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tobeholyistobeempty · 3 months ago

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‘SO YOU CAN LISTEN….GOOD.’ | simon ghost riley

📊 result of my poll found here.

WARNINGS - 18+ smut mdni, (amt) engineer!reader, asshole!ghost but with motives, slightly stalkerish!ghost, ghost is a cocky bastard but reader is too, so much verbal sparring, enough tension to choke on, reader afab, ghost is a munch and has a unique way of saying sorry, oral f!receiving, religious undertones, fingering, enemies to something worse then enemies, dubcon bc consent verbally unstated, so much dirty talk it hurts, canon warped a bit.

A/N - this ended up being so much longer than i intended but dear god it needed that build up. ghost makes a real wild first impression. 12k.

Today was just another day. Just another day.

At least, that's what you kept telling yourself as you grabbed your data pad from the terminal and made your way toward the front of the hangar — pulse thrumming, blood pressure undoubtedly a tad higher than usual. Perhaps today was just another day, but to say that it didn't hold slightly more merit than yesterday would be a fucking lie.

Today marks the date of your six month performance evaluation. Today is the day you finally find out if you nab that promotion or not.

And maybe you’re overthinking, maybe you’re nervous for no reason. Did this promotion make or break your career? Would not getting promoted singlehandedly destroy everything you've achieved and accomplished over the last however many years? No.

But it would definitely feel like a real kick in the ass given everything that you've done for this place since you got here.

The day you first got that damned data-pad, you should have known this job would be a complete shitshow. Still, you pulled up yourself up by your bootstraps and did your duties just like every other day — and that day like all the previous ones since you graduated. You’d been all over the world at this point, as an AMT you go wherever you’re needed and usually remain however long you’re needed for. But this transfer — to an unnamed, unmarked base in the middle of goddamn no where — is different then anything you’d ever done before.

The hours are different, the people are different, the pay is different. It was unexpected, but when their last head AMT simply vanished without a fucking trace — it seemed as though they scrambled, and took the next best thing they could find (or so you like to tell yourself).

It’s all a little…strange, to say the least.

And of course, there’s been talk about what happened to their last head engineer, speculations, but it seems no one actually knows for certain. It’s one of those things that everyone low rank whispers about, but no one high up with actual informative intel dares to speak on — which only made the chatter worse.

Along with your nerves.

Regardless, you didn’t have a choice, and the first day of your transfer was a baptism by fire — stepping into the aftermath of utter chaos they'd left behind.

Your job isn’t to save lives in the heat of battle, or to clear rooms, or to conduct stealth operations. No, your job is to repair aircrafts torn to hell and back and continue to keep them functional. It’s rather thankless, and often you'd find yourself overworked and under-appreciated — which, granted, goes hand-in-hand with your overall life summary — but the hangar at TF141’s main base was a sight to behold, and not in any positive sense. Neglected and battered machinery lay strewn about, with debris haphazardly scattered in every fucking corner imaginable. By the time you'd reached the actual aircraft's you were almost afraid to look at them — and for good goddamn cause.

TF141 has two main helo’s: MH-6 Little Bird and an AH-6J Little Bird. Upon first inspection of them, you’d almost thought they'd been through a war of their own — hastily patched together with little regard for proper repair. The evidence of prior negligence was glaring, and you were fucking fuming.

You'd expected some clean up, but not that much.

And to top it all off, you were given clear instruction by General Shepherd himself to keep your mouth shut and your head down, do your job and mind your own. On your way out of his office he informed you, surely out of the sheer kindness of his heart, that although he couldn't tell you what exactly happened to their prior head engineer, you could easily suffer the same fate if you weren't careful.

Which was more than enough to shake the very foundation of your so very deeply engraved attitude problem.

No matter how pissed off and irritated you’d been during your start here, you kept your emotions bottled up until you were back inside the privacy of your barracks and could freely let it explode. It's been a little maddening almost, the solace. You'd been here half a year and the only person you've had an actual conversation with outside of the other engineers is 141’s Captain, and that was only when he was looking for a debriefing on your recent repair work.

However, amidst the avoidance and the uneasy silence that you experience on a daily with the others, there seems to always be one fucking exception;

Ghost.

You'd seen photos and heard a lot about him prior to this assignment — the mysterious Lieutenant with a reputation that preceded him as if the Grim Reaper himself were present on earth.

But meeting him, being around him, well that was something fucking else entirely.

He routinely shows up at random hours, never muttering more than a few words to you before pissing off — disappearing into the shadows or taking out one of the birds. It’s always odd. He is odd. And the cryptic comments coupled with his rather bizarre reputation continue to leave you tangled between the dangerous desire to learn everything you can about the man, and the primal instinct to avoid him at all fucking costs.

Though, even if you had the choice, it wouldn't matter.

If and when Ghost decides to present himself to you, it is impossible to prevent it. His approach is as translucent as his namesake. You'd never fucking know he was coming, and if you did, it’s with purpose.

Nevertheless, you couldn't worry about him, or any of the other nonsensical bullshit today. You had other matters on your mind such as ensuring the hangar was in perfect condition for inspection later that evening. Price let you know rather early in advance that a hangar and aircraft inspection are part of your performance review — which clearly means the state of them would determine whether or not you passed.

There would be absolutely no room for error, and no one to complain to when it didn't go your way either. If this inspection failed, it would be the result of your own incompetence — and you were well aware of how that would be perceived. You didn't want to give any reason, any chance to end up like the former Engineer, after all.

So today is about one thing, and one thing alone, proving yourself worthy of that promotion.

With your data pad in hand, you began a quick sweep of the hangar, ensuring the guys hadn't made too much of a mess overnight or early this morning before you arrived. A few things were out of place, but for the most part, everything looked good.

Well, except for one thing — which was currently barrelling toward you at a dangerous fucking speed.

"Bloody fucking hell..."

Your data pad nearly fell from your grasp, your jaw dropping in disbelief as your ears rang — no, damn-near wailed — a deafening roar shattering the silence you'd just found yourself in, accompanied by the shrill whine of metal grinding against metal. You couldn't believe your eyes, your feet absentmindedly carrying you closer to the destroyed helo landing on the far side of the hangar, smoke billowing from its battered frame, obscuring the air with a veil of grey.

And as you got closer, you realized it only got worse — a door was missing, torn from its hinges, and half of the exterior was brutally ripped away. You didn't even realize you were clenching your hands into fists until you felt the glass of your data pad crack beneath your fingers.

"You have got to be fucking kidding me.” You’re all but yelling as you take in the damage. "Today? Today. Of all goddamn days! Bloody ignorant bastards.”

As soon as those words were past your teeth, there’s movement from inside the cabin — heavy laden set steps — two iron slabs clanking against the metal floor, quaking the ground underneath your own feet, too. The air thinned slightly, but you didn't notice, too inebriated off your anger to think of anything other than cursing the hell out of whoever was inside.

You came to a halt in front of the now door-less opening, coming face to face with a pair of rich brown eyes peering down at you.

"Care t’repeat tha’?" A deep, low voice rumbled from under a faded, skull-faced balaclava. You swear the ground trembled as he jumped down. "...I'd like t’make sure I heard y’right."

You’d have to imagine he was grinning under that mask, and it only made your fucking blood boil.

"Ghost, why didn't you tell me-“

He cuts you off mid-sentence with a gesture of his hand.

"I need permission t’take out my own helo now? Huh.” A shake of his head. “Y’should know I was told to test your repairs. Bosses orders, sweet’eart. Take it up with him if you’ve gotta’ problem.”

"You-" your lips part, but words elude you. Due to his admission or the nickname he used, you aren’t entirely sure. "What?"

Ghost blinks, sight sweeping the empty hangar for a fraction of a second before fixing back on you.

"Y’heard me." He steps closer, smoke billowing behind him. "Or d'you need me t'repeat it again?" A pause, twitch of his lips. "I can speak slower, if you’d like.”

What a dick.

You pull your own lips thin, trying to trap the profanity desperately wanting to fly his way. “I think you’ve done enough.”

He just hums.

"Way I see it, y’got two options.” He starts, and you long to tell him to shove his options somewhere the sun don’t shine. “Get pissed off with me, which is futile, since I ain’t the one y’actually got a problem with. Or, y’can get back to work and fix er’ up before Price comes down in an hour. Your choice 'ere."

An hour. A fucking hour? Is he clinically insane? This is easily about three days of work. And that’s if the bloody stars align.

"You’re unbelievable.” Scowl laden, you frown at him, words dripping venom as you shake your pounding head. "How nice of you to give me the option of choosing. I'm overwhelmed with gratitude, truly."

A beat of silence, unreadable eyes flicking over you.

“S’that sarcasm, engineer?” And then, he takes another step closer.

It never gets easier — the way he fills the space, how much bigger he is when he’s this close, broad shoulders cutting the world around you down to just him. He could crush you if he wanted. You’ve never forgotten that.

Your lips part, but before you can get a word out he’s already speaking.

"Y'know," he peers down at you with a slight tilt of his head. "A simple ‘thank you' wouldn't be the end of tha’ world."

You deadpan, biting back the scoff threatening to escape. Thank him? He wants you to thank him — for blowing a helo out of the sky an hour before the biggest inspection of your life? No. He’s not insane. He’s out of his goddamn mind.

“Thank you for what, exactly?” You force the words out, fighting to keep the sarcasm at bay, to sound even remotely genuine.

It doesn’t help that he’s right there, close enough to reach out and touch. You’ve been through enough in your time with the military to handle pressure, but there’s something about him — the bulk of him, the way he commands the space around him, the fact you can never read his facial expressions — that makes it hard to breathe.

Not to mention the tac gear he’s always dressed in. Layered thick like it’s meant for a frozen wasteland instead of the stifling summer heat you’re currently experiencing.

“F’givin’ you a passin’ grade,” he says, like that means a damn thing to you.

This game is getting old.

“What the hell do you think you’re talking about now?” Heat flares beneath your skin, frustration mounting. “If that was a test, then it was a goddamn shitty one. You didn’t fly it. You destroyed it.”

He steps in again, exhaling like you’re the one wasting his time.

“M’giving you an opportunity. Take it or leave it.” You’re ready to bite back, to tell him exactly where he can put his opportunity, but then— “How’re you s’posed to prove y’worth somethin’, when no one thinks you’ve got it in ya?”

For the third time today, he shuts you up. You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. This is, without a doubt, the strangest, most infuriating first interaction you’ve ever had with anyone in your entire life.

“Wow.” That’s all you manage. You knew being one of the only female engineers here would put you at a disadvantage, but this? Blowing up the helo just to test if you can fix it? It’s beyond comprehension. “That’s great, Ghost. Thanks.”

