#available fluorescent light

[fox-teeth]

Hello, today is my birthday, and I would like to share a comic I made in the last year with you. It's called Broomistega and Thrinaxodon.

This comic was originally printed with yellow, fluorescent pink, light teal, and violet risograph inks. Physical copies are available in my shop.

#my artwork #comics #paleoart #paleoblr #triassic cuddle #paleontology #broomistega #thrinaxodon #fossils #risograph #riso #minicomics #extinction

[queers-gambit]

Perpetual L's and Overwhelming Dubs

prompt: slutty stranger bathroom sex on a train.

pairing: Tangerine x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Bullet Train

word count: 3.7k+

note: are all our safe words pineapple? i need this man to rail me, you know, for science. yep, that's right, Cherry has a new fixation! aren't y'all so lucky?

warnings: author has brain rot, smut (public, strangers, unprotected), obviously cursing, PWP.

Japan was bright, you decided with a soft smile on your lips; looking around the train station glowing in neon lights; some blinking, some colored, all fluorescent. People milled around every inch of the place, all walks of life from school children to professionals with briefcases, talking on the phone, running to make their departure. Couples held hands, families took meals together, and a few meters away, a little girl screamed when her brother stole her Momonga plushie.

You must've been enraptured with all around you that your shoulder bullied into someone else's on the platform, making you gasp an instant apology in Japanese. However, the man you had collided with just offered you a stoic look up and down, letting his lips pull in a half-smirk, checking in English with a thick accent, "My apologies, love. You all right there?"

"Yeah, I-I'm so sorry, I wasn't paying attention," you bid with a small smile.

"'S all right, pretty ladies like you can run into me all day," he smirked, eyeing you up and down before following after his snazzy-dressed companion - who slapped his chest forcefully.

"Leave the girl alone, mate," the man reprimanded. "Sorry, miss, he gets it in his head he's God's gift to ladies."

"It's really okay, it was my fault for not watching where I was going," you assured the men, glancing at your watch. "I'm so sorry, but I really can't miss this train. Safe travels, gents!" You bid, offering a simple wave, then scurried off - trying not to double back for the man with a mustache.

God, was that man handsome! Like, illegally handsome. Hauntingly handsome.

You'd even go as far as to say he was devilishly handsome! Those eyes? Beautifully clear blue, alluring, drew you in and held you captive. His cologne? Absolutely heavenly, borderline intoxicating. And he was built like a fucking mountain - tall, broad, slender hips, bulging muscles that looked as if they would rip his button-up.

Shaking your head, you rid yourself of the body-heating thoughts about the stranger you had just barreled into. Being horny got you nowhere, but being perpetually horny... Was the biggest fucking L. Sure, you could rub one out; you knew where the clit was and how to stimulate to your own pleasure (unlike most men). But it was something about a man sweating over you, thrusting into you with abandon; creating a mess in your guts, mind, and chest.

Yeah... You needed to get laid, you were fucking drooling over some stranger you had a 23-second interaction with.

However, upon entering your train and locating a seat in the hopefully peaceful quiet car, you mindlessly downloaded Tinder to pursue at your leisure, but only a few swipes in and you were exiting the app and deleting it (again) from your phone. The train was ready to depart the station, you cracking a bottle of water, looking back on your two-week Japanese excursion your job had sent you on.

And now, you were finally heading to your last stretch of meetings, requiring you to purchase an overnight ticket on one of the available bullet trains. Seemed the fastest, simplest, and most affordable way to travel - skipping out on upgrading to first class. Economy was just fine, you decided, perhaps doubting yourself when your eyes widened when you caught sight of the two strangers you ran into on the platform finding their seats a few rows up. There was a third man with them now that was left slumped in a spare chair - probably drunk off his arse, based on the man's grungy, disheveled look.

You tried not to thinking about the handsome stranger, but he was just a few rows up from you! God, you could practically smell his cologne from here, letting your mouth water slightly.

Yeah, perpetually horny was the biggest L - like you said.

Your thighs squeezed together as you crossed them, hoping the pressure was enough to relieve the build-up of warmth in your belly and cunt. Your headphones were placed, your attention diverting out the window, and tried to imagine if nobody else was in this fucking carriage - he could take you here and now.

After a few stops, your empty water bottle sought revenge against your bladder and ushered you to the closest bathroom. It wasn't as tight a squeeze as airplane bathrooms, but it was still a small facility to use. When done, you washed your hands as a knock sounded at the door, calling in Japanese, "Just a second!"

After unlocking the door and opening it, you actually flinched back slightly when the man from early with the '70s pornstache was stood directly in front of you.

"Well, don't you look like hell," you mused slightly.

"All in a day's work, love," he answered, stepping out of your way to let you exit the bathroom. He looked you up and down, asking, "So, uh, where you headed?"

You told him your stop, asking him the same. He told you, your mind doing mental gymnastics to understand that you both had a good bit left on this train... Surely, anything could happen.

"I'll let you, yeah," you half-smiled awkwardly, moving out of his way fully to give him access to the restroom.

"You know..." He trailed, pointing at the empty lavatory, "Could fit two."

You chuckled, "Yes, but I'm finished now - you go on."

He hummed, glancing up and down the train car - spying through the windows of the conjoining connection each car had. When he faced you again, he took a slow, calculating step forward, "That's not exactly what I meant, sweetheart."

You feet took a slow, calculated step back to find the wall, his smirk broadening. "Then how about using your words like a big boy and tell me what you meant?"

"You look like a smart girl, sure you can figure it out, yeah?" He leered over you, either foot standing between yours, nearly pressed into you but far back enough that he could maintain eye contact.

You pouted at him, "I don't read minds."

"Not sure it's me mind yah gotta read," he perked a single brow, glancing out the window again. "Now, I'd love t'stand here and ravish you the way I've wanted since you bumped into me earlier, but maybe exhibition isn't your thing."

"Judging me now?"

Now, both his brows slowly rose. His teeth poked out from between his smirking lips, praising, "Naughty girl."

"Maybe you're the one a bit nervous, hmm?" You quipped, boldly reaching forward to palm his cock - already half-hard. "What's wrong, mister? Don't want people seeing you so, hm, submissive?" You gave a cheeky flex of your hand, his hips bucking involuntarily.

"You fuckin' minx," he chuckled, hands to your waist now. "Get in that fuckin' bathroom or I might just have to give this whole fuckin' train a show."

"Better start charging them all," you whispered, hearing his growl before pushing his chest back to give you a little space. "You do this often, then? Proposition strangers into dirty bathroom sex on public, moving trains? Hmm? In a foreign country? Seems terribly disrespectful, don't it?"

"Sweetheart, the thoughts in my head about what I want to do to this body - those are disrespectful," he smirked. "Wanna tell me I'm not truly tempting you? You would've left by now," he pointed out, making your chest feel warm from the embarrassment you felt suddenly. You smirked and twiddled your fingers at him in parting, turned, and just before you could step away, you felt his arms lock around your waist. "C'mon, darlin', don't be like that," he hissed in your ear, your visible smirk spurring him on. "Not about t'beg yah, princess, get this pretty li'l arse in this stall."

You folded.

Being perpetually horny was an L, sure, but being propositioned by a handsome, hulking, muscly stranger was for sure a Dub, right?

You turned in his arms, lips only centimeters apart; breathing the same air, hand on his chest to ease him back into the bathroom stall. He grinned in triumph, and the moment you were over the threshold, still maintaining eye contact, he reached around you to click the lock in place.

"C'mere," he growled, surging forward to bring his lips down to yours finally - and just like that, your panties were done for. You moaned instantly, feeling something akin to relief when his lips molded against yours; all but immediately sweeping his tongue against the seam of your mouth.

Letting him in was mind boggling; literally making static fill your brain as your hand lifted to hold the back of his neck, threading into the hair at the nape of his neck. His mustache was stiff, wriggling in an irritating fashion against your upper lip and nose, but you didn't notice - too engulfed in the way he domineered every rational thought. His hands both pressed tightly to your ribs, then waist, down your hips, around to your arse - like he couldn't make up his mind where he wanted to touch you. So, he chose to touch you everywhere.

He was intoxicating; feeling drunk on his taste, smell, touch. He was warm, his curls a bit greasy but still shocking soft, and his lips - plush, welcoming, anchoring. You didn't even know his name, but you didn't need to! All you needed was exactly what he was doing: holding complete control over your heart, mind, and cunt.

Your stranger pulled back suddenly, offering a skeptical look, "There's no boyfriend, fiancé, husband I'm gonna have to look over my shoulder for, right?"

"Not since about 6 months ago, no. Do I need to ask you the same?"

"'Course not," he mused with a grin, kissing you again - but just a degree softer. Now, both his hands rose to caress either cheek; his tongue wagging against yours in more controlled caresses. One hand dropped slowly to hold your neck, pulse quickening, and your stranger smirked, muttering against your lips, "Cheeky girl."

You pushed him back half a step, offering him a once over before confidently reaching down for the end of your shirt and pulling it off over your head. Your companions mouth fell open when you revealed yourself to him, smirking as you opened your jeans to show a hint of the lace panties you wore. You told him your name, earning a confused hum. "My name," you explained, "figured you need to know what to moan." His tongue swept over his lips. "Gonna just stand there?"

He chuckled, checking his watch, then started unbuttoning his waistcoat. "Tangerine," he spoke simply.

"That your safe word?" You asked, shucking your jean clean off after toeing out of your shoes. "Hm, mine's pineapple."

"'S my name, love," he chuckled, opening his button up to reveal exactly what you thought - plains of smooth skin over rigid, bulging muscles. "So you know what to scream," he smirked.

You paused, stood in your panties, bra, and socks, asking through a small chuckle, "You're telling me, your mother carried you all those months in her belly, pushed you screaming - bloodied - into the world, looked at yah, and said, 'yeah, he looks like his name should be Tangerine'?"

He peeled his top half naked, your throat swelling close; swallowing harshly to clear your mouth of the overflow of salvia. Slowly, he moved closer to you, once again leering over you. He reached out for your neck, not too tight or aggressive, but forceful enough to tilt your head back. "'S a codename, love," he explained.

"Ah, so can't reveal the government."

"Exactly."

"The fuck kinda job you got that requires codenames?"

"The dangerous kind," he smirked, "wanna keep running your mouth or put it to other use?"

You chuckled and reached for his trousers, holding his eyes with yours as you easily unfastened him and hooked your thumbs into the waistband of his briefs and suit pants. His mouth parted slightly when the cooler air hit his exposed cock, asking, "Safe word?"

He snickered, "Pineapple's fine, love," he sounded far too amused, watching you get on your knees in front of him, "but I doubt we'll need - Oh, holy, fuckin' good God," he seethed through clenched teeth when you eagerly took him in your mouth.

He was bigger than what you were used to - like a full double the size your previous partners had been. He was longer, thicker, and Goddamn, was he sweltering in your mouth. You wondered how long it had been for him, feeling your panties dampen as you felt exhilarated to show this man with a "dangerous job" exactly what your mouth could do - and why he'd never forget your name.

"Oh, there's a good fuckin' girl," he groaned, collecting whatever hair he could in a makeshift ponytail; looking down his nose to watch you. His cock was overwhelming, but you were determined to earn the pleasure he would surely bring; mouthing around his cockhead, using one hand to pump what didn't fit, the other alternating between holding his hairy thigh for balance and cradling his balls.

A few times, you held his eyes with yours as you removed his cock with a pop; licking his shaft up and down like it was a popsicle on the Fourth of July. His jaw would clench each time, sputtering his breath. His veins were pulsing, prominent under the skin; making your cunt contract as his throat bobbed as he swallowed harshly, groaning.

"Li'l too good at this, baby, Goddamn," he breathed, chuckling to himself as he retracted his hips while holding your jaw. "All right, all right," he chuckled, "made your point, love. Get up here 'fore I lose my bloody mind."

You pouted, "I quiet like it down here."

"Darlin', I'm about to bust - "

"Isn't that the point?"

He chuckled and reached down to help you up, instantly searing you in a wet, messy kiss as he backed you into the sink counter; tasting himself on your tongue. It was erotic, something you were vastly not used to - no man ever being okay with you kissing them after having their dicks in your mouth.

But no, this Tangerine fellow was obviously built different.

One hand anchored your waist, the other dropping to toy with your panties gently; petting the waistband before sinking his hand lower. You shuddered lightly when his finger swept through your wet folds, both groaning in pleasure when he sunk knuckle-deep. "Feels so good, love," he praised, your legs widening your stance to let him better access; hand fully disappeared into your panties. "So fuckin' warm, yeah," he breathed, increasing his speed so he pumped aggressively. He didn't need a second finger, he was chasing your orgasm - purely focused on the way you withered before him.

"Tan," you whimpered, gripping his assaulting arm as he found your g-spot and chuckled darkly.

"Got it, there, did I? Yeah, let's see what you've got, love, c'mon."

You whined in your throat, leaning into his chest as your legs began to quake. You didn't get a chance to warn him, feeling that overwhelming urge to urinate - gasping loudly and needing him to support your body as his finger jabbed your g-spot to the point you were gushing into his hand.

"Oh, fuck yeah," he encouraged, stimulating you further; loving the feeling of your squirt in his cupped hand, "keep goin', good girl, that's it, yeah? I got yah, good girl, there you go."

You grunted when he slowed his hand to the point the heel of his palm ground into your clit. Feeling overstimulated, your hand slapped to his meaty forearm, meeting his eyes with a glare, begging, "Okay, okay, okay, you made your fuckin' point."

He grinned, "Didn't know I had that affect on you, love. Huh?"

"You could've offered to fuck me when I ran into you earlier and I would've bent over - right there and then," you whispered against his lips, licking into his mouth right after; making his own mind go blank.

"Feelin's mutual, doll," he nodded, using both hands to shred your lace panties from your hips with a shrill gasp. "Keepsake," he teased, showing you the ruined fabric before dropping it.

You offered him a coy look before turning around for him, not needing the instruction; meeting his stare in the mirror. Bracing yourself against the sink, you slumped over it, making him groan.

"Fuck, doll," he whispered, admiring the view and smoothing a hand over one bare cheek. "Just look at yah, ready fa' me, just drippin'," he bit his lip, giving a few pumps to his length as he looked you over; other hand toying with your weeping hole. He growled and slid his cockhead up and down your slit, both shuddering lightly; moaning in union when he notched himself at your entrance. His eyes met yours in the mirror, his mouth parted, slowly sinking forward to the fucking hilt - making you feel impossibly full.

"Oh, Jesus fuck!"

He chuckled, shifting his hips, "Keep it down, love, don't need anyone bangin' on the door, interrupting us, huh?"

"I'll be quiet when you get a smaller dick."

This made Tangerine genuinely snicker, "Fair enough."

"Fuck's sake!" You yelped when he suddenly pulled back, surged in, and started his own rhythm. Through the mirror, you saw the concentrated, cocky expression he wore; looking purely focused, mesmerized by the way his cock would disappear within you, only to reappeared - soaking wet, glistening.

"Feel's divine," he hissed, the grip on your hips sure to leave bruises. "God, this pussy's made fa me - grippin' s'fuckin' tight. Who was the idiot who let this go, huh?"

"Really wanna talk about my ex now?" You panted.

"Nah, don't need to - 's mine now," he grit, one hand letting go of your hips to bring down on the meat of your bottom. "Hear me? Huh? Fuckin' mine now," he pommeled your arse a couple more times. "Like that, huh? Don't you? Feel you fuckin' squeezin' me each time."

"Yes," you moaned. "Fuck, yes, yes, God, you feel fucking amazing."

"Keep talkin'," another slap that made you squeak.

You were nervous 'cause you never considered yourself the best at dirty talk, but still tried, "So fuckin' good, makin' me so wet. Fuck - never had cock like this, so good - so deep, so big. Don't stop," you whimpered, his feet repositioning to allow himself a new angle and speed to drill into you. "Fuck, yes," you moaned loudly, encouraging, "harder, please, yes, yes, yes! Just like that!"

The motions cause ripples across the flesh of your bottom, thighs quaking. You pushed your hand down your front, your partner groaning at the sight as you found your clit and started massaging; the contractions squeezing Tangerine's cock tightly. His one hand traveled around the front of you, sliding up to yank your bra from your breasts; palming one with fever before tweaking your nipple between his thumb and pointer finger.

"Fuuuuck, Tan," you whined, moaning. "Don't stop, please, 's too fuckin' good!"

"I've got yah, darlin', almost there," he grunted, folded a little more over your back so he could fondle you roughly. "Naughty fuckin' girl, lettin' me bend yah over like this - don't even know me. Just knew you needed my cock, huh, love? Ain't that right?"

"Yes," you moaned, orgasm fast approaching.

"Probably let me do whatever I wanted t'you, huh?"

"Fuck yes, whatever you wanted, however you wanted me!"

"At's a good girl," he grit. "Takin' me so well, so fucking good. Need this pussy again, hear me? Fuck," he panted, increasing his speed to an erratic pace, "need a taste, need yah t'squirt on me again. Need this pussy in all positions." He bared his teeth, increasing his speed, hissing, "Lemme hear you scream, love. Wanna hear my name. from that pretty fuckin' mouth, c'mon."

"T-Tan, fuck, Tangerine, I-I'm right there, I'm so close - OH FUCK!" Your orgasm made you reel back into his chest, milking yourself on his impaling cock. You gasped, mouth left wide as his hand constricted around your throat, his mouth hot against your ear; biting and licking as he grunted forcefully.

He gasped in your ear, moaning your name on a short repeat, shuddering as he stilled himself; coating your wet interior with his thick ropes of hot, heavy cum. Your eyes were closed, head tilted back to his shoulder; his lips actually soft as he planted several kisses along your neck (that he released) and shoulder. "Holy fuck, doll," he whispered, chuckling in disbelief. "'S a li'l too good."

You smirked, "Yeah, I've heard that before, you're not the first t'tell me."

"Ah, way t'ruin it, doll," he joked, making you chuckle breathlessly. "All right?"

"Mhm," you sighed, eyes opening. "You?"

"Never better," he mused softly, sighing as you both tried to regain your breath. He let out a single grunt as he held your hips, pulling his cock free; releasing a gush of cum from you both to drip from your cunt. As you both redressed, he eyed you for a moment, then mentioned, "Listen, love, uh... Don't miss your stop."

"I wasn't planning on it?"

"Good... Just..." He sighed, closing up his shirt. "Make sure you get off this train."

You stared at him for a moment, pondering, "This have something t'do with that 'dangerous job' of yours?"

"A bit."

You hummed, zipping your jeans back up sans panties. "Why don't you get off, too?" You asked softly.

"Can't, darlin', got a job t'finish."

You nodded, "Then be careful, yeah?"

He nodded in return, reaching out to pull you in close. He took a second to look you over, smirking slightly, "Worried about me, are yah?"

"I don't even know you."

"We'll change that," he eased. "Your phone?" You offered a small look before sighing, reaching for your phone, unlocking it, and offering it to him. He typed for a moment, a distant buzz heard from his own phone, then handed it back to you. "I'll call you up sometime, love," he smirked, watching you reach back to unlock the door.

"You better," you mused, letting him press one more searing kiss to your lips. You hummed, pouting slightly and telling him, "Behave, or we'll go at round two."

"Don't threaten me with a good time, darlin'," he pocketed your shredded panties with a cheeky grin.

"You still owe me for those," you pointed.

"Send a bill, I'll make it up t'yah."

You smirked, "No bill, but I'd take dinner."

To your honest shock, a sort of... Contemplating, soft expression took over his face, nodding, promising quietly, "I'll call yah, darlin'. Just make sure you answer."

[ part two: Shower Shenanigans ]

requesting rules and masterlist

Bullet Train masterlist

#tangerine #bullet train tangerine #tangerine bullet train #tangerine x reader #tangerine x fem!reader #tangerine x you #aaron taylor johnson #bullet train tangerine x reader #tangerine bullet train x reader #bullet train #bullet train 2022 #bullet train movie #bullet train x reader #atj #atj x reader #aaron taylor johnson x reader #atj x fem!reader #aaron taylor johnson x fem!reader #tangerine smut #tangerine atj #atj tangerine #atj character

[xuchiya]

streets [c.san]

₊˚.༄ || filth valentines m.list || hongjoong || seonghwa || yunho || yeosang || san || mingi || wooyoung || jongho || ₊˚.༄

₊˚.༄ We real life made for each other And it's hard to keep my cool ₊˚.༄

"it's getting late, do you have someone to pick you up?" your head turn towards san, still in his uniform. his face mask were pulled down just below his bottom lip, emphasizing his cheeks; it made you want to squish his cheeks from being so innocent.

san was one of your fellow nurses. The crisp navy-blue scrubs fit him perfectly, the name tag reading "San Choi, RN" gleaming under the fluorescent lights. you cleared your throat; your heart was beating too loud for you that it hurts to taint this uncorrupted soul. you have hint after hint of crush on this man, this huge ass man that his face does not match his enormous body that you totally found yourself completely hidden.

proved when you stood behind him once and when you say, disappeared.

abracadabra, bitch not even a strand of hair can be seen.

"ah well i actually have somewhere to be ... what about you?" san looks at his watch, sighing, brushing his hair off his eyes, "my friend said he'll pick me up but he had an emergency call from his dad's company so now I have to wait for a bus..."

you frown looking at your watch too, its 10pm. Usually buses don't take this route anymore, "buses aren't available in this hour, san."

his heart fell on his stomach, double checking his watch, "damn it!" your eyes widen at his sudden burst of profanity. his eyes widen too and apologizing to you, "i'm sorry didn't mean to."

your lips curled up in a teasing smile, "your patient would not like it if she heard that one." San shakes his head laughing lightly. the small silence engulfs you both before you had an idea which will be a torture for you.

probably a torture for him too.

San was already an intern at a prestigious hospital near his family's home; owned by his grandfather though he is expecting him that he will continue his service even after his internship.

but when San came by a hospital that one of his friends were admitted after being confined. He found himself stuck on the reception area as his eyes were glued to your figure, up on hospital trolley, shouting dose of pharmaceutical. Your determine look and perseverance on your career what intrigued him to know you more.

so he left his family hospital.

San is pediatrician and so do you, the amount of love he gives on these children what also intrigued you in getting to know the man that suddenly left the hospital that you were trying to apply.

"hey i can give you a ride?" you mention, his ear perk up and reddens. his heart thumps inside his chest all of a sudden, "i-i .."

upon realizing what you said, your eyes once again widen and stutter out excuses, "oh my gosh! i - this is embarrassing, God take me!" you groan, covering your face.

for a while San chuckles at your reaction, composing himself, "I know you don't mean any harm but if you're going to drop me off then i hope i'm not delaying any of your plans."

When San agrees about you giving him a ride, he meant to be able to relax on the passenger seat.

He stares at the glaring matte black with gold flames on the Kawasaki Ninja 400R. That is one of the motorbikes he wishes to own and drive but because of his independence, San is still saving up.

"Holy .." You look at San as you place the glove tightly on your hand, "hmm?" Clueless on his reaction, you swing your leg over the bike, reviving the engine on and tune in the smoky sound of the engine of your bike.

San stares in awe as you hand him (set of embarrassment hue on your cheeks) a customized helmet. It has kitty ear with soft peach color as parallel of the inside of the ear.

"this is so cute." when he puts in the helmet, it dawned on him. You, arch back, hunch forward and him behind you, holding on tightly. His ears were once again red, frozen in place; his mind racing the same speed as your bike with filthy thoughts.

Like how could he not? Your ass is probably close to his (now) stiffening cock in his scrubs when he jumps in. the way it would keep brushing on his cock would probably have him cumming there.

"San? you okay?" You haven't feel the pressure or the weight on your back, so you turn your attention on San; standing with an incredible thickening boner in his scrubs, if it weren't for the eye shield of your helmet, he would seen you checking him out.

Or worse, staring at his firm boner.

San snap out of his thoughts and hurriedly swing his legs over the other side of the bike, after settling down on the leather seat. "You okay? Do you need-"

"Let's just go." San spoke clearing his throat and immediatly feels bad for brushing your concerns off, you understood why.

Without speaking much, you note that San would not hold on to you because of his hard situation so you did the initiative to grab his hands, in which he was taken back, and wrap them around your waist; patting his hand, "Mind you that it's night and I'll be taking advantage of the road."

You look over at San, "don't worry, I'll slow down if its too much." So without delaying much of your guys time, you kick off the stand and off both of you on the streets. San calling whatever can answer them make this ride, a comfortable one.

to say the least, no one grant his calls.

"u-Ugh f-ufuck chakaman!" San gasp, holding on to the mop of hair on the level of his hips while gripping his scrub up on his chest in his other hand—exposing his toned stomach, his scrub pants pooled on the floor. Your tousled hair, lips wrapped around his aching cock left him gripping the leather seat of your motorbike as you continued swirling your tongue on his red tip. San cried, bucking his hips when you took all of him; fitting him in your mouth up til’ his tip hitting the back of your throat.

 You hum to accumulate more of his climax, which in your satisfaction made San whimper thrusting his hips in your mouth, “f-fuck …” Shamelessly, he started fucking your throat as his climax were nearing and sooner, his cum spurted on your tongue and down your throat. You pull away from him, opening your mouth and sticking your tongue out to let him see that you have collected some of his cum before swallowing them.

  You gave him a smile before licking your salty lips, standing up proceeding to remove your leather pants; letting them rest on your knees along with your undies. You turn your head over to look at him with a smirk on your lips, bending moderately for him to see your puckered glistening hole with a small help of one of your hands to spread your cheek.

 “I know you want to get your dick wet, come on baby.” San’s eye twitch the moment you provoke him and have to look around the cleared parking spot you parked on and had him spitting his fingers and run them up and down your puffy cunt before grabbing his semi-hard dick and tap his tip on your hole; wiggling your asscheeks for him to provoke him more which he took the cue and slam his hips on yours.

