#large Hollywood mirror

[propagandagothic]

Transitional Home Bar in San Francisco

[stagefoureddiediaz]

Initial thoughts on that article - I’m excited! I mean the journalist needs to do a bit more homework (I’m looking at you sentence about Eddie kissing Kim!) and I’m always going to take anything Tim says in an article with a giant handful of salt, but by and large all he said is telling me that the arcs for all our characters seem to be interesting and varied.

This got so very long so it’s going below the cut - but if you only want to read the buddie stuff then start reading where I’ve changed the text colour (so you can find it easily - because I’m nice like that!) 🐝🐝🐝

I love that Tim described madney and henren as being a family unit outside of the firehouse and I’m really excited to see that built upon - I loved that we got more hen and Maddie interactions last season and I want more of it. So I’m looking forward to seeing that dynamic develop as part of the Mara arc.

Ortiz hs so much potential to be a truly great villain - with a more sustained arc - something the show hasn’t ever really done and I’d like them to. Ortiz v Hen as a half season or more plotline would be so good and exploring corruption in politics and how it corrupts other public systems and services would be such a great thing to explore (and Aisha would knock it out of the park)

I’m going to say here that season 8 is very much screaming season 3 redux at me - all of the things we know thus far all seem to parallel season 3 events, even down to the bee-nado - which is starting to sound more and more like a mirror of the tsunami - in that the tsunami wave itself was only a brief thing, but the aftermath was where the major incidents and action was for all the various characters and the set up of their arcs. And Tim saying the bees set up I’m super excited for that as a concept.

Since we first saw them filming on a plane I’ve been wondering if we were going to be seen if another 70’s disaster movie homage and it seems I was right - my money is on Airport 77 being the movie in question

And I’m really interested in who it’s going to showcase and what part of her history were exploring. I would really love to see them exploring the Jeffery arc and her trauma from that, but I’m not sure that’s what we’ll be getting (Jeffery being dead doesn’t negate this exploring that part of her story I just don’t think it’s where we’re going)

My feeling is it’s connected into Emmett in some way. It was ‘resolved’ in Athena begins and then never really spoken of again, so maybe we’ll be seeing Dennis Jenkins (the guy who shot Emmett) as one of the prisoners on the plane and Athena will have to confront her remaining trauma there and possibly the damage arresting DJ has had after all that time he passed.

On to Bobby - what can I say technical consultant bobby is going to be perfection. Bobby has had some heavy arcs over the past couple of seasons so it’s pretty obvious he’s got the comic relief arc for at least 8a. I’m really looking forward to seeing Bobby being done with Hollywood etc. And I’m really excited to see how they get him back to the 118 where he belongs.

Onto the bit I know most of you are reading this for!!

The Buck arc is screaming lawsuit redux at me and that ties in nicely to Bobbys arc. Instead of Buck being stopped from returning to the 118, this time it’s Bobby. Gerrard is the Chase Matthew’s of this situation and so I remain convinced of my assertion that buck (having learnt from the lawsuit arc) is going to initially fail against Gerrard before he figures out getting close to him and therefore being able to figure out his weaknesses is the best way to get rid of him and get Bobby back.

The Buck T*mmy section in the article of it all has me laughing so very hard I nearly fell off my chair.

Look, this ‘relationship’ is still fairly new and they are still in the ‘getting to know each other’ phase, so I wouldn’t be expecting Tim to start waxing lyrical about them as a couple, but saying this;

To describe the first queer relationship of one of your mains, whose entire storyline last season was his bi awakening, when it’s at the point when everything should still be new and exciting isn’t exactly a ringing endorsement of said relationship.

It’s entirely possible to gush about a relationship - especially one that is essentially groundbreaking on your show - without giving any plot away or making it seem like they’re endgame.

More comfortable together is the only thing you could come up with to describe them as a couple? - what does that really mean? Comfortable is how you describe a pair of slippers or an old hoodie that’s all worn in and soft. If you’re using more comfortable as one descriptor in a longer sentence with other descriptors that shows the development of said relationship then that’s totally acceptable. But to use it as the only one (aside from saying they’re a couple), well that screams of a relationship that is a plot device.

And you know what else backs that up as a concept - Tim proceeds to use the rest of his answer to the question about Buck and T*mmy’s relationship to talk about Eddie and Eddie and Buck and their relationship. So what I’m getting is that Eddie is still at the centre of things within that relationship - just as he has been throughout the entirety of s7 - where Buck and Tommy managed to have a grand total of 3 scenes out of nearly 20 together where Eddie wasn’t either present or spoken about at length (and one of those was literally just a scene of them kissing!)

Even using the word comfortable again to describe Buck, Tommy and Eddie hanging out together (anticipating some sort of scene that echoes the karaoke bar scene - where we get petty jealous Eddie and I can’t wait!). Which means comfortable is a very intentional word choice - not one that bodes well for the longevity of the reltionship.

So what I’m getting from that. Is that ‘more comfortable together’ means boring and that Tim is using the relationship to create the same distance we saw between Buck and Eddie in season 3 during the lawsuit arc - the distance that ultimately brought them even closer together and led to Eddie changing his will.

Season 3 was when the show really established buddie as a thing - they lay the foundations in s2, but s3 was when they tested and then built the walls of that dynamic ready for the pieces to be put into place over seasons 4 & 5 so they could make buddie canon.

This BT relationship is literally being used to put Eddie in the same space he was in in s3 - isolated (thank you Ryan for that word choice!) because Buck is not available to him as much (or at all in the case of s3) so he spiralled out in his grief over Shannon’s death and joined a fight club.

All this to say that the chess pieces are being manoeuvred in a really positive direction on the buddie front and I expect to see 8a following a somewhat similar pattern as 3a did - big opening disaster which sets up the various arcs, which includes being shown buck and Eddie’s closeness initially, only to separate them off for a bit so Eddie can have his gay awakening (fight club minus the fight club) and Buck can do some more figuring out about what he actually wants of his own (lawsuit without the law suit) and then bring them back together in time for Christmas - which they will spend together with a newly returned Christopher (mirroring s3 Christmas perfectly) and the rest of the firefam.

Even the Eddie question backs up this as a theory;

I’m fully expecting to get Eddie having conversations with his parents - via call and FaceTime - but not with Chris because he still won’t talk to his dad. The choice to say everything has been stripped away from him except his job is also giving some echoes of s5 - juxtaposing when Eddie essentially had everything else except his job which lead to his breakdown. Tim is a master of deploying subterfuge whilst also using very intentional words - so this comment is making me excited. It’s (to me at least) saying that Eddie is secure in his job and there is not really going to be any drama on the job front. That in the past eddie connected his worth to whatever job he was doing (army, his three jobs in El Paso firefighter) so when the job was taken away he had no worth and that therefore meant he was a failure as a father and a husband - so he spiralled out. Now he has his job and he’s in a good place with that and knowing how his worth as a person isn’t tied into that job. Now instead he has nothing else - all the things he’d tied his worth onto away from his job are suddenly gone so he has to go back to the drawing board and this time look at himself and who he actually is and why he wants.

The choice of the word ‘hell’ is also a choice - ‘who the hell he is’ - season 7 laid the groundwork for edddies reckoning with the catholic faith (former nun Marisol, Eddie talking about being a lapsed catholic and catholic guilt and bobby giving Eddie the bible etc) and we know they’ve been filming in a church. Hell as a word choice is just backing that up and hinting at the idea that Eddie figuring out who he is and choosing living his life as his true self would damn him to hell in the eyes of his religion. So gay Eddie here we go!!

This was supposed to be a quick ‘ooh I’m excited everything is being perfectly set up’ post and then I did my usual thing and write a mammoth essay 🤣 so if you’ve read all of this - thank you and I love you and I hope you enjoyed it - can’t wait to hear your thoughts!

[partycatty]

based off of our lovely @igotcaged 's post here

older!johnny cage > can't get enough

johnny realizes just how much he adores you before a date night

notes: this is so fluffy i might throw up, also why are his boobs so big

[ masterlist ]

it was unlike the two of you to have a night off with a husband that's entire life is devoted to saving the world and making them smile at the same time. if it wasn't shinnok or a timeline disturbance, it was ninja mime or citizen cage. you worked in an office, a higher up that needed to be around or you swore the skyscraper's foundations would crumble. both of you held together your own worlds, but it was near valentine's day when you both get the opportunity to go home and get some rest.

it was cassie that ushered johnny out of his office with his bag full of belongings. she was tired of seeing her old man grovel and train like a military man, and wanted him to be a good husband to her step-parent, you. your own vice president insisted you go home after not getting the last few holidays with your family.

in johnny's typical hollywood style, he wanted to take you out on a date. usually, he was the type of man to just settle for something low key, like an at-home steak dinner or a walk in the park, but he missed you more than anything at the moment. so, he managed to convince you to wear something pretty, and he'd clean up all the same.

you pull and tug at the dress you settled on, a sleek beige dress that settled nicely around your ankles. so used to suit jackets and pencil skirts, you felt somewhat foreign.

johnny walks into the shared bedroom, tugging at his sleeves, but that all stopped when he got a good look at you.

"well god damn."

you twirl around to meet your husband's eyes. he cleaned up nicely too. a smooth pair of beige dress pants accompanying a brown button-up. his arms dropped to his sides as he admired you, and you could see in his eyes that he had fallen in love with you all over again. sure, you always dressed nicely, but johnny was reminded of how gorgeous you looked when you dolled yourself up, especially in the jewelry and dresses he had bought you over the years.

"kind of reminds you of our wedding day, doesn't it?" his voice is tender. you don't recall the last time he voice wasn't strained from spewing commands or taking business calls.

"that's probably the last time we dressed up like this," you reply teasingly, taking one of his arms in your hands and folding his sleeve for him, a task that he long abandoned since landing his gaze on you. "you remember that?"

"every day," his eyes are fixed on your small hands holding his large arm. he stands still, as if he'd startle you from moving. "i have our photo at the altar in my wallet. don't know if i ever told you that."

"you didn't," you grin down, buttoning his sleeve and patting his now bare forearm. "but i could have guessed."

as you reach for his other arm to fold his sleeve, his hand meets yours. with fluttering eyelashes, he places long, sweet kisses on each of your knuckles.

"i love you," he mutters into the back of your hand, placing another kiss and holding his lips there.

"you make me so happy," his hand twists your arm, giving him access to your wrist, where another kiss lands.

"okay, big guy," you giggle, trying to move away. "i love you too, but we'll be late."

johnny ignores your point and spins you around. he wraps one arm around your waist, trapping you against his front. you look in the mirror to determine his intentions, but his eyes are fixed on you. he holds your arm out for you and kisses the backside of your hand again. his mouth glides up, reaching your elbow.

"i see what's going on here," you smirk. "are you going all gomez on me?"

"let me have this," he mumbles again, kissing all up your upper arm until he reaches your bare shoulder, where he bites you playfully. of course, he doesn't bite hard enough for people to see as much as he'd love to.

"johnnyyy—" you whine-giggle out when his nose brushes against the flesh of your neck. "you're tickling me, don't be surprised if i kick you." johnny breathes in your perfume, rubbing the tip of his nose up and down your neck, all the while peppering kisses along the exposed skin. in between every kiss, there's a sweet phrase or two.

"sweet girl." your shoulder.

"my one and only." your collarbone.

"my wife." your jawline.

"i'm so lucky." your ear.

"my beloved." your cheek.

"you look so good." the corner of your lips.

having enough of his game, you twirl around and wrap your arms around his neck, trapping him in a firm but chaste kiss. when you pull away, he's grinning sleepily, and you giggle at your lipstick now transferred onto his lips.

"you might wanna wipe your mouth before we leave," you suggest with a laugh.

"why? not my shade?" johnny replies jokingly, leaning into the mirror to inspect the damage. "ah, you're right. it suits you better."

even after all these years, after everything he's been through, it still warms you inside that his youthful, loving side peeks its head around the corner at the best of times. you couldn't ask for a better husband.

[emkayewrites]

The behind-the-scenes #Lukola moments I have invented to keep myself going now that we are in a Lukola drought...

(Excerpt taken from my fanfiction 'Curtain Fall')

July 20th 2022 – Buckinghamshire

“We are thinking Old Hollywood glamour.” Erika leaned forward so that her bespectacled face was level with Nicola’s.  As the lead make-up artist on the Bridgerton set, she was attuned to creating beautiful looks for the cast.

“We want the sultriness and we want it to reflect that era before heavy contouring.” Erika continued, lightly dabbing an orange blending sponge at Nicola’s face.

They were sat in a trailer on the grounds of a beautiful countryside estate.  Nicola sat in a dressing gown on a chair in front of a large vanity mirror, her hair up in rollers.  The third season of the show had already started to film some initial scenes with some of the cast but she was not due to appear on-screen for another week.  Instead, she was there for her make-up tests and costume fittings, a process that at best, took days.

There was real excitement in the atmosphere.  Nicola could sense waves of it from the production staff and even from the usually very restrained Erika.  There was an extra hop in her step.  It was a feeling Nicola shared.  There was something electrifying about the start of a filming process.  Of course, the realities of set life meant there was a lot of pressure and chaos.  There were days where there was not enough time and there was never enough rest for anyone.  However, you did not feel those things on day one.  The first day was your best day because you were well-rested, healthy and raring to go.   