He doesn’t blink—just steps closer again, crowding you until you have to tilt your chin up to keep his gaze.

“Lieutenant.” Flat. Unyielding. But there’s something about the way it drips off his tongue that makes the hairs on your arms stand on end. It’s not a request. It’s a correction. “Say it.”

Oh.

Heat licks up your neck, pooling at the base of your skull, and you’re not sure if it’s from anger or something else entirely. You swallow hard, forcing down the lump wedged in your throat because technically he is still your superior, regardless if he holds power over your job or not.

“Thank you,” you start again, your ego turning purple. “Lieutenant.”

You don’t look, but you feel his head tilt. You’d bet your life he’s smiling.

"So you can listen." Warm air skims your throat, and you’re not sure if it’s coming from him or from the heat of the burning aircraft - but it stings. "...good."

And then, when he realizes you’ve most likely bitten your tongue in half at this point, he takes a step back. You watch him now, eyes like a laser as he turns and heads for the door without another word. And almost immediately after he vanishes out into the hall you take the opportunity to suck in air like you’re starved of it, not realizing how fucking tense you were until he was out of sight.

Leaving you with a burning helo, an hour of time to fix it, and a whole lot of fuckin’ irritation.

“You bastard.” You mutter under your breath, staring at the wreckage before you.

If there was another option, you sure as hell didn’t know it. But no matter how impossible this seemed, failure wasn’t on the table — not after the years you’d put into this, the money, the sleepless nights, the sacrifices. You didn’t crawl your way up through this goddamn system just to crash and burn now.

You needed a miracle.

And for the next two hours in the hangar, chaos was the only thing you knew.

You’ve never worked this fast in your life. The moment you got down to business you started barking orders, pulling maintenance techs and engineers off other projects, shoving tools into hands and sending them where they’re needed. There’s no room for hesitation, no time to second-guess — the aircraft has to be back in the air, and it has to be now.

And within minutes smoke steeped the hangar, sparks bursting like firecrackers from stripped wires. Everyone’s locked in — shouts, curses, the groan of machinery being pushed and pulled back together reverberating. It’s frantic, relentless, like a pack of starving wolves tearing at a fresh carcass, and you’re right there in the thick of it, teeth bared, fighting to hold the whole damn thing together.

But the euphemism falls short, because this wasn’t just a carcass torn open, in need of some stitching. It was worse — much worse.

The helo wasn’t just damaged; it was obliterated. Every inch of it had been shredded to ribbons, from the engine to the exterior frame, internal wiring snapped and twisted beyond recognition. Whatever the fuck that maniac had done, he hadn’t just tested its limits — he’d taken a sledgehammer to it and kept swinging.

You’ve seen aircraft’s in bad shape before, but nothing like this. It was a wreck, a heap of smoldering metal and sparking circuits, and somehow, you’re supposed to pull it back from the dead. But there’s no time to dwell on the impossibility of it — not when you’re hauling replacement parts back and forth, hands slick with oil and sweat, not when you’re welding and soldering with the kind of precision that would make your professors weep, not when the only thing keeping you moving is sheer goddamn will.

And then, after what feels like hours, you hear it—footsteps.

Slow, deliberate, the kind that don’t belong to someone who helps—but someone who watches.

“My, my.” You recognize the voice instantly—Captain Price. “What in the bloody hell happened here?”

You practically fling yourself to your feet, dragging a sleeve across your forehead, smearing grime over skin already slick with sweat. You almost groan in exasperation, but you swallow it down, clenching your jaw, praying to whatever god might be listening for the strength to not say something about Ghost that’ll get you court-martialed.

“Sir,” you greet him with a respectful nod. “I was informed, rather late mind you, that there was a scheduled test flight.”

A beat.

“Test flight,” Price repeats, brow lifting with something you can’t quite name. “Right. Test flight.”

A sharp bark of laughter leaves him, short and humourless, shaking his head as his eyes rake over the half-patched wreckage sprawled before him.

“And this,” he turns back to you. “This is the damage from that test flight?”

You hesitate—just for a fraction of a second—before nodding, breath held tight in your chest. It’s useless, really. You both know there’s no universe where a few minutes in the air could inflict this level of destruction. Price might’ve ordered Ghost to take the bird up, to test your work a little more personally—but there’s no way in hell he told him to annihilate the goddamn thing.

You’d bet your entire career the bastard did not have permission to go this far.

“Fucken’ typical,” Price mutters, pulling off his cap as he begins pacing around the bird, taking in the carnage from every angle. “Damn near destroyed the thing.”

That’ll be your fault, you think grimly. You’re the one who gave him the fucking order, after all.

But you keep your mouth shut, trailing behind him as he circles the wreckage, eyes sweeping over the mess of half-patched repairs. When he stops short, turning on his heel so fast you almost stumble back, you know what’s coming before he even speaks.

“How long’s this gonna’ take to fix?”

You inhale sharply, trying to steady yourself. Swallow, but your throat stays dry. It’s not hesitation—it’s knowing the answer is one he won’t like. You don’t even like it. Because with the kind of damage Ghost inflicted, there’s no way in hell you’ll have it ready for any type of inspection today.

“For proper repairs and testing?” You exhale, shaking your head. “Days. At least two, sir.”

You brace yourself for impact—for the reprimand, the frustration, the inevitable do better speech. But it doesn’t come. He only sighs, nodding once before readjusting his cap.

“Two days, then.” He’s already walking away, halfway to the hangar doors when he glances back over his shoulder. “Performance review postponed.”

Those last three words make your stomach churn, and then Price is gone.

“Goddamn it. Asshole.”

The curse leaves you sharper than intended, loud enough to carry across the hangar. You don’t care. How could you? The moment you’ve bled for—postponed—because one insufferable bastard decided to make a spectacle of himself. You want to scream, to hurl every goddamn tool in reach straight at his smug, masked face.

Instead, you inhale deeply, exhaling through gritted teeth before turning to the crew.

“Call it a night, guys. I appreciate the help.”

A few nod, murmuring about leaving their assignments to meet early and help with the rest of the repairs, but their voices barely register. You’re exhausted, and you need a fucking shower — so you just mutter some type of agreement and head for the door. You walk the path back to housing, hardly even noticing that it’s nightfall now. Price must have come later than planned, though you really have no idea the hour because in all honesty you weren’t keep track of time. Either way, your boots hit the threshold of the barracks before you even realize you’d made it inside, your full focus on forcing your mind to keep busy.

You head straight for the showers, not bothering to grab fresh clothes. If you stop now, you might start thinking again — about the disaster of a day, about him, about the sheer fucking audacity — and that’s the last thing you need.

You tear off your disgusting uniform in seconds. The water is scalding, but you don’t flinch. If anything, you lean into it, letting the heat work its way into your bones, washing away the sweat, the grease, the tension coiled tight in your shoulders. You brace a hand against the tiled wall, exhaling sharply.

Fucking Ghost.

Your mind takes over now that you lack distraction, and the name alone is enough to set your teeth on edge. He didn’t just make your job harder—he deliberately threw you into the fire, watched you scramble, tested you like you were some new recruit fresh out of training. And the worst part? He got exactly what he wanted.

You hate that you rose to the challenge. That you had to. You just can’t figure out why. Why he did it — where his motives are.

Steam curls around you as you drop your head, water hammering against your spine, drowning out everything else. Your breaths come heavy, dragging in and out of your chest like you’ve just run a goddamn marathon, so busy in your thoughts that you don’t notice the shift in the air, the faint tremor in the ground beneath you.

You don’t hear the footsteps until they’re too close to ignore, breaking through your sorrows, coming to a halt just beyond the dividing wall. For a long, heavy moment, there’s nothing. Just the steady rush of water, the sound of your own breathing.

Then—

“Y’done sulkin’ yet?”

Fucking hell.

You snap to attention, the sound of that voice like a gut punch. Verbal inflection so intense that only after a few conversations (if you can even call them that) you know you’d recognize it in your sleep, and it takes all of your willpower not to react with more than just the involuntary stiffening in your muscles.

You blink the water out of your eyes, trying to center yourself.

“Do you make a hobby out of sneaking in on people while they shower?” You ask, forcing your voice to stay light, to not betray the rush of heat in your chest. You should’ve seen this coming. Should’ve known this wasn’t the end of the goddamn shitshow. “Or am I just that special?”

"Didn’t know I had t’make an appointment for a communal shower.”

God, that does something to you, and you hate that it does. He’s taking your attitude and he’s feeding it right back to you — and the taste of your own medicine has never been so bitter.

Then, you hear his boots against the floor again, his voice accompanying. “Seems there’s alot I don’ know about ya.”

And again. It’s that tone. The way it drags, measured, like he’s thinking out loud. Like he’s taking you apart in his mind piece by piece. Trying to figure you out.

And you—stupidly, impulsively—throw it back at him.

“I’d say we’re even, then.”

It slips out before you can stop it, and you know it’s a mistake the second the words settle. Because he stops moving. The air tightens. A beat stretches long between you. You take the opportunity to reach for your towel, turn off the water, anything to not feel so vulnerable — but it doesn’t help. Not when you’re suddenly so acutely aware of how close he is. How little space separates you.

How very little there is between you at all.

You swallow, forcing steel into your voice. “I don’t even know your name.”

Then, the softest sound — amusement, maybe.

“Not sure y’need to.”

You exhale sharply through your nose, pulling the towel tight around your torso. Of course.

“Not sure I want to.” You mutter, more to yourself than anything.

But he catches it anyway.

You hear the shift of his stance, another hum of amusement. “Coulda’ fooled me.”

And that does it.

You know you’re walking straight into the trap he’s setting, but you don’t care anymore. Your patience is gone, worn to the bone, and you won’t be able to sleep tonight if you don’t get to glare him right in the eyes and tell him to fuck off.

“Cut the shit, Ghost.” The stall door slams open as you shove it wide, padding forward until your bare feet nearly touch his boots. “Why the hell are you even here?”

You don’t expect to hit a brick wall, but that’s exactly what it feels like. He’s missing a layer of tac gear now, hands stuffed into the pockets of his cargos, shoulder propped against the support beam like he’s been here all night. His gaze flicks over your face, your neck, the way water drips from your skin.

You fight not to pull your towel tighter.

“Cap’s orders.” He states, voice easy, right as rain. “Told me t’make amends.”

He has to be kidding.

“Make amends.” You repeat the words flatly, tasting them, turning them over in your mind like they might somehow make more sense on the second pass. “He told you to make amends.”

They don’t.

And when he nods — you huff a laugh, humourless.

“Right. And you thought the best way to do that was to sneak into the showers and stand there like a fucking serial killer?”

“Didn’t sneak,” he says simply. “Walked in same as you.”

You blink. You have this sick feeling he’s enjoying this. Enjoying every reaction you’re giving.

