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#Slim Fit Track Pants
yanderenightmare · 5 months
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Bakugou Katsuki
TW: NSFW, noncon/dubcon, kidnapping, captive darling, gross Bakugou
fem reader
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Thinking about hermit forest-dweller Bakugou who lives alone in his lodge…
You got a little lost off the beaten track and were so relieved when you happened upon his homey red-wood cabin, spotting smoke from the chimney and feeling your stomach gurgle from the promise of warm food when knocking on his door.
You’re so terribly sorry to bother him – but your phone has no cell reception, and the map you brought with you had gone pasty and torn in the rain and you have just no idea where you are or how to get back.
He’s rather handsome for a loner, you think. Rough around the edges – hairy and reeking of beer and barnacles. He grunts out a “come in” after you’ve explained yourself, and you follow with a relieved smile, already thanking him.
But only a short second after you’ve taken a step over the threshold comes a hard cack to the back of your head. And for a cloudy moment, you’re something akin to numb all over – only barely registering the harsh feeling of splintery wooden floors against your cheek where you’d fallen to – slowly succumbing to the darkness that forced your eyes to glide close – but not before you could recognize and curl your brows to the big pair of black mountain boots in front of you.
When you wake up, you’re in a bed. It’s a welcomed softness – a warm pleasantness against your wintered skin after you’d wandered aimlessly around in the cold rain – now getting toasty from the heat of the fireplace. 
But there’s something more – something not right. 
You’re not wearing any clothes. And your hands have been roped behind your back in a strict knot, keeping them locked tightly together. 
And you’re being rocked against the sheets – back and forth, back and forth – and you can barely breathe because of it.
And there’s something on top of you – and something fat and wet stuffing your cunt from the back, fucking your taut hole while your eyes flutter with sleep and the start of a pounding headache.
You try screaming when it dawns on you – try twisting your arms free – try getting up, but your mouth has been filled with what you think is your underwear and only muffled cries manage to escape it.
He gruffs out something like, “Quiet, whore.” Planting a harsh slap against your ass while keeping his rhythm steady, thrusting his thickness inside the wet welcome of your quivering little cunt as it seeps with slick for him, soaking him so sweetly it’s even trickling down your thighs in slim lines.
You cry, feeling the stranger touch and fuck you, his heavy hands gritty from work groping the soft fat of your ass while his booted feet kick yours further apart once you try pulling them closed – punishing you with another mean slap to your plush. 
The ache in your belly tells you he’s been at it for a while. Having fucked your tightness sore with his girthy meat – shoving it so hard it bends in order to fit all of him inside. His heavy-hung balls swing beneath him, clapping with wet slaps against your budding clit – making your cunt squeeze and suckle him despite your efforts to ignore it.
He groans at the feel before thrusting in all the way to the hilt in one harsh jab – spewing his gross warmth right into your womb. 
You’re shell-shocked. Eyes terror-wide, drying as you stare into nothing – waiting for it to make sense – but it doesn’t. A stranger had just spunked inside you and you can feel the warm fatty liquid trickle down your cunt and thighs once he pulls his chubby member out.
“S’been a while since I had my balls emptied like that. Good puss’ milked me dry.” He grumbles with satisfaction, lifting his pants from the pool around his boots and buckling himself back up – giving your puffy cunt a wet slap before he’d quite simply just walked off and gone about the rest of his day – returning to use you later.
From then on, you wear nothing but an old red flannel shirt – it smells of man sweat and other things and is so well-worn all the buttons are gone. The clothes you came in were used as easy firewood. He’d burned it all – every article in your backpack except one – the panties you’d worn – which he instead nailed to the wall like it was another pelt or the head of an animal he’d hunted down.
He keeps you on the floor most of the time. You’re leashed with a fat metal chain meant for a rottweiler – and a leather collar kept snug around your throat with a lock and a tag that reads Pup. He must’ve had a dog at some point, but you’re guessing it died – and you’re its replacement – and whether you want it or not, he’s going to train you into being his proper bitch.
During morning news, you take care of his morning wood – sometimes with your cunt and sometimes with your mouth. He’s still cuddly after waking up, needy for warmth, wanting you skin-to-skin – mostly seating you down on his lap, bouncing you lightly on his cock with his chin resting in the grove between your neck and shoulder. Groaning tiredly while pawing your tits. 
If he doesn’t blow his load before the news is over, he’ll bring you with him in the shower. And in the steamy heat, he’ll wake up to give you a real pounding. Your face mushed against the tiles – chin and cheekbone bruising from the force of it while he holds your arms behind your back and rams up into your cunt faster than the droplets fall to the floor. Quick juts until finally creaming inside you, resting his forehead between your shoulder blades while dumping every last drop in deep.
After a long day, he likes when you suck his balls while he drinks his beer and eats his dinner, watching sports. Licking the sweat off the back of his cock, no doubt tasting the dried piss from when he’d taken a leak in the forest. Sometimes he’ll say it. “Suck it clean, slut- be happy I didn’t take a shit, or you’d be tonguin’ my ass with that pretty face too.” Always threatening you with something gross that’ll kick you into the right gear – motivating you to be his little cock-eager whore – down there on your knees with your hands bracing against his thighs, throating his length while he holds a firm hand at the back of your head, fisting your hair so tight strands rip free from their roots while you desperately try and will away your gag reflex in order to please him – eyes squeezed tight with slobber making spit bubbles down your chin.
You’re not allowed dinner before swallowing his load. Dinner – being the leftovers he’ll scrape off his plate into a dog bowl. The first time around, you’d looked up at him like he couldn’t be serious, and he’d only squeezed your face rough and said, “Be happy I don’t piss in it, slut.” And then he’d spat on you, once on your face, then once more in your mouth. It was thick and tasted of brown nicotine and ash and you haven't gotten rid of the taste since.
He’ll throw his feet up on your back while you bow down to eat out of your bowl – using you like a warm footstool until the game is done. If his team wins, he fucks your cunt like usual – but if they lose, it’s your assthat’ll pay the price.
When you’re allowed on the couch, he likes sitting opposites so you can take his muddy boots off and massage his feet. They’re still clammy with sweat from work when you peel his woolen socks off. Chipped dry toenails and scaley callouses, the skin yellow and cracked and rough where you dig your fingers in. 
He’ll take his cock out after a while and gather your smaller, softer feet around it – rubbing himself through them while you keep rubbing his soles. When you’re busy with one, the other rests heavily on your tit, pawing it. Sometimes, he’ll even bark at you to suck on the toes.
But it's only until the news is over. After that, he has you crawl over to rest on his chest, nose stuffed with the musk of sweat, wood oil, and leather while he sinks his fat erection all the way up into your womb – storing it there, where it will stay nestled and warm while you watch a western or hunter’s documentary.
He’s hairy like a bear and it makes you feel extra naked. Feeling it tickle your soft skin while he rests an arm on your back – a hand absentmindedly twiddling with your pretty hair.
When he’s not outside cutting down trees and hunting or inside on the couch with a beer, he’s in the meat locker – skinning animals and sectioning flesh. He often fucks you in there. Bent over the cold metal slab, your face in the stags' blood while he growls at your ear how that’ll be you on one of them hooks if you don’t squeeze his cock harder. 
But he’s not always so mean.
He’s nicer to you when you act cute for him. When you lie belly-up, raising your thighs and keeping them spread wide for him – covering your gash with your hand while you work it into a nice glossy welcome, wet and ready to get fucked like a little breeding cow. Pretty words on your pretty lip while you beg him with pretty pleas, asking him to stuff you like one of those animals he’s mounted on the wall. 
Rich city sluts like you need to be taught you can’t fuck around in his forest without paying your dues. And you’ve learned your lesson – riding him like he’s a mechanical bull from the rodeo like a good tramp should – jumping on his fat shaft with your perky tits bouncing in his face. 
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donatellawritings · 1 month
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Rich to me is always the friends to lovers (everybody sees it but you two) it’s him yelling “behind” at everyone but sliding behind you with a hand on your hip “behind sweetheart” it’s you walking into the group of boys smoking outside & u bypass everyone to grab a smoke straight from his lips “thanks babe” it’s family having no empty chairs at the table so you sit on his lap while Syd & carm just stare. I think you’d bring my wish to life beautifully written. I need all the build up to the smut
can i just say that richie is definitely the type to be a jagoff to everyone, but never to you - everyone else knew how to work his last nerve, but you and your cutesy smile and bright eyes would make him all warm and fuzzy for sure
explicit sexual content ahead
it was no secret to anyone who worked at the restaurant (or had eyes) that you and richie had a ‘special’ kind of relationship. for starters, it wasn’t common for a hotheaded man, like richie jerimovich, to be so touchy and lovey-dovey with anyone. i mean, not even his ex-wife got to see that side of him often, and they shared a child. however there was something about you that just made richie feel as though he needed to be around you, protect you, handle you tenderly.
maybe it was because you were younger than him - fuck if he knew, all richie knew in his heart of hearts was that he had it bad for you.
things between you two started off gradually, “gotta get past you, sweetheart,” the older man rasped, the warm and calloused palm of his hand gently cradling the small of your lower back as he made his way past you, his tall frame easily reaching over you to grab ahold of a pot from the top cabinet.
you’d simply nod wordlessly, keeping your eyes trained forward in an effort to conceal the blush that rose to your cheeks.
after weeks of comfortability that increased between the two of you, you decided you’d test the waters. you’d watched carefully as he made his way out of the back door that led behind the building of the beef. quickly scanning over the not-so-busy environment of the restaurant, you walked away from the cash register, towards the back exit of the beef.
“i’ll be back in ten!” you called out, earning a mumble of approval from carmy and sydney who were entirely too engrossed in a conversation about expanding the menu.
the moment you’d exited the restaurant, the unforgiving cold winter chicago air bit at you, causing you to hiss as you quickly folded your arms tightly over your chest, your fitted ‘the beef’ t-shirt lifting a bit as you turned to find richie leaned against the brick wall.
he was so rugged and laid back, it drove you insane. his hoodie remained open, revealing the matching t-shirt that clung to his slim abdomen, one of his hands shoved in the pocket of his adidas track pants, while the other held a cigarette to his lips. richie didn’t notice your presence yet, too involved in a conversation with sweeps and marcus.
you’d decided it would be the perfect time to push the envelope, walking directly past marcus and sweeps as you approached richie, a flutter now swirling in your stomach as he raised his eyebrows at you, cigarette loosely held between his sharp teeth.
you two held eye contact for a beat, before you gently grabbed the cigarette from his mouth, before raising it to sit sit between the swell of your lips, taking a quick pull from the cigarette, “thanks babe,” you exhaled with a sweet close-mouthed smile.
all richie could do was swallow thickly, nodding to himself before he returned his attention back to the conversation at hand, softly swatting the side of your thigh when he decided that it was time for you to return the cigarette.
it was then, that things started to reach a whole new level of touchiness and couple-like actions between you and richie.
today was family. your second-most favorite day of the week, aside from payday. you were a bit late to the function, courtesy of your hair appointment, walking into the main room of the restaurant, instantly being greeted with a chorus of differing ‘hello’s’.
“hi, m’sorry for being late, my hair girl was late!” you rushed to explain, shrugging off richie’s your zip-up hoodie as you glanced around the room, seeing that all seats were occupied, “oh.”
sydney’s eyes widened as she shared the same realization, “fuck, uh, maybe we can get you an extra seat from the office, i-” she began, taking a bit too long, leaving richie no choice, but to come up with a solution of his own.
“s’nothing syd, she can sit with me,” richie spoke with a careless shrug, his mouth full of pasta as he looked up at you, swallowing his food before continuing, “c’mon, sweetheart.”
you obliged, your lips suddenly running dry as you walked towards richie’s seat, softly grabbing his outstretched hand as he gently guided your hips to sit comfortably against his.
you slightly shifted your hips, sending a shock to your clit as his bulge deliciously sat flush against your ass, “thanks, richie,” you muttered, focusing your gaze on the pasta dish that sat before you.
richie leaned back into his seat, the suddenly awkward silence of the dining room now becoming a bit too apparent to him. shaking his head, richie kept one of his arms loosely hung around you, before clearing his throat.
“yo, i don’t know why the fuck everyone is being fuckin’ quiet,” he huffed, his eyes now landing on carmy and sydney, before he sighed, “cousin, just say what the fuck you’re grateful for already!”
it wasn’t long before everyone returned to their normal conversations, about twenty minutes passing, before richie decided to lean in close to you, bringing his lips to your ear.
“m’ready to get the fuck outta here.”
and that’s how you ended up in the driver’s seat of richie’s car, his seat fully reclined back, one hand gripping the back of your neck, while the other guided your hips to bounce hard against his.
“ah, fuck - y’gonna make me cum in you if you keep fuckin’ me like that, sweetheart,” richie groaned, moving the hand that guided your hips to your back, pushing you further into his chest as he fucked up into you.
your face was in his neck, throaty moans and gasps leaving your lips as you sloppily kissed and sucked at the skin of his neck, the sound of your hips slapping into each other mixed with the squelch and slurp of your wet pussy taking his length leaving you a needy mess.
you were so close to reaching your peak, your pulsing hole clenching around richie’s dick as his thrust remained forceful and rough, “i can fuckin’ feel you around me, baby, y’want me to make you cum, yeah,” he chuckled, leaning his head against the headrest as he brought his hand to your hip, grinding your hips flush against his in circular motions.
“fuck, richie,” was all you could mewl through your gritted teeth, your stomach tight as your clit rubbed against the wet skin of his pelvis.
“keep ridin’ me, sweetheart,” he whispered, pecking your flexed temple as he forced your hips deeps against his, “just keep fuckin’ ridin’ me.”
yeah, your relationship with your coworker was far from orthodox, but neither of you seemed to get enough of it. nor, did you want to.
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shadowdaddies · 5 months
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Hi:) after reading your Lorcan x chubby reader ff I've been wondering if you could write an Eris x chubby reader where he literally worships her?
so I assumed that by literally worshipping, you meant full body worship like smut but if you meant something else lmk I'll see what I can do
Incomparable
Eris x Reader
Warnings: smut below the cut, body image issues, body worship, oral f!receiving, overstimulation, p in sex, not proofread
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You strode into your bedroom in a whirlwind of emotions, angry and upset from the events of the evening. It was often that your mate’s role required the two of you to attend formal events such as tonight’s ball - and typically you quite enjoyed them - but tonight pushed your limits. 
You had been fitted for a gorgeous new dress that made you feel incredible, elated to show off to Eris when you left for the night. He said that you looked beautiful, but you had been hoping for a stronger reaction, and then you arrived at the ball. Beautiful fae females were everywhere - tall and slender and elegant, how fae typically were. The standard of beauty were those elongated features and slim figures, and looking down at your full figure and accentuated curves, it was difficult to acknowledge your natural beauty for what it was, but rather you saw yourself as “other.”
Holding back tears, you threw your shoes off and towards the corner as you struggled to untie the laces on the back of your dress. Eris arched an amused brow as he watched you, until your fingers gave up on fumbling with the ties of the dress and you let out a frustrated cry. You hung your head in your hands as Eris approached you, now aware of your emotions as he carefully put his hands on your shoulders. 
He placed a kiss to your temple, moving around to face you as he pulled your hands away from your face to look into your eyes. Eris searched your face with concern as he gently asked, “what is it, little love?” Your lower lip wobbled and shoulders slumped as you looked down at yourself - the curve of your hips and stomach visible in your dress. The same curves you loved at times, now haunting you merely because they were different from everyone else. 
Eris tracked your gaze, watching as your hands gripped the skin around your hips. His eyes flashed with an intense expression as he pulled your hands away, holding your wrists with one of his hands above your head. You gasped at the exposed feeling, attempting to squirm away from his hold, but Eris had a firm grip on you. 
His gaze turned predatory, eyes darkening as he ran his free hand down your body, over your breasts and hips, until a single finger trailed across your hip, hovering over where you ached for his touch. Your breathing grew heavy, coming in pants - Eris harshly grabbed your ass as he spun you around, bending you over the mattress and groaned at the sight of you. “How can you possibly not see how beautiful you are?” he growled out, grinding his hard length against you as he leaned forward, dragging his teeth along your earlobe as he made quick work of loosening the ties on your dress.
Eris pulled you back up so that you were flush against him, the silky fabric of your dress pooling at your ankles so that you were naked against his fully clothed form. He angled your head to provide himself easy access to mark your neck, biting and sucking the skin until he reached your collarbone. He licked along the bone, murmuring against your skin, “you were the most beautiful female in that room tonight. Every male couldn’t take his eyes off of you. I almost burned several of them.”
You sighed at his touch, body betraying you as it arched into him. “You certainly didn’t seem impressed by me earlier,” you managed to breathe out. Eris pulled back for a moment, hand gripping your jaw to look at him as he leaned down, tugging your lower lip in between his teeth before whispering against your mouth, “ah, then I guess I should spend my evening impressing upon you, shouldn’t I?” 
With anyone else, you would find that challenging question sweet - but with Eris, you knew that you had signed yourself up for a long night. 
Three orgasms later, you were writhing on the mattress, struggling against Eris’s firm hold as his fingers curled against your walls, eliciting embarrassing sounds from your wet center as he sucked harshly on your clit. You mewled, head swimming as you struggled to stay coherent under his overstimulation. Your head lolled against the sheets as you pleaded, “Eris, please, I-“ only to be cut off by your own moan. What you were begging him for, you could no longer remember, in a haze as Eris continued to murmur praises - everything he loved about you, your body, your heart, your mind - against your clit while he worked you skillfully towards your fourth orgasm. 
Legs shaking, you came screaming his name, vision blacking out as you struggled to catch your breath. You registered Eris crawling over you, his arms bracketing on either side of your head as he leaned down to kiss you, tongue slipping into your mouth. You moaned at the taste of you on his tongue. Eris sucked your own tongue between his lips, and you gasped as you bucked against him, feeling his hard arousal still confined in his pants.
You eagerly reached for the ties of his pants, needing to have him inside of you despite your exhaustion. Eris groaned, his head dipping into the crook of your neck as you took his length out of his pants and rubbed his tip against your core. You wrapped your legs around him, urging Eris into you. You both moaned at the feeling as he settled inside of you, and you took this time to kiss all over his face and neck, letting Eris know how much you adored him as well.
He made love to you slowly, making eye contact as he reveled in your expressions at each thrust. Eris finished with a groan, rolling onto his back as he pulled you into his side, the both of you completely spent from too much pleasure. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head and angled your chin to look at him once more. “Do not ever doubt your beauty, little love. I love you, because you are like no one else. There is no one like you, and you are mine, as I am yours.” 
With that, Eris pushed off the mattress to prepare you a bath, where he repeated the parts of your body that he loved as he washed you, and you fell asleep in the loving arms of your mate.
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Non / Disney Villains x Reader || Headcanons
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Topic: SMUT!!
Warnings: Its definitely not 'disney'... There are dark and taboo themes (Though some are much darker then others), mask kink, roleplay where you don't know eachother, rough/feral sex, innocence/corruption roleplay, gloves, seduction, dub-con, cumming-in-pants, accidental condom breaking, breeding kink, asshole-ary, blow jobs, sexual favours/deals, age difference, feelings?, oral sex in general, degradation, masturbation, cunt warming, foot grinding, hate sex and shame, destruction of property, period sex, praise, unintentional temperature play, getting burned (guess who, haha), public sex, feelings again?, ego-inflation, orgasm denial, domination, first lesbian experience, boss/employee, prostitution, thigh-riding, stealing you from someone else, and over-stimulation. Something for almost everyone, hopefully!
Includes: I wanted to include them all but I ran outta steam 😅 Bill Sykes, Robert Callaghan (Yokai), Professor Ratigan, Alameda Slim, Captain Hook, Chick Hicks, Rothbart, Dr Facilier, Clayton, Cruella De Vil, the Evil Queen, Gaston, Greasy Weasel, Hades, Hans, the Horned King, Jafar, Judge Claude Frollo, Lady Tremaine, Long John Silver, Commander Lyle Rourke, Maleficent, and Mother Gothel+The Stabbington Brothers.
Its possibility that one day I will make a part 2 with the rest of the DV's (And some Non-DV's). But i am OUT OF HORNY right now. Haha 😅
Sykes can satisfy you perfectly fine with one finger, but 2 really puts you over the edge (JUST LOOK AT THEM??) and he just loves watching you writhe and struggle between not being able to fit all of it but wanting him to continue, desperately wanting to stretch. Usually this is happening either in the back of his car, you laid out along the back seats with your legs in his lap, lifting your hips into his torture, or in his office with you sit pretty on his desk with your legs spread open for his attentions.
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Mask kink with Callaghan? Yes. You pretend you don't know him when he strides towards you, having entered your apartment through the balcony. But its not long before you're pressed between his emotionless façade/his body in a sexy long coat, and the the wall with his hips hammering repeatedly, insistently into you. Points if you're exposed and vulnerable but he's fully clothed, fully masked up, fully in control. You cant tell how he's feeling because of the mask, but you can tell he wants to use you and you're more than happy to let him- as long as he likes. Then he guides you to bed and leaves without a damn word
Letting Ratigan take his frustration out on you, just letting him go feral on your cunt/cock. He has you with your legs over his shoulders and his mouth all over you, with your legs wrapped around his waist as he pounds away, with your legs spread over his chest as he breeds you thoroughly, on your knees with your mouth stuffed with him- whatever position he can get you in. If you're not a drooling, limp mess by the time he's done then he was holding back.
Slim likes roleplay. Call him Yancy O' Dell, give him those big eyes and let him 'corrupt you'. Let him sweet talk you and promise you you're gonna be a star so long as you stick with him, and lead you away to a dark corner where he can dip his gloved fingers into you. Tell him you've never done this before. Get down on your knees.
Being a 20 year old that Peter mistook for a a child (It was the light) and brought over the Neverland, and catching sight of Hook. You want him immediately and intend to seduce him. He's got a serious case of one-track-mind though and he's been away from other adults so long that he's totally forgotten what lust looks like- so getting him to see you want him to dick you down is harder then you thought. You have to be shameless, you have to be blunt. You have to trail your fingertips up his thigh and practically rub him off before he finally realises what's happening- by which time he's ready to bust a nut in his pants. Lucky for you though, he's got super endurance, so just tell him that you're more than happy to lick him clean, and he's raring to go all over again.
Chick breaks the condom with his excitement about ramming into you but doesn't stop until he's spilling hot, sticky seed inside you. 'A thank you', he calls it. 'For a good time', he says. 'Now you'll have my baby and get famous- you're welcome!'. He's such a dick about it (Whether you're going to take the morning after pill or not), you cant help catching his stupid mouth with yours and fucking him all over again.
Making a deal with Rothbart that if you suck him off, he'll take care of your debts. You end up liking it though?? And getting super turned on??? Was he always this hot or are you just in a slutty mood now? Once he's spent you slowly press kisses on different parts of his body, leading up to his mouth, where you glance slowly into his eyes, looking for his reaction, and when you find arousal?? You kiss him on the lips. He leads you to the ground and you start by grinding against each other, but its not long before you're fucking like desperate, horny teenagers.
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Making a deal with Dr Facilier. He takes your soul once you die, and he makes you famous. The two of you slowly grow feelings, but he's too much of a gentleman to make a move on you- you're young, you're beautiful, and you're naked in his squalid apartment. What!? You make your move, and its a success, he shows you pleasures you never experienced before that night, using his tongue as if it were his cock; No one's ever done that to you before, tasted you, but he does it with pleasure and then thanks you.
You go out scouting the area alone with Clayton, disappearing into the jungle, and you decide this is the perfect time to show him that you're not the innocent, shy creature he thinks you are. When you're leaving hot, open mouthed kisses over his clothed cock he certainly realises his mistake, and when his thick hand is lost in your hair as your tongue slithers all over his painfully hard length he calls you a whore. How do you respond? You slide your hand down your pants and start taking care of yourself, too.
Cruella's into degradation. Calls you are a crack-whore, a slut, her bitch (As in dog) with her talons buried knuckle deep inside you/wrapped around your twitching dick. She'll smirk and tell you that you look like a disgusting mess over there, ask you what on earth made you such a desperate sycophant, how you allow your boss to defile you? use you like a mindless sex doll this way?, etc.
The Evil Queen likes to have you under her desk warming her cunt with your mouth while she does miscellaneous paperwork- for hours. Your jaw is going to ache at the end and your own area is going to be aching for attention she may not be bothered to even give back by the end. Good news though? She likes it if you touch yourself. Do struggle to get yourself off, do desperately roll your own meat/push multiple fingers into yourself and moan into her pussy, do grind yourself against her foot. It'll make her smirk and slick some more under your tongue.
Hate sex with Gaston??? YEAH! He's an asshole and you're decidedly 'not belle' and therefore 'not good enough', but he's undeniably hot and you drive him mad not being into him like everyone else in the village and that, inevitably, leads you to be slammed onto a kitchen table. His equipment is ridiculous, its just as monstrous as you might imagine, and he's as strong as an ox with the endurance of an Olympic athlete. You pull his hair and make him growl, and he stretches your thighs painfully far apart so they bruise with his finger marks and the two of you together break that table. Its not the only time it happens and its not even the only table and it is greatly shameful.
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Greasy is all over you on a regular day, right? But when you're on your period?? When he can smell the blood and he knows you're weak?? That's when he really goes mad. He knows getting taken care of helps you to not be in pain, too, which just means to him that you're all-the-more likely to let him do whatever he deems fit. He'll fuck you slow and deep, pressing warm kisses everywhere he can reach, and have his fingers at work at the same time, bringing you to a fricken life-changing orgasm. Then he'll do it again. And again. Until you're both exhausted enough to just drop right off to sleep.
Contrarily to Cruella, Hades likes praise. Giving, and receiving. He'll call you his pretty pet, his little princess/prince, fucking perfect, whatever he feels. And in return he likes you to say - whine, scream, moan, cry, - how much better he is than his brother. How Zeus couldn't ever fucking compare, how crazy you are about him, how much you want him. And he'll really respond to that kinda thing, too, fire flickering a hot orange, body getting boiling hot and singing the sheets, getting over-excited to the max. You're gonna end up a sweaty mess, probably with burns on your body, after sleeping with Hades.
Hans likes to make it risky. Public sex is what I'm saying, yeah. He's fucked you missionary under the dinner table with his family literally eating and talking just above him, on the wall just around the corner from the main event at a ball, he's touched you with his hand til you came in your undergarments in a crowded room, and he's even done you in your own bed while a maid was in there cleaning and had to avert their eyes, etc. Yes he just gets worse every time. And when someone actually sees, like that maid or someone heading past you to the bathroom he'll let out the lewdest, most guttural groan yet and cum instantly. Then he's all affectionate with you, asking if you're good and smirking because its almost worse- having someone see the soft stuff afterwards.
