at the movies. 

“Hi,” he said with a wide, toothy smile. 

“Hi. Can I help you?” You asked, a little suspicious. 

“Yes. We are here to rent a movie,” the girl with short brown hair said. 

“Okay?” You said, more like a question. What was up with these kids? 

“What she means is, uh, we need your help finding a movie,” the tall skinny one with dark hair said. 

“What kind of movie?” You questioned. 

“I’m El,” the girl said suddenly, ignoring your question completely. She extended a hand out to you slowly. The boy beside her with brown hair and a bowl cut looked between you and her nervously. You tucked your hands behind you, suddenly scared to get near this girl. 

You eyed her hand suspiciously. Something weird was going on here. 

“Absolutely not,” Steve said suddenly, coming up behind you with his arms crossed. 

“We’re paying customers, Steve!” The one with curly hair exclaimed. 

“Can it, Henderson. All of you to the back. Now. That includes you, Robin!” Steve said sternly. 

You looked at him awkwardly, not sure if you were supposed to be included. 

Steve turned to you, noticing the unsure look on your face. “You stay here and get started on closing. We’ll be out to help you in a minute.”

No one said anything as they shuffled past you to the back, leaving you all alone. 

They were not back to help you in a few minutes. You ended up finishing everything from putting back some stray movies to cleaning. 

You could see the lights of your moms car in the parking lot. You only had a few minutes before she would come busting in, demanding to know what was taking so long.

You huffed out a sigh as you pushed away from the counter to head to the back. From the hallway, you could hear the chorus of voices coming from the break room. 

“You have to admit it’s a good theory, Steve!” Robin's voice rang out first, muffled by the door. You pushed yourself against the door, pressing an ear to the wood to catch pieces of the conversation. 

“....I hired her….the agreement was….distance….for her own good…”

“....Bullshit….who made you the boss…being an asshole…”

“Safety…doctor says…it’s what’s best…safe at a distance…arm's length…”

“Eddie says…he’s really pissed at you…it should be up to him…”

At the mention of Eddie’s name you pressed against the door harder, curious of what he had to do with this conversation. 

“It’s a good plan…just let El get close enough…she can tell for sure…”

The voices all grew louder, overlapping each other in a harsh debate. You couldn’t tell for sure what the topic was but it was intense. 

“ENOUGH!” You heard Steve yell over top of the voices suddenly. You jumped from the door slightly before pushing yourself closer again. 

“I’m done….it's not up for discussion…not risking…Byers, I am surprised you were even talked into this…Henderson, I expected this from you…Sinclair, sorry I haven’t visited Max….”

Okay, now they were just chatting. You pushed the door open hard, stumbling in. All eyes in the room turned to you in surprise. 

You cleared your throat. “I finished up front. My ride’s here.”

Steve glanced quickly at the clock on the wall over your head. “Yeah, sorry we got carried away back here. You can go.”

You grabbed your stuff before quickly walking out of the store to get away from their gawking. 

Tuesday, September 23rd, 1986

You didn’t really know Eddie’s work schedule, nor did you have a way to get in touch with him. So when noon came around on Tuesday, you were done constantly peeking out the windows at every noise that could possibly be him. 

You threw on an old stained shirt and some ripped up jeans, clothes that you didn't mind getting dirty and you got to work pulling down your figurines and decorations from the walls. You pulled the furniture away from the walls as much as possible and threw tarps on everything, including the floor underneath of you. You had never painted before, and expected this to get very messy. 

You had found the perfect color on sale at the local store, a very light peach color that would make the room brighter, and happier. You would take all of the happiness you could get. 

You cranked on the radio, bobbing your head to the rhythmic drums of Africa by TOTO. The color was pretty as you swiped it on the walls, and you weren’t doing too bad so far. You were lost in thought, mindlessly dipping the brush into the paint bucket in front of you, that you didn’t even notice the radio had stopped playing. 

You dipped the brush again and ran the brush against the wall, but instead of seeing the happy peach color, you saw a deep red instead. 

It ran down the wall in thick droplets as you stood frozen on the step ladder, scared to move. 

Looking down at the bucket, the whole thing was no longer filled with paint, instead it was filled to the brim with blood. 

You couldn’t breathe, each breath refusing to move down your windpipe. There was no way this could be happening. 

The blood ran off the paint brush that was still in your tight clutch. It was warm and thick when it hit your hand, startling you. You instinctively dropped the brush and went to step back, only for your foot to meet air. 

It wasn’t a far fall off the step ladder. The tarp on the ground under you did nothing to cushion your fall though, the impact causing a sharp searing pain to travel through your tailbone. 

You couldn't focus on that though. More blood ran down the wall, almost like it was appearing from inside the wall itself. The metallic smell hit your nose, making you recoil. 

You gasped, begging for the air to move into your lungs. The blood on your hands, the blood on the walls, it was all too much. A loud noise was too close to you, you raised your hands to your head to cover your ears, not caring that the blood was getting in your hair. You tucked your head between your knees, praying that this was all just a dream. 

“Hey,” a warm voice said, tugging on your head. “You’re okay.” A hand shook your shoulders before trying to pry your hands away from your ears. 

“I need you to look at me.” The voice commanded. 

“I can’t,” you wailed. “The blood. There’s too much blood.”

“There’s no blood. Look. There’s no blood,” he instructed. 

“What?” You wheezed, lifting your head to meet Eddie’s worried eyes. “Eddie? What are you doing here?”

“Shit, your nose is bleeding.” He reached in his back pocket to pull out a black bandanna and pressed it to your nose. 

“The blood, Eddie. It’s all over the wall,” you whispered. 

Eddie looked cautiously at the wall before looking at you softly. “Look. No blood. Just paint.” He gestured to the wall with the hand that wasn’t holding the bandanna to your nose. 

You stared at the wall in shock. Instead of the red blood you had seen only moments before, there was just paint. You inspected your hands just to find the same paint starting to dry and crack on your skin. Eddie was sitting on his knees on the floor beside you, watching you. 

“I’m not crazy,” you said immediately. Hardly recognizing your own voice when it cracked. You attempted to clear your throat but winced at the sharp pain. 

“I don’t think you’re crazy. It’s okay.” He pulled you into his chest. “How did you get in here?” You mumbled into his shirt. 

“I was coming to work on the car but I heard you screaming. I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner. Do you need to go to the hospital?” He asked as he leaned back to look at you again. 

“No! No hospitals. Please don’t make me go.” You were on the verge of tears. You knew if Eddie took you and told them what had happened, they would think you were crazy. 

“Shh, I won’t make you go. But you are going to sit here and let me finish painting for you. How does that sound?”

You nodded, not wanting to say anything because of how sore your throat had become from screaming. Eddie helped you up, eyeing you with worry when you winced from the pain in your tailbone. 

As promised, Eddie finished painting your living room that night. You didn’t realize how tired the episode had made you, until the early morning sun had shined through the curtains, illuminating your spot on the couch. Rolling over, you saw Eddie passed out in your recliner, a streak of peach paint across his cheek and splattered on his clothes. 

You think that’s when it happens, that warm feeling in your chest. You think that’s when you start to really fall for Eddie Munson. 