“Yet your intent is not the same as mine.”

He looks at the door, then back to you. “Ain’t it?”

You inhale sharply through your nose, hands tightening around the towel at your chest. You know better than to engage with this — than to let him push and prod and get under your skin. But it’s too late. He’s already there, and you’re too goddamn tired to claw him back out.

“Look,” you sigh, shifting your weight, fighting not to admire the bulk of his chest at your eye level. “Whatever Price told you to do, consider it done. Apology accepted. Now get the fuck out so I can forget this conversation ever happened.”

A long beat. You don’t know what kind of response you expect, but the way he just stands there considering you is somehow worse than all the possible outcomes you’d imagined.

Then, finally—finally—he moves. But not to leave.

Instead, he pushes off the beam, straightening to full height and moves closer. Not much, just enough to make you feel it — the shift in the air — the heat radiating off him.

“Y’sure about that?” His voice is quieter now, head tilting down toward yours. “Seem a little too wound for someone who’s ready t’forget about it.”

A huff. “And you seem a little too invested for someone who’s just here on orders.”

It's stupid. It's really goddamn stupid how he's able to do this, to turn your words into a rope he can use to drag you around the way he wants. You know that. But still, you’re useless in stopping the way your stomach keens as he leans closer.

"Y’gonna deny you’re still pissed at me?” He whispers.

You shake your head. “Never said I wasn’t still pissed.”

"Mhm." He nods along with it. "But pissed don't fully describe it, does it?”

"It’s an improvement from murderous,” you retort, as pointedly as you can muster. “Count your blessings.”

Another hum, eyes dragging slow over your face, like he’s searching for something. Or maybe just savouring it — the way you bristle under his scrutiny — the way your fingers twitch where they clutch at your towel.

“M’grateful for y’kindness. Truly.” It takes you a second to register it—the cadence, the words, the mockery. He’s parroting you. Throwing your own attitude from earlier back in your face. “But y’know, yeah? I only did what I did ‘cause I knew y’could handle it.”

You go still, pulse hammering in your throat.

Bullshit. Bullshit.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Ghost.” Your voice wavers, choked by realization that everything he does has motive. “And definitely don’t flatter me. Not now.”

A slow exhale, warm against your chilled skin, hooded eyes flicking to your ear like he’s considering something.

“S’not flattery. Just truth.”

And then— closer. Close enough that the breath between you is thin, almost nonexistent.

“M’not a good man, sweet’eart. M’a filthy, vile thing. But you—” a pause. He breathes in, your hair shifting with the exhale. “Mm. Y’good. Clean. I knew y’could take it. Needed Price t’know it too.”

Well, fuck.

Your head is spinning now, but even through the vertigo you realize your second mistake. You know it’s a mistake the moment it happens — rather, the moment before it happens — but when your head shifts, just enough that your ear brushes against fabric of his mask; you realize it’s the type of mistake you can’t come back from.

And so, you breathe him in. It’s reckless. It’s ruinous. It’s completely unavoidable.

“My gut is telling me you’re patronizing me.” You whisper; something softer, something you shouldn’t allow. A pause. Your lashes flutter. “But god, I can’t figure you out.”

And again, you don’t know what reaction you expect from him. Maybe you don’t expect one at all. It’s been an exceptionally odd 24 hours, so you’re certain nothing can surprise you at this point. But what you definitely don’t count on is the continued brush of his mask against your cheek, or the way your toes long to curl against the damp floor—

"Y’not suppose to." His voice is so deep you feel it in your bones. “S’don’t try too hard.”

You don’t know what to say to that, but you do know you should step back. You need to step back.

But you don’t.

You stay right there, still as the air between you, every nerve suffocated by the viscosity stretching between his words and yours. The scent of him—gunmetal, something dark and earthen—settles in your lungs like smoke; curling, clinging, refusing to leave.

And so, you breathe him in for the second time. A dangerous temptation. “You came here to make amends, didn’t you?”

The words leave you quieter than you mean them to, tinged in something close to breathlessness — something you wish to god you didn’t hear. Something you hope to god he didn’t hear.

Because atleast now, you can say you know how he is — how he listens, how he picks the quirks out of you and files them away for later — how he knows what to do with the things he finds in people, how to use them like leverage.

And you should be immune to it.

You’ve spent your entire career training for moments like these. All the military training you went through, tactical and aerospace alike. You’ve been thrown into war zones, fixed and pulled aircraft’s out of burning fields, run repairs under enemy fire with nothing but your hands and your own goddamn heartbeat when the situation called for it.

You know what fear looks like. You know what death smells like. You know what it means to be hunted.

And yet—this? You never saw this coming.

Never saw him coming.

“Y’want an apology?” He mutters, and you can hear the smirk in it. “Y’want m’to say I’m sorry?”

“That’d be a good start.”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t move. Just watches you, the smirk in his voice lingering, curling at the edges of the silence between you.

Then, he hums. “How ’bout I do y’one better?”

You barely have time to process the shift before you feel it—his hand—rough, calloused palm grazing slow along the towel covering your hip.

“Let m’spell it out f’you. Nice n’ slow,” he murmurs, fingers tracing lower with just enough pressure to make your breath hitch. “Get y’feelin’ just how much I mean it.”

For a moment, you forget everything.

All the reasons, all the lines. The ones he's crossing — or maybe the ones you're erasing with every second you let his massive paw of a hand touch you. God — you aren't supposed to want this. You don’t know even know him. Don’t know his name, what his face looks like. You don’t know anything about him except that he’s dangerous, and that he’s made you fucking ache.

You exhale — when the moment passes and you remember where you are — a long, almost shaky breath, and it doesn't escape you the way he notices. Watches you through those thick lashes, like he's enjoying the reaction he's been working so hard for.

You wish you could hate him for it.

“Make me feel it then,” you whisper, all pathetic and trembling and borderline wanton as his fingers find the end of your towel, and brush against goosebumped flesh. “Lieutenant.”

And for a moment, you think you’ve made your third mistake of the evening. His title slips out like a curse — and something in your chest roars with how much you mean it.

He's so goddamn cocky. So sure of himself and you hate that you're the one he's so sure of. But when you call him by his rank — when you push that sarcastic mouth of yours just a little bit further, you can feel his reaction instantaneously by the way he stalls — eyes glinting in the low light.

"She wants t’bring rank into this now, yeah?” And when you don’t reply fast enough, he replies for you. “Get in the stall, engineer.”

There's a thousand reasons this is a bad idea. A million reasons you should be saying no right now. But when he looks at you like that, with those eyes like fire locked on yours and practically daring you to refuse him — he has to know he’s not going to get it.

His hand comes up, cupping your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek. “Now.”

And that, is your fourth mistake of the night.

You turn, padding back into the stall you’d showered in only moments before — tiles still beading with diamond droplets, gleaming up at you as you step inside. You turn as he follows you in, crowding you against the wall, broad shoulders taking up all the width in the already cramped space as he shuts the door behind him.

And then, he’s on you.

It's so abrupt and so visceral that it takes your breath away entirely. Your hands go up automatically to catch his chest, steadying yourself when he slots his knee between your legs, pinning you against the wall. Your towel is barely clinging around you, and it’s a shocker it still is — but you forget about it when he starts dipping his head down.

"Feels good, don’t it? Bein’ told what t'do?” He murmurs, fabric covered lips grazing the shell of your ear. "M'bettin’ y’don’t experience this much anymore. Tha’s why you’re melting for it.”

And god, the fact that he’s right. He shouldn’t be, but he is.

Somewhere between your rank and your title and your pride, you’ve forgotten the last time you had someone looking at you like this. There’s a part of you that wants to fight it, to bite and scratch and insist that you're nothing like he's saying — but then a hand slips up around your throat, and the other down between the space separating your bodies, thick fingers catching the end of your towel — and your eyes flutter.

“M’not hearing any apologies.” You manage to mutter, just before those same thick digits find your inner thigh, working up higher.

You're deflecting. The both of you know it. The same pride that drove you to where you are is the same pride that drove him where he is. You think he’s going to call you on it, but then you realize he won’t. Not when the hand at your throat tightens just barely, not when his voice drips into your ear.

"Y’gonna feel em’ soon.”

And then, you do.

You feel the grazing of calloused flesh against sensitive, damn-near celibate flesh. There’s another sound. A low, wanton, filthy moan, and you’re about 94% sure it came from you as beastly fingers slide along your slick slit, exposing the extent of your need to his ego in its entirety — once, twice, curling toward your sopping entrance before you feel the thunder of his hum.

Mocking. "Christ. S’like m’workin’ a faucet, yeah?"

His lips are on your neck now, mouthing slow and deliberate along your jaw even while covered by fabric — and the whimper that slips out is pathetic, even to your own ears.

"Wha’s that?” He all but growls. "C'mon, use y'words f’me. Or d’you only know how t’spit insults?“

You do know how to use your words, actually — and they're usually good ones. You've got a sharp tongue, a mouth just as foul as your temper. So you don't know what to do when every curse, every name, every string of insults you keep in stock gets caught in your throat. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything but try not to gasp when his fingers slide up to your clit and swirl.

"Fucking hell." Your jaw goes slack under the hand that holds it. "You—really are vile—“

This whole goddamn thing is vile. The way he can ruin you like this — make you quiver like this — in moments without so much as a name or face to attach the memory of it to.

If he's vile, you know you're not much better.

"Yeah. Tha’s right. I know you’re feelin’ it." He murmurs, fingers circling your clit firmer, faster. "Look how y’squirmin’ for it.”

You have half a mind to spit in his face for that. You have half a mind to tell him to go to hell. You have a million other things you should be doing right now other than clawing at his chest just to stay upright as he brings you to the brink of ruin.

"T-there you go again—mmf—“ your words are so breathless it’s pathetic. “Flattering yourself.”

It’s a futile attempt at a rebuttal, a stupid one because you already know the response he’s going to have to it. Pathetic. You are squirming, and you want to hate him for it, so you do. Your nails bite into his chest, dragging, raking slow and hard as if you could tear through the fabric covering it. You know you wouldn’t. Couldn't. But it's still good enough for him to grunt, hand around your throat tightening just enough to make you gasp in response.

"S’not flattery. Just truth.” He parrots himself again from earlier, and you think you’re on the verge of losing your mind because you know him well enough now have to predicted it. “Y’fuckin need this, don’ you?”

It's not a question. He doesn't need you to answer, because you both know how it ends anyway. But god damn him and his words. Because his filthy mouth is the second most dangerous thing to ever happen to you — right behind his fingers. You need to reply. Need to answer. He's going to force a reaction from you one way or another.

But he doesn’t give you the luxury of even trying.

His fingers still with a suddenness that makes you cry out in frustration — silver platter feeding him exactly what he was fucking looking for.