Pledge your loyalty to the Horned King and you'll get him so pleased! He'll want you to be his, be his partner. Be with him forever- to love and care for him, to be his person, to take his frustrations out on when he's mad. When this happens you know because his eyes glow a brighter, deeper red and he cant stop glancing over to you, wanting you. Then when you finally get to be alone he's running his hands all over you, and he's gentle- he just wants to know that you're there, with him. When you finally get to the main event, he'll actually guide your hands up to his horns because he knows you like them.
Imagine Jafar shedding his serious, mature, sophisticated persona when he's finally alone with you. That dirty smirk slides across his face and you know he's got plans. He'll say you've been running amuck in his thoughts all day long, now what are you going to do to make it up to him? Hm? You're in for a long dirty night, starting with having his mouth all over you, pressing kisses everywhere through your clothes before he has his tongue at work drawing an orgasm out of you (If anyone on this list genuinely likes how you taste, its Jafar), and ending with you perched in his lap worshipping him. Call him your majesty, call him powerful, inflate his ego and his cock is sure to follow.
(Also side note for Jafar- a thought i've had. Have we considered Naga!Jafar... you know, with two dicks? Okay I'm going to move on now bye- )
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Frollo offers you the same deal he offered Esmerelda- except you, accept. Yes, you'll be his dirty little secret hidden away at home. If he wants to go around pretending to be oh-so-holy, and then come home to you and your plans for him- that's fine. You'd love to make this horrible, uptight old man go nuts. Lose his damn mind for your pussy/cock. You'll suck him masterfully for hours, stopping when you know by how hard and hot his length is that he's about to cum, you'll slide your pussy/dick just over where he needs you until he feels crazy, you'll press maddeningly gentle little kisses all over his neck until he's rutting against you. Just, in general? You're going to make him your damn toy.
Being the maid in the Tremaine household and being the Lady's first experience with a female. You were just tidying up her room one evening, after the girls all went to bed, and she was drinking her evening tea watching you. The two of you strike up conversation, which is odd considering the fact that she is a stone cold bitch and oftentimes doesn't even acknowledge your existence in the home. Anyway long story short- you somehow end up straddling her and making out with the older woman. You know you should stop, you should leave, but she's so domineering and her fingers are sliding up your thigh underneath your skirts and you find yourself reaching down to pull her hand right to your private place because you have no self control?? She's not perfect but she has you grinding into her palm in no time, then cumming on her blankets. The next day she acts like nothing happened at all, before telling you that you'll need to do her room again- tonight.
Out of all those losers at the brothel tonight you're really glad you got picked by the old cyborg. This is not 'Silver's' first visit here so you've heard from others that he's kind- and not inexperienced. You're surprised, though, when he really is kind and experienced! The first thing this man does when you get somewhere private is take care of you, dining on your cunt/cock until you keen into his mouth and clutch the bedsheets like they're your lifeline (And that's not easy to do to you). Then he has you on his lap, straddling a thick thigh and asking you to move for him. He calls you love, doll, lass, beautiful and sweetheart. By the time you're done with eachother he tips heavily, winks, and tells you he'll be back for you.
Rourke's favourite thing about you is your legs, and he loves manhandling them. Kicking them apart from behind, stretching one straight up over his shoulder while the other is set to the side so he has room to piston into your dripping entrance, having them hooked over his hips, holding onto your thighs whenever he can, etc.
(Inspired by 'Boyfriend' by Dove Cameron) Maleficent leading you away from your boyfriend, and literally into the woods, to have her way with you. After all, she can tell you're neglected. He's such an oaf, such a sweaty beast. You need a release, and whats more? You deserve one. She'll take so much better care of you. She'll do things he never does, and she'll do them better then he ever could. She'll take care of you, and she'll enjoy every delicious moment of it. You have a her word, so... come on dear. This way. Just take her hand.
Gothel likes you to be all fucked out, destroyed, by the time she has her turn. Say, by... the Stabbingtons?? Yeah, she'll let them take turns pounding wildly into you, making you Y/N-coloured mush with an about 8 orgasm count already for the night having been taken missionary, from the back and spit-roasted by the behemoth men before she comes and shoos them away. I hope you had your fun, she'll say softly, brushing your hair. But not too much... She adds. Then touches your much-too-over-stimulated body until she can say, thoroughly, that she does what she must to keep her Lovely satisfied.
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foli-vora · 1 year
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day 23: fucking machine - steven grant.
warnings: f!reader. 18+ ONLY: sub/dom dynamics, sub!steven, brief oral sex (f rec), anal penetration, toy use, praise kink
a/n: lmaoo this almost killed me. enjoy x
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He’s a mess, and it’s a beautiful sight to behold. His dark curls stick to his sweat slicked forehead, his thick brows pulled together as his handsome features tighten and slacken from the overwhelming assault of bliss drowning him.
“Are you forgetting something?” You murmur softly, running a soft hand along his cheek and fighting a smile when he nuzzles into your touch.
“I’m—god, I’m sorry, love. I ju—” he melts into a groan, clutching desperately at your thighs in an effort to steady himself.
He shifts to resume his task, his tongue diving between your slick folds and licking a firm path up from your entrance to your throbbing clit, circling the swollen nerve softly.
Bless, he tries.
He tries to focus on you and the way you’re spread for him, pussy glistening so prettily in the lamplight. He tries to focus on what strokes he knows you like, how much pressure to use when sucking at your clit and how you love it when he gets a bit messy… but he just can’t remain clear headed enough to do anything other than pant and moan into you.
The machine is steady, thrusting at a relatively slow speed you had set previously to work him into it. The slim remote fits neatly in your hand, your thumb smoothing over the increase button in temptation to see how much more he could take. The desire to push him just a little further wins over.
He jolts at the increase of speed, his muffled groan mixing with the obscene slick sound of the dildo moving in and out of his ass.
His mouth falls away from your pussy, his forehead coming to rest on your thigh as he takes the length of the toy over and over, his blunt nails digging shallow crescent moons into your skin.
“Love, I can’t—I just… gods, I—”
“I know, sweet thing,” you coo, smoothing his curls back and running a thumb along the plush fullness of his lips. “Look at you… such a pretty picture. You’re taking it so well.”
He whines softly, lashes fluttering against his cheeks. He shifts, a hand leaving your thigh and you sense the words before he can even get them to fall from his lips.
"C-can I tou—"
“Don’t you dare,” you warn quietly, fingers pinching his chin to keep his shaky gaze level with yours.
His throat bobs with his hasty swallow and you track the frenzied slide of his tongue across his bottom lip as his hand returns to it's previous position.
“You cum when I say you can cum, am I understood?”
"'m s-sorry, love," he chokes out, softening against your hand as it cups his cheek. "I d-don't think I can hold it... 'm sorry, so, so sorry—gods, fuckin' h—"
His words morph into a hoarse cry as his body jolts with his sudden climax. Every pretty little noise he makes shoots straight to your core, building on the dull ache filling your cunt as you clench around nothing.
He clings to you as he cums, and you feel a few ropes of warm cum hit your skin as he finishes over the sheets between your legs.
You immediately slow the machine until it stops, hushing him gently as he comes down from his high. He trembles under your touch, but gives a soft whisper of green when you ask his colour.
"My messy boy," you tut softly, "Lick it up."
-
Reminder: taglists will not be used for kinktober. I’m tagging every fic with #foliskink22 if you want to follow along for the ride!
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evanesdust · 1 year
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you are an obsession (i am your possession)
Rating: Explicit Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski Characters: Derek Hale, Stiles Stilinski Additional Tags: POV Derek Hale, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Werewolves Are Known, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Full Shift Werewolves, Alpha Derek Hale, Omega Stiles Stilinski, Stalker, Voyeurism, Possessive Behavior, Getting Together, Explicit Sexual Content, hunting & providing, Werewolf Courting, Minor Violence, mild spanking, Knotting, this is a lot sweeter than it sounds, My Sweet Bloody Valentine
Summary:
Once Derek catches that tantalizing scent, he can’t stay away.
Stiles.
Derek’s completely enthralled by him. Obsessed.
But all he can do is stand in the shadows, watching and waiting. Until he can make Stiles his, that is.
And when that happens, Derek will never let him go.
Derek makes his way through the throng of grinding couples—drunk girls shaking their asses against douchebags wearing too much cologne. One even has his button-up parted to show off the gold chain dangling on his hairy, overly tanned chest.
This was the last place Derek would ever go, but not even the obnoxious thump thump thump from the club's speakers could keep him away. The beat feels as though it's coming from inside Derek's chest. He’s never quite gotten used to the volume in nightclubs, even when he wears earplugs—it's why he tends to avoid them.
But when he caught that intoxicating scent outside, it was as if a hurricane was at his back, pushing Derek toward it and leaving no room for resistance.
It was woody and fresh, like oakmoss and lavender. Nothing had ever reminded Derek so much of home before, and then he saw who it belonged to.
Words, coherent thoughts, oxygen—all that shit escapes him when he spots the owner of the scent. An alluring omega, more beautiful than any Derek's ever seen in his life, and he's seen a lot of beautiful omegas. Fucked a lot, too, but there's something about this one that captivates him.
Derek stands against the wall, not wanting to get too close. No. He wants to watch for a while, absolutely enthralled with the lithe creature before him.
The omega could pass for a pixie or a fairy with his cute, upturned nose, messy chestnut hair, and mole-speckled skin that appears to glow under the club's lights. All that's missing are the telltale iridescent wings of his supernatural brethren.
Arousal courses through Derek as he trails his gaze down the omega's body. He's wearing sinfully tight black pants and an equally tight red shirt with a low collar, showing off the long expanse of his neck that Derek would love to mark up. The omega is slim but not skinny, lean but not lanky—a perfect mix of strength and submission.
Something inexplicably sinister arises in Derek's chest. Dangerous. A wave of possessiveness he's never felt before rushes over him, and all Derek wants to do is break him. Shatter him into pieces, then arrange those pieces to fit against his own. And if they don't—he'll fucking make them.
In that instance, Derek knows he's about to do something bad. That he'll cross lines he'd never be able to come back from because one look from this omega and any alpha would be on their knees.
With just one look, Derek's already obsessed. Already addicted. But he has to resist or else he'll ruin himself. Again. He's finally getting his life back after his obsession with Kate Argent, the woman responsible for his family's death. For years, he'd tracked her, hunted her, as she ran from her heinous crime. Derek wasn't supposed to survive the fire—no one was, but teenage rebellion saved him, and he spent years exacting his revenge.
Now he could almost be considered an upstanding member of society. He owns a small business, volunteers at the local cat rescue and a few other places in town, and even donates regularly to various charities. He's already reclaimed his family's territory and, at some point, hopes to rebuild his pack.
So with a deep breath, Derek steps back and turns away, silently promising to never look back.
-
Five days. That's how long Derek managed to ignore the compulsion to find the omega. He probably would have succeeded, too, if it weren't for the omega popping up anywhere and everywhere Derek went. It was as if he were teasing Derek, taunting him with his enticing scent.
At the bakery, where Derek stopped every morning on the way to his workshop.
At the grocery store, an aisle over, innocently looking at cereal boxes.
At the sheriff's station, when Derek was walking by on his way to the bookstore nearby to pick up a new woodworking book he'd ordered. He'd caught the scent and turned just as the sheriff called out, "Stiles!"
Before Derek could even comprehend what the hell a Stiles was, the omega was there, a tight smile on his face like he hadn't meant to be caught. "Hey, dad."
Even though the omega, Stiles, was the sheriff's son—a glaring danger sign screaming for him to stay away—Derek had made up his mind, the decision fortifying like granite in his brain.
Stiles wouldn't be able to escape him now.
So Derek slinked back into the shadows and waited. Over the next week, Derek followed him. He learned Stiles's routine, where he worked, who his family and friends were—and, most importantly, where he lived. Which is what led to Derek breaking in and standing in the middle of Stiles's bedroom.
He'd meant to be gone before Stiles got home, but Stiles deviated from his usual Friday night plans of hanging out with his friends. That's the only reason he'd be home so early.
Derek freezes at the familiar sound of Stiles's Jeep pulling into the driveway. He could slip out the back, but Stiles's neighbors might see him. The sound of the Jeep door slamming shut springs him into action, and he has just enough time to slip under Stiles's bed.
There's a shirt lying there as if it were tossed aside and forgotten. Derek pulls it to his face, sniffing. Stiles's scent grounds him. Calms him in a way he hasn't felt since his family died.
He can't see anything from where he hides, but it's not long before the front door opens and then closes, followed by the click of the lock.
Derek can't quite recognize the tune Stiles whistles as he walks toward his room, the sound growing louder and louder the closer Stiles gets. Still, it doesn't drown out the rapid lup-dup lup-dup lup-dup of Derek's heartbeat. Thankfully, Stiles is human, so Derek doesn't have to worry about it giving him away.
Stiles talks to himself as he walks around the room, making a grocery list since he spends Saturday mornings running errands. There's a soft thunk as he kicks his shoes off. Derek's watched Stiles enough to know he won't bother picking them up and setting them out of the way. Even now, he can see them lying haphazardly near the doorway—much like everything else in Stiles's home.
He's organized chaos. Instead of a junk drawer, Stiles has a junk counter littered with papers and books piled high and about a million other little things that are one breeze away from being blown over. Derek didn't touch anything for fear of it toppling. Derek knows the boxes scattered around the living room and dining room are because Stiles still hasn't finished unpacking after moving back to Beacon Hills. He'd been away at college for the past four years, which explains why Derek hadn't met him.
Derek angles his head, watching Stiles's bare feet as he pads across the room to his attached bathroom, keeping the door ajar. The pipes in the wall rattle as Stiles turns the shower on.
God , Derek wishes he were in a better position to watch Stiles undress—his shirt and pants hitting the hamper just outside the bathroom door, which teeters a little before righting itself.
As much as he'd love to stay, as soon as he knows Stiles is in the shower, he slides out from under the bed and slips stealthily out of Stiles's house. It was a close call, but not enough to keep Derek from sneaking in again.
-
It's been a couple of days since Derek broke in, but this time, he didn't leave when Stiles got home. Instead, Derek stares at him through the slats in the closet door. The small, stuffy, and slightly claustrophobic closet that he's been in for the better part of two hours since Stiles got home from work late.
Stiles is worth it, though. So beautiful. Always. But especially when he thinks no one is watching—even wearing sweatpants with a threadbare graphic T-shirt. His rosy nipples poke through the thin material, and Derek's mouth waters with the need to take one into his mouth, sucking on it until Stiles wriggles beneath him.
Derek licks his lips.
Soon.
Stiles stands at the foot of the bed, glancing around for a moment, not really looking at anything in particular before a soft smile creeps onto his beautiful face.
Derek's not sure what or who he's thinking about, but he has to bite back a low growl when Stiles lifts his shirt over his head, then slips out of his pants.
His tantalizing, creamy skin is on full display, and with the moon high in the sky, Derek can see all the beauty marks scattered over his gorgeous body.
As Stiles pulls back the cover on his bed and bends over, pounding his fist into his pillow and fluffing it up, Derek focuses on the beauty mark directly on the swell of his left ass cheek. He wants to lick it. His cock hardens, and his mouth waters as he stares at Stiles's ass, at his hole.
Derek closes his eyes, working to regain control; otherwise, he'll storm out from his hiding spot, ruining all his plans.
But it's so difficult when Stiles is right in front of him, only a flimsy wooden door separating them. All Derek has to do is push it open, then he can mark, mate, and claim Stiles as his.
It's such an odd feeling. One Derek's never experienced before. He's never been in love. Never even given thought to a serious relationship. Rarely even fucks anyone anymore, and the few times he has, it's always a quick fuck before he's gone—the release rarely easing any tension.
And now, it's as if he's a fifteen-year-old boy who's just discovered what his cock is for. Ready to bust in his jeans from simply looking at Stiles in all his naked glory.
Derek wants to touch him, kiss him, and make Stiles his in every sense of the word until Stiles submits—because when that happens, Stiles will have no chance of ever escaping Derek.
Stiles climbs into bed, none the wiser to Derek being in his closet.
Derek watches Stiles get comfortable under the covers. Watches as he runs a hand down his chest and stomach, grabbing his cock and stroking. It's long, hard, and leaking.
When Stiles lets out a soft, pleasured sigh, Derek closes his eyes and bites his fist. He wants more. Wants to bury his nose in Stiles's groin and ass, inhale his omega scent, taste the first drops of pre-come as they leak from his slit, and feast on his slick.
As Stiles strokes himself, Derek ever so slowly unzips his pants and pulls out his achingly hard cock.
It isn't easy keeping all his senses on alert when he should be sinking into this pleasure he's managed to steal. His breaths are shallow, and as dust fills his nose, he brings his other hand up, covering his mouth and smothering a soft sneeze.
He warns himself against moaning too loudly when Stiles comes, his scent hitting Derek right in the balls.
It's too good.
As Derek fucks into his fist, he can't help but wonder what Stiles would be like in bed. Would he sound the same? Letting out those breathy little moans and whimpers. Or would he be loud as Derek fucks him? Begging and pleading for more, and harder, and please. He's imagined the answers vividly in his shower and bed every night since first seeing Stiles in that club, before even knowing his name.
Derek's heart hammers in his chest as pleasure crashes over him, and with a silent cry, the warmth of his release spills over his hand. After catching his breath, he grabs a shirt off the ground, using it to clean himself up. He clutches it tightly as he zips up his jeans and peeks through the slats.
Stiles is already asleep, his soft snores filling the air.
Derek smiles as he tiptoes out of the closet, slowly approaching the bed. He stares down at Stiles for a moment before gently brushing his hair away from his forehead and whispering, "Soon."
These stolen moments aren't enough anymore.
-
Derek sits in his Camaro outside Brewed Awakening, the coffee shop Stiles works at, waiting for him to get off work. For the past two hours, he's caught glimpses of Stiles through the window and watching him work. He's so expressive and animated when he talks to his customers—a little furrow appearing between his brows when he listens intently to whatever story they tell. And the way his tongue peeks out from between his lips as he concentrates on making their order is absolutely adorable.
He's so perfect, and Derek can't wait to claim Stiles as his. Finally. He wanted to wait a little longer; had a plan to befriend Scott, Stiles's childhood friend, but then he overheard Stiles agreeing to dinner with some guy for Valentine's—tonight.
They're supposed to meet up after Stiles gets off work.
Supposed to.
But it didn't take much tinkering for Derek to disable Stiles's Jeep, and with how old the jeep is, Stiles shouldn’t suspect a thing. When Derek had been in Stiles's house, he'd recognized the sky blue CJ-5 in some old pictures of the sheriff with a woman who must have been his late wife—Stiles's mother.
At a quarter past eight, the lights in the coffee shop go out. After a few seconds, Stiles walks out, locking up behind him. He strides through the dark parking lot as if he doesn't have a care in the world, not bothering to be watchful of danger. Doesn't he know there are predators out here? Just watching and waiting for their opportunity to strike?
Like you? his traitorous mind supplies as he watches Stiles climb into his Jeep. Their vehicles are side by side, but it's dark, so Derek doubts Stiles can see him through the windshield.
Stiles grips the steering wheel with one hand as he attempts to turn the Jeep on. Three tries and nothing.
After a few seconds of listening to Stiles muttering curses when the engine doesn't turn over at all, Derek gets out. Smoothing down his shirt, he rounds the Jeep and raps his knuckles on Stiles's driver's side window.
When the window rolls down, Derek meets his frustrated amber eyes.
"Hi," Derek says, giving Stiles his best smile. "Need some help?" Out of sight, he clenches his right fist. His whole body thrums with excitement at finally being so close to Stiles. The car smells like Stiles and the Irish Spring body wash he uses—the scents have long since faded from the T-shirt Derek stole. The one he used to wipe himself clean after jerking off in Stiles's closet.
Derek wants to rip open the door and bury his face in the crook of Stiles's neck. Wants to roll around in his scent until it sinks into his pores.
Christ! Derek's never had such a visceral reaction to a person before. It doesn't help that Stiles's big doe eyes make him look like the most delicious, seductive prey.
"Shit. Yeah, I've got a date I don't wanna miss." Stiles smirks at him as if he knows something Derek doesn't, but Derek ignores it when his scent grows spicy with arousal—making it even more delicious.
Derek barely holds back a growl but can't stop his eyes from flashing crimson. Nothing and no one has ever tested his control like this before.
"I apologize," he says quickly, regaining control.
There's a distinct lack of fear from Stiles, though. If anything, his scent intensifies. He licks his lips—those plump, pink lips that Derek has the urge to kiss until they're puffy and raw, to see stretched obscenely around his cock. Would Stiles's eyes water when he tries to take all of Derek in?
"Thanks, man." Stiles slides out of the Jeep. It's really more of a flail that shouldn't be cute, but somehow works for him. He circles the front of his Jeep and lifts the hood. "Fuck knows what the hell happened, but I appreciate it."
"It's not a problem." Derek walks up beside him, wiping his hands on his jeans before holding one out in greeting. "I'm Derek."
Stiles's fingers are cold as he grasps Derek's hand in a firm handshake. Forget the cold; Derek's practically burning up by the second. A kind of thrill he expected but still wasn't prepared for.
"Stiles."
Stiles's voice does things, weaving fantasies Derek will be jerking off to all night, moaning into that T-shirt he'd stolen from Stiles's house.
"It's nice to meet you. I've got jumper cables if you need a jump," Derek says, gesturing to his Camaro.
"I think it might be my starter. The engine wouldn't turn over at all."
"I can take a look if you'd like."
Stiles shoves his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. "Thank you, that'd be great."
Derek takes off his leather jacket, draping it over the side-view mirror before glancing under the hood. He's wearing a tight grey tank top and a pair of fitted black jeans, flexing as he pretends to check the starter. As an alpha werewolf, Derek knows what he looks like. In fact, he works hard to maintain his physique and, in this instance, uses it to his advantage.
It works because Stiles's arousal hangs heavy in the air.
"Roscoe's always breaking down," Stiles says from beside him, aiming his phone’s flashlight under the hood.
Derek peers up at him, meeting Stiles's gaze. His eyes are so intense they practically burn molten. "Roscoe?"
"My Jeep. That's her name."
"Have you had her for a while?" Derek asks, smiling fondly at the name. He wonders if Stiles named the Jeep or if his mother had.
"Since I was sixteen. She belonged to my mom."
If Derek hadn't already known about his mother's death, Stiles's somber tone would have tipped him off. So he steps away from under the hood and lays a hand on Stiles's arm. "I'm so sorry for your loss."
Stiles gives him a grateful smile. "Thank you. It was a long time ago, though."
Derek feels a twinge of guilt for messing with the Jeep, but not enough to fix it. Because then Stiles would go on his date, and Derek's not that selfless. Instead, he ducks his head, continuing to play dumb as he checks the Jeep over.
He could have it fixed in a few minutes, but honestly, Stiles is right. He needs a new starter—which is funny, since that's not even what Derek had tampered with. He'd loosened the Jeep's battery connectors.
"Man, if I wasn't so attached to Roscoe, I'd love a Camaro," Stiles says.
When Derek glances over, Stiles is trailing his long fingers over the hood of Derek's car. His thoughts immediately flood with images of Stiles bent over, his face pressed against the hood as Derek fucked him hard and fast.
Derek lets out a low growl, stilling Stiles's steps.
Stiles smirks. "That should not be as hot as it is."
"What?"
"The growling." Stiles's voice comes out a little breathy. "So you're a werewolf? That wasn't just a trick of the light earlier?"
"No trick." Derek lets his eyes bleed red, loving the way Stiles's pupils dilate. The way his gaze turns hungry.
A flush rises to Stiles's cheeks, and Derek wonders what he's thinking about. Could it be about Derek's knot? About how it'd feel filling him, stretching him. Or maybe he's also having fantasies about Derek bending him over the Camaro, fucking him senseless.
They stare at each other for a little longer before Stiles lets out a nervous laugh. "Sorry. Sorry, I just—I should be mad about missing my date, but you're…really hot, and I'm just waiting for someone to jump out with a camera, telling me this is a prank or something."
Derek huffs a small laugh. "No prank. And you're right," he quickly tightens the battery connectors before slamming the hood down and re-clamping the hood latches, "it's your starter."
"Damn. Guess I should see if my date would be willing to pick me up." Stiles slides a hand into his pocket for his phone, but Derek gently grips his wrist.
"Or." Between Stiles's arousal and the flirting, Derek knows the attraction isn't one-sided.
"Or…?"
Derek nods toward the Camaro. "There's a diner a few blocks over. It's probably not as nice or fancy as wherever your date was going to take you, but they've got the best curly fries." And he knows how much Stiles loves curly fries.
"Those are my favorite," Stiles says, a pleased smile on his face.
"Really?" Derek puts his leather jacket back on. "That's good to know."
After Stiles calls for a tow, leaving his keys on the driver's seat, they get in Derek's Camaro. The scent of Stiles's arousal is still so strong that it'll be days before it fades.
It's a short drive to the diner, where Derek parks right in front. Even though it's Valentine's, it's not that busy—only a few cars in the parking lot. After turning off the engine, Derek gets out and jogs over to the passenger door, opening it for Stiles.
"Thank you."
"Of course. I might not be who you intended on having dinner with, but I'd like to make this date special."
"Date?" Stiles blushes prettily when Derek holds an arm for him to take.
Derek leads him inside. "First of many, I hope."
He'd worry about coming on too strong, but Stiles seems to like it.
They're seated quickly. Derek slides into the space across from Stiles, leaning back with one arm thrown along the back of the booth. He feels Stiles's foot tap against his own.
"Okay, since this is a date—the first of many, apparently," Stiles says with a teasing grin, "tell me something about yourself."
"Well, I'm an alpha werewolf."
Stiles's eyes trail down his torso. "Yeah, that's pretty obvious. But what about work?"
"I actually do woodworking. I own The Cranky Carver downtown."
"The Cranky Carver? You named your business…The Cranky Carver?" Stiles bites his lips between his teeth, holding back a laugh.
Derek can't help but smile. "It's an old nickname. My older sister gave it to me when we were younger and I first started learning."
"You're Derek Hale."
Definitely not a question. Honestly, Derek's not surprised that Stiles has heard of him—most of Beacon Hills would be familiar with what happened to the Hale family nearly twelve years ago. Plus, Sheriff Stilinski was there that night. Back then, he'd been a deputy, the first on the scene and the one who found Derek curled up against a nearby tree. Derek hadn't been home when the fire happened. He'd snuck out to meet some friends, but as soon as the pack bonds snapped, he shifted and ran home. His entire body froze in shock at seeing his home engulfed in flames, knowing his entire family was dead.
"I am," he whispers, thankful his voice doesn't crack. It's not that he doesn't think alphas should show emotion—but after hardening himself as he hunted for Kate, it's second nature to shove down any vulnerability so no one can find it.
Stiles reaches over, taking his hands and squeezing them gently.
Derek gives him a grateful smile, relishing in the contact, but the moment is broken when the waitress comes over to take their order.
Once she leaves, Derek tells Stiles more about his business, especially some of his favorite custom pieces: a wooden sink and bathtub, which seem to fascinate him, so Derek shows him pictures.