Taglist:

@sadbitchfangirl @gaysludge @daisydamed

@mandyjo8719 @josephquinncore @stevieharringtonswife @hazydespair @sheneedsrocknroll92 @mopeymopeymouse

@portaltothevoid @sidthedollface22 @mjharrington @pbs-theundeadmaggott @luceneraium @aliceheart247 @kaitebugg03 @emxxblog @blue-eyed-lion @boo22sstuff @aysheashea @lfaewrites @madaboutjoe

@sweetmariihs2 @wendyfawcett @ohmeg

@dragonfire

(Tag list is 18+ only)

#eddie munson x you #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #mechanic!eddie munson x reader #mechanic!eddie munson #mechanic eddie munson #eddie munson angst #eddie munson au #eddie munson series #eddie munson imagine #eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson fanfiction

[shineonyoucrazyyandere]

A little donut - Yandere! Giorno Giovanna x reader

So I did a darling playing with Josuke’s hair some time ago, and now I’m having brain rot thinking about Giorno’s hairstyle. In short American darling seems to have a psychotic break, compares Giorno’s hair loops to donuts and then he proceeds to fluster them in return. Specific donuts mentioned are the preservative filled hostess powdered donuts. This is just a fic for funsies

He was puzzled at your request for these things considering he could literally get you the best dessert in Italy with a snap of his fingers. However he decided to indulge your craving for these artificial things, it involved little work to get them and didn’t involve you going out. Also you actually spoke to him for once since he brought you into his home, which caught the blond just slightly off guard. Perhaps your walls were ever so slightly beginning to crumble?

Nevertheless you received your treat from overseas within a week or so. Made sure to be fresh (as far as they could be in his eyes anyway). A slower afternoon when he wasn’t deep into work, you were with him on a small table. Everything set up for tea, including your selected indulgence for the day. You weren’t quite as anxious as you usually were when the two of you ate together, your eyes clearly fixated on your newly obtained prize. Giorno couldn’t help but purse a small smile, it was like observing a cat with catnip almost.

He noted you had played about three of the small confections on your plate. Before gently pinching up one with your index and thumb, a bit of the powder flaking into your dish as you did so. A bite or two later and the first one had vanished, but you didn’t proceed to grab the second.

“You know your hair reminds me of donuts…”

The blond about choked on his spit, at the seemingly random nature of the question. There was a snort of laughter from a distance where Mista was sitting. Giorno paid no mind, honestly it was rather amusing. After a few stunned seconds of blinking, and soaking up this attention he chuckles.

“That’s a rather cute comparison” He responded

“The way you style it…” you squirmed in your seat “just reminds me of that, and I was wondering how you, do it”

“I could show you if you’d like” He directly offered to satisfy your curiosity.

Cautiously you accept the offer, knowing it was feeding right into his obsession. Though it was exceedingly difficult, even outright impossible to get any outside human interaction. So this event would have to suffice.

The following morning he woke you up to see his routine, you were absolutely not used to his messier than usual hair. Nor the fact it was all cascading down slightly curly from the braid he usually kept it in. You weren’t going to lie, his golden locks were attractive just sitting around his shoulder blades.

“You know, you should help me…” He mused to you while brushing his hair out in front of his bathroom mirror.

“I don’t know about that, I uh…don’t want to ruin your hair before you talk with whichever people you meet” You awkwardly deflect, however you see the slight mischievous look in his eyes.

“If I show you how, there won’t be a risk of messing up, I’ll walk you through everything” He hummed gesturing you closer

As much as you wanted to back up, something unseen to your own eyes was allowing no exit. You sigh at the grave mistake you had made yesterday. This is what you get for teasing the mad man who kept you under lock and key. How else were you supposed to keep your sanity? You didn’t want to admit either that Giorno probably knew this would’ve been an inevitability.

You jumped as a gentle touch of one of his arms drew you closer. He firmly asked you to hand him one of the items on the counter. Before shortly asking you to help with certain gestures and guiding your hands through certain bits of his hair. You were momentarily in awe at its softness once touching it.

“Do you enjoy my hair now that you get to feel it?” he mused casually You weren’t sure if you should respond to that.

“I do think we should do this more often however, I think I like the way you put my gel in my hair and of course your braiding is gorgeous y/n” He continued on.

You could tell he was slightly teasing and you were internally freaking out how much your hands would touch. As if he hadn’t been laying in bed a time or two with you.

“dammit…” you mumbled under your breath,

This is where everything falls apart.

#yandere x reader #yandere jjba x reader #yandere jjba imagines #yandere #yandere jjba #yandere imagines #yandere scenario #jjba imagines #yandere x darling #yandere giorno #giorno giovanna x reader #Yandere jjba imagines #yandere giorno giovanna

[totowlff]

extra — shockoschnecken

➝ maybe that story about home not being a place is true, after all...

➝ word count: 2,6k

➝ warnings: none

➝ author’s note: hope y'all have your therapy sessions scheduled.

Toto carefully climbed the steps into the Bombardier Challenger 650. Climbing the stairway into the aircraft’s cabin was a bit of a balancing act without being able to hold onto the handrail as he normally would. Both of his hands were occupied; one was clutching the handle of his black cordura briefcase, and the other was balancing a pink pastry box, held closed with an elegant string bow. The porter had offered to carry it onto the awaiting jet for him, but Toto politely declined and immediately regretted as he nearly dropped the box as he was trying to set it on the seat next to his. 

— I didn’t think you had that much of a sweet tooth, Toto, unless those aren’t donuts in there — a gruff voice said. Toto turned his head to see Niki in his usual seat. He hadn’t even looked up from that day’s copy of the Wiener Zeitung.

— Donuts? — Toto asked — Oh, no. They’re a dozen of those rolls that catering had out at breakfast this morning. The things that look like Shockoschneken. I sent Cassie a picture of the setup for breakfast on Friday and she…

He was interrupted by the abrupt rustle of newsprint paper as Niki snapped the issue closed.

— I knew it — he said, a wry smile spreading across his face — I knew they were for your girlfriend.

Toto felt a prickle of annoyance flash across the back of his neck as he sat in his seat and buckled his seatbelt.

— She’s not my girlfriend — he said, though the words felt like something of a lie as it came out of his mouth — But, she is the mother of my daughter, so I will do what I can to make her happy, even if it means sending one of the caterers on an extra errand before the debrief was over. And yes, it was with a generous tip, before you say anything.

A mischievous smile spread across Niki’s face as he neatly folded up the newspaper, apparently more content to talk to Toto as the plane started to taxi to the runway. 

— A girl, eh?

— Yes — Toto said. He felt himself blushing a bit as he remembered the moment Cassie’s doctor told them, during the scan she had a month ago. It was a long shot that they would find out so early, but they did. 

— Well, I’d congratulate you, but I think what I should tell you instead is ‘good luck’ — Niki said, chuckling as he settled back in his seat.  

— What do you mean? We both were hoping for — Toto said, but was cut off by the roar of the accelerating engines making conversation all but impossible without shouting. Once the engine noise faded to a background din as the plane gained altitude, he continued — We were both hoping for a girl. We both have nephews, and thought it would be nice to have a daughter.

Niki gave Toto another sly smile. 

— I could tell you, but it is something you will have to experience. If you think girls are… what’s that rhyme in English? Sugar and spice and everything nice? You are mistaken. She will have you wrapped around your finger. I’ve had three boys, four if you count Christoph, and boys have been very straightforward, at least as babies. Mia has been fierce since the day she was born, curious and questioning everything, but — Niki paused for a moment, his expression changing to something tender as he shifted his gaze to the floor, just in front of his shoes — She is my little lady, and I would do anything for her.