You were quite taken back, his hips pace was something you were wondering if he has his dick wet a few times or he has this speed that you were looking for; nevertheless it had you moaning his name as his tip kept nudging. You rolled your hips each time he pulls away, leaving the tip then slamming back inside, “Fu-fuck Sannie— that’s so good! Right there!”

San’s hand crept down towards your clit, circling them rapidly and increasing the pleasure and the coil on your stomach, “You like that? You dirty dirty girl.” San stops circling his fingers around your clit and let you bend over your motorcycle as his hips snaps swiftly, placing the hem of his scrubs between his teeth as his hands knead the flesh of your hips then to your plump ass, spreading them as he watch his dick disappear inside your hole; a ring of your slick making him moan in his scrubs.

“Shit shit!” You cursed, lewd noises echoing the silent parking lot increase the arousal on your stomach, the fire of desire as San rapidly ram himself until you feel your thighs shake, “I’m g-gonna cum!” San drops the cloth and bent over to your ear, “Then make yourself a mess on my dick baby.” 

That it all took before you had a long string of ‘fuck’ leaving your lips as your orgasm washed over you, eyes fluterring close hips moving to chase your high. You felt San’s hand clasp around your hips and his broken moans reach your ears, “I don’t care if you’re on the pill or not but me? Get you knocked up? It’s been a fantasy of mine.”

His seeds spurted your walls, bucking a deeper part of your pussy. His hips halted as he let every drop of his cum stay inside you before pulling out, a whine left your lips but soon replaced by a yelp as San smacked your ass in his palm before placing your panties and your pants back on, “It’s cold and besides …” You turn around, he brushes hair away from your sweaty face, “I don’t want you wasting what we work hard on.”

Your cheeks flared, “You must have thought of this ‘fantasy of yours for a while now eh?” San shakes his head, a smile on his lips; securing his boxers and scrub pants back on before leaning on your motorcycle, shrugging, “Maybe but I should have taken you on a date first before I knock you up.”

You whine, smacking his arms, “Stop using that term.” San’s head threw back as he laughed at your reddened face, you groaned turning your head to the side. He stops laughing little by little before sighing, grabbing your hand; pulling you between his legs, “But it’s true. I had it all planned and there’s a step by step to it … but it looks like I skipped a step.”

You look at him, pouty lips, “a lot you mean.” He chuckles heartedly, grabbing your cheeks in his large palms, caressing them, “Okay a lot but it doesn’t mean I ain’t gonna take care of you. Let me praise you, love you, worship you and let me do those things because it is my duty to make you feel special and I want you to feel you are the only girl in this damn world. You’re my girl.”

You were left speechless and San saw in your eyes the appreciation, pulling you in his arms, “I’ll kiss you after our fourth date.”

“Why not now? You already got me knocked up and we are not even on our first date.” He chuckles and this is one of the reasons why he likes you; nonchalant or straightforward. He nodded, “Okay.” He pulls you in near his warmth, his lips landing gently on yours. He took the lead to make you feel special, make you feel the most important person to him.

#ateez #ateez choi san #choi san #choi san imagines #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #ateez hard hours #ateez hard thoughts #choi san smut #choi san x reader #san ateez #ateez fanfic #kpop smut

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Bad For Business: Level One

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [1.3K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter.

“You’re late.”

“No I’m not.”

You were. Twenty five minutes, in fact, and your stomach was still swirling from the night before, remnants of cheap beer and cheaper vodka mixing unhappily with the cold, strawberry pop-tart you’d force fed yourself on the way to work. 

Steve Harrington leant against the wall with a grin as he watched you struggle to clock in, the old machine chewing up your employee card before it finally stamped it. You pushed past him, shoulder into his in a way that was awfully familiar now. The blunt words, the eye rolls, the semi serious acts of violence all part of your work day and they had been since last summer. He didn’t give in to you, arms colliding, the smell of his cologne now on your T-shirt too. 

“Hungover?” Steve asked, enjoying the way you squinted against the harsh, fluorescent strip lights. 

The office was much quieter than the arcade outside of the staff doors and you were trying your best to stay away from the sounds of Super Mario and Pac-Man for as long as you could. Except Steve wasn’t making it easy. 

“No,” you lied again. You were so hungover, stupidly hungover. And tired. You’d barely managed to crawl back through your bedroom window when the sun was beginning to rise, the summer outside starting back up as the sky turned apricot and the birds sang. Eddie had walked you home, both of you sharing the last dregs from a lukewarm beer before he bent at the waist and let you use his back as a footstool, groaning and swearing at you as you took too long to grab the end of the broken trellis. “What’s with the fucking interrogation, Harrington? Did Murray die and leave you in charge?”

Outside the office, the arcade machines jingled, beeping and ringing with each win and loss, the constant clinkclinkclink of quarters being dropped into the coin slots, the yells of sugared up kids making your head pound. 

“Nah,” Steve’s grin only widened, an almost smirk that made you grit your teeth together. You busied yourself at your locker, shoving your bag into the too small space, the rattle of the metal hurting your very being. “Seeing you each morning is just the best part of my day.” 

You rolled your eyes at Steve’s blatant lie, snorting at the possibility you could both be anything close to friends. Steve Harrington lived to annoy you, and had done since middle school. He spent the first couple of grades annoying you at recess, pulling your hair and snickering with his friends when you yelled, all pink cheeked and shocked looking when you stomped towards him, indignant, shoving the heel of your buttercup yellow shoe into his toes. 

It went on like that, spitballs launched from each end of the classroom, backs of chairs kicked and faces pulled at the other during presentations. Then you both got older and the words got colder, scathing remarks made in the hallway, lockers defaced with semi serious insults and potential dates ruined by mocking comments said in front of crushes. 

Then high school was over, Hawkins seemed to get smaller and the only job available to get you enough cash to leave the tiny, backwater town was a position beside Steve at Upside Down Arcade. Run by someone who everyone only knew as Murray - a man who had absolutely no time for anyone under the age of twenty five and was utterly inept with technology - the arcade was a staple in Hawkins. As permanent a feature as the community pool, the town hall and the library; the brown brick building looked bland from the street outside, but stepping in the doors led kids into a maze of gaming machines, air hockey tables and neon lights. 

The carpets had seen better days, the Space Invaders themed pattern a headache of dulled yellows, purples reds and greens, the painted black walls barely seen behind the rows and rows of games, all brightly light and beeping, illuminations flashing pink and blue, leaderboard charts mocking on the screens. 

It smelled like burnt sugar and stale popcorn, despite the machine not having worked for over a decade. A heavy mix of all things bad for you: sour candy, old hotdogs, cherry slush stains and pre-teen hormones. 

“If I’m somehow even bringing you the slightest bit of joy with my presence, Harrington,” you deadpanned, “then I’m doing it wrong.” You slammed the locker door shut and smirked when Steve had to yank his hand back, fingers narrowly avoided. 

He narrowed his eyes at you, moving only to grab his name badge from the board, making sure he knocked yours onto the floor when he shoved the bundle of keys into his pocket that opened up all the coin slots. 

“Murray’s not in until later, Donkey Kong is fried and oh,” he clicked his fingers and pointed a digit at you, all faux sympathy making his face soften. “I knocked you off the top spot on Dig Dug. Again.”

You glared. Steve grinned. 

 You wanted to say something sharp, something witty and mean, but your head was still pounding and your throat felt like the Sahara Desert. “Bite me, Steven,” you muttered instead, shoving past the boy so you could get out the door first, for no other reason than simply to feel like you’d won something. 

Steve was too close behind you when he answered, all charm and flirt, the cadence of his voice dropped to the level he used when he flirted with the older girls that brought in their baby siblings. 

“Bend over then, Princess Peach,” he cooed, “at least lemme see what I’m working with.” His voice was at your ear, his stupid hair tickling at your cheek. 

The stupid nickname made your nostrils flare, but the suggestive comment before it had your toes curling. You scoffed, shocked, because as the summer crawled by and the heat got higher, you and Steve’s snipes were getting more and more below the belt.

But that was his bravest yet. 

You didn’t bother turning round, you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction, and Jesus, you were sure your cheeks were flushed - but if he dared comment on it, you would’ve blamed it on the hangover you told him you didn’t have. 

“You’re a pig,” you bit out, ignoring how he kept close behind you as you finally braved opening the door. 

The arcade was already full to the brim, bursting with kids, a line of them at the desk, ticket stubs clutched in sticky hands, dollar bills ready to be exchanged for bags full of coins. The door almost hit Steve when you let it go behind you, his hands barely catching it as he scowled at your retreating figure. You planned to lurk in the darkest corner of the arcade for your entire shift, maybe sipping on a stolen slurpee, biding your time and waiting for your headache to soften enough in order to conjure a formulated attack on the Dig Dug machine. 

You turned around just before Steve served the first customer, narrowing your eyes at him in suspicion. He was already behind the cash register, Erica Sinclairs bundle of tickets in his hands as the girl pointed at a toy sword in the cabinet. 

“And don’t even try and pretend you haven’t looked before,” you called back to him, smug and referring to his lewd comment before. “Oh, ‘lemme see what I’m working with’,” you mimicked. “You’re not sly, asshole.”

A few kids tittered at the insult, Dustin Henderson snorting especially loud, but some gasped at how you cursed in front of them, a sure fire way to know there’d be a hand written complaint about on Murray’s desk tomorrow. You’d hoped your jab would make Steve shrink, maybe blush like he used to when you got all brave and bold with him. Shit, maybe he’d even had the right to look ashamed. 

But he simply shrugged, tongue pushed to the inside of his cheek to stop himself from smirking at you but his expression was still the same. 

Pleased. Too cocky. Challenging. 

You went straight to Dig Dug. 

#steve harrington #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington blurb #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut

[r1pp4r]

Hello There! I hope you're ok, I was wondering if u can help me, It's my first time asking :( ...

Anyway, imagine being captured during a mission, the enemy results being someone from your past an ex boyfriend or something like that, and he's trying to break your spirit which is not an easy task, so finally he ask why are u keep high hopes and confidence, and you answer him with a smile and a "he's going to find me and that will be the end for you"

Would be so cool with König 🤞🏻 but u can decide that 🥺

i hope i did your idea justice!! <33 i tried my best :)) im sorry its a bit long, and not much of tha boys🧍‍♂️i kinda liked the idea of keeping it mysterious n not much of them

anyway!! here ya go <333 i’ll make a ghost version if y’all like this one :)) anyway this’ll be sfw!!

warnings: mentions of gore and violence :))

——————————————————————————————

you could feel the hair nearly ripping from your scalp as you were being drug a across the floor in a large, open warehouse room. you kicked and scratched, thrashing your arms like you knew how.

but you were like a caged animal, with no escape. thrashing and trying to run. but to no avail. you were on a recon mission with KorTac, and a few of you had gotten separated. including you. but that was their plan all along.

you grunted loudly as you felt you back thrown against a chair, your hands being bound to the back of the metal chair. you struggled once more but finally realized it was futile. so you closed your eyes and took a deep breath, before whatever cloth was over your eyes was removed.

it took you a minute to adjust to the bright fluorescent lights, blinking out all the dust which gathered into your eyes. but as you opened them, you could hear people around you. talking. it was loud, and you couldn’t think.

“oh, you’re awake huh.”

that voice was familiar. too familiar. you began to struggle almost worse, your eyes widening as you realized who it was. but the hand on your shoulder made your blood run cold. the weight was the same. the exact place he touched was the same. you knew it all too well.

“it’s been a long time, yeah? when was the last time we saw each other? was it- no no no. it was france. three years ago.”

the voice made you sick. it was disgustingly sweet, and the way his hand trailed over your skin made it crawl. your hands flexed against the zip ties and tape that were binding you down. you could barely breathe as he had taken all the air from your lungs.

the man came around to the front, squatting down in front of you. of fucking course. but how the hell did he get in to europe? especially here? those are questions you’d get later, but for now you kept eye contact. your gaze was cold as you had a mask which covered your nose down.

“let’s take off that little fuckin’ mask shall we?”

you threw your head back as the man reached out, a sinister grin on his lips. but as you threw your head back he grabbed your jaw and throat, nearly crushing it as he ripped your mask off.

the mask was more than just something to hide your face. it had become your identity and once the man ripped it off, you felt violated.

“there’s that pretty little face i missed.”

without thinking, you spat in his face, your chest heaving as you stared at the man with a deadly stare. your eyes were narrowed and you were clearly holding your ground. the man chuckled, shaking his head as he pinched his nose between fingers and wiped the spit off.

you didn’t care. you knew this man wouldn’t do anything to you or at least you thought.

and as you heard a deep breath, you suddenly felt pressure against your jaw and it was hard. it nearly knocked the chair over and of course he’d punched you. you coughed, spitting out blood as you sat back in your chair, staring at him.

“know your place, bitch!”

the man flung his hand slightly and it was obvious he’d barely thrown a punch before.

“you’re here to give me some information and then we’ll be on our little way. got it?”

you didn’t say anything. you didn’t even move a single muscle. you were trained for moments like these and you wouldn’t let a man like him break you. but you also didn’t want to give him the satisfaction. so you just didn’t say anything.

you didn’t have any of your gear on you. they’d obviously stripped you of everything but you could see it on the table. you didn’t know how long it had been since you’d gone missing and you knew it wouldn’t be long before he found you.

so you just knew you needed to hold your ground and keep composure. you were ready for this. you were made for this. you absolutely knew he was coming for you, and you’d be dammed if you were dead. you wouldn’t leave him like that.

but as the man tsked, it broke you out of your thoughts. you watched as he began walking over to you as he placed a hand on your jaw, gently tilting your head to look up at him.

“aw sweetpea. you’re not gonna talk? i’m sure you will soon.”

the man spoke. you didn’t move once again. but you looked over to the side where the door was. you were waiting. he gripped your jaw once again, causing you to look at him. you still didn’t say a word as you turned your head back, getting his hand in your mouth and you bit down as hard as you could. you could feel his bones flexing under the sheer power of your bite and you definitely drew blood.

but you didn’t care.

the man stumbled back, holding onto his hand as he screamed. you just sat there in the chair, blood running down your chin as you kept your hard and heavy gaze pinned upon him.

“you fucking cunt! fuck! you- oh you shouldn’t have fuckin done that!”

the man yelled at you. he held onto his hand, hissing at the pain but you just sat there with a dumb little smirk on your face. he obviously didn’t know what was coming and you wouldn’t give any evidence to what was.

but you knew he was coming. he had to. the tracker in your suit, walkie, and almost all of your gear proved that. and as if he’d ever let you out of his sight for that long.

you truthfully thought that would be it, but once the man had gotten his hand wrapped, he walked back over, placing a chair in front of you and he sat. the grin on his face truthfully sent a shiver down your spine. he was going to hurt you and he’d make it painful.

but you wouldn’t budge.

———

you were bloodied, bruised to a pulp. even though you were sobbing from the pain, you hadn’t given anything up. and you wouldn’t. you hadn’t said a word besides a few nasty remarks and retorts, which obviously just landed you more blows. you could tell the man was getting frustrated as him and his colleagues began arguing. you coughed, looking back at the door once more.

you could feel it. you could feel him. his presence was absolutely menacing and you knew he was coming for you. but did they? absolutely not. otherwise they never would’ve put their hands on you.

the man walked back over to you, and gripped your jaw once more, shifting your focus. you had a dead set look on your face and your eyes were numb. at this point you would’ve let them kill you, because the rage of him wouldn’t disappoint.

the man groaned loudly, narrowing his eyes.

“you were never this strong when i knew you. what happened to the little bitch i knew, huh? the little girl that tucked her tail between her legs at the sight of a man, huh!?”

he yelled, slapping you across the face once more.

you finally turned to look at him with a smile as you heard the sounds of men talking outside the building. you knew exactly who it was.

“you’ll be dead soon enough.”

was the only thing you said and the man scoffed, guessing you were referring to the obvious reinforcements that were coming to save you and of course the man didn’t think anything of it.

“we have this place surrounded little girl. no one’s getting in or out.”

he pfft’d. the other guards were laughing slightly. even with the radio chatter outside, they didn’t seem scared. but they should’ve been.

the man finally sighed and walked over to the table which had various weapons that had been used against you. but this time it was a gun. your eyes widened a bit, and you thought this was it.

but he was coming for you.

“those boys out there are the least of your worries.”

you finally spoke out.

you chuckled, leaning your head back against the chair as the man then pointed it at your chest. the man laughed with you, and of course it wasn’t for the same reasons. you’d let him have his fun and his moment. but this wasn’t ending well for one of you, and it wasn’t you.

“oh really? what could i possibly have to worry about besides them?”

and the smile which graced your face with was something beautiful. it was a real genuine smile as you began to hear the yelling. you knew exactly what was coming.

“just him.”

your tone was flat as the man raised an eyebrow. and as if on cue, the door was busted down. and there he was.

of course könig had come for you. he was a bit farther away but you could see the rage in his eyes. you saw as he looked to you, his eyes widened with concern as he saw the way you were bloodied and bound to a chair. but seeing a man with a gun to your chest?

how dare he.

and as könig began sprinting towards the man who had just tortured you for god knows how long, you took comfort in knowing that this man would be dying at the hands of your lover. and god would he die.

könig wasn’t kind, nor merciful. but hell was terrified of him after what he did to the man who put his hands on you. you couldn’t keep your eyes on him, because you’d never seen him move this fast. könig would usually take his time, but for what they did to you? a fast death was merciful. and as silence rang loud in the building once again, your thoughts were broken by heavy footsteps.

“oh.. my libeling..”

könig’s tone was soft, but the rage in his eyes was still burning bright. with his stature, he had to get on his knees in front of you, untying the ropes in which bound your hands to the back of the chair.

“don’t.. don’t worry, i’ve got you. you’re safe i’ve got you now.”

and as you fell forward, könig wrapped you in his arms, holding you tightly to his chest. you knew he would come for you.

#konig x reader #cod modern warfare #cod mw2 #cod x reader #ghost cod #ghost mw2 #ghost smut #ghost x female reader #ghost x oc #ghost x reader #konig imagine #konig x you #konig headcanons #konig smut #konig cod #konig call of duty #konig mw2 #konig modern warfare #konig #cod mwii #call of duty mw2 #call of duty #cod mw x reader #cod x y/n #cod x you #cod x oc #cod headcanons #konig x y/n #konig x oc #konig x female reader

[mothyandthesquid]

Mmm, mustard with seasonal food is delicious! “Mustard Seeds” (picture one) is the same gorgeous warm honey mustard solid colour (“Sunny Disposition”, picture two) but overdyed with speckles. It is a more subtle alternative to the bright yellows I usually dye and does not fluoresce under UV light.

The secret to selling mustards is to make sure there is a brighter, scarier proper yellow option available for folk to avoid. “Sunny Disposition” didn’t get bought because, although it’s a subtle mustard, I didn’t have a neon yellow to put the fear of yellow up people and make it seem safe in comparison.

#mothyandthesquid #yarn #knitting #knit #yarnaddict #knittersofinstagram #crochet #yarnlove #yarnlover

[oftenwantedafton]

Maybe - Steve Raglan/William Afton x Female Reader

Rating - Explicit

Warnings - sexual content

Summary - Your coworker Steve Raglan hates you.

You’ve no idea why, only certain that he does, blatantly evident in his every word and gesture.

So when you find yourself locked in the mail room with him after hours one evening, you’re not expecting much to happen. Boredom. Silence.

Certainly not his body pressed against yours. His hands on you. Wanting.

Also available on AO3

Steve Raglan hates you.

You’re not sure what you’ve done to deserve it, precisely. The impression of that emotion had been apparent from the first moment you’d met him. There hadn’t even been a proper introduction, really. Just instructions to bring a client back to the career counselor’s office. Friendly enough towards the young man you guide through his open door, his nasally rusted voice beckoning the job hopeful further inside. The inviting smell of fresh brewed coffee permeating the interior of the room. The friendly smile on your own features wilting when you see him moving to close the door for privacy. The hard line of his mouth. His eyes dismissive. You could pass it off as your imagination except it happens again whenever you see him. The break room. The copy room. The parking lot. Wherever you happen to encounter one another. The weight of his disapproving stare makes your shoulders droop. You check your appearance in the restroom, lift an arm to make sure your deodorant is working. You even mention it to one of the other girls in the office, someone who’s worked there for a while. She shrugs. Says he’s always been polite. You try to nonchalantly inquire with a few other individuals and receive a similar response.

So, no. You have no idea why Steve Raglan hates your guts. You just know that he does. So you try to avoid him as much as possible. And that actually sort of works. You can even almost forget that the middle aged man despises you for absolutely no valid reason as the weeks pass into months.

***

It’s late.

The office officially closed an hour ago. But you’ve still got work to do. Things that you could leave for the morning, you suppose, but you dislike starting the workday behind schedule with cluttered backlog. So you don’t completely notice the lights getting dimmed, the reduced noise, the failing daylight outside the office windows. Your fingers continue to fly across the keyboard. You’ve finally finished the last of the mail correspondence. You print the page and fold it twice, sliding it inside a business size envelope and sealing it shut. The taste of the envelope makes you wince. Why can’t they make the adhesive more pleasant? Sweeter. Like a mint or hard candy. Anything would be preferable.

You switch off the monitor and tuck your chair beneath the desk. All you have left to do is put this batch of letters in the mailroom. You decide to leave your purse and jacket behind. You’ll grab them on your way out the door.

You can hear the hum of the fluorescent lights, louder than normal now that the office is devoid of the bustle of business activity. No conversations, no ringing phones, no sounds of typing or printing. Just stillness. You don’t think you’ve ever stayed here this late before. You think you might be one of the last ones left.

You’re not.

Steve Raglan is inside the mailroom. Standing beside the rows of cubbies for inter office mail. The copier behind him suddenly spitting out pages. You haven’t had to interact with him recently. You’d almost forgotten that haughty glare of his over the rims of his gold framed glasses.

“I’m just going to drop these in the outgoing box.”

The room is very small. The cubbies, the copier, a waste paper bin, a cabinet with a slot for putting materials to be shredded. That’s all. Narrow confines. The closest you’ve ever been to him. He’s wearing cologne, a pleasant fragrance that’s earthy yet almost sweet. Underlying notes of citrus. You have to press close to reach the correct box and the smell grows stronger. You should have just waited. But who knows how long he’d be there. The copy machine is still running.

In your attempt to be stealthy you trip and reach out for something to stabilize you. The edge of the open door. You manage not to fall. The door swings shut behind you and you hear a click.

A sound of disgust from the tall man. You turn and jerk on the door handle, shoving. You just want to retreat. No movement. You push harder, really wrenching on the brushed nickel fixture. Nothing. It’s sealed shut. You’re locked in.

Your bearded companion seems to realize what’s happened a heartbeat after you do. He shoves past you and tries the door handle himself. You’re pressed against the shredder bin, the uncomfortably sharp corners digging into you through your pencil skirt.

“You idiot. We’re locked in.”

“I…I’m sorry.” You don’t know what else to say.

He tries hammering on the door. His voice is louder than you’ve ever heard it. Confirming what you both already know. You’re the last two people in the office.

“Now we’re going to have to wait for the cleaning crew to come in. Which will probably be…” He glances at his wristwatch “…six hours from now, at least.”

Trapped in this confined space. You’re not strictly claustrophobic, but you think you could develop that condition rather quickly if you dwelled on the situation you’re currently trapped in for too long. Stuck in something marginally larger than a closet, with a man that loathes you.

And now he’s actually got a reason to. Nice going.

The copy machine goes silent. You move to stand across from the social worker, the most distance you can put between you. He leans against the door and folds his arms across his chest, scowling at you. The room is unpleasantly warm already. Or maybe that’s just your nerves, a little rush of adrenaline making the capillaries in your limbs have increased blood flow, your elevated metabolism generating more heat. You always get hot when you’re nervous. You feel your scalp prickle. Your palms are damp. You try to shrink back against the copier further.

You don’t know how much time passes but the awkward silence and staring contest are too much. Your lower back is burning already. You step out of your heels. Let your toes curl in the carpet. A little relief. Steve continues to glower.

You’re going to attempt to sit. It’s difficult, between the limited space and you wearing a narrow skirt. You ease down until your buttocks makes contact with the carpet. Keep your stockinged legs straight in front of you, maintaining your modesty. You fiddle with the charm bracelet on your wrist.

A sigh. The middle aged man joins you on the floor. His long legs bent. Head knocking back against the wood surface behind him with a soft thump. The hem of his pants slightly raised so you can see his socks. Dark purple, and are those little rabbits printed on them? You frown curiously. It’s so out of character for anything on this stern figure to be whimsical. Maybe they’d been a gag gift. Laundry day and nothing else to wear. You’d already checked on a previous occassion to see if he wore a wedding ring. Nothing. His forearms rest on his knees. His hands were massive.

“Can’t you find something else to stare at?”

You blink. Neither of you has spoken in awhile. “I’m not staring,” you protest defensively. “There just isn’t a lot to look at in this room.”

“Find something.”

You chew your bottom lip, your cheeks flushing. There is nothing. The walls are blank. The cubbies and shredder hardly warrant much attention. You know the logo on the reams of paper stacked on the floor by heart now. “I don’t know why you hate me so much. Aside from tonight I’ve never done anything to you.”

The man barks a short laugh. “Hate you? I have absolutely no emotion towards you at all. Nothing.”

Somehow this makes you feel much worse. Now you’re desperately looking anywhere but at the career counselor. You reach for one of the sealed stacks of copy paper, unfolding the end and sliding a blank page free. Begin folding it in random directions. Just something to keep your hands occupied. You notice Steve squirming a bit in your peripheral vision.

“I can move so you can stretch a bit,” you murmur. You fold your legs without waiting for a response, tucking them to one side. You see him hesitate, attempting to stretch but it’s impossible. His legs are too long. “You’re really tall.”