She saw her reflection as Erika stepped to one side and almost jumped out of her skin at the sight.  There was a dark, very straight line that bisected the middle of her face, travelling from the top of her forehead, down her nose, across her lips and ending at her chin.  One side of her face was equal parts glossy and dewy, the other half was pale and bare.  It took Nicola a minute to remind herself of the method in the madness that Erika employed; she preferred to apply two sets of make-up at once rather than do the whole face.  This was what Erika called efficiency.

“Tell me you trained as a make-up artist on the Phantom of Opera without telling me.” Nicola joked.

“Sorry, should have warned you.” Erika laughed.

“It’s alright, it was just a small heart attack.”

“I’m just going to get the camera for a few polaroids before we carry on.” Erika hurried out of the trailer.  It was common to have a photographic log of different make-up looks.

Now alone with herself, Nicola’s eyes darted to the one place she had been trying to ignore. 

Her phone, sat on the table before her, taunting her with a small flashing light that signalled a notification.  She hated how every time she saw this, her mind went straight to thinking about him.  She struggled not to think about him every single day.  That fever dream of a night where they had spent time together left an imprint on her that she could not shake.  They had continued to message each other but the responses were sporadic and infrequent on his part.  The days there was no response felt like withdrawal from a drug. 

Now she was aware of herself, greedily eyeing up her phone, wondering desperately if she would get her next hit of dopamine from him.  She forced herself not to reach for her phone, in part to instill some kind of willpower over herself but also in part because of the fear of the crushing feeling she would have when the notification turned out to be something as inane as a Spam email. 

“Fucking hell!” Luke’s voice and laugh reached her before he did.  He appeared in the mirror before her.  One side of his hair was pinned back with a set of hair clips.  He looked smart in full Regency period attire.  She had seen him in this state of dress so many times before that it felt like seeing an old friend.

“Only got the budget for half my face.  Think you can act like you’re falling in love with this?” She swivelled herself around to face him.

“It’s going to be a task.” He responded with a straight face.

“They’ve given you more make-up than me!” She exclaimed as she eyed his face more closely.  It was clearer to her now that his skin had been plucked, buffed and smoothened to perfection.  “And are those – wait a minute, have they drawn on side-burns?!”

He seemingly blushed at this remark, which took her by surprise. She remembered that he had confessed he was self-conscious and worried about not being a good enough leading man. 

“Well, you really look like Book Colin. This is just what I imagine he would be like.” She added, trying to change the tone of the conversation from mocking to supportive.  It was a delicate balance to strike with someone who was usually the first one to make fun of themselves.  It was something she would need to get better at in the coming months.

He seemingly perked up a little at this compliment. It was then that she noticed he had one hand behind his back. He noticed her noticing.

“Well, I’ve actually got a little present for you for the start of filming.” He bought out into view a gift box with a purple bow.

“What? No, you didn’t!” She was taken aback.  It was traditional to give and receive wrap gifts, but she did not expect anything at the start of filming.  “I didn’t get you anything.”

“I know.” He smirked. “I win.”

She gave him an unamused look as he placed the box in her lap.  “You really shouldn’t have.”

“It’s something really small and really practical – something that you will love having on set.”

Something small and practical? Her mind raced through the possibilities.  What on earth did he mean? She unravelled the wrapping paper to reveal a shoe box that had Nike Kids emblazoned across it.  She burst into laughter as the instant realization hit her.

“Oh this is very good Mr. Newton.” She nodded approvingly at him. “Very good. Small and practical – and funny. Top notch, sir!”

He beamed at her with a mixture of pride and excitement.  She could tell her reaction had been very fulfilling for him.  She stood up and gave him a tight hug, despite knowing he was not a hugger.  It surprised her when he gave her a squeeze back. 

“Alright – don’t be smudging each other’s make-ups!”  Erika’s voice cut through as they let each other go.  She was wondering back in, polaroid camera in hand. 

“Luke’s filming gift for me.” Nicola stated, holding the shoe box up in Erika’s view.  Erika immediately let out a roar of laughter.

During the first season of Bridgerton, Nicola had been seen slipping into more comfortable shoes between takes: usually a pair of Nike trainers.  During one particularly long day on set, most of the cast were on stand-by between takes, the subject had somehow turned to Nicola’s trainers and how stylish they looked.  She had admitted she shopped for footwear in the children’s section.  It’s cheaper and they get cooler designs. She had enthused.  This had naturally led to the question of her shoe size.  Perhaps it was because everyone was tired to the point of delirium, or bored and desperate for some stimulation, but learning how small her feet actually were had caused fits of laughter across the main cast and then trickled across the production team.  For several months, the sight of Nicola in her Nike trainers would cause cast members to collapse in a fit of giggles.  At one point, the other Luke on set had waltzed into one particularly dramatic scene with his feet stuffed into them – creating one of the funniest outtakes of the series. 

“Now, I want you to wear them with pride.” Luke stated. “It’s important my leading lady is comfortable.”  With that, he gave her and Erika a dramatic bow and then walked backwards out of the trailer.

“Well, what a gentleman.” Erika stated, getting the camera ready.

Nicola turned and faced her.

Between the blinding flash of the camera and the very warm feeling she had from being back on set with people that were like her family, she was hardly thinking about Ezra anymore.  Until she was thinking about him again.  Damn.

Read more here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56951683/chapters/145353211

[ultram0th]

31 Days of Derek Hale

Day 23: Ghost Possession

Info │ 01 │ 02 │ 03 │ 04 │ 05 │ 06 │ 07 │ 08 │ 09 │ 10 │ 11 │ 12 │ 13 │ 14 │ 15 │ 16 │ 17 │ 18 │ 19 │ 20 │ 21 │ 22 │ 23

Despite being a werewolf, Derek didn’t believe in ghosts. In his opinion, they were the cheap product of Hollywood trying to advertise uncreative horror films. He would scoff at the young adults who’d dared one another to sneak into McFadden Manor, only to hear them swear up and down that they’d seen a ghost. Lies, Derek figured.

Still, when Stiles had made up his mind to investigate the ghost stories surrounding McFadden Manor for Halloween, Derek had instantly jumped at the chance to tag along in an attempt to look brave and woo the hyperactive human. 

Unfortunately, Derek couldn’t hide the grimace as he walked through the deserted McFadden Manor. The abandoned mansion was the center of numerous spooky, Halloween-themed tales— all of them focusing on a mischievous trio of ghosts who liked to mess with unsuspecting people. The wide smile on Stiles’s face deeply contrasted with Derek’s scowl.

He eagerly held up an ancient-looking camera. “We should split up and cover more ground,” he said. “I’ll go down towards the garden while you inspect the bedrooms. Radio me if you see anything.” He shoved a large, dinosaur era walkie talkie towards the werewolf.

“I can just text you…” Derek muttered, studying the heavy tech in his hands.

“Thanks for coming with me again, Der,” Stiles said, offering the usually grumpy werewolf a sincere smile, making the alpha’s heart flutter in his chest.

In response, Derek puffed out his muscular chest with pride, his pecs pressing teasingly against his thin, white t-shirt. “S’no problem,” he grunted, trying to play it cool, but he could feel his cheeks grow hot as he blushed. Plus, he couldn’t help but crunch his stomach to make his abs pop against his shirt too, his muscular bod being his best form of flirting since he wasn’t really good at wooing orally.

Stiles happily ran down one of the dark hallways towards his destination, Derek not-so-subtly watching his perky butt as it disappeared.

“Damn,” Derek admired before frowning at the sight of the decrepit mansion. “Damn it.”

Frowning again, he shrugged his broad shoulders and lumbered throughout the dark, cobweb-filled halls. To humor himself, Derek sniffed at the air, smelling nothing in the air except for dust and rats. He rolled his eyes at himself participating in this foolish activity, yet, he forced himself to focus on the endgame: Stiles and him getting together… and then heatedly fucking in his Camaro.

That last thought put a little more pep in Derek’s steps as he explored the empty rooms in the mansion.

*Thud!

Derek tensed up at the sound that echoed out from one of the bedrooms. Following the source, Derek entered a room near the end of the hallway. The room turned out to be a bathroom, the rusty toilet giving it away. There was a dust-covered sink with a dirty mirror near the entryway, and in the far end was a standing tub with a yellow curtain closed over it.

Derek cocked his eyebrow in confusion over the fact that the water seemed to be running in the tub, steam even billowing out from the curtain.

“What the hell?” Derek wondered aloud, knowing that there was no way this house was occupied given its dilapidated state. Still, the running water left the werewolf deeply confused. He grabbed the edge of the shower curtain and ripped it to the side.

Inside of the tub was a portly bluish figure that was slightly transparent. Looking like a caricature ripped out of a cartoon, the ghost had a little tail that seemingly phased in and out of existence as the creature showered. When it noticed that it was being watched, the ghostly figure looked over at Derek and gasped, covering its lower half with its hands… despite there being really nothing to see.

“Do you mind?” the ghost scoffed.

Derek was stunned silent for a moment, his eyes wide as he stared at an actual ghost that was floating before him. “Holy shit,” he finally breathed. “You’re a fuckin’ ghost!”

The ghost exaggeratedly rolled its eyes at Derek. “No shit,” it huffed in a baritone-filled voice that only emphasized its rotund girth. A sly grin formed on its translucent face and its eyes sparkled. “You know, most fleshies tend to avoid this place because of me and my brothers, but here you are.” He sniffed at the air, his smile growing wider. “A werewolf?”

Derek flinched and took a cautious step back.

The ghost continued. “We don’t get a lot of your kind here,” he chuckled. “Your bodies tend to be a little more sturdy. This should be fun!”

The ghost lurched forward at lightening speed, much faster than Derek’s werewolf instincts could react. Since his jaw was still hanging low in shock, the ghost aimed right for the alpha’s agape mouth. 

Derek felt his mouth being stretched to the limit as the ghost squeezed himself inside of him. It was a difficult sensation to describe. Thanks to the ghost’s vapor-like body, it felt as if there was a gust of air that was keeping Derek’s jaw thrusted down as it shoved itself in. Cartoonish stretching noises, like rubber, sounded out as the ghost entered the werewolf. Derek felt himself getting fuller and fuller, feeling as if he’d just eaten a multi-course meal and was stuffed to the brim.

With a simple pop, the ghost finished his entrance and successfully squeezed his rotund body deep inside of Derek.

The werewolf felt full, his stomach and even lower end of his throat feeling as if there was a thick soup trapped in it. Derek stumbled around on shaky feet, trying to piece together what had just happened. The ghost squirmed a little as he settled in under Derek’s skin, the werewolf wincing at the sensation. 

“Damn, I can’t believe that worked!” Derek heard himself exclaim. “I usually have trouble fitting inside tiny bodies.”

Tiny? Derek balked.

Derek’s tingling limbs appeared out of his control, and the more Derek tried his best to strain and walk on his own accord, the more horrified the werewolf grew as it dawned on him that he wasn’t in control of his body. He even attempted to open up his mouth and demand that the ghost leave his body, but he couldn’t even do that— instead, Derek was more so a passenger inside of his own body. He could still experience every sense, smelling and feeling everything around himself, but he couldn’t move or speak on his own.

He felt his legs propel him forward, turning around to look into the mirror. Derek bristled at his own reflection which only smiled back at him, his smile eerily similar to that of the ghost’s.

What the fuck are you doing to me?! Derek roared on the inside. Get the fuck out!

The ghost only shook Derek’s head mockingly. “No way,” he said, making Derek’s body and voice say it on his behalf. “I kinda miss having a body so I’m gonna hang onto yours for a bit. The name’s Fatso, by the way.”

That’s a stupid name.

The ghost shrugged. “And this is a stupid body,” he countered, exploring Derek’s body, running his hands over it. Derek could feel every touch, unable to stop feeling himself up. “There’s barely any room inside of here. Let’s fix that.”

Derek screamed on the inside as he witnessed his stomach shudder before it expanded outwards. His gut grew in size and it rounded out as Fatso forced it to bubble out. Derek’s chiseled abs disappeared as a thick layer of fat appeared over them, going from firm to large and jiggly. It grew bigger and bigger, becoming huge and bulbous as it jutted far out in front of Derek, looking as if he’d swallowed a yoga ball instead of a ghost. To add to the inflation, even Derek’s pecs packed on some fat. They lost some of their tone as they grew larger and saggier, resting atop his enormous belly. There was still some traces of Derek’s large muscles underneath his new girth, but instead of looking like he lived in a gym, he looked more like some ex-jock who was in the middle of a perpetual bulking phase.

What the fuck did you do to me?! Derek roared on the inside, wincing as he examined his new body in the mirror. He must’ve gained well over fifty pounds, with most of it centered on his new gut. His mysterious growth had torn his t-shirt to shreds, forcing him to see all of his girth at once. Despite looking hard and solid, Derek winced at the way his gut hung over his jeans, sagging slightly.

Fatso mock-frowned. “Don’t be like that,” he taunted, putting both of his hands on the sides of Derek’s new belly and giving it a playful shake, causing it to bounce wildly. “I think you look much better with some more meat on our bones. Now there’s some food in the kitchen that we can eat.”

Eat? You mean you want me to get even fatter? Derek protested, unable to prevent his body from waddling out of the bathroom and down the hallway. His thicker thighs rolled over one another as he moved, and his rotund belly stuck so far out in front of himself that he couldn’t even see his feet. He inwardly flinched every time his foot thudded against the hardwood floor, sending a ripple through his belly and pecs.