Niki shifted his gaze to the plane’s porthole so that he was no longer facing Toto, but Toto could swear that there was a watery shine in Niki’s eyes. 

The moment would have felt awkward if Toto didn’t know Niki so well, because he wasn’t usually one to show so much emotion, but Toto knew that this was not the moment for the sort of well-meaning jabs they normally traded with each other. He let the quiet hang in the air as he glanced down at the light pink pastry box in the seat next to him.

It was the kind of light pink one associated with baby girls, the color people decorated their nurseries with, the color of countless onesies hanging on racks in the baby shop he and Cassie had visited out of curiosity after her ultrasound. 

Unexpectedly, though, it brought a different memory to mind. He recalled one night when he was fifteen years old, when he and his sister visited their father after he’d been hospitalized after a series of seizures left him unresponsive and he was taken to the hospital by ambulance. It was clear that he was in his final days. He was terrifyingly thin and gaunt, barely able to speak, let alone eat or drink. Sven had survived longer than expected, making it ten years since his diagnosis when the doctors had originally given him an outside shot of two to three years at most, but eventually the progression of the tumors that ravaged his brain couldn’t be slowed. There was only the faintest glimmer of life in his eyes during the rare moments he was awake. Toto hoped, for his father’s sake, that the end would come sooner than later.

Lili remained stone-faced as they left Sven’s room and all throughout the ride home on the tram, but Toto later heard the sound of sniffling through the shared wall between their bedrooms. 

He tapped lightly on the closed door to Lili’s room, waiting for a response that was almost too quiet to hear before he stepped inside. Lili was sitting on her bed, clutching one of her pillows. The pillow she was clutching was the exact same shade of pastry-box pink.

Toto remembered sitting on her bed and gathering his sister into his arms, desperate to protect her from the pain and sadness. It felt automatic, a reflex conditioned after years of looking out for his sister, between their father’s illness and their mother always being at work or spending time with the man she’d been dating since shortly after the divorce. 

Protecting Lili became his mission the day they were sent home in the middle of the school day, the memory of holding her hand on the walk home as he explained that they didn’t have the money to go to school any more. 

Once his parents got divorced, a neighbor commented that Toto would be “the man of the house”. It scared him at the time, but looking back, he realized that he’d taken up the role without thinking about it. Most of his new duties involved looking after Lili. He was ultimately the one that made sure she was up and ready for school, he prepared breakfasts and dinners, he made sure that she got her homework done. Even when she was old enough to do those things herself, he kept a watchful eye on her while they were at school. He remembered having to, on one occasion, have a very strong discussion with a boy in her class that wouldn’t leave her alone. 

“Maybe that is what having a daughter will be like, almost” Toto thought, turning his head to look out the porthole next to his own seat.

Before long, Toto found it harder to keep his eyes open, between the constant hum of the engines, the gentle sway of the plane’s motion on the wind. The seat he was in was comfortable, and Niki had re-engrossed himself in his newspaper. Eventually, he stopped fighting the way his head was drooping and let himself drift off to sleep. 

When he opened his eyes again, he was back in his house in Oxfordshire, standing in what looked like the secondary bathroom upstairs, but the neutral gray-and-white palette he remembered it having had been replaced by bright splashes of color everywhere: light blue tiles on the walls, paired navy blue wallpaper covered with scores of colorful jellyfish, a navy blue countertop, a shower curtain with friendly-looking cartoon whales, a hooded bath towel hanging from a colorful hook, a row of felt teeth and felt eyes embroidered on the hood to make it look like a shark, a bright pink toothbrush sticking out of a navy blue cup molded to look like a shark’s mouth.  

He had a comb in one hand, and strands of long red hair in the other, pulled into a neat-looking plait. 

— I want the light blue ones today, papi, they match my shirt. And not the bows, just the regular ones — a little girl said. 

He looked down to see the girl — Ingrid, surely — standing on a stepstool in front of a bathroom counter. She was looking directly at him by way of their shared reflection in the vanity mirror. Toto blinked, perplexed, wondering how he got here. He leaned over to extract two matching elastics from a glass jar on the counter that was filled with an assortment of bows and other hair accessories, fastening one to the braid he’d finished, before repeating the process on the other side of Ingrid’s head.

— How’s that? Is that tight enough? — he asked her, but before she could answer…

— Hurry up, both of you, we’re running late! — Cassie called out. Her voice was coming from downstairs, surely from the direction of the kitchen.

— Ready, Papi? — Ingrid said, turning around on her step stool and raising her arms. 

— Ready! — Toto exclaimed, grunting a little as he lifted the girl up by her waist, proceeding to practically sling the girl over his shoulder as he carried her downstairs to breakfast, all while she squealed with laughter. It was their little ritual for the time being, at least until she would inevitably become too old to use him as her personal jungle gym. For now, though, he cherished it.

— Here you go, little one — Toto said, setting Ingrid into her booster seat, just as Cassie was setting their breakfast plates on the table.

Toto glanced down at his plate as Cassie put it in front of him. Instead of his usual breakfast of eggs, toast, tomatoes, and a slice of ham, there was a single pastry: a sweet roll formed into a spiral, with layers of gooey chocolate between the dough. “Shockoschnecke?”, he thought. It was unusual. He hadn’t had one since he was a teenager.

— Your hair looks adorable today, baby — Cassie said, making Toto look up from his plate. She was spreading a sheet of kitchen roll over Ingrid’s lap in an effort to keep her school uniform from getting dirty before she even arrived at school — Did Papi do it for you?

— Yes — the girl said, flashing Toto a gap-toothed grin. She already had a smear of chocolate spread across her cheek — But I picked the elastics.

— It looks wonderful — Cassie cooed as she passed behind Toto’s chair. She stopped, and ran her fingers through Toto’s hair. A warm feeling spread through Toto’s chest as he leaned into Cassie’s touch — But it looks like you messed Papi’s hair up on the way down. There. 

She leaned forward, her hands coming around to his front and smoothing the collar of his dress shirt down. Toto turned his head to the side and took Cassie's left hand in his, pleasantly surprised to feel a pair of rings on her finger. As she pressed a kiss to his cheek, Toto’s entire body flooded with that same tingling warmth. 

This is what he had always wanted for himself; a family to sit at a table and share meals with. An adorable daughter and a beautiful, intelligent partner to share his life with.  

He came close to having it with Julia, but he let his material ambitions get in the way, as good as his intentions were. He wanted to earn enough to provide enough for his family so they would not fall into dire financial straits if something happened to him, as it was after his own father grew ill, but he put his ambitions for a family and relationships come secondary to financial security. 

After breakfast was finished, Cassie gave both of them a good-bye kiss before leaving the house, saying something about running late. Toto lingered in the doorway for a moment. He could tell that he had a goofy grin on his face as he stood there, feeling the afterimages of Cassie’s lips on his, of her hands on the back of his neck from her reaching up to pull him down to meet her. 

The usual torrent of thoughts that occupied his brain at all times had ceased for a moment, a brief flash of feeling something akin to enlightenment. 

“I am exactly where I am supposed to be. This is what I’ve wanted all along. This is…”, he thought.