A grunt. You push yourself back into a standing position. Roll your shoulders. Bend and touch your toes. You don’t know why you’re trying to accommodate him but you see him relax. A little sigh of relief.

You kind of need to pee. You were going to hit the John before you left for work. You’re eyeing the wastebin and thinking if worse comes to worse... No. No way. You can wait six hours. Less than that, now. “What time is it?”

“Eight. Almost.”

So another four hours, then. Steve stands again and you sink back down. Your stomach growls. You’d only had a salad for lunch. You think about the steak and lo mein noodles and stir fry vegetables you had waiting for you at home. You’d been planning on curling up on the couch with a bowlful and relaxing in front of the television. Instead you’re stuck here. With him. The man who hates you.

***

Later now. The only conversation inquiries about the time until your coworker informs you you’re asking too frequently and making things worse. Requesting silence. Raglan removes his glasses at one point, folding them and tucking them into his shirt pocket. Massaging the reddened indents on the bridge of his nose.

You’re both sitting on the floor again. His legs sort of half folded, angled slightly. You attempt to stretch yours. Just a gentle easing that you misjudge, your stockinged foot sliding across the carpet, stroking against the inside of Steve’s leg.

You freeze. You hadn’t meant to touch him. You can feel his body heat through the nylon covered extremity. Your eyes meet and his hand curls over your foot, trapping you there.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper. Now you know how those large hands feel. Strong. Warm. Vice grip. Unrelenting.

“Are you?” His voice is different. Soft. Almost a purr of sound. His eyes different, too. Darker. Pupils dilating.

The hand abandons you. He rises, and you struggle to stand, much less gracefully. Something’s happening. You don’t know what yet. A shift in the atmosphere. The rift of tension merging into something else. One of those strong hands now closing over your forearm. Snapping over it like a manacle. Dragging you towards him.

Your back is to him now. Against him. The hand on your arm moving now to the hidden zipper on the side of your skirt. Your heart is pounding. His breath rasps loudly. You don’t think yours is much shallower. The waistband of your skirt loosens. His fingers are splayed against your sternum, the pinky and lower edge of his palm pressing along the tops of your breasts. His other hand invades the charcoal material covering your lower half. Tucks beneath the pale pink panties that match your blouse. Dips right through the damp flesh of your sex and you whimper.

Steve heaves a heavy sigh when he makes that intimate first contact. Satisfaction. Lust. His fingertips feel calloused. You wonder what career he’d held previously, the thought dashed away when he begins circling your clit, using your arousal for lubricant. You’re on fire. How is this the same man that had told you hours before he had no feelings towards you whatsoever? Had he just been frustrated? Wanting you but thinking it was improper for some reason or—

One finger dips inside your entrance, his thumb now working your clit. You should have been embarrassed by the amount of fluid you’re spilling over his probing digits but you’re not. You just don’t want him to stop touching you. Maybe it’s because you hadn’t had a boyfriend in awhile. Maybe because you hadn’t masturbated recently, usually too tired by the time you make dinner and shower and go to bed. Or maybe it’s because it was Steve Raglan specifically. The man that loathes you taking you apart with expert precision. You’ve never been intimate without kissing, without cuddling, without some foreplay. To skip straight to this…

The sound of a pair of fingers invading your body is loud. They curl inside you. You can feel his erection digging against you. The breath coming in short pants. Yours, his. A cacophony of struggling air exchange. The perfect pressure of your partially hooded nub rolled against the bone beneath. The fingers tucked inside stroking curved tissue. Your full bladder making the sensations even more intense. Your nails dig into Steve’s forearm through his dress shirt. You’re on the brink of orgasm. You recognize the feeling building inside of you. That trapped pressure that needs release. His fingers increasing the pace. Pressing harder. There. You cry out and his grip on your torso tightens as your climax wracks your body. You feel dizzy. Spots in front of your eyes. Christ. The best one you’ve ever had, hands down. The aftershocks are still pulsing through you in tingling little bursts of pleasure.

You begin to come down off your high, you body limp and liquid, still supported by the man behind you. His hand leaves your pussy, dragging the fabric of your skirt up. Something feverish and hard pressed against your buttocks. His cock, out of his pants. Dragging against your bare skin where the underwear doesn’t cover. Now tucked beneath the legband. Thrusting against you, constricted into that tight space, like fucking a virgin cunt. The arm still bracing your body against his shakes. A curse and a hot spill of fluid. A lot of cum, filling that pocket he’s created between your panties and your buttocks.

You eventually move apart. You can feel his semen seeping into the fabric. Adjust your skirt. You hear his fly being zipped back up.

The rough breathing subsides. Post nut clarity, isn’t that what men called it? The reality of what you’ve just allowed to happen washing over you. You let this man that’s old enough to be your father finger you to orgasm. Let him use your panties like a sex toy and dump a load against your body. And you’d liked it. Fuck. You shiver at the memory. You’re too shy to meet his gaze. Another stretch of silence.

***

A band of light beneath the door. Someone is in the office.

Steve sees your sharp gaze and turns to face the door. Banging loudly. Yelling. It takes a few moments for the custodian to unlock the door, looking very surprised to find a pair of workers trapped in the mailroom.

You make a beeline for the restroom and grab your things. Steve doesn’t say a word on your walk to the parking lot. So back to this, then. Radio silence. Whatever the hell his issue is with you. Whatever had just happened in the mailroom. A quickie. Boredom or what. Who fucking knows. You skip dinner, opting for a shower and bed.

***

The next morning you get ready for work at your usual time. Telling yourself you’re not being selective about the lingerie you’re wearing. Not choosing a flowing button front dress because it’s easier access. You’re not expecting anything to happen. You don’t want anything to happen. Do you? A throb between your legs at the memory. Okay, fuck. Yes you do. You’d barely slept. Remembering what he’d done. Gotten so worked up thinking about it you’d had to have another round just to take the edge off. Thinking about those big hands on your body. Imagining the feel of his beard abrading your thighs, those dark lustful eyes watching you as he goes down on you. What had felt like a very generously sized cock stretching you. Pumping you full of his cum. Nope. Not thinking about that in any great detail at all. Sure you weren’t. Another tingling pulse as you look at your reflection in the mirror. You really need to stop. This is the guy that hates you that you’re fantasizing about. Or is indifferent towards you, allegedly. Except you can’t reconcile that idea, the juxtaposition with your intimacy making no sense whatsoever. Maybe he just liked playing head games with people. You’re an easy target for that. Too sensitive. You cried over sappy Hallmark movies. Got sentimental on the holidays. Donated every time you saw one of those commercials pleading for funds for animals in need. A big softie. So yeah. You made for easy prey, you supposed.

You don’t even have to wait long to see him again. He’s got the first client of the morning. You have to pass the mailroom on your way to Steve’s office. You’re trying very hard not to think about what had happened in there. Trying to be professional.

Your resolve shatters the instant you see him. The way his hand looks when he reaches for the doorknob. That glare above his glasses. The slightest smirk, that brief twitch of lips so rapid you think you might have imagined it. It’s no good. He’s ruined your ability to concentrate. The paperwork piles up. It’s noon. Break time, the office closes for an hour. You have to pass by Raglan’s office to get to the break room. His door is open. You tell yourself you’re just going to check to see if he’s there, some bullshit excuse about the time his next client that’s a last minute add on is arriving at the ready. A perfectly valid reason for you to be there.

He is inside. Slouching slightly in the brown leather office chair. Thumb depressing the end of his pen, driving the nib from the barrel. Another click and it retracts. Watching you. Waiting. “I just came to tell you there’s been a last minute add on. You have someone coming in at one.”

“Shut the door.”

You hesitate, wondering if he intends for you to close it behind you when you leave. The faint smell of that morning’s coffee still lingers in the air.

A sigh. He straightens and stands and the chair creaks. He shuts the door himself. You’re still in the room. So he wanted you here. With him. Wants you. Something. You’re unsure.

He settles back behind the desk. A slight curve of fingers beckoning you. You stand beside his seated frame. Heart beating like mad. It was happening again. This time during the day. With people nearby. The blinds were open. Warm bands of sun across his desk, against your skin. “Kneel down.” You don’t even question it. Just let yourself descend. The carpet protector hard against your knees through the stockings and layer of your dress. Still waiting. Watching you. His eyes dark again, full of desire. Another little sigh of exasperation. You decide to take the initiative and rest your hands on his thighs. There’s so much of them. So much mileage to go before you reach your destination. You jerk on his belt and the metal releases from the leather. Button unfastened. Zipper peeled down. No reaction from Steve. You debate whether to use the flap of his boxer briefs or just shove the waistband down. Opt for the latter. He’s even bigger than you’d suspected. Long. Thick. Cut. Fat head dripping precum. Fuck. Your cunt is already responding. Pink nails against his dark pink skin as your hand curls around. Leaning forward, tongue swiping along the opening. A sharp inhale. A response at last. A faint musk. Soap tinged. Masculine. Clean. You take him further in.

A mouthful already and you’ve barely begun. You feel his body shifting positions, slouching a bit more, getting comfortable. Your stretched lips slide over him. In and out. Just shallow attempts for now. Getting accustomed to Raglan’s cock in your mouth. God that’s a sentence you’d never thought you’d utter. Think. Whatever.

The phone rings and the head slips from your mouth. Another sigh. “Don’t stop.” He leans a bit and lifts the phone off the cradle. Yellowing plastic thing that had maybe been light gray once like the computer monitor and mouse and keyboard. Very out of date. You have newer ones at the front end. You wonder why he hasn’t requested upgraded models.

“Steve Raglan, may I help you?” So polite. His timbre much lighter. Friendly. Jovial, even. He clears his throat. Fingers of his free hand patting his thigh to remind you to continue. You’re not expecting those fingers to knot in your hair and hold you in place. Your nostrils flare in protest at the limited air as his hips move, pistoning his cock into your maw until he’s touching your throat. You’re gagging, coughing. Feel saliva thickly pooling. He keeps you there. His voice above you so light and airy, so different from what’s happening beneath his desk. “We offer a variety of services. Yes, we’re used to working with candidates with less than ideal backgrounds. The success rate of our job placements…” You lose track of the conversation. He finally jerks your head back and you gasp for air. Your lips are tingling. So is your pussy. Fuck if he doesn’t have you wound up. Wetter than the cock you’ve just slicked up with your spit. Your throat is burning already.

“I’d be more than happy to take a look at the applicant’s job history. Our fax number…” You’re shoved onto his dick again mercilessly. Your nails dig into his thighs. “Sure, I’ll hold.” The fingers in your hair tightening. The chair creaking loudly in protest when he shoves himself back inside. You’re a little better prepared this time. Manage to work up and down his length without much guidance. Concentrate on resisting your gag reflex. Keeping your jaw loose, your lips tight. His fingers curl over the bottom of the phone, blocking the speaker. “You’re going to swallow every drop.” Your eyes widen and you attempt to nod your understanding. Rather difficult considering the position you’re currently in. The little smirk is back, lingering this time. “Hi, yes, I’m still here. Yes, it’s coming through right now. Another question? I’d be happy to help if I can.” You recognize the irritation underlying the false accommodation. He doesn’t really want to help. You hear the fax machine behind Steve’s chair. Dial tone and connection made and pages printed before a longer beep to announce it’s finished. Your head continues to work on as much of the career counselor’s prick as you can manage. Edging a bit more of the shaft inside. Testing the absolute limit. A momentary panicked gurgle before he eases up again. Another loud gasp. There’s no way the man or woman on the other end of the line isn’t hearing this. Steve’s breathing has gotten louder. His voice a lot coarser and lower pitched. “Yes, that’s right. Pleasure to assist. We’ll be in touch.” The phone slams down and he fucks deeply into your throat. Repeats. Again and again, hammering away until he withdraws and you suck in air. You can feel the saliva coating your face, smearing your cheeks and chin. You think your mascara might be running. The lip gloss you’d had on has certainly been chafed right off by now. “Look at me.” Your eyes lift. It’s exactly what he needs to send him over the edge. Your helpless captive mouth and throat around his cock. His taste filling those places. Bitter. Thin. Another great quantity, like the previous evening. The softest little moan of sound, stifled behind the fist he presses against his mouth. Something about that excites you to no end. The fact that you’d made him feel so much pleasure he’d had to stop himself from making too much noise.

You lean back on your heels. He’s still staring. You wipe at the spit coating your face.

“Panties off. Sit on my desk.” It never occurs to you to refuse. Rational thought beyond you. Just that one solid wood door between you and discovery. Maybe that was part of the enjoyment for him. A touch of exhibitionism. Like how he’d had you blow him while he was on the phone just now.

You grab handfuls of the material draped around your hips and tuck your fingers into your panties. Step out of them, leaving them on the floor at your feet. You still have your heels on. Your bare ass settles on the ink blotter, your dress bunched around your midsection.

His fingers hook underneath the edge of the desk and he drags his seated form closer to you, the wheels of the chair grinding along plastic. Those calloused fingers stroke your thighs. Another pair of thigh high stockings today, these ones a soft navy to coordinate with your dress. He strokes along the lace trim. Shoves at the draped fabric still concealing your sex. Another of your fantasies from late last night about to come true.

You’d suspected Steve was going to be a master at eating pussy and God were you right in that assumption. The tip of his tongue—this longer than average as well, it seems every feature of the man’s body ran to the extreme—curling and flicking across your clit. A needy whine escapes you. That muscular organ now dividing the petals of your pussy, driving into your entrance. A muffled moan at your taste. Your head rocks back. The mouth of your entrance waters in response to his jabbing tongue. He’s barely begun and you’re already about to explode. His nose digs into your mound as he slurps the sensitive pink flesh into his mouth. His beard not rough against your skin as you’d expected. Much silkier. Soft. Your bundle of nerve endings being sucked. Stroked. Teased. He brings you close then backs away. Each time the impending orgasm feels more intense. Even just his breath against your damp cunt is enough to stimulate you. You let your fingers sift through his graying hair. The glasses have been tossed aside. His hands are curled around your thighs. He continues to languidly sup at the place between them. Your lunch break must be nearly over now. A combination now of tongue flicks and sucking centered directly on your clit. This time he doesn’t hold back. You bite your lip hard, keening when your release finally washes over you. Someone has surely heard. You try to stifle the next moan of pleasure. He is unrelenting, persisting even when your trembling thighs attempt to close and you push at his head. Somehow your body survives the onslaught and the fire is kindled again. He’s going to make you cum again.

A second climax wracks through you. Steve finally moves away. His bearded face is damp from your juices. You let your legs drop over the edge of the desk, hands bracing yourself to remain sitting. You feel absolutely wrung out. And it’s amazing.

There’s that awkward silence again as you both recover. Adjusting clothing. Subtly removing body fluids from obvious places. At least there’s a restroom right across the hall. Your eyes dart to the clock on the wall. One hour exactly. Raglan remains silent. You don’t know what to say. You end up leaving his office, more conflicted than ever.

The afternoon passes. A few clients directed Steve’s way. Everything strictly professional between you. You’ve got to work double time to make up for your distracted performance earlier that day. The display on your computer monitor confirms what you already know. You’re late again.

This time you’re going to use the restroom before you leave work. Just in case. You never know what could happen. You pass the mailroom. It’s empty, the door open. Steve’s office door is shut. You don’t recall seeing him leave but you hadn’t exactly been watching the entrance the entire time.

You finish in the bathroom and head back down the hall. Car keys successfully withdrawn from purse, the strap of which now sits on your shoulder. Cardigan on. You turn to leave.

He’s there. Leaning against the open doorway that leads to the reception area. Those dark eyes watching you. You feel the strap of your handbag already sliding down.

“What happened to being indifferent?” You’re surprised when the words leave your mouth. Maybe he’d just expected you to keep going along with his sexual whims. Playing whatever game this was.

“Maybe that was a poor choice of words.” He pushes off of the molding covered frame, walking towards you. “Maybe I’ve changed my mind.”

You stand your ground. One of his big hands now rests on your cheek, rough thumb drawing an invisible line under your bottom lip. “Maybe…”

He doesn’t finish the thought with words, his face lowering to yours.

#william afton x reader #william afton x you #steve raglan x you #steve raglan x reader #steve raglan smut #william afton smut #dividers credit @saradika-graphics

[sixteenseveredhands]

Namib Sand Geckos: these nocturnal geckos have biofluorescent markings that emit a bright, neon-green glow when exposed to the moonlight

This species (Pachydactylus rangei) is found only in the Namib Desert, which stretches across Namibia, Angola, and South Africa; the geckos typically inhabit the arid, coastal region known as the Skeleton Coast.

In order to escape from the blistering heat of the desert, they use their webbed feet to burrow down into the sand during the day, and then emerge only at night, when the temperature has finally dropped. The webbing on their feet also enables them to run more easily across the dunes.

Namib sand geckos are covered in translucent scales, but they also have a strangely colorful appearance, as the colors/shades of their circulatory system, spinal column, internal organs, and optical membranes remain partially visible through the skin, producing various shades of pink, dark blue, purple, magenta, orange, and yellow.

They also have several distinctive markings running along their lower flank and encircling their eyes; these markings are known to fluoresce when exposed to UV light (including moonlight), emitting a bright, neon-green glow.

Some researchers have theorized that the biofluorescent markings may act as a signal to other geckos, allowing them to locate one another in the vast, desolate expanse of the desert, as this paper explains:

The fluorescent areas of P. rangei are concentrated around the eyes and along the lower flanks. This positioning is practically invisible to predators with a higher perspective (e.g. birds and jackals), but highly conspicuous from a gecko’s perspective. As P. rangei is sociable but generally solitary, and occurs at low population densities, such a signal might serve to locate conspecifics over greater distances ...

Encounters in P. rangei might serve purposes beyond mating opportunities: as the Namib desert has extremely low precipitation, fog is a key water source for its flora and fauna. Fog condenses on the bodies of the geckos, and they lick it from their faces. In husbandry, we have observed individuals licking water from conspecifics, taking advantage of a much greater available surface area.

Additionally, after short periods of isolation, the geckos run to meet each other. The combination of vital hydration with socialisation might reinforce signals that enable such meetings, and the cost of visibility to predators with higher vantage points, might constrain the signals to regions best visible from eye-level and below.

The Namib sand gecko is the only terrestrial vertebrate that is known to use an iridophore-based form of biofluorescence (you can find a more detailed explanation of that mechanism in the article mentioned above). The fluorescent dermal markings are also unique to this species.

Sources & More Info:

Scientific Reports: Neon-green fluorescence in the desert gecko Pachydactylus rangei caused by iridophores

Animal Diversity Web: Pachydactylus rangei

Dr. Mark D. Scherz's Blog: A Neon-Green Glowing Gecko!

Australian Geographic: Skeleton Coast - Namibia's strange desert dwellers

#herpetology #reptiles #gecko #Pachydactylus rangei #namib sand gecko #palmatogecko #namib desert #namibia #biofluorescence #animals that glow #lizards #cute animals #biology #nature #africa #squamata #web-footed gecko #cool animals #geckos #South Africa #Angola #Skeleton Coast #wildlife #not an arthropod #but still pretty cool

[izubabes]

Hey I just came across your blogs and I absolutely fell in love with your ‘meeting their future kids’ with Tenjiku was absolutely brilliant. Could you maybe do something along the same lines with Toman? I was scrolling and saw you were recovering so I’m wishing you the best and don’t worry if you can’t write it I’m still happy I found your blog!!!!

𝐌𝐞𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐅𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐝𝐬 [𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬: 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐲𝐮, 𝐌𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐲, 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐧, 𝐌𝐢𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐲𝐚, 𝐓𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐢, 𝐁𝐚𝐣𝐢

𝐆𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: 𝐂𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐝𝐲, 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟

𝐁𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝: 𝐈𝐭’𝐬 𝐓𝐨𝐦𝐚𝐧’𝐬 𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐞𝐭 𝐚 𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐩𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞!

𝐀𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫’𝐬 𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞! 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐜𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐚𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐤𝐮’𝐬 𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐞𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐨 𝐦𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞. 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐂𝐡𝐢𝐟𝐮𝐲𝐮’𝐬… 𝐨𝐨𝐩𝐬!

✰𝐓𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐢𝐤𝐮 𝐄𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

✰𝐓𝐨𝐤𝐲𝐨 𝐑𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

ᴄʜɪꜰᴜʏᴜ

"Hey! Hey! I think we found them, let's follow them."

It's the evening of Shibuya's annual fireworks festival, the fated night everyone had been anticipating for months. Chifuyu had gathered the courage to ask you to come along with his group of friends. He never clarified that it was date, leaving him vulnerable to the banter and teasing of his fellow Toman members. Takemichi and the others mysteriously disappeared after wandering through the crowd. It was all too obvious that your friends were trying hard to get you both alone together.

Chifuyu reassured himself that this was not a date. Yet here you both are, splitting some ice cream and sitting in a secluded area on the festival grounds away from the noise and sweaty bodies enjoying each other's presence while chatting about where the rest of the group had run off to.

“I’m glad you came to the festival with me,” Chifuyu admitted, noting the way your cheeks harbored a rosy tint at his words. His wandering eyes scanned the festivalgoers in search of his friends but to no avail. “We got ditched, huh? Who needs them anyways?”

Chifuyu pulled out all the stops for tonight, he's been draining his wallet left and right to buy whatever your heart desires despite how much you keep complaining that you can pay for yourself. He knows it's not a waste if it's making you happy to be with him but honestly you value his close company more than his material worth.

“We’ve been looking forward to it for a while now, I wouldn’t miss it for the world!” You said, reaching out and stealing the last bite of ice cream in the shared cup. “We'll catch up with the others later. I wanted to spend time with you. It’s fun to match yukatas with my best friend! We almost look a real couple.”

Chifuyu wants to be real couple. He wants to be your boyfriend. But he's a coward. He's afraid of rejection. He's afraid of losing you.

“You have some chocolate on your cheek,” Chifuyu pointed out, stifling back a fit of giggles as he watched you panic about ruining your makeup.

“Where?” You asked, slightly sticky fingers swiping at your face but completely missing the spot he had motioned towards.

“Right here,” He said, lightly wiping the away the mess with his sleeve despite your protests that he would stain the fabric. He rummaged through the tote bag he had been carrying throughout the evening, carefully pulling out his most luxurious gift of the night. “That reminds me, I bought you this hairpin. Do you like it?”

Before he can even think, a tiny peck is placed on his cheek, a small token of your gratitude for his never-ending kindness. Chifuyu nearly fainted at the loving gesture, attempting to calm down his uneven breathing as he listened to you speak. “I love it. You spoil me too much, Matsuno. Help me put it on, yeah?”

Chifuyu admired the way the gift blended in with the pattern of your yukata. It twinkled under the fluorescent lights of the neighboring food stalls, practically projecting an angelic aura around you. The hairpin was cute, sure, but you were absolutely gorgeous under the moonlight's ethereal glow. He would do anything to capture this scene on film and be able to gaze at your beauty whenever he wanted to.

“How does it look?” You asked, opening up your cellphone’s to snap a quick selfie. Scooting closer, you pressed your body against his, sitting shoulder to shoulder. Oh fuck, he swore he could get a whiff of the peach scented perfume lingering on your supple skin that drove him absolutely insane. “Get in the picture, fuyu. I’m sending it to your mom.”

“You’re beautiful,” He blurted out, backtracking on his words as soon as he caught sight of your surprised expression. “I mean cute! You’re so cute— holy fuck, just forget I said anything…”

“Calm down, fuyu.” You chuckled, reaching out and holding his nervous hand. He noticed the way your eyes were focused on his quivering lips before they flickered up to meet his own as if to confirm that you wanted him to get even closer. You needed him to close the gap in between your bodies. “You’re the first guy to ever call me beautiful. It makes me feel special.”

“You are special… to me.” Chifuyu leaned in, noting the way your eyes fluttered closed in anticipation. He lightly pressed his soft lips against yours, left completely breathless at the fact he finally made a move. You tasted so sweet, just like the chocolate ice cream you had both shared earlier, and a mix of the iconic cherry chapstick you always wear.

“EW, MOMMY AND DADDY ARE SMOOCHING!”

A horrified scream could be heard from behind, causing the both of you to pull away. You hid your face in your hands, humiliated at the fact you had just been caught in such an intimate moment. Chifuyu's fiery temper flared up at the audacity someone had to intrude on his private life.

Panicked shushes and muffled voices could be heard from the bushes, its branches rattling around as the nosy culprits shuffled around to mask their exposed presence. “Yuki, be quiet!” Without missing a beat, a young boy’s voice could be heard gagging in response, his tiny hand pointing out from the bush in your direction. “But Fuyumi, it’s gross. You promised there would be no smooching!”

“Hey, you brats! Do you think it’s funny to spy on people? I’ll fuckin’ kill you two.” Chifuyu appeared from behind, snagging the two spies by the collar of their yukatas as they let out another hellish scream. He was beyond pissed at the fact they had just ruined his perfect moment, his first kiss, his first date-that’s-not-a-date. Pure horror was written across each of the children’s features as they wiggled under Chifuyu’s vicious grip. “We’re sorry, Daddy! Please don’t hurt us.”

He sent the kids a curious look, bringing them closer to his face as he put on an intimidating expression. “Who the hell are you calling Daddy?”

You ran up to the group, gripping your best friend’s arm in an effort to settle his raging temper. He could never go against you, a fact that you used to your advantage. “Chifuyu, they’re just kids. Drop the delinquent act, please.”

Just as you requested, he dropped the kids onto the ground. The older girl stuck her tongue out at him in annoyance as she gathered her scattered belongings. The terrified little boy nearly knocked you over with the way he jumped into your arms, hiding in face in the fabric of your yukata. “Mommy’s here to save us!”

Your eyes widened in disbelief as a dry laugh escaped your chest, covering up the fact you were about to have a mini heart attack. “Huh?!”

“I should explain things,” The older girl said, dusting off her kimono as she stood up to face the both of you. She was beautiful and so alluring, possessing the most precious pair of emerald irises just like Chifuyu. Her features were reflected more of your traits but she was a perfect blend of both of her parents. “I’m Fuyumi and this is Yukine, we’re your children.”