Fatso forced Derek into the kitchen, where he made him lumber towards the fridge. Derek was surprised that when it opened, it was stocked full of food that looked like it’d just been bought earlier that day as opposed to sitting for years untouched.

Derek felt his arms lurch forward, grabbing fistfuls of various treats and snacks. 

“The only downside to being a ghost is that you can’t eat a lot of food,” Fatso lamented. “But the good thing about possessing a werewolf fleshie is that you can gorge on tons and tons of junk food. Much, much more than a human can!”

No! Wait! Derek pleaded.

His pleas fell on deaf ears as Fatso eagerly shoved loads of food into Derek’s mouth, moaning loudly as he tasted all sorts of flavors. Salty, sweet, savory— all kinds of different foods were shoved down Derek’s eager throat, none of them low-calorie.

The entire time, the werewolf inwardly begged Fatso to stop gorging on so much junk food. However, the ghost was paying no attention to him, moaning loudly as he devoured everything in the fridge.

In the center of the fridge was a delicious looking, three-tiered cake with bright pink frosting. Derek could feel his mouth salivating as his eyes honed in on the monstrous dessert. 

Before Derek could uselessly plead with Fatso again, his hands grabbed at the cake as he greedily gobbled it down. All he could taste was the sugary frosting and the chocolate center of the cake, grimacing at the sweetness, yet Fatso loved it.

Derek inwardly froze when he felt something horrible: his pants felt like they were getting tighter.

It was hard to tell since Fatso controlled his line of sight, but Derek could barely make out his gut growing more and more into his field of vision. It didn’t take long for the werewolf to put two and two together to figure out that, thanks to Fatso’s overeating, he was getting even bigger.

His big belly was starting to jut even further away from his torso as it packed on even more size from the delectable cake. His pecs felt heavier as they grew in size, his nipples even stretching out from the sheer expanse of his enlarged chest. Love handles formed and drooped slightly over the edges of Derek’s pants, which felt painfully tight by now.

Pop!

The button on Derek’s pants finally gave out, ricocheting off and landing on the floor. Derek felt a sense of relief as he continued to fill out, his ass puffing out as his cheeks ballooned out and became large and squishy. To account for his larger rear, Derek could even feel his thighs starting to push closer together as they blew up. As Fatso continued to eat, Derek’s body went from bulky to chunky linebacker status, looking incredibly large as if two of him were shoved together into one body.

Fatso fit the last few bits of the cake into his mouth, swallowing it down loudly and straightening back up. He patted his large gut, satisfied, before letting out a loud burp.

“I always gotta get a big cake before every Halloween thanks to silly guys like you who want to come play detective,” he smiled, rubbing his hand up and down his distended belly. “This was nice. See ya next year?”

Derek let out another loud belch, this one accompanied by a flash of blue as Fatso left his body to fly somewhere else in the manor.

Finally in control of his body, Derek gasped loudly as he ran his shaky hands all over his enlarged form. For some strange reason, even with Fatso gone, Derek was left with his added weight, looking massive and round. He took an awkward step forward, blushing as his entire body seemed to jiggle. He couldn’t see anything past his large belly which definitely wouldn’t fit in any of his clothes anymore.

“Damn it,” Derek huffed, giving his gut a tentative poke. “I have to do so many crunches to get this down to size…” He trailed off when his stomach growled, a deep hunger taking over him.

“Hey, Der,” Stiles called out, his footsteps approaching, “still no sign of any ghosts. I’m starting to think that they’re just stories.” Stiles froze when he reached the kitchen, his eyes nearly falling out of his head at the sight of the fatter Derek.

“Um,” Derek blushed, scratching the back of his head nervously, “I think I found a ghost—” He paused when Stiles stepped forward and placed a soft hand on his rotund belly, rubbing it up and down.

A smile forming on his face, Stiles couldn’t help but look up at the large werewolf. “Do you like belly rubs?” he asked, playfully rubbing Derek’s gut.

Although he couldn’t see it thanks to his big gut blocking his view, Derek could feel his cock rocket to attention, already oozing as Stiles gave him a belly rub. “Y-yeah,” he breathed. He blushed again as his stomach growled a second time.

“Big boy’s hungry?” Stiles teased.

Derek just eagerly nodded, looking forward to eating cake and getting more belly rubs from Stiles. 

All in all, it turned out to be the best Halloween of Derek’s life.

[waynes-multiverse]

Plastic Hearts – Part 21

Pairing: Director!Dean Winchester x Actress!Reader

Series Summary: Los Angeles, 1985. Y/N’s a young actress without any success, hopping from one failed audition to the next until one desperate mistake brings her to her breaking point. Dean Winchester, on the other hand, is a grade A asshole and washed-up director at the end of his career, known for his godawful slasher movies in the 70s and his love for blow, booze, and women. Lost in the toxic Hollywood life, their paths cross when one hopeless little wrestling show changes their trajectory.

Chapter Warnings: +18, language, smut (p in v, dirty talk, spanking), fluff, angst, comfort

Word Count: 7.6k

A/N: It's finally happening! Get the Office gifs ready 👀😂 It's so good to bring this series back after such an unexpectedly long time away. We've got five more chapters left, so let's make 'em count with as much drama and ridiculousness as possible, shall we? Ready? And action! 🎬

<< 20 || Spotify Playlist || Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

21. Rock You Like A Hurricane

Dean swallows the clot that has formed in the back of his throat as the first button of her white cotton blouse flies open. The air in the office feels dry, his mind hazy. Is he dreaming? Once again, he reminds himself to stop mixing booze and blow. It never ends well and barely ever helps.

Another step forward, another button, another swallow.

Y/N is a Fata Morgana, a mirage, slowly moving towards him through blurry lines and summer heat.

“Don’t you want me?”

The innocent lip bite that accompanies her question sends him downstairs, predestining him to burn in hellfire. He swallows again. Of course, he wants her. He always does.

The heels of his boots dig into the rotten floorboards as he pushes back on his office chair, enough to free his thighs from underneath the wooden desk and show off the bulging erection blooming in his jeans. It started to form as soon as she walked in and turned that damn lock behind her back.

The corners of her pink lips rise to a smile. She likes what she sees, and soon enough, she finds herself slotted between his bow legs with his greedy palms smoothing up her denim-clad thighs until they find a home on the juicy globes of her ass and squeeze tight. Green eyes darken as they wander up her frame before they meet two sparkling orbs that mirror his own lust back to him.

More buttons spring open, the blouse slipping off her shoulders and hitting the ground. A gray leotard becomes visible, two pointed peaks on luscious hills poking through the thin material, his mouth forming a ring around one of them, hot air igniting her skin and stealing her breath. Her arms weave around his neck, her head lolls back between her shoulder blades, her legs grow unsteady. Eyes close, fingers tangle in his hair and claw at his skin.

One large hand travels to the front, works the zipper of her jeans, and shimmies the denim fabric down two smooth thighs. His other arm snakes around her waist, holds her tight, and pulls her closer until she straddles his lap and lets their hips fuse into one.

Their eyes find each other. Gently, he brushes her hair out her face, tucks it behind her ears, strokes her flushed cheeks. She’s breathless and breathtaking, and then she dips her head and catches his lips, kissing him until he is, too.

“Wait, wait, wait…” He draws back in a drunk state of mind and gasps for air, hoping oxygen will help in clearing his head.

“What?” She pouts, her voice velvety soft and delirious.

“I just-… I have to ask you something first, make sure…” The air works wonders, the fog dissipates from his mind. Green eyes watch her closely. There’s something off, something wrong, something out of place. Y/N wouldn’t just stroll into his office and throw herself at him. As much as he enjoys this little dream sequence, it’s not who she is. “Why are you doing this? You’re not-, uhm…” He swallows harshly, his mind racing in circles. “You’re not fucking me, so I’ll stop being mad at you, right? ‘Cause that’s not what I want.”

God, the thought alone kills him. It’s his goddamn nightmare. What if he subconsciously manipulated her to do this? What if he’s taking advantage of her? What if he drove her so desperate that she sees this as her only option? What if she actually doesn’t want this?

But a gentle smile forms on her face instead. She pecks his lips, rests her forehead against his, and softly shakes her head. There’s amusement in her voice. “You already said you weren’t mad at me, remember?”

“Then why?”

Y/N shrugs and licks her ample lips. “I want to. I want you… You’re the best guy I know. I can’t think of anyone I’d want this with more,” she assures him with a sweet smile and caresses the scruff on his cheeks, her hips grinding against his crotch. “It’s just-…” She bites down on her lower lip, cutting off her sentence.

“What? Tell me, sweetheart.” He clutches her chin and draws her gaze to meet his eyes.

“Even with the show being over, I don’t want the girls to find out,” she confesses nervously.

Dean nods in understanding and gifts her a smile. “Lucky for you, I’m good at keeping secrets. Have I ever let you down in that regard?”

She thinks for a beat, then shakes her head and matches his smile. “No.”

“See?” He grins, showing his pearly white teeth, and pulls her lips back to his for a searing kiss that seals their deal.

His hands begin to roam the curves they’re holding, her hips rocking against his in a needy rhythm, desperately searching for more friction to scratch the unbearable itch he seems to cause.

“Need you so bad, need this cock so bad…” she whispers between kisses and ragged breaths.

“Yeah? You think you can get off like that?” Dean lifts his thigh a little higher, shoves it right against her clothed cunt to give her a bit more friction, and listens to her whimpers in satisfaction. “Show me how much you want this… want me, baby girl. Wanna know how desperate you are for this cock, Y/N. Work for it.” His challenge is accompanied by a little smirk, which soon disappears and becomes stuck in his throat when Y/N accepts with eager nods.

Shit, he really needs to stop underestimating her. That’s already been his first mistake when he met her.

Her arms lock tighter around his neck for more balance as she rubs her pussy against the rough denim that covers his thick thigh. Her breathing grows so labored that kissing becomes an impossibility, the need for air in her lungs greater than the need to stay connected. The strong arm slung around her waist helps her move while his other hand tweaks, pinches, and gropes her tit, prying the gray cotton of her leotard over one shoulder to free the flesh and expose her nipple to the cool office air and his hot breath. He feels a wet patch forming on his leg, sees the stain on his jeans from her arousal as he peeks down between them.

“Dean, I’m–…”

Y/N doesn’t have to say it out loud. He can see it on her face that she’s damn close. “Such a good girl. Cum for me, huh? Let me finally fill and stretch this nice pussy with my cock, baby. Been waiting for you,” he coos. “Bet you’re so tight, yeah? How long’s it been?” His tongue licks the hardened bud before he pops her tit in his mouth and sucks, bites, tears.

“Fuck!”

She explodes, his name falling from her lips in prayer as she trembles and quivers in his arms. Her mouth parts, sucks in as much air as she can to fuel her lungs. Her arms cling to him, fingers denting the skin on his broad shoulders.

“That’s my girl,” Dean praises her, smiling as he lets her ride out her orgasm. “So, so pretty when you come. I missed that face.”

“Dean, please… Need you inside me now,” she purrs against his lips, swallowing his groans as they connect.

“Yeah? You sure?”

“Uh-huh, please,” she begs breathily. “How d’you want me, boss?”

“What do you want, Y/N?” Hearing what a woman wants him to do to her or what she wants to do to him has always been one of the biggest turn-ons for him. “Tell me.”

“Want you to bend me over your desk, take me hard, punish me… Been a bad girl. Need you to punish me, please,” she whimpers and hungrily claims his lips, her nails digging into his jaw.

Now, Dean should probably be worried or at least stumped by her somewhat strange request. Not because it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard a woman ask for in the bedroom, but because it’s not necessarily something Y/N would say. However, she’s also an actress, and he’s about 99.9% sure she’s playing a role and following a script in her head. And well, hey, he likes playing too, so who would he be to deny her wishes? He’s been dreaming about spanking her ass and punishing his favorite Russian villain for weeks at this point.

“I think we can arrange that, baby girl,” he promises, a saucy smirk plastered on his lips. “But first – need to see your face when I break you in, yeah?”

Y/N grins and nods against his lips, her hand reaching down between their heated bodies and unbuckling his belt, pulling it from its loops, metal clinking before the sound of a zipper follows. Lifting her ass from his lap, he helps her strive off the denim, pushing it down his legs till it pools by his ankles, only leaving a thin barrier of cotton between them.

“Condom?”

Dean nods and motions for her to stand up, so he can reach into the bottom drawer of his desk. As he fishes out a foil packet, Y/N discards her leotard, nothing but naked skin and flesh left for his eyes to devour. Removing his own pair of boxers, his long cock bounces against his stomach and stretches to his belly button, fully erect, head swollen, and leaking at the tip. He tears the foil with his teeth and rolls the latex down his aching length before his hands drag her back into his lap.

Her arms settle on his muscular shoulders, her lips find and bruise his as he lines himself up with her entrance and threads his dickhead through her dripping folds. Her cunt is pink and glistening, hot and wet as he slowly slides inside, lets her feel every inch that fills her tight hole to the brim, her small body sinking down on him till they’re inseparable.