— Papi, we have to leave soon, the little hand is almost on the eight — Ingrid squeaked. Her voice almost startled him, and he turned around to see her pointing at the ornamental clock on the kitchen wall. It was Toto’s day to drop Ingrid off at school, so he had to make sure she had her coat, backpack, lunch box, and her dance bag for her after-school ballet class.

After ensuring she was ready and hadn’t forgotten anything, Toto grasped his daughter’s hand as he opened the door to the driveway so he could get her situated in the car. 

As stepped over the threshold, a bright flash of sunlight struck his eyes from the east, flooding his vision with white light.

He squinted and moved to shade his eyes with his free hand, but as his vision cleared, the driveway, the house, the car, and his daughter were gone. 

He was on Niki’s plane again, with the graphical display at the front of the cabin showing the small airlane icon hovering just north of the greater London area.

— Good morning, sleeping beauty — Niki grunted, a familiar wry smile on his face — You’re up just in time, the captain just said we’re making our final descent.

— Oh — Toto said, trying to rub the sleep from his eyes. He normally didn’t care for falling asleep on the relatively short flights during the European races, because they made him feel disoriented and interrupted his usual carefully-maintained sleep schedule. He hadn’t taken off his suit jacket, either, and could feel his dress shirt clinging to his back. 

His eyes came back to focus and landed on the pink pastry box in the seat next to him.

— Are you going straight home? — Niki asked, furrowing his brow at Toto — Or are you going to see Cassie first?

The question was simple enough, but it gave Toto pause. Getting back to his own house wasn’t what he was looking forward to, as it was when he returned from most race weekends. It had its comforts, and it was where he could relax, but it had only occurred to him how empty and quiet it usually felt. What he was looking forward to now was getting back to see someone he cared about, who cared about him, maybe even enough to make the kind of life he wanted with. In that moment, his house didn’t feel like home: Cassie did.

He smirked at the question and patted the box next to him.

— No, going to drop these off first. I think someone is waiting for them.

Toto decided that it was best if left the conclusion of his statement unsaid, preferring to keep it to himself.

“And me, I hope”.

#toto wolff #wlffog #formula 1 fic #f1 fic #f1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfic #toto wolff x oc #formula 1 x oc #formula one x oc #f1 x oc #formula one fic #formula one fanfic #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff fluff #etlwlff

[urfavsturniolowriter]

Moonlight Pt1

Chris / Nick / Matt / y/n / a/n

(You have been the tripels close friend since middle school nicks your best friend and you obviously love Matt and Chris just as much but you and Nick just have a stronger bond. You’ve just come to realise you have some sort of feelings for Chris but didn’t know how to tell him .You were all driving to the store together at 1am on a warm summer night)

you were the Sturniolo’s best friend. You’re in the car with all of them sat next to Nick In the backseat, Chris in the passenger seat and Matt driving of course you and Nick were talking about boys, crushes to be exact Nick was going on and on about how he found this guy he saw in target earlier insanely attractive but while you were still taking in what he was saying you’re mind was drifting somewhere else..Chris

Nick notices your slightly zoned out “hey y/n! Are you okay?” Nick says with a slight look of concern and confusion

“Oh..um yeah I’m good” you reply “just..um…deep in thought I guess you could say” you smile while staring at the back of Chris smiling my stomach doing summersaults

Before Nick could reply your conversation comes to an end when the car pulls up in an empty store parking lot

“Me and Chris are gonna get some food are y’all coming with or…” matt says turning towards you and Nick with a smile

We both shake our heads

“We’re gonna stay..thanks for offering Matt” I return the smile as I look in the car mirror seeing Chris looking right at me and my cheeks flush pink..what was getting into me. I can’t have feelings for my friend since middle school and shit even worse my best friends brother

Chris chuckes when he sees you blushing “cmon Matt let’s leave these two to chat about..whatever” Chris smiles making your stomach full with butterflies as they both step out the car

“Nick I need to tell you something.” You say ready to open up about this weird feeling that you’ve been getting lately

“Of course y/n you can tell me anything” Nick smiles invitingly

“Well…I think I’m feeling things…for..um.chris” you say scared of his reaction

A smile spreads across nicks face“really?” He says with a smile

“Um yeah. You’re not mad are you?” You say hoping you didn’t upset him

“Why would I be mad y/n? Feelings are normal I’m not gonna be mad over feelings…I’ll even try and set you two up if it helps” Nick smiles

You smile “you’d do that for me?”

“Heck yeah” Nick replies “I’d rather set him up with someone like you than someone who I don’t know..I trust you with him…I know you wouldn’t try and hurt him and it’s better than him ending up with someone who’s gonna hurt him and break his heart” nicks smile widens

Before you could reply you’re cut off by two car doors opening

“Hey mamas” Chris says jokingly

You chuckle slightly at his joke “what food did you guys get?”

“Pepsi, twizlers, gummy worms for Nick and a box of donuts” Chris says looking at you with a smile which makes your heart race

“N-nice!” You smile at the sight of Chris smiling

“Hey um Matt there’s some things I wanna get from the store I forgot about wanna come?” Nick says smiling at you signaling he’s making his move to try set you and Chris up now

“Sure” Matt says opening the car door and getting out as Nick does the same leaving you and Chris alone…

“Come sit next to me y/n” Chris says with a smile warm inviting smile

You climb into Matt’s seat and turn to face him “Chris we need to talk” you say with a slight tone of seriousness

“I think we do” Chris agrees

“Okay so um…I think I…I think I have feelings for you Chris. If you don’t feel the same it’s okay.” You look at him for any sign of rejection

“I um..think I have feelings for you to y/n” Chris admits quietly with a slight blush on his cheeks

You look into his eyes and at his lips then back at his eyes and before you knew it Chris presses his lips against yours kissing you gently but passionately

“Mmh~ Chris” you mange to get out “are you sure” you say making sure he’s definite about this

“Never been more sure of anything” Chris says against your lips while running his hand through your hair “hmm so soft” he pulls you on top of him so your straddling his lap pressing his lips up agaisnt yours once more. His hands find your waist holding it gently. He pulls back slightly looking into your eyes.

You wrap your arms around Chris pressing your body against his in a loving hug “that was..amazing Chris” you say with a smile on your face

*chris wraps his arms around you resting his head in the crook of your neck “I’m glad you enjoyed it y/n” *he opens the car door carrying yo bc out of the car and climbing up onto the car roof sitting with you on his lap “I love the moon and the stars…I have a Photobook of pictures of the sky..I find it fascinating”

“So do I..I love the sky” you nuzzle your head into the crook of his neck “I think the sky knew to make itself pretty tonight”

“Mmh I agree” Chris places a sweet tender kiss on your forehead wrapping his arms around you tightly “I think I love you y/n.” Chris says his face pink from admitting this

“I think I love you to Chris” you say with a smile kissing his neck tenderly

“So y/n is it okay if I ask you to be my girlfriend?” Chris said with a smile

Your cheeks flush pink and you say “y-yes..yes Chris I will”

Chris pulls you into a tender kiss on the lips “I love you y/n” chris mumbles against your lips

“I love you to Chris” you mumble

matt and Nick walk out the store and see you and Chris on the car roof kissing under the moonlit sky . You see Chris pull out his phone and messaged the group chat with him Nick and Matt saying “I finally got her bro” you look at his phone smiling thinking to yourself “wait he wanted me to” a notification pops up on your oboe from “Nick 🩵” saying “if you saw that message that’s why I was so excited”

The end (of part one)

(Hey guys the reason they got into a relationship so quickly is because they’ve been best friends for fifteen years so they already know each other so well part two soon ❤️)

#sturniolo triplets #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #nick sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #nicolas sturniolo #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo x reader #love #Spotify

[seasonsbloom]

baby, let's play house. rooster (part 2)

part 1

pairing ; bradley bradshaw x female!reader

synopsis ; marriage of convenience. you got yourself in trouble. bradley has a bit of a savior complex. together, you come up with what could potentially be the worst idea in the longstanding and illustrious history of bad ideas.

wc ; 6k

warnings ; angst; explicit language; explicit sexual content in later parts; pregnancy; mentions of Tom Cruise; unhealthy family dynamics

note: jesus this is so late... and it's so short.... I'm so sorry y'all???