This was too much to handle at once, Chifuyu had just kissed you, there’s a random pair of nosy kids who claim to be yours, it’s extremely hot outside and the headache looming over you was beginning to consume your ability to think straight. You set the child down before the rest of your body gave out on keeping you up. “Chifuyu, I’m… feeling dizzy.”

“Wake up, Y/N!” Chifuyu pleaded, lightly shaking your limp form only to receive incoherent blabbering in response. He brought a hand up to your neck, checking for a pulse despite not knowing how to properly check for one. “Oh my god, you two killed her.”

Fuyumi shook her head in disbelief, handing her father a decorative fan in order to blow some fresh air at your face. “Oopsie, I think she passed out, use this to cool her down.”

Yukine chimed in, giggling at the way Chifuyu frantically muttered out apologies and panicked over the fact you were still out cold. “Daddy, you’re such a loser. Why does Mommy even like you?”

“I am not your Daddy, you little brat.”

“We're Fuyumi and Yukine Matsuno. We came from the future to spy on you guys.” His daughter repeated, unlocking her phone and showing today’s date but in a distant number of years from now. Yukine tugged on Chifuyu's sleeve, curious eyes peering up at him in delight. “Are you and Mommy on a date?”

The innocent question sent his mind into overdrive, unsure how to answer without admitting his true feelings to a couple of strange kids. “It’s not a date! We’re just friends.”

Fuyumi smirked, crossing her arms as she glanced between her father and her mother, observing their attire and remembering their intimate moment from a while ago. “I don’t think people are just friends kiss each other on the lips. Or wear matching yukatas!”

“It’s complicated,” Chifuyu groaned. The embarrassment rising in his chest was only amplified by the fact Fuyumi's words from earlier were beginning to settle in. He kept blowing fresh air onto your face with the paper fan "I must be going insane. This is all some twisted ass dream."

"Take a look," Fuyumi handed Chifuyu a polaroid picture, also dated several years into the future. He’s cradling a baby, presumably one of his children, you’re asleep on a hospital bed, and there’s a toddler poking at the newborn’s cheek. “This is a picture of Yukine on the day he was born, you’re the one holding him. I’m sitting next to you.”

The unimaginable sight of the image almost brings tears to his eyes, he bites back the urge to jump for joy. “I’m married to Y/N…” Chifuyu grinned, glancing down at your unconscious form. He glided his hand across your cheek, admiring the way you nuzzled into his gentle touch. “I’m the luckiest guy ever.”

Fuyumi snickered at the way her father was completely lovestruck at the thought of his future. He was definitely in love; it was written all over his dopey face. “Mommy said it was obvious you had a crush on her. You always used the corny pick-up lines from your romance mangas.”

Chifuyu huffed at the constant snarky comments being directed at him by the child. “I’m going to ground you two, eventually…”

Yukine gripped his older sister's hand, pulling her away from the pair as they began to run off into the festival's growing crowd. “We’ll be waiting, bye-bye Daddy! Mommy is about to wake up, take her to see the fireworks, okay?”

Chifuyu called out to the pair, a weak hand extended to no avail as the children ran past his reach. He needed to know more about his future, specifically when he would be bold enough to call you his wife. “Don’t go! When are Y/N and I going to get together?! I need to know!”

Fuyumi sent him a devious wink, holding up a finger to her lips symbolizing her intent to keep it a secret. Yukine mimicked his sister's actions, waving goodbye as they blended in with the festivalgoers.

At the same time, you stirred awake in his arms, peering up at his relieved face as he let out a shaky breath. He had never been more overjoyed to see your beautiful shimmering eyes glancing around at your surroundings. “Fuyu… my head hurts. Did we miss the fireworks?”

He sat you up with a swift motion, careful not to make any sudden moves in case you had sustained a concussion. “Oh good, you’re awake! How are you feeling? I think the heat made you pass out.”

“Wait,” You placed a hand on your aching head, attempting to piece together the events leading up to before you had passed out. Chifuyu “I had the strangest dream… there was a pair of kids that said we were their parents.”

He froze, heart racing in chest as he spoke once again. “Do you remember anything before that?”

“I had chocolate on my face. You gave me this hairpin and that’s all. Everything is fuzzy after that.” Chifuyu wanted you to remember his confession, he wanted you to remember how both reciprocated each other's feelings. “But, but we kiss— never mind, forget it.”

BOOM!

You stood up, walking towards the source of the colorful explosion as you ignored the lingering aftereffects of your migraine. “The fireworks are starting! Let’s go find a spot.” Chifuyu tugged on your wrist before you could walk any further, keeping you in place. “Hold on, I don’t think it’s a good idea. I should get you home, yeah?”

You avoided staring into his eyes, insecurity nipping at your nerves as you remembered the chaos leading up to now. He must have been annoyed with the fact you had consumed his time to enjoy the festival's entertainment. “Are you tired of me, Chifuyu? I’m sorry I fainted on you earlier. You had to take care of me, that wasn’t fair.”

He quickly denied the accusation, slightly shocked by the fact you would ever think he could be sick of your presence. “N-No, that’s not what I meant. Are you sure you’re feeling okay?” You bit your lip, reaching out lace your fingers with his own and tugging him towards the audience area. “I’m perfectly fine. I want to watch the fireworks with you and only you. Please?”

BOOM!

The first glittering scene of flashing lights caught your attention, signaling the commencement of the long-awaited fireworks show. Chifuyu could hardly keep up with your frantic pace, knocking him into other festivalgoers who merely sent him dirty looks in response. He was surprised you had managed to find a decent spot in the dense crowd with enough space for the both of you to sit comfortably and a perfect view of the colorful pyrotechnics.

"Wow, they're so bright!"

The brief pause in between each display gave him the perfect opportunity to confess to you properly. Chifuyu adored the way your face lit up at the sight of the flittering sparks, much like a child whose experienced joy for the first time. It was now or never, the clock's ticking, time to put his feelings on full display and await your final answer.

“I like you, Y/N. Will you please be my girlfriend—"

BOOM! BOOM!

You turned to face him, unsure if you had misheard his request or whether it was a trick of the mind. Honestly, you sincerely wished you had heard him correctly after patiently waiting to hear those sweet words all night. "What? Did you say something?"

"No," He replied, blinking back a set of fresh tears that threatened to fall from his anguished irises. He remained silent for the entirety of the show, not even uttering a word when you pointed to a specific firework that had caught your attention.

Once the crowd had shrunk into a few people lingering around, “Chifuyu, close your eyes for a second.”

His broken heart clouded his rationality as he snapped at you with a sharp tone. "For what? Are you going to ditch me like the others?"

You huffed at his attitude, forcefully shutting his pouty orbs with both of your index fingers. "Just do it, fuyu!"

He could feel your breath ghost over the shell of his ear, sending shockwaves of anxiety down his spine. Your voice was incredibly quiet as you whispered your late response into his head. “I like you too… I wanna be yours."

Chifuyu's mouth gaped open at your statement, backing up a couple spaces as he stared down your approaching figure. "You heard me earlier?!"

"I did," You mused, lightly pecking his lips for further confirmation as he melted under your heavenly touch. Chifuyu gently gripped your shoulders as he went back in for another kiss while burning the memory into his mind. Your lovestruck eyes fluttered open, scanning his face in pure adoration. "Hm, this feels familiar. Did we kiss before I passed out?"

His overwhelming blush expanded from his cheeks to the tips of his ears with hot steam practically flooding out of head. "I-I have no idea what you're talking about..."

“Mommy and Daddy are so cute together,” Fuyumi sighed, admiring the way Chifuyu wrapped an arm around your shoulder as you nuzzled your head against his neck. She had always heard the story about her parents becoming official after a certain festival date during their youth. It was incredible to be able to experience it firsthand, even if she and her brother had crashed their picture-perfect moment earlier.

Yukine yawned, preparing to time leap back to their own timeline with his stash of goodies. “Let’s go home, sissy. I can’t wait to show them the pictures we took!”

ᴍɪᴋᴇʏ

“Hey kid, how much do you want for the taiyaki?”

The fed-up boy sighed, turning his back to face the persistent stalker who had been harassing for the past fifteen minutes. His bag of pastries rattled in his arms as he snapped at him with a frustrated scream. “For the last time, it’s mine. I paid for it!” Mikey huffed, dragging his feet across the pavement as he followed the kid around the park in an effort to get him to cave in. “It’s not for me, it’s for my girlfriend! I’m supposed to meet her right now.”

His target let out a dry laugh, beginning to munch down on the coveted snack as Mikey watched in horror. If he hadn't promised to meet you at this park, he would have jumped the boy on the spot and been on his way. A pair of familiar arms looped around his waist from behind as your melodic voice rang in his ears. “Knew I’d find you here, Mikey. What are you doing?”

“Y/N!” Mikey whined, puffing his cheeks and tugging on your sleeve as he shot you a pitiful glance. His free hand pointed an accusatory finger at the child, still eating the bag of fresh fish-shaped pastry. He merely shrugged his shoulders at you while returned the gesture with an apologetic look. “This brat bought the last of the taiyaki I was going to eat!”

Mikey could be one the most childish people you had ever met with his constant bratty attitude and frustrating behavior. You flicked your boyfriend on his forehead, ignoring how he grumbled at your actions. The eavesdropping boy snickered, sticking his tongue out at your boyfriend as he sent him a death glare. “Mikey, he’s just a kid. We can split a parfait on our date.”

"But Y/N, I'm hungry now!"

A victorious scream was uttered by the boy, quickly turning into surprise as he took a closer look at the both of you. “Aha! I knew it was for you— Wait… you’re my parents!”

Mikey lost his balance, falling onto the ground in a fit of hysterics as you stared at the strange boy in disbelief. “That’s hilarious, kid! Never heard that one before.” You ignored the stupidity arising from your boyfriend's actions, approaching the mysterious boy and finding a distinct resemblance between them. “He does kinda look like you…”

“I’m Yuta Sano.” He said, properly introducing himself to the both of you. Yuta studied your face closely before glancing at Mikey and clicking his tongue in distaste. “Mom’s way out of your league, Dad. How did you manage to get her to fall for you?”

“She was head over heels for me,” Mikey said smugly, wrapping arm around your waist as he pulled you into his grasp. He snuggled into your body, inhaling the scent of your strawberry pound cake perfume. “How could I resist turning down a pretty girl like her?”

“Don’t lie to him, Manjiro.” You snapped, pushing off his clingy form as he fought to stay close to you. His jealous side was slowly making its appearance, a sight that was often rare to see. “Yuta, do you want the truth?”

You began to relay the story behind your budding relationship with Manjiro Sano. “Draken and Emma were the ones who set us up on a date which Mikey ended up ruining by falling asleep right after we ate at the cafe. I had to carry him home and he drooled all over my shoulder. He also forgot his wallet and had ordered half of the menu which I ended up having to pay for!”

“Babe, you said you keep that a secret!” Mikey shouted as he crumbled under the fiery flames of betrayal. He grabbed the boy by the collar of shirt, bringing him closer as his piercing onyx eyes sent chils down his spine. “Yuta, I do not drool in my sleep. Your mother is a dirty little liar.”

“That’s what you’re worried about!?” Yuta scoffed at his outburst while lurching away from Mikey's act of intimidation. “Runs in the family, I guess. Suzu does the same thing after she eats. She’s practically Dad’s twin.”

“Suzu?” You questioned, hoping he wasn't referring to another incoming child. Yuta motioned for the two of you glance at the image on his cellphone, pointing out the sweet little girl in the family picture perched on Mikey’s lap. She reflected all of his features, from the unruly blonde hair to his captivating charcoal irises. “Suzu is my younger sister. She’s your daughter.”

Mikey's heart skipped a beat at the sound of your flustered squeals as you hid your blushing cheeks under your hands. “Oh my god, this is really happening… this is real life. These are my— our kids?”

He could hardly hold back another round of laughter as he uncovered your face, lightly pecking your nose as he spoke. “What are you embarrassed for, Y/N? I’m happy to know that you’re the person I’m gonna marry.” Mikey cooed as he embraced you in his arms “I wanted us to stay together. Glad to know we did. We have some cute kids, huh?”

“Mikey…” You whispered, hiding your reddening face in his chest as he gently patted your head. “How are you so calm about this?”

“My heart belongs to you,” He stated, a sincere smile lighting up his normally stoic face. “I know I’m in good hands.”

“I’m going to be sick,” Yuta muttered, turning away from the lovey dovey scene unfolding before his eyes. He may be a teenager but he sure acted “You’re always super sappy with Mom.”

A mischievous smile crept up Mikey’s face as he turned the situation into his favor. “Hand over the taiyaki or I kiss your mother, kid.” The iron grip your boyfriend had on your wrist kept you in place as you tried to pull away. He was determined to get the snack at any cost or sacrifice necessary. “Manjiro, what the fuck!”

“You wouldn’t…” Yuta challenged, narrowing his eyes at his father as he brought the pastry closer to his mouth threatening to take a bite. It was the last one he had left in the bag; its fate was unknown as the two males stared each other down in suspense.

“Choice’s yours,” Mikey pulled you in close, cupping your cheeks and leaning in towards your face with pursed lips. He sent the boy a victorious smirk, centimeters away from connecting your mouths. “Pucker up, Y/N!” You shook your head response, avoiding his spontaneous kisses as he giggled at your embarrassment. He was absolutely shameless with showing affection in public I matter who was watching. “No! No! Mikey, what are you doing—!"

"Okay, okay. You win!" Yuta declared, handing over the pastry to an overly satisfied Mikey. He tugged you away from his father’s hold, hiding you behind his shorter frame with his arms extended out in a defensive position. "Stop it already, Mom's super uncomfortable."

Mikey only smirked, taking a huge bite of taiyaki. “It’s okay, she loves me. Right, Y/N?” An exhausted sigh was enough of a response in affirmation as hand went to rest on your aching forehead. “You’re such a handful, Manjiro.”

“Baby, call me Mikey. You only call me that when you’re pissed.”

You rolled your eyes at him, practically screaming his ear off as you went in on him. “I am pissed! Talk about damn near sexual harassment." He tugged at your sleeve with a pouty look across his face, Mikey's signature puppy dog eyes were on full display. "Do you still love me?"

"I'm starting to have second thoughts," You muttered as you gave your boyfriend the cold shoulder. Yuta's face was full of hurt, he was broken by the fact he had his last pastry stolen by his stubborn father. “Hey Yuta, do you have any embarrassing stories about this idiot? I’ll buy you food as an apology for everything.”

His eyes filled up with excitement, graciously accepting your generous offer. “Hell yeah, can we go on my motorcycle?” Mikey perked up at the conversation involving his beloved vehicle of choice. “You have a bike? I want to ride it! Let me see!”

Yuta shook his head before reaching and taking your hand in his and urging you to follow him. “As if, Dad. Only Mom is allowed to be my passenger. You have your own bike, don’t you?”

Mikey frowned in disapproval, fuming as he sent his child the dirtiest look imaginable. His dark impulses threatened to appear if he didn't play his cards right. “She’s supposed to be on a date with me. You can’t just steal her from me. I’ll fuckin’ ground you for life.”

“Don’t listen to him, Yuta. What do you want to eat?”

Yuta accepted your hand, sticking close to your side as he tugged you away from a preoccupied Mikey. “This is why I prefer Mom over you!”

“She’s mine!” Mikey shouted, chasing after your distant figures “Get back here you two!”

If this is what the future holds for him, Mikey certainly can’t wait for the day he can experience it firsthand.

ᴅʀᴀᴋᴇɴ

“Inupi, can you take a look at this motorcycle when you get the chance?”

Summer is always hell at D&D Motors since it's the specific time of the year when business picks up exponentially. Draken and Inui get swamped with customers who have very specific needs. Some need maintenance, others need routine oil changes, others need intense repairs on their expensive motorcycles. Some are bold enough to come in and act clueless so they can get a chance to flirt with the shop’s owners while chasing after a steep discount. It never works.

“Might take a while, I’m still fixing up the one for pickup today.” Inui replied, adjusting the loose seat on the bike as it kept falling out of place. He groaned at the way the whole thing came apart and landed at his feet practically taunting him no matter how many times he tried to screw the godforsaken thing in place.

“Damn it,” Draken complained, pacing around the workshop before stopping in his tracks. A younger teenage boy was inspecting one of the neighboring motorcycles, practically acting as if he owned the bike, carefully checking all the delicate parts of the engine as Draken approached. “Can I help you, kid? You're not allowed to be back here.”

“Spark plugs need to be replaced and those brake pads are on their last lap. It’s a quick fix on your own but clearly the owner could give a shit less.” He stated, gazing over the body of the vehicle as he gave it a gently tap on its luxurious exterior. “Such a shame to see a nice ride being put to waste.”

Draken was stunned by how quick the boy was able to find the underlying problem, confirming his claims after inspecting it himself. He hadn't even gotten around to getting a look at the bike but he was now less stressed by the fact he could done with its repairs by today. “You’re right, kid. How’d you know?”

The strange boy grinned with pride, wiping off his soiled hands with the rag he was handed. “I learned it from you, Dad.” Draken nearly dropped the toolbox on his foot, fumbling for a steady grip as the contents inside rattled in response. “Excuse me?”

Inui glanced up from his spot on the ground, curious about the sudden source of the ruckus. “Woah, it’s a mini Draken… am I seeing things?”

The boy shot him a sly smile, waving over at the other surprised mechanic. “Hey there, Uncle Seishu!” Inui narrowed his eyes at the teenager, surprised by how the two seemed to be on a familiar basis. He has no recollection of ever interacting with the boy before nor had seen him wander into the shop. “Do I know you?”

“Yes, but not yet. I’m from the—"

The shop’s front doorbell rang, signaling the arrival of a new client as you called out for the two people you were looking for. “Ken! I brought you some lunch. Seishu, I made extra for you too.” The boy perked up at the sound, nearly tripping over his own two feet as he peeked through the slightly open door “That’s Mom’s voice! Can I go see her? Can I? Can I?”

Draken tugged on the back of the boy’s shirt before he could slip through the workshop’s door. He had no idea who the hell this kid was nor why he kept referring to him as Dad and why he would even think of calling you Mom. “Hold on, you little runt. You have some explaining to do first.”

Before he could say anything else, your head popped in from the creak in the workshop's door. You smiled at the familiar faces in sight becoming confused the random chaos unfolding back there. “There you are, Ken. Oh hello, am I interrupting something?”

“Hi Mom!”

“M-Mom?!”

Draken slapped a panicked hand over the boy's mouth, muffling his protests as he did his best to hide him from your view. “What did I tell you— what’s your name?”

“Kyo… Kyo Ryuguji.” He mumbled, ripping off his father's hand as he struggled to take in a proper breath. Draken noticed the menacing aura radiating from your body, an unsettling grin occupying your face while you threatened to bash his head in with a nearby wrench. “You never told me you had a kid, Ken. What else are you hiding from me?”

“You’re in for it, Dad!” Kyo fought back a fit a laughter, running to hide behind Inui’s equally terrified body as he prepared himself for the incoming feud. Both of them had never seen you so enraged before, Draken nearly prayed for mercy as you closed in on his distressed form.

Ten minutes later, the workshop was turned upside down and Draken was sporting a huge lump on his forehead. You had apologized after he had clarified that he was not two-timing and he had no idea who the random kid was.

“Let me get this straight... You're some kind of time traveler?" Draken questioned, scrolling through the content’s on Kyo’s cellphone before letting you have a turn at viewing the pictures that are supposedly from the future.

"Uh-huh," Kyo confirmed, munching down on the fresh bento boxes you had brought in. He gulped down the food at a ferocious pace "Mom's cooking is the best!"

“Hey Mom, are you and Dad dating yet?” Kyo asked.

“Wha—?!” You both shouted while exchanging equally humiliated expressions.

“Well, I’m your son! It’s a long ass story and I’m kinda running out of time here but it’s nice to see you guys…” Kyo said as he disappeared, leaving no trace of his existence behind except the remnants of his half-eaten meal.

Draken scratched the back his neck, noting the way you refused to meet his lingering gaze. “Did we just meet our future runt?” 

You toyed with the strands of your hair, mumbling a quiet reply under your breath. “I guess so.”

Inui smirked, deciding to meddle in his best friend’s love life. “You two just gonna sit there and stare at each other all day or decide to go out already?"

ᴍɪᴛꜱᴜʏᴀ

“Takashi, that tickles. Are you almost done?”

Warm rays of sunlight peeked through the curtains, finding home on your skin as they casted a golden hue on your features. Mitsuya had invited you over today in hopes of helping him design his newest creation, but he found himself being distracted by his hyperactive model. You, on the other hand, were fed up with the fact you had spent most of the sunny afternoon cramped indoors when Takashi could have taken you on a date instead.

“If you would sit still for a second I could get the measurements I need.” Mitsuya grumbled, adjusting the tape measure around your neck once again as you squirmed under his touch, a fit of giggles escaping your mouth as he attempted to secure the material. “Babe, I’m serious!”

“I can’t concentrate on an empty stomach,” You whined, sending him a wink as you brushed his soft lavender bangs out of his face, revealing the slightly frustrated male underneath. “I know my doting boyfriend skipped breakfast. You should take better care of yourself, Takashi.”

“Don’t worry about me. I can get you a snack, lovely.” Mitsuya chuckled, placing a sweet kiss on your forehead, completely ignoring the waves of hunger rumbling in his stomach. “Take a break in the meantime.”

“Will do!” You affirmed, falling back onto his bed and indulging yourself in his fuzzy blankets. Mitsuya was always incredibly patient with you even when he was acting like a raging perfectionist, going as far as putting everyone else’s needs above his own, not caring to eat or drink until he finished his newest project.

While dozing in off in his room you heard the light pitter patter of footsteps prancing around the room. A quiet voice roused you from your peaceful slumber as a finger poked at your cheek. Soft giggles radiated from the culprit's mouth as they continued to mess with you. “Wake up… Mommy, wake up!”

Mommy?

A tired groan left your mouth as you lightly swatted away the hand that kept interrupting your peaceful slumber. “Luna, is that you? Or is it Mana?”

It couldn’t be his sisters; they were on a play date with some friends from school. It had been an hour since they had been picked up from their apartment, promising that they would be back later this evening for dinner. “The girls aren't here, silly! I’m Sumire.”

Assuming this must be one of their neighborhood friends, you greeted her with half-awake eyes, a yawn slipping past your mouth as you spoke. “How did you get up here, cutie? Did Takashi not tell you that Luna and Mana aren’t home?”

The child replied with no hesitation. “Oh, I time leaped. My aunties must be busy, bummer.”

Her words instantly broke the haze of sleep lingering in your head comparable to a bucket of ice water being poured down your back. You rubbed at your eyes to confirm that there was in fact a strange little girl inside your boyfriend's room “You… what?”

“Sumire Mitsuya, I’m a third grader. You’re my mother, ”

You stared down the child, finding some of Mitsuya’s gorgeous features blended together with your own. However, you had never given birth in your lifetime and Mitsuya swore he had never dated anyone than you. “Takashi and I… we… you’re our child?”

Sumire nodded, lightly bowing her head as she properly introduced herself. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mommy.”

“I’m going to help you find your actual parents,” You mumbled, taking her small hand and leading her out the bedroom door. unamused with the nonsense you were hearing. “Takashi is pulling a prank on me; he has to be.”

Mitsuya met you halfway down the hallway “Babe, how about we get some ramen— uh, who is that?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, huffing at his attempt to act oblivious to the situation. Surely this was payback for fooling around as he was trying to focus on his work earlier. “Takashi, quit messing around. I get it, okay? I'll be the picture-perfect model for you."

He frowned. “I’m not joking, Y/N. I have no idea who she is."

Mitsuya's attention was stolen by the girl's attire as studied the pattern of her clothes closely, admiring the artisan fabric chosen to create it. “Woah, I’ve always dreamed of designing a dress like this for Mana and Luna when I was younger.”

Sumire twirled in delight as she proudly showed off the frills and intricate lace adoring her tiny figure. It was a one-of-kind gown made under an expert's careful watch. The nearly invisible seams were flawless and there wasn't a single stitch out of place, it was a true work of art. “You made it for me, Papa!”

“Papa?”

“I’m Sumire, I keep telling Mommy that I’m her daughter but she won’t believe me.”

“Mommy,” Mitsuya mumbled, turning to face you with a curious expression as you blushed under his intense gaze. “Would that be Y/N?”

“I have some pictures in my backpack,” Sumire said, handing each of you a handful of polaroids in delight. She explained the events behind each photograph in significant detail, confirming that they were indeed real and not a sophisticated display of photoshop.

Mitsuya gulped, “Sumire, am I doing a good job at being your father?”

“You’re the absolute best, Papa!” She gushed, beginning another endless ramble as she retrieved a leather notebook from her backpack, thumbing through the pages until she found the spot she had previously bookmarked. “You made Mama’s wedding dress. I have a sketch of the design right here—”

Mitsuya quickly closed the journal before you could catch a glimpse of his future work. He hid Sumire behind his back as soon as he noticed the mischievous expression illuminating your features, knowing you were ready to pounce on him at any second. “L-Let’s put that one away, yeah? I’d rather not ruin the surprise even if it’s years from now.”

He barely dodged out of the way in time as you lunged at him, moving to the side as you collided on the floor, tumbling straight into a pile of clothes. The flames of determination shone brightly in your focused eyes as you positioned yourself to attempt to tackle him down onto the ground. Your boyfriend may be a captain in one of Tokyo's most notorious gangs, but he has never met anyone who instill fear into his bones like you can.

Colliding with his chest, you stretched your arms up towards his occupied hands. Mitsuya held the notebook high above your shorter frame, switching its position every time you jumped up to try and reach it. “Oh come on, Takashi. Can I get a little peek? I bet it’s absolutely gorgeous.”