A moan escapes them both when he’s fully sheathed in her heat, and Dean knows lasting long would border on a miracle. Her mouth falls open as he stretches her tight walls, her eyes seeking his and not daring to look anywhere else. Unsurprisingly, Y/N takes direction well. She remains connected to him – mind, body, and soul.

“Fuck, Dean,” she breathes and swallows at the sheer thickness inside of her, her eyes finally falling closed as their foreheads meet.

Dean caresses her cheek and softly pecks her hairline. He then shuts his eyes as well and just focuses on the feeling of her wrapped around him for a blissful heartbeat. This is all he ever wanted.

Her. Here.

“You good?” he checks, his fingers trailing soothingly up and down her spine as she relaxes her muscles and adjusts to his size.

A gentle smile twitches and tugs on her lips. “Yeah, I’m great… You feel great.”

“You know, if you keep giving me compliments like that, it’s gonna be hard for me to smack your perky ass purple and blue,” he chuckles and watches a grin form.

“I like to make things hard for you,” she sasses and kisses his lips, her pussy purposely gripping his throbbing dick.

“There’s my bad girl.” Dean can’t fight the smile on his face. “Alright, you ready?”

Dean doesn’t have to wait for an answer as her hips begin to lift and rock against him, calming like the Pacific waves and soothing like the lullabies his mother used to sing when he was sick as a child.

“M-more,” Y/N whines, the needy desperation haunting her vocal chords.

“Beg for it,” Dean whispers, nuzzling his nose against her ear with a smirk.

“Please… Please fuck me, boss,” she rasps her pleas. “Need it hard and fast.”

“Anything you want, sweetheart.” Dean catches her lips, the kiss scorching and lasting before his hands smooth up her bare thighs and grab her ass tight, lifting them both from the chair.

Swiftly, her soles hit the ground as he swirls her in his hold and bends her over his desk. Her tits press flush against the wood, his palms finding her hips as he pulls her closer to him, ass up until it brushes against his solid length. With his knees, he spreads her legs wide and easily slots between them. He palms both asscheeks, caresses the skin before he administers his first slap, the sound echoing through his quiet office with her whimper as he watches the juicy flesh ricochet, completely entranced.

“You got a safe word, Y/N?” Dean asks as he soothes the red spot on her cheek.

“Hmmm,” she muses and bites her lower lip, and he can see the mischief twinkling in her orbs. She giggles, “What about ‘camera guy’?”

His palm strikes the other globe, making her yelp and jolt on the spot.

“Ow, fuck!” Y/N’s moan drowns in a laugh. “Jesus, Dean, I was just kidding.”

The director chuckles, “Yeah, well, I wasn’t.” With one harsh and fast thrust, he drives his cock back into her tight cunt, causing her to slam forward, her hips bruising against the desk. Her fingers curl tightly around the edge, knuckles white as she keeps herself pinned in place. He leans forward, his chest pressing against her back as his warm breath fans against the shell of her ear, his blunt fingernails denting the skin on her hips. Smirking, he demands, “Safe word. Now.”

“Fuck, uhm…” Breathlessly, her mind spirals, his cock slowly dragging in and out of her and not stopping to give her even a second to ponder. “Squirrel?”

“Squirrel it is,” he agrees amusedly, straightening as he picks up his pace and drives in deeper, watching as his dick gets swallowed by her soaking cunt, his swollen shaft glistening with her slick. “Shit, baby girl… Wish you could see how well you take me. Your needy little pussy sucks my fat cock right in,” he groans, listening in delight as his balls slap against her ass with each roll of his hips.

“Maybe you can bring your camera next time, boss,” Y/N mewls her suggestion as she falls apart underneath him.

“Yeah? Would you like that, huh? Would you like to see how fucking desperate you are for me, sweetheart?”

“Uh-huh, would love that, boss. Wanna see how you fuck me and split me open,” she breathes hazily, her moans getting louder with each slam of his hips. “F-fuck, so close… Wanna come on your cock, please.”

“Oh, we can arrange that, sweetheart,” Dean chuckles, his breathing growing more labored as well as sweat starts to collect on his skin in sticky beads. He’s close, too, feels his cock throb and swell inside of her. His palm smacks her asscheek one last time. She cries out with pleasure as the sting burns her skin, her pussy clenching around his dick and gripping it tight.

But just as his hand sneaks to her front and finds the sensitive little nub, their ears both perk up as the big metal door of the gym flies open and a wave of female chatter floods inside.

“Oh, shit!” Y/N moans loudly at his last violent pound into her pussy before Dean’s palm covers her mouth and stops the rest from spilling out.

Pulling her up, her back straightens and presses flush against his body. He slows his thrusts but still pushes in deep enough to tickle her cervix and keeps the little circles on her clit alive, feeling her knees give in as her legs become putty. Her breathing is harsh and restricted against his palm, her lips straining and tightening to keep the screams inside.

“Ssh, ssh, ssh… you’re doing so, so good, baby,” Dean whispers his praises into her ear and chuckles as she clenches hard around his dick. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. Trust me, they won’t hear us over their blabbering,” he chuckles. “Relax, okay? Let loose… little more,” he orders her, feeling the tension in her muscles shift to her head as she bites down on his fingers to keep it locked inside. “There you go… Gonna need you to come quietly, and I’ll be right behind you, alright? Can you do that?” Y/N nods against his hand. “Good girl,” he coos and pecks her temple quickly.

And then, he draws out till only the tip remains inside her drenched channel before he roughly slams back in. His thrusts become relentless in both speed and force as he fucks her, her screams of pleasure only muffled by his palm and the harsh bite of her lip. Tears sting her eyes and stream down her cheeks, trickling onto his fingers at the intense pressure as her walls tighten. One more thrust, and they begin to flutter, her body convulsing as she falls over the cliff and milks his cock for all he’s got, pulling him over the edge with her.

A primal grunt rumbles in his chest and crawls out of his throat, his fingers leaving bruises on her hips behind as he spills hot ropes of his seed into the condom, his cock throbbing in rhythm with her twitching cunt. His hand falls from her mouth as she braces her palms on the wooden surface in front of her.

Deliriously, they both gasp for air, every breath jagged before the storm within them calms. Dean brushes her hair from her sweat-covered neck and lovingly kisses the salty skin on her shoulder blade, a blissful smile gracing his lips.

The sun blinds her eyes as Y/N stands on the green, perfectly cut lawn of the Dusty Spur. The boys have called an emergency meeting at the motel this time, gathering all the women in front of the reception outside.

It’s been three days since she has fucked the director in his office. He was careful not to leave any marks on her throat behind or anywhere else where it might catch unwanted attention, no one batting eyelashes at the new bruises on her hips that joined some of the old ones from training.

Dean told her he wanted a repeat of their encounter, whispering the dirtiest and most sinful promises into her ear. However, they haven’t seen much of each other since then. Both of them have been quite busy after the news of their new time slot and impending cancelation broke. And while it certainly dampened the lighthearted mood in the gym for a day, hope was not entirely lost, though, and still thrived in everyone but Y/N and Jo.

Yet, the two of them played along with the illusion the show still could be saved for the sake of the team. She didn’t know why Jo was entertaining the farce, but Y/N did it for her friends and, well, Dean, who’d been pondering and working nonstop to try and figure out what went wrong in his well-oiled machinery.

Y/N hates that he blames himself, not having the guts to tell him it’s in reality all her fault. Even with his sunglasses on his freckle-dusted nose, she can see the bags under his green eyes from the lack of sleep in recent days and feels more guilt pooling in the pits of her stomach. She doesn’t want him to be mad at her again, which is why she’s glad she can use Billie’s new, harsh training regiment as a good excuse to avoid him.

“They gave a men’s wrestling show our slot! And you wanna know why, hm?” Cas throws his rhetorical question into the group. Y/N has never seen the producer so angry and swallows more shame down. “Truth is, they’re better! They fly higher and hit harder!

“They hit harder because they’re bigger. It’s physics,” Y/N points out and tries to keep her annoyance at bay. It’s a men’s world they’re living in, and she’s getting sick and tired of the comparisons.

“Oh, fuck physics, Y/N!” Cas yells, causing her to flinch at his tone. “I need you to take everything you got and push it all the way to the limit, okay?”

“I don’t know what else we can do. We’ve been training for hours almost every day. Sun up till sun down,” Donna says and sighs.

Maybe it’s not too late, and Y/N should request a private meeting with Dick at the network, try and smooth things over before they get any worse. Maybe a blowjob in the office is enough to get them their old slot back and save the show. Dean wouldn’t ever have to know, right?

Besides, would he even care? Maybe he’d be grateful. After all, she doesn’t have much worth beyond fucking someone if you asked anyone here.

“I don’t need to hear excuses. I need to hear results,” Cas huffs and places his hands on his squared-off hips, shaking his head.

“You want bigger moves? Fine, you’ll get ‘em,” Billie assures him with a biting fighter spirit.

Cas’ lips curve into an enthusiastic smile. “That’s what I wanna hear! Look, I know this is gonna be hard, but I believe in miracles, and we’re going to make this miracle happen!”

Jo heaves a sigh. “Right, so we break our bodies and wrestle harder and magically get our time slot back?” she asks wryly, but her sarcasm is sadly lost on Cas.

“Yes!” the producer agrees joyously. “Look, I have it from Richard Roman himself that this is what they’ve been missing.”

At that, Jo’s blaming eyes wander to Y/N as the two former friends share a look. Shamefully, Y/N averts her gaze to the green grass underneath her feet, and Jo clenches her jaw tightly and starts to grind her teeth. Ever since their heated conversation in the gym, things have went downhill between them. Nowadays, there are just judgmental looks and passive-aggressive comments passed between them.

“So you met with Richard Roman?” Jo turns her unresolved anger towards the guys.

Cas groans loudly and rolls his blue eyes back. “Jo, I’m sorry, okay? It was a guy thing. We had to storm the gates,” he explains.

“Yeah, don’t get back up on your feminist high horse, alright? We didn’t leave you out, okay?” Dean jumps to Cas’ defense and unsuccessfully smooths things over. “We just think your focus should be on performing this week, you know? You and Y/N have a big match coming up. The, uh, continuing tale of the bereaved mother and the insane Russian, right?”

Jo nods and clenches her jaw once more, biting back her surely fiery comments.

“Okay, enough talking! Let’s do it!” Cas announces eagerly and claps his palms together as the women scatter back to their rooms to get ready for today’s training.

“What time do you wanna rehearse today?” Y/N bitterly asks her blonde opponent, already expecting a bitchy answer.

“Oh, any time, really. I mean, we could rehearse all day and night. It won’t make a difference,” Jo replies in an annoyed tone as anticipated. “You of all people should know that.”

Y/N watches Jo leave, trying her hardest not to strangle her former friend. She gets it. She fucked up, but she still doesn’t agree with Jo. Would sleeping with Roman and sacrificing her dignity really have saved the show?

“Hey, everything alright?” Dean’s deep voice startles her. She was so preoccupied with killing Jo in her mind, she hasn’t even noticed the director sneak up on her. “I know Cas was a little intense today. Never seen the guy this riled up before. It’s like a puppy getting rabies.”

Y/N forces a chuckle from her throat and brushes him off. “Oh, uhm, yeah, wasn’t so bad. I get it.”

Dean’s brow creases, sensing something is off with her. Shit. She does not want the director to find out about what happened.

“You’re not mad at me, right? I know I’ve been a bit MIA the last few days. It’s just been crazy with everything going on,” he explains sincerely and shoots her a soft smile. “I meant to call you or at least talk to you. I hope you know that.”

“Yeah, no, like I said, I get it, Dean. Don’t worry about me, okay?” she assures him and compels another smile to her face before her curiosity takes over. “Did Roman really say our moves weren’t good enough?”

Her hope comes flooding back. Maybe it truly wasn’t her fault. Maybe the guy hits on so many actresses on a weekly basis that he doesn’t even care if one rejects him. Maybe it’s just all in her goddamn head, and it was just bad luck all around.

Dean shrugs and scratches the back of his neck. “Well, he didn’t say it exactly like that, but you girls are amazing. He’s gonna change his mind, and you’ll be back in your old slot in no time,” he promises her hopefully.

“Yeah, I guess so…” Fuck. It’s definitely about her.

“You sure you’re okay?” Dean checks again, noticing her absentminded behavior. Y/N’s usually chipper, eager, talkative, and hard to keep contained. She’s a warrior. The woman in front of him right now is the complete opposite, however. He almost doesn’t recognize her, and it worries him a little.

Is it him? Did he break her?

“Uh-huh, yeah, just tired, you know? Billie’s been riding us pretty hard this week,” Y/N excuses her strange mood with a half-truth, and Dean seems to buy it.

“Yeah, I bet.” He nods understandingly, chuckling. “Well, uhm, I’ve got some free time tonight. You wanna come over for dinner and I don’t know maybe… stay? You could ride me pretty hard, too,” he suggests, making her snort. “Admittedly, that sounded better in my head. Sorry.”

“No, uhm, I’d love to,” she replies honestly, giggling at his bashfulness. “But I’m pretty beat. Probably gonna fall into bed around seven like a dead person. Raincheck?”

Truthfully, there’s nothing she’d rather do than spend her nights (and days) with Dean, but the guilt in her belly is eating her alive. She can barely look him in the eyes. As of right now, though, she can see even more disappointment shimmering in his green orbs.