Two weeks later, you marry Bradley Bradshaw.

The Miramar City Hall is a horrible building, all the worst aspects of suburban SoCal architecture wrapped into one. It looks like Disneyland trying to do stately, with the walls painted an indefinable color somewhere between salmon and eggshell. Massive white pillars protrude from the facade, and through the square windows, you can see rows of underpaid clerks poring over documents, computer screens, or jelly donuts. A long fountain stretches in front of the stairs, water bubbling forth in steady streams.

You stand under the sloping canopy of the front entrance, feet aching in the heels you dug out of the depths of your closet, seven out of ten nails bitten down to the beds, heart fluttering in your throat as the panic swallows you whole, and wait.

Bradley offered to pick you up, but you declined politely but firmly, insisting instead on driving yourself. Some weird, last stand for your independence, maybe. Or you had just needed the fifteen-minute drive to calm down, to let the wind whistling in through the rolled-down windows whip some sense back into you, to listen to the same song on loop until the routine of the rhythm, the repetition of the notes, lulled you into a false sense of security—either which.

All that forced calm is gone the minute Bradley climbs the last step and smiles at you. Behind that smile, though, barely concealed by a thin veneer of cheer, in his eyes, you can see his tension clear as day.

He’s in his dress whites, cap and all, and for some reason, that makes you want to cry. With the added breadth of the shoulder boards, he looks even broader than usual. You can’t stop staring at the ribbons pinned to his chest.

“Hey,” he says, his voice soft. “You look beautiful.”

It dumbfounds you. You glance down at the dress you panic-bought using your nest egg last week, at the open-toed sandals you got on sale for your senior prom. It’s hardly Vera Wang, hardly what you imagined for yourself.

Part of you feels sad for having missed out on the Say Yes to The Dress moment, on the champagne and the entourage and the lace and veil. Part of you wonders why you even care when there are so many more important things going on.

“Thanks,” you mumble, even though you’re pretty confident he’s lying. “You look handsome.”

Bradley acknowledges that with a twitch of his mustache. Then he turns and points at the man behind him.

“This is Mav. I don’t know if you guys have met….”

Mav is just as dressed up for the occasion as Bradley is, and you almost feel bad. With how focused you were on Bradley and the dread of the impending nuptials, you didn’t even notice him.

“Yeah, we’ve met,” Mav says, a wistful smile on his face as he leans forward to offer you his hand. You’ve seen Pete Mitchell around the Hard Deck pretty frequently since Penny and he started dating, have poured him the occasional drink. You get the feeling he used to be the kind of handsome hotshot aviator Hangman fancies himself to be these days, but to you, he’s always looked a little too much like Tom Cruise for comfort. “I’ll be your witness today.”

“Oh.” You shake his hand in a daze. Somehow, you’d expected Bradley to bring someone else. Anybody else. You didn’t even know these two had any ties except for their military ones, but now you can see the tether of familiarity between them. It’s glaringly obvious, and it makes you uncomfortable for reasons you can’t explain. “Thanks for that. It’s very nice of you.”

Pete chuckles. “No worries at all. Happy to be here. It’s not every day you get to watch a boy you’ve known since he was born getting married, can you?”

It’s light-hearted, affectionate, but it hits you like a fist to the stomach. You can barely breathe.

Oh God, you think. Oh God, what am I doing?

Suddenly, you feel so alone it builds like a lump in your throat. 

“You ready to go?” Bradley asks, and you wonder if he can sense your profound discomfort or if he’s just eager to get this over with and continue with the rest of his day.

“Sure,” you say, fingers tangling in the straps of your purse. “Yeah.”

The city hall is cooled down to arctic temperatures. Outside the office, waiting your turn, you clench your jaw to the point of pain to keep your teeth from chattering. Covertly, you try scooting closer toward Bradley on the rickety chairs. The man radiates heat like a furnace.

Pete excuses himself to find some water after a while, but you suspect he might just be trying to give you and Bradley some space.

“You okay?” Bradley asks the moment you’re alone, twisting sideways in his chair to get a better look at you.

You don’t want to lie to him, but you also don’t want to tell him the truth: That you’re miserable. That nausea kept you up all night, ripped you out of bed at three am every day the past week. That you can’t sleep anymore. That your legs ache and cramp. That the guilt and the worrying are making you dizzy. That you’re fraying at the seams, unspooling, coming apart like an old sweater.

So you just shrug without looking at him, which isn’t an answer at all, and say, “And you?”

“I’m fine.” Bradley is quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Do you still want to do this?”

His voice is neutral, a blank slate, but you know what he means without saying it. If you want to call this off, I won’t be mad. 

Maybe he’d be relieved, actually, some masochistic part of you thinks. Relieved to get away from you and all your chaos.

At least he should be if he is even half as smart as you suspect.

It makes you wonder how he would react if you actually were to leave him at the metaphorical altar. If you were to release your inner Julia Roberts right now and book it out of here runaway bride style.

Not that you could. These shoes definitely weren’t made for running.

Part of you wants to, though - just get the hell out of here. Leave this whole thing behind and never think of it again. Maybe it would be doing you both a favor.

But then you think of the baby. You think of free healthcare, of a house with a separate nursery, of the trust fund. You think of waking up in the mornings and not being alone.

Voice halting, words slow, you say, “Yeah. Do you?”

Bradley doesn’t hesitate. “I do,” he says, and then he’s reaching into his pocket and pulling something out. “Hey, I got something for you.”

It’s a ring. A simple silver band with a little diamond, nothing flashy, nothing big. Classic. Reliable. So Bradley Bradshaw it would make you laugh if this whole thing weren’t so goddamn sad.

Stunned, you stare at it for a moment, and then you say, “You… you bought a real one?”

Figuring that he might actually end up needing them, you’d given Bradley back his dog tags the night he proposed, and you hadn’t even considered the issue of a ring again. It was such a stupidly trivial thing in the face of everything else that’s been going on, the thought hadn’t crossed your mind. 

Now, looking at it, it makes your heart skip a beat. It’s a beautiful ring, inconspicuous but lovely. Exactly the kind of thing you would have picked out for yourself if the situation had been different. If everything had been different. 

“No, I… I had this at home.”

Confusion sets in. “What, you just have wedding rings lying around your place? Do you propose to girls a lot? Are you like… a habitual proposer?”