"Oh, man. That's so cool. I don't think I'd want a tub or sink, but it'd be awesome to have a dining set or something. I don't know. Not that I could afford it anyway," Stiles adds, leading him to talk about his job as a barista. He tells Derek about some of the funniest things that happened in the small coffee shop, one of which was a woman Stiles thought was talking to herself, only to find out she was talking to the small dog in her purse.
After their food is served, it's as if the world dissolves to just them as they continue talking about anything and everything. Werewolves, television, baseball. The few things Stiles has around his home definitely didn't prepare Derek for Stiles's woeful tale of being a long-suffering Mets fan.
All too soon, they're done eating, and Derek pays. He barely holds back his grin as Stiles slides out of the booth, pouting. It probably shouldn't be so endearing.
"Next time is my treat," Stiles says when they get outside.
Derek raises a brow but nods. It'd been his intention to spoil Stiles, to take care of him in every way, but after watching Stiles for the past couple of weeks, Derek knows that Stiles isn't some meek omega. He's not a pushover or someone who'll just sit back while others wait on him hand and foot.
No.
Stiles enjoys being in charge, even if he's allowed Derek some semblance of control this evening.
Derek unlocks the Camaro and opens the passenger side door for Stiles, helping him inside. "We're equals, Stiles."
"Good." Stiles beams at him as he sinks into the seat. "Fuck. I love your car."
His eyes flutter shut as he strokes the leather seat, and Derek can't help but imagine the light, feathery touch gliding across his skin. He slams the door shut, racing around to the driver's side. The Camaro purrs to life, sending vibrations through him. Derek doesn't miss the way Stiles shivers or the way he subtly adjusts himself, eyes latched onto Derek's arms as he pulls out of the parking lot, giving Derek directions to his house.
Derek wishes he could prolong the inevitable, but ten minutes later, the familiar exterior of Stiles's house comes into view, and Derek pulls into the driveway.
"I'll walk you up," he says, turning off the engine. Just as he did at the diner, he gets out and opens Stiles's door.
Stiles smirks. "Such a gentleman."
If you only knew, Derek thinks, placing a hand on Stiles's back as he walks with him up the short path to his front door. It's probably far too forward, but he crowds Stiles against the door. "I really want to kiss you right now."
Stiles licks his bottom lip, glancing from Derek's eyes to his mouth.
"Yes," he breathes out after a moment.
As soon as their lips touch, Stiles sucks in a breath—just a little gasp that goes straight to Derek's cock.
Derek cups the back of Stiles's head to deepen the kiss—he never knew a kiss could be this hot. So consuming. Stiles kisses like he's starving, his breathing erratic and shallow as he ruts against Derek's leg.
But the first time he has Stiles won't be like this, so Derek reluctantly pulls away, making Stiles whimper.
Derek presses their foreheads together. "Gimme your number. I'll call you."
Stiles nods, holding his phone out. "Put your number in and text yourself right away."
So Derek does. And after making sure that Stiles gets inside safely, he walks back to his Camaro, fingers pressed to his lips, marveling at how something as simple as a kiss could be so powerful. He'd wanted to devour Stiles. 
Next time.
-
Steam billows around Derek as he wraps a towel around his waist after stepping out of the shower. His phone pings twice from the bedroom, so he pads across the room to check his notifications.
There's a message from Stiles on the home screen.
Stiles: Been practicing some latte art. Wanna see?
Derek opens the message and stares at the picture Stiles sent. It kind of looks like Slimer from the Ghostbusters movies.
'Stiles,' Derek types out. Even though Stiles can't see him, he bites his lip and heaves a dramatic sigh, 'I hate to be the one to tell you this. I mean, this hurts me more to say than for you to hear.'
He grins, already imagining Stiles's response, which—
Ping ping ping.
Three notifications pop up in quick succession.
Stiles: You can tell me anything
Stiles: You know that
Stiles: What is it?
Dear God, Derek hasn't smiled this much in a long, long time. His face hurts as he sends off his reply, 'You have zero artistic talent,' and barks out a laugh as soon as the middle finger emoji pops up on his screen.
-
'Do you really volunteer at the local cat rescue?' Stiles asks, his voice tinny as it comes through the speaker on Derek's phone.
Derek smiles as he details the edges of his latest piece with sandpaper. It seems someone's been looking into him. "Yes, I do. How'd you know that?"
'I told my dad about you.'
Derek's not really surprised since Stiles and his dad are close.
Stiles's name is called, and he says, 'One sec.' Then his voice comes through the line muffled. 'Yeah? I've got five more minutes.' There are a few seconds of silence before he speaks again. 'Okay, I'm back. Sorry.'
"It's not a problem. Is everything okay?"
'Yeah. Quinn was just wondering when my break was done. But anyway, back to my dad. He may have mentioned a few things about you when I told him we were dating.'
Derek loves how that sounds. Dating. And it's also not a surprise that the sheriff would know about him, considering Derek's work with the community. He's been called in a time or two to assist with search parties when hikers would get lost in the preserve.
"Good things, I hope," Derek responds as he walks to the sink to wash his hands.
'Wouldn't you like to know?' And Derek can damn near hear the smirk in Stiles's voice.
-
The doorbell rings as Derek sets the rolls on the counter next to the pot roast, mashed potatoes, and about a million other side dishes.
Stiles is here.
It's been nearly a week—five torturous days—since their not-so-impromptu date, since dropping Stiles off and kissing him. But, unfortunately, work's been busy. Not exactly a surprise, considering how much work he put off following Stiles around. The text messages and phone calls have helped, though. Especially when they made plans for Stiles to come over after his shift for dinner and a movie.
And, of course, Derek still went to his house every night. It's not as if he can help himself now that they're together. Stiles occupies his thoughts day and night, taking a dangerous hold on him.
Derek places the oven mitts back in the drawer, using the moment to calm himself. But he also doesn't want to keep Stiles waiting, so after a deep breath, he walks over to the front door and opens it, smiling when he sees Stiles standing on the porch.
"Hey."
"Hey, yourself." Stiles leans in, giving him a quick kiss. "Something smells good."
"I could say the same about you," Derek says, leading him to the kitchen and closing the door.
"You didn't have to do all this." A small smile plays on Stiles's lips as he looks at the veritable feast Derek prepared.
"I wanted to." Derek shrugs and smiles back, pressing up against him. He settles his hands on Stiles's waist before burying his nose in the crook of Stiles's neck and inhaling. Stiles always smells so good. "I missed you."
Stiles hums contentedly, leaning back into Derek's embrace. "I missed you too," he breathes. "But I'm here now."
It'll be hard to let him leave once their night is over, but soon Derek will mark, mate, and claim Stiles as his. Soon he'll be able to keep Stiles forever.
"How about a quick tour before dinner," Derek says, taking Stiles's hand. When he had his childhood home rebuilt, he made a few changes to the original layout. Rather than closed-off spaces for each room, he opted for an open floor layout.
Besides the kitchen, dining, and living rooms on the main level, there's also an office and a bathroom. The laundry room is just off the kitchen, along with stairs leading to the second level.
Upstairs, he shows Stiles the bedrooms and bathrooms, leaving his own for last. It's the largest room, with a king-sized bed against the far wall, two nightstands on either side and a chest at the foot of his bed for extra blankets. Not that he needs them, but Stiles might. Humans get cold so easily.
"It's really beautiful," Stiles says, running his fingers across the smooth wood of the dresser.
"I'm glad you like it." Derek pulls Stiles into his arms. "I made it all myself."
Stiles looks up at him, a soft smile on his lips. "It's amazing. You're very talented."
Derek leans in, pressing a gentle kiss against Stiles's lips.
The small touch should be insignificant, but it's like an electric shock traveling down his spine, straight to his cock, quickly turning into something more. Something urgent and desperate.
Stiles's heart races against his chest, but then Derek hears it. A quiet grumble.
Stiles's stomach.
Derek pulls away, chuckling as he brushes his thumbs over the deep flush spreading across Stiles's cheeks.
"We can finish this later," he says, giving Stiles one last squeeze. "For now, let's eat."
Once they're back in the kitchen, he grabs a couple of plates from the cabinet.
Stiles takes the one Derek hands him. "Are you expecting more people?"
"I…may have gone overboard," he admits. Besides the pot roast, mashed potatoes, and rolls, Derek made steamed vegetables, roasted asparagus, apple coleslaw, cheesy hashbrown casserole, and creamy green beans with bacon bits.
"It all looks amazing."
Derek smiles when Stiles puts a little of everything on his plate, doing the same with his own. He grabs a couple of beers—Stiles's favorite, of course—from the fridge before moving to the living room and settling on the couch.
As they eat, they talk about work and Stiles fills him in on an asshole customer he had just before closing.
Derek stamps down the need to find and hurt them for being a dick to Stiles. Or 'douche canoe,' as Stiles calls him. Derek's not typically so violent, but when it comes to Stiles, he gets so protective that all he wants to do is punch something. Or someone, in this case.
"Hey." Stiles pokes him in the side, effectively pulling him from his thoughts. "It's okay," he says, placing a hand over Derek's heart. "Nothing I haven't dealt with before."
Derek nods, taking a deep breath before leaning in and kissing him.
"Thank you," Stiles murmurs against his lips.
"For what?" he whispers, smiling as his heart fills with warmth.
"For caring enough to want to do something. But I'm just venting."
"I will always care." Derek draws him closer. "No matter what."
"I know."
Derek hums in satisfaction, his heart swelling, knowing that soon, very soon, he'll make Stiles his.
"Are you done eating?" Derek asks.
Stiles looks at the mostly empty plate in his hands. "Yeah. I think so. Though I feel bad because there's so much left. Have you thought about…I don't know, growing your pack? Bringing in some betas?"
Derek sets their plates on the coffee table and turns, facing Stiles as he throws an arm across the armrest. "I have. I'm just not sure…" He sighs. "I was never meant to be the alpha. It should have been my sister, Laura."
"I remember her. I think she babysat me once."
"Probably." Derek chuckles at the memory of Laura making plans to have a business, like something out of The Babysitter's Club. She used to read the books to him and Cora all the time. "She always stole my art supplies to make her fliers."
"I know a couple of people who are looking for a pack. They contacted Scott, but he doesn't really want a large pack. He's got Isaac and says that's enough."
"Yeah? I could talk to them."
"Their names are Erica Reyes and Vernon Boyd, but he just goes by Boyd. I'll get their numbers from Scott."
"Sounds good."
"But for now, how about that movie?" Stiles says, already grabbing the remote.
Derek smiles at his soon-to-be mate. "Sounds perfect."
He pulls Stiles close before grabbing the throw blanket from the back of the couch and tucking them both in. He rests his arm around Stiles's shoulders as Stiles leans against him, laying his head on Derek's chest.
If Derek thought watching a movie with Stiles would be no big deal, he's quickly dissuaded from that notion as Stiles reacts aloud to the plot unfolding on the screen. He mutters under his breath, sighs in frustration, and chuckles with glee. In no time, Stiles becomes Derek's source of entertainment rather than the television.
Once the movie ends, they clean up, Stiles insisting on washing the dishes while Derek wipes down the counters. Though it's completely mundane and domestic, the air is charged with electricity. Derek can practically feel Stiles's eyes on him, studying his face. The intensity of his gaze makes Derek warm in places he wasn't entirely aware existed.
Stiles turns the water off, wiping his hands on the dish towel before leaning against the counter.
"Derek," Stiles breathes out.
"Derek," he commands.
"Der—"
Derek drops the rag and crushes their mouths together in a bruising kiss. All he can think about is how perfectly Stiles fits against him. Tangling his fingers in Stiles's hair, Derek lays teasing nips and bites along his neck and shoulder, earning an encouraging moan from Stiles. His nostrils flare as Stiles's scent grows spicy with arousal.
He slides his hands down Stiles's back, gripping his ass and lifting. Stiles quickly complies, wrapping his long legs around Derek's waist, rolling his hips for friction as Derek walks them back to the living room.
"Fuck!" Stiles cries out, inadvertently baring his neck for Derek.
Derek's gums tingle with the familiar pressure of his fangs dropping.
"Stiles," he slurs, nipping gently at the crook of Stiles's neck as he presses him into the couch. Their bodies mold together, creating a dangerous cyclone of fire and ice.
Derek trails a hand down Stiles's sides, but then Stiles grabs his wrist, stilling him.
"I want to be on top."
"Oh, yeah?"
Stiles nods, slowly rocking his hips, grinding his hard, swollen cock against Derek's abs. "Got a problem with that?"
Derek growls, his hands curling into fists so he doesn't just hold Stiles down and take what he wants. The image of Stiles over him, taking control, is delectable. "No."
And with a strength he didn't know Stiles possessed, Derek was suddenly on his back with Stiles straddling his waist, smirking down at him. "Good. Now take off your shirt."
Derek complies easily—willingly and eagerly. As soon as his shirt is off, he impatiently tugs on Stiles's shirt, sliding it up and over his head, letting out a pleased rumble-purr when all that smooth, soft skin is displayed.
It's quiet, save for their panting breaths as they stare at each other for a moment. Stiles is a solid weight against him, and it feels so fucking good. Derek's cock somehow gets even harder, especially when Stiles cards his fingers through Derek's hair, tugging his head back.
Stiles nips and sucks at his neck, making Derek's cock throb. He's never had an omega take charge like this—would never allow himself to be this vulnerable—and he's surprised by how much he likes it. Though it might be because it's Stiles.
Derek can't stop touching him now that Stiles is in his arms. He runs his hands over Stiles's chest and stomach, over his back, down to the swell of his ass. There's a damp spot on the back of Stiles's pants, and Derek groans, squeezing his ass. "So wet for me."
"Fuck." Stiles rocks against him, and then it's a flurry of limbs as they get the rest of their clothes off. "Yes."
Stiles rises to his knees. There's a red flush from his cheeks down to his hard cock. He ever so slowly brushes his fingers over Derek's cheek and neck, down his arm to his hip, until he finally—finally—wraps those long fingers around Derek's cock.
Derek bucks up into his fist as Stiles swipes his thumb over the tip. It feels good, too good.
When Stiles speaks, his voice comes out strained and gravelly. "I've wanted to touch you for so long."
"Do it." Derek's entire body vibrates with need. "Whatever you want."
When Stiles finally moves, aligning their cocks and wrapping his hands around them, Derek shivers.
"I love that you let me do this." Stiles's words are punctuated by a roll of his hips.
"For you," Derek pulls Stiles in by the back of his neck, kissing him hard as Stiles jerks them off, "Anything." He throws his head back, unable to think when the pressure teeters on the edge of pleasure-pain.
"I wanna suck you off so bad," Stiles says with a moan.
It's hard to breathe, especially when Stiles leans over, his tongue flickering over Derek's nipples, lapping at one and then the other.
Derek's hips buck as he fucks into Stiles's fist. Ridiculous sounds rise from his throat, escaping in the form of whimpers and moans that would be downright embarrassing if Stiles weren't making the same sounds.
His muscles are coiled tight, needing release, until it finally crashes over him like a wave cresting the shore.
A moment later, Stiles followers him over the edge, shouting Derek's name. His head's thrown back, mouth gaped open in apparent ecstasy, but he keeps stroking. Stroking, stroking, stroking until neither has anything left and their muscles stop convulsing.
"Fuck," Stiles says, slumping forward, smearing the sticky mess between them.
Once Derek gets his breathing under control, he quickly realizes that Stiles is asleep, evident by the dead weight over him. His even breathing and drool are another clue.
Derek chuckles as he reaches for his shirt, using it to clean them up as best he can before gathering Stiles in his arms and carrying him up to his bedroom. Stiles doesn't stir as Derek carefully lays him in the middle of the bed, or when Derek presses up against him, pulling the covers over them.
So Derek lies there for a moment, watching Stiles's chest rise and fall—his own chest constricting with emotion. Then he presses his lips to the back of Stiles's head, murmuring, "I love you."
He smiles and closes his eyes, reveling in the feeling of happiness that Stiles brings to him. His chest swells with joy at just being near him, and for the first time in a long time, Derek actually feels content.
As he drifts off to sleep, he can't help but be grateful for this moment with Stiles.
-
It's late afternoon when Derek's phone rings.
Stiles.
Did he somehow figure out Derek's surprise? Derek didn't want to go so long between seeing Stiles since those five days last week had been excruciatingly slow, so he's bringing Stiles lunch. He purposefully parked down the street so Stiles wouldn't see his Camaro.
As he rounds the corner, he answers his phone with a smile. "Hey, baby. Didn't expect to hear from you—"
'Why are people dicks?'
It's not the first time that Stiles has complained about customers, but something in his tone suggests this is more, so Derek doesn't interrupt.
'I mean, listen, like take the hint, y'know? If someone says, 'hey, sorry about our date, but no, I wouldn't like to reschedule,' maybe don't keep hounding them about another one.'
"What." Derek stops in his tracks. The plastic bag with Stiles's lunch digs into his palms with how tightly he grips the handles.
'Remember the night we met? I was supposed to go out with this guy named Theo.'
Of course, Derek remembers. It was that date that finally spurred him into action. "Has he been bothering you?"
'He texted and called a few times. I thought he got the hint, but then he showed up here.'
"Why didn't you tell me?" Derek asks, his voice strained with the effort not to shift. All he wants to do is track this Theo down and rip his throat out.
Stiles sighs. 'Because it's not a big deal. I can handle it.'
Derek nods even though Stiles can't see him. "I know you can."
'Good. Anyway, after seeing him, I just wanted to hear your voice.'
As much as Derek wants to turn around, get in his car, and find Theo to smash his face in, Stiles needs him right now. "Well…what if I told you I had a surprise for you?"
'A surprise?' The smile is clear in Stiles's tone. 'It wouldn't happen to be like the surprises I've been finding on my doorstep lately, wouldn't it?'
"Did you not like them?" A pang of hurt lances through Derek at the thought of Stiles not accepting his courting gifts. Stiles knows about werewolves, so he should understand the gesture's significance.
'I didn't say that. I love them, and I accept, by the way. You're courting me, right?'
"Yes. I know it's a bit outdated and more traditional, but—"
'But nothing. I didn't mean to make you think I didn't appreciate them. I do. I just wanted to tell you that I won't have anymore room in my freezer after the buck you left this morning.'
Freezer?
Is Stiles saving his gifts? Usually, people accept them but then donate the meat.
'Also,' Stiles continues, 'I'm pretty sure I'm the butcher's favorite new client. He cut me a deal when he picked the buck up this morning. Said I was very lucky to have such a strong alpha.'
"Butcher?" Derek asks dumbly, still in awe that Stiles not only accepts but keeps the gifts.
'Well, yeah, of course. That's what it's for, right? To show you can provide for me? I'm not going to waste anything. Plus, the venison is good for my dad. You don't mind that I share with him, do you? I like to make sure he eats healthy.'
"No, no, of course not." And now that he knows, Derek will be sure to hunt even more. Though he'll definitely have to talk to Stiles about paying for the butcher, since it's supposed to be a gift. Derek peels himself away from the brick wall and hurries to the entrance of Brewed Awakening.
The chime from the door echoes through the phone, and Derek can hear Stiles suck in a breath. 'You're here?'
Two seconds later, he comes out from the back, launching himself at Derek, who catches him easily.
"Surprise?"
And from the look of awe on Stiles's face, it's a great surprise.
-
It doesn't take much digging to find Theo Raeken, a lone beta who recently returned to Beacon Hills. Derek found his address quickly and drove over, breaking in—as one does. A smarter man probably would have staked him out for a day or two, but knowing that Theo's been harassing Stiles, his mate, makes Derek's blood boil. So he sits and waits.
An hour later, a key turns in the lock, and as soon as Theo walks through the door, Derek beta-shifts, snarling in Theo's face as he slams him against the wall. "Stiles Stilinski. That name ring any bells?"
Theo's eyes round at the edges slightly, enough to reveal recognition, though he tries to play it off. "Never heard of—"
"Here's the thing about liars," Derek cuts in, slamming him against the wall again. "I really don't fucking like them. They make me twitchy. I don't think you want me getting twitchy right now, do you?" He tightens his fingers on Theo's neck, his claws seconds away from piercing skin.
Theo's lips tighten into a hard line. "Hey, he's the one that came onto me. Batting his fucking lashes and then he just fucking ghosted—"
"Do I need to remind you how I feel about liars?" Derek asks, grinning when Theo snarls in irritation. The unbridled anger pulsating through him is relentless—unstoppable. "You stay away from him, understand? No more texts or phone calls, and no more dropping by the coffee shop. If you so much as breathe in his direction again, I will come after you."
Theo narrows his eyes, glaring at him. He opens his mouth as if he wants to speak.
Stupid bastard.
"Don't. Make me. Repeat myself," Derek warns, his voice lowering to convey just how serious he is. "I know where you eat, sleep, and shit, and I will not hesitate to kill you next time."
Derek has to bite back the grin from the look on Theo's paling face.
"Yeah, okay. Fine."
"Glad we could come to an understanding." After a second, Derek finally lets him go, smoothing out Theo's shirt before seeing himself out.
-
Last month during the full moon, Derek spent the night shifted outside Stiles's house—the impulse to be close to his mate was too strong to fight. Usually, he runs through the woods behind his house, mourning the loss of his pack.
Thanks to Stiles, though, that will change soon.
He talked to Boyd and Erica last week and has plans to meet up with them soon, so by the next full moon, he might have two betas running alongside him. As for tonight—
The sky is clear, and the moon is full and bright as it hangs above them, filtering through the trees, casting shadows over Stiles's face as he stares at it, taking in its beauty.
"Thank you," Derek whispers. He knows Stiles could literally do anything else tonight—like stay home, wrapped up in the cozy Minky Couture blanket Derek got for him. But instead, Stiles walks beside him, fighting March's sharp, crisp chill threatening to pierce his skin if he wasn't wearing a coat, hat, and gloves at Derek's insistence. Stiles put his foot down when Derek looped a scarf around his neck.
Stiles takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. "For what?"
"Being here. With me." As the breeze rustles the leaves, Derek can't help but smile. "I'll make you some hot cocoa when we get home."
Stiles grins and nods. "Deal."
Derek loves how easily Stiles has started seeing his house as home. The past two weeks have been incredible. Stiles stays over more often than not, and Derek even spent the night at Stiles's house a couple of times. The only times they don't see each other are when they're working or when Stiles hangs out with his friends or visits his dad—though Derek's usually parked down the street.
"So is this all you do during full moons?" Stiles asks, spinning around to face him. "Walk around the preserve?"
"Usually, I shift and run. It's the best way to burn off all the excess energy. When I was younger, my family would have a big dinner before running together. It'll be nice to do that again."
Stiles nods. "You know you can shift if you want."
"Do you want me to?"
"I'd like to see it."
Derek nods, reaching behind his head and pulling his shirt off. Stiles folds it as Derek finishes undressing. Then the magic happens. The air ripples around him, his muscles and bones shifting and contorting as black fur sprouts along his skin.
Stiles's eyes widen in fascination as Derek stands before him, a hulking black wolf.
"Wow." Stiles cards his fingers through Derek's fur. "So soft."
Derek bumps his head against Stiles's stomach, leaning into his touch. Nice. Good. Mate.
Everything is so much simpler like this. No worries or stress. Derek's only instinct right now is to hunt. Hunt for his mate.
So he does.
Through the trees he goes, a large buck catching his eye, but he remembers what Stiles said. That he has no room in his freezer. So as much as it pains him not to hunt down the biggest buck, Derek finds something else.
It's not too long before he comes across a small creature no bigger than a cat. His shift to predator is automatic as he crouches to the ground, tracking its movements. Its fur is deep brown, almost black, in the forest's darkness. There are five toes on each paw that Derek will have to watch for, knowing it could have retractable claws.
After a couple of minutes, Derek springs forward, pouncing on it. He bites down on its neck, giving it a few sharp shakes until it stops moving.
Thank you for your sacrifice, he thinks before returning to Stiles, gift in hand.
He drops the small creature at Stiles's feet, awaiting his reaction.
Stiles hugs him tightly, burying his face in Derek's fur. After a few moments, he pulls away. "Thank you."
Derek licks his face, making him laugh.
"Alright, alright," Stiles smiles as he pushes Derek back. His scent is sweet, radiating happiness. "How about we save the kissing until you shift back."
Derek stretches, rolling his neck as he shifts, body contorting until he's kneeling in front of Stiles. "So it's okay if I kiss you now?"
Stiles snorts. "Did you seriously just shift back so you could kiss me?"
"Yes." Of course, he did.
"You're a dork. You just had a…whatever that is in your mouth." Stiles gestures to the creature next to them. "You've gotta brush your teeth. And use mouthwash."
"Then let's go home." Derek wraps his arms around Stiles's waist and stands.
"Fucker!" Stiles snaps, banging his fists against Derek's back. Derek would be concerned, but there's laughter in his voice. "I'm not a sack of potatoes, y'know!"
Derek slaps his ass in response, growling when Stiles's scent turns spicy with arousal.
Oh.
Derek does it again, making Stiles cry out. He rubs his cheek against Stiles's ass, inhaling.
"You're already so slick," he slurs around his fangs, rubbing his fingers along the seam of Stiles's pants.
Derek keeps teasing him, eliciting little whimpers and breathy moans that sound like angels singing.
Stiles lets out a whine that goes straight to Derek's cock. "Fuck me. God, I want you to fuck me. Please."
"Yeah? Thought I had to brush my teeth." Derek punctuates his statement by biting the swell of Stiles's ass.
"I don't care. I want it. I want you."
Derek sets Stiles down and growls, "Run."
"What?"
"If I catch you, I fuck you," Derek says, flashing his eyes. "So…run."
Eyes widening, Stiles nods before he catapults into action and runs.
Derek gives him a thirty-second head start. It's not much time, but he can't wait any longer. It doesn't take him long to find Stiles, considering his scent is so strong right now. They'll definitely have to explore this more. Was the spanking getting him so worked up or Derek chasing him?
Fire licks at his insides, igniting his entire being as he hears Stiles suck in a breath and hold it, likely to listen for Derek.
Derek gives him a sense of safety for several seconds before stepping forward—twigs and leaves crunching under his feet.
Stiles swears, turning on his heel. But he hasn't run off yet. Instead, he calls out a taunt, "I'm not gonna make this easy for you, asshole," before breaking into a sprint.
Stiles's words elicit a hunger that claws its way from Derek's throat straight to his cock.
Derek imagines that Stiles's chest is tight as he works to calm his erratic heartbeat while taking deep, long breaths.
The wind rustles the leaves on the ground, stirring up dirt and debris, drawing out goosebumps across Derek's skin as he waits in anticipation.
Stiles's heart thumps wildly as Derek takes one step, then two.
Derek catches the moment Stiles notices him, his eyes widening.
Stiles turns and runs, pumping his legs and arms as fast as they can, but he's still too slow for Derek.
Ten long strides is all it takes before Derek catches up to him, reaching out and wrapping his arms around Stiles's waist to draw him back.
Stiles struggles against his hold, fighting to get away.