"Mhm. S’what I thought." He murmurs, hand sliding from around your throat to the back of your head. “M’guessing it’s been years. Least’ a couple.”

And it’s then, that you get it.

You get why this man is feared. You get why he’s so fucking dangerous. He’s worse than the name you know him by — because you’re certain even ghosts aren’t this knowing. This brutal. This consuming.

And through the haze in your head, you try to think back to the day you first met him. There had to have been dark signs — omens in your skies — a warning.

Yet, you can’t think of one.

“F-fuck you.” You spit it at him, because it’s apparently all your mouth is good for. “Stroke your ego any harder and it might just fucking cum before I do.”

He laughs, and then you feel it. The grip tightening in your hair, the palm slapping at your inner thigh to work your legs wider.

“Judging by tha’ mouth, y’never been fucked right either.” He mutters, fingers slipping up the slick coating your thighs. “S’alright. M’here to apologize, yeah? I’ll pay m’penance.”

Bullshit.

He’s not going to apologize by any means — if the last however many minutes aren’t proof enough of that. This is punishment in its worst form, and even that’s not enough. If you want him to make it up to you, you’re going to have to take it.

"Get on your fucking knees, then.” You’re so unbelievably wired that you hardly even realize what you’d said. You hardly even realize when you continue. “And use that mouth for something other than self elation.”

If you thought this was dangerous before - you’re not sure what the fuck this is now.

If someone had asked you an hour ago if you'd ever considered you have a death wish of this caliber, you’d have laughed. If someone had asked you if you were capable of saying half the things you’re saying right now, you’d have laughed even harder. But the fact that they’re leaving your lips - your lips that are now trembling with the realization that you just ordered one of the most dangerous men in the world to kneel — is enough to make you dizzy.

But then, he does it.

He sinks to those knees, cargos sponging the cold showered tiles as he does.

And you don’t think— not really — not for a moment.

Because if you did, you might have wondered if your pride and your dignity are even worth the way he’s looking at you right now — like he wants to eat you alive. You might have wondered if you were dreaming, if this was even physically fucking possible — the nameless, faceless man who has scared people shitless with just his reputation, kneeling between your fucking feet.

“Fuck.” It slips out in an exhale, and you don’t even hear it.

He does, though.

And in response, he holds your eyes while pulling at the edge of his balaclava. Just enough to uncover his jaw and lips — thick, pillow-full lips cocked into the type of grin you’d have expected, but steals the remainder of your breath regardless.

“M’gonna’ spell it out f’you. Nice n’ slow.” He rasps, pulling one of your thighs over his shoulder. “M’sorry.”

Oh, how you wish he meant that.

Because he isn’t. He isn’t the least bit apologetic when he pushes your back against the tiled walls with a heavy palm against your pelvis — he isn’t the least bit remorseful when he’s dragging his teeth along your inner thigh, nipping and lapping — and he’s certainly not the least bit sorry as he brings that filthy fucking mouth of his to your slit, and starts to devour you like he’s starved.

And this, you know is sin.

You know this, because you’ve never felt a mouth on you until now that made you think of god. You’ve never felt fingers dig into flesh with enough force to bruise the way his do — never felt anything that could make you forget who you are and where you are and everything in between.

It has to be sin, because no one could do this without an explicit knowledge of what sin tastes like.

There’s no other explanation for the way he can make you keen, arch and moan like this. No other excuse for the way you quiver as he curls his tongue and strokes you until you’re seeing white, just to suck on your clit with a ferocity that makes your stomach tighten and your hands shoot up to cover your own mouth.

“Feel it.” He husks against you, and the sound and sensation make your hips buck forward in response. “Relax an’ feel it.”

It’s not a request — it’s a demand. And you don’t think to defy him when he pulls your hands away, pushes you back, and buries his whole face against your pussy again like he’ll die if he doesn’t. You’re so dizzy you can’t even keep your eyes open. You can only hear your breath coming out in stilted moans and little cries of his namesake — the namesake that you realize the irony of rather briefly, but forget when your brain flatlines all over again.

Because he groans against your clit like you’re the best goddamn meal he’s ever had, and suddenly, you get how easy it is to fall. Fall into the rhythm — your hips moving in sync with the strokes of his tongue, your thighs closing around his skull. You want to scream. You almost want to cry. Your voice breaks with every sound you make, and you know your heart is only a few beats away from beating out of your chest by the way he grips your hips, pulling your cunt to his head before bringing a finger to your sopping entrance.

"Gonna’ stretch y’out a bit.” He rasps, and you aren’t sure if he’s saying it to warn you or to remind himself. “Breathe.”

You try, but then, it doesn’t matter. Because it’s happening — that thick finger pushes inside you, curling against your walls until you’re gasping and covering your mouth all over again.

And god, you aren’t going to be able to look at his skull mask the same way again. Not when you watch it’s shape shifting just slightly as he works his jaw, suckling against your clit with a hunger you can only describe as feral, eyes half-lidded as they lock with your own. You’re certain nothing in the world could have prepared you for this. It's a goddamn match to a bomb as he starts to work another finger into you, curling them in time with his tongue in a way you don’t think you’d have been able to come up with if you’d had a lifetime to consider it. You can feel that tension building — a tight coil of heat and pressure building low in your core.

Then, you feel his fingers inside you doing something odd. Something—

Oh, fuck.

You feel it before you can comprehend it — before you know he’s tracing the first letter, the shape of it hitting in just the right place that it makes your hips buck in response.

Oh. Oh god.

You can feel him hum against you, like he’s savouring it — the way you’re clenching around his fingers as you realize what he’s doing. It takes everything in you not to scream, eyes squeezed shut and hand over your mouth — head back against the wall as you imagine the look in his eyes, how goddamn wicked it must be while he spells out the rest of his apology inside you.

O. Then, R. Then another. Then, Y.

“G-ghost—“ you know he must be able to tell you're almost gone, because when he hits the last R and your breath catches, his name a whoreish moan you try to smother against the back of your hand — he growls in satisfaction. It’s too much. You can't breathe because your climax is right fucking there, and you can’t stop it for a second longer. “G-ghost—m’gonna—ohgod—“

With a suddenness that makes stars burst across the backs of your eyes, he brings his free hand up, stuffing two fingers into your mouth to smother the sound and feel of his name as you cry it. He strokes you through it, pumping you with his fingers as your vision blurs into some indiscernible haze — a kaleidoscope of light and pleasure and everything you know you should never allow yourself to have.

And then, when you finally catch the breath it took to even say his name, he pulls away. Fingers slipping from your mouth and your pussy like a goddamn magician.

A ghost.

Then, he stands up, and you watch him wipe his mouth with the back of his hand like you’re all the goddamn nourishment he needs before he’s helping you get stable on your feet.

“M’sure y’feel it now.” He murmurs, lips so close to yours you can taste yourself on his breath. "M’a man of m’word, sweet’eart. Always make good on m’promises.”

You’re sure he can see it, the realization in your eyes when you come back down to earth long enough to remember what just happened. Remember that you weren't supposed to let it happen in the first place. That you were supposed to have better control over yourself — and you can guess he knows, by the way he’s looking at you like he knows exactly what you're thinking.

"Guess I made m’point, yeah?"

He tugs his balaclava back in place, and you exhale.

“Yeah, you made your point.” He hums at that, and you tug your towel tighter. “But this—this can’t happen again.”

It takes him a beat to respond, and when he does, it’s simple.

"Of course.”

You don’t know why, but that response makes your chest tighten in a way it has no business doing. It would have been so much easier if he’d given you a smart ass smirk, or a biting response. It would be so much easier if he told you that you didn’t have a choice in the matter, but he doesn’t.

And so, you step closer to him, tilting your head back to keep his eyes.

“I mean it, Ghost.” You whisper. “I’ll take a pound of your flesh before I allow you to fuck with my paystub ever again.”

You thought, at this point, you’d have figured out some type of gauge on his reactions. But still, he proves you haven’t. You don't expect the hand coming up, cupping your jaw to hold you in place as his eyes drop to your lips. You don't expect him to lean in, and bring his own to your ear — and you definitely don’t expect the words that fill it.

“There’s a few things I wanna’ fuck. Y’paystub ain’t one.” He pauses, and you’re certain it’s because he’s enjoying the drumbeat that is now your heart rate. You’d just found your breath and he singlehandedly stole it again. “I’ll be watchin’ f’your enemies. T’let em’ know they contend with me.”

You think you get it then. The reason everyone looks at him the way they do. The reason they're so terrified of him in one second, and willing to take a bullet for him during the next. It's not even because he's trained to be a killing machine. Not because he can see what you're thinking before you even realize you are. Not because he'd walk through fire just to be close to hell.

It's because he's a man of his word, and even you understand the gravity of that kind of loyalty.

You exhale with a nod, and then he’s gone.

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feeder86 · 21 days ago

Text

Poster Boy

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Callum swallowed hard.

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

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

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

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

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

“Fetish?” Callum asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Are you embarrassed of me?” Callum asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#gainerstory #gayfeeder #gayfeedee #gainerfic #gainerstories #gainer fic #gainer story #gainer fiction #gainer stories #gay feedee

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idolomantises · 11 months ago

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Wasn't sure when it would be the best time to discuss this, but since the ending is drawing near... yes, Bugtopia is ending.

It was a decision I really wrestled with myself for months over it, before finally concluding that letting it end after 40 episodes was the better option. Just to be clear, webtoons did not force me to end the series. They even offered to give me a pay raise to continue the series. It was my decision due to a multitude of personal factors. I'll just repeat what I said on my patreon:

I just want to say, first of all, thank you all so much for patiently waiting for my series to release and for supporting my work as I began developing the series. Bugtopia was a series I genuinely loved and adored and it made me feel so incredibly happy that people were turning their heads towards a series about weird bugs and their natural lives.

However, as you can probably guess, it pains me to say that I am concluding the series after season 1. I had 4 seasons planned with new characters to introduce, but unfortunately, I cannot see myself continuing to work with Webtoons and I want to pursue other projects.

This decision was due to a compiling number of issues with the company, the final straw was when they had a mass layoff, fired my editor that I've been working with for two years, and did not inform me for a week, leaving me in the dark until they randomly assigned me with someone else. My new editor is great and I'm glad I'm working with someone so patient and understanding, but this decision to fire my previous editor, the one who got me the job to begin with, without prior warning made me feel disrespected and disregarded, and it killed all motivation I had for properly completing the series.