Bradley laughs and shakes his head. “Nah, I…” Then he’s clearing his throat, and he’s shifting in his seat, and your heart is racing. “It was my Mom’s.”

The panic ignites like a forest fire. You feel it everywhere, tingling in your fingers, snapping in your bones.

“No,” you say immediately, trying to push it back into his hands as you shake your head. “You can’t give this to me, Bradley, no, I.….”

“It’s fine,” he interrupts you. He’s smiling. “You can just give it back to me… after.”

After the divorce, your brain supplies helpfully, filling in the blanks he left in that sentence.

It feels like you can’t breathe. Your hands and feet are numb. The telltale burn of tears sears behind your eyes.

“Bradley,” you whisper, “this was your Mom’s.”

And it sounds like a plea. Like you’re begging. Like you’re saying, Please, don’t make me do this. Please don’t make me even worse of a person than I already am.

But Bradley’s still smiling. A soft, genuine smile as he closes your fingers around the ring. You feel the cold, circular shape of it against your palm. 

“It’s fine,” he repeats, and he’s so calm about it all. How can he be so goddamn calm? “We want it to look real, right? No way I wouldn’t give this to my wife.”

And then you don’t know what else to say. Don’t know how to argue with him. Not when he’s the one pushing the whole thing.

So you give in. Nod. Hope that maybe, in some strange way, this will make him feel better. Even if it settles like a stone in your stomach, stacking on top of all the others. 

You offer it to him on your open palm. “Maybe you should give it to me inside there, then.”

Bradley laughs, the sound a little sheepish, and accepts the ring back. “Right,” he says, “good thinking.”

Bradley is too nice for his own good, that’s what you’ve determined so far. Even if this might be a mutually beneficial agreement, you know he’s getting the short end of the stick. After all, you’re the one bringing all the baggage here.

A thought crosses your mind belatedly. “Does your Mom… not need it anymore?”

Almost imperceptibly, Bradley stiffens next to you, and you know right away that you’ve made some mistake, some miscalculation, even if you can’t tell exactly what it is. 

Without looking at you, he says, “No. She’s dead.”

You open your mouth to say something, to apologize, to quell that horrible, sinking feeling in your stomach, but you’ve barely made it past a choked Bradley when Pete comes back, handing you a small paper cup.

“Here,” he says, “you should have some water. You look like you’re about to throw up.”

The smile he gives you is so warm it makes you want to scream. Can’t you see? you want to ask. Can’t you see I don’t deserve your kindness? Can’t you see I’m ruining Bradley’s life?

Instead, you accept the cup, nod, force an answering smile, and say, “Thank you.”

“Wedding jitters?” Pete asks as he sits down next to Bradley again, elbows braced on his knees to look at you. “You’re not getting cold feet, are you?”

“No…” you begin to protest, but Pete is already pushing on.

“I wouldn’t blame you,” he jokes, grinning at Bradley. The kind of mischief on his face could put the fear of god in women stronger than you. “This one is a handful. You know, when he was twelve, he….”

“Mav,” Bradley interrupts, tone somewhere between long-suffering, warning, and affectionate.

You never do get to hear the story because the door opens and your names are called.

Everything happens very fast after that. Your officiant is a bored-looking woman in her forties who manages a well-practiced but pleasant smile throughout the vows. You stand facing each other in a lackluster room with a painting of palm trees on one wall, with no one in the rows of wooden chairs but Pete Mitchell, a man you barely even know. Bradley won’t take his eyes off you, and you can’t look at him without feeling the guilt overwhelm you.

It should be a happy day, but it reads an awful lot like a tragedy.

You both say I do, Bradley slips the ring on your finger, and then the officiant is saying, “Congratulations. You may now kiss the bride.”

It’s lightning fast. Bradley leans over, leans into your space, leans so close you can see the streaks of gold in his facial hair, can see the apology flickering in his eyes, and then his lips meet yours. It’s the softest pressure, like the brush of a butterfly’s wings. It’s the coarse hairs of his mustache tickling your skin, the warmth of his mouth against your own. It’s the fluttering of your heart, your hands clenching into fists, your stomach swooping.

For a moment, time is frozen, suspended, moot.

Then Bradley’s pulling away, a shy smile crossing his face, and you’re dizzy, you’re spinning, you’re falling. You want to cry.

And that’s how you marry Bradley Bradshaw: In a city hall on a Tuesday morning, with something in your chest that feels suspiciously like foreboding.

+

“I promise I didn’t know about this,” Bradley whispers into your ear half an hour later. One of his hands hovers above the small of your back, and though he doesn’t touch you, the phantom pressure of it sends shivers down your spine. His breath traces over your exposed shoulders.

You let your eyes wander over the Hard Deck, only half full and populated with people from Bradley’s life: His old squadron, friends from the Naval Academy, a few from back when he apparently attended UVA. (You still don’t understand his CV one bit and decide to ask him about it later. These are the things you should probably know about your husband. These are the things you would know about your husband if any of this were real.) Everybody’s smiling and congratulating you, and a banner strung from the ceiling, dangling between the models of airplanes, between the beer jugs, spells out CONGRATULATIONS! in big, colorful letters.

It’s obvious, it’s glaring, it’s so visible it blooms a shame somewhere in your belly - that they’re all here for Bradley. Your parents didn’t make it to California on such short notice, and there hadn’t been anybody else to invite. The only people one could count as your side if they were being especially generous would be your co-workers from the Hard Deck, standing behind the bar and looking out of place.

The whole day is a stark reminder of it all. Of your loneliness, of your solitude. Lonely enough that you had no one to invite to that ceremony at the city hall. Lonely enough you agreed to marry a stranger.

“That’s okay,” you tell Bradley, and it’s only a little lie. “It’ll be fine.”

You don’t know what you expected to happen after the wedding. Maybe to get fast food from whatever drive-through you passed first and then spend the rest of the night curled up in your bed, trying to forget what you just forced Bradley to do. Maybe just to get out of these heels. Certainly not for Penny to discover her inner event planner and throw you a surprise party.

But there was something on Penny’s face as she went to embrace you, something about the way she looked when you told her you were getting married to Bradley. An expression she was trying to hide. A flash of hurt, maybe, or a trickle of frustration. You chalked it up to her being upset that a guy she’s known since his teens didn’t tell her about his relationship with her employee, but that reasoning seems threadbare now.

Phoenix wears a broad smile, warm, her hair for once out of the army-commissioned coil and spilling dark and glossy over her shoulders. She’s out of the usual uniform and slipped into a blouse and pants for the occasion. The whole picture of her as anything other than the put-together pilot you see usually unsettles you a little.

“Congratulations,” she says, moving to give you a hug. Then she leans back to look at you. “Or should I say condolences? I can’t believe you married Rooster. Poor girl.”

You force a laugh, but you wish she’d step away a little. Up this close, she might be able to see the shame. It must be written all over your face.

Penny starts handing out shots. The tequila rushes from the bottle into the glasses in a stream of clear liquid, splashes of it landing on the bartop. You stare at the lime wedges, the salt shaker, stare at everybody lining up shoulder to shoulder, and the panic flares in your chest.

“I have to pee,” you announce to no one in particular, and then you’re slipping toward the bathroom, pretending you don’t feel Bradley’s eyes on you.