“Sure, yeah. Open invitation, sweetheart,” he says and acts as if her rejection doesn’t bother him. “But still, if all you wanna do is sleep, then you’re welcome to do that at my place as well. I do have the better mattress than the motel. Maybe a good night’s rest and a hot bath is all you need to recover, you know?”

Hot bath. The words make her skin crawl and take her right back to that horrible night where it all went wrong. How could she have been so stupid?

Y/N swallows the lump in her throat and fights for words. “Oh, uhm… I don’t, uh…”

“Hey, it’s okay, alright? No explanation needed, sweetheart,” Dean says and lets her off the hook. “Just wanted to offer, you know?”

“Thanks, another time.” Y/N forces one last smile to her lips.

Dean hasn’t seen Y/N in a whole week. Well, that’s not entirely true. He sees her every day at training in the gym, rolling around with Jo in the ring. But he hasn’t seen her privately since their little naughty stint in his office.

By now, he’s sure she’s avoiding him for some reason, but he doesn’t have the guts nor the balls to ask her straight. He’s too afraid of her answer, scared she has changed her mind about them and their arrangement. He’d accept it, of course, but he still doesn’t want to find out if that’s the reason why she keeps her distance. It would most certainly break his heart.

A knock on his office door makes his head snap up with hope that it’s Y/N. Either she’s here for another booty call or to end it. He’s prepared for both. To his surprise, though, it’s Donna who’s stopping by for a visit.

“Dean? Can we talk?” the curvy blonde asks insecurely, concern etched into every crease of her face.

“Sure, uh, what’s up?” Dean knows Donna and Billie have given their all to train the girls over the last few weeks, and if production could afford it, he’d give them both a gigantic raise. Unfortunately, he can’t but hopes it’s the thought that still counts.

“It’s about Y/N and Jo,” she informs him, and his ears perk up at that.

He’s noticed some tension between those two as well, so he’s not as surprised as he should have been. But honestly, sometimes it’s hard to tell what those two are fighting about. If it’s something new or just the same old beef.

“Usually, they do a good job of keeping their weird friendship stuff out of the ring, but not in the last week. There’s something wrong with them,” Donna tells him.

No shit, Dean thinks. Those two having issues is not an entirely new thing.

“What d’you want me to do about it?” Dean asks. He knows Donna didn’t just stroll into his office to chat and gossip. She’s looking for direction. Like the rest of these women downstairs, the blonde expects him to solve their problems. In the end, that’s his job.

“Postpone the match,” Donna prompts, the worry deepening. “I don’t think they should fight. They’re not communicating properly. Someone’s gonna get hurt.”

Dean tries not laugh, but in reality, it’s just fucking funny. Do these women ever think things through? Y/N and Jo’s match is the main storyline, the two of them being the best fighters as well. If they’re not entering the ring, he might as well just throw in the towel now and quit. The show would never make it back on air.

“Donna, I can’t do that,” he tells her frustratedly and runs a palm over his face. “C’mon, don’t be so dramatic. It’s not like they’re gonna kill each other.”

“Dean–” Donna is about to interject when he stops her.

“Fine, all right? I’ll talk to her,” the director assures the blonde.

Donna’s brow shoots up. “Her?”

“Them. I’ll talk to them,” Dean corrects quickly and watches her leave his office, clearly dissatisfied with his solution.

Dean hates West Hollywood like a mouse hates a cat. He can’t believe he fucking agreed to this thing in the first place. And the only reason he did agree was his stupid daughter, who’s not even here tonight because she’d rather spend time with her boyfriend than with her dad.

Fucking teenagers…

Honestly, Dean’s got no clue why he still came here without Claire. Maybe because he’s old-school and actually keeps his commitments, or maybe it’s because he’s got nothing better to do since neither his kid nor his not-girlfriend want to spend time with him. So, it was either getting drunk at home alone like he always does or do this.

As Dean enters the dark theater, he notices not a lot of seats are taken. Surprise, surprise! No one cares about him or his movies…

There’s a group of teenagers in the front row, though, who seem to be way to young to watch one of his films. But who is he to judge? He’s not their fucking parent. God knows he’s got his hands full with one teenager already.

He’s about to take a seat somewhere in the back when his green eyes spy a familiar head of hair. His heart skips a beat when he recognizes his favorite actress. Out of all the places in all the world, he’d never thought he’d meet her here.

“Hey,” he says as soon as he’s made it to her row. Her head darts up, but she doesn’t seem too surprised to see him here, which makes this coincidence even weirder. He assumed she strolled by this theater by accident and saw one of his movies was showing, deciding to check it out, which just so happens to flatter him and stroke his ego perfectly fine. “What are you doing here?”

Dammit. That sounded way too aggressive. He’s honestly happy she’s here; he just hasn’t expected it. Call it a ‘pleasant surprise.’

“Oh, uh, Claire invited me,” Y/N explains and gulps nervously. “But I can leave if you don’t want me here.”

Damn that kid. Of course, she meddled in his affair. Does she know he likes Y/N? Is it that obvious? Well, either way, someone’s getting a bigger allowance this week. Doesn’t he have the best kid?

“No, uh, stay. Please,” he says and sends Y/N his best smile. “Can I sit with you?”

Her face lights up. “Sure.”

Dean sits down on a red velvet seat next to her and feels like a goddamn teenager on a first date. His knees are shaking as he anxiously taps his boots on the sticky movie floor and drums his palms repeatedly on his thighs. Something inside of him urges him to hold her hand and interlace their fingers, or do one of those moves where he yawns and slings his arm around her shoulders.

In fact, he can barely concentrate on the movie until he takes her hand in his. But who cares? He wrote and directed this masterpiece, so it’s not like he’s missing out on anything important. He already knows the plot and every single shot.

Once their fingers touch, his heartbeat accelerates to light speed. She shoots him a look and raises her brow with a teasing smirk. He can catch it from his periphery but doesn’t dare to look straight at her. Instead, he awkwardly clears his throat and glues his green eyes stubbornly to the silver screen, pretending it’s not a big deal.

When did holding hands become such a fucking thrill? He’s not goddamn sixteen anymore, for crying out loud.

Y/N takes note of his uncomfortableness and focuses back on the movie but still gives his hand a small squeeze, telling him everything is all right. They remain exactly like this till the end credits roll across the screen.

And then, to his greatest surprise, there are cheers and claps from everyone in the theater. Y/N lets go of his hand to clap as well and bites her lip to hide a smile once she sees him blush furiously at the attention and admiration.

The group of teenagers then approaches him and stops by his row as a young, scrawny boy speaks up, “You’re a genius, Mr. Winchester.”

Mister?! How old do they think he is? Well, granted, he probably shot that movie before those kids were even born. Talk about feeling old.

“Your disorientation factor is truly masterful,” the boy continues. “Claire told us we’d love it.”

His brow shoots up in surprise. “Claire? How do you know my kid?”

“Oh, we’re all in AV club together,” the boy replies and gestures to his peers before they filter out of the theater.

“Huh.” Dean is gobsmacked, truly. For one, he didn’t even know Claire was in AV club. And secondly, he’s goddamn proud of her. Who knew the kid would take after her old man?

“See?” Y/N pokes his arm with her elbow, a big grin adorning her face. “You have a whole fan club of teenagers who adore your movie that they are, for sure, too young to see.”

Dean chuckles softly and wishes he could hide his reddening cheeks from her.

“I liked your movie, too,” she says then and watches his reaction closely.

“Oh, c’mon,” Dean tries to brush her off. She’s probably just saying it to appeal to his ego. He knows she’s not the biggest fan of his work. “Really?”

“Yeah!” Y/N says enthusiastically. “Those kids were right. It was disorienting. You were doing your own thing.” But then she catches her mistake and corrects herself, “Are. Sorry! You still are doing–”

Dean, however, shakes his head at her correction. “Nope, you’re right,” he admits and scoffs. “That was me twenty years ago. My hands all over everything like the biggest control freak, driving everybody nuts. I mean, my operator actually became so frustrated with me that he quit the first day and threw his camera at me. I had to shoot the rest of it myself.”

“You shot that?” Y/N’s eyebrows raise in surprise. “Wow.”

“Yeah, I did.” Dean sighs and pensively scratches his beard. Something’s been bothering him for a while now, and talking to Y/N usually helps him sort through his jumbled thoughts. After all, she’s his Alma. “You know, I’m accustomed to a certain level of failure. When a project usually goes wrong, I know exactly what happened. It’s just-… with our show… I have no idea what went wrong there. I don’t know why they shit-canned us. Not a fucking clue. None. It’s driving me insane.”

Y/N grows quiet next to him and fumbles with her fingers. She swallows deeply before she opens her mouth. “I have an idea. I know why,” she confesses.

The director’s brow furrows. As he looks at her, he recognizes her nervousness. It causes him to worry. “What d’you mean?”

“Richard Roman, the head of the network? He-, uhm, he invited me to dinner… at his hotel room,” Y/N begins, the uncomfortableness growing inside of her and expanding in her chest.

Dean, on the other hand, stays perfectly still and quiet. The calm before the storm, so to speak. Because as soon as she said those words, he could feel his heart stop and drop several feet into the depths of hell. There, he’s sure he’ll find some kind of weapon he can use to kill that motherfucker before he comes back topside. The director knows how that story ends before she has even finished it, and it makes him want to puke his guts out and burn this godforsaken city down.

“He came on to me. As in… he wanted to have sex with me,” Y/N continues and clarifies in case he didn’t catch on. She’s not entirely sure the director is getting the message since he hasn’t said a word yet. “But I left before anything could happen. Ran away, actually. Bolted right outta there.” Her little chuckle at the end is a futile attempt to lighten the mood.

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” Dean’s furious, his nostrils flaring. He wants to punch and kill someone, but most of all Dickhead Roman himself.

“No, I’m not,” Y/N replies meekly. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t be mad at me.”

Bewildered, he frowns. “Mad?” That’s when he notices that she suddenly seems scared. Is she frightened… of him?!

“Maybe I can still fix it. Just call him and ask him if I can come by his office,” Y/N suggests, her voice laced with desperation. But not the good kind that usually turns him on. This time it’s just plain sad.

“To do what exactly?” Dean prompts grimly, already knowing her intentions. Over his dead body is she doing that!

“Well–”

“Fuck no!” Dean doesn’t even allow her to finish her sentence. In fact, he doesn’t want to hear it at all, or he might have to scratch his ears out afterward. God, he doesn’t even want to think about it. “You’re not fucking doing anything, alright?”

“But–”

“That stupid fucking son of a bitch,” Dean huffs and shakes his head. “What a goddamn prick!”

“So you’re not mad?” Y/N checks insecurely.

For a moment, Dean stops his rage to look at her, his heart almost breaking as he does. She deserves so much better in this life than all the shit she’s getting. How the fuck is any of this fair?

“At Dick cocksucking Roman, yeah. But not at you. Never at you, okay?” he emphasizes and sees her nod in relief. His heart shatters anew. How could she even think for a second he’d hold some sleazebag’s actions against her? But then his suspicions grow as he puzzles the pieces together. “When the fuck did this happen?”

“Uh, a little over a week ago,” Y/N answers quietly. “The night before they moved us to the nighttime slot.”

“That’s when you came to my office, and we–” Dean doesn’t finish his train of thought and cards a hand through his messy hair. Now, it makes sense. Her strange behavior, the inexplicable need for punishment, and everything in between.

‘You’re the best guy I know,’ he remembers her words. ‘I can’t think of anyone I’d want this with more.’

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Was that why you were avoiding me?”

A part of him feels unbelievably relieved. It’s not him but literally someone else’s fault. For once, he’s done nothing wrong. For once, he hasn’t ruined everything. But another part of him, the bigger one, just wants to rip Dickbag Roman’s throat out with his goddamn teeth. What a pathetic fucking loser…

Dean wishes he could beat the guy black and blue and leave him bleeding on the highway till a truck runs over him. He wishes he could cut off that guy’s dick and put it through a meat grinder. His mind can’t stop imagining the most gruesome ways to make that asshat suffer and die. In fact, he wishes Manson was still roaming Spawn Ranch and would send his Family over to that Roman’s mansion and leave Sharon Tate the fuck alone.

“I’m sorry. I guess I was scared you’d react like Jo.” Y/N gulps and averts her eyes to her trembling hands in her lap.

His brow knits, Donna’s warning words echoing through his mind. “Jo knows? What did she say?” But before Y/N can answer him, the director stops her again. “No, wait… I can take a fucking guess,” he mutters bitterly. The blonde bimbo probably told her to blow the guy in his goddamn office. Typical…

“Well, she’s not entirely wrong, you know,” Y/N mumbles and bites down on her lip without looking at him.

“What d’you mean?”

“All I’m good for is a fuck,” she says with a wry smile and wipes away a small tear. Dean’s heart twinges and hurts for her, but that pain is nothing compared to the cool blade of a knife he feels soon instead. “I mean, you of all people know that…”

Dean’s quiet for a moment and bites his nails as he ponders. His mind is a maze, and he knows he has to pick and choose his words carefully in order to get out of it.

“No, I actually don’t know that,” he states and catches her attention.

He tries his best not to sound angry or offended, even though he is a little. Hasn’t he been building her confidence for weeks now? Hasn’t he been instilling in her that she’s his favorite – and not just among the cast but on this planet in general? He figured she knew how much she truly means to him, but maybe he hasn’t been clear enough yet. He knows Y/N’s self-worth issues could fill every damn swimming pool in California, so maybe he shouldn’t expect a miracle so soon.