I also felt incredibly overworked, I was spending vacation days working on comics and avoiding time with family just so I could get something done for webtoons once I come home. I feel like so much time was being wasted away for a company that paid me so little that I had to work twice as hard building up funds on my patreon. Bugtopia just ate up so much of my time. The pay also didn't make up for it. It's commonly assumed that webtoons authors make about $800 for the episodes they do, but that's not true. In fact, you can make far less depending on the amount of panels expected for your contract. It doesn't help that the artwork i did for banners and promotions were all things I had to draw and didn't get paid for, and the work I gave was either tampered with or scrapped, making me feel like I spent more hours of my day wasting time. There were also comics I had to censor and scrap, likely due to another series being in hot water for its racially insensitive content. But it was just extra work I wasn't being paid for. It also frustrated me because I was seeing other series with far more explicit content getting away with a slap on the wrist (turns out you can't say "fuck" anymore without it being hit with a mature rating, disappointing!)

In all honesty, it just felt like webtoons needed me more than I needed them. I was making more money from patreon in a week than I was making from webtoons in a month.

Personally, while I don't really regret my time with Webtoons and met some great people along the way, I honestly don't think any artist should work with them. You will be severely overworked and underpaid, and will barely be featured in ads unless your series becomes an instant hit immediately. It doesn't really matter how successful you are, you're just a product to Webtoons, put yourself above the corporation.

I have tried my best to provide you all with a satisfying conclusion to Bugtopia, even if some episodes may feel rushed or incomplete, but I completely understand if the conclusion isn't to your liking and I do apologize, but I could not continue working on this series if this was the mistreatment I was going to continuously get. I owe a massive thank you to my editor and assistants for helping me complete the series, I truly don't think I could have ever finished it without them.

Though I am done with Bugtopia, that does not mean I want to stop projects entirely, so please don't feel bad for me. I have a lot of upcoming projects and ideas in the works, and I'm still continuing the Monsters and Girls series.

Will Bugtopia ever return... possibly. I retain complete ownership of the series after a few years, and I wouldn't mind continuing the canvas series (or possibly starting over). Unfortunately I don't think I can continue the Webtoon Original as it belongs to webtoons now, but never say never I suppose!

#txt #bugtopia #sorry for the very long post but i wanted to be thorough

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facts-i-just-made-up · 2 months ago

Text

------- BREAKING NEWS! -------

TRUMP DETAINED AT VATICAN

4-26-25 by FIJMU Vatican consultant Matt Ikansaltent

The world stands in shock today as the President of the United States was detained in Vatican City for throwing a tantrum when he was not allowed to promote his new crypto-currency during the Pope's funeral.

The Swiss Guard had been monitoring President Trump's entourage as there had been complains of casual vocalized blasphemy when he was inconvenienced, and written blasphemy when he left no tip for the Vatican Funerary Seating Usher except for a sticky-note on which was written, "u took longer to return than friggin jesus, no tip 4 u."

But the last straw came when Head Poet of Catholicism Al Dantigheri was to deliver a poem about Pope Francis, but Trump took the microphone without permission and began to ramble about "Crooked Hillary" and his new Crypto coin, which he falsely implied had the deceased Pope's endorsement.

The guard detained Trump, who was confused that the Vatican was its own country and not in fact a single church he had believed was in Utah. The detention of a sitting precedent has no president in American or Vatican history, president, president has no prese- This shit has never happened before and it may cause an international incident, with Defense Secretary Pete Hegseth stating in an Instagram story meant for his "close friends list" that the military stood by with over 800 nuclear missiles aimed at the Vatican. He does not seem to be aware that the entire Vatican including Trump himself would be vaporized by even a single one.

The Vatican has promised eternal retribution should there be any attack or attempt to free the President, but that it would come in the afterlife and if Trump or Hegseth should repent, they would still get to go to heaven and enjoy the company of Pope Francis, Jesus, and God himself, if they should pay for a personal dinner with him.

More on this story as it develops.

#trump #pope francis #vatican #SATIRE #unreality

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der7py · 1 year ago

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Yandere Ceo x reader

Damien Sanchez. Easily one of the world'overs biggest ceo owners ever, owning nearly over 50 companies, and being married over 42 different times since he was 18. It was no shocker. He was incredibly crude and stuck up to all of his employees. But he's more soft towards you, little butterfly.

Warnings: Mature language, age gap, implied murder, work abuse, unfair amount of power in the work field, degradation, Slight babying if you squint, unfair treatment, favoritism

Working for the Damien Sanchez was definitely an opportunity you didn't want to pass! Even if all former and current employees were strongly advising against it.

You worked as a receptionist in one of his companies on the first floor. Apparently, each floor was something completely different than the last! But it was advised in the rules you mind your own business on your own floor.

You barely ever saw the boss. But it was fine! You made bank as a receptionist, so running into the boss wasn't really any of your concern. He probably wasn't even that bad!

That was until you heard a strong voice yelling at another employee from the 5th floor.

Apparently, his coffee wasn't brewed right, and that warranted him firing the employee on the spot. Soon, the elevator made a ding, and the big man himself stomped right over to you. You could've sworn all of the employees scattered like rats.

"You! Yes, you! Go brew me a dark coffee. None of that sweet stuff now get going or so help me god I'll fire you too!" You immediately ran to the closet coffee maker to make it for him. You had bills to pay!

You rushed back over with his coffee, where he was impatiently tapping his foot on the ground. You were surprised you didn't spill it everywhere, or fall straight on your face the way you practically threw it in his hands.

_______________________

He sipped his coffee, clearly taking his time while you squirmed under his gaze. Jesus, he really was intimidating with how fast your job could be on the line. "Mm... good job. What's your name?" He asked, raising a brow at you and your squirming figure. You immediately straightened up, letting out a silent sigh of relief. "Y/n Mr. Sanchez!" He nodded his head, snapping his fingers as he drank more of his coffee. "How unique. Anyways, you're moving up in the ranks, kid. 10th floor as my new assistant, get your bags." Without another word, he walked to the elevator and took it all the way back up.

Holy shit. Holy shit! Did you just get promoted?! This job was even better than what you thought! You wasted no time packing everything up and running to the elevator, a big grin on your face. You were eating good this week! As you checked your phone to tell your friends and family the good news, you forgot you had an article about your boss pulled up.

It was no surprise to anyone that your boss had been married 42 different times. You did admire him for his pull game, but figured he had bad luck. Maybe they were all gold diggers! But apparently, people had theories of what really was happening. All of his spouses mysteriously disappeared a few days after Damien and his newly wed spouse got married. Then he'd get all the inheritance money and whatever companies they owned, considering all 42 were rich. Some people were theorizing, he murdered them. Man people were crazy with their conspiracy theories.

But you remembered you never did see the old assistant leave the building.

_______________________

He liked how eager you were to take the new position as his assistant. Maybe you wouldn't fuck up as much as his old assistant. The old bastard could barely make a coffee for him.

You took your new role very seriously, and he appreciated that about you. Even if the other employees picked on you for being relatively young. They all disappeared anyway.

Over the few weeks, he found himself drawn to you. You were his little butterfly. So full of life unlike the other scum in all of his companies.

He made sure to be extra careful and lenient with you. Oh, you accidentally misfiled an extremely important file? Oh, it's fine, darling. He used to make that mistake all the time.

Oh, you spilled coffee on his brand new outfit? It's fine, little butterfly, he has the same outfit 5 times just in case.

But anytime, any other employee dare make a mistake as little as dropping a staple while he was walking? Fired immediately. What were they thinking? Idiots.

You never noticed how much more soft he was with you. And he was determined to keep it that way. He didn't want you getting hurt over any special treatment you definitely might be receiving.

He felt alive with you. Hell! Sometimes, he upped your pay just because you smiled at him! You really were a precious angel that needed to be protected. A butterfly with delicate wings.

Just quit researching about his past spouses' disappearances, or else he'll have to clip those pretty little wings before you fly too far and find out what really happened.

#yandere #yandere character #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #male yandere #male yandere x reader #male yandere x you #yandere ceo

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ditzydoe444 · 4 months ago

Note

what about sacrificial lamb!reader who's ritualistically bestowed to Lucifer!Jason

MDNI 18+

lucifer! jason x sacrificial lamb! reader

—ㅤ꒰ྀིㅤ jason todd x reader ಿৎ

▐ fingering, innocent reader

a/n: this request made my jaw drop because it’s so good, but jason is kinda nice in this one so i hope i did it justice :((

you were a pretty thing, innocent and untouched, and yet you were handed to him. a pathetic sacrificial lamb, given to him. your eyes were wide as you kneeled in front of him, your eyes downcast. “look at me pretty girl,” his tone cold and sharp, making you shake even more, fidgeting with your nails. you nodded, eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears.

it was adorable how scared you were, nothing but a flimsy white dress that barely covered anything, giving him a glimpse of your plush thighs. “come here,” he patted his thighs, “on my lap so we can talk alright? since you are mine now.”

you couldn’t even walk to him without almost tripping on your own feet, he was so big he could crush you with his hands alone. the moment you came close enough to his grasp he pulled you into his lap, his hands gently rubbing your waist. “names jason,” he whispered as he snuggled into the crook of your neck, inhaling your sweet scent, almost sickening.

“can you say that for me?” he promoted, his gaze burning into yours as you nodded, not wanting to disobey him on the first day. “jason,” you mumbled barely audible but gaining a small hum of approval from him. “i must say, you smell sickly sweet,” he groaned as his hands traced up your body, which was significantly smaller than his.

despite how horrifying the situation was for you, you couldn’t help but to be a little turned on. you were now his, a big large man who controlled you, but yet he was treating you like you were the most precious thing in the world, his touch gentle as he explored your body. you secretly hoped that he couldn’t smell your arousal, though clearly you were wrong.

gently, his calloused hands separated your legs, tracing your inner thigh. “what is this sweetheart?” he cooed at the small damp spot on your cotton panties, gently tracing it feeling the slight wetness on his fingers. “mm,” you whined as you tried to hide the pleasure, your cheeks burning. “what was that?” he cooed as he gently probed a response, “you enjoying this? being a sacrificial lamb?”

jason thought that you would be crying and running away, but clearly you were just as entertained as he was, his cock straining his pants. “well a sweet girl like you has needs no?” his voice low as his touch became slightly rougher, applying more pressure on your clit. “nngh,” you squirmed on his lap, the sensation was new but so much, and it felt so good.

“how about i help you with this little situation yeah?” his fingers gently pushing your panties to the side, admiring the sight of your bare cunt. “girls have needs no?”

the ache in between your legs was a new sensation, it was burning whenever he stopped touching you, making you slightly grind on his thigh, earning a low chuckle. “desperate?”

his fingers glistened with your arousal within seconds, the sweet smell filling the room making him slightly hazy, he was pretty damn sure he could get drunk off it. “‘m gonna make you feel good alright?”