“No, this is under lock and key!" He cried out while making eye contact with the child who was still present in the room. With a quick flick of his wrist, he sent the item flying towards her and praying she would be able to grab it. "Sumire, catch it. Don't let her see it."

Sumire did as she was instructed, running away from your approaching figure as you chased her around the apartment. Her light giggles and squeals mixed with your promises of eventually trapping her under your hold. Mitsuya called after you, warning that sooner or later one of you would trip or hurt yourselves amongst the chaos unfolding in the household.

Ten minutes later, Mitsuya and yourself are lying on the floor and completely out of breath while the younger girl is still bouncing off the walls. You had given up on discovering the contents of the notebook, deciding that it would be worth the wait. Sumire was an insatiable ball of limitless energy who could go on chatting for hours, a trait that resembled Luna and Mana's behavior.

You reached out and intertwined your fingers with your boyfriend's own, reminiscing in the feeling of his warm hand engulfing yours. It was tranquil and loving, he always made you feel loved whenever you were by his side. "Takashi, if you're the man I'm marrying... I wouldn't mind being your wife."

"Perfect," He beamed, turning onto his side to face your properly. His grip tightened, as if to affirm that he had been thinking of the sane words in his mind. "I couldn't imagine being with anyone else."

Sumire's cheers filled the room as she watched the romantic scene take place. Her lavender orbs sparkled with excitement as she waited for the magical moment to become reality. “Kiss! Kiss!”

Mitsuya pulled away before your lips could meet and shook his finger in disapproval. “Ah, ah, ah… that’s for grownups only.”

"That's okay," Sumire said, gathering her belongings as she began to prepare to return to her proper timeline. She gave each of you a warm hug and a tiny peck on the cheek as a parting gift as she waved farewell. "I have to go home now. Bye Mommy! Bye Papa!

Mitsuya patted her head in response. “I’m looking forward to meeting you, Sumire. Not until years from now, though.”

“Papa, do you wanna know a secret?” Sumire perked up at the last second, motioning for her father to crouch down as she whispered into his ear.

Before you could blink, the child was gone and the room was filled with silence once again. Honestly, it was nice while it lasted but the whole experience left you exhausted and downright bewildered out of your mind. Had you really just spent an hour with your future daughter? Is Mitsuya actually going to become your husband one day? Only time will tell, of course.

“Takashi, spill it." You demanded, poking at his side until he gave into your pleas. "What did our very lovely future daughter have to say?"

Mitsuya’s gleeful expression morphed into a flustered one as soon as he noticed your pouty face. He gently pulled you into his arms as his chin rested on top of your head, his voice sending vibrations down your spine. “We’re… having twins in the future.”

OH...

ᴛᴀᴋᴇᴍɪᴄʜɪ

"Maybe… Maybe I'm better off dead."

Another failure, another death he unable to prevent, another fucked up timeline he surely has to come home to. The universe is in loop, repeating a series of cursed events within Takemichi's mind. It's purgatory, the vile place that has him reliving the memories in which he couldn't save anyone nor could he fix the future.

"You shouldn't say things like that." The unannounced presence of a young girl nearly made him cry out in fear, her hushed voice caught his attention as she walked towards his hospital bed, observing the injuries littered across his body. She pointed at the cast around his battered arm, staring at the limb with anguished eyes. “Does that hurt?”

“I’m fine, really.” Takemichi grinned, fighting back the pain arising in his face under the bruises and cuts adorning it. He weakly held up a tiny thumbs up with his broken arm, wincing as the fresh pain shot up his nerves. “Who are you?”

The young girl hesitated to speak up, offering him a glass of water instead which he graciously accepted. Takemichi observed her appearance as the feeling of familiarity rose in his mind. A distant memory was beginning to surface, one from the future that was likely triggered by the stranger's sudden entrance. He can start to see it come together, this girl, much younger in his memory, running up to him and referring to him as Daddy.

She cut the momentary silence short by deciding to confess the truth behind her visit. "My name is Mirai, I’m your daughter." Takemichi nearly choked on his drink, coughing up a storm as he processed the weight of her words. He can clearly picture her in his head but to acknowledge the fact taht she's here with him physically causes him to question everything. "That's impossible... N-No way, are you serious?"

"Uncle Chifuyu was out of line," Mirai stated, shaking her head at the scene she had overheard earlier. He had blamed him for causing Draken's untimely death, cursed him out for coming back to the past despite seemingly having created their ideal future. "He has no idea how much you've gone through by time leaping back and forth."

Even so, he still defended his partner, knowing he would eventually come around after his feelings had settled. "Chifuyu is grieving, we all are. I did fuck up; I can own up to that."

Mirai reached out and gripped Takemichi's bandaged hand, her own tears falling onto his tattered skin. He panicked at the sight of her heartbreaking sobs not knowing how to comfort her properly. “The whole world could turn against you but I will always be proud to call you my dad. You're the whole reason I exist."

Without warning, the emotional dam bursts open, years of pent-up grief and rage poured from the depths of his soul into his current reality. Mirai chuckled, carefully wiping away both of their tears with a tissue as she avoided the delicate bruised area of his eye. “A crybaby like always, Dad. I'm definitely your daughter, hm?"

He paused, reflecting on his original reason for being able to jump in between timelines. Mirai should have not been granted the ability unless she must have experienced death or found a separate trigger of some sort. “If you’re a time leaper too, then... Is your future corrupted as well? Did something go wrong?"

"Far from it," Mirai stated, retrieving her cellphone and scrolling through her camera roll, showing him endless of images of his friends and newfound family. Draken and Emma are married. Mitsuya and the Shiba siblings are traveling the world. Chifuyu and Kazutora are running the pet shop. Inui and Kokonoi have reconnected. Naoto and Hina are both out of harm's way.

Mikey... Where's Mikey?

Takemichi's determination has returned at full force.

"My time's up," Mirai pouted, glancing at her beeping watch before engulfing Takemichi in her arms. Her touch feels so familiar, it brings him comfort during such a troubling time. He wants to know more about Mirai's timeline, how he managed to create such a flawless scenario, what needed to be done in order to achieve it. At the same time, he wants to savor this moment and relish in the tranquility of connecting someone so close yet so far away.

"Oh yeah, Uncle Mikey wanted me to give you this note," Mirai said, extending her hand bearing the gift from the future. Takemichi's pale blue irises welled up with tears once again at the sound of his friend's name knowing he must be alive and safe. She bid him goodbye before completely disappearing within a moment's breath.

He opened the letter as soon he was positive that he was completely alone, carefully analyzing the simple message attached the flimsy piece of paper inside. There's a photo inside of Mikey and Takemichi, both flashing overjoyed smiles as they both hold up a peace sign in the camera's frame.

You did it, hero.

Thank you for saving me.

ʙᴀᴊɪ

“Keisuke, where on earth are you?”

Baji, your notorious forgetful boyfriend, was always chronically late to all of your dates and today was no exception. This time he had set a new record by being over forty-five minutes late to your pre-scheduled hangout at the nearby arcade. He refused to answer any and all of your text messages and calls, going to straight to delivered or voicemail each time you attempted to reach him.

Time to check his location.

Keisuke would never ignore you on purpose, a fact you knew deep down, he was just a scattered brained fool who loves to stick his nose in other people's lives or in this case, a playground fight with some elementary schoolers. "If I ever see you pick on this kid again, I'll strip you naked and send you home all fucked up!"

His battered victims ran away from him in terror, swearing that they would tell their parents and get him in trouble. He could give two shits less about the consequences of his actions as long as he knew he had saved an innocent little boy. He turned to face the terrified child hiding under the slide, coaxing him to come out. "I'm not gonna hurt 'ya. Just makin' sure you're okay, yeah?"

The boy sniffled, slowly crawling out of the play area before running up and latching onto Baji's leg. "Thank you, Papa."

"You can call me Keisuke," He corrected.

"Papa." The boy reaffirmed, tightening his grip on his pants.

His moment of peace was shattered as soon as he heard the sound of your furious voice. Your boyfriend's face paled once he made direct eye contact with your fuming figure, steadily approaching him with balled up fists. "Keisuke, I finally found you! Seriously, send me a text next time you're going to have me waiting for over a fucking hour. It's not that hard to communicate with me."

"Easy there, sweetheart." Baji waved off your complaints, pointing up towards the little boy sitting on his shoulders. “Some snot nosed brats picking on this little guy here, I taught them a lesson.”

Goodness, he was so adorable. Short and with chubby cheeks and the cutest pair of chocolate-colored doe eyes you had ever seen. He clung onto Baji like a baby koala, periodically running his tiny fingers through his long hair. “Whose kid is this? Is he a cousin of yours?”

“He's not mine. I never bothered to ask,” He answered, placing the little boy on his shoulders on the ground as he held onto his hand. A sheepish grin illuminated Baji's features as he pointed towards the little one who merely stared off into space. “Just brought him with me, is that okay?”

You sighed at his response, shaking your head at the stupid idea he had thought of before slapping him upside the head. Baji cried out at your actions, demanding to know why you had struck him. “Kei, I love you. I really do but… you’re such an idiot sometimes. We need to help him find his parents.”

You crouched down to the child's height, switching to a much softer voice in order to avoid frightening him any further. “Hi buddy, are you okay? Did this weirdo scare you?”

“Mama!” He squealed, tugging on your skirt with grabby hands as he gestured for you to pick him up. “Papa was so cool, he beat up all those jerks in ten seconds.”

Baji let out an amused chuckle, ruffling the boy's hair as a nervous grin crept up his cheeks. He almost seemed embarrassed by the fact that he was being so soft around the child. “The kid keeps calling me ‘Papa’, I think it’s kinda cute.”

The little boy stared up at the both of you before making a bold statement. “You’re Hiro's Mama and Papa!”

"Of course, sweetheart." You joked along, assuming he must be playing some sort of game. Baji could only smirk at how motherly you had become in the span of five minutes, thinking about how one day he would surely wife you up. "Is that your name? What are your parents' names?”

Hiro nodded, pointing at both of you. “Keisuke and Y/N, that’s you two. I think, are you them?”

Before you had a chance to speak, a panicked teenager approached the scene, crying out towards the toddler. “Hiro! Oh my god, there you are!”

Baji nudged your side, curiously staring at the approaching stranger while comparing your appearance to hers. There was an extremely close resemblance between the both of you, it was like looking into a mirror. “Hey babe, she looks just like you, that’s trippy as fuck!”

“I am so sorry,” The young girl said, frantically mumbling apologies while she embraced the child in her arms and spun him around. She scolded him for running off on his own before turning her attention onto the two of you. “Did he give you any trouble? I turned around for like five seconds and he was gone.”

“I’m okay, big sis.” Hiro said, grasping Baji’s hand with his smaller one and reaching out for yours as well. He felt comfortable with “Mama and Papa took really good care of me.” Her worried eyes flickered from her younger brother to both you and Baji. She hesitated before speaking again, nervously wringing her hands together. ”Hiro, how much did you tell them?”

Hiro avoided his sister's stare, unwilling to admit he had just revealed an important secret. His hazel irises glistened with tears as he hid his face in his hands along with the soft whispers of his meek little voice. “I, uh… everything. Hiro is sorry, big sis.”

She rolled her eyes at him, a frustrated sigh slipping past her lips as she cleared her throat in anticipation. “Okay, we’re going to sound like hella insane but we’re your kids.” She set the younger boy down, motioning for him to face forward. “Introduce yourself, munchkin.”

Hiro bowed as straight as he could, proudly presenting himself to his parents. “Nice to meet you, I’m Hiro Baji. I’m five!” His older sister followed up with her own polite introduction, avoiding the bewildered stare she was receiving from you. “I’m Kaoru Baji. I’m thirteen, we’re from the future.”

Baji shook your shoulders in pure bliss, sharp canines flashing brightly as he marveled at the pair. Meanwhile, your head was spinning as you tried to understand the situation at hand. There was no way this was happening. “Babe, are you hearing this? We’re going to have kids together.”

“Chill out, Papa.” Kaoru warned, placing a worried hand on your hand on your shoulder. You stiffened under her touch, too freaked out to utter a word other than letting out a panicked squeak. She immediately noticed your discomfort and backed away, grabbing her brother by the hand and slowly fading away. "Hiro and I need to leave. We'll be back soon!"

You blinked, finding the courage to speak after the shock had finally passed, slightly disappointed that you may have hurt the children's feelings. "Wait, what!? No, please stay!"

Baji flashed his signature smile at you, swallowing your frame in his arms as he pulled you in close. "Should I buy you a ring now, or do you want me to start calling you wifey?"

It was supposed to be a sweet moment, but it was too soon for you to be thinking about things such as marriage. God knows what in the actual hell had just taken place. "You'd be late your own wedding, Keisuke. I should break up with you, I really should.”

He gasped at your response, offended that you would ever joke about something like that. “Is that any way to speak to your future husband?”

You sighed, dragging him along to get started with your long-awaited date. “We’re not married!”

“Not yet.”

(っ◔◡◔)っ Reblogs are appreciated! Thank you for the love and support! ♡

#tokyo revengers #tokyo manji gang #tokyo rev x you #tokyorev x reader #tokyo rev fluff #chifuyu x reader #mikey x reader #draken x reader #mitsuya x reader #baji x reader #chifuyu x y/n #mikey x y/n #draken x y/n #mitsuya x y/n #baji x y/n #toman x reader #chifuyu matsuno #manjiro sano #draken ryuguji #takashi mitsuya #keisuke baji #chifuyu x you #mikey x you #draken x you #mitsuya x you #baji x you #chifuyu matsuno x reader #manjiro sano x reader #ken ryuguji x reader #takashi mitsuya x reader

[idwt-money]

Feverish

continuation of this blurb 🫶🏼

MDNI 18+

1.6k words, Noah sebastian x fem!reader

CW: unprotected sex, slight choking, dirty talk

you were on the way to your doctor. you had been feeling sick and unwell when you called and made the appointment last week but now you felt fine. 

your doctor still wanted you to come in so he could run standard tests and to make sure it was nothing to be concerned about.

you sighed as you parked your car in an empty spot. you hated coming to the doctors, the hospital just freaked out. but you didn't mind your doctor. doctor Noah, he was so fucking fine. he had tattoos seemingly everywhere and he was so tall he towered over you every time he spoke to you. his hair somehow fell perfectly around his face and those glasses he wore, you could rip them off his face and have him fuck you silly.

did you have a minor crush on him? yes. did you fantasize about him every time you visited? also yes. 

it was just a hopeless little crush. he was strictly professional every time you've seen him, but you wished so desperately that he would break this nerdy character he seemed to have and dominate you in ways that appeared impossible. 

you stepped into the building, speaking to the front desk.

“i have an appointment with dr. Noah at 1:30.” you spoke softly, no one else was in the waiting room but it felt punishable to break the silence.

the lady took your information and checked the time.

“okay, take a seat and he will be with you momentarily.” she seemed bored speaking to you. 

you muttered a small ‘thank you’ before taking a seat and playing a game on your phone to pass the time. 

“y/n?” you popped your head up when you heard your full name being called by a nurse.

you followed her back, into the first room available.

she took your blood pressure, weight and such before telling you the doctor would be in, in just a couple of minutes.

you bounced your leg as you sat on the paper covered bed, although you knew nothing was wrong, every time you got a check up you were worried they'd find something harmful. 

also mixed in with the anxiety of seeing one of the finest doctors you've ever had the pleasure of laying your eyes on. that for sure didn't help. 

the silence of the room dissipated with the crack of the door opening. 

“hello, y/n.” dr. Noah said, giving a soft smile before squirting hand sanitizer into his palm.

“so, how are you feeling? you had some irritation in your chest?” his face looked at you with a puzzled expression painted on it. 

“uh- um yes. but i'm feeling much better now. simply taking your advice to get it checked out. just in case.” you were cursing at yourself for blushing at his appearance alone. under the fluorescent lights, you were sure you had no way to hid it. 

“well, everything here on your chart looks good, but your blood pressure does look a little high.” he pushed his glasses up, reading your chart thoroughly. 

“well…this place does freak me out a little..” you openly admitted. 

he gave a small chuckle.

“no need to be anxious. i don't bite.” he shot you a small wink before grabbing a stethoscope. 

“i'll listen to your chest now.” 

he stood up off his chair and put the cold metal against your shirt.

“breathe in, nice and deep.” 

“god, please don't hear my heart going fucking wild” you pleaded with yourself in your head as you followed his instructions.

“aaaand out. one more time."

once done listening to your lungs, he put the stethoscope away. as he walked back to his chair, you caught a sniff of his cologne. you swore to god you could have tackled him then and there. you pressed your thighs together in desperate attempts to ease the slow burning that was now pooling between your legs. 

“well, your lungs sound just fine, nothing you should be worried about.” he scribbled something down on the paper he had clipped to his clipboard. 

he looked up from the paper and got noticeably awkward. that was the exact moment you noticed your cleavage wanting to spill out of your shirt. your mind started racing the longer he looked at you.

“uh..is there something wrong, doctor?” you tried to put on a confident facade. 

“....no! just-” he cleared his throat “just uh-” 

for the first time, you had seen your doctor lose his “cool calm and collected” personality. he readjusted his tie and tried to come up with words as his mind drew a blank. 

“doctor, i feel like we know each other enough to talk outside of this professional setting. don't you think?” you cocked your head to the side as you asked your question. you stood up, approaching him. he, as per usual, was towering over you. 

you watched his eyes as something snapped in his brain. his facial expression turned from flustered to something you couldn't quite put your finger on. 

“you don't think i haven't noticed you trying to hide how bad you want to fuck me?” his voice was more of a growl in your ears, his words struggling to flow through his gritted teeth. 

the sudden switch up had you in a mix of emotions. 

he slowly pushed his body against yours, causing you to hit your backside against the counter.

“do you know how. many. fucking. times. i've had to run to the bathroom after your visits and jerk off?” 

you were simply at a loss of words. you looked like a deer in front of headlights.

“i-i didn't-” you stuttered.

“you didn't what? didn't mean to? i call bullshit. wearing skirts short enough i can practically see your entire fucking ass.” 

he had quite the grip on your hips now, digging his fingers into your skin. 

you lost track of any thought that was previously roaming around your mind and brought him into a kiss, it wasn't pretty. your teeth almost clashing together. 

you were quick to unbutton his white doctors coat, as he threw it onto the paper covered bed, you noticed he had many more tattoos than you expected. they were up and down his arms. as he undid his tie and undid a couple buttons of his shirt, you realized he was completely covered in tattoos. if you weren't wet enough you sure were now. 

before you could think he turned you around and your skirt was being lifted. you heard his belt and zipper come undone before he pushed your panties to the side and pushed himself into you. 

your eyes rolled back your mouth hung open. he was fucking massive. you'd figured he be big but you currently had no clue how the fuck he was fitting inside of you. 

as he slowly started to fuck into you, you couldn't help but let a long string of moans out. 

your moans led him to covering your mouth with his tattooed covered hand. you took no time at letting two of his fingers fall into your mouth. 

as he picked up his pace, his free hand traveled down to work at your clit. 

“be fucking quiet. it's dead silent in here. one noise and im leaving you a fucking mess.” 

you tried your best to stifle your moans and cries, but his fingers being shoved down your throat sure did help you a shit load. 

“fuck you feel better than i imagined.” his words were quiet and breathy, only loud enough for the two of you to hear. 

you both knew you had to be quick, there was only so much time until his next appointment and you weren't going to be left mid fuck.

you had fixed your position, your back now against Noah's chest. it only allowed him to reach deeper within your pussy, you didn't know what heaven on earth felt like until you had this mans cock 7 inches deep in your stomach. 

Noah's hand that was covering your mouth was now wrapped tightly around your neck. 

“fuck, doctor, youre going to fucking break me. you’re so fucking big- oh my god!” your words were extremely hushed, only wanting Noah to hear the dirty words you were mindlessly mumbling out. 

“mhm, fuck baby, i know. your pussy feels so good, so fucking perfect around my cock.” 

you were teetering on the edge of your orgasm and you weren't sure you'd be able to support yourself. 

“oh god- i dunno- i can't-” your words were rushed and worrisome until Noah took you in his arms.

“it's okay, i got you, let me have it. i wanna feel you so fucking bad.” 

his thrusts were getting sloppier but it only made it feel that much better. 

with Noah's reassurance you let yourself fall into a blissful orgasm, your body shaking against his. your cunt squeezed Noah's cock, causing him to lose himself in his own orgasm. you heard him grunt words out, but you were too fucked out to even take them in. 

you slowly came back down to earth, as did Noah. when you heard a knock on the door, you looked at each other panicked.

“your next appointment is here, dr. Noah.” his assistant spoke through the door.

“i will be there shortly.” was all he was able to say in his current situation. when he heard her walk away, you both rushed to put your clothes back on.

as you walked out of the building, you heard him mumble something to what you could guess was the janitor. 

“sanitize this room thoroughly, thank you.” 

you giggled to yourself before making your way back home. 

tag list ♡ : @th4t-em0-k1d

#bad omens #bad omens cult #noah sebastian #bad omens band #badomens #badomenscult #noahsebastian #jolly karlsson #nicholas ruffilo #nick folio #noah bad omens

[neurodivergenttales]

#neurodiverse stuff #neurodivergent #actually autistic #late diagnosed autistic #asd #autistic adult #actually autism #unmasking autism #overstimulated

[gretavanlace]

Debauchery Defined

Jake Kiszka x reader

18+ only! Minors do not interact!

Warnings: graphic sexual content, language, masturbation, dirty talk, dangerous situations, oral sex (m/rec), illegal activity (traffic related), etc. jake in a hat briefly - cause that shit deserves a warning. Probably typos, excessive italics as per usual, blah blah blah

“I’m sorry, sir, I have nothing under the name of Kiszka.”

The bored attendant, slouched upon a stool beneath an Enterprise sign, doesn’t even have the decency to sound mildly apologetic.

The sign is bright. Too bright for the hour. Too bright for the weary, sleep deprived, burn in your eyes. Just too bright.

Judging by the furrow in his brow, despite his ever present sunglasses, Jake shares your contempt for the fluorescent glow.

“I made a reservation days ago.” You reiterate, spelling his last name once more. Turns out, it’s a lesson in futility, as the clerk doesn’t even bother to type it in.

“I told you,” he snaps, fixing you with a glare. You sense he thinks it reeks of authority. It doesn’t. “There’s no rental reservation. Spell the name all night long if you feel like it, but it isn’t going to change anything.”

Jake, in a smooth rush, is leaned in closer - serpentine and quick in his movement. Yet, calculated, careful, eerily calm in that unsettling way he adopts when irritation is trudging toward anger.

His warning comes quietly, but it bears a menacing aura all the same. “Speaking to her that way is ill advised, I can promise you that.”

Your hand finds his arm, stroking soothingly through the worn hopsack of the blazer he layered on, hours ago, before your flight. “Jake, it’s alright.”

Never aggressive just for show, and certainly never overtly so, when Jacob feels someone is crossing a line with you, he is quick to polish his armor - a knight sweeping in to save his damsel in distress.

He relaxes visibly beneath your touch and navigates back to civility with a deep breath.

“Alright…” he flicks a glance at the name tag that rests crookedly on the other man’s shirt “Tyler. So you don’t have the reservation - we need a car. You have cars. Simple. Why is this an issue?”

He’s tired, and cranky…a long day of travel has leeched the patience from his bones.

Tyler, likely used to overwhelmed travelers frequenting the airport kiosk, remains unimpressed. “I have one available vehicle. Luxury class. Reserved for our most discerning clients.”

Jake rolls his eyes, clearly teetering on the edge of asking this asshole if he’d like to taste the back of his hand. “As it happens, I am discerning. How lucky for us. We’ll take it.”

Papers are signed, keys are exchanged, and finally, you’re schlepping through the hall leading to Parking garage B7, as instructed.

“Luxury for discerning clients.” He scoffs, hefting his bag, and yours, over his shoulder, though you continue to insist you can share the load.

His battered guitar case swings against his legs as he stomps along, “What an asshole. S’probably some boat of a Lincoln or something…I’m gonna look like a pimp.”

The wide-brimmed hat cocked low over his shades will be most fitting, then, won’t it?

Laughing at his dramatics - not so different from his twin, after all - you watch the doors whoosh open to reveal a deserted sea of concrete. Deserted that is, save for one lone sports car waiting beneath a flickering light.

You both stop short. “Or a frat boy douchebag.”

“Frat boys can’t afford cars like that.” You correct, nudging him to get moving.

He picks up the pace dutifully, “So, just a douchebag, then?”

“Yes, yes, Jacob…you’re very refined and everybody knows it.” You tease, ever the soft heart for his antiquated flare. “If anyone sees you, we’ll just explain that your horse and buggy are in the shop.”

His eyes rove across the lines of the car as you approach. Slyly sweeping over the glossy, black curves, almost hidden below the mysterious shadow of his hat.

“I’ll drive.” He mutters as if it’s no big deal, startling your feet to a standstill.

Never, not once, in the entirety of all the time you’ve known him has he ever offered to drive. In fact, now that you’re exploring the subject, you don’t think you’ve ever even seen him so much as graze a finger over a steering wheel.

“Do you…” you pause to collect your jumbled thoughts. “Do you even have a driver’s license?”

It seems strange, all at once - that you’ve never wondered about this before.

“What?” He laughs, finally shaking off the annoyance he’s been wearing on his shoulders for a few too many hours.

You wait while he presses a button on the key fob, opening the trunk with a smooth hiss, asking “well, do you?” as he dumps the bags, and his Gibson, inside.

You’ve seen him present identification hundreds of times, but you can’t recall it ever being anything but his passport.

“Purse in the boot or up front with you, darling?” He asks with an exaggerated swagger and flourish.

“Stop avoiding the question, Jacob.” You sigh, folding your arms as he slings your purse over his shoulder, abandoning Oliver, and moving to open the passenger side door for you. “Do you or don’t you?”