It only makes Derek's cock harder. He chuckles, his breath fanning over the shell of Stiles's ear. "You can't escape me, Stiles."
"Are you gonna fuck me now?" Stiles asks, his pupils blown, voice dripping with lust.
"That was the deal."
"But what if someone finds us? Sees us?"
"Do you think they'd watch?" Derek asks, spinning Stiles in his arms and pinning him to the ground. "Do you think they'd enjoy the sight of your naked body on display? Maybe they'd get off on seeing your ass, so slick for me. Or the pretty flush on your chest when you come. I think they'd even enjoy watching your eyes roll to the back of your head when my cock fills you so fully that you can't fit any more of me inside you."
Stiles gasps. His heart beats faster, but the scent of his arousal never wavers. Derek can even smell the fresh slick dampening his pants.
"You'd be okay with other people seeing me naked?" Stiles challenges breathlessly.
Never.
"I'd let them watch. I'd let them watch me claim you as mine and own every inch of your body. They'd watch my cock fill your hole and then watch you cry because of how hard you came. And then I'd fucking kill them."
Stiles gasps, his breath stuttering, but he doesn't try to escape. "You're psychotic."
Derek trails a hand down Stiles's stomach to his pants. He grins when Stiles groans and his cock jumps. "I have a feeling you love it."
Stiles groans again, rolling his hips and pushing his cock into Derek's palm.
"So beautiful," Derek murmurs, his lips ghosting along Stiles's shoulder to his neck, only pausing on the spot right below Stiles's ear.
"One day, I'm going to claim you. Right here," he says, right before his teeth clamp down.
Stiles arches into him, moaning. He grips Derek's shoulders, holding him close as if he's scared Derek will leave him there.
Doesn't he know by now that Derek will never leave him?
That Derek will never let him go?
Severe shivers wrack Stiles's body when Derek licks a wet trail down to the juncture of his neck. The way his body responds is more potent than a drug.
Derek bites down again, pulling an animalistic sound out of Stiles that's music to his ears. So he does it again, over and over, leaving a trail of bruises down Stiles's neck and across his shoulder.
Mine mine mine.
Stiles blinks up at him, his eyes bright and pleasure-dazed.
"Do you know what these mean?" Derek asks, mouth ghosting along the bite marks.
Stiles shudders beneath his touch.
"They mean I own you. That you're mine."
And then Stiles rears up.
At first, Derek thinks Stiles is going to kiss him, but instead, Stiles mouths at his neck and bites him.
Hard.
Derek growls. His cock throbs, and all he wants to do is bury himself in the tight heat of Stiles's body.
"You're mine too," Stiles breathes into his ear when he lets go. "Mine, Derek. Do you understand?"
Derek nods, staring at Stiles in awe, his brain short-circuiting for a second on the fact that Stiles bit him—practically claimed him.
Perfect, Derek thinks. So perfect.
"I look at you and I want to destroy you," Derek admits, his words slurred around his fangs. "You should run from me. Leave while I have the willpower to let you go. I'm not safe for you. I want to break you."
"I want you to, Derek." There's no hitch in Stiles's breath; his heartbeat remains steady. "I want you to own me. Mark me. I want to feel it tomorrow. I want you to do your worst because I'll like it. I will. Fuck me, Derek. Fuck me hard."
Derek watches as Stiles reaches between them, his fingers deftly undoing his pants. Derek might be the predator, but Stiles can bring him to his knees. "I'm yours. Only yours."
Stiles's clothes fall in tatters when Derek rips them away. He'd apologize, but Stiles spreads his legs and bites his bottom lip, looking like debauchery and sin.
Derek can't decide which is better—the way Stiles looks splayed out beneath him or the way Stiles feels as Derek enters him with his fingers.
The groan Stiles lets out as Derek stretches his hole, getting him ready, is so sensual and so full of need that it spurs him on—faster, deeper, and way past the point of wanting to get inside him.
With his eyes closed and lips parted, Stiles is the sexiest bit of sin Derek had ever had the pleasure of fucking, and he's going to commit every second of tonight to memory.
The scent of Stiles's slick hangs heavy in the air, his cries of pleasure echoing through the trees.
As much as Derek would love to bury his face in Stiles's ass, he's too impatient. Too keyed up. Needs to be in him. Now.
Stiles clenches around his fingers, and he doesn't have to say anything more. Derek removes his fingers but takes his time lining up, teasing Stiles's hole before finally—finally—sliding into him, watching every little emotion cross Stiles's face as he takes Derek inch by inch.
Derek shudders at the intense pressure and pleasure that almost makes him lose control.
Cries of pleasure echo through the trees as Derek starts out slow and forceful. Short, harsh thrusts, then dragging himself out at a torturous pace before slamming inside Stiles again.
"You feel so fucking good," he murmurs, mouthing at Stiles's neck. The pleasure is blinding.
"Everything, Derek. Gimme everything."
Stiles's eyes roll to the back of his head as Derek readjusts their position, sliding each arm under his knees and hiking them up until Stiles is damn near bent in half.
Stiles lets out a loud moan at the new angle, his legs shaking as Derek nails his prostate.
"Oh my God," Stiles cries out, fingers digging into Derek's shoulder. His eyes shine bright with unshed tears. "Fuck! Yes! Right there! Fuck fuck fuck!"
Stiles's pupils are practically blown, barely any hint of amber to be seen as he reaches for his cock.
Derek growls, shoving his face into the crook of Stiles's neck, fighting the urge to bite him as his knot swells. Euphoria consumes him, wrapping Derek so tightly in its clutches that all five senses are lost to it.
When he finally shakes out of his orgasm-induced stupor, Stiles chuckles.
"Welcome back," he says, trailing his fingers down Derek's back.
Derek sits up, making Stiles moan when his knot tugs at his rim. "Sorry."
"S'okay." Stiles hums, closing his eyes. "Sleepy."
It really shouldn't surprise Derek at this point, considering Stiles always passes out after he orgasms. "Go ahead and sleep."
Stiles blinks one eye open. "Here?"
"My knot isn't going down anytime soon," Derek points out. "Might as well get comfortable."
"It, uh," Stiles arches his back, reaching beneath him and pulling out a twig. "It's a little hard to get comfortable with twigs digging into my back."
Derek wraps his arms around Stiles, lifting him up and flipping them so Derek's on the bottom. "Better?"
"For me, yes. But this just means you're uncomfortable now."
Derek shrugs. "It's fine. I'm pretty used to sleeping in the preserve." He runs his fingers through Stiles's hair. "Sleep."
Stiles closes his eyes and draws circles on Derek's chest with his finger. "Just for a little bit."
But as usual, he's out within seconds.
Derek kisses the top of his head and, as soon as his knot goes down, carries Stiles back to his house.
-
The club is dark, lit only by black lights and a flashing strobe. The air is hot. Humid. It reeks of cheap beer and even cheaper cologne and perfume, thanks to the gyrating bodies next to him on the dance floor. The skunky scents seep through his clothes and into his pores.
Derek would much rather be home. He's not the most social person, but he can't deny how much less pressure it is getting to know Erica and Boyd in a setting like this. Here, he doesn't have to talk. Here, Stiles acts as a buffer, smiling and laughing with them. Dancing. Having fun. Which is good because if Derek's going to be their alpha, they should also like and accept Stiles as his mate.
With the way they smile and gravitate toward him, Derek doesn't think that'll be an issue.
Derek leans in as Stiles grinds against him, his hair plastered to his forehead as sweat drips down his beautiful face. He has to yell over the too-loud music. "Are you having fun?"
Stiles gives him a megawatt smile that rivals the sun. "Hell yeah!"
His arms go above his head as he shimmies and shakes his hips. He's somehow offbeat as he matches the obnoxious music thumping through the speakers.
Derek chuckles, amused and enthralled. He grabs Stiles's waist, pulling him in closer. Heat radiates off his body. His movements, hypnotic.
Stiles grins, their noses nearly touching. Teasing. But just as Derek thinks Stiles is about to kiss him, he pulls away. "I'm going to get a drink!"
Derek stares after him, only turning away when Erica laughs, throwing her head back on Boyd's shoulder as he dances behind her.
"What?" Derek asks, raising a brow.
"You're so whipped."
Derek would be offended if it weren't for the pleased smile on her cherry-red lips. Besides, Stiles is unlike any omega Derek's ever encountered, and he loves it. Loves knowing that Stiles wants him just as much as he wants Stiles.
Instead of denying it, he flashes Erica a satisfied smirk. "Damn right."
After a few seconds, he looks around the club, spotting Stiles by the bar. It's crowded, and he stands off to the side, clearly waiting for an opening to get the bartender's attention. Derek hates that Stiles feels he has to do that. Hates that he can't just get what he needs without being overlooked.
Without hesitation, Derek strides away, pushing his way through the throng to get to his mate.
He's almost to Stiles, can practically feel his gaze through the people waiting at the bar when there's a tap on his shoulder. He turns, one brow raised at the stranger—an omega with stubble and messy hair.
"My friend and I were wondering if you'd buy us a drink," the stranger asks with a sly smirk, gesturing to another omega just behind him.
Derek gives them a tight smile and shakes his head. Just as he opens his mouth to reject the offer, Stiles is there. His face is red, anger rolling off of him in waves.
"He's mine!" Stiles yells, eyes narrowed on the omegas.
Derek's never seen him like this before, so jealous. Sure, there have been moments where he's possessive and dominating—hell, Derek's neck would be riddled with hickeys if he didn't heal so fast.
But this? This is new and takes Derek's breath away.
The omegas look scared, their eyes wide, especially when Erica and Boyd appear at Stiles's side, arms crossed. Their menacing glares broker no argument that they'd be willing to fight for Stiles no matter the consequences. The one who approached Derek apologizes before they hurry away.
Stiles turns to Derek and smiles. Though it's not a smug, happy grin. No, this smile is damn near feral with the wild expression on Stiles's face.
"You're all mine, Derek. You have no idea how long I waited—" Stiles huffs out a breath, running his fingers through his hair, tugging on the ends. "They can't take you from me."
Derek grabs his hands to stop him from pulling his hair out. To assure Stiles that no one is taking him from Stiles, but before he can say anything, Stiles drags him back to the dance floor, his drink obviously forgotten.
Erica and Boyd follow, but keep their distance as they dance. They must realize this is a time for Derek and Stiles alone. Something that Derek appreciates.
"You're mine, right?" There's a hint of insecurity in Stiles's voice.
Derek nods, cradling Stiles's face. "Yes, I am."
"Good," he breathes, finally relaxing under Derek's grip. His hands roam Derek's body, the heat of the night escalating to an almost boiling point.
Derek's never felt this need before. "You're mine, too. I love you."
Maybe it's too soon to say it, but Derek doesn't worry when Stiles grins.
"I love you, too," he says, eyes twinkling under the strobe lights as he tugs Derek down, kissing him. There's nothing innocent about the kiss. It's fierce and demanding. Between the slow glide of their tongues and the heat emanating off Stiles's body, Derek wants so much more.
Instead of continuing to stand under the haze of strobe lights, Derek loops an arm around Stiles's waist, searching for privacy.
"We'll be back," he calls out to Erica and Boyd so they don't worry.
Boyd nods, glancing toward a hall off to the side.
Derek takes the hint, leading Stiles off the dance floor.
Stiles nibbles on his earlobe. "What are we doing?"
"You'll see," Derek says.
The hall leads to the bathrooms, but there's a door at the end. Derek pushes it open, the heat of the club replaced by a mild spring breeze.
He grins, turning to Stiles as he steps out into the alley. It's dark and narrow, just big enough for the two of them. Without another word, Derek pulls Stiles close, their mouths crushing together as the door clicks shut behind them.
Stiles presses Derek back against the brick wall, hands tugging at Derek's shirt. "I wanna suck you off."
Derek can't help it. He laughs, the sound low and gratified as he pulls out his cock. "Anything you want. Always."
Stiles drops to his knees, licking his lips before sucking on the head of Derek's cock, and it feels so good.
Derek leans back against the brick, his eyes rolling to the back of his head as he lets out a long, drawn-out groan. It feels unreal. He draws in a steady breath, sliding his hand through Stiles's hair. "You look so good like this. On your knees for me."
Stiles moans around his cock, the vibrations sending ripples of pleasure through him.
When Stiles pulls off his cock, Derek damn near whimpers, but then Stiles says, "Fuck my mouth," before sucking Derek deep again—so deep Derek's sure his cock hits the back of Stiles's throat.
Derek tightens his fingers in Stiles's hair, and Stiles widens his lips and relaxes his shoulders, giving Derek the best blowjob he's ever received.
God, Derek wants to kill anyone and everyone Stiles has ever been with while also thanking them for whatever part they had in making Stiles so good at this.
Derek rolls his hips, rhythm speeding up, and Stiles grips his ass, urging him on—his face practically buried in the coarse hair at the base of Derek's cock.
"Christ," Derek grunts, dropping his head back against the brick wall and pumping in and out of the most talented mouth he's ever been inside.
But it's not enough.
He glances down at where Stiles's cheeks are hollowed and his lips are stretched taut around his cock. It's better than any fantasy.
Reluctantly, he pulls out, and Derek's rock-hard cock throbs in protest.
Stiles's molten gaze finds Derek's, his cheeks flushed with desire.
Derek grabs a handful of Stiles's shirt, urging him to his feet, and then Stiles is up, pulling Derek into his body before either can think beyond getting their hands on the other.
"More." Stiles demands, and a bossy Stiles is Derek's favorite.
Derek sucks on his ear as he unbuttons and unzips Stiles's pants, sliding them down below his ass. "Turn around."
"Yes. God, yes," Stiles says as he complies, thrusting his ass back as he plants his hands on the wall.
With one hand, Derek pries his cheeks apart, groaning at the sight of his slick hole.
Stiles, impatient as ever, pushes back against him. "Don't fucking tease me. I need you in me. Now."
Just for that, Derek fucks him slowly with one finger until he whines.
Then two.
Stiles's breath catches, his moans getting more and more impatient, and if Derek doesn't fuck him soon, he's sure Stiles will take things into his own hands. So, finally—because it really is pure, unabashed torture not to be inside him—Derek shoves his own jeans down and lines himself up.
"Ready?" he asks, teasing Stiles's hole with the head of his cock.
Stiles groans, his fingertips white from where he's gripping the brick wall. "God, Derek. I want you to fuck me until I can't walk anymore."
With one sharp thrust, Derek pushes inside him. Balls deep, his muscles tense, and he stays flush against Stiles. "You feel so good. Always so good."
That second is all he gives himself before biting down on Stiles's neck, knowing the slight sting of pain turns Stiles on. Sure enough, Stiles lets out a lewd moan. It's loud and desperate and utterly carnal. Anyone walking by will know exactly what's happening in the alley.
Derek doesn't go slow, drawing out the breathy little pants and quiet moans that go straight to his cock. Instead, it's a vicious punch and pull of his hips that make them both curse unintelligibly. And Stiles is just as forceful and greedy as him—hips snapping back to meet every thrust.
"Harder. Please. Pleasepleaseplease. Give it to me."
Derek plants a hand on the wall by Stiles's head and grabs his waist with the other, drilling into him over and over at a relentless pace, letting the sublime feeling of ecstasy take him over.
Stiles shouts Derek's name, his hole clenching as the scent of his release fills the air.
It takes everything for Derek not to pop a knot, so he pulls out and spins Stiles around. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes bright and pleasure-dazed as he drops to his knees and opens his mouth.
Derek fists a hand in Stiles's hair, tugging his head back before fucking Stiles's mouth again in hard, fast, and shallow strokes. It doesn't take long before his orgasm slams into him. "Fuck. Fuck!"
Stiles swallows every drop, moaning before he licks his lips and rests his head on Derek's thigh, trying to catch his breath. "Goddamn."
Derek pets the top of Stiles's head, tucking himself back in with his other hand. After a few minutes, he says, "C'mon, baby. Let's get back inside."
Stiles nods as he gets up, Derek helping him fix his clothes. "I wanna dance some more."
And so they do, lost in the chaos and the moment where nothing else matters but them.
-
Derek carries the last box inside, setting it down on the dining room table. Erica and Boyd moved in two weeks ago, and now his pack is complete with Stiles here, too—even though Stiles has practically been living with him since that first night he stayed over.
"Was that it?" Stiles calls out from the living room, unpacking his movies.
Erica walks over, palm up as she wiggles her fingers. "Keys? We'll return the truck and grab some food on the way back."
Derek reaches into his pocket and tosses her the keys. "Be safe."
He watches as she and Boyd leave, a feeling of contentment washing over him. Despite the chaos and the mess and the noise of more people in his space, this is what he's been missing all along—having a pack, a family.
"Got anything that needs to go upstairs?" he asks Stiles, looking at all the boxes.
Stiles waves a hand toward the boxes near the stairs. "They should be labeled. Bedroom, bathroom, books."
"Your books can go in my office with the others if you want."
"That sounds good." Stiles holds up some of his treasured Funko pops. "What about these guys?"
Derek walks over to where Stiles sits on the floor, his legs crossed as he digs through boxes. "Wherever you want, baby."
"What if I wanted to display them over there?" Stiles gestures to the entertainment center.
"This is your house. If that's where you want them, then that's where they'll go." Derek leans down and brushes his lips over Stiles's forehead. "You don't need my permission."
Stiles smiles, his eyes crinkling at the corners. "I know. I just like hearing you say it."
"Brat."
"Maybe," Stiles says with a cheeky grin, "but you like it."
Yes. Yes, he does. Derek steals a kiss. "I'm going to take some things upstairs."
"Okay. Don't worry about unpacking them. I want to do it."
"Alright." Derek grabs a stack of boxes and carries them to his room. Their room. Because Stiles is officially moved in now.
He chuckles as he sets the boxes on the chest, opening the one on top. The word Closet is scrawled in black Sharpie across the top, so Derek lifts it to take it into the walk-in closet, but the bottom falls out. A couple pairs of shoes, door hooks, some hangers, and a leather-bound book land on the floor.
He sets the box on the bed, picks up the book—a journal of some sort—and flips it in his hands, reveling in the buttery soft leather under his fingertips.
A smile breaks across Derek's face as he trails his fingers over the inscription on the cover.
Mieczysław Stilinski.
A leather cord is wrapped around the journal, holding it closed. Derek strokes his fingers over it, smiling softly. He should put it down. Leave it on the bed and walk away, but as he turns to leave, his eyes linger on the journal.
Slowly, almost reverently, Derek undoes the cord and opens it.
A picture falls out, and his gaze lands on Stiles's familiar scrawl on the back.
'You are an obsession, I am your possession.'
Derek frowns, flipping it back over. It's a picture of him in his workshop, his brow furrowed as he staples packaging foam to the top of a custom cat house he made for the shelter in late December.
Before Derek even knew who Stiles was.
He opens the journal again, landing on a page that's torn and crinkled as if Stiles tried to rip it out but changed his mind. Derek smooths the page out and reads:
January 26th
Patience has never been my strong suit, but I know the payout will be so sweet. It'll be worth it because he's worth it. I just know it.
But waiting. Waiting, waiting, and more waiting!
What's taking him so long?
Why hasn't he come yet?
Patience may be a virtue, but my stomach churns as I sit. As I wait. As I hope. As I try to remember that the longer I wait, the sweeter the reward will be.
That he'll come for me. Finally.
Derek quickly flips back to the beginning of the journal, going through and reading the random scribbles and notes that Stiles wrote. Complaining about customers, hanging out with his friends and dad, and then about Derek. When Stiles first saw him around town. Following him.
Stiles's handwriting gets messier the more he talks about wanting Derek. Needing him. How he purposefully put himself in Derek's way to catch his attention and then orchestrating their meeting when he noticed Derek finally taking an interest in him.
Derek's chest tightens as he realizes Stiles has been in love with him longer than he ever thought.
Stiles. His Stiles did all this—went to such lengths to capture Derek's interest. To make Derek want him.
Derek snaps the journal closed, overwhelmed by his emotions. It's a silly, silly thing to be so touched by. But he is, and he can't help it.
He puts the picture back in the journal and gently closes it, pressing a kiss to its cover. His lips linger for a moment before carefully tying the cord around it, preserving the little piece of Stiles he now holds.
God, could anyone be more perfect for him?
"Derek?"
At the sound of Stiles's voice, Derek looks up.
Stiles stands in the doorway, playing with the hem of his shirt—his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, his expression wary. "Wh-what are you doing with that?"
Derek offers him a gentle smile as he walks over and holds the journal out. "It fell out when I was moving the boxes."
Stiles takes it with a shaky hand, his eyes wide in surprise. "Oh. I…" He takes a deep breath and looks away. "I didn't mean for you to see that."
Derek steps closer and cups Stiles's face in his hands, forcing him to look up. His voice is low and husky, all of his emotions bubbling to the surface. "Marry me."
Stiles pulls back, eyes wide and mouth agape. His searching gaze finds Derek's, and Derek can see the silent thoughts written all over his face.
"Are you serious?" Stiles's voice is barely above a whisper.
"I want to spend the rest of my life with you, Stiles." Derek trails kisses along Stiles's jaw, grazing his teeth along Stiles's neck, nipping lightly at the spot he wants to put his mating bite. He can already picture how it'll look—bright red on Stiles's creamy skin, a strong and healthy bond. "I love you. I knew you were mine from the moment I saw you in that club."
Stiles blushes. "I didn't think you'd seen me that night."
"I did. And I tried to stay away."
"I know," Stiles says, annoyance creeping into his voice. "Do you know how much that sucked? How long I waited? I waited and wai—"
Derek cuts him off with a kiss. The kiss is gentle and sweet, filled with all Derek's love for him. "You don't have to wait anymore. I'm yours. Always."
Stiles looks at him with so much love and adoration that Derek can't help but smile.
"So…is that a yes?" Derek asks.
"Yes." Stiles nods, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, and his lips spread in a wide, genuine smile. "Yes. I'll marry you."
Derek grins, gathering Stiles in his arms and spinning him around. Then, he sets Stiles down and kisses him again.
Stiles was right—it was worth the wait. Every single second of it.
210 notes · View notes
ohjeon · 8 months
Text
❝RIDE❞ ― jjk (2)
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two. need a ride?
series masterpost
pairing: jungkook x female reader
genre: 18+, strangers to lovers, smut/fluff/ pinch of angst. ft. jimin & side made up characters
word count: 1.5k+
warnings: none in this part.
notes: love to hear feedback or comments from you guys!! y/n is brought to life in this!!! continuation intro. i have no knowledge on motorcycles this is all thanks to google sorryFfJhd
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5:30 pm. Jungkook and Jimin were running laps on the campus track. They both enjoy keeping in shape and staying active. It's one of the things that brought them closer. A tired and restless Jimin stopped suddenly dropping to his knees, panting. "No more, I can't, So. Tired" Jimin huffed, waving his arms back and forth to show Jungkook he really was tired. "I still got more in me." Jungkook smirked and continued to sprint up. Laying down on the rough track Jimin took time to breathe steadily again. Soon after Jungkook joined beside him.
Slience was nice but soon broken by Jimin. "So Soyeon huh? That's really a thing" he wiggled his brows facing the younger one. "No," he paused to sigh, "I'm just being nice." He wasn't lying. He doesn't want to lead her on but he can't imagine her friends hating him after he tells her off. So he stuck to being nice. Fucking her every now and then for some sort of release. Jimin hummed as an answer. Jungkook strikes up reaching for Jimins hand, "Let's go, I'm tired." grabbing his hand, Jimin stood up and they both started gathering their things to head out. 
Walking towards the parking lot in slience was interpreted when the sound of Jimin squealing, slightly jumping and running to something that caught his eye. "Wha-" He watched Jimin jog towards a motorcycle parked. A GSXR 600 to be exact. Jimin stared in utter shock as he dragged his fingers across the leather seat and rim. "I've dreamed of seeing one in person." he softly groans out. Jungkook trailing behind him shoving his shoulder, "Hyung don't touch it. What if the owner sees you?" Jungkook tries to pull him back but nothing seemed to be working.
Their hearts dropped when they heard a presence giggle ever so softly behind them. The boys froze. To scared to move. Turning around slowly, Jimin softened seeing that it was a woman, while Jungkook stood frozen when he saw her. Of course it was her damn motorcycle. Jungkook was now face to face to the 'random motorcycle girl' that keeps reoccurring in his mind. He gulped, he sided eyed to see Jimin smiling at her. But her eyes were fixated on Jungkook. Almost like she knew who he was or maybe, admiring him? She glared but almost like a soft glare. She wasn't mad.
Right?
After what felt like the most longest tension stare ever, Jimin pouted and bowed, "I'm sorry for touching it, I've wanted one for so long I couldn't help myself. I trul-" she cut him him off by chuckling. Jungkook's heart skipped a beat. What the fuck. During this, Jungkook took his time to take in how beautiful the girl was close up, slowly trailing his eyes down, to her tattooed arms. She was shorter than them. Enough to where she had to tilt her head up to look at them in the eyes. She was wearing a black tee shirt that fit perfectly, it wasn't tight or slim nor was it overly bagging, it was just right. With baggyish pants that flowed so comfortably, paired with black sneakers. So subtle but effortlessly chic. He didn't realize the heat rushing to his cheeks as he analyzed her.
Jungkook lost in his own head space suddenly heard her voice. "That's okay, I understand. She's a beauty." her voice was soft, like fairy dust was leaving her mouth. She was slightly giggling while speaking. Jungkook lost it. She's so attractive. And so cute? He almost felt the tightening between his legs but tried to ignore it. Seriously? Right now?
Jimin blushed and giggled, scratching the back of his neck, clearly flustered. "If you'll excuse me I have to get home." she shyly motioned for them to move out of her way. Hurriedly they separated to opposite sides of her, giving her an entrance to her vehicle. They stood there and watched her put her helmet on. She giggled at how starstruck they looked. She shot them a quick wave before starting up and drifting off to the road, leaving strip streaks of black from her tires. Jungkook and Jimin didn't know what to do but watch. As they watched her drive off in the distance, Jimin hit Jungkook's chest to get his attention, chuckling at his mate, Before turning on his heels walking away.
"You're drooling Kook."
Oh.
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10:15 pm. Jungkook panted and huffed with his palms on his knees as he tried to catch his breath. He found himself coming to the track to practice sprints to distract himself from the filthy football jock next door that always had some sort of company, in which they kept Jungkook up, robbing him from his sleep. This gave him a chance to get up and do something he loved, just to clear his mind. He enjoyed this time of day, the track field lights glistened onto his face, the sweat from his forehead onto his eyebrows. Even a sweaty mess he was beautiful. Looking at the time he figured he should head on home to shower and fall asleep.
Even though it was a Friday night, Jungkook gave his word to Jimin to accompany him on a blind date tomorrow, well blind date for Jungkook, not Jimin. Jimin had a date with one of the girls in econ, she asked if he had a friend for hers to bring along, after begging and pleading Jungkook, he gave in.