“please” you whimpered when he entered a finger, you were a virgin, so that alone was enough to cause a slight burn. you were so tight, gripping tightly on his finger, jason couldn’t help but to wonder what you would feel like around his cock.

within a few minutes your cunt relaxed slightly, taking three of his large fingers with ease as he pumped in and out of your cunt. “mm!” you moaned as your head tilts back, on his chest. “needy thing aren’t you? they didn’t pay attention to you back there?”

god he was going to corrupt a sweet girl like you.

#jason todd #ch: jason #jason todd x fem!reader #jason todd x reader #jason todd smut #jason todd x you #dc smut #jason todd x y/n #dc jason todd #dc jason todd smut

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gremlingottoosilly · 1 year ago

Note

Deaf!Reader are struggling to earn money to pay off their rent and living expenses, by handing out leaflets on the street X Mafia!Konig

(one time, I was walking past the metro, and there was this lady handing out leaflets to men. I wanted to take the leaflet as well because I always wanted to help the people who were handing it out, but she looked at me super weirdly when I took the leaflet. Turns out, it was a leaflet for illegal prostitution sites (sex work is banned in Czech Republic) You just needed money. The disability payments are dogshit and wouldn't even cover half of the expenses of renting your own place - but all the other jobs are basically blocked to you on the basis of not having enough resources to support a deaf worker. You know it's just their saying, they simply don't want to hire you even for brownie diversity points - but still, the only jobs that you could get without much of an education is something as shitty paying as handing leaflets. At least you can just not read the lips of people who are clearly cussing you out for bothering them with an abysmal task of accepting a thing piece of paper. Only, the gig is just a bit too shitty. It's illegal; technically, sex work is still as banned as always - you stare at the leaflets with half-naked women printed all over, disguised as dating websites, and you want to puke over how fucking terrible it looks. Still, they were paying a bit more than usual, and cops won't bother you as long as it's not a direct sex work endorsement. The people on the streets are having weird reactions, however... Konig had a shitty day and an even more annoying night. Having to oversee a big drug deal himself because Horangi was out dealing with some transgressors, and Krueger can't be trusted with customer service, he had to stay awake at ungodly hours just to finish the deal...and now there is some dumb girl handling him a leaflet for his fucking sex business like she doesn't know who he is and can't hear that he said he doesn't want it three times already and- He notices the way you stare at his lips and ignore the yelling of other people crowding around during rush hour at the station. Oh. Konig guesses even the illegal business of his had to get more open for workers with disability...although he looks at your cute lips and just knows he is ready to promote you from handling leaflets to never holding anything heavier than his hand (and his cock) ever again. Needless to say, you were terrified when this big, grumpy man in a suit just fucking grabbed you hand and pushed you into an unmarked and clearly dangerous-looking vehicle. Of course, sometimes people are annoyed at receiving brochures, but not to the point of kidnapping...and certainly not to the point of bringing you to their lap and then forcing a hand between your legs, squeezing and playing with the flesh like you were nothing but a stress toy. Not being able to read his lips since you were pressed so closely to him, terrified you even more...although his intensions are pretty clear when you felt a kiss pressed to your forehead, and a gentle hold on your neck until you finally passed out in his hands.

#konig x reader #cod #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #mafia!konig #mafia!cod

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izzyy-stuff · 2 months ago

Note

Hi izzy! just finished reading good boy, and it was so good! i have a smut fic rec where in idol!beomgyu reacts to his idol!girlfriend who's having a comeback with a sexy concept. Beomgyu gets all jealous of all the reader's fanboys feedback and reader/beomgyu has to pay the price, IDK about this but TYYYY <3

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐋𝐎𝐔𝐒𝐘 - 𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐈 𝐁𝐄𝐎𝐌𝐆𝐘𝐔

idol!bf!beomgyu x fem!reader

in which Choi Beomgyu, the ever so calm boyfriend, doesn't like the attention you get after your comeback, causing the urge to remind you who makes you feel good every night grow louder.

wc 1.5k

warnings smut, established relationship, suggestive concept, idol!reader, idol au, jealous!Beomgyu, fans leaving nasty comments, nicknames, bit of dry humping, p without plot tbh, praise, pantie fucking, unprotected sex + creampie, idk i think that's all

↪ izzy speaks... okay I'm sorry you had to wait for so long... this has been sitting there for months, I don't even know when good boy came out but god... but!! It's here now!! not proofread :3

Music Bank was probably your favorite performance so far. It’s been a little over a week since your promotions started and even though your stylists gave you pretty clothes for every performance, you liked the one for Music Bank the most. Not only that, but you strongly believed you did the best that day.

And it turns out, your fans feel the same way. In the last few days, clips from your performance got on your feed and you often stopped to see what everyone thought, blushing at the comments and praises. It made you happy to see they enjoyed it as much as you did, even though some of the comments were wilder than you expected.

There were a few times your ass got into the frame, a moment in the choreography where you lean forward and wink, and a moment where your skirt rides up just a bit too much. You didn’t mind what people said, even though you knew a lot of people would find it weird.

However, your boyfriend didn’t think the same. The comments pissed him off, every thirsty or dirty thing that was said about you made him more mad. He couldn’t say anything, not when it was your agency that picked the concept and choreography. But it didn’t change how he felt every time he stumbled over one of your edits or clips of a performance.

“This outfit is so fucking cute,” you smile, placing your phone on the table and making sure you’re fully in the frame before taking a step back and doing a spin for your boyfriend. “Right?” You pick up the phone again and bring it closer to your face when he doesn’t answer. “Beomie?”

“Can you put on some safety shorts, baby?” He asks instead, a mixture of worry and anger in his eyes. You blink confusedly, slowly nodding. “Yeah, of course. Does it show too much when I move?”

“Mhm, a bit,” he nods, sighing. “You’re beautiful, though,” he praises you. “I just don’t need any more guys thirting over my girl and saying weird shit.” You smile, a warm, reassuring one he needs at the moment. “It’s not like they can do more than watch,” you remind him and he just hums quietly, wishing you good luck on your performance before hanging up.

You’re sweating when you get home that afternoon, in a desperate need of a shower and a cozy movie night with your boyfriend to relax your mind. But as soon as you step inside and your eyes land on Beomgyu, squeezing his phone tightly in his hands, you know a cozy night isn’t what you’re going to get. You’d be a fool not to notice how angry he is.

“Gyu?” You coo softly, getting out of your shoes in the hallway and making your way over to him. He looks up at you, eyeing your clothes with possessiveness. You blink confusedly, holding his hand when he offers it to you. “Who pissed you off, baby?”

“Your agency,” he mumbles, pulling you onto his lap. Your eyes widen but you don’t protest, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning closer to place a kiss on his lips. “Why exactly this time, hm?”

“The concept and everything it evoked in your fans,” he answers against your lips, his mind immediately calming down as he claims your lips. You giggle, tangling your fingers with his hair. “Is my baby jealous?” you tease, tugging on his hair. “Mad. Angry. Not jealous,” he argues, thrusting his hips against your core so you feel just how mad he is. You bite your bottom lip to prevent a moan from leaving your mouth and grind on him, feeling him through your panties. “Yeah? It sounds to me like you are jealous.”

“And what if I am?” He hums, kissing you again as his hands move to grab your ass. He helps you grind on him, watching you with a smirk while you become a moaning mess, whining as he leans down to suck your breast through your clothes. “You should be reminded who helps you get off every time, don’t you think?”

You close your mouth to muffle your moan and nod, pulling on his hair with more force now to get him to look at you. “Get it off.” He gives you an amused look, not moving an inch to do as you asked. Instead, he thrusts his hips forward again. “Please.”

Your plea combined with a whimper finally gets him moving and he helps you out of your top, squeezing your breast as soon as your clothes fall to the ground. “You’re so pretty,” he praises you, your thighs rubbing together on an instinct. “Everyone seems to think so,” you nod, just to rail him up a bit more. It works because his hands find your ass again and he presses you onto himself harder, your soaked panties leaving a stain on his jeans.

“Do you want your clothes off or not?” He asks, his voice low and deep. You swallow hard, nodding as you grind against him again. “‘M sorry, Beom,” you whimper, letting your head fall to his shoulder. “I’ll be good. I promise.”

Your words send a shiver down his spine, and before you can react, he stands up from the couch, holding you up by your ass. You wrap your legs around his waist immediately, holding onto him tighter. You don’t need to watch where he is going to know, your back hitting the soft mattress of your bed soon after.

He pulls down your skirt without a moment of hesitation, his own clothes going off right after. You watch him from the bed, admiring him just like you did the first time you saw him naked. You could never get enough of the view. You hook your fingers with your panties, hoping to get them down as well but he stops you before you can do anything, pinning your hands on your side. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Undressing so you can fuck your jealousy into me?” You grin. You’re a brat but god, does it drive him crazy. “I want them on,” he says, not waiting for your reaction as he spreads your legs apart and kneels between them. Your eyes widen as he rubs his leaking cock on top of your already soaked panties, moans leaving your lips again.

“Beomie, please,” you beg, trying to close your legs from all the pleasure. He holds them open for you, paying it no attention as his eyes focus on your pussy. “Please, what, hm?”

You whine as you try thrusting your hips against him, making him scoff. “Words, love. I want words.” Your cheeks turn red as you watch him, throwing your head back and closing your eyes. “Please just fuck me. I can’t– I need more.”

Beomgyu smirks, lifting your panties just enough to slide his cock under them, rubbing it over your clit. “Are you going to wear something less revealing for your next performance?” There’s nothing you can do about your outfit or the attention it brings you, you both know that, and still, a broken “yes,” leaves your lips, finally giving you the pleasure you’ve been asking for as he slides his tip in.

Your eyes roll back and you thrust your hips against his, feeling him sink deeper. “So good, baby,” he groans, his hand finding yours as he slowly thrusts into you, picking up his speed before you can get used to it. Your moans and his groans soon echo through the whole room, driving you crazier by each second.

You barely register his movements except for the way he moves in you until he leans closer to you and claims your lips again. When he pulls back, you notice your torn panties wrapped around his fist. Your eyes widen but before you can say something, another harsh thrust comes your way and all that leaves your mouth is a broken gasp.

“Beom, I’m gonna–” your voice breaks again and he just hums, his right hand moving between your bodies to rub gentle circles on your clit with his thumb. “Come for me, baby,” he coos, kissing you again. His lips move against yours in an open mouthed kiss, swallowing every one of your moans as you fall apart under him.

He grabs your waist firmly, holding you in place as he chases his own high, cursing under his breath and mumbling barely audible praises before filling you up, his thrusts now soft and slow so you can both ride out your orgasms. You whine in protest when he pulls out and you feel his cum spilling out, clenching around nothing.