He waits until you’ve settled and then bends at the waist, offering a forehead kiss, and a secret. “I don’t. You wanna break a few rules with me, hall monitor?”

You feel your eyes widen as if he’s just confessed to casual murder for sport.

But you tamp it down and take hold of some perspective, this isn’t murder. Still, you don’t like it.

“Jake, don’t drag me into your debauchery. If you want to endanger the lives of hundreds of unsuspecting motorists, you can do it alone.”

In response, he swings the door closed and jogs around the sloping, gleaming hood, slipping into the driver’s seat, gentle and sleek as a sleepy housecat.

“I never said I didn’t know how to drive, baby,” he tosses his hat in the back and shakes out his waves, “just that I failed to revisit the DMV when ‘the man’ said my time was up.”

“This is stupid.” You slide down in your seat, careful not to reveal how much you’re enjoying the supple leather coasting along the backs of your thighs where your shorts have ridden up.

The opulence is an undeniable high. One you wouldn’t have expected, but there all the same.

He grins to himself, face lit up, beautiful and bright, like a little boy in a toy store. “Debauchery,” his voice is smooth as whipping cream. Smoky. Lazy. Like he plays behind the wheel of a flashy Porsche every day. “Immoral behavior that involves sex, drugs, alcohol, etcetera.”

“What?” You’ve begun to relax already. He is skillfully maneuvering the vehicle through the twists and turns of the garage. Okay, so maybe he does know how to drive.

“Debauchery. That’s what it means. It isn’t this.” He waves a hand, absently calling attention to the car. “But don’t you worry that pretty little head of yours, my love. I’ll have you dragged down into the thick of it soon enough.”

Leaning back against the headrest, you decide to give into his whim and enjoy the ride. It’s lovely to be able to strip off the stress of the day and let him take over the department of transportation, for once.

As you study him, with the hum of the road and the purring engine serving as white noise, you can’t help the smile that tugs at your lips.

“Jacob Kiszka,” you allow your grin to widen as it will, “I never would’ve guessed you’d be such a guy.”

He grabs for your hand, pleased that - as luck would have it - he has been blessed behind the wheel of an automatic…the absence of a gear shift leaves him open to holding onto you, and you are his favorite thing to hold.

“What are you on about?” Oliver pops in to say hello again, as is habit when Jake feels a bit too on the spot.

“Never once have you wanted to drive,” you remind him, lacing your fingers through his. “No matter how many times I tease you for being a passenger princess. Wave one fast car with a pretty paint job under your nose and you’re swimming in testosterone.”

A soft laugh is his only response as he coaxes out onto the freeway.

“You look good behind the wheel, baby. You know that?” Your free hand toys with a lock of his hair, smoothing it and twirling it around your pinky.

“I look good, always.” he sighs, feigning boredom as he weaves in and out of traffic to find his desired lane.

The further away from the hub of the city you drive, the more traffic begins to dissipate, until you seem to be adrift along some dystopian highway time has forgotten.

“How long?” You ask softly.

Staring out the window at the scenery whipping by sounds lulling, you might even fall asleep to it, but you can’t seem to tear your eyes away from him, and this calm, capable, skill set you never knew he possessed.

How like him to keep you on your toes, sharing bits and pieces of himself little by little. Doling out tiny Jacob Thomas shaped morsels only when he sees fit.

“Who cares how long?” He glances up at nothing in the rear view mirror. “This is nice.”

“It is.” You agree. Allowing the silence to wrap up warmly around you both again.

You watch him. And you watch him. And you watch him some more.

And you’d help it, if you could. Honest. The timing is most inappropriate. Not to mention, likely a little dangerous, but something about watching him command all that power beneath his hands has you weak. Submissive. Needy.

In moments of weakness in the dark, you’ve confessed that you feel the same watching him play. The way he makes love to his well worn and loved guitar. The way he coaxes sex soaked wails and whines from the strings, working his fingers faster and faster along the frets until the climax crashes apart, exploding into sound where there once was quiet.

The way he talks to her, the way he loves her. The way he knows her body just a little better than he knows yours, or even his own. It all makes you a bit jealous in the most decadent way. It makes you eager to showcase your worth as well, to sink to your knees in service to this god walking around amongst men.

He holds a brand new power and you want to slink into his lap and mewl like a kitten starved for attention. Instead, you settle for moving in closer, brushing a feathery kiss against his neck, nuzzling into the crook of it, unabashedly brazen with your want.

“Hello, my love.” His eyes never stray from the road, but his hand wanders your thigh, welcoming you. “What can I do for you?”

“I’m wet.” It’s a simple admission, but the way you hush it in his ear causes his cock to stir. It takes so little from you to pluck at his edges until he’s unraveling at the seams.

“Why’s that?” He adjusts in his seat, spreading his thighs just enough to make your head spin. “All I’m doing is driving a car. Is that all it takes?”

“Sometimes.” You sound pouty. It’s hardly there at all, but he hears it and he loves it. His spoiled rotten sweetheart.

“Well, I’m a little busy, love.” He slides his hand higher, silently wishing you had chosen a skirt today. “But you go on and be sweet to that pretty pink place I love so well. I miss your pussy, baby…it’s been such a long day. Miss the way you feel, the way you smell, the way you taste. I want you all over my face, fuck. Touch yourself.”

“Right here in the car?” You suck his earlobe into your mouth and the nibble over it as if he is an indulgent treat, because he is.

“Yeah.” He nods, grip tightening around the steering wheel, “Right here in the car.”

Maybe some other time you might toy with him a bit, dangle the string just out of his reach, but you’re further off track than he is at this point, so you shimmy out of your shorts and slide out of your sandals to rest your toes on the dash. Your knees fall apart as your fingers disappear into your panties with the tiniest moan when your fingers brush over your clit.

“Aren’t you such a good girl?” He pats at your thigh in praise, burying his grip into the soft, warm flesh there. Filthy, fucking dirty little thing, touching her pretty, wet cunt in a car we don’t even own just because I asked. So good, baby. Who’s my well behaved, darling girl?”

Sometimes you think his need to praise you rivals your own deep-rooted lust for receiving it.

“I’m your good girl.” You breathe, writhing slowly in your seat, drawing in the scent of sex and Italian leather, laced with the faintest hint of his cologne. It has faded with the hours, handing the spiced teakwood over to something a little more Jake…this is when you love it best.

“Then be my good girl and come over here. Come see me, sweetheart.” He extends an arm, casually inviting you in. You know what he wants, and you plan to give it to him.

For a moment, you're both illuminated in the golden glow of headlights traveling along across the median…he looks like the slickest snake masquerading as an angel. A serpent in the garden, ever tempting and cunning.

It’s all a front, as you well know. A role he plays when he wants to make you quake with desire. His heart is soft and kind, ever mindful of others, ever stuffed full of unending empathy and thoughtful love.

Unbuckling your seatbelt with a click that makes him frown, you slide over to the very edge and toy with the clasp of his belt, panting hot little puffs of breath against his flushed cheek, if only to stir him up further.

“You want that?” He lifts into your touch so you can feel how hard he is, all for you.

“Yeah,” tiny pecks of your lips chart his jawline. “Yeah, I want that.”

“Say it.” His fingers are in your hair now, curling into a loose fist near the nape of your neck, pushing you down. “Say you want my cock. Say where you want it.”

You’re hurrying now, tenderly fumbling with the buckle, hungry and desperate for it. “I want your cock, Jake. Want it in my mouth…in my throat.”

“Fuck…” it growls out of him strangled and tangled up with hot, salacious, greed. “C’mon, baby.”

You long to preen with pride; he wants it so badly, so suddenly - but there are more pressing matters at hand.

Both hands on the wheel now, he watches as you sink down around him, swallowing him so deeply, and with no real warm up, that you gag, sucking him down further anyway as you retch and sputter around his length, throat both fighting the intrusion and pining for more of it.

“Slow down.” His warning grits out through his teeth. He didn’t want to say it at all, slow is the last thing he wants. He wants to float off into it, stare focused and sure on the road, thoughts lost in the way you sound fighting around his cock, sucking and lapping over him, dying for just a little more, just another taste….

You shake your head adamantly, sending your soft, wet tongue slicking back and forth just along the base, nearly nudging at his balls as they tighten up for you. Every reaction his body hands over is all for you. Always for you.

“Fuck, baby,” his right hand drops to pet at your glossy hair as he fucks up into your kiss. “Gonna make me cum in that pretty little mouth. Feels so fuckin’ good. You want it?”

Nodding urgently, you bury your nose into the soft path of hair that trails below his belly button, choking until your throat is squeezed around him, strangling the thick head of his throbbing cock.

He’s twitching against your lips now, straining and pulsing, fucking throbbing. Obscene and depraved. Perfect.

“M’close, baby,” he’s murmuring raspy, stuttering, pleas as his grip tightens until your scalp stings blissfully. “Keep going, just like that, so close…baby, baby, baby, fuck…”

He’s whining and babbling, broken curses and hissing encouragement that barely makes sense. You couldn’t love it more.

Hollowing your cheeks, you suck hard on the updrawn and then relax your throat, plunging him straight to the back of it in one harsh go with a guttural sound that makes his thighs jerk.

You feel the slight hitch in the gas as he loses his footing on the pedal, and soothe him with a palm swept under his shirt until you can feel his heart hammering against your palm.

He regains focus - you can feel it - and then whispers a soft, “Thank you, sweet girl.” Grateful that your wits have prevailed when his own were waning.

You linger at the base, licking at what you can with his heavy weight cradled in your tongues embrace. He flexes violently, and you brace for it, gluttonous for the warmth of his release, and with a groan and gasp of your name, he doesn’t disappoint.

“Gonna cum, baby,” oh, he sounds so pretty. Trotting out the tiny whimpers that are saved for when he’s really lost in it. “Don’t stop, don’t stop, dontstopdontstopdontstop, fuck fuck fuck—“

Your taste buds dance with him, alive with the delicacy that is Jacob. So warm and perfect, covering your tongue, rolling down your throat, until you can feel him inside you, really inside you, in the way you love most.

He’s a mess above you, but you carry on until he is whining with overstimulation and begging you to stop, lightly pulling you away until you can just barely lap over his glistening tip as he softens against his splayed open pants.

You know he’s thinking of all the ways he plans to return the favor when he can properly get his hands on you, but as he catches his breath beside you and steals glances at you tucking his beautiful cock away, you feel completely, totally, blissfully, satisfied.

Taglist: @gretasintrees @greta-van-chaos @celestialfauna @s0livagant @groggyvanfleet @kiszkathecook @brokenbellz @llightmyllovee @doodle417 @seventieswhore @jake-kiszkas-smirk @gretasmokerising @weightofdreams-gvf @imdepressedaf1996 @alisonwonderland29 @gretavanfleas @gretavangroove @sparrowofthedawn @xserenax-13 @tbagggvf @obetrolncocktails @tripthelightjaketastic @jakeslovehandles @poofyloofy @70sgroupielovr @heatmyfleet @age-of-nyahh @sammiboo162 @jakekiszkasleftnutsack @saoirsemaeve @mywickeddivinity @thelvnternskeeper @paintmyhouse @tripthelightfandomtastic @tripthelight-fanfic @mckenna4 @sarakay-gvf @theweightofjake @joshsmama @sammysvanfeet @rhythm-of-space @highladyofasgard @sunfl0wer-power @sad1lynn @demolitiondann @gvfpal @starcatcher-jake @hugorobinson

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[arting-block]

𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 𝐢 𝐝𝐨𝐧'𝐭 𝐦𝐞𝐚𝐧 | Eleventh Doctor x F! Reader

❝𝘩𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘭𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦'𝘴 𝘮𝘢𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘥𝘰𝘦𝘴𝘯'𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯.❞

Summary: After a stressful day, you overhear Amy arguing with the Doctor. When he realized you heard everything, he tries to set things right.

Warnings: Angst, mentioned kidnapping, misunderstanding, pinning, comfort, the Doctor sucking at feelings

Words: 3.8K

A/N: I'm finally getting through the requests sitting in my inbox. This one was one of my favorites I've done in a while :) @shuichiakainx i hope you enjoy!!

You messed up. Badly.

The Doctor had explicitly stated for you to stay by his side. No wandering about, no talking to strangers, don't do anything foolish. The city you were visiting had a different culture, one steeped in brutal violence. Any slight can be perceived as an invitation for war. 

You should've minded your own business. Maybe you wouldn't have gotten kidnapped. Even though your friends freed you hours ago, you can still feel the imprint of metal cuffs around your wrists. Your hands busy themselves with rubbing the area, bandages wrapped around your pulse where the metal snagged your skin.

You tried to defend an elderly man from getting hurt by a group of teenagers. You foolishly tried to shield the man from the onslaught of abuse, hoping to simply talk to the teenagers so that things wouldn’t escalate. Oh how wrong you were. 

You knew you messed up. You had already regretted your choices the moment rough hands gripped your arms and hauled you into a foreign ship. 

The Ashmadas were almost a whole head taller than you. Thick yellow hides that became scaly along their joints, blunt canines that were meant for crushing bones and skin, and the fluorescent eyes that glowed even in pitch black darkness. A species that evolved from war and brutality. Even the most intimidating human would look like field mice in comparison. 

What you hadn't anticipated was the cold demeanor of your Doctor. You imagined him being cross, yes, but never downright angry. The moment he and the Ponds made it to the threshold where you were held, you noticed how calloused he had been. Snarling words, tension rippling beneath the skin. Furious didn't begin to explain his behavior. He threatened to set off a bomb that will incinerate everyone in the ship and release a plague to their already dwindling community. When you finally got out of your shackles, the Doctor barely even acknowledged you, hellbent on making the Ashmadas a new endangered species. It was only when you grabbed his face, forced him to see the tears as you begged him to leave, did he finally back off. 

As the four of you retreated to the console room of the TARDIS, the Doctor makes a flimsy excuse about needing to check the ship’s engine. The day’s events have been heavy for all of you, so you knew it was more about him needing space. When you tried to talk to him, he brushed off your touch and gave you a cold reply. 

You walked back to your room not long after. Rory patched you up as best he could, using a concoction of human and alien medicine. He didn't speak much and you were grateful for the silence. The only words he slipped out were sincere apologies for not getting there sooner. There was something else he wanted to say, moments where he opened his mouth but nothing came out. You were, frankly, too tired to press further. 

Once Rory left, you tried your hardest to get some sort of sleep. Your body was spent, bruised, and tattered. No matter how many times you turned or how much your body ached, your mind couldn’t stop racing. You’ve probably spent a good hour or so trying to get comfortable, but to no avail. 

You were still on edge, thinking about the cramped cell you were placed in. How alone you felt. You’ve been in precarious situations before, but this was different. Three whole days of captivity in total isolation. No light peeking through so you had nothing to distract you. Just your own memories passing through your mind. It made you realize just how much your friends mean to you. How much their presence comforted you, how relieved you were when Amy’s voice cut through your dark Hell. You remember sinking into the Doctor’s embrace, crying into his jacket and muttering how sorry you were. 

There was so much you wanted to tell him. Those three days spent curled into a ball were filled with memories of him. His laugh echoing in your ear while carrying you throughout the universe. Petty arguments filled with teasing and embarrassed faces. The way he finds himself beside you, always lingering like a string was attached between the two of you.

The most treasured memory of all was one where it was just the two of you. Talking about nothing and everything. Favorite color, worst kitchen appliance, obscure historical figures. You talked for hours, laying your whole life for him to dissect. When it was his turn to speak, you took the opportunity to study him. Cataloging the slope of his nose, the lines around his mouth, and his mannerisms. The way he points going in tandem with the pitch of his voice, how his whole body moves when he talks. 

You wanted to scream in his face the moment you saw him. Tell him the three words you repeat in your head when he’s around. Instead, all that came out was unintelligible sobs into scratchy fabric. 

Tell him, tell him everything. 

The bed creaked when you moved to sit up. Your heart ached at seeing the Doctor’s fury and how silent he was when you came back. You caused him worry, not just to him, but to the Ponds as well. The last thing you want is to end the day on a sour note. He’s your friend after all, even if you wanted something more. 

It didn’t take long to reach the console room. You took your time with each step, wanting to get your thoughts in order. You pick up voices coming ahead of you, muffled words that you cannot make heads or tails of. As you approach the end of the hallway, you hear the muffled words turn into the familiar voice of Amy in a rather accusatory tone. You peek around the corner, observing the view of your two friends from above. 

Amy stands a few feet away from the Doctor, who is hunched over the console. Amy’s face is a mix of concern and disappointment, as if she’s scolding a child. You notice the dirt smeared shirt she still wears, meaning she hasn’t gotten back to her room just yet. Was she here the whole time?

Crossing her arms, Amy shook her head at the tired man in front of her. “You’re never going to admit it are you?”

“What are you talking about? There’s nothing to admit.” The Doctor’s answer is just as cold and detached as it was hours before. “If you’re just going to go back and forth with me all day then I suggest you go spend your time with your husband. I told you before I’m not in the mood for your scolding.”

Amy’s laugh is devoid of any humor. She takes a step towards the Doctor. You see the pent up anger in her; a fuse ready to blow. “You think you’re so good at hiding it. You think we’re too stupid to notice—that I’m too stupid to not bring it up?”

“What exactly are you talking about?” 

You shouldn’t eavesdrop like this. If the Doctor found out that you were listening in on a private conversation, he would no doubt be more angry than before. 

Amy ignored the question, wanting to force the Doctor into a corner to say what she wanted to hear. “I’m honestly impressed how long you’ve lasted. Were you going to bury your emotions and hope they would simply disappear? You think pushing her away is going to make it hurt any less? I see the way you look at her.”

The Doctor snaps back, angry and seething. “Spit it out already Amelia!”

“(Y/N)!” came her equally furious reply, one that echoed sharply in the large room. 

Your heart skidded to a stop in your chest. Why was she goading him like this? You didn’t recall telling Amy about your feelings for the Doctor. Was it that obvious? If she noticed, does that mean…?

The Doctor was quick to invade Amy’s space. He towered above her, his teeth bared with provoked anger. “And what exactly do you want me to admit? That she's careless and doesn’t listen to a word I say? How do I have to clean up her mess after she did the one thing I told her not to?”

Hearing the pained emotion in his voice made every word sting harder. He was not wrong to say it, but it hurt nonetheless. You wished that he would’ve said it to your face rather than having to overhear it in the shadows.

He didn’t stop there. It seemed Amy had opened a dam of pent up thoughts and emotions. Words kept spilling from his lips, each one hurting more than the last. “You know what I see when I look at her? A fragile human being. Someone who is only going to occupy a fraction of my existence.”

“You love her,” Amy spits back, wholly convicted. Tears prick her eyes as she barrels on. “Admit you stupid old man. You. Love. Her.”

Her words seemed to shock the Doctor out of his wrath. He immediately steps back, as if her presence burns. 

The two of them look at one another, chests heaving. Amy doesn’t back down, keeping her chin held high, meeting his burning gaze. The Doctor’s face is unreadable, partially due to the fact that you don’t have a good vantage point. The anger doesn’t leave him, but you could tell that he’s considering her words. 

You hold your breath, not wanting to miss his response. 

It comes out soft, barely within normal talking level, but in the dead silence of the console room you hear it as clear as day: “How can I love her? I won’t—I can’t let that happen.”

You felt your heart drop out of your chest. All of the hurt spirling inside your chest, clawing a cavernous hole to fill with despair. 

He doesn’t love you. 

You were paralyzed, replaying that awful sentence over and over again. You bring a hand to cover your mouth, feeling the droplets of tears already flowing. 

He doesn’t love you and he’s making sure it doesn’t happen. 

Are you that awful to be around? That the mere thought of being romantic with you makes him angry? 

Your hand presses at the space where your heart lies. Your shirt twists, your body curling deeper into the shadows of the room. You’ve experienced heartbreak before, back on Earth throughout the years. Never like this. It was more than a simple rejection, but a swift blow to your entire worldview. 

You thought, foolishly, that maybe there was something between you two. He wouldn’t have let you stay as long as you had if he didn’t like you. All those late night conversations…the small brushes of skin when no one is looking…all of the glances you caught more than once…

They were nothing. 

Stumbling back into the hallway, you ran as fast as you could to your room. The TARDIS bestowed mercy on you, materializing your room just a few feet away. You didn’t think twice to fly open the door and slam it shut behind you. You knew the sound would travel to the console room and alert Amy and the Doctor, but you didn’t care. 

The force of your cries shook your body, your sobs filling your room despite your hands trying to muffle them. Over and over you replay the entire conversation. You wished the TARDIS would swallow you whole and spit you far, far away from the Time Lord. 

You hear the sound of thundering steps approach your room before the sound of frantic knocking against your door. 

Before the person could utter a single word, you let out a strangled demand: “Go away!”

“(Y/N), I can—” the Doctor cut himself short. He let out a frustrated huff before starting again. “Please, it’s not what you think.”

Those words snapped you out of your whirlwind of sadness. Anger bubbled in its place. 

“Not what I think?!” You didn’t think twice before forcefully opening the door. The Doctor jumps from his spot in front of your room, a show of surprise on his face. “I heard everything.”

The Doctor places his hand up in surrender. The cold, neutral face he had on before is completely wiped away, leaving a startlingly emotional one instead. “Please, if you give me a moment—”

“What more could you say to me?” It comes out shaky, with tears still dripping down your face in rivers. You no doubt look like a complete wreck, but you’re too upset to care. You’re tired of bottling your emotions up. You want him to know how much this meant to you, how much his words physically hurt you. “I know you’re already upset at me that I didn’t listen to you, I know that. You don’t get to stand there and act like this is a whole misunderstanding. I mean come on—fragile human?”

“I know and I’m—”

“I was so relieved to see you again. Three days, Doctor. Three whole days, spent in that cell waiting for you. I felt so guilty for not listening and I hoped that we could reconcile, but no. I was fine with giving you space, but then I had to overhear you talk about me like I’m some burden.” You force yourself to take a deep breath, choosing your next words carefully. “Is that how you really feel about me?”

The Doctor doesn’t respond, which makes you even more angry. 

“Did you know?” you spit out. It took everything in you to not shut the door in his face and never come outside again. But you needed to know. “Did you know?”

The silence that came thereafter was deafening. The Doctor let his hands drop to his sides. You didn’t dare blink, watching his every move, waiting for a response. His head dips to the side, his lower lip caught in his teeth as he stares at a spot on the floor. You knew he knew what you were referring to. 

When he lifts his head, you were surprised to see such bare remorse. Still, it does nothing to quell you; if anything you’re happy he’s feeling the guilt. 

“Yes…I knew for a while,” he mumbled, forcing the words to come out. “Rory’s mum told me, said that you liked me. I told her that of course you liked me, I’m the Doctor. But she gave me a serious look and told me you fancied me.” His lips twisted up at the memory, but seeing your withering glare he quickly dropped it. 

You gripped the doorframe, recalling the visit clearly. The Ponds had called you, wanting to go on another adventure after nearly three months of normalcy on Earth. In their absence, it was just you and the Doctor against the universe. Three months of staring longingly at the madman in a box, wanting to spill your guts but feeling too scared to. When the Ponds came back, you remembered Rory’s mum taking the Doctor to the side, whispering in his ear. You had asked what she said, but the Doctor gave a flustered reply. His ears were pink, and his words were hastily spat out. 

“That was over a year ago. You knew all that time?” You wanted to scream every curse you knew, both English and alien. It took everything in you to not tear him a new one right then and there. “And I had to hear you say it to Amy of all people? Someone who also fancied you, and if I recalled kissed you?”

It was unfair to throw that back in his face knowing that they moved on from that incident. Amy had since made it explicitly clear that she loved him platonically and was wholly committed to Rory. 

The Doctor took a tentative step towards you, unsure if you were going to disappear back into your room. He took another, and another. You couldn’t look him in the eyes, opting to stare at his scuffed shoes. 

You could feel him get closer. It unnerved how much you still wanted to be near him, despite everything. 

The Doctor’s hands found the curve of your cheek, gently tilting your face up to meet his gaze. Warm palms cupped the sides of your face and his thumbs wiping away the tears that still fell. The sheer intensity of his gaze pinned you in place, burning into you. You watch as his green irises start getting glassy; the planes of his cheeks become a flushed pink. He stood there for a few moments, simply holding your face, looking at you as if it’s the last time he ever will. 

You let yourself bask in his touch. He took another step towards you, still holding your face. You closed your eyes as you felt the cool touch of his forehead against yours. 

“Doctor—”

“You have every right to be upset.” He gave a chuckle, but you heard the pain in his voice. “You have no idea how much I wanted to tell you. I looked forward to the nights where you pester me with odd questions. Every morning I pray that you stay another day with me, hoping that you don’t wish to go back to Earth.”

The confession scares him, you feel it in the way he tries to keep his voice even. When he pulls his forehead from yours, he still hovers over your face, staring with the heat of all the feelings he tried so desperately to hide. 

His eyes move over every inch of your face before settling back to your swollen eyes. You watch his eyes soften, as if he’s seeing the most beautiful star nestled in the depths of your pupils. So focused on the heat of his hands and the movement of his eyes, that you almost miss the twin stream of tears running down his own face. 

The Doctor took one shuddering breath, letting his thoughts flow out. “I couldn’t let myself acknowledge my feelings—I couldn’t. Everyone I ever loved…everyone I got close to is gone because of me. I couldn’t let that happen, especially not to you. But then you had to get yourself kidnapped.” His voice trailed off, cracking at the memory. 

You dared not to move, fearful that he would snap out of the spell he found himself in. You can’t recall a time where he was this open to you, about his feelings no less. All the pent up emotion you felt before settled to a dull throb in your heart. 

“I would’ve brought the entire fleet down on its knees, have them beg for mercy.” You felt the rage in his voice, knowing full well that he meant every word. “When I couldn’t find you, I was terrified. You were gone before…”

His hands trembled, his breath became more ragged. You’ve never seen true terror on his face. 