Flinging his bag over his shoulder he started to walk off in the dark finding his way home. The peaceful streets gave him comfort while walking. So calm and at peace. After a minute of Jungkook walking he spotted a figure leaving the campus to the parking lot. He squinted his eyes trying to make out the person. Walking closer and closer he realized it was a female walking towards a, motorcycle? That's when he realized, it was her. Jungkook found himself curious again to why he catches her at the odd times on campus. No one is here, why is she? He found himself inching closer and closer, not aware that the female turned her head slightly to the sound of his feet dragging along the concrete. Jungkook's eyes met hers while his widened, freaking out, not knowing what to do he instantly turned on his heels, walking the opposite direction. Just wait till she leaves then turn back. He thought.
"Hey!" A voice called out. Jungkook froze. He found himself stuck and flustered. Should he turn around? "Hey you!" He heard the little jog of her feet behind him. It took everything in him to stop himself from sprinting off, he couldn't move. She walked around him from behind and came in front of his view, smiling. She's so beautiful. Her shoulders that was covered by her leather jacket, she wore cream pants with a matte black tee.
“Hi.”
"Hey." she breathed out with a soft smile tugging her lips. Jungkook felt blood rush to his cheeks. He snapped back when she spoke up. "What are you doing here so late?" She questioned.
"I was just at the track, um running." he managed to say without stuttering. She chuckled at his flustered self. Cute. She muttered under her breath, did he hear her right? Maybe it's his head playing with him.
"__, Kim __" you said with your chin pointing up to meet his gaze. "Sorry?" Jungkook could barley comprehend what was happening. "My name." you smiled, lips stuck together, putting your hand out for him to shake. He stared at your fingers, you looked so soft. After what felt like hours Jungkook snapped back to look into your eyes, "Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook." he accepted the hand shake. Shaking than letting your hands fall back to your sides. You are soft.
"Yeah I know." You chuckled breathlessly dropping your head to your feet then looking back up.
"You know me?"
"Every female I have interacted with here mentions you. Good to put a name to a face, finally."
Jungkook thought he was about to lose it right than and there. You knew him, well of him, still counts. He found himself blushing and chuckling with you. "Yeah seems like I'm quite relevant around here." he smirked but friendly. Where did all this confidence come from? Silence engulfed them. You looked around while he kept his gaze on you taking in all your features. Internally gushing that he now knows your name. It’s not until you speak up that he notices the awkward situation.
"Do you need a ride home?"
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wet-and-wedgied · 9 months
Text
Work Stall Blow Out
so this is a story based on a recent experience of mine.
so it’s lunch time in the office I work at and I had just finished eating. I hadn’t had much, but I bring one of those big water bottles in to the office everyday, and I end up refilling it like three times a day. So At this point my bladder is just absolutely full. I can feel all the pee in me sloshing around and I just know I’m going to be bursting any second now. So I get up and hurry to the Men’s Room. Only the Men’s Room on our floor is being cleaned. I let out a low moan and ball my fists up at my sides, holding back the urge to hold my aching bladder. So I back track and head upstairs to the tenth floor. This is the floor where we tend ti have conference meetings, and thus it is almost always empty.
I hurry inside, fumbling with my black belt as I feel the hot yellow flood pounding on the tip of my cock waiting to be released. The urinal is occupied so I bite my lip and throw open the door to the nearest stall. At this moment my only thought is to make sure I don’t make a complete fool of my self and end up loading my pants right in front of the toilet!
I’m bursting, as I yank down my trousers and my blue briefs and drop down onto the porcelain bowl, a hot jet of piss blasting against its inside. The feeling is euphoric! I lean back against the toilet seat, pressing my hand against deflating bladder. “AAHHhhhh~”
But it turns out I wasn’t the only desperate dude in the office. After pissing like a horse for what feels like forever, my stream starts to trickle off just as I hear the bathroom door swings open. I see the shiny black shoes, black socks and gray dress pants of one of my coworkers as they scurry past my stall and to the furthest one. They muttered a curse as they push open the stall door and quickly slam it close as they begin unbuckling their belt.
Normally I probably wouldn’t have stuck around, but I recognized the shoes of my co-worker Jayson, a good looking blond twenty-something who’d grandfather was one of the company’s bigwigs. Jayson was hot in that preppy suit and tie kind of way. Always put together. Nice but quiet.
But it seemed something had roused him up today. He slammed down ass first against the toilet seat, his slim fit trousers around his ankles and his bunched up dark blue underwear around his knees. I heard his hand or something slam against the side of the stall as he seemed to grace himself. I heard him say with a desperate groan “Oh No!” And then the floodgates burst open.
The sloppiest, brattiest case of diarrhea I have ever heard came exploding out of Jayson. It came burst out all at once like a muddy water. If he said anything else, I didn’t hear it as this man painted the inside of the porcelain, the shit pouring out of him nonstop. I could see his feet rise up to the tips of his toes as barrage after barrage of diarrhea blasted into the bowl. He let out several thunderous farts and after maybe a minute or so, he’d finished voiding his bowels.
I went to wash my hands, and a moment later he came out, buckling his trousers and washing his hands, whistling as he dried them and walked out of the bathe room as if he hadn’t just desecrated the toilet.
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vampyrsutton · 10 months
Text
On Your Knees
Summary:
Joe does his normal playboy song and dance to make Cherry jealous and things turn out even better than expected.
Ao3 Tags:
Public Sex, Possessive Behavior, Exhibitionism, Biting, Face-Fucking, Hair-pulling, Dirty Talk, Degradation, Masturbation, Jealousy, Blow Jobs, Public Blow Jobs
Notes:
Day 7 of MatchaBlossom Week 2023!
NSFW Prompt: Public Sex
"Why are you such a man whore?" Cherry sneers as he crowds Joe against a tree a little ways from the main track. "I thought we were past this, you thirsty gorilla."
Joe scoffs, fairly sure Kaoru letting his client openly flirt with him in the restaurant last week was far worse than what Joe was just doing. "She couldn't see, I was just giving her a hand."
"Yeah, I noticed. I was all over her waist." Cherry huffs, eyes narrowed above his mask.
"She was like 150 cm max. My whole hand fit around her waist." Joe fires back, glaring down at the shorter skater in front of him.
"And she was eating up every second of it." Cherry tsks, backing up now to pretend to turn away. "Ridiculous-"
"I don't see any ownership." Joe cuts in with a shit-eating smirk. He knew what he did, he'd been riling the calligrapher up all week in hopes of making him snap and the slight falter in his light steps told Joe he was about to get what he wanted. "Pretty sure that makes me free game to the hoards of adoring fans. They'd probably behave better too-shit!"
He hadn't expected Cherry finally snapping to include hopping on Carla to pull Joe down by his hair and yank his mask down to bite Joe's neck hard enough to leave a mark on its own, let alone sucking several more into the tan skin around it. He’s not even sure he can flip his chef collar up to hide these let alone his S outfit.
He feels like he should probably be embarrassed with how fast he starts getting hard as he wraps large hands around Cherry's tiny waist with a groan. "Shit, Kao. Warn a guy."
Cherry just smirks, pulling his mask back up with mischief in his eyes as he turns to leave. "Just marking what's mine."
He doesn't get very far as Joe's hands tighten around his slim waist to force him to keep looking at him. "Seriously? Gonna just leave me like this?"
"What are you-" Cherry starts with a glare before gold eyes widen when they trail down to the tent forming in Joe's pants and the renewed smirk becomes obvious. "I literally only bit you?"
"You're hot when you're jealous." Joe huffs with narrowed eyes. "So are you helping or not?"
"We're barely 50 meters from the course." Cherry hums, eyes not leaving Joe's crotch.
"Wouldn't be the first time," Joe smirks now, moving his hands up to Cherry's shoulders. "What do you say?"
Cherry rolls his eyes, pulling his mask back down as he sinks to his knees. "Thirsty gorilla."
"Very." Joe chuckles, carding a hand into long pink hair as his other hand fights with his pants.
"Stay quiet," Cherry mutters, helping get Joe's cock out of his boxers once the pants are out of the way before getting his mouth on it.
Joe curses, moving his now free hand up to his mouth as wet heat wraps around the head of his cock. "Shit. Yeah, I'll definitely try."
Cherry smirks, eyes shining with mischief before he suddenly takes half of Joe into his mouth until he gags and he has to pull back to readjust and try again.
Joe bites his hand with a groan, knowing Cherry plans to drive him insane as he tries not to jerk his hips and possibly hurt him. "Dammit, Kaoru."
Cherry gives him a look like he wants to call him out on the name slip, but instead, he just raises an amused eyebrow before hollowing his cheeks on the way up and falling back down so he can swallow around the head with a moan. It makes Joe's hand tighten in his hair and pulls another needy sound from the pinkette as he continues.
Joe has to fight not to close his eyes, knowing he needs to be the one to keep an eye on their surroundings, but struggling with how Cherry swallows around him and tongues under the head to make Joe curse again. He hears skaters racing past them on the other side of the tree line behind him and the adrenaline of one stopping and finding them makes his cock throb.
He needs to piss Cherry off more often.
Or stop being a hypocrite and just ask .
The mental image of Cherry's face turning pink and muttering obscenities at him for having the audacity pulls a chuckle out of him. The smaller man would be so embarrassed.
Cherry raises an eyebrow once more in question as to what could be so funny.
"Just thinking about how you would react to me outwardly asking you to suck me off in the woods," Joe smirks, snickering when it has the imagined effect of making color flush across Cherry's cheeks as gold eyes glare up at him. "Yeah, that's what I thoUGHT! Fuck!" He curses when Cherry swallows around the head and flicks the slit in retaliation.
Joe flinches when he hears someone skating by asking their buddy what that noise was before he glares down at smug gold. "You're a little shit."
Cherry just shrugs, the smirk obvious in his eyes as he continues bobbing his head, nose now pressed against strong pelvis as a small hand reaches into sagging pants to lightly squeeze Joe's balls and make him buck his hips with a strangled moan.
"Dammit. Kao-shit-" Joe smacks his hand over his mouth to silence his moan when Cherry increases the suction to punish him for trying to say his non-S name.
Looking down into gold eyes delivers one message.
Behave .
"Fucking fine." Joe curses, head thumping against the tree behind him as he tries to keep his hips still, groaning into his hand as Cherry tries to seemingly suck his soul out through his dick. "Fuck, baby…"
Cherry hums thoughtfully just to add vibrations before relaxing his throat and jaw and tapping Joe's legs to get his attention.
It takes Joe a second to figure out what Cherry wants before he feels a skilled tongue along the underside of his cock and finally notices the pleading in Cherry's eyes. "Want me to fuck your throat, baby?" He asks, groaning when Cherry moans around the head. "Fuck, yeah, okay. Relax a bit more-or swallow, shit." Joe hisses as he tightens his grip on pink bangs to start pulling out, starting a slow pace to let Cherry figure out his breathing before starting to speed up when he feels nails dig into his thighs. "You acted like it was such a pain like five minutes ago."
All he gets in response is an eye roll before he sees a challenge spark in gold eyes and feels hands on his ass, pulling him forward as though to tell him to get on with it.
"Dammit, I need to make you jealous more often." Joe chuckles breathlessly as he fucks the slim throat as hard and fast as he can without actually hurting him. "Fuck, your voice is going to be ruined after this." He grunts when this makes Cherry moan around his cock. "We've been gone long enough. Between the dirt on your pants and the crack of your voice, it doesn't matter how much you fix your hair, everyone here will know you were back here getting your throat fucked like a desperate little whore." He chuckles darkly. "You made enough of a scene dragging me away and left these dark ass marks where none of my shirts will hide them, no one will be able to question who we belong to, will they."
Joe feels Cherry's grip on his ass tighten as his throat spasms around his cock with a moan. "Shit, you like that idea, don't you? You don't care if everyone here knows you're a dirty slut, just as long as they know I belong to you, huh?" Another moan has Joe's cock twitching in Cherry's throat. "Next thing I know, you'll be trying to get a collar on me-Fuck!"
Joe isn't fast enough to get his hand over his mouth this time when Cherry properly moans and he feels his entire face flush red in embarrassment when the next group to skate by catcalls and laughs. At least they have the decency not to investigate.
"Shit, Kaoru." Joe hisses, surprised to feel how turned on the thought has him. "Necklace wasn't enough, huh? You want to put an actual collar on me? Maybe a little tag that says Property of Kaoru so no one can question who I belong to-fuck-yeah, we're coming back to that later." Joe groans breathlessly when Cherry looks up at him pleadingly. "I wouldn't mind one on you either. Some of your clients are way too comfortable for my liking."
Cherry makes a noise that might have been a whimper if he didn't have a throat full of dick before a whine manages to force its way through when Joe reaches down to wrap his large hand around the pinkette's slim throat where a collar would sit.
Joe curses when he realizes he can feel his cock stretching Cherry's throat. "Shit, you'd probably actually choke on it if I tried to collar you, wouldn't you? You'd love it though. Feeling the normally comfortable weight become suddenly constricting with each thrust of my cock. You already love it when my giant hands choke you, you'd probably go insane if I did that."
Cherry makes a garbled noise that was probably some type of moan as he trembles and Joe finally notices his hand moving in his loose hakama pants.
"Like the idea that much, huh?" Joe smirks, moving his hand up to the back of pink hair now to fuck his throat properly when Cherry can't even seem to manage a glare. "What was it, baby? The collar? Calling you a whore? Fucking your pretty little throat so you probably won't be able to talk when I'm done with you?" He hums when Cherry tries to moan. "Is it maybe the fact we're so close, anyone could get curious and see what a good little slut you are? Anyone here could hear you choking on my cock and come get a free show as you moan for it? Prideful eyes turned teary as you take me like the perfect little cock sleeve you were meant to be?" He sees Kaoru's hand start speeding up as he does choke now. "Well, Kaoru? Which is it, baby?"
Joe doesn't actually give Cherry a chance to try to answer, knowing that he's right and that Cherry probably can't, and gripping pink strands tighter to guarantee he can't as he nears the edge.
"Fuck, baby, I'm close. So close. You take me so well, how could I not be when you're desperately swallowing around my cock. Shit-" Joe groans as he fights to hold off just a little longer. "Gonna cum down your throat. That okay?"
Cherry just does his best to groan, relaxing his throat as much as possible and tapping a muscular thigh once for yes.
Joe curses, rambling a combination of praise and dirty talk as one more swallow around his sensitive head sends him careening over the edge with a groan, spilling down Cherry's throat as he bites his lip to try to be quiet.
He hears a quiet whimper beneath him and knows Cherry came, and pulling away confirms his suspicions as Cherry pulls pocket tissues from somewhere within the layers of his outfit to wipe his hand clean.
"Fuck." Joe chuckles breathlessly, accepting the offered tissue to wipe his cock off and tuck it away. "Possessive much?"
Cherry just raises a pink eyebrow, looking at Joe unimpressed as he makes a wheezing noise instead of actual words and moves the shirt of his hakama to show off his own dark marks.
Joe snorts. "Point taken. Wanna head back out there, or go another round at home?"
Cherry's face flushes a bright pink at the thought of going out there sounding like this and just points his thumb in the direction of the gates, not wanting to give Joe the satisfaction of hearing him try to talk.
"Fair enough," Joe smirks, pulling his jacket back on properly. "I'll say bye to the others. Meet you at the gate?"
Cherry nods, standing up to leave a final bite on Joe's collarbone before grabbing Carla and heading to the gate with a little smirk.
All Joe can do is shake his head with a laugh. "Possessive shit."
He knew he was no better.
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gainingfiction · 2 years
Text
Thrifting
Summary: Ali works at a second-hand store. Evan is a regular customer who donates clothes as he outgrows them. As Evan’s size increases, so does the attraction between the two men.
~
S
Evan adjusted the waistband of his slim-fitting track pants as he approached the storefront, a garbage bag of old clothes clutched in his free hand. Like most of the clothes he was giving away, the track pants were extra-small, and they didn’t fit quite as well as they had a few months earlier. They were getting harder to pull over his butt, and the elastic was starting to leave an imprint around his waist when he stripped them off at the end of the day. When his friends asked him to go thrifting, he decided it was as good a time as any to size up to a small.
He followed his friends into the store. They were college classmates, all stylish girls with elaborate, glittering eye makeup, baggy jeans, and crop tops that showed off their toned midriffs. Evan liked to keep up with fashion, too, and generally took care of himself, at least in the skincare and haircare department. But since getting into his first long-term relationship, he may have let his diet and gym regime slide a little, hence the need for some new threads.
The store was quiet when they entered, the air smelling vaguely musty. The first thing Evan noticed was the cashier. He looked to be in his mid 20s, slightly older than Evan, and tall: about a head taller than Evan, who stood at 5’7”. He was dressed in a loose-fitting graphic tee featuring Blondie, a pair of oversized jeans, and some hightop sneakers from the 80s or 90s. He exhaled a cloud of vape smoke, tucking his Juul into his pocket at the sight of customers.
Evan was instantly smitten, stomach fluttering as he walked up to the counter. When he reached the cash register he noticed the guy’s name tag, identifying him as Ali, and the way his dark eyes seemed so calm and intelligent. He had black curls that fell around his face to about his chin, and a prominent but well-proportioned nose. He gave Evan an easygoing smile as he approached. He was thin, but with a wiry strength that made Evan acutely conscious of the way his stomach had started to brush oh-so-slightly against the front of his form-fitting shirt.
“I have some clothes to give away,” Evan said. “But I didn’t see a donation bin.”
“You can give them here,” Ali said. He accepted the heavy bag with one hand, bicep flexing, and set it behind the counter.
“There’s lots of good stuff there,” Evan said. “It just doesn’t fit great anymore. You know, relationship weight.” He flashed a sheepish grin in Ali’s direction. Why did I say that?
The cashier gave a knowing nod. “Well, thanks so much. Most of the proceeds go to the local animal shelter, so we really appreciate it.” Another easy smile, as the guy coursed a hand through his glossy hair, melting Evan’s heart.
He could have spent the whole day staring, but his friend, Cassie, approached, carrying a sweater. “Evan, check this out! It’s a Calvin Klein quarter-zip in great condition, you should give it a try.”
Evan turned and followed her to the mirror, watching from the corner of his eye as the handsome cashier turned to sift through Evan’s old clothes. He’d have to come shopping here again.
M
Ali pushed rice around his plate, keeping his eye on the time. He had work soon, which gave him a great excuse to ditch his family lunch.
“You coming to my graduation this weekend, bro?” Faisal asked. Ali’s brother was a 26-year-old health nut, who wore a buzzcut and a rotation of tight-fitting v-necks to flatter his gym-trained figure. He’d just finished med school.
“Of course he will be there,” their father answered, before Ali could respond. He was a commanding presence, with a broad belly and a bushy moustache. He kept his thinning gray curls cut short, a relic of army life.
“Not like he’ll have one of his own,” Shadia said, smirking.
Ali rolled his eyes. His little sister had just started work as an engineer, and she loved to look down on Ali’s education, job, apartment, and fashion sense. And since he came out to her, she also made fun of his taste in men, dubbing them “doughy white guys.”
“Be nice,” their mother said. She was laid back, with an average build and culinary skills Ali could only dream of. Before immigrating, she was also an engineer, but now she helped run the family restaurant. “Speaking of nice, I told Noor you will take her daughter out for dinner this weekend. She is a very sweet girl, I know you will like her.”
Ali felt a lump in his throat. The pressure to start a family had been ramping up since he turned 25, and he knew he couldn’t hold his family off forever. Shadia looked at him with concern.
“Sounds great,” he managed.
Then, he said his goodbyes and left for work, eager for some mindless tasks that could distract him from his pushy relations. In the parking lot outside the store, he slipped on his favourite choker and undid his button-down shirt, revealing a loose tank top underneath. He flipped his septum piercing out of his nostrils. Feeling more like himself, Ali walked in, tying a patterned fleece around his waist as he went.
It was boring for a while, but things got a little more interesting a few hours into his shift, when a familiar figure entered. It was the guy from a few months ago, who had come in with his friends. Ali recognized the way his chestnut hair flopped in front of his forehead, and remembered how he’d talked about relationship weight, flashing Ali a shy grin with dazzlingly white teeth. Evan, was it? Ali was pretty sure he’d heard one of the girls call him that.
He entered with an equally handsome and very well-built young man. It had been a few months since his last visit, and Evan’s shirt looked even tighter today than Ali remembered, framing not just his slight belly but a pair of small love handles that poked over the waistband of his pants, forming a little muffin top. Looser clothes might have hidden his pudge completely, but his form-fitting apparel put his extra 20 or so pounds on display.
The two men approached the counter, with the brawny one carrying a bag.
“Another donation?” Ali asked, with a smile.
“Yeah,” Evan said. “Outgrew some more clothes.”
The hunky boyfriend rolled his eyes, slightly. “Are you totally sure you want to give these away? You’ll probably fit back into them soon,” he said.
Evan bit his lip, looking embarrassed. “I don’t know, I can always buy new ones,” he said. He didn’t sound too confident.
Ali accepted the bag, thanked the men, and left them to their shopping. As they walked away, Ali noted the way Evan’s perky bubble butt packed his black denim pants, the curves of each cheek hugged by the taut fabric. He sighed and opened the bag for sorting. Evan’s last donation had been full of extra-small clothes, but this bag was full of smalls and a few mediums, with jeans that went up to 33”. It was all in great condition, and medium was Ali’s size… he’d definitely be buying some of these for himself.
As he separated different types of clothing, Ali watched the two men with silent jealousy. He wondered if Evan would lose weight, as his boyfriend predicted, secretly hoping that he wouldn’t.
L
The bell in the doorway trilled as Evan entered the thrift store. Standing next to Hannah and Cassie, he felt particularly fat, aware of the way his medium shirt cradled his soft belly and love handles, which muffin topped over the waistband of his too-small shorts. In just three months, he had definitively outgrown all of his medium-sized clothes. And when his chubby backside popped the seam at the seat of his pants during work one day, Evan knew he couldn’t keep putting it off: he was overdue for an upgrade.
His breakup with Jeff had been hard. It was the sort of breakup that made Evan lock himself in his room and eat four thousand calories of rocky road ice cream in a single sitting. Jeff had always been shallow, but dumping Evan over an extra 40 pounds was a particularly heavy blow to his self-confidence. And rather than inspire him to get back in shape, it just inspired him to wallow in self-pity, turning his 40-pound weight gain into a 55-pound weight gain. Evan now weighed 197 pounds, by far the heaviest he’d ever been. He wasn’t proud to be a size large, didn’t like that his pants were at least six inches larger than his former waist size, but he couldn’t live in denial forever. Especially when his added poundage was pushing his clothes beyond their breaking point.
He felt a mixture of excitement and nervousness when he saw Ali at the cash register. He looked totally gorgeous in a slim-fitting bowling shirt, and he now sported a short, well-styled beard. Evan was secretly hoping his favourite cashier would be working, since it would give him a chance to ask Ali out.
Evan approached the checkout, toting his bag of undersized clothes. His palms were clammy as he stood in front of Ali, heart pounding.
“More donations?” Ali asked. His voice was so soft and smooth that Evan felt a little more at ease.
“You know me,” Evan said. He didn’t need to explain it anymore; the evidence was written across his widening torso and burgeoning hips.
“Well, thanks so much,” Ali said, taking the bag in his strong arms.
Evan hesitated. Now was his chance. “Hey, I was just wondering if… would you maybe want to go out sometime?”
The way Ali’s face dropped made Evan feel self-conscious, like his impossible request had embarrassed a guy who was way out of his league. “I’m, uh, engaged, actually,” Ali said. His tone was bland, without a trace of excitement in his voice. If anything, he sounded disappointed.
Evan kept a smile on his face, to mask his own disappointment. “Oh wow, congratulations! When’s the wedding?”
“We haven’t set a date yet,” Ali said, without hesitating. “Fatima wants a spring wedding, I think.”
“Huh,” Evan said. He was surprised to hear that Ali was engaged to a woman, but he did his best to hide it. His gaydar was usually spot-on; maybe this guy was bi? “Well, I’m sure it’ll be lovely. I bet you’ll make her very happy.”
Ali smiled weakly. “Thanks. Oh, by the way, I don’t know if you like kebab or shawarma, but my family has a restaurant downtown. I do shifts there sometimes, so you might see me around, if you’re ever out for a bite.” Ali gave him the address.
“Middle Eastern food is my favourite,” Evan grinned. He made a mental note to check it out, and not just for the food.
Donation complete, Evan returned to the racks of clothes. The rejection stung, but at least Ali hadn’t shut him out entirely. The invitation to his family’s restaurant was far from a date, but it gave Evan hope that they could at least be friends. 
He was distracted from his fantasies by Hannah, seeking an opinion on a slightly hideous knit beret. As he checked it out, Evan noticed Ali staring in his direction, a wistful look on his face.
XL
Ali stared across the bar, wanting to go home and sleep. He’d met his sister at a small pub near the thrift store, to give her some clothes he thought she’d like. Shadia didn’t drink, but Ali nursed a vodka tonic, feeling miserable. All his work was running him into the ground, but at least it gave him a reason to neglect his personal life. Other than going to the gym, he didn’t do much besides work and sleep.
“You look exhausted,” Shadia said. She had a real knack for mixing judgment with concern.
“Thanks,” Ali said, frowning. “The store was busy today. Lots of back to school shoppers, and people giving away summer clothes.”
He didn’t mention the worst part of his day, when Evan came in with yet another donation, looking more overfed and adorable than ever. Ever since the growing young man had asked him out, he’d been all Ali could think about. His cute, round face, the way his cheeks dimpled when he smiled… he was so damn cute, and Ali had turned him down.
After Evan left, Ali had sifted through his donations. They were mostly size L, with plenty of stretched-out elastic waistbands. When Ali noticed a pair of tiny pink swim shorts, he imagined Evan wearing them at the beach, frolicking in the sun and sand with his beautiful chub on full display. The fact that he was giving them away suggested that they had gotten too small for public viewing. Ali had shoved the bag aside, trying to rid his mind of thoughts of those swim shorts, skin-tight against Evan’s round bottom, seams fighting against his chubby thighs.
But as much as he wanted to get Evan out of his head, the universe seemed to have different plans. Ali nearly choked on his drink when he saw Evan walk into the bar with a tall, slender guy. Evan’s companion seemed about Ali’s age, with an unremarkable face and thin brown hair. He was dressed in khakis and a dress shirt, which fit him far better than the fashion-forward corduroy shorts and tight patterned shirt swaddling Evan’s hips and gut.
Ali tried to hide his face, but Evan noticed him immediately, and pulled his boyfriend in Ali’s direction. Shadia seemed generally oblivious, sipping cranberry juice and staring at her phone.
“Hey! Funny seeing you here,” Evan said, standing by their table. His perfect smile was like a sledgehammer to Ali’s chest. He turned to the man he was with, adding: “This is the guy from the thrift store I was telling you about.”
That sentence made Ali pause. Were you telling him about the guy, or the store? he wanted to ask. “Hey,” he said instead, managing a weak smile of his own. He extended a hand to the guy Evan was with. “Is this your boyfriend? I’m Ali, nice to meet you.”