“I think I’ll have to ask for more sexy concepts and choreographies if it gets you like this,” you exhale a laugh and he glares at you immediately. “Don’t even joke about that. I will hunt down anyone who thought it was a good idea to make you dance like that for other people.” You chuckle, pulling him closer to you and brushing your lips against his. “I know you will, baby. That’s why I love you.”

⋆✶ izzy's tags @beomiracles @seoulzie @adel222 @inkigayocamman @flowzel @love-be0m @virgo-and-libra @hwanghyunjinismybae @liaatiny @minaateez @bamgeutsz @lovingbeomgyudayone @definitelynotherr @hyunj00 @saejinniestar @dawngyu @xylatox @thetxtdevil @biteyoubiteme @heesmiles @t-102 ✶⋆ Want to get notified? Join taglist here!

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antiwhores · 1 year ago

Text

Your co-workers like to bully you.

Atleast thats what Bakugou suspected. He had to make an educated guess after your gloomy, closed off behavior everyday after work.

Bakugou works as a pro hero, no one gets to bully him in his work environment. But you work a humble job at a library about a mile or so away. He told you that you didn’t need to work the job since he brought more than enough money to the table to support you and him. But you insisted on working a job to “help” the both of you out. He accepted your money after a long debate with the conditions that you only pay for the phone bills.

You seemed to like your job though. In the early weeks of getting it he remembers you practically bouncing at the walls when you came home. You’d be bussing to talk about the newest work drama, the new book you read, a customer, etc.

He got into the habit of sitting down in the living room when he was home and waiting for you to come to him and sit on his lap. Then you’d tell him of your clearly exaggerated adventures of the day while he played with your hair.

But recently those nights were followed by not the usual fun answers, but dry answers to questions he asked to try to promote a stream of words from you.

He started to really get suspicious when you downright said no to him when he asked you to tell him about his day.

So he did what he did best and stuck his nose into your business.

He knew he couldn’t figure it out by himself without getting caught so he hired someone to figure it out for him.

A full on spy. A man that he met in the work field that owed him a favor after he saved his life.

“Is this really what you wanna cash out your favor on?” The man questioned.

Bakugou scoffed, “Just fuckin’ do it and stop questioning me.”

After two days the man reported back to Bakugou. Apparently, a group of coworkers had been harassing you. Talking shit, snarky comments, stealing your lunches, hiding your paperwork, etc.

Bakugou was fucking furious.

He stomped down to your work place, hero suit still on, and demanded to see the higher ups. They tried to stop him but he wouldn’t let up. No way some piece of shit workers were gonna bully his girl. He wouldn’t allow it!

To his luck, the district director was in a meeting with all the other higher ups. He busted into the meeting room, furious as ever. They were startled, dropping their pens and gasping.

After the shock went away, the noticed who this brash man was.

“Dynamight, sir, how can we help you?” The director spoke carefully. She recognized how Bakugou had a higher status than her. He could get them all fired by a phone call.

“Your shitty employees have been fucking with one of your hardest workers. I had my men come in and investigate and…”

He went into detail on what they’ve been doing to not just you, but other employees in the building. He degraded their department, saying that its a disgraceful work environment.

After he was done, his face was still red with anger. But he wasn’t the only one red. The district director was practically a tomato.

“I am so embarrassed and disappointed hearing this. They will be fired immediately. I am really sorry, Dynamight. I will make sure that they won’t be able to work at any other library in this district.”

He scoffed, turning around to head for the door. “Make it any other library in Japan.”

“Yes sir.” He said as Bakugou slammed the door behind him.

You came home happy that night and for the first time in a while, you told him about your (exaggerated) day.

#this has been in my drafts #for a year #and i finally finished it #had to give yall some content #bakugou x reader #bakugou katsuki #mha x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugou imagine #bakugo x reader

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sylusdarling · 6 months ago

Text

Spa Day

Sylus x esthetician reader

✧Time for your husband to relax a little

Content: Husband Sylus, Esthetician reader, you give him a facial, over all fluffy, you want him to relax

A/N: This idea has been in my mind forever. As an esthetician in training I want nothing more than to pamper him

Handing Sylus a golden glass of Whisky, you sat down beside him with your own.

A smile danced on Sylus’ lips as he took the glass from your hand and took a swig of the amber liquid. “Hey dove, how was work?”

Cradling your glass in your hand you spoke, “It was good! Actually, I have a question for you.”

Sylus hummed acknowledging what you said.

“We have a promotion going on right now where we’re able to bring in our partners or family members for half off. I’ll be able to give you a facial!”

Sylus clearly noticed your excitement on the topic. “For half off? You know i’d pay all the money in the world for your services, dove.”

“That’s not the point Sy!” You giggled, “I know you can more than afford the normal prices but I still want to bring you in. Are you interested?”

“You’d like me to come in?” You nodded, your eyes shining. “Then I’ll come in.” Leaning in, you hugged your husband. “Thank you my love.” His arm wrapped around your waist bringing you tighter into the hug, “Anything for you.”

Checking the IPad, you smiled when Sylus’ name turned green. He was signed in and waiting for you. You made your way to the waiting room with a gown thrown over your forearm. “Hello honey!” You exclaimed.

The crimson eyed man stood up and approached you, “Hello dove, I’m ready for my treatment.” Sylus watched you as you directed him towards the change room. He thought you looked adorable with your scrubs on and your hair up. He rarely saw you in your work look.

Pointing towards the white door, you spoke. “There’s the changing room. Take off your top and throw the gown on for me. There’s a robe and slippers in the locker if you’d like. I’ll be waiting out here for you when you’re finished.”

Standing outside the door, you waited for your husband. In just a minute he emerged from behind the door with the white gown and slippers on. “Awh you’re so cute Sy!”

“Am I now?” He stood there with his arms crossed. Chuckling you began walking, “follow me again. I’m going to take you to the facial bed.”

He followed you into the dim room with spa music playing. Taking the corner of the bed sheet you opened it up for him. After toeing off his slippers he slipped into the bed. “I’m going to put the headband on you now, ok?”

He looked up at you and hummed. Scooping his bangs back with your hand, you velcroed the two sides of the hairband together. Taking out your camera you took a photo of your cute husband. His eyes opened immediately at the camera shutter sound.

“Someone must of forgotten to put her phone on silent. Isn’t it against the rules to take photos of your clients.”

“Not when it’s my adorable husband it’s not.” Sylus playfully scoffed at that.

“Ok close your eyes we’re going to begin.” Sylus obliged, closing his eyes without another word. Taking a pump of oil, you rubbed it on your hands. “Ok we’re going to begin with an inhalation. Breathe in with me, then breathe out,” Following your instructions, your husband breathed in and out at your count. The citrus scent filled the room.

“Doesn’t this oil smell so good? It’s one of my favourites.” He nodded with his eyes closed, “It’s quite refreshing.”

You then began the service. Grabbing all the cleansers and oils you needed, you placed them down on your trolly. Your hands roamed your husbands porcelain skin. For someone who gets into dangerous situations as a living, he had absolutely no scars or marks on his face. He was gorgeous. You took this time to study your husbands face, encoding every detail of it into your mind.

Seeing your husband relaxed was an unusual sight. He was always tense and on guard keeping an eye out for anything all the time. But here, he was able to let his guard down. He seemed calm, less tense. It was the touch of his beloved that calmed him.

Arriving to the massage, you kneaded his shoulders which made him let out some groans. “Feel good, honey?” Your hands roamed his neck and shoulders applying soft pressure with the warm oil in your hands.

“So goo-ah good, dove.” That made you smile. You were happy that you were able to help your husband relax even if it was only for an hour.

The end of the facial approached. Removing his hair band, you sat him up and positioned his slippers by his feet. Handing him a hand mirror, he was able to get a good look as his fresh skin. “You’re glowing Sy. Don’t you feel so refreshed.”

He nodded, “I do thanks to a wonderful someone.” Standing up, he grabbed both of your hands and placed them in his. Tilting his head down he gave you a soft peck on your lips. “Thank you, dove. I appreciate everything you do for me.”

“You know i’d do this anytime you want me to.” You gave him one more peck before escorting him back to the changing room. You were able to clean up your station before he returned.

“Do you have any more clients today?” Your husband asked.

You shook your head, “Nope, only you!”

He hummed, “Perfect let’s go home, and i’ll show you my appreciation with my…own massage.” He drawled.

Your face heated up at his comment. “Sy!”

He chuckled at your reactions. “You did a great job today, let’s go home.”

#love and deepspace #lads #sylus #love and deepspace fanfic #love and deepspace drabble #lads drabble #sylus x reader #love and deepspace x reader #lads x reader #sylus x you #fluff #lads fluff #love and deepspace fluff #sylus fluff #husband sylus

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hoonieyun · 6 months ago

Note

Hello I know your requests are closed rn but when they’re open I was wondering if you can do reader doing the trend when she tells enhypen that she can’t pay rent this month (lmk if you don’t know the trend I’ll link it!)

i can’t pay the rent ⊹˚. ♡

pranking enha hyung line by telling them you can't pay the rent for the month

warnings: profanity, kissing, teasing/pranks, consensual touching, 18+ genre: fluff… just fluff idek LOL notes: OKAY I SWEAR NOWTHIS IS MY LAST REQUEST IM DOING TIL NEXT YEAR LOL yall keep sending good ones and i dont wanna make you guys wait but PLS save the requests for next year, i promise i will do them all hehe anyways thank you for requesting!! i thought this was so funny because my sister did this on her husband recently and he was so dramatic about it, telling her that they had to sell her car LOL anyways enjoy and as per usual… not proofread lmao

husband!heeseung ⋆˚ʚɞ – wc: 484

– you thought this prank was hilarious, especially because it seems like the people’s reactions were always so dramatic and you knew heeseung’s would be similar, if not funnier. heeseung was going to be arriving home from work anytime soon so you sat at your dinner table waiting for him to walk through your front door.

in just a few minutes, you could hear his keys enter the lock and turn the doorknob. heeseung was very hardworking and as much as you fought him on the fact that you were okay also working, he wasn’t going to let his wife do another day of corporate work if he had anything to say.

the year before you two got married, heeseung received a huge promotion, one that allowed him to take care of the two of you without you having to ever lift a finger ever again. you were grateful for him and you did your best to be a good wife even if heeseung was okay coming home to ramyeon and cuddling in bed all day.

“hi, my love. how are you?” he says, throwing his shoes off and making his way over to you. he quickly presses a kiss on your temple and you release a pent up sigh to make your distress believable. “what’s wrong?” heeseung asks, squatting down so that he could be more eye level.

“hee… promise you won’t be mad at me?” you say and he nods at you, slightly pouting and looking at you with his big doe eyes. he was unsure of where this was going and the contrast to your usual bubbly personality was a bit worrying to him.