You whisper, just barely audible to his ears. “Before what Doctor?”

He shakes his head, almost wishing he didn’t open his mouth. When you silently pressed him to answer, he couldn't help but cave. 

“I lied back there, with Amy,” the Doctor rushed, trying to get all his disorganized thoughts out. “I lied—I didn’t mean what I said. I didn’t mean it.”

“What? Didn’t mean wha—”

“It already happened,” he cried, his body caving towards you. “I told myself I couldn’t let myself love you. I…I lied.”

You felt your heart stop for the second time today. Your mouth slightly agape, unsure of how to respond. The Doctor takes a half step, effectively caging your body against his. You own shaking hands rested atop of his, hoping to calm him. 

“Every moment I spent with you, I spent yearning,” he says with such emphasis that leaves no room for doubt. You cry harder at the admission. “I took my frustration on you, made you think that I could never love you. I do—Stars, I do. You have no idea how much I do.”

You couldn’t hold back the loud sob that overtakes your whole body. A cry that leaves the Doctor’s two hearts aching knowing that he caused your pain. He continues to rub his thumbs over your cheeks, not to wipe away the tears, but to soothe you. 

“Say it,” you plead, words scraping against your throat. “Say it and I’m yours. I’ll be yours forever.”

Your words trigger something in him, that same fear that made him distant towards you. He doesn’t move from his spot, paralyzed by the decision. 

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” came his equally desperate reply. “I can’t lose you too.”

“We’ll find a way. You always do.”

The Doctor sags against you, resting his forehead against yours once more. Cries of his own shake him, his tears joining yours on the TARDIS floor. You take it upon yourself to mirror his actions; your hands gently holding his face. His once bright, crystal green eyes were now blurred with tears, encased by swollen, flushed eyelids. 

“I love you.”

A barely audible whisper, one meant for you. Said with such raw intensity that it echoes in your ear, seared in your mind forever. 

The Doctor clears his throat, furrowing his brows in concentration. “I love you. Stars above, I love you.” He speaks louder, not wanting you to miss a word. “I’ve loved you for years and I was too much of a coward to tell you. I’ll make it up to you, show you how much I’ve wanted you, if you let me.”

A smile stretched across your face. Pure euphoria filled your body, buzzing with a high that made you lightheaded. You feeled the charged energy between you two. The Doctor stills, anxiously awaiting for your response. 

“I’m yours,” you say in the shared space between you. A declaration, waiting for the final seal. “I love you, Doctor.”

The Doctor slants against you, finally removing the last inch of space between you. His kiss falls over you like the whispered confession he had given you. His lips mold against yours, slow and lingering. One kiss, then another. You grasp onto him, your hand threading into his hair, another along his jacket. His hands no longer tremble. You feel his palms leave your face and travel down to the curve of your waist, pulling you impossibly closer to his body. 

When you pull away to breath, he wastes no time burying his face against your neck, peppering the heated skin with kiss after kiss. He finds the spot where your pulse meets your jaw, sucking on the skin harshly, making you shudder. The Doctor overwhelms your senses; his touch, his scent, the taste of his mouth—

The Doctor gives one final kiss against your lips, before releasing you. He watches you catch your breath, seeing your relieved smile stretching across your face. He feels his face mirroring that same delirious smile. 

I’m yours, his two hearts sing. I’m yours forever.

#eleventh doctor request #eleventh doctor x y/n #eleventh doctor x you #eleventh doctor x reader #eleventh doctor #doctor who #bbc doctor who #11th doctor x you #11th doctor x reader #11th doctor x y/n #eleventh doctor angst #11th doctor angst

[chocolatechubby]

Bernie's Big & Tall

By Fatbrwncub

(posted with the permission of the Author)

The biggest problem--excuse me while I finish this last bite of cruller--is where to begin. It all seems to have happened so fast. One minute I'm standing in the unemployment line, trying to figure out where my next meal is coming from; the next thing you know, I'm getting the doors in my apartment widened so that I can get through. Oops! There goes another button.

Let me go back to the beginning--back to that unemployment line. My lover and I had been having problems making ends meet. There wasn't a great deal of a demand for my particular line of work in the winter---I was a lifeguard. At 6' 2" and 180 pounds, I cut a muscular frame, but everyone looks pretty much the same bundled up in parkas. My old job at the "Y" would probably have hired me back, but the pay stunk. And with a new lover, Sean, I had another mouth to consider. Sean suggested that I try modeling --his chosen profession, but as gorgeous as he was, he wasn't getting much work either. Why should we both be jobless cover boys? So, I headed to the unemployment office. Maybe something there would turn things around. Little did I know how right I was.

The place was depressing. Fluorescent light and peeling yellow walls covered everything like a moldy blanket. Cheap plastic chairs were set up for clients to wait for their turn to be humiliated by the next available counselor: "You'll have to take forms 2 thru 26 to windows 5 thru 14. Fill out lines A thru F on forms 30, 31, & 45; have them notarized and come back to me.... THEN I can tell you where the rest rooms are." As much as I needed the money, I wasn't up for that kind of run around. The YMCA was looking really good at that moment. As I got up to leave, I noticed the chair next to me quiver ever so slightly--as if a tremor were going through the building. The little table next to it was moving too. Now being hundreds of miles away from California, I knew it couldn't possibly be an earthquake. I was wrong. It was indeed an earthquake in human form. From around one of the peeling yellow corners, came the largest guys I had ever seen. His stomach seemed to go on forever, riding over his belt and spilling onto his massive underbelly like a tidal wave. Each of his labored steps made it quiver and roll. His arms, chest, and shoulders were so large that he had to twist his body slightly to maneuver the corner, yet each movement had an elephantine grace that was something to see. He was dressed impeccably in a suit that must have been tailor-made for him: it hung gracefully on his gargantuan figure. He was quite handsome, dusty blonde hair and neatly trimmed beard, and the bluest eyes. Growing up, the party queens I hung with always made fun of fat guys. Somehow, I always found something vaguely attractive about men with extra meat on their bones. I absent-mindedly rubbed my stomach as I watched him make his way to a Job Resource bulletin board on the other side of the room. He scanned the whole area carefully--deep in concentration, he seemed to be looking for someone. When his eyes met mine, his mood abruptly changed. His full round mouth had a slight smile on it as he zeroed in on me. I got the feeling he was studying me-not in that "cruisey" way, but as if he were trying to figure me out. He, raised a sausage-like finger, and motioned me over to him. For some reason, I wasn't taken aback at all. Something about him seemed so familiar. "Looking for a job?", he said. "Kinda", I replied. He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out a candy bar and a folded piece of green paper. "Wanna bite?", He asked. "No thanks…", I replied "…but I could use work." He unfolded the piece of paper and tacked it on the bulletin board, smudging it slightly with the chocolate from his fingers. "Well then, you might wanna check this out." With that, he took a large bite of candy bar, turned around, and began lumbering back down the hallway. I was about to say something when he stopped and turned around again (no easy feat for a man his size). "How old are you?", he asked. Slightly startled by his abrupt departure, I blurted out "29." Before I could ask him why it mattered, he patted his mountain of a stomach and smiled a knowing smile: "Same age as I was when I started at BB&T. See ya' around Danny!" And with that, he and his tremors were gone.

BB&T? I looked at the piece of paper for a moment. I took it down from the board and began studying it--trying to make it tell me more about the big, mysterious stranger. But all it did was sit in my hand and smell of Hershey's. The only writing was a quickly scribbled address and telephone number: "Bernie's Big and Tall-525-BIGG. The chocolate had formed a ring around the writing so that it looked like a halo. I laughed at the idea of working in a big men's shop, but hell, I needed work badly. Besides, something inside me started recalling the times when I'd been oddly aroused by the large men who were the butt of my friends' jokes. Maybe by working there, I could discover what the attraction was all about. I walked over towards the pay phone in the corner chuckling to myself. That's when it struck me that he'd called me by my name-Danny. Did I know him? He really did look familiar....

The phone rang ten times before someone answered at Bernie's. When someone did pick up, they were so out of breath I had to wait a couple seconds for a "hello". Then I remembered what type of establishment this was---all the employees probably looked like the guy I'd just met. Well, if for no other reason, they could hire me to answer the telephone. I smiled. It turned out to be Bernie himself on the line. Before I had a chance to say "Hello", or introduce myself, Bernie cheerfully announced: "Danny! Joe said you'd be calling! When can you start?" I was stunned. I stammered out, "B-but you don't even know me!" "I don't have to!" was his amiable reply. "Anybody that Joe picks will work out fine!" I didn't have the guts to tell him that I had no idea who the hell "Joe" was, but then maybe he was an old friend of my family's. Who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth? Especially from such a large horse!

Bernie's Big and Tall was in a little strip mall just outside of the city. It took me two maps and three detours to find it. I almost gave up, but something told me to keep looking. A small card shop on one side and a bakery on the other flanked the store, and were the only other establishments in the complex. I was sure the employees at the Big and Tall kept the bakery in business because it was too far away from anything else to have a regular clientele. The store itself was rather unimpressive: a sign painted on the window proclaimed "Bernie's" with a silhouette of a rotund man underneath. A couple of half dummies sat dejectedly in the window--the clothing which covered them obviously too large for their frames. The one rather curious and slightly impressive item was the door to the front of the shop. It was huge. Much larger than the doors in most retail establishments, it must have been custom made for Bernie's king-size clientele. What did it feel like to need extra room for everything? When I put my hand on the handle to push the door open, I got the strangest feeling that if I stepped across the threshold of this place, my life would change forever. "This is ridiculous!" I remember thinking to myself "It's just a job for goodness sakes!" I pushed the door open and went in.

Lone Star's "I'm Already There" was playing on a far off country music station as the bell over the door gave a little tinkle. The place had that slightly musky perfume of your grandfather's closet-that subtle scent of fine pipe tobacco and Old Spice. The shop was much bigger than it seemed from the outside, and had a second level with a balcony and offices that overlooked the showroom floor. For a moment, I felt as if I was on a sound stage for "Land Of The Giants"-everything seemed oversized. From the racks that were set up for the tallest of the tall, to the suits that looked like they were made for Guinness Book Fattest Man nominees. All were neatly hung on rotating racks or show room displays. I'd never worked retail, but somehow I felt right at home. From above boomed a lusty voice: "Danny!". I looked up to find a large man leaning on the steel railings of the balcony. It didn't seem possible, but he was even bigger than Joe from the unemployment office. Every part of him was fat-from his puffy hairstyle, to his big feet. He looked like a balloon character from the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I half expected to see wires attached to him with people below maneuvering him. "Bernie?" I queried and his hearty laugh confirmed it. "None other my boy! Come on up!"

Bernie's office was at the top of the stairs. As I bounded up, two at a time, Bernie let out a chuckle "That's something you don't see many of our salesmen do!" He ushered me ahead of him and I walked through another enormous door to find myself in a small room, made smaller by its furnishings. It consisted of a small oak desk, and a computer-standard office fare. However, the large refrigerator, stand-alone pantry, coffee maker and microwave were not. "Before we begin, may I offer you something to eat?" Bernie asked, already carefully maneuvering his way around the desk to the refrigerator. It was somewhat surreal watching this super-sized man practically squeeze his way through the cramped quarters. He opened the refrigerator to reveal a small deli: meats of all kinds, exotic breads and cheeses, beverages ranging from soft-drinks to fine wines, all carefully stocked within its quarters. Bernie rummaged through, and pulled out an overstuffed submarine sandwich and began munching. His grunts of pleasure permeated the office, and instead of revulsion, I actually enjoyed watching this man eat with such gusto. For so many years, I had deprived myself of some of my favorite foods in exchange for the washboard stomach that I possessed. Maybe, if I worked here, I could live vicariously through these guys. My internal reverie ended with Bernie's voice. "Well at least share a cup of coffee with me. I hate nourishing myself alone." I smiled my assent and Bernie squeezed his way to the coffeepot. I was not a big coffee drinker, but I figure a little kiss up wouldn't hurt my job prospects any. Besides, for some reason the coffee smelled particularly delicious.

Bernie produced two mugs-each with the Big and Tall logo I had seen on the front door of the shop. "How do you take yours?" he cooed. "Black" I answered. "Well you must indulge me one small addition to your mug…I make my own blend of spices that seem to really liven up the coffee-nothing much, just some cinnamon and vanilla. Stuff like that. You're not allergic to anything are you? I told him no, and he took a small packet from the standing pantry, tapped it lightly on the desk, tore the corner and emptied the contents into my cup. The granules looked like Folgers Crystals-little flecks of something shiny danced and fell gracefully into the mug. Bernie took a small silver spoon and began stirring the coffee. The aroma was like nothing I had smelled before. Memories of big Sunday breakfasts and hearty Thanksgiving dinners suddenly became as vivid as if they'd happened yesterday. Nights spent eating cotton candy and funnel cake at the local carnival-laughing with my friends and gorging on hotdogs-all seemed palpable. Bernie brought the mug close to my nostrils and placed my hands around it. "Drink, my boy. And then we can talk about your joining us at BB&T."

Almost mesmerized, I brought the cup to my lips and took a sip. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. The beans of the coffee blended with the spices and my taste buds seemed to spring to new life. The thoughts of all of the goodies I had denied myself over the years began to turn into a craving, then a hunger. I could feel my stomach began to growl for food. I had grabbed a McMuffin when I'd left the unemployment office, but that had been several hours ago. It was natural for me to feel starved. But in the middle of a job interview? I had to eat something. As if on cue, Bernie produced an enormous plate of chocolate chip cookies. "Have one?" Bernie again cajoled. "I--I--…" I stuttered, but no other words would come out. The cookies looked like manna from heaven. I could feel the drool forming on my tongue. I grabbed one and placed it in my mouth. It melted like butter, blending with the coffee and exploding my senses like an orgasm. My crotch leapt, writhing with the rise and fall of my breath. I came up for air, took another cookie and a sip of the coffee. Again, the exact same sensation-yet more intense. I thought I was going to erupt right then and there. I gulped more of the drink and began inhaling the pastries with lightening speed. In less then ten minutes the entire plate was empty. The wildest thing of all…I was still hungry!

I looked up at Bernie, who was standing over me with a knowing smile. "It's always better to talk on a full stomach." He went to the refrigerator and pulled out another overstuffed submarine sandwich-twice the size of the one he'd just eaten. "Are you sure I can't tempt you with one of these?" My mouth opened automatically, and Bernie floated over and placed the monstrous hoagie in my hands. I tore into it as if I hadn't eaten in weeks. In between bites, Bernie suggested that we carry our meeting to The Blue Whale, a restaurant frequented by he and his staff. As I rose to go, onions and lettuce falling everywhere, Bernie touched the intercom on his desk. "All right boys…" the echo of his voice could be heard in the showroom below "…time for our foray to The Blue Whale! Close up shop!" In between munching, I could hear, and feel great activity from the floor below. The floor vibrated much like it had done in the unemployment office. We moved out of the office and onto the balcony to a sight that would have sent my old faggy friends into a tizzy. Below were five of Bernie's staff-each one plumper than the next. They stood at attention as we came down the stairs. Bernie introduced me to each, ending with their newest salesman, Dominic. He had to weigh at least 350 pounds. "This is our baby!" Bernie gushed, pinching Dominic's flushed cheek. "Been with us about a year" he poked Dominic's round middle. "He's starting to fit in quite nicely." Bernie lumbered towards the door, pulling me along with him. "Daniel here will be joining us for lunch-and hopefully more. Make him feel at home." And still in a spin from all that had happened since walking through the doors of Bernie's Big & Tall, I was off to The Blue Whale.

The Blue Whale was quite nice--muted tones of aqua and gray gave it warmth and style. A Bach concerto whispered softly as Bernie and the other salesmen took their seats. We had been ushered to a table in a private area of the restaurant--one large enough for the substantial girth of our party. It was obvious that Bernie and the gang were regulars, because all of the wait-staff knew everyone by name. It was also pretty obvious that time that the entire staff of Bernie's was gay. Underneath a curtained archway, a cadre of handsome waiters looked ready to break into a chorus of "Hello Dolly". They giggled and whispered as if they were dance hall girls anxious to see which gentleman would pick them out of the crowd. The headwaiter, who looked to be about Bernie's size, clapped the others to attention. "Don't just stand there like a bunch of schoolgirls! Take these gentlemen's orders!" he barked. "Oh Jacques," Bernie cooed "...just bring us our usual!"

I was returning to normal, my appetite assuaged and my pants screaming to be unzipped-my distended belly playing hide and seek with the buttons on my shirt. It was time to ask about hours and pay, and all the standard stuff. As I opened my mouth to get down to business, the first of the waiters arrived with the appetizers. There was enough food to feed a small city. Plate upon plate of mouth watering delicacies passed before the table: shrimp wrapped in bacon, small puff pastries stuffed with creams and cheeses and meats-anything that I had ever seen at fancy buffets was now being placed under my nose. I thought of the spectacle I must have made in Bernie's office, and my stomach began to turn. The thought of more food was making me nauseous. And then the coffee arrived. Jacques himself brought out the ornate samovar and ushered it towards Bernie. "Monsieur Bernie" he chimed. "Ze coffee wis your special mix eez ready". As Jacques opened the spigot and poured the first cup, the table went silent. Unbelievably I could feel my stomach loosen. I could feel the insatiable hunger I had felt in Bernie's office return. It was as if I had never eaten the mound of cookies. Just the aroma of the incredible liquid wafting into my nostrils was enough to make me want to stuff something in my mouth. All around me, the other men were having a similar reaction. I remember seeing episodes of "Wild Kingdom" with sharks or packs of wolves in a feeding frenzy. There was a primitive ritual about to happen, and everyone knew it. As the coffee was passed around, Dominic, began to sweat. When a cup made it to him, he grabbed it, and chugged down the hot liquid as if it were the first drink of a dehydrated man. He then grabbed the nearest tray of hors d'oeuvres and began shoveling them into his mouth. Sweat glistened on his brow as he tipped the tray up and up until he was literally swallowing and chewing almost simultaneously. A waiter quickly scurried over and began wiping his brow and massaging his hardening belly. I sat in awe as I watched each of the sales guys fall into the same kind of trance-that is until my cup reached me.

I recall one of the adventures of Homer's "Odyssey", in which Odysseus and his men encounter the witch Circe. Once on her island, she turns most of the men into animals. Bernie had led his men into the modern day version of that adventure. I don't remember much about the rest of that meal. As my haze parted from time to time, I was aware of grunts and moans of pleasure coming from around the table. Slurping and guzzling and licking were followed by burps and the occasional button pop or zipper pull being loosened. Halfway through the fourth course, everyone abandoned silverware and began eating off of plates and trays with their hands and mouths. I found myself caressing and licking the gravy off of plates as if it were a lover. No mouthful seemed enough-I couldn't get the food in fast enough, and the sounds and sights around me seemed to urge me on. By dessert, each man was no longer able to feed himself. The waiters took over and began shoveling whipped cream, cakes and pies into our dazed faces. I can't tell you how much I ate, but I literally couldn't move. My belly was as hard as a ripe cantaloupe and I closed my eyes and slept.

When I awoke, the entire table had been cleared off. Any trace of the feeding frenzy had been wiped away, and all of the men had been cleaned up and were groggily coming to themselves. If it weren't for the screaming pain coming from my stomach, I would have thought it all a dream. Standing above me was a beaming Bernie. "I hope you got enough to eat." The boys and I do this at least three or four times a week. Don't worry about the bill…I take care of that." I sat up and blinked. I couldn't believe this was happening. Bernie handed me a packet of papers-the standard Human Resources forms to fill out along with information about my salary and benefits. My eyes almost popped out of my head when I saw how much I'd be making. It was at least five times what I would have made at the "Y". How could he afford to pay for all of this? Bernie saw my reaction. He said "Don't worry, this salary is only temporary. With raises and incentives you'll quadruple it in no time. So do we have a deal?" Was he crazy? I propped myself up on my swollen stomach and shook his hand. "On one condition" I said. He cocked his fat head and his chins wobbled. "What's that, my dear boy?" "That you give me some of that coffee to take home"

In the beginning, everything went along pretty normally. The store practically ran itself. And I was more than content--I was happy. The first time I noticed something different was after my initial lunch with the guys. The next few days, I was ravenous. I ate from morning till night. And I craved the coffee with the secret ingredient introduced to my by Bernie. One morning, about a week after I had started working, I rolled out of bed and began getting ready for work. Sleepily I showered, shaved, and stumbled into my clothing. I stepped into my dress slacks and pulled them to my waist. They wouldn't close. With my swimmer's lifestyle, I had been a perfect size 32 for years. I never had to worry about putting on weight. I went to the scale in the bathroom and stepped on. Since I had begun working at the store, I had put on ten pounds! "Not acceptable." I thought to myself. I sucked in my stomach, fastened my pants and made a mental note to go to the gym more often and most importantly--to cut out lunching with the guys. But somehow neither thing seemed to happen--I was constantly working until after the gym closed. And not going to lunch with the Bernie and the gang became as unthinkable as not having cup after cup of the delicious mysterious coffee. I began to have strange dreams: I would dream I was in the middle of Africa in the bush country, taking pictures of wildlife, when the earth would begin to shake. Suddenly an enormous Bull Elephant the size of a building would come crashing through the tall grasses and block the sun. I was terrified until it would dawn on me that I was the Elephant! Then, understanding my power, I began breaking down trees, even mountains--growing more enormous with each new conquest. After one of these dreams, I would always wake in a sweat, run to the kitchen, and raid the refrigerator--absent-mindedly eating until I was sleepy.

After about three months of this, I could no longer hide the results. I tried to wear my size 32 pants until they had all systematically exploded off of my frame. My suit jackets had begun cutting off the circulation in my arms, and my old shirts were laughable on my new frame. Between the daily lunches, midnight binges, and very little gym time, I had gone from 180lbs, to 230. My pants size had gone from the perpetual 32 to a 42.

One night, about a week before my 30th birthday, I tiptoed into the bathroom when I thought Sean was sleeping. I took off my clothes and stepped in front of the full-length mirror. My face was so round! I was beginning to develop a pronounced double chin. My thighs and ass were full and big, and my stomach was beginning to grow into this ball of soft flesh. And my tits! I remembered my high school gym teacher teasing Jeffrey Lowell and Scott Taylor: two fat kids in my class. He used to call their soft round mammaries "man-tits", kidding them about having bigger ones than most of the girls, (which was true). I used to find those two guys fascinating: the way they lumbered onto the field for class, the way they looked in the showers. I knew I was gay back then, but it was something more than that. And here I was with my own set of "man-tits". I touched the right nipple, and then the left--crossing my arms and inadvertently giving myself cleavage. Electricity shot through my entire body. My nipples had become so sensitive! Caught in my exploration, it took me a moment to realize that my lover Sean was standing behind me. He had come in to use the toilet and noticed me in the mirror. "You're fat," he said as he sleepily relieved himself, kissed me on my chubby cheek and padded back to bed. He was right. I WAS fat. But looking in the mirror, I wasn't sure that was a bad thing. I touched my nipples again and headed for the kitchen.

The next day at work, Bernie and the guys threw me a birthday party and presented me with two gifts. The first was a container of the special ingredient for my coffee, and the next was a new suit from the store. It was the first size that we carried for big men. I was still a size or two away from needing to shop at Bernie's and had decided to keep it that way. "No offense guys...", I said, "...but I plan on never wearing clothes from our store!" "Well we can always get it taken in." Bernie quickly replied. "We just wanted to show you how glad we are that you're here. Now cut the cake and have some coffee!" I declined the cake, but I had 3 cups of coffee. That evening determined to change my eating habits for my 30th year on this planet, I took off early and headed for the gym. On the way, I passed restaurant after restaurant, fast food joint after fast food joint. I kept thinking to myself, "You've got to lose weight." Yet every time I would ask myself "Why?" I couldn't come up with a good enough answer. Until I thought of Sean's comment in the bathroom: "You're fat!" "You could lose him", I thought. I steadied myself and pointed the car in the direction of the gym. When suddenly, a little voice spoke to me: "But if you go to the gym right now, you could lose YOU." Suddenly I was starving. I turned into a Kentucky Fried Chicken, ordered a 20-piece bucket, and ate the whole thing in the car.

When I got home, Sean had prepared a huge meal of pasta, fresh bread and salad. Even after my trek to the Colonel's, I wolfed down plate after plate. Sean announced that he had news--good and bad. The good news was that he had landed a choice modeling assignment with a top agency. The bad news was that the agency was out of the country and he would be gone for at least 5 months! I felt like I was going to die. I wanted to scream, "It's me isn't it? I'll lose the weight! Don't go!" But instead, I stuffed some more food in my mouth and hugged him tightly. I loved him too much to stand in his way. And if he found someone else with a swimmer's build who made him happy...so be it. Sean had to leave the day before my birthday. As he hugged me before he boarded the plane, he whispered, "See you later fat boy", in my ear and walked away. And I knew I'd never see him again. When I got home, I pulled out the suit Bernie and the guys had given me and put it on. I looked like a kid playing dress up. Even though I was working on a size 44 waist, the pants had to be at least a 46. I thought of Sean and suddenly felt free. I sat down with a mixing bowl of Captain Crunch and heavy cream and imagined myself filling out the pants.

What happened next is all a blur. Knowing that I had lost Sean, I poured myself into my work and my food. Both satisfied me intensely. The store was doing great business. It seemed that the more I ate, the more productive I became. I was growing daily. Every time I turned around, a button would pop or a zipper would break. I began to carry around safety pins to keep my clothes up--it became a running joke around the store. The guys who used to seem enormous to me suddenly began to look average. I became the star at the Blue Whale. The waiters would line up to be my encourager and with Sean gone, I used their attention to help me forget about Sean. Bernie, who was no slouch at the dinner table, would watch me in amazement as I polished off plate after plate of entrée after entrée with all the trimmings, the servers massaging my distended belly and cooing at my appetite. Then go to work on the dessert cart. I stood in the mirror more often now. I was officially fat by anyone's standards. My face was so round that sometimes I wouldn't recognize myself. Because I was constantly lifting heavy boxes, my arms were huge and firm, as was my chest. But my stomach became my favorite area. I would hang out at the bar around the corner from my apartment and drink beer after beer to the amazement of all the guys. I started wearing suspenders because no pants it seemed would hold my ever growing gut.