Mostly, he’s angry at Dicksuck Roman and Barbie for ruining all his hard work with one asshole move and a few bitchy words.

Dean wets his lips and lets out a sharp exhale through his nose before he looks at her. “Y/N, you’re the most amazing woman I’ve ever met in my entire life. You’re never just a quickie in the office to me. Do you understand that?”

She nods in slow reluctance. “I think so.”

“Good,” he says sternly. “Now believe it ‘cause it’s true.”

The green-eyed director cups her cheeks and pulls her to his lips, tongue meeting tongue in a searing kiss. The old seats creak when their weight shifts, Y/N leaning into his touch as she wrings for oxygen with heavy breaths. And where words fail, he tries his best to show her how he feels through his actions.

“Sorry,” Dean apologizes cheekily once he lets her get some air. “Couldn’t hold myself back any longer. That’s okay, right? We’re still on?”

Suddenly, it dawns on him that she might’ve still changed her mind about him. Has he just sexually harassed a woman right after she told him how she’s been sexually harassed by a superior? Jesus fucking Christ, he’s goddamn tone deaf, isn’t he?

To his luck, though, Y/N finds his stupidity amusing and giggles, placing another sweet kiss on his plump lips as she shakes her head. “We’re still on, boss,” she assures him and hears him heave a big sigh of relief.

“Awesome.” He grins from ear to ear and brushes a strand of rogue hair out of her face. “Are you and Jo okay? ‘Cause if you’re not, you gotta tell me. You wanna postpone the match?”

Now that Dean knows there’s no chance in hell the network’s going to let the show survive, he doesn’t even give a shit if the girls resort to doing the chicken dance in the ring or taking a dump on stage. No one truly gives a fuck anymore, least of all him. He never has.

The only thing he cares about is sitting right next to him.

Y/N, however, vehemently shakes her head. “No, we’re fine. I wanna fight. ‘Sides, I’m supposed to win this match, and I can’t wait to kick Jo’s bitchy ass.” She grins broadly.

“That’s my bad girl.” Dean smirks and pecks her lips. “You’re gonna stay over at my place tonight? Play a little Cold War in my bedroom?”

“Only if I can do my accent,” Y/N says, beaming.

The director playfully rolls his green eyes, even though he’s direly been waiting for that sort of role play. “Oh, you’ve got yourself a deal, Natasha.”

22. Girls, Girls, Girls

Hope you enjoyed this one! We came back with a literal bang 😂 Next up we deal with more drama and a hospital stay 👀

Don't forget I re-did the tag lists after the break, so pick your new place (everything, specific character, or series) and put your username in there ❤️

TAGS:

Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey @deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies @agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28 @mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33

Old Series Tags (only for this part): @jessjad​​ @mrsjenniferwinchester​​ @smellingofpoetry​​ @justrealizedimmascifygurl​​​​ @leigh70​​ @4getfulimaginator2022​​ @yeahmynameiscool06​​ @luci-wiggles​​​ @darkened-writer​ @mimaria420​​ @samanddeansannoyingsis​​ @sarasolros​​

[precious-little-scoundrel]

Dear John | Apologies II

Summary: Julie Jean responds to Major Egan’s letter of apology, summer 1943

Previous Lettter 💌

18+ for adult language, suggestive content

Almost entirely authored by my talented baby @stylespresleyhearted

Dear John,

It pains me that your letter reads both as an apology and like a goodbye. I sit here writing to you trying to figure out where in my response to you I went wrong. Perhaps the alcohol wore off and you woke up to find you had written to many other actresses and I wasn’t anything special. Maybe I was the only Hollywood starlet desperate enough to reply because your letter sparked a light in me, switched on something in my heart and in between my legs but to you it was just drunken ramblings because no girl at the bars snook off with you. It was a lonely night for you and I was a girl chosen and the night is over now and you’ve got a picture of me that I have entrusted to you and now you’re ready to move on.

“No one wants an eager girl, Julie Jean” that’s what my mother always says and I think the lesson has finally been learned. Do not feel you must apologize and regret any of your words, Major, I chose to snap and send the photo and I chose to respond to your letter. Like I said, it was different than the others and I thought (and hoped) you were different from the men Mother warned me against. And in many ways you are, I suppose, always will be to me. You’re honest to the point of no shame and I’ve told you how you make me feel fizzy all over from your words alone. But you’re also not so different from those other men because now you have a piece of me you are leaving me.

You told me you fought for our country but that you also fought to keep me safe. Did you mean that, Major Egan? I had never felt safer.

If it was the photo that has caused you to alter how you are with me then I am the one who must apologize. You spoke of giving me babies and of thinking of me in your bunk and taking my straw on missions with you because my lips had been on it and it seems I let all that get to my head and I got ahead of myself. As I signed my last letter Major, I am a vain little thing and so I have questions if my photo is the culprit: Did they not live up to your expectations? Were they perhaps not as perky as you hoped they would be without the artifice of support? Did you find my nipples too large? I have to know what it was Johnny, it’s cruel to keep me wondering like this. I stood in front of the mirror this morning and looked at them, trying to pinpoint where they let you down.

In a single letter your opinion came to be of the upmost importance to me.

In this line of business, everyone wants one thing or another and it was nice to speak to someone who wanted and requested nothing and found me beautiful for when I was the most myself. I had a blast on the war bond tour John, I kissed so many boys my lips bruised and my mother was livid and the studios said it was ruining my image but I was so happy. And then to come in contact with you, it felt like everything from that lovely tour had whittled down to you. Just all of it for you.

Only for us to come to this. It is my fault for placing any expectation on you, you placed none on me. If that first letter was you, truly you, then I needed nothing different.

But I wanted you. And maybe I needed the man who wrote to me the first night. There I got again. Need. Expectations. All the trust I put in your words from one letter. You must think me a looney and so desperate.

If this is to be goodbye, Major, I wish you only the best of things and for you to continue returning safely until you are able to come home. The girl who will receive your letters and your calls and gets to have you in her arms upon your return is one I envy but I wish nothing less than love and happiness and safety for you. And I must thank you for everything you helped me to feel with your letter. It was a first for me, and I don’t think I’d be wrong to assume I’ll never feel it again. Not in this life.

Sincerely,

Lana Tierney

p.s if the photograph has disappointed you so, feel free to return it.

💋 Hope you enjoyed! Feedback is a writer’s lifeblood, please feel free to scream in comments or the inbox, I love it and wanna hear it all. Trust me, nothing is “too dumb”. Your thoughts mean the world to me.

MOTA taglist, I only have one so ignore if this is not the universe you signed up for:

@stylespresleyhearted

@ab4eva

@earth-to-lottie

@suraemoon

@blurredcolour

@steph-speaks

@crazymadpassionatelove

@rubyfruitjungle

@taestrwbrry

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@pretty4u

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@waitedforlove743

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@ka-ski

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@slowsweetlove

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@vaf24

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@claireelizabeth85

@pearlparty

@piastrinho

@sapienti0sat

@atrophyingaphrodite

[babyspiderling]

We Can't be Friends Part 1

Pairing: S1!Spencer Reid x reader

Genre: Angst, Fem Reader, BAU Reader

I was never good at giving space when someone was upset. I had this almost detrimental need to fix whatever was creating the problem. To poke and prod until a solution was reached or the tension reached its breaking point, forcing a cool down by the sheer concrete logic of Newton's third law of motion. Triggering such a reaction usually caused much worse consequences in terms of bonds and relationships, but almost selfishly, it brought an end to the guessing and desperation to fix what was “wrong”. Even if the cause and the effective solution were far from my own control. 

On the mirrored side, the anxiety that came from the tension and the restlessness that followed made me meek and almost overly cautious, tip toeing on the eggshells. To bite my tongue, to make myself invisible in an attempt to escape the feeling. The urge to cower and hide from the heavy emotional pressure was almost as strong as the compulsion to push and dig in my heels until everything reached climaxing peak, to allow the hurt if it meant the claustrophobic feeling to subside. 

I can’t tear my eyes from her. From her long, perfectly conditioned and styled blond hair. From her perfect figure. She disappears around the corner, so blase, almost flippant in her denial. She wasn’t the first reluctant victim and I consciously knew she wouldn’t be the last. I heave a large sigh and turn back to the cork board, room temperature coffee bitter on my tongue no matter how much sugar and creamer I added to the styrofoam. I open my mouth to ask Spencer his own thoughts only to find his gaze glued after Lila. I frown, pursing my lips as I cross my arms over myself, as if to hold myself against the stirring feeling deep in the pit of my stomach. “Ahem, Ground Control to Spencer. Are you listening?” 

My frown deepens as his almost criminally prominent jaw line tilts in an attempt to give the illusion his attention had turned to me. His refusal to let her leave his eyeline until he is physically unable to see her through the walls of the precinct sends a pang through my chest. My lips part to grumble a snide comment, to inflict the same prickling feeling he forced upon me but I bite my tongue. It’s almost comical, the conspicuous real time buffer as his mental capacities finally catch up to their normal levels. As if Lila’s mere proximity caused his boasted IQ to slash itself in two, only recovering when she was no longer in visual range. My teeth pierce painfully into the flesh of my cheek, echoes of Elle’s teasing ringing in my ears, how Spencer would only lose his extensive articulation around pretty girls, and the glaringly painful reminder that he never tripped over anything due to my presence. 

“Never pegged you to be the type to be stunned by Hollywood.” I purse my lips after the rebellious jab that had escaped from the tip of my tongue and through my clenched teeth. I sigh to myself seeing his puppy eyes and his little pout, the one that always made an appearance when the team cut his little rants off. Guilt smothers the sparks of jealousy swirling in my stomach. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. I’m just… stressed about this case. Something just doesn’t sit right.” 

A pair of dark glasses cover my tired eyes. I hadn’t slept much the night before, restless and yet unable to do much more than stare up at the dull hotel ceiling. We had finally given the profile the night prior. I lean against the set wall, watching every interaction. I watch as Lila’s manager spoke to her. I glance up out of the corner of my eye, coming face to face with Morgans bicep as he joins me against the wall. He looked much more in place than I did. He looked like the rest of the muscled security milling about the set. 

“Tell me I’m not crazy.” I find myself mumbling. “Tell me I’m not the only one who finds something wrong with the profile. It makes sense, I guess. But it’s like walking into the room with everything moved an inch. It’s close but not quite. I just can’t… I can’t pick it out.” I sigh, forced to watch as she struts to Spencer, perfect expanses of skin on full display, only scraps of sequined fabric keeping me from having to arrest her for public indecency. I bite my cheek, crossing my arms over my ribs. I watch as he fawns over her. I watch as he stumbles over his words, losing any semblance of articulation. The back of my mind chimes cruelly that he had never so much as broke stride with me. 

I physically feel my jaw drop from its clenched position as he allows her to share his drink. On the occasions I was the subject of his sharing, things were put in separate glasses, foods cut in half and separately plated. He couldn’t stand the possibility of me contaminating his food, the person who’s been his assigned partner for the better part of a year, but the beauty he had known for mere hours had earned the almost casual intimacy that I had spent sleepless nights scheming for the mere chance of. It wasn’t fair. 

Morgan leaves me, pushing off the set wall to sneak behind the genius. My heart squeezes in my chest as even he acknowledges the break in Spencers rigid habits when it comes to sharing. Spencer grimaces as Morgan ruffles his hair. My breath catches in my throat as his eyes reach mine. I do my best to blink away any evidence of anything other than pure focus and analytics. I purse my lips despite my efforts, turning to walk away from it all, letting cowardice win.

[0sincerelyella]

Aw love the new Joe content girly! Please can we get one where you and Joey b go to some sort of ~Hollywood party~ and it’s just really cute and people/the internet love how cute you 2 are together! Idk something along those lines

Red Carpet MVP -Joe burrow

Summary: Joes up more an MVP! most valuable partner according to magazines, and every news instagram on the planet

notes: EEE this is so exciting!! i love your energy thank you for requesting:) i also made up everyone’s dates names so

i have bunches of requests i apologize if this is rushed

all my y/n characters are going to be og bengals fans bc i am biased

the dress she wears on carpet: (ik its prom dressy just bare with me)

the suit he wears: (the shirt is cut all the way to the bully button and he has no tie, going scandalous lol)

Hours and hours of searching for an outfit to be the plus one on the red carpet is tiring. y/n was stressing out more than she had ever stressed out before. she wanted to impress joe, but more importantly impress all the eyes that would be on her and joe all night. the two had been dating for awhile but just now gone public, so the media is all over them like travis kelce and taylor swift.

she didn’t want to be too simple, because she was dating with THE fashion nova, joe burrow. but she also didn’t want to be too over the top, or overpower the spotlight that is one hundred percent made for her MVP.