“i don’t think i can pay the rent this month…” you say, jutting out your bottom lip with a slight quiver. heeseung looks like he’s just heard the saddest thing ever, like you just confessed the utmost heartbreaking statement. “baby, that's okay! please don’t worry? we’ll make it work…” heeseung says, pulling you intoa hug anf rubbing your back softly. you accept his hug but can’t stop yourself from bursting out into laughter. heeseung suddenly pulls you away, holding your shoulders and looking at you with a suspicious expression, his left eyebrow raised as he stares at you.

“babe? why are you laughing! we can’t pay rent and you’re laughing– wait…” heeseung begins to say and you realize that he’s caught on. “you don’t even pay the rent! i do!” heeseung says, shooting up straight and posing with his hands on his hips with a scolding face. “sorry hee!! i had to prank you because your reaction is too cute!!” you respond and he smirks with a chuckle, falling into your arms with a hug. “you’re lucky i love you!” heeseung says before the two of you share a kiss.

“now… where’s my ramyeon!” he says, picking you up bridal style and walking over to the kitchen.

husband!jongseong ⋆˚ʚɞ – wc: 663

– everything about jay just screamed gentleman. he always opens doors for you, when it rains he carries the umbrella predominantly on your side more than his, he keeps you on the side furthest from the street when walking on the sidewalk, he showers you in love and compliments, and never lets you forget how much he loves you.

he respected your wishes when you said that after getting married you no longer wanted to work, in fact, he encouraged it. he had wanted you to stop working for a while now because of how shitty your boss was but you ultimately waited until you were married to do so. he wanted you to stay home and work on your dream home, encouraging you to use his card for whatever you needed so that you could make the house you two got together, the one of your dreams.

so when jay was at work, you were at home doing projects to do just that; make this house your dream home that you and jay would spend the rest of your lives together in. you were taking a break from gardening in the backyard when you came across the tiktok and because you knew that jay was weak to your pranks, it was going to be easy to pull one over on him.

you finish doing the rest of your garden for the day just as jay was coming home from work. you greet him at the front door, sliding your gloves off and giving him a kiss on the cheek instead of a hug so that you wouldn’t get his clothes dirty since yours was slightly covered in dirt.

“hi baby, can we talk?” you ask and the atmosphere instantly shifts as you grab him by his hand to the kitchen. you pour him a glass of water as he’s taking a seat at your kitchen counter, eyes fixed on you as you walk over to him. “is everything okay, my love?” he asks and you pause for a second as you try to bite back a laugh.

“i don’t know how to tell you this but i can’t pay our mortage this month…” you confess and he looks at you with furrowed brows. “what mortage?” he ask and you tell him the mortage for the house and his eyebrows remain furrowed. “did you buy a new house??” he ask and you couldn’t help but break character. “why are you laughing?? what’s going on??” he asks, even more confused than before and you explain to him that it was a prank you saw but he wasn’t able to move on from your statement, still asking if you had bought another house that he hadn’t known about. “wait so is there another house? do you pay the mortage for that house?” he asks as you try to catch your breath from laughing so much.

“can you be serious? i have no idea what’s going on! do you need me to pay the mortage on this house? it’s okay if you do, you know i’ll help you with anything.” jay adds, proving yet again how kind and generous he was.

“baby, it’s a joke! there’s no other house.” you answer in between laughs and his eyes narrow at you after finally realizing what you were saying while laughing.

“wow, i’m going to need to learn how to stop falling for your pranks. what’s next, you’re going to bring home a bunch of puppies?” and when your eyes widen at his response, he pulls you into a hug while shaking his head; “no, don’t even think about it!” he says, pulling you towards the bathroom.

“but– nope! we are not getting a puppy!” jay says cutting you off. you look at him with a pout and all he can do is place a soft kiss onto your lips. “okay, fine. i’ll think about it.” he says and you cheer knowing deep down jay wanted a puppy too.

boyfriend!jaeyun ⋆˚ʚɞ – wc: 733

– you and jake have just moved into your first apartment together after graduating from college. it was nothing crazy, just a humble 2 bedroom apartment and although you would’ve settled with 1 bedroom, jake insisted on getting two so that you could have a dedicated space for your art. jake definitely made more than you and although it made you a bit insecure that he was always taking care of the finances, he reassures you that he wouldn’t want it any other way.

often telling you that he’s happy to do it if it means you could put all your focus in your passion for your art. he even goes as far as having your art supplies on a refill cycle because he knows how fast you go through them and he doesn’t want you to ever run out so he has them delivered just in time as you’re about to run out of something whether it be a canvas, tools, or a certain color of paint. jake was loving like that.

willing to spend what he needed, no matter the price, just so that he can make sure that you have everything you needed because he was your number one supporter.

you were scrolling on tiktok, procrastinating on a piece, when you scrolled into the trend and it seems after seeing that first video led your algorithm to show you similar videos 8 more times before you decided that you would try and prank jake. you often tried to prank jake because his reactions were always cute and dramatic but you could tell whenever he was able to catch on so for this one, you prepared yourself. going over a small script in your head about how you would say it and what responses you would have for whatever jake could possibly say in return.

so, when jake got back from work you walked out of your little art studio and welcomed him home with a hug and kiss on the lips. “hi, pretty. how was your day?” he asks and when you tell him that you were stressed and a bit anxious, he immediately drops his work bag and holds you closer. “what’s wrong?” he asks and you slowly you pull yourself out of his grip so you could look at him– bad idea because his eyes seemed to carry so much love and adoration for you in them that you could get lost in them.

“yn?” he asks and you shake yourself out of the trance of looking into his doe eyes.

“jake, i don’t think i can pay the rent this month… baby i’m so sorry!” you respond, throwing yourself back into his arms and burying your face into his chest to show him just how bad you felt and you could feel jake hesitantly put his hand on your back.

“pay the rent?” he asks and you nod your head against his chest. “my love, no offense but i pay the rent not you.” jake says and when you look up at him his head is slightly tilted to the side with a furrowed gaze.

“we all know i make the big bucks around here, baby!” jake says proudly and although it didn’t offend you at all, you pretend to be hurt by softly hitting him on the chest and pouting.

“hey!” you yell while crossing your arms.

“it’s true!” he says, pulling you back into his arms while rocking the two of you side to side. “what are you even talking about? i thought we agreed that i would cover our rent so you could focus on getting your art exhibit together?” he asks and you couldn’t even prolong the joke anymore because he was being too sweet.

“yeah, i know… it was just a stupid prank i saw on tiktok.” you confessed and jake laughs at you endearly. “aww… not your best one babe.” he says and this time you hit him again because he was teasing you. he let out a small “oww” even though it didn’t actually hurt.

“come on! i’m just playing!” he says, now he was looking at you with a pout and your scowl transforms into a smile. the two of you shared a tender kiss before preparing dinner. he was your hard working and caring boyfriend and you were his “little picasso if picasso was sexy”; his words not yours.

boyfriend!sunghoon ⋆˚ʚɞ – wc: 835

– sunghoon, although usually very quiet, was very mischieveious and silly when the two of you were alone. he often played harmless pranks on you like hiding and waiting behind corners and jumping out when you got close, placing fake plastic bugs in unsuspecting spots for you to find, or just randomly having an outburst of energy and screaming that would startle you.

and although you would tell him that you hated being scared or surprised, you secretly loved this goofy side of him because it brings out the biggest smile on his face whenever he sees your reactions. even when you do get scared, which is almost all the time, he makes it up to you by cuddling up close to you and whispering loving things into your ear until the two of you fall asleep.

so, when your best friend sent you the tiktok and said you should get revenge on sunghoon for scaring you just the day before, you didn’t hesitate to dwelve into the tiktok trend to find inspiration on how you could really sell the story and try to prank sunghoon the way he pranks you.

sunghoon would be getting home from work soon, he was a part of the IT team of a large scale company and you loved how smart he was, his cute face was just a bonus. when he got the job and moved the two of you to a bigger condo closer to his work, the two of you agreed that he would take care of the rent if you took care of the smaller finances like groceries and esstentials.

at first you were a bit reluctant because you didn’t want it to come off like he was taking care of everything but sunghoon soothed your worries and told you that if he were to ever let you take care of the rent, his parents would be highly disappointed in him for letting his lady do that. as time passed, you slowly became comfortable with sunghoon’s job and how it did provide more than enough for the two of you. you didn’t really work, you often would help out at your family’s floral shop but it wasn’t anything to sunghoon’s big tech job; something you’re very grateful for… and of course, him.

“honey, i’m home!” sunghoon announces as he enters your shared condo and you stay in place, slightly hiding in the blanket so it looked like you had been having a gloomy day instead of running outside to greet him like you usually do.

sunghoon quickly makes his way to your shared bedroom when you don’t come out to greet him and he finds you on the bed, in a fetal position and hiding under the big fluffy white blanket. “honey, are you ok? you look sad…” sunghoon says softly and his tone of voice tugs at your heartstrings, almost making you back out of the prank.

you mumbled something but because you were hiding under the blanket, he couldn’t hear you so he gently pulls the blanket off to reveal you, now hiding shyly behind your hands.

“what’s wrong?” he says, grabbing your hands and placing them in his, gently rubbing circles on your knuckles with his thumbs.

“hoon… i’m so sorry but i can’t pay the rent this month.” you say, finally making eye contact with him, giving him sad puppy eyes and when sunghoon’s blank face doesn’t change for a moment except for a few blinks, you start to believe that you’ve totally convinced him… wrong.

“baby… i’m gonna hold you hand when i say this– you’re broke and you’ve never paid the rent a day in your cute little life.” he says, flashing you his cheeky smile that showed his fang like canine teeth. your jaw drops in shock at his response, prompting you to shout an empty “i hate you” at him as you grab the blanket and return to hiding underneath it.

“noo, you looove me!” sunghoon says, grabbing the blanket once again to reveal a pouty version of you.

“i buy you those creepy furry thingies you like, i buy you all your favorite snacks, and i pay for this lovely condo so you can have a beautiful home.” sunghoon says, getting closer with each word and finally placing a kiss on your lips.

“hey! the labubus are not creepy…” you mutter and the both of you look over to your vanity where there sat a pink labubu.

“okay, yeah they’re kinda creepy– but i was trying to prank you because you always prank me but i guess it didn’t work.” you confess and he pats your head, brushing some of your hair out of your face.

“don’t worry baby, your cuteness makes up for your bad pranks.” he says with a laugh before lunging out of bed, just in time as you try to lunge at him; starting a cat and mouse chase around your condo until one of you, you 99% of the time, gets tired.

copyright 2024 - present © hoonieyun all rights reserved all writing here is fiction & not in any association with characters mentioned. if you enjoyed reading this please consider reblogging and following <3

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