“Oh, I’m not—uh, we’re not—” the guy fumbled for words, rubbing the back of his neck and looking around the bar as he shook Ali’s hand. His palm was sweaty. “Xander.”
Evan seemed embarrassed by his response. “Xander TA’d one of my electives last term. Intro to Classics,” he said. He turned to Shadia, whose interest had been pulled from her phone, and extended his hand to her. “I’m Evan.”
Shadia shook it. “I’m Ali’s sister. Shadia, nice to meet you.” She shook Xander’s hand, too.
“I just have to say, you have, like, the best eye makeup I’ve seen in a while,” Evan said. Shadia beamed, lapping up the praise, as Evan turned back to Ali. “Well, it was nice running into you. Now you know I go to places other than your family’s restaurant.”
Ali chuckled, tucking a lock of curly hair behind his ear. “Good seeing you, too.”
And with that, Evan and Xander turned and walked away, heading towards a table at the other end of the bar. Ali watched Evan’s chubby hips sway as he walked, admiring the way his plump lower half jiggled in his skintight shorts.
“You like him!” Shadia whispered once they were out of earshot, a massive grin crossing her face. “You have a crush on him!”
“Shut up, I do not,” Ali lied, crossing his arms.
“You are such a liar,” Shadia said, still grinning. “It’s so obvious, you were practically drooling. I wish I could get a guy to look at me like that.”
Ali shook his head, “Okay, fine, maybe I do. But I obviously can’t do anything about it when I’m supposed to be planning my wedding.”
Shadia rolled her eyes. “Tell me you aren’t seriously considering going through with this marriage,” Shadia said. “You can’t marry this poor girl just to make Mom and Dad happy.”
Ali sighed, knowing his sister was right. They’d been engaged for six months and were still no closer to setting a date, much less starting any preparations, and he knew Fatima and her family were starting to get impatient.
He motioned to the bartender for another drink. Even if he wanted to make a move, it didn’t matter now. Ali had waited too long, and Evan was off the market.
XXL
Evan was starving. He fucking hated dieting, but he’d been putting on so much weight that Xander was starting to get on his case about eating better. Sure, he was up to a 2XL, but Evan reassured himself that it was only temporary as he walked into Eastern Flavours, mouth watering at the smell of seasoned meat and fry oil. He wasn’t even going to donate his XL stuff, since he’d be back into them in no time. Probably even smaller.
Evan grinned when he saw Ali at the cash register, somehow managing to make a polo shirt and chinos look sexy and cute at the same time. He always dressed so differently at the thrift store; it was funny to see how conservative and straight-laced he looked as a server, with his mop of curls tucked under a baseball cap.
“Hey, Evan,” Ali said. “The usual? Number 4 combo with chicken, fries, and a fountain drink?”
Evan was a little embarrassed by the fact that he had a usual order. But he was a regular customer, even if his recent attempt at weight loss had seen him cut back his visits. He’d been good all week, though, and he felt like he’d earned a reward. “Sounds perfect,” he said.
Ali rang him up, and a few moments later he arrived at Evan’s table with a basket of food that looked as incredible as it smelled. “I threw in some extra pita bread and fries,” Ali said. “Consider it part of our loyalty program.”
Evan beamed at him, although he felt a little guilty about overdoing it. Xander thought he was going for a smoothie, not a family-sized Mediterranean feast. Still, if he destroyed the evidence, no one would ever need to know….
As he ate, Evan watched Ali wipe down tables, discreetly ogling his tight little ass. But it wasn’t just the food or the scenery that Evan liked about this place. It had warmth. He appreciated seeing Ali’s parents in the kitchen, conversing as they cooked up incredible meals. Sometimes Ali’s brother came by, too. They seemed like such a nice family; Evan thought about the time he met Ali’s sister at the bar. He struggled to imagine a night out with his own sister. His family just wasn’t that close.
After his lunch was finished, Evan headed out, bundling up against the cold winter air. There used to be a time when winter clothes would disguise any body fat, but now they just made him look bigger. When he got back to his apartment, Xander was marking papers on the couch. “How was lunch?” he asked.
“Fine. Sure do love those smoothies,” he lied, as he made his way to the bathroom.
“You have hummus in your beard,” Xander called after him.
Evan was blushing as he closed the bathroom door behind him. He leaned against it, knowing he’d been caught red-handed. He sighed as he looked at himself in the mirror. He kept his beard short, barely longer than stubble, but it was long enough to betray his lunchtime indulgence.
He’d grown out his facial hair to try to mask how round his face was becoming. Bye bye, jawline, he thought, noticing his developing double chin and chubby cheeks. He turned on the shower and started pulling off his clothes. His chunky belly flopped out as he removed his shirt, taking a few seconds to stop jiggling. He dragged his fingers along the underside, trailing them over his love handles. He had so many stretch marks now, little red lines that gave away just how much he’d blown up, and how quickly the weight kept piling on. He lifted his belly with both hands, noticing the way it bulged through his fingers. He had more than a couple of handfuls of fat to grip; it was a full-blown gut. And a heavy one, at that.
He peeled off his pants and stood nearly naked, letting it all hang out. Looking at himself in just his underwear, he knew he wasn’t just chubby anymore; he had broken through into fat guy territory. He spun around and looked at himself side-on, at how far his gut hung out in front of him, and how far his butt stuck out behind him, and then turned and looked over his shoulder at his backside. He had to admit, 2XL undies fit him much better. He was a little pear-shaped, and he was no longer able to fit his ass into XL briefs. He could get them up, but they were too tight, constraining his package and leaving a wedge of crack exposed. He slid out of his underwear, watching the way his butt wobbled as he freed it from containment. His wide lower back dimpled above it.
He studied the prominent shelf of ass fat, the way his love handles looked even beefier from the back. He was carrying so much weight back there. He didn’t just look fat. He looked obese.
He frowned. He knew he was supposed to be trying to lose weight, but he honestly liked getting bigger. Feeling the pounds piling up on his body was hot. As he ran a hand along the curve of his blown-up butt, he felt himself starting to get hard.
Fuck it, he thought. No more stupid diets. I’m gonna eat what I want.
When he pulled on his sweats after the shower, he started going through his closet for XL clothes to give away.
3XL
The restaurant was bustling with customers, mostly college students looking for a snack after a night of hard drinking. They always did well on weekends, thanks to that demographic. Ali zoned out as he rang up orders and handed over foil-covered wraps to beefy frat guys and their glassy-eyed girlfriends.
Breaking up with Fatima had been the right thing to do. His family wasn’t thrilled, but it wasn’t fair to keep stringing her along. And she’d landed on her feet, anyway: just a few months after the breakup, she and Faisal announced their engagement. Shadia attributed it to the power of maternal scheming, but Ali wasn’t ashamed to admit that it was a far better match. Faisal had an MD after his name and a well-documented attraction to women, neither of which Ali could offer.
But being single had left him with plenty of time to reflect on his own life. He was lonely. Whenever he worked at the thrift store, he kept waiting for Evan to walk in with another bag of tight clothes and that perfect smile on his round face. But he never did.
Ali still saw him, though, and he was clearly still going through clothes like a mall on Black Friday: it seemed like every time Evan came by the restaurant to stuff his face with mind-boggling quantities of food, he looked bigger and fatter than he had the time before. Ali knew it was stupid, but a small part of him hoped that Evan was coming to see him. Ali wanted to flirt with him, to smile back and tell him how cute he was, but he always felt like a kid when he worked the cash register, caught by the watchful gaze of his parents.
And anyway, it just wasn’t in the stars. Evan had someone else.
At that moment, as if on cue, Evan appeared in the doorway. His svelte friends were completely dwarfed by him; he looked massively overnourished in a tank top and a pair of jeans. Ali wondered if they were supposed to be that form-fitting, or if they were just struggling against Evan’s juicy legs and generous, baby-making hips.
They were part of the bar crowd; the girls were dressed for a night out, with slinky dresses and high heels, and it was obvious from the volume of their conversation that they were drunk. Ali smiled as they reached the front of the line and he got a good look at Evan. He looked even bigger up close, his beefy breasts cleaving against the front of his tank top, which had started to slip up his gut to reveal a few stretch marks. That gut now hung out well in front of him, hiding his waistband from view. His arms looked huge, too—and not from muscle.
“Hey!” Evan said, flashing a drunken smile. “I’ll get a number three combo with fries, a shawarma wrap, a kebab, and an extra order of fries, large.”
“The ‘Fuck Xander Special’,” one of the girls said. They all laughed, even though Evan looked a little sheepish.
“You guys broke up?” Ali said. He didn’t want to pry, but that comment had sent his curiosity through the roof.
“Yup, Xander dumped me,” Evan said. He looked bashful, but there was something else in his expression. Was it… pride? “Pretty much said I was too fat for him.”
“What an asshole,” Ali said, meaning every word. “Well, this one’s on me.”
Evan beamed, a smile that was worth every penny. “Oh, and you guys wanted fries too?”
Ali hadn’t realized all that food was for Evan, but he tried not to let his surprise show as he added fries to the order.
He watched Evan laughing with his friends as they waited for their order. So Evan was single again… And now he was single, too… Ali handed Evan his order, and the young chub headed to the exit.
Ali’s mind was reeling, and he knew he was going to do something really stupid as he leaned into the door of the kitchen.
“Mama, can you watch the register for a minute?” Ali said.
“Your father needs me here, I—”
“Thanks! I’ll be right back!” Ali said. And then he raced through the front door and into the summer night.
Evan and his friends were halfway down the block, and they all turned when Ali called his name.
He felt a little awkward at the audience, but he pressed ahead, jogging over to Evan, who was already tearing into his first wrap. He looked particularly immense from behind, and Ali drank in his curves as he turned around. “I—I wanted to catch you before you left,” Ali said. He swallowed.
Evan looked a little confused. His friends were whispering to each other. “What’s up?” he asked. He gave a mischievous grin, maybe to defuse the awkwardness. “Did you decide to charge me after all?”
“I just wanted to say that… you’re a catch. And Xander didn’t deserve you. And that he should have treated you like the prize you are.” Ali cringed at the word vomit that was spilling out of him; he had waited so long to ask Evan out, and now he was making a complete ass of himself in front of Evan’s friends.
Evan looked around, seeming a little embarrassed. “Ali, you don’t have to say—”
Ali cut him off. He knew he was destroying the suave image he had spent so long cultivating, but he couldn’t let Evan get away again, even if that meant spilling his guts like a teenager with a schoolyard crush. “I know. I just—I really like you, Evan. I’ve liked you from the first time I saw you. And I know I’m being super weird right now, and you probably just want to walk away and never see me again, but…”
Evan laid a hand on Ali’s bony side, and Ali felt himself run out of words as Evan leaned towards him. And then Ali was leaning in, too, and he could smell the liquor and tahini on Evan’s breath, and see the city lights in his eyes, and feel Evan’s bulk, warm and vast, pressing against him, enveloping him. Their lips met.
Ali could barely hear the sound of Evan’s friends hooting in the background—his heart was racing, and he broke into a grin with Evan’s lips still pressed against his own. He felt like the luckiest man on Earth.
4XL
Evan managed to finish his ice cream cone by the time they reached the front door of the thrift store. Ali was carrying two large garbage bags, full of the 2- and 3XL clothes that Evan had outgrown.
He started sifting through the racks as Ali dropped off the donation, but he knew it would be slim pickings—well, maybe that wasn’t the best choice of words, but it would be next to impossible to find anything that fit him. Trying to find anything stylish in a 4XL was a huge pain in Evan’s huge ass.
But they weren’t just here for him. Ali was looking for maternity clothes for his sister-in-law—who also happened to be his ex-fiancée, but Evan didn’t judge. If anything, he related to Fatima more than ever. Pregnancy struggles sounded pretty familiar—round belly, swollen feet, nothing to wear, constantly sweaty… Welcome to my life, girl, Evan thought. At least her pregnancy would end when she had the baby; for Evan, feeling heavy and cumbersome, with a big belly and sensitive nipples, was a part of life. A very enjoyable part of life, for the most part. But he did wish that people would give him their seat on the bus. Ideally more than one seat.
And he wasn’t the only one who had put on some weight: Ali’s brother Faisal had clearly packed on a few pounds of sympathy weight, his tight shirts looking tighter than ever around his belly. A family of dishes, Evan thought, as he considered the two beautiful brothers.
Evan hadn’t been there when Ali came out to his parents, but apparently it went fine. Ali’s siblings dutifully backed him up, and Ali’s mother—the mastermind behind all that delicious food that had fuelled Evan’s transformation from cub to chub—made it clear that she would always stand by her son. Even Ali’s father was coming around; he was very interested to hear about Evan’s time as a high school soccer player (football, as he called it) and delighted to learn that they cheered for the same leagues. It may not have been what either of Ali’s parents expected, but no one could deny how much happier Ali seemed these days.
Evan was happy, too. Ali didn’t just tolerate his weight gain, he actively encouraged it, ordering for Evan at restaurants, loading up shopping carts with his favourite snacks, and constantly pushing him to exceed his limits. It was no surprise that his weight had soared far beyond 300 pounds, considering how thoroughly his boyfriend pampered him. He hadn’t just doubled his weight, he’d doubled it and kept on growing. It had been a while since he weighed himself, but considering the fact that 3XL clothes were starting to get constricting, he guessed that 350 pounds could be an underestimate. Was he proud to be two and a half times the weight he’d been when he started college? Fuck yeah he was.
Both men alternated between dominant and submissive. Sometimes, Ali would bring out an enormous plate of food, forcefully stuffing Evan’s face, ordering him to keep eating until he licked the plate clean and leaned back, stomach stretched to its limits and so bloated that it was firm beneath his thick layer of pudge. Other times, Evan bossed him around, ordering him to serve up plate after heavily-laden plate; Ali would be forbidden from touching himself until Evan had eaten every last bite, no matter how hard his erection cried out for attention. Evan enjoyed stretching out those meals, savouring every bite as Ali watched, rapt, practically aching with pleasure but powerless to relieve the tension. Evan would moan and groan as he filled his gigantic belly, while his naked boyfriend squirmed, desperate for release. Food and sex were so comingled in Evan’s mind that overeating made him horny, and sex invariably left him craving something sweet.
“This would look cute on you,” Ali said, snapping Evan away from his lustful daydream. Ali was holding up a narrow tank-top with pink and white horizontal stripes. Not only was it at least four sizes too small, that pattern would be sure to accentuate his astonishing girth. There was a time when that shirt would have been too big for him, but those days were long gone.
“That would be, like, a crop top on me,” Evan said. It might contain his moobs, but there was no way it would cover more than a few inches of his incredibly fat belly. Even a well-fitting shirt would be tested by his gut; it projected so far outwards that his underbelly would always be exposed, unless he tucked it in. “But sure, toss it in the cart.”
It was cheap, anyway, and growing his tits so fat that even they couldn’t fit into that shirt could be his next goal. A target to work towards. Plus, Ali went absolutely wild at the sight of Evan in undersized clothing. That’s why they made sure not to give all of his old stuff away.
“I was thinking we could go to the beach later,” Ali said, as he browsed the racks. “So I can slather you with sunscreen and show you off.”
Evan chuckled. “If you can find a pair of swim trunks or board shorts that can actually cover my ass, I’m in.”
Ali peered at Evan’s huge backside, biting his lip. “Well, maybe we could let it hang out just a little….”
5XL
Ali adjusted his tie as he surveyed the latest Eastern Flavours location. Business was good: things were running like a well-oiled machine, and the customers were happy. If this kept up, they might even be able to open a fourth location next year, in the next town over.
And the family business wasn’t the only thing expanding. Evan was blowing up like a balloon from the absurd quantities of food that Ali was pumping into him.
On that note, Ali piled up a plate with fries and headed to the office upstairs. Cool air hit him as soon as he walked in; Evan kept the air conditioner on bust to keep his generously-padded frame from completely overheating.
He was seated in a reinforced gaming chair, his mountainous bulk bearing down on it, taking up every free inch. His ample hips and voluminous love handles pressed into the sides; that chair had a 500 pound weight limit, but Ali was confident he could push Evan past its breaking point.
“Hey, cutie,” Ali said, as he approached his fiancé with yet another mountainous portion of food. “Thought you could use an afternoon snack.”
“You know I ate lunch an hour ago,” Evan said, arching an eyebrow.
“Yeah, I know,” Ali said. “What took me so long?”
Evan laughed as he helped himself to a heaping handful of fries. Paperwork spread out on the desk in front of him, and his dual monitors were full of spreadsheets and supply orders. He moaned as he ate, trailing a meaty hand across his boundless gut. “I was looking at tuxes for the wedding this morning,” he said, through a mouthful of fries. “Not exactly a lot of choice out there for a guy my size.”
They had decided to elope; neither of them wanted the drama of a big wedding, but a tropical vacation—with Evan lounging naked on the beach, sipping daiquiris—sounded like heaven. Still, they did want to bring along some formalwear, at least for the photos. If only to prove that Evan had once been able to fit himself into a 5X dress shirt.
Ali rubbed Evan’s shoulders; even those were encased in soft fat that gave way beneath his fingers. “Well, how’s business?” he asked. “Maybe we could go for something bespoke. You know, really freak out the tailor who has to take your measurements.”
“He’d be freaked out until he swiped our card,” Evan said. “Then we’d be his favourite customers. Business is good, by the way. Really good.”
Ali beamed. He’d finally made his parents proud: they could now say that he was an entrepreneur, growing the family business into a successful franchise with three locations across the city. And he couldn’t have done it without Evan, whose business degree was turning out to be a very valuable asset.
Ali bent down and kissed Evan’s chubby cheek; he turned and planted a kiss on Ali’s lips. 
“Oh, by the way, Fatima was asking if you have any old 2XL clothes. Apparently Faisal needs to size up again,” Ali said.
Evan arched an eyebrow. “Maybe you and Fatima have more in common than you thought,” he said. “There’s no way that’s just sympathy weight.”
Evan was right: Ali’s nephew was about to have his first birthday, and Faisal was looking even fatter than he had when his son was born. Ali considered the thought; the idea of Fatima deliberately fattening up his ex-jock brother was pretty funny, in his opinion, given how obsessed Faisal had been with “making gains” at the gym, and all the vanity behind his thirst trap Instagram photos. Now all his gains were made at the buffet table, steadily enlarging his gut.
“Good point,” Ali said. “Pretty soon he’s gonna make my dad look skinny.”
“I’ll have a look in my closet, but you know I never keep clothes for long. I might have a few things for him, though,” Evan said. He grabbed another handful of fries, washing it down with a swig of soda from the two-litre bottle on his desk. The watch Ali had proposed to him with looked tight around his chubby wrist, cutting into the fat between his plump forearm and his porky hand; they would need to get a few links added to it soon.
“I should probably get back to managing things downstairs and leave you to do the real work,” Ali said. 
“Bringing me fries is real work,” Evan said. He slipped a hand under his monster gut and gave it a shake, sending ripples across his epic torso. “This thing is—uuuurp—a full-time job.” Evan flushed; all that jiggling had coaxed out an impressive burp.
Seeing the way Evan’s fat belly wobbled and quivered made Ali realize just how tight his t-shirt had gotten. It was probably time to drop off some more clothes at the thrift store where Ali used to work. He nudged the plate of fries closer to Evan, smiling at the thought. “Well, I should get on that.”
Evan grinned at him. That perfect smile still made Ali’s stomach flutter. “Oh, you should definitely get on that.”
The thought of climbing all over Evan’s blubber-bound body got Ali’s heart racing. He really couldn’t wait to get on that.
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hamsterclaw · 1 year
Text
Allez
Seokjin's the latest fencer to join your parents' studio. He's competitive, beautiful and challenges you in ways beyond the foil.
My contribution to the Catch of the Century collab.
Pairing: Seokjin x F! reader
Genre: Fencer Jin AU, smut, angst
Rating: 18+
Word count: 8.9k
Warnings: Explicit sex, sexual innuendo, swearing
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You unlock the doors to your parents’ fencing studio and the familiar smell hits you. It’s a mix of musty and sweaty, permeating the very pores of the building even though you don’t think the building’s that old. 
You switch the lights on and start pulling equipment out of the store room to set up for the day. 
A noise from behind you startles you. 
You turn to see a tall man standing awkwardly by the door. 
‘Hi, I’m Kim Seokjin. I start today?’ 
The way his voice goes up at the end makes it sound like a question. 
‘Nice to meet you,’ you reply politely. ‘I’m Y/N L/N, just setting up. My father said you were joining us today.’ 
Kim Seokjin is the latest trainee to join your father’s fencing school, and his reputation precedes him. He started fencing late, and he’s older than most of the trainees here, but he’s got a raw talent and work ethic that paid off when he ranked internationally last year. 
‘My father won’t be in for another half hour. Would you like to look around? The gym’s open,’ you offer. 
‘Do you want help?’ Seokjin says instead, gesturing to the cage of jackets and pants you’re about to wheel out into the main studio. 
‘I’ll be fine, I do this every day,’ you reassure him. 
He doesn’t seem to want to go, so you let him push the cage whilst you gather the collection of swords. 
‘Are you training for the Asian games?’ you ask, as you hang jackets and pants up on the rail. 
‘Yes,’ he says, almost like he’s embarrassed about it. 
You look at him curiously as you push the cage back in and head to the gym. 
You flick the lights on, watching for his reaction. 
The gym in your parent’s studio is huge, designed like a fencer’s wet dream. Both your parents represented the country, in foil events. Your father was a three-time Olympian, your mother was once top ranked in the world. 
You’d shown promise once, the only daughter of two fencing luminaries, and it’d broken your parents’ hearts when you’d given up aged 16 and prioritised running instead. You earned a track scholarship for university but haven’t competed since graduating. 
Turns out, you don’t really have much competitive spirit in you. 
Seokjin’s lips are moving, and you realise you’ve tuned him out completely. 
‘Sorry,’ you say apologetically, ‘what did you say?’ 
He’s about to repeat it when your father appears at the entrance to the gym. 
‘Kim Seokjin,’ he says, friendly, welcoming. ‘You’re early.’ 
‘I was just talking to Y/N,’ Seokjin says. His smile is pretty, warm, and makes you realise just how good-looking he is. You’ve seen pictures of him, of course, but most of the fencers in your parents’ school are tall, slim, athletic looking, physically blessed. 
You take a step back and nearly bump into Jeon Jungkook, another one of your father’s trainees, and one of your best friends. You both watch as your father leads Seokjin away to his office. 
‘What are you doing here so early Jungkook?’ you ask. 
He smiles at you, casual. ‘I thought I’d fit in a workout before training today.’ 
‘Yeah, you need more muscles,’ you agree. Jungkook pouts at you. 
You’ve known Jungkook since you trained together as teenagers, and it’s a running joke between you about how he hit twenty and then turned into a sexy, beautifully sculpted adult. 
‘When are we going running together?’ he asks, slipping off his sweatshirt. 
You grab the hem of his t-shirt to stop him from baring his abs as his t-shirt rides up. You know he already has a starring role in the fantasies of all the teenagers in your parents’ stable of trainees. 
‘When you can keep up,’ you reply, rolling your eyes at his cheeky grin. 
‘I can keep up,’ he says, waggling his brows, suggestive. ‘I’ve got stamina.’ 
‘You kiss your mother with that mouth, Jeon?’ you ask. 
Jungkook just grins and heads to the treadmill to practice footwork. ‘See you after work.’
***
Jungkook meets you at the café near your work at the end of the day. 
‘How’s the new guy?’ you ask, after you’ve ordered. 
‘I like him,’ Jungkook says. His stomach rumbles loudly. 
You reach in your bag and pass him a package of Pocky. 
Jungkook tears it open like it’s his last meal. 
You watch him crunch into the chocolate dipped sticks with a mixture of disbelief and disgust. 
‘Did you want some?’ he asks. 
You wave him off. ‘You look like you need it more than me.’ 
‘I’m going through a growth spurt,’ Jungkook says. 
‘You’re spurting something, that’s for sure,’ you agree, smiling when the tips of his ears turn red. 
‘So tell me about Seokjin.’ 
‘Why do you want to know?’ Jungkook asks. He smiles at the waitress who’s delivering your drinks and she nearly spills the water, she’s so busy looking at him. 
‘Why won’t you tell me?’ you counter. 
‘His footwork is insane,’ Jungkook finally says. ‘He looks like he’s floating. Also he judges distance like no one else.’ 
‘Nice,’ you say. ‘You think he’ll get on the national team?’ 
‘He might beat me to it,’ Jungkook says, but he doesn’t sound in the least worried. 
Your lack of competitive spirits were what made you get on so well when you first met, two outliers in a cohort of fiercely competitive fencers. 
Jungkook’s still doing it though, his physicality is incredible. You were the competitive runner, but you think he might beat you in a distance run. Without trying. With a snack in his mouth. 
‘Hye-mi asked him out,’ Jungkook informs you, spearing a chip from your plate and stealing it before you can stop him. 
‘Yeah?’ you ask. 
‘He turned her down,’ Jungkook tells you. His eyes flick to yours. ‘Is that the info you wanted?’ 
Your whole face feels warm. 
Jungkook laughs softly. 
‘Do you have a crush, Y/N?’ 
‘Shut up, JK.’ 
***
The next morning, you’re wiping down gym equipment when Seokjin approaches you. 
‘Do you mind if I use the treadmill?’ he asks. 
You’re surprised to see him here so early again. 
‘Of course, you don’t have to ask me,’ you say, smiling. 
You’re cleaning, but you also can’t help watching as he practices his footwork. 
Jungkook had been right. He’s quick, light on his feet, making it look almost effortless as he advances. 
He turns suddenly, and you’re treated to the straight line of his spine where his thin t-shirt is stuck to his back. God, his back. He’s worked up a sweat already. 
You’re working up a sweat just watching him. 
You realise he’s looking at you in the mirrors, and you turn away abruptly. 
You have more to clean in the gym but you don’t think it’s good form to be caught ogling Kim Seokjin, and so you head for the equipment store. 
Your father calls you into his office as you pass. 
‘Your mother wants to cook hotpot tonight,’ he tells you. 
‘Ok, I’m free,’ you say, mouth-watering at the thought of your mother’s delicious broth. 
‘I’m inviting Kim Seokjin,’ your father tells you. 
‘Ah sure. Can I invite Jungkook? He loves hotpot.’ 
Your father laughs. ‘I’ll ask your mother to pick up extra beef.’ 
‘I can get dessert,’ you say. ‘Seven thirty?’ 
‘See you later,’ your father replies. 
***
Jungkook’s sniffing at the cardboard box containing the cheesecake you picked up. 
‘Stop that. We don’t all need Kookie germs,’ you tell him, stepping a little closer so that passersby don’t bump into him on the busy street you’re both navigating. 
‘I’ll give you Kookie germs,’ Jungkook mutters. His arm tightens against his side as a large group of drunk looking men pass you, pulling you closer. 