Joe had asked her to pick a purple dress, feeling the mood to rock an all purple suit on the carpet, to which she happily obliged. and after hours of deciding she finally chose her dress.

it was light purple with ripples all to the bottom, she felt as if she was going to prom again, doing a spin in her dress as she watched the mirror she smiled. she couldn’t be happier than in this moment.

not even minutes later, joe knocks on the door and lets himself in. “are you ready ba-“ he stops in the middle of the door way, his under shirt was cut low, and the suit curved his body in a perfect way. his hair was longer, shaggy, and pushed to the side. he looked to y/n in shock

“you are the most stunning woman on the planet” he says, grabbing her hips and pulling her closer. “thank you mr. sheisty” she says with a smile

he laughs, taking her hand and gesturing a quick spin. “i love you” he says, dipping her and kissing her lips. “i love you too” she states, standing up and walking out of the door.

the limo ride there was quiet, mostly joe calming y/ns nerves and y/n freaking out even more. once they arrived to the venue, joe stepped out of the vehicle, holding the door open and putting out his hand, allowing his beautiful girlfriend to get out of the car, he linked arms with her after shutting the door and they made their way down the carpet

many football players, old and new, were already sitting around the carpet chatting, intervening, mingling. y/n observed the scenarios in-front of her and took a deep breath. “Joe joe! who is this? she’s gorgeous!” joe smiled, pulling her closer. answering their questions simply “my girlfriend” and continuing to walk through the carpet

interview after interview she was asked more questions than joe, but he didn’t mind. he knew how much getting in the spotlight would help towards her anxiety, and he didn’t enjoy spotlight much so it was a win win.

joe had met up with ja’marr, and some of the other boys, and y/n stood with their dates. “hi y/n!” ja’marrs girl said, a large smile on her face. her name was ruby and she and y/n were very close considering how much time joe and ja’marr spent with eachother. “hi rubes!” she smiled, pulling her into a hug. paparazzi stood around taking pictures of them

even as joe mingled with other teammates, and y/n mingled with their girls, joes hand never left y/n in some way. wether it was around her waist or holding her hand or even on her shoulder. paparazzi was loving it, taking pictures of his hand every place he put it. he opened doors for her, he held her close, he kissed her head even when she wasnt looking at him.

“i love you” he’d whisper, as soon as each of his friends began to talk to others and they were both free for even just a moment.

so many football players who she grew up watching were on this red carpet, and when joe left his friends to mingle with more people that’s when the anxiety started. “oh my goodness!” she squealed, her feet stomping on the ground excitedly. joe smiled at his girl, following her line of sight and meeting with her all time favorite football player

Aj green

“he retired? he’s here? why’s he here, joe i’m gonna freak out”

joe smiled, every time he had mentioned already meeting aj green y/n would freak out and have her tell him every detail. so when he heard aj would be at the red carpet, he just had to surprise his favorite girl.

“Aj!” joe called, y/n ran behind him, her stomach churning. “i hate you i hate you i hate you” she whispered only making joe laugh more. “hey!” aj said, walking up to them. “this is

y/n, my girlfriend” he smiled, stepping aside so y/n was in front of them. “hi…” y/n said, biting her tounge to keep herself from fan girling out.

joe introduced the two together more, and y/n was a giggling giddy mess.

paparazzi was eating them up, the cameras staying on them the whole night.

on instagram the world was freaking out. from loving their outfits, to screaming about how gentlemanly joe is, to freaking out about the way he looks at her. the world loved it.

after the party and the carpet, joe and y/n sat in their living room, scrolling through posts and comments laughing and smiling. “i love this” y/n smiled. “they love you” joe said, motioning her chin to face him. “but i love you more” he whispered, pulling her in to kiss her.

he was really the most valuable partner

[communicationthroughlyrics]

I Like Your Blood On My Teeth Just A Little Too Much - 16

You're a former military, career oriented security executive who has made quite the living for yourself- but it has always been lacking. Your non-committal attitude has led you down a playgirl lifestyle, never really settling. What happens when your new boss throws you a curveball, and as a result? You end up hopelessly involved with a Hollywood starlet.

A/N: Shorter chapter, as I work through some of the thick stuff. TW- torture/abuse, brief mention of coma, blood. Definite angst.

2.2K Word Count

CH 16: You’re Gonna Get What’s Coming to You

“Now, aren’t you glad that you moved into these luxury apartments, that have… Every. Unit. Soundproofed?” He punctuated each word by cinching the knots on your hands and feet tighter before he tied your waist down to the base of the chair. “I’m not even going to bother trying to keep you quiet, no one will hear you anyway.”

“What do you mean, Waters…” you tapered off as he disappeared behind you. You grimaced as you felt cold steel at the base of your neck, a shiver being sent down your spine as he trailed it down your neck and he walked back in front of you. You could feel a slight warmth and a drip, so you knew he drew blood. “Waters, what are you doing? Do you think this is going to change anything?” You asked, watching as he took his time tracing some of your visible tattoos with the blade in his hand. At this point, you were glad you told Kris an hour. “This is only going to make things worse for you, Waters.”

“Shut. UP.” He snarled at you, before hooking the buttons of your shirt with the end of the knife, and slowly working it up, popping the buttons and sending them flying in various directions across your kitchen. “How about, you just keep that disgusting mouth of yours shut, hmmm?” He leaned in a wry smile on his features. “I think it’s been long overdue for you to get your last lesson, what do you think?” He ran the blade along the side of your face, giving you a cut that mirrored the scar that now ran along his face. In your research, you found out he had been involved in a nasty prison brawl that resulted in him receiving a large laceration on his face. 

“Fuck off.” You growled back.

“Tsk tsk… such a shame.” He ran the blade again along your cheek, a sharp pain emanating as he cut from the bridge of your nose to the apex of your cheekbone. “You could have been good. Really good.” He continued to run the blade over various parts of your body but was concentrating on your face and neck, which made you extremely nervous. He suddenly grabbed your face, roughly, squeezing your jaw in a vise-like grip, forcing you to look at him. You watched as he brought the 12-inch blade up and felt him trace your jawline, before bringing the blade up and digging it into the scar on your eyebrow from all those years ago. 

“Fuck!” You yelled as he dug the blade deeper, cutting further than your original scar had. You felt the blood begin to run down your face, burning as it pooled in your eye, blurring your vision. He laughed maniacally as you wiggled in the chair, working your wrists together to try and loosen the rope, which felt like it was only getting tighter. “Waters, just leave her alone. She was…she was just doing what she was paid to do. She isn’t even Russian, Waters. Just…just get your retribution with me… and leave her out of it…”

“Ohhh… Y/L/N. You cannot seriously believe that this is purely because of some character she played…” he paced in circles around you, so you let your head fall backward to keep the blood out of your eye. “This, this is a message, Y/L/N. We’re sending a message to the scum that everyone calls ‘Hollywood Elite’, that they are all tarnishing the image of this country you and I fought to protect.”

“What image is that, Waters?” You growl, your head hanging low as the blood from your face drips onto your knee, you watch it out of your good eye as it seeps into the fabric of your pants. He let out a maniacal laugh as he continued to walk around the chair you were tied to. You hoped to get him going on a tangent, to get him talking so it would take longer before he presumably did to you what he did all those years ago- and if you got him to talk enough, to stall enough, then I would be long enough for Kris to hopefully send someone to you. 

“Hollywood, the film industry, has always portrayed this convoluted image of what this country is, what it stands for…” your laugh, disrupting his rant, and causing him to stop pacing. “SHUT. UP.” He points the knife in your direction, giving you a crazed look. 

“Mmhmm. Okay. Continue.” You respond.

“As I was saying…They portray this nation through a lens. We are never the aggressor- always passive. The ways we are portrayed, it's like they want us to look… weak. Like we are too wrapped up in ourselves to care about what anyone else is doing. ”

“You’re delusional, Waters. We are literally like that.”

“SHUT. IT.” He screamed, slamming his hands onto the countertop behind you. You throw your hands up in defeat.

“Fine. Shutting it.”

“See?! You’re part of the fucking problem! You can’t honestly believe that we are oblivious to everything. We have threats from the inside, out. Your little project is one of them. You may believe that she is some poor little movie star, but she is part of the problem. You may believe she’s innocent in this, but she is just as guilty as the next guy. These movies your ‘client’ plays in, are popular, and they’re colorful. But they portray a simple, almost basic, and nonviable notion of what our combat looks like. What our hell  looks like.”

“Waters, you and I have a different sense of what hell looks like.”

“I don’t want to hear it, Y/N. You sent me to a literal hell on earth. You RUINED my life.”

“No, I didn’t do a damn thing, Steven. I merely existed, and YOU… you decided to act in the way you did. You ruined your life, I didn’t.”

“I was helping you.” 

“Helping me, my ass.”

“Oh don’t pretend that a small part of you didn’t enjoy it. You know that part of you yearned for that kind of attention. To be normal.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. I am normal. You’re the sick one in this equation.”

“Mhmm… keep telling yourself that. That is why this assignment is so… perfect. I can take care of the one who ruined me, and one of the largest celebrities ruining this country. You scoff, rolling your eyes. “STOP with the attitude.” He stands in front of you, lowering his gaze to your level. He runs the backside of the knife up your face, before placing the tip parallel to the scar over your eye. With a quick flick, he adds another cut. “Now, time for me to…finish what I started.” 

You felt like it had been sufficiently long enough that someone should be here by now. You could feel the blood running down the right side of your face. You were about to look up, but the sudden force to the side of your face knocked you unconscious. 

***KRIS POV***

“Fuck!” You screamed as the phone went straight to voicemail for the third time. You knew better, you really did. You knew she wouldn’t answer. She had put the phone in airplane mode. You knew that. You just hoped that she would answer. Slamming the phone onto your desk, you ran to the elevator, repeatedly pushing the button to Cliff and Paul's floor. “Cmon, cmon cmon… fucking slow ass elevator! I just need to get up there!” As soon as the door opened, you ran down the hall to Paul's office, barging into his office without knocking. The look of shock on his face says it all. 

“Ms. Smith, what seems to be the issue?”

“It’s Y/L/N. Something is wrong.”

“Well, yes. That’s why we sent her home. She’s not right, right now.”

“No, no, NO! That’s not what I mean. She left, and I got a text from her. She said something wasn’t right, to bump Johanssons security, and if I didn’t hear from her in an hour that he was at her apartment. Something. Isn’t. Right.” You punctuate each point. 

“Who is at her apartment, Smith?” Another voice asks. You turn, seeing Zlatkov sitting across the room. 

“Waters, boss. They have a history. He isn’t just hunting Scarlett anymore. When he found out that her team was going to hire us, and that Y/N is our head of all major projects, he started following her too.”

“What makes you so certain Y/N was being followed?” Cliff asked.

“Shit… she, uhhh… she told me. Kind of. ”

“That makes no sense, Kris.” Paul chimed in. 

“It started with someone watching from across the street from her apartment here. She was followed from her house in Montana, and she’s been getting calls. Each time, they’re not long enough to trace. All from different numbers. But they’re from him.”

“What am I missing here?” Cliff asked you and Paul. Paul sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“I think it’s time we make a little field trip,” Paul says, gathering his coat from the back of his chair. Cliff shoots you a confused look, and you just shrug. 

“Hold on, I need to know what’s going on!” Cliff yells, causing both of you to look his way.

“Cliff, do you remember when we were in the process of hiring Y/N, and her military file was partially redacted?”

“Yes.”

You let out a deep sigh, knowing where this was going. You knew some of the details of what had happened to Y/N during her time in the Army, deep discussions that had been held in twilight hours, nights where there had been full of lust and passion. Nights that trust had been built, and you have a sneaky suspicion that the trust you had built was about to be shattered. You hadn’t been made privy to all the details, but enough that you knew why she did what she did, and what made her tick. 

“Okay, we’ll keep that in mind. Now, let’s go. It doesn’t sound like we have much time. ” Paul looks your way, before turning and walking out of his office. You quickly followed Cliff right behind you. 

“Where do we need to go?” Cliff asked, as Paul fished the keys to his work vehicle out of his pocket, and headed towards the elevator. 

“We’re going to pay a visit to the one person besides Y/N who can give us some answers.”

The drive was silent and short, but to say that you and Cliff were both utterly confused when you pulled up in front of the hospital was an understatement. 

“The only person who can give us some answers is Grange,” Paul answered the questioning look in the rearview mirror. 

“But Grange is in a coma.” You respond eyebrow quipped as you climb out of the SUV. 

“Nope. He was woken up this morning. I hadn’t gotten the chance yet to tell Y/L/N.” Paul responded as Cliff stood nodding his head. 

“Ahh. So let's bombard him with the news that somebody that he regards as a daughter is likely being held by a psycho. And ask about her past. Awesome.” Paul cringed at the sarcasm, understanding your hesitance with this scenario. 

“It’s not ideal, no. But it will give us an idea of who this guy really is… and why Y/N is so rattled.”

You all shuffled into the hospital, flashing your work badges to gain entry past the two guards standing by the elevator to the level Jim was on. Your company had set up multiple checkpoints, particularly with Jim being unconscious. The very real possibility of a retaliatory attack loomed, so guards and undercover were scattered throughout the hospital. The elevator door dinged, and you three walked down the corridor, towards the guarded room where Jim was. He was staring out the window as they approached, the sounds of their heels and shoes clicking down the hallway causing him to look their way. He had a smile, but it quickly faded as he realized how serious they were.

“Where’s Y/N?” He asked as soon as everyone was in his room. Your stomach dropped as he looked right at you. 

“That’s why we’re here, Grange. It would seem that a certain someone from her past has made an appearance. We wanted to ask you to fill in the blanks.” Paul unbuttoned his sports coat, sitting in one of the chairs at the end of the bed. Jimmy scoffed, rolling his eyes. 