When the door falls shut behind you, you turn the key in the lock and lean your forehead against the wood. The material is cold against your skin, and you blink at the patterns, at the stains running through the dark oak like veins. Press your finger to one, and your eyes closed.

With your heart racing, your hands shaking, you stand like that for a moment, bracing yourself. You hadn’t expected all the attention, all the pretending, and you feel drained before any of it has even begun. You’re not sure if you can really pull this off. Maybe you’ll just crumble under the weight.

What a mess, you think to yourself, rubbing the heels of your hands over your eyes, then panic when you remember the mascara you painted on earlier. You check yourself over in the mirror, reapply your lip gloss and smooth down some flyaways. 

You remember staring at yourself in this very same mirror two weeks ago, the day you did the test. You remember thinking how strange it was that you still looked the same even after your entire world had changed. How the outside did not reflect the inside at all.

You still don’t look any different. But it seems to you you’ve gone from nothing to something by virtue of association - now you’re someone’s mother, someone’s wife.

Then why am I still here, in this bathroom, alone? The thought comes with a bitter taste spreading on your tongue, like blackcurrants bursting in your mouth.

Bradshaw, you think, and then you say it out loud, “I’m Bradley Bradshaw’s wife.”

You feel the shape of the words, feel as your tongue forms them, bounces them off the roof of your mouth, and then past your lips. Hear them echoing off the walls. Watch yourself in the mirror, the muscles of your face flexing and relaxing, your lips meeting to dispatch the bs.

And still. None of it feels real.

The room smells freshly cleaned, astringent in its intensity. Your nose tingles like you’re going to sneeze. Carefully, you slide the wedding ring off, put it on the side of the sink, place it with the quiet plink of silver meeting porcelain, and then you wash your hands three times. Just last month, you went to Costco with Penny and picked up a 20-pack of orange blossom-scented soap, and now you watch it lather to a foam, the water so hot steam rises off it, and your fingers burn. Watch as it spirals down into the drain, bubbles popping.

It shifts reality back into focus. You turn off the faucet, use a few paper towels to dry your hands, put the ring back on, and then you step back into the din of the crowd, where even friends suddenly look like strangers, and you don’t look into the mirror again.

Bradley is waiting in front of the bathroom, standing with his arms crossed over his chest and his head turned toward the ground. When you open the door, he snaps up immediately, unfolding himself from where he was leaning against the wall. His hands dangle uselessly by his hips.

“Hi,” he says.

“Hi,” you echo. You don’t meet his eyes.

“I was wondering….” He trails off. You focus on his shoes - they’re shiny, shiny enough the light bounces off them, and you wonder distantly if he cleaned them for the occasion. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” you say and try to smile, but with your face still turned down, the effect is lost. Might be for the better, too - you have no idea what you look like. Your face is numb.

“I…” You glance at Bradley, at his furrowed eyebrows and clenched jaw. For a moment, it looks like he wants to say something stern, something probing, but then he changes course at the last moment. “Should I carry your bag?”

Instinctively, your fingers go to the strap of your crossbody bag. You rush, “No, that’s fine. It’s not heavy. I can…”

“Please,” Bradley says, reaching for the bag but not touching you. Leaving his hands hovering in the open air. “Let me do this for you.”

You want to tell him he’s done enough for you. You want to tell him he’s the only person, in a very, very long time, who’s done anything for you. You want to tell him that you’re sorry, that you’ll never forgive yourself, that maybe this was a mistake, maybe…

Some guy you don’t know squeezes past you and into the bathroom, winking at you and slapping Bradley’s shoulder as he passes, hooting something about wedding nights. Beer sloshes over the rim of his bottle and splashes to the floor.

When he’s gone, the moment has passed, and the need to tell him anything has been snuffed out by your own embarrassment. You slip off the bag and hand it over, watch as Bradley slides it over his shoulder. It’s a ridiculous sight: The dainty thing juxtaposed to his uniform.

It makes you smile.

“Thanks,” you say and mean it.

Bradley shrugs, but you catch sight of his expression before he turns toward the bar room again, and you think he looks pleased.

A few of his friends whisk him away as soon as you step back into the party. Somebody has turned on the overhead fans, and stale air circulates into a cool breeze. There’s a speaker system set up on the bar for once, playing more modern music than what the Jukebox has to offer, and out of the fog of your memory, of the whirlwind, haphazard thicket of the past few weeks, rises a single moment. Penny leaning across the bar, hand outstretched, saying, Let me have a look at your Spotify. I’m getting some inspiration for a musical update.

Suddenly, you feel warm all over.

Hangman finds you by the bar, grinning ear to ear. There’s always been something wolfish to his grin, but you don’t fall for it. As much as Hangman likes to pretend the opposite, play up his flirting and his taunting and his casual cruelty, when it comes down to it, he’s harmless. A sheep in wolf’s clothing through and through.

“Honestly,” he says in lieu of a greeting or even congratulations. “You could’ve told me about this. Would have spared me a lot of trouble.”

“Hello to you, too, Jake.”

He dismisses that with a wave of his hand and places his glass on the bar top. Condensation drips off the sides, pools in a puddle on the wood as the ice melts, and the lime goes sliding away from the center. “You gotta admit it wasn’t entirely fair.”

You sigh and decide to indulge him and his games. “What wasn’t?”

Jake points a finger between you and him. “This. You’re breaking my heart, sugar.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” you say, frowning.

“I’ve been flirting with you every time I came down to Fightertown,” Jake says. “A whole year, sugar! You could have told me that all this time you were dating goddamn Rooster of all people.”

“Flirting,” you repeat, dumbfounded, at the same time as another voice says, “Don’t start harassing my wife, Seresin.”

Hearing it out loud pulls the rug right from under you. Bradley’s hand lands on your elbow - neutral territory, you think, inoffensive, harmless - and his mouth is twisted into a jovial smile, even as his gaze flickers over you like he’s looking for something. You blink down at your shoes.

“I’m not harassing her, Bradshaw. I’m flirting with her, not that you’ve ever heard of that.”

Bradley shrugs. “Aren’t they the same thing with you?”

Between their banter, you feel decidedly out of place. Just another reminder that you don’t belong into Bradley’s world.

“Anyway.” Hangman sighs, leans back against the bar and crosses his arms over his chest. For a moment, he glances between you and Bradley, prompting you to shift your weight, to step a little closer into the open fan of your newly-anointed husband’s arm. If you want to tell this story, you’re going to have to start selling it. Hangman’s mouth curls into a grin. “Jesus,” he says finally, “I can’t believe you knocked a girl up before I did, Rooster.” 

The words run through you like lightning. If you had any liquid in your mouth, you’d spit it out right now. To your right, Bradley stiffens, his hand tightening around your elbow, then loosening again. 

“What?” he asks, and his voice sounds like something got stuck in his throat. You can’t look at him.

Hangman’s grin remains firmly in place. “That’s why you guys did it, right?” Then he mimics somebody loading a shotgun, complete with sound effects. “Her dad’s got tone on you?”

“I…” Bradley’s sentence trails off like he ran out of steam. Whitney Houston bellows about wanting to dance with somebody from the speakers. Glasses clink, people laugh, cues hit eight balls. The sound of your own heartbeat in your ears is deafening.

Hangman laughs. “I’m messing with ya,” he says, clapping Bradley on the shoulder and giving you a smile that seems uncharacteristically soft. “You guys have been disgustingly in love with each other since you met. The baby on board is just the cherry on top of the perfect peanut butter chocolate sundae, right?”