‘It’s barely 7,’ you say, outraged, staring at the men. 
‘No time limit on fun,’ Jungkook replies. ‘Apart from when it’s you and then there’s never any fun.’ 
You laugh at his rudeness. ‘Want me to carry the cake?’ 
‘Yes, but I also want to be the one to give it to your mom,’ Jungkook huffs. 
‘She already loves you,’ you say, rolling your eyes. ‘Oh, by the way, Kim Seokjin’s coming for dinner.’ 
‘I hope there’s enough beef,’ Jungkook says, worried. 
You take the box off him. ‘I’ll hold the cake, you stand in front of me so no one bumps us.’ 
Jungkook frowns. ‘Why did we have to come here for cake?’ 
‘You know it’s the best cheesecake,’ you say. ‘Sometimes you have to put in the work to get the best.’ 
‘Really?’ Jungkook asks, smile cocky. 
‘And that’s why we’re never sleeping together,’ you joke. 
Jungkook laughs and whines at the same time. ‘I already offered to give you Kookie germs,’ he tells you. 
‘Sperm is actually sterile,’ you inform him. ‘Come on, hurry up, we don’t want to be late.’ 
‘My sperm isn’t sterile. It’s full of little Kookies,’ Jungkook says. 
You burst out laughing. ‘I’m glad we’re getting this out of our system before we have to behave in front of Kim Seokjin and my parents. I meant there’s no germs in sperm.’ 
‘Want to see for yourself?’ Jungkook offers, but he’s already hailing the bus, ushering you on. 
The cake makes it to your parents’ in one piece, and you pass it quickly to Jungkook before reaching for your keys. 
The door opens before you can get the keys in the lock, and Kim Seokjin’s standing there, looking at you and Jungkook. 
‘Hi,’ you say, smiling brightly. 
He smiles back. ‘Need a hand?’ he asks Jungkook. ‘I brought dessert too.’ 
In a moment both you and Jungkook are standing in front of the beautiful layer cake Seokjin’s brought. 
‘Nobody likes a try-hard,’ Jungkook mutters. 
You nudge him, hard. 
‘It looks beautiful, Seokjin.’ 
Your mother greets Jungkook like he’s her long-lost son, ushering him away to help her in the kitchen, leaving you and Seokjin standing in a corner of the dining room. 
‘I didn’t know you and Jungkook knew each other,’ Seokjin says. 
‘We used to train together when I fenced,’ you tell him. ‘Before I gave up.’ 
Seokjin looks down at you, and you sense he has questions, everyone you tell usually does, but all that comes out is, ‘I like training with your father.’ 
‘I’m glad. He thinks highly of you,’ you tell him. 
Something occurs to you. ‘If you want, I can come earlier in the mornings to open up so you can work out.’ 
‘Don’t you have another job?’ Seokjin asks. 
At your curious look, he says, quickly, ‘Your father said you have another job, which is why you open up in the morning and he locks up at night.’ 
‘I do, but I don’t mind coming in a bit earlier. I’m up anyway,’ you say. 
‘If you really don’t mind, I’d like to have an earlier start on Wednesdays,’ Seokjin tells you. 
‘Done. I’ll come in earlier tomorrow,’ you tell him, smiling. ‘Does 6am suit you?’ 
‘That would be great,’ Seokjin says. ‘Thank you.’ 
Jungkook emerges from the kitchen. ‘Hotpot’s ready.’ 
You’ve barely filled your bowls when you see a gleam in your mother’s eye as she looks at Seokjin. 
You know what’s coming next, so you intercede smoothly. 
‘What do your parents do, Seokjin?’ you ask. 
Your mother’s mouth snaps shut. 
‘My mother was an accountant, my father is in the shipping business,’ Seokjin answers. You get the sense he’s as used to answering these questions as your parents are used to asking them. 
‘Which school did you go to?’ Jungkook asks, just about managing to look serious despite his mouth full of beef brisket. 
Seokjin shoots you and Jungkook the universal trapped look familiar to anyone who’s ever been interrogated by an Asian parent. 
‘I went to school outside Seoul and then I did my business degree, which is when I got into fencing.’ 
‘Do you have a girlfriend?’ you ask, on your mother’s behalf. 
‘Or a boyfriend?’ Jungkook asks. 
Your father eyes you and Jungkook warily. ‘I’m sure Seokjin wants to enjoy his food instead of answering all these very personal questions,’ he says, pointedly. 
‘Oh, I don’t mind,’ Seokjin says. ‘I’m single.’ 
He looks at you. ‘Are you single?’ 
‘I’m single,’ you say, and he smiles.
‘Good.’ 
You can feel your face heating up, and are thankfully saved by your mother’s tongue click of disapproval. ‘But you and Jungkook ---’ 
‘Yeah,’ Jungkook pipes up. ‘What about us, Y/N?’ 
Your father gets up. ‘I’m going to get more meat to put on the grill.’ 
You put your beef on Jungkook’s plate so he’ll shut up. 
‘Jungkook’s had a lot of girlfriends, mama,’ you tattle. 
Your mother’s eyes widen as she looks at Jungkook, whose eyes are equally wide but whose mouth is full of beef preventing him from saying anything. 
Seokjin chuckles quietly to himself. 
‘The broth is delicious,’ he tells your mother, taking pity on Jungkook. 
You take advantage of their moment of distraction to steal your beef back from Jungkook’s plate. 
***
On Wednesdays you go in early to open up the studio for Seokjin and finish your other job at midday so you can help out at the studio. 
You’re passing through when Mira, another fencer who trained with you and Jungkook, grabs you. 
‘Can you practice with me?’ she asks. ‘I need a challenge today. It’s you or Jungkook.’ 
‘What’s Jungkook doing?’ you ask. 
‘He was cornered by his fan club,’ Mira says, rolling her eyes. ‘He stripped his top off in the gym and I haven’t seen him since, just heard the screaming.’ 
‘Ugh,’ you say. ‘Let me get dressed. I’ll be there in five.’ 
You have your own fencing gear still because you often step in to train the younger trainees, especially on Wednesdays, or if there’s a match and your parents are unavailable. 
You get dressed and warm up with Mira. 
‘Ready to get your ass kicked?’ you ask. 
Mira laughs. ‘I miss your shit talk.’ She pulls on her face guard and clips her body cord on. ‘Try and catch me, Y/N.’ 
You used to fence with Mira all the time as trainees, although there are no weight classes, she’s roughly your size, the size you all were before Jungkook hulked out. 
You get into first position and another trainee, Ji-lin, calls out the orders. 
Mira’s fast, quicker than she was, and you haven’t fenced competitively in years. She scores three points in quick succession whilst you’re still finding your feet. 
‘Where’s that ass-kicking?’ she taunts, and you smile despite yourself. 
You’re not a competitive person in general, but you enjoy fencing. 
It’s combat, but it’s also graceful, beautiful. 
You’re so relaxed you almost feel like you’re water. 
Mira’s quicker than you, but you’ve also always found her predictable. The only reason she gets away with it is because of her speed. 
You parry and feint and land a beautiful jab to the centre of her chest, retreating almost before she realises she’s been hit. 
The next three points are yours, and you’re not worried because you know you’ve got this. 
You fight hard for the next few points, and land another on her shoulder as she tries to retreat. 
You’re 14-14. 
Dimly, you realise you have an audience of more than Ji-lin. 
‘Ready for your ass-kicking?’ you ask Mira. 
She laughs, slightly muffled through her face guard, but you can hear her loud and clear. ‘Bring it.’ 
You haven’t done this in years, but muscle memory alone helps you remember. 
You hear Ji-lin call out, and then you’re up, advancing towards Mira. You see the tell-tale movement of her foot and know exactly what she’s up to. As soon as she lunges, you dance back and tap her on the shoulder. 
The buzzer sounds, and your green light comes on. 
You greet each other from the ends of the piste and are about to pull your helmet off when another fencer approaches. 
The fencer’s tall, much taller than you, which puts you at a disadvantage, but you’re so high off of your victory over Mira you don’t mind. 
You nod and get into position. 
Mira pulls off her face mask, giving you a thumbs up as the other fencer attaches the body cord to their foil jacket and their weapon. 
She nods to you. ‘Ok to go ahead with another match?’ 
You nod. You’re not tired in the least, and your adrenaline’s still running high. 
‘En garde, pret, allez,’ calls Mira. 
You watch the other fencer as they advance towards you, hoping to catch a clue. 
There’s a familiarity to their footwork. You’ve seen it watching them on TV, and, with a jolt, you realise you saw it more recently than that, in the gym. 
You try to parry, but the tip of the blade’s already touched your foil jacket. 
You can’t see Kim Seokjin’s face, but you know it’s him. 
He scores three more points in quick succession, taking them from you before you get your head in the match. 
You wonder, idly, if Seokjin knows it’s you. 
You think that you should probably think about that another time before you get your ass beat. 
You score two points purely because he wasn’t expecting you to come at him. 
You switch styles, a trick your mother taught you, useful for confusing anyone who’s watched you and thinks they know your fencing. 
Knowing your distance has always been your strength, you can be as aggressive or defensive as you like and still score when it counts. 
You score another two points, but you can already tell you’re not going to win. He’s stronger, faster, and he seems to be keeping up with you perfectly well.  
Your ankles clash as you lunge carelessly at him, and your momentum sends you tumbling sideways. 
He reaches out quickly to grab you, lowering you to the ground gently. 
He pulls off his face guard, and you’re greeted by his stunning face, flushed and sweaty. 
He doesn’t seem surprised when you take your own face guard off. So he had known. 
‘How’s your ankle?’ he asks, worried. ‘We clashed pretty hard.’ 
‘It’s ok,’ you reply, rubbing it gingerly. ‘I’ll just put some ice on it.’ 
He unclips himself, and you, and lifts you in his arms before you get a chance to protest. 
‘What are you doing?’ you squeak, torn between embarrassment at being handled like a child and the sudden urge to bury your face in his broad chest.
‘I’ll take you to the medical room,’ Seokjin says. 
‘I can walk,’ you say, dryly. 
‘What if I wanted to impress you with how strong I am?’ 
Your face is burning, your heart beating so fast you think you’re going to pass out. 
‘I know you’re strong. We were fencing,’ you say, faintly. 
‘I’m bigger than you. I shouldn’t have gone so hard,’ Seokjin says, sounding more like he’s rebuking himself. 
‘There are no weight classes in fencing,’ you reply. 
His only answer is to shift you in his arms, pulling you in closer to his chest. 
At this angle, it would be more awkward to pull away, so you let your head rest on his chest. 
Seokjin deposits you on the couch in the medical room and opens the fridge for an ice pack. 
You start undoing the laces on your shoes. 
‘Just lean back,’ Seokjin chides. He pulls your shoe and sock off gently, and hands you the ice pack. 
You try not to think about the fact that like this, your foot is propped between his thighs. 
His thighs in tight fencing pants. 
Shit, don’t think about what else is between his thighs…..
Seokjin’s voice is amused. 
‘What are you staring at?’ 
‘Nothing,’ you squeak. 
Seokjin gets up. ‘I was just going to have lunch. There’s a little place around the block I like. Do you want to come with?’ 
‘S-s-sure,’ you say, wondering if you’re dreaming. Maybe you’d knocked your head and you just haven’t realised it yet. 
Maybe you’ll wake up and you’ll just be on the floor of the studio and ---
‘Hey,’ Seokjin says, his voice pulling you out of your little spiral. ‘I can carry you there if you want.’ 
‘No, I’ll walk,’ you say. You put some weight on your sore ankle. ‘I’m fine.’ 
***
You are not fine, but Kim Seokjin is. He is damn fine. 
He’s changed out of his fencing gear and into the usual loose tee and sweats he comes to the studio in, and he really shouldn’t look as fine as he does. 
‘What are you doing on Saturday night?’ he asks. ‘My friend Yoongi’s doing a gig, I was going to go support him. It’s probably the last night in a while I’ll get off before I really need to focus on training for the Asian Games.’ 
‘I don’t have plans,’ you tell him. 
‘So do you want to come?’ Seokjin asks. ‘If not I can meet you before.’ 
‘I’d like to come.’ 
Seokjin looks pleased. ‘I’ll pick you up.’ 
You’re glad your choice of attire seems to fit right in at the club Seokjin’s friend Yoongi is performing at. 
Seokjin hands you your drink and stands next to you. He’s dressed up for tonight, and he looks so pretty you’d be intimidated if it weren’t for the horrific puns he’s been dropping on you since he picked you up. 
His hair’s styled back from his forehead instead of flopping into his face. The button-up shirt he’s got on is unbuttoned over a crisp white shirt. 
You’d known he’s taller than you, of course, but you hadn’t realised how attractive you’d find it. 
Seokjin nods. ‘How’s your drink?’ 
‘Yeah, it’s great, thank you.’ 
‘You look really pretty,’ Seokjin tells you. 
You look down at your clothes like you hadn’t agonised for a half hour.
‘How do you know Yoongi?’ you ask. 
Seokjin puts out an arm in front of you as a group of men pass by, too close.  
‘Went to school together,’ he says. ‘Did you go to school with Jungkook?’ 
‘He came to train with my parents when he was a kid,’ you tell Seokjin. ‘We used to compete together.’
‘Why did you give up fencing?’ 
He seems genuinely curious. 
‘Wasn’t good enough,’ you say. 
Seokjin looks at you searchingly. 
‘I didn’t want it enough,’ you amend. 
He nods. ‘That’s fair. I used to envy all the fencers who got early starts.’ 
You say, ‘It seems like you’re doing ok.’ 
You’re teasing him, of course, he’s a phenomenal fencer, and he’s got time to make his mark. 
‘I kicked your ass today,’ he agrees. 
You laugh. ‘Look at the size of you.’ 
‘Didn’t realise you were looking,’ says Seokjin, and there’s a flash of heat in his gaze. 
Your heart starts to pound faster. 
His eyelids lower just a fraction, enough that he looks devastatingly sleepy-eyed, lazy, when he says, ‘I’m sorry about your ankle.’ 
It’s hard to think when he’s looking at you like that. 
Thankfully, the MC announces that Daegu’s very own Suga will be taking the stage, so you don’t have to muster enough voice to reply. 
Seokjin’s friend Yoongi has a raw power to his voice, a kind of irresistible, sexy energy that draws you in even when it looks like he’s making barely any effort. 
You’re kind of glad you never went to school with either of them. 
After his performance, Seokjin takes you backstage to meet him. 
Yoongi greets Seokjin with affection. His forehead still gleams with sweat, his hair is saturated with it. 
He smiles politely at you as Seokjin introduces you. 
You compliment him on his performance as Seokjin goes to get more drinks.
‘Seokjin says he went to dinner at your parent’s house the other day,’ Yoongi says. 
‘You can come too,’ you say, not missing a beat. ‘My mom’s broth is delicious.’ 
Yoongi laughs. ‘Sure, I’d love that.’ 
‘Will you be around for the games?’ you ask. 
‘I’ll probably try to be around if Seokjin competes,’ Yoongi says. 
‘Great, I’ll see you there, then. My friend Jungkook’s going to the qualifying rounds as well.’ 
‘Perfect, you can explain the rules to me,’ Yoongi says. 
You can’t imagine watching fencing with someone who doesn’t know the rules. 
‘Ah, damn. Now I’ve fallen in your estimation,’ Yoongi says, softly. 
You can’t help but laugh. ‘It’s ok, I can’t perform like you can.’ 
Seokjin returns. 
‘I’m coming to dinner at Y/N’s mom’s house next time,’ Yoongi informs him. 
‘And he’s coming to watch you fence,’ you say. 
‘Great, you can explain how it all works to him. He doesn’t listen to me,’ Seokjin says, easy. 
Yoongi laughs. ‘You’re too busy complaining about how I never listen to actually teach me anything.’ 
You tune out as the boys argue good-naturedly. 
Seokjin gets your attention with a hand on your shoulder. ‘We should get going. I’ve got an early start tomorrow.’ 
He drops you off outside your apartment. 
‘Thank you,’ you say. ‘I had a great time.’ 
Seokjin grins. ‘Me too. We should go to Yoongi’s next gig.’ 
‘Love to.’ 
Seokjin gets out of the car, but you’ve already opened your own door. 
‘Should I walk you to your door?’ he asks. 
You can’t stop a giggle. Your door is barely two metres from where you’re parked. 
‘I think I’ll be ok, you know.’ 
Seokjin leans over you a little. 
His lips are close to yours, pink, plump, pretty. 
‘Night Seokjin,’ you say, looking at him. 
‘Night, Y/N,’ he replies. He leans down to kiss you on the cheek. 
It’s sweet, warm, and he smells so good your heart does a backflip. 
It’s the perfect end to the night. 
***
Your voice is hoarse from cheering Jungkook on through the qualifying rounds. Seokjin, who’s higher ranked nationally and internationally, is only just fencing his first bout now. 
He cuts a beautiful figure as he walks through the arena in his fencing whites, tall and lean. With his fencing mask off, his gorgeous face is on show, and you can see heads turning as he passes. 
He stops in front of where you’re seated, eyes scanning through the people around you. When he sees you his face breaks into a smile, and your heart flutters. 
Your own smile is bright, happy. You probably look idiotic smiling at him like this, but you can’t find it in yourself to care. 
He lays his bag on the ground, pulls out a foil and starts warming up. 
Beside you, sweaty Jungkook chugs water and nudges you. 
Despite his sweatiness, you put an arm around him. 
‘You’re doing amazing, JK, you’ll make the team for sure.’ 
His trademark shy smile is so bashful you think you can hear a collective sigh from the room. 
Your friend is a heartstopper, for sure. 
‘Well, there’s two rounds to go,’ he mumbles, faux-modest. 
‘That’s true,’ you say, seriously. ‘And Wang Jinsong is strong today.’
His brows furrow, and his lips are already pouting when you laugh. 
‘You’ll be fine, JK.’ 
Seokjin’s bout starts, and he lunges forward, aggressive, quick, skilled. 
You wonder if his fencing style reflects his personality. He’s quick but calculated, a distinct style evident in his movements and approach. 
At the end of his bout, which he wins with ease, he barely looks like he’s broken a sweat. 
You’re impressed, and you should be more impressed by his skill than his thighs but damn his thighs are beautiful, long, lean, muscled. 
You’re heading down to congratulate him when he’s approached by a fellow fencer. She takes her mask off, long hair swinging, and smiles at him. 
Seokjin seems happy to see her, he’s smiling back. 
They look striking together, both tall, long-limbed, beautiful. 
‘Looks like you have competition,’ Jungkook says, unhelpfully, and you grab his arm. 
‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ you say, a confidence in your voice you don’t feel. 
Jin turns to you as you and Jungkook approach. 
‘Hey,’ he says, warmth in his voice. 
He exchanges congratulations with Jungkook. 
‘So, are we on for a drink later?’ asks the tall girl. 
‘Sure,’ Jin says, easily. 
You work hard to keep any of your emotions showing on your face. 
‘You did amazing, Jin,’ you say. 
‘Thanks,’ Jin says. 
There’s a bit of an awkward pause, and you turn to Jungkook. ‘So I should help you get ready.’ 
Jungkook’s quick sometimes when he wants to be. ‘Sure,’ he says. 
You leave Jin and the tall girl standing together whilst you walk off with Jungkook. 
‘Want me to kick his ass in our bout?’ Jungkook offers, after a moment. 
‘For what?’ you scoff. ‘It was just a kiss, and he’s just going for a drink with a girl with legs longer than my entire body. No biggie.’ 
Jungkook laughs, and a moment later, you’re laughing too. 
***
You do not know how Jungkook managed to convince you to come out tonight. 
You’re more than happy to congratulate him and Jin for getting on the national team for the Asian games, but you do not need to see gorgeous Jin getting off with tall girl, who also made the women’s team. 
You’re the least decorated person in the bar. Normally that would be fine with you, but your confidence is low tonight. You’re wearing a short skirt that would look a lot better if you had longer legs. 
You collect a round of drinks and bring them to Jungkook, Mari and your friends. 
In your absence at the bar, Seokjin and tall girl, whose name you now learn is Jihyo, have both joined your table. 
You’re trying not to look to closely at how close they’re standing to each other. 
‘I’ll get more drinks,’ you say, putting the tray down. 
‘I’ll come with,’ Jin says. He looks at Jihyo. ‘Usual?’ he asks. 
You don’t want to know how he knows her usual drink. 
There’s a bit of a wait whilst the bartender makes your orders. 
You look at the bottles lined up behind the bar like they’re the most fascinating thing you’ve ever seen. 
Jin clears his throat. ‘You look beautiful.’ 
You turn to him, expression carefully blank. ‘Thanks, Jin. Congratulations on getting on the national team.’ 
‘Thanks.’ 
You’re in damage control mode. You’re not going to ask him how he knows beautiful Jihyo. 
Probably they fenced together at one point. 
You very much hope so and also that she kicked his ass, unlike you. 
‘Need a hand?’ asks the gorgeous bartender. He nods to your full tray, smiling at you. 
Jin clears his throat again, stepping forward. ‘Thanks, I’ve got it.’ 
You fall into conversation with the person next to you, a pink-haired man with silver earrings and a flirty grin called Jimin. 
He invites you to dance with him, and you’re tipsy enough to say yes. 
You catch glimpses of Jungkook and Mari as Jimin whirls you around the dancefloor.
You’re coming out of the toilets when you run into Seokjin again. 
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘I haven’t seen much of you tonight.’ 
‘I’m here now,’ you reply, lightly. 
‘Yeah. Want to go somewhere a little quieter?’ he asks. 
You step out into the cool night air with Seokjin. 
‘Hey,’ he says. ‘There’s a dessert place down the block. Want to get ice cream?’ 
You’re not sure about Seokjin’s taste in ice-cream but he sure looks pretty eating it. 
He swallows a bite, throat working, and you avert your eyes. 
‘I’m really glad I get to celebrate getting on the team, here with you,’ he says, suddenly. 
You smile at him. ‘Me too. I won’t keep you long, I know you probably want to get back.’
Seokjin frowns a little. ‘Do you want to get back to the club? Because I’d rather be here, with you.’ 
‘What about your friends?’ you ask. 
‘Hey, I owe you,’ Seokjin says, jokingly. ‘You opened the school at six am for months to give me extra training time.’ 
You try not to look too disappointed at his words. 
‘I was happy to do it,’ you say. ‘You don’t owe me anything.’ 
Seokjin laughs quietly. ‘I’m saying all the wrong things, aren’t I? I just want to spend time with you, because I like your company and I think I won’t have this opportunity in the coming few months up to the games.’ 
‘I like spending time with you too,’ you say, honestly. 
‘Great. That’s settled then.’ 
Your phone starts buzzing. It’s a drunk and hungry Jungkook. 
‘Are you ok?’ he hollers into the phone. ‘Where are you? I can’t see Seokjin either!’ 
You roll your eyes at Jin. ‘We’re at an ice cream place, down the road. Do you want ice-cream?’ 
Jungkook slumps next to you as Seokjin gets him ice-cream. 
‘Am I cockblocking you?’ he asks quietly, eyes bright. 
You laugh. ‘You should ask Seokjin that. Anyway, we need to look out for each other, and you’re too drunk to go anywhere alone right now.’ 
Jungkook perks up as Seokjin comes back with ice-cream for him. 
‘Am I cockblocking you?’ he asks. 
Seokjin, to his credit, just smiles. 
‘I’ll get you ice-cream anytime, Jungkookie.’ 
After you’ve deposited Jungkook at home, you turn to Seokjin. 
You’re about to ask if he’ll be ok getting home when he leans close, head dipping to bring his face closer to yours. 
‘Can I kiss you?’ he asks. 
You slide a hand around his neck, pulling him closer still. 
He swivels a little so he can face you straight on, and his lips capture yours in a kiss. 
He tastes better than all your fantasies, caramel sweetness and the cherry chapstick you’ve seen him use sometimes. 
You sometimes tease him about it, ask him which teenager he stole it from. 
There’s nothing innocent about the way he licks into your mouth, the press of his hips against yours. 
‘Want to come over to mine?’ he asks. 
***
Seokjin drops his bag of foils by the entryway of his loft-style apartment. 
You lean against the front door. You started off wanting to look around but now you’re just looking at him.
He’s so pretty, with his perfect skin, his hair pushed back from his gorgeous face.
He tilts his head, smiling at you.
‘You can come in,’ he says, sounding amused.
He takes a step towards you, then another.
Now he’s so close you have to tilt your head back to see his face. 
‘Seokjin,’ you say, nervous. 
‘It’s ok,’ he says. ‘I’ll take you home right now if that’s what you want.’
You search his eyes. Then you put a hand on his chest.
Seokjin leans down. He’s still smiling as he kisses you. His lips are soft, gentle, undemanding.
Your own lips part under his, and in the end it’s your tongue that slips into his mouth first.
He lets you taste him, one hand gentle on your hip, his other hand cupping your jaw, fingers sliding under your hair.
You’re so lost in the taste and feel of him that it takes you a moment to realise you’re pressed against his front, fisting handfuls of his shirt.
He doesn’t seem to mind. 
His lips are flushed from your kisses. He kisses your forehead when you pull away, and you wrap an arm around his neck, tugging him down so that your lips meet again.
His hand slides up your side, higher and higher, and at the first pass of his thumb over the curve of your breast, you moan softly. You’re panting a little, sticky and wet with arousal, and your clit throbs. You roll your hips against his, seeking stimulation, and feel the hard length of him against your belly.
Seokjin’s kissing down your neck now, humming against your skin. God, he feels good. The suction of his lips drags another moan from you. 
He pulls back, admiring the mark he’s made on your skin. ‘My bed’s in there,’ he says.
As he turns, the profile of the bulge in his groin sends a gush of wetness between your thighs.
Fuck. You want it, you want him. 
He smiles at you, like he hasn’t just caught you staring at his erection.
When he holds out his hand, you take it.
Seokjin takes you to his bedroom. He says, ‘Come sit.’
You sit next to him on his bed. He doesn’t give you any time to feel awkward, sliding his arm around you and pulling you into his chest.
His kisses are drugging, slow and languid and luring you into a pleasured haze. You have no idea how long you’ve been kissing for when you become dimly aware of the wetness between your thighs, the throbbing of your clit.
Seokjin grunts as your hands explore his body.
God, he feels so good.
You ask, hand flat on the broad expanse of his chest, if he can take his shirt off.
Seokjin unbuttons his shirt obligingly. You tug your dress over your head.
He gazes at you, frank admiration in his eyes. ‘You’re really pretty.’
You can feel your cheeks heat.
He traces a finger over the strap of your bra, then he lowers his head to kiss.
You tug him on top of you. 
He comes willingly, settling his hips between your legs, erection pressing against your core.
You’re impatient with the layers of clothing between you. You want to feel more of him.
‘Take more off,’ you urge. Seokjin smiles at you, a little goofy, a lot handsome.
You encourage him by lifting your hips and wriggling your panties down.
‘Take everything off,’ Seokjin says to you. His voice is low now, his eyes dark.