In the first month after Sean left, I put on 35 lbs. I tipped the scales at around 265. From then on, not a waking (or sleeping) moment went by that I didn't eat something. I even took food breaks in the store. Bernie was right about the suit I was given for my birthday--I DID have to have it altered...eventually it had to be let out--twice! Sean would call and we would have stilted conversations. He would ask me if I was still gaining weight, and I would avoid talking about it. He would tell me he loved me, but I knew it was just talk. The company had extended his contract--he didn't know when he'd be back. Every now and then, I would get a postcard from some exotic place saying, "Having a Wonderful Time, Wish You Were Here". But I was too busy to notice. I was becoming the Elephant of my dream. I could feel my power.

In the next few months, I surpassed all store sales records, and there was big talk of a promotion to store manager. Except for the prospect of leaving this location, I couldn't have been happier. At least, when I wasn't thinking about Sean. The 5 months had quickly become 8 and then 10. In that time, my physical gain had become as impressive as my professional one. In the year since I had begun working at Bernie's, I had gone from 180 to 380 lbs. My waist had gone from a 32 to a 62. I was beginning to make earthquakes of my own.

One night I awakened from a dream (in which my stomach broke through the walls of the Empire State Building) by a voice in the darkness. "My God! You're huge!" it was Sean's voice. He was standing over the bed. He sounded different somehow. My first instinct was to grab him with my big arms and engulf him in my newfound mountain of flesh and warmth. But anger quickly welled up inside of me and I sat up in bed--the third empty large pizza box falling off of my stomach. "Yes I am." I said proudly, "You got something to say about it?" "Yes..." he said-I could hear the smile in his voice as he moved closer. "We are going to need a bigger bed." And with that, he turned on the light. My mouth dropped. When Sean left, he had been a 6 foot 1 inch, 170 lb. cover boy: now standing before me was a 6 foot 1 inch, 285 lb. (he told me later) gorgeous Buddha. His round face now covered with a lush beard. It was obvious that he was gaining weight faster than he could buy clothes to fit him: the T-shirt he was wearing wouldn't fit over the big round belly protruding over his tight size 48 jeans. "How?!...Why?" I stammered. "By eating dummy!" he laughed. "And I have a feeling that the delicious stuff I borrowed from you to put in my coffee helped". "But I thought you didn't like me fat!" I was almost crying now. Sean sat on the edge of the bed--which groaned under the over 600 pounds of us. I could see how horny he was as his great stomach heaved. "You never asked. You just assumed I wouldn't want a fat lover. I loved watching you pig out. I'd come in the bedroom after you'd gorge and jack off. Didn't you notice how intense our love-making got after you started putting on weight?" "I thought you were over-compensating because you loved me." I said. "Of course I love you Danny, but not in spite of how much you weigh-your size turns me on! I want you as big as a house!", was his breathless reply as he kissed me full on the lips. "And I hope you're ready for me to join you." He took off his shirt to reveal burgeoning man-tits and the most beautiful belly I had ever seen. He straddled me, opened my robe and began exploring my under-belly, kissing it and licking lower and lower. I felt hungry and horny at the same time as I pulled him to my crotch. We broke the bed that night.

T hat was three years ago. When I waddled into work the next day, I was beaming. Sean and I made love all night, and then spent the entire morning eating the breakfast to end all breakfasts. During which, he told me of his adventures in Europe. He spent the first few months pining over me-not eating, not sleeping. Once he began drinking the coffee, his appetite returned and he immediately found solace in food and proceeded to eat himself out of his misery. Of course this began to show on his waistline, and after a month, he was let go from his modeling contract. As luck would have it, a photographer on the shoot also worked with a new European catalogue designed for big men. He introduced Sean to the head of the company and the rest was history. Sean spent the remainder of the tour eating and posing in the finest cities of the Old World. He really had a wonderful time and wished desperately that I had been there. We decided to get married and spend our honeymoon eating our way through all of the spots he had discovered in his travels.

When Bernie saw me, he sensed the change immediately. "My boy, either you had sex last evening, or discovered that Little Debbie delivers-which was it?" We were in his office, munching on crullers. We had positioned ourselves so as to be able to reach the refrigerator and standing pantry without moving: we had become so large that it was impossible for the two of us to move around. "Both" I laughed. I told him of Sean's return, and of his amazing transformation. I told him that my life was complete: I had a job I loved, and a partner whom I adored. Bernie smiled, and in it, I thought I caught a hint of bittersweet sadness. "Well then," he said. "…my job is done." And he immediately began opening drawers, removing papers and stuffing them in a nearby briefcase. Stunned, I spattered out "What are you doing?"- crumbs spewing across my white shirt. Bernie smiled, and calmly explained. "I am a business man my dear. I have many other BB&T locations to check on. Joe, the man you met at the unemployment office, is my lover. He's already gone off to our store in Portland, and now I can join him. We needed to find a manager for this store that we could depend on and trust to carry on my traditions. We found him." He reached over and patted my stomach, which was wedged against his desk. "But…but…" I searched for words. How could I tell this man that he had become my mentor, my father-my friend! I blurted out the first thing that came into my mind. "But where will I get more of Bernie's Secret Mix for my coffee?" Bernie laughed "make it yourself darling-I told you, it's just cinnamon and vanilla." I stared at him blankly. "But what about the secret ingredient? The stuff that makes us so ravenous?" Bernie chortled "The secret ingredient my boy, is you."

I looked down at myself. At 400 lbs., my 4X dress shirt was already gapping in the front around my stomach. People moved out of my way when they saw me coming because of my size. My whole world had become food-I expressed myself in how much I indulged. Was Bernie saying that this had been my destiny all along. I thought back to High School-to Jeffrey Lowell and Scott Taylor-to the big men who would intrigue me when I was with my friends. I realized, not only did I want to HAVE them, I wanted to BE them. And now I was. I guess he was right: it was in me all the time.

So now I run Bernie's Big & Tall Store #836. We consistently bring in the highest revenues of any in the chain. We also have the fattest staff. I've had my offices expanded to include a full kitchen, and have hired my favorite chef and waiters from the Blue Whale to prepare in house meals for my staff. I surpassed Bernie's weight about a year ago, and am so fat that I had to install a freight elevator to get to the second floor, because the steps are impossible for me to maneuver. I am fast approaching Guinness Book proportions. As for Sean-he now models for Bernie's catalogue. He quickly outgrew the standard sizes, and a new super-size line was developed. Sean also recruits new employees for the store. He now tips the scale at over 500lbs., and is the most beautiful roly-poly thing I've ever seen. So you see, dreams come true in the strangest places. Who would have ever thought that I would find my life's calling in an unemployment line? Now if you'll excuse me, I'm about to interview a potential salesman that Sean found, and I have to brew some coffee.

By the way…are YOU looking for work?

The End.

copyright 1998 by Fatbrwncub

#CCstories #f #fatbrwncub

[echo-rambles]

use my body against me

summary: when a drunk text to your ex gets answered in a way you never expected, it leads to falling right back into old habits. tags: past established relationship, ex-boyfriend chan, suggestive content but nothing explicit, mention of recreational alcohol use, swearing. notes: title from the way you miss me by all time low. mostly a rewrite of my very first reader insert fic, because I loved the concept but I wasn't a fan of my own writing, and I think I've vastly improved since. I might write a continuation, but no promises.

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

The situation you currently find yourself in is truly one of your own making. There’s really no one else to blame, no matter how much you would love to point the finger at literally anyone besides yourself. 

There’s a text message from Bang Christopher Chan sitting there, on your phone. Staring up at you almost accusatory and chilling you to the bone. 

-Good morning, I hope you’re drinking water to combat all of that vodka you consumed last night! hahaha 

At first, the text means nothing to you. It leaves you in a state of mild confusion only exacerbated by your incredible hangover. How would he know you drank your weight in liquor? The only answer you can even try to think up isn’t a good one. Feeling brave and a little nauseous, you decide to scroll up, farther into this conversation between you and your ex.

The confusion melts away into horror as you locate the beginning of this conversation. One glance at the selfie you sent has the memory coming back to you, causing your headache to flare. Oh no.

It was late last night, and you had already drank one too many shots of whatever fruity flavored vodka was available. Shut away in Felix’s bathroom, the light overhead far too harsh and fluorescent, pulling your shirt down enough to show off your cleavage. Snapping a picture in the mirror above the sink, leaning into the counter and trying your best to look some approximation of sexy. 

Fumbling fingers sent it to Chan. The first text between the two of you in months. 

Looking at the selfie now has your stomach twisting into knots. Oh no. The texts that followed aren’t any better. Actually, they somehow make the entire situation worse. 

-the fact that i wore this shirt hoping you’d be at this party only to learn you went home EARLY?

-i wasted such an amazing outfit and for nothing

-i bet you looked good too. bastard

-sometimes i can’t tell if i miss you or just the weight of you on top of me 

-i miss how good you were -i know fora fact i miss your mouth -i miss your mouth on MY MOUTH -omg i miss my mouth on your

You swipe away from those messages. Knowing for a fact you’ll have to read them eventually, to get a proper understanding of the things you said to him. But not right now. Right now you continue to scroll, your texts devolving into a mix of incomprehensible emojis and bitching at Chan about things he very obviously can’t control. You were a mess, holy shit. Who even let you text? Why wasn’t your phone confiscated the moment vodka hit your lips?

The only things that Chan has replied with since your terrible wall of drunk texts is an initial Oh wow lol, and his aforementioned good morning text.

It could be worse, right? He could’ve blocked you or typed out an excruciatingly long lecture about drinking responsibly. It honestly could’ve been so much worse. 

Crawling your way out of bed, still vaguely nauseous and trying to fight the urge to lay face down on the floor and never get up again, you shuffle your way into the bathroom. First thing’s first before you tackle whatever the fuck is on your phone, you decide to wash up to feel human again.

The world can fall apart around you for all you care. All you want is a shower and some toothpaste. 

Wrapped in a towel and your toothbrush sticking out of your mouth, you finally decide to reply. You probably shouldn’t, especially now that you’re sober and know better, but you have to apologize. That feels like the polite thing to do. 

Well, the only way to begin is by beginning. 

-lol hey good afternoon 

-I ended up demolishing an entire water bottle when I got home last night but sadly it wasn’t enough to save me

How do you even apologize for last night? Sorry I was so angry and horny and I made it your problem? Sorry that the first time I've texted you since we broke up was a drunk thirst trap? So sorry, and hey by the way how have you been since we had the messiest breakup because you’re bad at prioritizing and I’m bad at communication? 

Yeah, definitely none of that. 

You’re still standing there in your bathroom, staring into the mirror and brushing your teeth on autopilot as your mind spins into itself, when your phone lights up. One notification followed swiftly by a second, making your phone buzz on the counter. 

Chan’s contact stares back at you, both messages fading off into ellipses. 

-Ah, RIP. You should’ve drank three…

-Hey, I know this is last minute, but I was wondering if we could…

Oh, you don’t think this is the sort of message you can read by yourself while still combating the aching nausea of a hangover. Absolutely not, whatever he has to say can be answered once you have a sufficient amount of caffeine and the right company. 

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

“I need a second opinion.” It’s the first thing you say, after sitting down across from Felix and shoving your phone at him. Showing off the string of text messages you experienced after waking up. You still haven’t read the newest text. 

Felix barely even moves his head from where it’s resting against the table. He’s clearly just as hungover as you are, but you feel like you’re in the middle of making a very bad decision and you need a second opinion. You shimmy your phone under the seam where his forehead meets the wood. 

With a little pout and deep groan, he’s shifting around and unlocking your phone. The silence stretches on as he swipes through the text thread and stares, blinks, and blinks some more. With a start, he’s sitting up straight, pulling the phone closer. 

“Wait, he wants to meet up with you?”

“He wants to what?” You snatch the phone from his hands, finally reading the text yourself. 

-Hey, I know this is last minute, but I was wondering if we could maybe grab lunch? Or, if you’re still too hungover for lunch, maybe something later?

Just the idea of seeing him again has something hot and electric buzzing through your veins. Your immediate instinct is to say yes. You want to say yes so badly, yes a thousand times over. Instead you very deliberately place your phone onto the table. 

Felix has slumped back into his seat, eyeing you warily. “I thought you weren’t talking to him?”

“I mean- I wasn’t. But now I am, kind of? It’s not that big of a deal-” 

“It felt like you two went through a divorce, I don’t know if I’d say it’s ‘not a big deal’-”

“I’m over it!” You proclaim, a little loudly. A little desperately. “And he is too if he’s talking to me.” 

All you get in response is Felix’s eyebrows pitching inwards and his mouth molding into a little frown. The type of frown that is trying very hard to not be a frown. He’s giving you the most pitying look you’ve probably ever seen on his angelic face. 

You should say no. Scoop up your phone and tell him that you can’t make it. Conjure up some far flung excuse so that you won’t reopen old wounds. But you want to see him again, desperately. 

You tap your fingers along the edge of the table. “Is this a bad idea?” 

“Do you want my truthful answer?” Felix replies from the depths of his hoodie. Your phone sits between you, dark screen facing the ceiling. 

You think for a moment. “Yes.”

“Yes.”

“Oh, fuck you.” 

The thing is, you know he has a point. It doesn’t feel very good but it’s true. Sure, you and Chan can be amicable over text, but that’s over text. Who knows what will happen if you’re face to face. Would it be awkward and stilted? Or maybe everything you say to each other will be filled with vitriolic anger. Things didn’t exactly end on the best terms, and that might just leak into an otherwise pleasant meeting. 

But you are nothing if not a professional at both denial and deflections, so you push all of those thoughts very far away. 

Maybe this could be a new start. Maybe you and Chan could be the incredibly rare type of people who are friends with their ex. You’d like that, actually, to have Chan back in your life beyond some tertiary character you hear about from other people. Texting him reminded you how much you actually miss your best friend. 

Snatching your phone up, you just barely restrain yourself from checking to see if you somehow managed to miss any new messages. 

“It’s a friend thing! Friend’s hang out all the time. We're going to go get coffee or something equally platonic and we're going to ignore all of the drunk texts I sent him!” Your voice raises in pitch towards the end, and it sounds like you're trying to convince yourself more than anything else.

Felix gives you a very unimpressed look. “You told him that you miss the feel of his-”

“I know what I said!"

"In your mouth-"

"Thank you!”

Those texts are burned into your brain, you're well aware of the things you sent Chan. How they got more detailed the more you sent. Just remembering some of them has you flushing.

“I mean," Felix hums, oblivious to the direction your thoughts are taking. "I guess it could be a thing friends do.” There's too much sarcasm in his words for your liking.

“As if you haven’t said something similar to any of your friends.”

One of his eyebrows arch, and the gesture is so very pointed. “Any friend that I’ve gotten on my knees for was never at any point an extremely complicated ex.”

"Shut the fuck up." He's right and you hate it.

But still. You want to see Chan so badly. Finally you give in to the all consuming urge to reply. Opening up Chan’s contact, your fingers work quickly. 

-I mean, if you’re paying…

-Of course I’ll pay haha 

-then count me in!

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone cave so quickly.” Felix sighs, but there’s something all tangled into his words. Some emotion you can’t really identify right now. If you didn’t know any better, you’d say it sounds hopeful. 

“Seriously, shut up.” 

“You came here asking for my opinion!” 

“Well!” You huff, trying not to glance at the little typing bubble that appears under your fingers. Signaling that Chan is in the middle of replying to you. He wants to continue your stupid little conversation. Your heart does a funny little wiggle at the sight. “I’ll take what you said into consideration, I guess.”

˗ˏˋ ♡ ˎˊ˗

Felix was probably right, and that was such a complicated thought to have while Chan’s hand was currently palming you through your shirt. 

See, it really had started out with grabbing coffee together. Something extremely casual with no pressure, the conversation just a little awkward at the start. Both of you trying to remember how to be civil towards each other, how to smile and laugh at jokes. It came a lot easier to Chan, as always. But you missed this. You missed being in the same space as him and hearing his voice and fucking hell, Felix was right; you’re so incredibly weak. 

You tried so hard to keep things on track, really you did. The possibility of being friends was right there, laid out in front of you. But then Chan smiled- that small little smile where he ducks his head and bites at his lip and looks up at you from under those fucking eyelashes of his, and oh. You were gone.

He makes it almost disgustingly easy to be around him. It makes your head buzz. 

Somehow the touch of your fingers against the inside of his wrist lead you to his apartment. Where he pins you to the wall and kisses you so deeply you can feel it in your toes. You almost forgot what it felt like when Chan put his full strength into holding you in place. It’s heady. 

He still tastes the same. Somehow, in the midst of his hands gripping and tugging you closer, pressing your hips flush together, that’s the thought that floats its way to the forefront. Chan tastes the same, even after all this time where you never got to taste him. He feels the same too, a little wider, mostly in his shoulders, but still familiar. He makes the same little noise in the back of his throat when you run your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. 

It’s all so familiar and you could choke on it. 

You should probably talk about this. The making out, yes, absolutely, but also the last few months and the texts and him asking to see you out of the blue. It should be talked about, right? Except what would you even say? You’ll just rehash the same things you’ve been saying. You felt ignored and he felt suffocated and you could never find a way to meet in the middle because you’re both stubborn. 

You should say something though, right? Right? 

The press of his hand against the dip of your waist, pulling you closer, has you losing any semblance of what language even is. Words? Who needs them? He’s hooking his other hand behind your knee and hiking it up, guiding you to wrap your leg around him, and really all you can think about is how you aren’t close enough.

You sneak your fingers up under the hem of his shirt, feeling the expanse of his skin, and the sound of the breathiest gasp leaving his lips settles along the curve of your spine. 

This doesn’t feel like a particularly good idea, but then he’s grinding against you, fingers digging into the meat of your thigh, and it doesn’t really matter all that much. 

“Is this a terrible idea?” He asks, practically breathing the words directly into your mouth, and you find it a little funny. Not only are you both having the same sort of thought, but it feels incredibly belated. 

“Honestly Chris? I don’t really give a fuck.” 

That gets him to laugh. Just the quietest little giggle into the skin of your jaw. His hand moves, until he’s grabbing at your ass and angling your hips higher, and it’s really such an inspired thing. The feeling of him, hard through his denim, pressing into you has a moan tripping out of you. 

You definitely need to talk about this. 

Chan keeps touching you, kissing you, undressing you. Little by little, constantly asking 'is this ok? Yeah? We can stop whenever you want-' because he's still a gentleman. You haven't been this close to him in months, but he's still so fucking considerate. It'd be more maddening if it wasn't so familiar. If anything it’s reassuring, filling you with a stupid amount of confidence. You know how to deal with this. 

You repeat yes over and over, hands at his shoulders and licking the word into his mouth, no matter how much he asks. 

He peels your shirt away, careful with the fabric, mouth already trailing down your neck, your chest, landing on the swell of your cleavage. Hands so wide, palms easily fitting to your bare waist.

"Just tell me to stop, and I will-"

Finally you snap. Like a live wire pulled too taut, reaching out to grab at his face. Pressing your fingers into the hollows of his cheeks, his chin resting in the curve of your palm. "Christopher, I'm so horny I feel like I might cry. So while I really appreciate what you're trying to do- if you don't rail me stupid in the next five minutes, I can't be held accountable for my actions."

"Oh, sorry." He blinks at you, a little slowly as he leans more of his weight into your hand. Your fingers dig into the meat of his face and you can feel something tense in his jaw.

"Don't apologize baby, just get on with it." This feels familiar too. Like slipping into a pair of beloved jeans. The fit so perfect.

His eyes light up in the next instant, sparkling and bright, and holy shit you're in for it now. "Say less, boss."

You don't know if you still love him, but you do know that you'll always love the feeling of his mouth on you. His hands. Leaving wet trails as he kisses your skin messily, sloppy. Clever fingers following in the wake of his tongue.

#stray kids #skz #bang chan x reader #skz x reader #echo writes #if I missed any warnings/tags just let me know! #anyway uhh please enjoy. #I do have plans for a part 2 but nothing concrete #we'll see if I want to continue this lol

[jeridandridge]

A Shoulder to Cry On

When Melissa’s Nanna gets sick you’re the only one she lets in. CW: Mention of death

It’s lunchtime on a Wednesday when she gets the call. You run after her down the hallway following Melissa into her classroom. She’s shaking and nearly drops her keys when you reach over gently taking her hand.

“Melissa, let me drive.” You tell her taking the keys and reaching for her purse. The redhead looks at you with flushed cheeks and a wobbling lip before she lunges forward holding onto you like a life raft.

Resting your head against hers she shakes in your arms letting out a sob, clawing at the back of your shirt like she can’t get close enough to you. “Cmon, Mel. Let’s go see her.”

Maria Schemmenti is one tough lady. At 93 years old she was still cooking Sunday dinners, making sauce from scratch outside and pasta noodles in her kitchen. Now, Melissa has to see her grandmother small and frail in a cold hospital bed connected to all kinds of wires. Of course you learn this after Melissa comes back to the waiting room, melting against you again. Not even her leather jacket she wore as armor could give her the boost she needed today. Instead, she hides her face in your neck.

“It’s bad.”

You close your eyes for a moment, standing in the crowded waiting room with the sound of the fluorescent lights flickering and the smell of hand sanitizer you squeeze Melissa gently. A hug that lets her know you’re not going anywhere.

In the early morning hours when you convince Melissa to go home and get some sleep she sobers up as she unlocks her front door. “Thanks for coming with me, hon.” She gives you a sad smile.

You eye her hand on the door then look back at her tired eyes. “Do you want me to stay?” You weren’t sure what you two were, but you had to be something to her if she let you see her so vulnerable and allowed you in her house.

Melissa reaches out for your hand leading you through the dark house up to her bedroom. You’d never seen her room before, and it was completely Melissa. From the framed eagles jersey on one of the walls to the stack of books on her nightstand. You can’t help but smile.

Moving in the dark Melissa strips down to just a tshirt and her underwear, climbing into bed. You stand there for a moment unsure if you should do the same.

“Are you waiting for an invitation?” She quirks a brow watching you kick off your shoes hesitantly. You strip down to your tank top and underwear crawling under the cool sheets, immediately warmed up by Melissa curling around you.

This is the first night you fall asleep in Melissa’s bed.

Two days later you’re in the teachers lounge waiting for the students to arrive, only this time Melissa isn’t there in her usual spot. Standing by the coffee pot you call her and the phone rings. And rings. Then voicemail.

“Barb, have you heard from Melissa?”

“No, dear I haven’t. She probably just needed the day to herself.” She assures you patting your shoulder before she walks out.

You sigh trying to keep your mind off of the woman. To no avail your mind drifts from your lesson plans to the woman even during the middle of class. You were happy to have the older kids, it was easy to put on music and have them work out of their books for the afternoon. Sat on your desk your phone vibrates immediately sending a wave of anxiety through you. Unlocking the phone you read the text from Melissa with a shaky breath. Her nanna was gone.

The end of the day couldn’t come fast enough. When it does you jog to Barbara’s classroom trying to catch her before she goes.

“Oh, y/n, I was just going to call you.”

You sling your bag over your shoulder as you walk in. “Did she tell you?”

“Yes, she told me.” She sighs with a nod. “I can’t expect her to be doing well.”

Mulling Barbara’s words over you realize that Barbara is probably the only person that could get through to her.

“I think you should go check on her. She’ll listen to you.”

Barbara gives you a soft smile reaching out to squeeze your shoulder. “Who did she let take her to the hospital, babygirl? She didn’t ask me.”

That’s when it hits you. Barb is absolutely right. Whatever you had with Melissa, you would have to make the first move. Right now, you know you need to go take care of her.

“I’ll send you a text later, let you know what’s going on.” You offer playing with the ring of your keys.

“Good luck, honey.”

A little while later you get to Melissa’s with a pizza and a hoodie of yours that she loved to borrow. Parking in the driveway you get out and use the spare key that’s hidden behind the mailbox because “rock keys are too obvious, y/n”

Unlocking the front door all the lights are off and the curtains are closed. Setting everything down on the counter you head upstairs. “Mel, it’s just me. I’m coming up.”

In the hall you go to her bedroom, hand on the doorknob you find it locked. “Mel?” you call out, anxiety hitting you. “Mel, I’m not against kicking the door down.”

You hear a watery laugh from the other side of the door as it opens. There Melissa stands, in flannel bottoms and an old Abbott tshirt. “Thank god, I didn’t wanna scuff my new shoes.” You joke holding your arms open for her.

She steps forward curling herself into you letting out a sigh. “I fell asleep going through pictures.”

You hum twirling the end of her hair with your fingers. “You needed to sleep. I brought your favorite pizza and I’m yours all weekend. Whatever you need.”

Melissa lets out a bubble of laughter holding onto you enjoying the warmth and comfort you offer. She didn’t have the nerve to tell you how she felt, but she figured her actions were enough for now.

“All mine huh?” She hums against you before she lifts her head meeting your eyes. You give her a soft smile noticing the freckles across her nose, how they’re more noticeable when her cheeks are flushed. Lifting your hand you gently wipe the dried tear stains from her cheeks lingering against her skin.

“Let’s get you some food and put in a cheesy movie.”

Melissa keeps her arm around you as you go downstairs, feeling a bit of life again with you around.

“Thanks for taking care of me, hon.” She lets out in a hoarse voice.

Smiling you wrap your arm around her shoulder with a squeeze.

“I’ll always take care of you, Mel.”

#abbott elementary #lisa ann walter #wlw #melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #lgbtq+