“That’s not true!” you protest, and then promptly want to slap yourself. Somebody says you’ve been in love with the guy you just fake married and that’s the part you want to deny?

Laughing, Hangman shrugs and downs a tequila shot. “Keep telling yourself that, sugar,” he says, bending down to press a quick, sloppy kiss to your cheek. “Whatever. Congratulations to you two.”

He disappears into the mess of the night, whistling a tune, beelining toward a pretty, single girl at the back of the room. Bradley, stoic and silent and unmoving at your side, says nothing.

You watch the people, their easy joy, their thoughtless happiness. The way they smile without caveat, enjoy themselves without footnotes or guilt. 

“Well…” Bradley clears his throat, but you don’t care to look at him. “I never would have predicted Hangman would be the first one to figure it out, right?”

“I guess so,” you agree, even though you think he’s wrong. Hangman is as perceptive as any Navy pilot has to be, quick on his feet and good at reading situations, people, lies. Even if you were never particularly close with him, you can tell this much.

“Is… are you okay?”

You shrug, shake your head before you can think better of it, then nod out of instinct. “Sure,” you whisper. In the breeze of an air vent, you shiver, moving to rub one hand up your bare arm.

Bradley springs into action immediately, moving your purse to one arm, unbuttoning his jacket and slipping out of it. “You’re cold,” he’s saying, obviously relieved to have found something to do, “here, take my jacket…”

“Stop!” Your voice is much too loud. Several heads turn in your direction and you duck your head, feeling the blood rushing into your cheeks, the wetness into your eyes, the blood in your ears. Everything feels shaky, like you’re on deck in a rough sea. Your hands twist into the fabric of your dress and you watch as you crumple it between your fingers. “Just… stop being so nice to me, Bradley. Just stop it. Please.”

From the corner of your eye, you watch as Bradley’s arm drops uselessly to his side, the jacket dangling from between his fingers. His feet shuffle along the hardwood floors. “Oh,” he says, the word soft and airy and so full of something like hurt that you bite the inside of your cheek bloody. “Well. I’m sorry.”

Another beat passes. You should say something, you think. Apologize or thank him or tell him that you’re stupid and mean and ungrateful and you don’t deserve someone as nice as him. But no words come. You’re completely empty, drained. You’re so tired and so confused and you don’t get it. You don’t get what’s happening here and what Bradley is getting out of it and how you even ended up here in the first place.

Tomorrow, Bradley is going to drive a U-Haul truck to your shitty apartment where your life has been shoved into boxes. You’re going to move out of your own space and into a house with a man you don’t know and you don’t love but whose ring you wear. You’re going to wait for a baby you never wanted, and you’re going to watch as your dreams and your plans wash away like water down a drain. You’re going to give up the person you used to be, shove her into the very back of your sock drawer, something to be marveled at only in private, only on rainy Sunday mornings, only when nobody else is looking. Tomorrow, you think, in a way, your life will stop being your own and start being somebody else’s.

So what you want right now then, more than anything, is to be alone.

Bradley says nothing else. You hear as he leaves, as he follows after Hangman, moving away from you, but you don’t turn to look. You stay staring into nothing, your heart in your mouth, a ring on your finger, a baby in your belly, and your life in shards on the floor.

Careful where you tread, you think, dumbly, you might be treading on my soul.

+

The first thing Bradley Bradshaw - your husband, you have to remind yourself, your actual, real-life husband - says to you in your new house is this: “I’m sorry about last night.”

He’s sitting cross-legged on the carpet in the living room, clutching a bottle of beer like a lifeline. The television is on to provide background noise, some talk show you’ve never seen before where twins separated at birth are currently being reunited. You sit curled-up in an armchair Bradley brought, knees up at your chin, hands on your ankles. A pizza box is unfolded on the coffee table, steam still rising off the sizzling cheese. Your mouth waters at the scent, but you’re strangely shy about taking a slice. Like tearing into this pizza is going to be the straw that finally breaks the camel’s back on this strained truce Bradley and you seem to have entered into.

“No,” you say, fingers tightening around your ankles. “I’m sorry.”

“You’ve got nothing to be sorry for.” Bradley looks relaxed from his position, his back leaning against the couch. At home, here in this house for which he provided 90 percent of the furniture, 100 of the artwork. Mostly weird watercolor landscapes and one or two Hitchcock film posters you’d rather not ask him about. “I was being… overbearing.”

The thing is this: Bradley did help move your stuff into this new house. He loaded the U-haul and he lugged your meager belongings up to your room. He didn’t say anything about the water-stained mattress or the lack of a bedframe, about the peeling paint on your desk, the squeaking office chair. He hung the curtains you wanted and gave you a string of fairy lights to climb up one wall. This is your home now, you’d told yourself up in that room, staring at the powder blue walls, the floral bed sheets, the potted plant. This is it. 

And still. It feels like you’re sitting in a stranger’s house, visiting from out of town.

“You weren’t,” you tell him, and you mean the words. “You… you’ve done so much for me, Bradley, and I…” 

“It was nothing,” Bradley cuts you off. “None of… it’s fine. I’m not… I wanted to help, okay? So stop… stop thanking me or feeling indebted to me or like… I don’t know. Have a slice of pizza, okay?”

He hands you one before you can say anything, and you hold the scalding dough in your hand, watch as he bites into his own slice. A bit of cheese gets caught in his mustache. His throat moves as he swallows.

Out of nowhere, suddenly, without warning, you ask, “If I followed you on Instagram… would you follow me back?”

It’s juvenile. It’s stupid, it’s so dumb, and you have no idea where it even comes from, but you have to ask, feel it like a need that burns through you. You just want to know.

If Bradley is confused by the sudden change of topic, he doesn’t let it on. Instead, gaze still on his pizza, he says, “I already follow you.”

“You… you do?”

He shrugs. “You probably didn’t recognize me. I don’t think I’ve ever posted on there.”

“What, you don’t have a profile pic?”

Now he has the audacity to blush and you hate the way it makes you feel, hate that something in you twists at the sight. “No, I do, just… I’m not in it.”

“Who is, then?”

He opens his mouth, closes it again, and turns half away from you, like he’s trying to hide his face. You frown.

“Bradley?”

“It’s…” He sighs, curses, licks the cheese off his mustache and runs a hand through his hair. “Fuck it,” he mumbles. “It’s my Bronco. I have a picture of my car as my profile pic.”

A beat passes, and then, miraculously, you’re laughing. Actual, real laughter that bursts from you like water from a pipe. “Oh,” you choke out. “Oh my god.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it,” Bradley grumbles, but you see the tentative smile stretching his face, the probing, searching look thrown your way. “I’m a grandpa. At least I know what Instagram is.”

“Do you use the premade insta filters?” He doesn’t answer. “Oh my god, you do!”

Bradley rolls his eyes. “Whatever.” Then he leans forward and deposits another slice of pizza on the one you haven’t even eaten. Grease stains your fingers. “Here. You’re eating for two.”

He turns to stare at the TV, a furrow of concentration carved between his eyebrows, and in this living room, in this house, with him on the floor and you in the armchair, with pizza steaming between you and your things upstairs and his things everywhere, for a moment, just a moment, you think that maybe, after all, things might turn out okay.

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