You unclasp your bra.
For a moment he just stares at you.
Then he’s kissing you again, positioning himself, rolling a condom on.
He’s thicker than you expected. You grab his shoulder as he pushes into you, and he stills immediately. 
‘You ok?’ he asks.
You shift the angle of your hips and spread your legs more. ‘Yeah.’
He goes slow, and you marvel at his self-control. 
‘You good?’ he checks when he’s fully inside you. Your grip on his shoulder tightens. 
‘Yeah I’m good,’ you say.
‘You feel really good,’ Seokjin tells you, as he starts to move. He’s quiet then for a bit, concentrating as he thrusts, rocking against your hips. 
God, he feels good.
You bite your lip, and Seokjin says, ‘fuck, you look so pretty taking my cock.’
His words make you tighten, and he smiles, slow.
‘You liked that. You want to hear more, baby girl?’
You’d never normally put up with being called baby girl but somehow when he says it, it sounds hot.
You moan as he thrusts harder. 
‘What’s that, baby? Do you like it? Let me hear you.’
He tweaks your nipple, and you moan again.
He’s starting to get breathless now.
‘S’ fucking good,’ he pants. 
You realise your nails are digging into his shoulder. 
‘Seokjin!’ You cry out on a particularly hard thrust, when he grinds against your clit.
‘That’s it,’ he murmurs. ‘Who fucks you like this, baby?’
There’s pleasure in every stroke, spreading out from your spread cunt to your thighs, sending flares of sensation down to your toes.
You realise he’s waiting for an answer when he pinches your nipple, hard.
‘I asked you a question, love. Who fucks you like this?’
‘You do,’ you tell him. ‘Fuck, Seokjin, I’m close. Fuck.’
He presses his face to your neck, and you can feel his lips curve. ‘Gonna cum for me?’ he whispers in your ear, voice velvety, smooth.
‘Yeah,’ you tell him. ‘Yeah.’
‘Good girl,’ he praises when your head arches back and your body thrums with your orgasm. 
He slows, thrusting gently as your body gradually relaxes into the bed. 
‘You good?’ he asks. His voice is gentle, despite the fact you can still feel him, hard and twitching inside you.
‘I’m good,’ you assure him.
‘Good. Now you’re gonna take my cum,’ he says, and despite the fact you’ve just cum you feel another thrill of arousal.
‘Take it like a good girl, baby,’ he says.
He slows his strokes, pulling almost all the way out before slamming into you again. 
‘Can you take more?’ he asks. 
You press a kiss to his neck. ‘Give me more, Seokjin.’
He falls quiet again, fucking into you until his thrusts get slower and slower and then, with a deep groan, he thrusts again, and is still.
‘So good,’ he tells you, face buried in your hair. ‘So good.’
***
Jungkook’s rustling into your bag like a ferret.
‘Stop that,’ you say, grabbing his hands to make him stop.
‘I need a snack,’ he whines.
‘You don’t need anything, we just ate,’ you tell him firmly.
‘I’ve been training hard,’ he tells you. 
‘When are you leaving for national training?’ you ask, exasperated.
‘Next week,’ he replies. ‘Seokjin and I are rooming together.’
‘I’d better warn Seokjin that you snore, give him time to pick a new roommate,’ you say.
Jungkook frowns, then calms when you toss him a snack.
‘Are you guys dating now?’
‘Yes,’ says Seokjin, coming up behind you and grabbing another snack out of your bag.
You look up at him, flustered. 
‘Aren’t we?’ he asks. ‘I mean, we’ve been —-‘
Your father’s voice sounds from behind Seokjin, and all three of you freeze.
Seokjin recovers his composure first. ‘I’ve been planning to tell you, sir, that Y/N and I are dating,’ he says, polished, calm.
You and Jungkook exchange a look.
Your father looks at you, and you straighten in your seat, nudging Jungkook’s hand away from your bag where he’s fishing for another snack.
‘Well, that’s fine,’ your father says, gruffly. 
‘I’ll do my best by her,’ Seokjin says, seriously, and your heart starts to flutter. 
He smiles at you. 
Beside you, Jungkook crumples his snack packet, loudly and obtrusively. 
‘I’ll look after Jungkook too,’ Seokjin says, and Jungkook rolls his eyes. 
‘I don’t –’ Jungkook starts, whiny, at the same time your father says, ‘Good man.’ He pats Seokjin on the back. 
As soon as your father leaves the room you pull Seokjin into a hug. ‘That was kinda sexy,’ you whisper. 
He quirks an eyebrow at you and whispers back, ‘You know what this means.’ 
You look at him curiously. 
‘I’m the boss. You’d better do as I say.’ 
Your mouth drops open at his devastatingly sexy grin. 
‘I’ll see you for dinner later,’ he says, turning to leave. 
‘Where are we going for dinner?’ Jungkook asks, coming up behind you, slinging a heavy arm around your shoulder. 
‘You’re not coming,’ you tell him flatly. 
‘Hyung will let me come.’ 
You turn and swipe the streak of chocolate off his cheek. 
‘Come on, let’s fence. You need to work off those snacks.’ 
Jungkook lifts his top to show you his abs, and you roll your eyes so hard you nearly give yourself a headache. 
‘Put those away Jeon, for the love of god.’ 
***
It’s been two weeks since Jungkook and Seokjin left for training camp. 
Seokjin calls you, like clockwork, every other night, sometimes every night.
You learn what his voice sounds like when he’s tired, when he’s excited, and when Jungkook’s annoying him.
You learn he can talk about himself a lot, and it should be offputting but it’s endearing. Mainly because you agree with how good looking he thinks he is. 
Jungkook often involves himself in your conversations, telling you about his fencing partners, occasionally about girls he thinks are into him.
It’s quieter in the fencing studio without them but you’re excited for them. 
You’re closing up one day when you hear a familiar voice say your name.
You turn, the ripple of excitement morphing into a tide when you realise it’s really Seokjin.
He’s leaning against the entrance to the studio, smiling at you.
‘Seokjin!’
He’s faster, covering more ground than you as you split the distance between you. 
You bury your face in his chest partly to hide your giddy smile.
Seokjin’s arms have always been strong, but as he holds you, you notice the changes in his physique.
He’s leaner, harder and god he looks prettier than ever.
He tilts his head down to kiss you, and as your lips meet, the studio lights click off.
‘It’s a timer,’ you say, waiting for your eyes to adjust.
In the dark like this, your other senses are amplified. You can hear his quiet breathing, smell the cologne he uses, fresh and crisp.
Seokjin’s hand slides down your arm, to the foil in your hand. 
‘Are you still attached?’ he asks.
He lifts the foil and touches the tip to your lame jacket. 
The green light of the scoreboard lights up, illuminating the darkness.
It’s familiar to you as a night light. You guess Seokjin feels that way about it too.
He smiles down at you. He looks beautiful in the half-light.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he tells you.
You hope he can see the happiness on your face.
‘I’ve missed you too.’
The green light clicks off as you kiss him, but you don’t need it.
You curl your hand around Seokjin’s, and he drops the foil. It clatters to the ground.
At this point, his body, even in its slightly altered state, is as familiar to you as your own.
He curls a hand around the back of your head, another around your ass, and pulls you close.
It’s many minutes before you emerge from the studio, Seokjin’s arms still around you like he doesn’t want to let you go.
His lips are flushed from your kisses, the sweats doing a poor job of concealing his arousal. 
‘Shit, look at you, wrecked for me,’ you say, teasing.
Seokjin just laughs. ‘Talk all the smack you want now, when we get in bed I’ll shut you up,’ he jokes.
It’s a short drive back to yours, but it’s still too long.
Seokjin starts nuzzling your neck as you fumble with your keys, lifting your hair out of the way.
You let out a barely suppressed moan as he nips at the join between your neck and shoulder, and Seokjin presses his hips against your ass, grinding his erection between your ass cheeks.
The door opens, and you stumble forward, Seokjin’s arm around your hips, his hand still tangled in your hair.
‘Bed,’ he grunts.
You shed your clothes quickly and when you turn to help Seokjin with his you’re confronted with his bare chest.
His gorgeous, golden skin gleams in the light from the streetlamps through your open windows. 
You dip your head and lick a strip up his chest, tongue flicking over his flat nipple.
Seokjin hisses, his hand over the bulge in his briefs, rubbing himself for relief.
He tugs your bra strap down and cups your bare breast, thumb flicking slowly across your hard nipple. His hands are more callused than they were. 
You like discovering all these changes in him amidst all the familiar.
‘Can I?’ he asks, voice strained, fingers hooked in the waistband of your panties.
You slip your panties off, and he buries his face in your cunt.
‘Gonna get you wet so I can fuck you hard,’ he tells you. His fingers slip inside you as he sucks at your clit, and you’re so sensitive already you’re pushed into an orgasm. 
‘Fuck,’ Seokjin swears, eyes intent on you. ‘Cumming already?’
He fingers you through your orgasm, stopping when you put your hand over his forearm.
‘Get inside me,’ you tell him.
Seokjin hesitates. ‘You’re sensitive, baby.’
‘I want you,’ you plead.
Seokjin laces his fingers through yours as he positions himself against you.
He goes slow, watching your face as he inches in.
Your cunt pulses as he enters you, and Seokjin stops when you moan.
‘Can you take me?’ he asks, voice strained.
‘I can take you,’ you assure him. 
You both moan when he’s all the way in, hips flush against yours.
You tilt your hips, and Seokjin grunts.
‘So good,’ he tells you, ‘s fucking good.’
He moves slow, purposeful, grinding against you, and you feel the pleasure start to build again.
‘I’ve missed you,’ he murmurs into your ear, lips against your cheek.
He groans when you tilt your hips, lifting to meet his thrusts.
‘I’ve missed you too,’ you tell him.
His body looks so good over yours as he fucks you, you almost can’t believe he’s real.
His biceps flexes as he takes his weight on that arm. His other hand grips your hip, and he grinds on you so hard you squeal.
His hand relaxes immediately. ‘Did I hurt you?’
‘No, give me more, Jin,’ you murmur.
He kisses your neck, lips plush on your skin. ‘I’m giving you all I’ve got, my love. You’re so good, look at you taking my cock.’
Your cunt tightens around him but he doesn’t ease up. 
Not when you’re reduced to gasping his name.
Not when you’re pulsing around him as you cum.
He keeps rocking into you until you grab his chin and plant your mouth on his.
He kisses you, open-mouthed, as his thrusts get sloppier and sloppier until finally he cums, spilling inside you whilst your name falls from his lips. Fervent, like a prayer.
You hold him whilst he recovers from giving you the best fucking of your life.
***
It’s sometime between midnight and dawn when you awaken to Jin’s hand tracing a line down your bare back.
He stops just shy of the cleft of your ass.
You turn your head on the pillow to face him.
‘Hey Jin,’ you say, sleepy, soft.
He’s smiling at you, beautiful in the half-light of your bedroom window.
‘You can touch,’ you say, as his hand once again stops above your ass.
‘Here?’ Jin asks, fingers tracing over your ass to your cunt. You’re wet for him, you’ve been wet since you woke up to him touching you.
‘There,’ you confirm, and Jin’s fingers trace between your folds, like a tease, before he’s entering you.
He stills, fingers curled. 
You turn on your side so you’re facing each other.
Your forearms cross, his long and strong and muscled, yours less so, as you reach for his cock and he slides his fingers into you again.
He’s hard, warm, twitching a little in your grasp.
‘I want you inside, Jin,’ you gasp as he pumps his fingers slowly inside you, stroking, filling you but not quite enough.
‘I want to be inside,’ he answers.
He pulls you under him and enters you again, and god, he feels so good you don’t want it to end. 
His rhythm’s slower now, purposeful, pulling you to the edge relentlessly.
He groans with every thrust, going deep, hitting you just right. You hold on to his ass, digging your heels into the bed to give you purchase to fuck him back.
Jin seems to like it.
He swears. ‘I don’t think I can hold it, you feel so good, my love.’
‘Don’t hold it, cum for me, Jin,’ you coax.
He plunges into you again and again, and you cry his name as your climax hits. 
‘Thank fuck,’ Jin groans. He’s already cumming, you can feel him wet and slick in you as you clench around him, milking him.
Jin pulls you on top of him as he collapses back down on your bed.
You press a kiss to his sweaty, broad chest.
‘We can do this anytime,’ you say, joking.
‘5 stars?’ he asks.
‘Four. I’ll give you another if you let me suck your cock.’
Jin laughs and pushes your face into his chest.
‘I don’t have to leave until mid morning.’
‘When’s your match?’ you ask, settling into his shoulder.
‘Next week.’
‘Lucky you’re not a boxer, I’ve heard they can’t nut for a month before each bout.’
‘You can blow me in the changing rooms on match day, I’ll never turn you down,’ Jin says.
You both laugh.
‘I’ll make you breakfast before you go,’ you promise.
‘I’ll hold you to that,’ Jin says. ‘And the blow job.’
‘None of that is a hardship, Jin.’
‘Marry me,’ he says, instantly. 
You laugh again. ‘Cuddle me to sleep.’
‘Anytime,’ he promises, sounding sleepy already. ‘Anytime.’
***
You’re sitting in the stands waiting for the final fencing bout of the Asian Games.
Jungkook’s won a title in the team event, and he’s sitting between you and Yoongi, waiting for Jin to walk out onto the piste.
Jin emerges from the changing rooms, blinding and brilliant in his fencing whites. 
Not for the first time, you admire how beautiful he looks, tall and strong.
He stops at the end of the piste. He looks up at you in the stands and waves. 
You wave back, and Jin lifts the hand not holding his foil. 
He blows you a kiss.
Beside you, Yoongi snorts and Jungkook bursts out laughing.
You only have eyes for Jin.
He slips his mask on and greets his opponent. 
You know as well as Jin does that whether he wins or not, you’ll both be ok.
Jin slips into en garde, graceful, deadly.
The ref calls, ‘Allez.’
©hamsterclaw 2022
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popatochisssp · 6 months
Text
Aesthetics Ref - UFF Bros
Nickname: Carmine (UFF!Sans)
Height: 1” taller than you (OR 5’0”)
Eye-lights: Carmine red (#960018)
Magic Specialty: Red, yellow, orange
Scars/distinguishing marks: Gold tooth (left canine), light defensive scrapes and nicks on his forearms, two faint rings circling his cervical vertebrae, one deep pock-mark on the underside of his right humerus
Preferred Style: Urban casual, dresses equally for comfort as for a Look and aims somewhere in the vicinity of streetwise punk. He likes having a distinctive style going on, but not too distinct as to separate him out from a crowd, just a bit uniquely flavored. He prefers things loose and tries to layer, but he can never commit because of overheating issues, so outer layers tend to get shrugged half-off or removed entirely. Likes a lot of black and red and shiny gold.
Outerwear: Zippered hoodies, athletic/tracksuit jackets, often end up hanging at his elbows or thrown over his shoulder
Top: Tank tops and muscle shirts, a largely random assortment of graphic tees (band names, album art, product logos, locations, etc)
Bottom: Joggers, baggy pants, drawstring and track pants
Footwear: Sneakers (nothing special but well-cared for and quickly racking up use)
Trademark accessory/accessories: Gold chains, he’s got a few in rotation and isn’t shy to wear a few at once, but he usually has a little bling on at any given time, with a preference for interesting linking patterns (as long as they’re not right up against his neck)
-
Nickname: Tank (UFF!Papyrus)
Height: 2’4” taller than you (OR 7’3”)
Eye-lights: Cardinal Red (#C51E3A)
Magic Specialty: Red, white
Scars/distinguishing marks: None
Preferred Style: Varsity Boy Next Door, a built jock who has a soft spot for loud Valentine colors (red, white, pink). He mostly prefers simple minimalist designs, the occasional double-stripe hem or a color-block, but every so often he’ll be lured in by a pattern or a classic wide-striped red gingham (his weakness!). He keeps it basic (albeit bright) when he expects to be doing any dirty work, but when not, he likes to show off some of his nice things.
Outerwear: A varsity jacket or two for cold weather, though he hardly wears them
Top: Lots of t-shirts and long-sleeved muscle shirts, all on the tightly fitting side, and a handful of ribbed halter and polo-collar crop-tops for special occasions
Bottom: A good range of jeans from slim fit to relaxed fit, many with dirt/dust/paint stains or a few rips and tears from use (these often get patched either with plain blocks of fabric or an interesting design he found somewhere). Some cargo pants in a variety of colors too, and the odd athletic pant to help build an outfit
Footwear: Boots, largely work boots with steel toes, but some combat-style boots in a lot more styles and colors, usually with little to no heel—he really doesn’t need the height…
Trademark accessory/accessories: A sleek silver ring with a single large white stone, worn on either the index or middle finger of his right hand, or on a chain around his neck. In any case, it never leaves his person.
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simciety-ccfinds · 2 years
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Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media Tumblr media
Male CC Finds (Part 1)
*I did not make this content! All custom content is credited to the creator*
I will not re-upload, convert,  recolor or retexture meshes or any other content per the creators TOU (which I do read). I do not get paid by commission, website traffic, or reviews.   You will be redirected to the creator's page for download instructions
I did not create these sims
Thank you & Happy Simming!
Tops
#1 - Tank Top | Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla on Patreon
#2 - Oversized T-Shirt III | Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla on Patreon
#3 - Basic Hoodie | Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla on Patreon
#4 - The Sims Resource - toksik - Strike Jersey
#5 - Washed T-Shirt | Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla on Patreon
#6 - The Sims Resource - toksik - Balae Shirt
#7 - The Sims Resource - Bomber Jacket with Rolled up Sleeves
#8 - Slim Fit Turtleneck | Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla on Patreon
#9 - Destroyed T-Shirt | Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla on Patreon
#10 - 1990's Vibes Outfit Set - Moood X Rona | RONA_SIMS on Patreon
#11 - The Sims Resource - Tuxedo Shirt with Vest
#12 - Leather Vest (darte77.blogspot.com)
#13 - High School Bomber Jacket (darte77.blogspot.com)
#14 (Careful with this one, many popups and ads) - Layered Jersey M (nitropanic.net)
#15 - Nascar Tee & EE Short and Bass Pro Shop Cap (kiegrosssims.wixsite.com)
#16 - The Sims Resource - Industrialize 3 Pack Sweatshirts
#17 - Drake shirt | amelylina on Patreon
Sets
#18 - The Sims Resource - Men FullBody Tracksuits
#19 - The Sims Resource - Men's Slim-Fit Suit - Set
#20 - The Sims Resource - Men Colorful Tracksuits
#21- SIMSIMI S4 TRACK SET (tistory.com)
#22 - pixel peeps (tumblr.com)
#23 - The Sims Resource - ChloeM-Blouse Set Male
#24 - The Sims Resource - Brandon evening
Bottoms
#25 - Slim Fit Jeans | Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla on Patreon
#26 - The Sims Resource - Belaloallure_Adam pants
#27 - The Sims Resource - Slim Fit Jeans
#28 - The Sims Resource - Men Cargo Trousers
#29 - https://tinyurl.com/2p9ea5yp
#30 - The Sims Resource - Belaloallure_Danny shorts
#31 - Jeans (darte77.blogspot.com)
328 notes · View notes
lizzisimss · 1 year
Photo
Tumblr media Tumblr media
Jonas CC List:
Body: kiwitrait_antiquetattoos_MERGED, kiwitrait_minimoles, Sammi_xox_MoreLipPresets N1-20, nesurii_lightitup-highlight, Simbience_HauteSkinblend, Pralinesims - FancyEyebrowKit, PYXIS - ToTheBone_Nosemasks, Sammi_xox - CookieDough_SkinBlend_Revamped, PS - Eyes_N157
Accessories: serenity_am_EvaNecklace, [greenllamas] GOSSIP_Nico_Rings (R), [greenllamas] GOSSIP_Obie_Rings (L), Pralinesims - UltimateEarringCollection
Everyday: [AxA]- Damien Hair, CLUMSYALIEN [ASHE JACKET], [RIMINGS] LV Belt & Chain Slim Fit Pants, Trillyke_Incheon_Sneakers_2_Male
Formal: okruee-funke-hair, [RIMINGS] Twopiece Suit, [Jius]MonkStrap01-Male
Sports: [AxA]- Damien Hair, SIMSIMI S4 TRACK JACKET, [RONA] Summer Activewear Shorts Ver2, DarkNighTt Sims - Tekno Sneakers, [issygoing] AKG headphones tight, Caiocc_Set_Warm (hat),
Sleep: simstrouble_UnisexHair_Pedro, NitroPanic_Pocket Tee M, [boonstow] winter plaid pants
Party: CLUMSYALIEN [LEANDER HAIR AM], llazyniph - Machete Shirt, AdrienPastel x MickeyJeans, [Jius]LowTopSneaker02-Male, ilkupSerenaHatNoSpikes
Swimwear: [AxA]- Damien Hair, [AxA]- Mason Shorts, [Jius]LeatherFlipFlop01-Male, Pralinesims - UltimateGlassesCollection
Warm Weather: [oakiyo_x_QICC]Sweater_Weather_Rowan_Hair, [Gorilla Gorilla Gorilla] Short Sleeve Oversized Shirt, Magnolia C - Kimmie Glasses, serenity_am_MarcioShorts, Madlen Kai Sneakers (Male)
Cold Weather: [AxA]- Damien Hair, AdrienPastel x 2022IsaacCoatOutfit, Madlen Aryana Sneakers, Kiro_ailack beret
Tray files are available on my Patreon: https://www.patreon.com/lizzisimss
Please consider supporting if you wish :)
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strip-weathers · 7 months
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Weathers family and their looks (HUMANIZED)
Strip:
He’s as tall as a mountain, about 189 cm, when Lyn steps up to him, her face is against his chest. Well he’s a BIG BOY.
He’s slim, but that doesn't stop him from having nice muscles. Just because he was a racer, he had to be fit and had to exercise a lot, so his muscles are pretty visible. Mostly on his legs and stomach. Lyn just adores it.
His foot size is 43.
He has longer light brown nearly red colored hair and he has a mustache and almost invisible beard on his chin. Of course, he has a few gray hairs, but Lynda finds it sexy.
Overall, he's all hairy. Very hairy. Lyn is obsessed with it and calls him; ,,My fluffy hairy bear''
Dress style: usually he wears a shirt and pants, sometimes a t-shirt and jeans. In winter, he wears sweaters and turtlenecks and coats a lot. Of course, he wears DINOCO clothes like a polo shirt, jacket, etc. He wears a cowboy hat and boots (but he also wears sneakers sometimes). He's a COWBOY after all.
Lynda:
She’s small and slender. She is about 169 cm, so she is quite small compared to Strip and Cal.
She is also slim, but of course she has those feminine shapes like nice hips, thighs, breasts, etc. She’s simply a piece of woman as Strip would say. She also has developed muscles but it is not so visible.
Her foot size is 39.
She has medium length highlighted hair and it is a bit wavy.
She wears natural makeup, she doesn't wear artificial nails, she has her long natural nails.
Dress style: usually she wears shirts and pants or skirts (only long skirts (only has a short one for Strip)) rarely she wears dresses (for example on a date). In winter she wears sweaters, turtlenecks and coats etc. She also wears a hat and cowboy boots. As accessories, she wears smaller handbags and jewelry.
CAL:
He’s also tall, around 185 cm but still not as tall as Strip.
He’s slim figure and also has visible muscles. He loves working out.
Foot size is 42.
He has medium long wavy red hair. Of course he has a smaller mustache than Strip but it's cute.
Dress style: mostly T-shirt and jeans or shirt. He only wears pants to social events. Of course he wears DINOCO clothes like a polo shirt or a hoodie. In winter he wears sweaters and jackets or coats. He also wears a cowboy hat and boots. But he usually wears a baseball hat on the track.
Hey. I’m back in full strength! I’m trying my best to stay as motivated as possible so I decided to write something on my favorite family. If you have any ideas on what I might write just let me know!
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hugefatblimpwannabe · 2 years
Text
The Infrequent Client
Part 2
A few months later, you’re walking into work at Lean&Fit Gym to see your co-worker Liam smiling knowingly at you from the front desk.   Putting your bag down, you jump over the counter to see what’s up and he’s immediately pulling you over to show you a client out on the floor.
“So, remember that cute Co-ed whale who was pushing 250 lbs. when you did her consultation way back in September?  The one you gave the ol’ “strict 1200 calorie a day diet’ to and told her to walk 3-5 days a week?”
You nodded vaguely, as you tried to follow his excited gesturing towards the gym floor, scanning through dozens of slim and fit bodies to find one that resembled the big girl you’d weighed in 6 months ago, what was her name you wondered…Anna?  Leah?  but then you saw me and gasped audibly.
“Yup”, Liam said laughing, that’s her, “Leah something or other.”
To say I had gained some weight would be a comedic understatement, and you could immediately see why Liam had been so excited to show you.
“She looks like she’s been eating nonstop since she left in September” he joked while walking back towards the towel room, “good luck getting that one back on track.”
Wordlessly, you watched me from your vantage point at the front desk, slightly above the gym floor itself, and about 10 feet away from where I was huffing and puffing away.  I was on one of the treadmills facing the televisions, so you had a full side-on profile view of me, and could barely believe the amount of weight I had managed to pack on an already bloated, overfed body in a short amount of time.  
My wide-as-a-house profile was now completely dominated by my enormous gut.  It was now bulging out way past my tits and hanging hugely over the top of my fat thighs, swaying heavily side to side as I waddled as slowly as the treadmill could go.  Occasionally, I would stop the treadmill all together, reach over and take a long swig from a two-litre bottle of regular coke and wipe my sweat drenched brow while desperately trying to catch my breath.  
It was during one of these “breaks” that you walked over to follow-up with me on behalf of the gym.
“Well hello” you say, approaching me from behind, noticing my much wider ass. “I’m not sure I recognize you, but are you Leah from back in September?  I was assigned your trainer here at Lean and Fit so…”
I step off the treadmill slowly and turn to face you, red-faced and panting from the light exercise.
“Well hi” I stammer out too quickly, recognizing you immediately as the super hot trainer who scolded me for having porked myself up so fat the first time I visited the gym.    “It’s been *huff* awhile, you know how life *pant* gets in the way.”  I continue, completely winded.    “I’m glad at least I made it back for another *wheeze* visit today.  I realize two workouts in six months isn’t exactly *huff* ideal.”
You can only walk so close to me, the dome of my bloated stomach provides an immovable buffer between us, but you can almost sense how turned on I am all the same.  
Without considering the consequences, you can’t help but reach out and pat my gut where it sticks out the farthest, before running both your hands all the way down the soft lard to where it hangs heavily on my thighs.  My thin cotton t-shirt rides up a bit in the process, and you stick your thumb into my stretched-out belly button, grasping the flabby bottom roll of lard with the rest of your long fingers.
I gasp with pleasure.
My breathing has calmed somewhat but I am flushed and horny by the feel of your rough hands and I am unsteady on my feet as you lead me, by my fattened gut,  towards your office and the scale...
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