“Yeah, you could say that sick son of a bitch is back. This isn’t just an appearance. But I’m confused as to why you need to ask me. It’s Y/N that needs to tell you. If she hasn’t, then she doesn’t want to tell anyone.” 

Whew. He said what you were thinking the entire way over here. 

“Well, unfortunately, it is now interfering with this project, and her work. So we need to know what you do.” Cliff chimed in. 

“Why don’t you ask her yourself, then?” He looked between the three of you. 

“That’s the thing, Jimmy. We think that he has her right now.” You finally spoke, Jim’s face going pale when he realized the weight of what was just said. 

“Then…” he sighed, rubbing between his eyes. “You need to be helping her. Finding her. You can ask us after the fact. You shouldn’t be here asking me to tell you what only she can tell.”

CHAPTER 17

[p1nkcanoe]

aurora’s showing swiss the pretty new dress she bought for herself, twirling around in circles and letting the bottom fan out, pretending she’s marilyn monroe from the pictures she’s seen in old hollywood magazines. she looks so pretty in it. smooth, shiny black satin and a tiny little bow right above the swell of her breasts. if you look hard enough there’s a very faint cheetah pattern hidden in the black. almost invisible. the bottom hem stops high on her thighs, almost too short to wear out, but that’s never been a problem before so why would it be one now?

swiss is doing a good job of keeping his hands to himself as he sits back comfortably against the headboard of his bed. neither of them expected he would be able to control himself, but he simply doesn’t want to ruin the serene moment they’re sharing and stop her from giving him a little show. besides, she really does look beautiful in it. her pink hair falls down along her back in loose curls and she still has a bit of mascara left on her eyes from the night before. she looks herself over, ignoring how golden eyes devour her backside as he watches from afar, and swiss pretends that she came in to his room to show him, to let him look over her curves and the way the shiny fabric falls like water over different parts of her body as she twists and turns, posing for the large standing mirror that leans up against the wall. 

“it’s nice,” he says, a genuine smile on his lips, and he gives her body another once over with his eyes before he swings his long legs over the side of the bed and takes the few short steps to loom behind her. from this angle his head is out of the reach of the mirror’s reflection and aurora has to twist her head up to get a good look at him to make sure his little compliment is genuine and not just an excuse to touch it for the first time.

it is, but she pretends for her own sake that it’s not.

“thank you,” she replies and looks back to her own reflection, running her tiny hands down over her belly to watch how her silhouette looks in it. the little bit of fat there always makes swiss a little crazy. when he hums, more than pleased with the sight, she tilts her chin up and winks, “i think so too.”

the multi ghoul huffs in feigned disbelief and watches with her as her manicured hands trace down her sides, pulling the fabric taut around her hips. she turns around, twisting her head to watch how it looks when she pulls it tight around her ass and swiss tsks, brows raised towards his hairline. 

“that’s nice too.”

“imagine how fat rain’s bubble butt would look in this dress. cirrus’ hips? oh satan below, lus in general? i’d cream.” 

she continues to oggle her own ass, even giving it a little shake and a bounce on the balls of her feet to watch how it moves and swiss gets a little closer, bending at the waist just a bit to be able to crack a hand right across her left cheek and make her yelp in surprise. he eases the sting the best way he knows how: grabbing a chunk of it and kneading. 

“watch the claws,” she says, the pain forgotten in regards to retaining the pristine condition of the dress. one of her hands grabs at his wrist but he doesn't let go. 

“it’s brand new, swiss.” 

he rolls his eyes and gives her ass another good shake before letting his hands trail upwards to her waist. 

“yeah, yeah, i get it, princess. but if i mess it up i'll just buy you a new one…” 

she’s about to argue something back about the pretty penny she’d spent on it and another thing about how long it took to ship to the abbey when swiss flexes his fingers around the smallest part of her middle and tosses her up over her shoulder like she weighs nothing at all. she flops over him like a sack of potatoes and sighs in defeat, letting her arms hang down along his back, because she’s been in this position enough times to know that it's ultimately up to him for whenever she gets to touch the ground again. 

“don’t ruin the dress,” she mumbles into the fabric of his shirt, and lifts her head up slightly when she notices how the multi ghoul’s gone a little silent. and oddly still. “swiss?”

and he’d gone a little quiet for a good reason. 

upon picking the ghoulette up, the already short hem of her dress had ridden up even more, exposing her ass and everything else underneath like it was christmas morning. and what does he see? a very surprising lack of panties underneath that pretty, black fabric. 

“swiss?” she asks again, dragging out his name and pinching his ass. 

there’s another moment of nothingness. 

“i’m ruining the dress.”

“noooo!”

[thenightcallsme]

Dove | Simon "Ghost" Riley

A/N: Hello lovely people, I have a backlog of short stories written for things like Avatar: The Way of Water, MWII, Stranger Things, The Arcana, Outer Banks, and many more that I have never posted and keep to myself. I'm talking hundreds of pages worth of fluff, angst and eventual smut - you've got to get through some plot first, though. HOWEVER, if anyone likes my writing and wants to task me with stuff to write, like straight smut, I'm all ears. Anyway, if anyone is interested in reading stuff I could potentially post, here is a snippet for a little Call of Duty fic.

Synopsis: You're to play the materialistic wife of a rich, well-connected husband during an undercover mission. You're to-be husband is a temporary recruit of the 141, who is to supervise your every move. While getting ready, you have a surprising interaction with your Lieutenant, Ghost, who you swear has made it his mission to treat you like a stranger day after day. Until now.

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x f!reader

Contains: pretty much nothing of importance, just Ghost being as unreadable as ever, causing reader to have their mind blown by the smallest of crumbs

• • • • •

I look in the mirror at the woman who is supposed to be Lyanna Winstead. She’s the partner of Dario Winstead, son of a wealthy businessman. Everything about Lyanna is a carbon copy of myself. Her smile, her hair, her figure, her voice. Only, she presents herself in a way I haven’t in a long time.

Gone is the tactical gear and camouflage colours. Instead, she wears the most beautiful dress I’ve ever seen. The outline of the dress is simple yet captivating to suits the old Hollywood theme. Silver cascades down her body, creating the illusion of a mercury waterfall. The sweetheart neckline and thin straps compliment her full breasts and soft arms. Adorning the bodice are glistening silver designs that remind me of old, swirling boarders on French mirrors. The designs fall away, melting into plain silver threads that fall to the floor and pool at her feet. The dress hugs her body like a second skin, only melting away at her knees. The silhouette fit her hourglass figure well.

The silver jewellery she wears is modest so as not to take away from the dress’s magnificence. On her neck is a dainty Vivienne Westwood necklace, the inner planet of the pendant a pearl. Matching dangling earrings hang from her lower lobe piercing. The rest of her ear piercings are small diamond studs and silver hoops. One wrist displays a thin diamond tennis bracelet and a Van Cleef one with emerald clovers. On the other is the only ode to myself: the evil eye bracelet I never take off. The thin silver chain and bejewelled eye thankfully blend into the rest of the accessories. Small rings cover her fingers, few in number and easily ignorable. The bands are thin and any jewels are small and clear. However, one stands out; a breathtaking sight on her left index finger.

Glittery diamonds cover the band, giving way to a large, circular moonstone. Rainbow shimmer comes to life in the milky stone when the light hits it just right. Separating the band and the centrepiece are two small flowers with diamond centres. Two separate rings sit beneath and below the main one, shaped in V’s to follow the curve. At each point are flowers similar the the others, with curved leaves flowing from the petals. All three are gold, contrasting against the silver to make a statement.

I’m not just looking back at Dario’s partner. I’m looking at his wife.

I’m Will’s wife. 

Fake wife, really. I nearly shake my head in wonder. I still look like myself, but everything about this makes me feel like I’m wearing a second skin. Lyanna’s skin. Every so often I stare at the ring in amazement. If anyone ever proposes to me, I would hope for nothing less than the magnificent that is this ring. All that adorns my body is courtesy of Will. Unbeknownst to me before this mission, he’s filthy rich, and a filthy rich man needs a filthy rich wife. All the designer jewellery, the dress, the shoes, and the engagement ring are authentic and top dollar.

After the last touch-ups of make-up, fragrances, and hair, I’m making my way to the courtyard. I’m to have one last briefing and run over of the plan before getting in Will’s blacked-out Corvette. I have to give it to him: he really knows how to pull off a lavish life with style.

Already am I wishing to rip off the damn stilettos on my feet. While I could live in the dress and jewellery, this is the one day a year I’m willing to wear heels.

The air is cool, the last golden light of day painting the courtyard and walls of Alejandro’s HQ in a luminescent glow. A low rumble fills the air from my 'husband’s car. Will leans against it, speaking with the 141. Ghost lingers back by the front door, arms folded and back leaning against a pillar. Weaving between his fingers with precision is a small dagger. His head turns at the sound of approaching heels.

“Was starting to think you were a no show,” he says gruffly.

I stop beside him to adjust my dress. It doesn’t really need adjust, but suddenly being subjected to his gaze makes me anxious. “Told you it would take a while. Gotta look the part.”

The way his eyes travel over my body almost makes me shrink away. Every curve is on full display. The tight bodice holds up my already full breasts, and somehow my waist-to-hip ratio is even more accentuated. Wearing my uniform doesn’t exactly hide my figure thanks to the tight shirts and cargo pants that aren’t exactly loose from my mid-thigh up. However, a lot of me is lost beneath the vests and belts.

“Stop...inspecting me, or whatever you're doing,” I mumble. “Makes me think I need to fix something.”

I begin taking the skirts in my hand as I survey my descent. It’s not too much, but the steps are steep enough to be an issue. The heels on my feet are no help.

Ghost shakes his head. “Don’t. You look…”

“Important?”

“Pretty.”

I stop in my tracks to look back at him, unsure if I heard him correctly. He doesn’t look away or seem embarrassed to have said so. Then again, when does he ever. No-nonsense and prideful in his emotionless character, Ghost is not one to regret his words. Everything he says is a calculated move. Compliments are certainly something to be calculated in a sense, but I don't think of it to be a compliment, even when a small part of me screams for more. I'm playing my part well; there'd be a problem if I wasn't looking pretty. A slow smile quirks at my lips, teasing in nature as I raise my brows. The teasing turns to surprise, however, when he offers me his arm.

“How chivalrous,” I quip as I lightly take his offered arm. Even the slightest contact sends thrills beneath my skin. “Careful, Lieutenant. I might start to think you actually like me.”

Ghost’s eyes train on the ground. At first, I wonder if he doesn’t want to meet my eyes, only then to realise he’s watching my footing. I barely catch a glimpse of his squint.

“I like you in one piece,” he corrects. “This job will be over the second you sprain your ankle on a flight of stairs.”

I hum. “Ahh, there it is.”

He looks up at me then. “There’s what?”

“Thinking about the job, as always.”

As always, I keep my tone light and teasing, but there's an accusing hint. A subtle jab I let slip that I pray goes unnoticed.

There's no room for emotions in this job, and though I've compromised that with the rest of the 141, Ghost is a difficult case. An impossible riddle, a mind-numbing equation with no real answer. Nothing about him should be likeable. He's painfully honest and dismissive when he bothers to speak, he's angry half the time, his attention is never lingering and his mind is an impenetrable fortress. It would make more sense to give in to Alejandro's shameless flirting or Gaz's sleazy grins. Only, it's Ghost that keeps me up at night. It's Ghost, who sends a pang through my chest when he reminds me any care is from pure investment in performance. I'm useful, nothing more.

I can count on one hand the number of times he's thrown me small morsels of care as if I were a stray dog whining and begging for food. Even then, I wouldn't have made it past three fingers. A greedy piece of me spins those memories into something that serves my desire. See, he's returning your interest, that hopeful voice purrs in my ear while feeding me botched versions of what really happened. I know better than to give in to the delusions. The ending of those memories is what sobers me, and it's no different now. I need you in shape for tomorrow. Keep your head in the game. I'm just making sure this isn't interrupting the job. He's always quick to redirect any concern from me to the job.

Maybe, just maybe...what if he was trying to save face? Does he not want to care?

Ghost remains silent for a moment. In consideration or because he doesn’t care to answer, I can’t tell. But when he does answer, his voice has my full attention. It’s low and rough, each syllable laced with something intoxicating. Something I've never heard before and never thought I would hear. Something I want to hear again and again.

“You have no idea what I think about, dove.”

Dove.

The response catches me so off guard I almost forget to take another step. We’ve reached the bottom of the steps, now. The second both my feet are on the flat expanse of the concrete driveway, he breaks away from our linked arms. There is no follow-up, no hint of a miscommunication, not even a look in my direction before he's gone from my side. All I can do is hesitantly trail behind him, lost in my thoughts.

Ghost has never given me a nickname before. Hell, he barely refers to me as anything other than my callsign. When I do hear my real name, it's never for good reasons.

The nickname that pours from his lips comes in a deep voice curled into a sensual tone, sounding like silk-covered marble, low and intended for my ears only. It's strangely intimate—something a lover would purr with lustful eyes and a seeking touch. Somehow it seems to invoke a phantom touch that glides across my skin. Gooseflesh puckers in its chilling wake. In the span of only a few seconds, I seem to experience every emotion humanly possible. Shock, surprise, a sickening, perverse enjoyment...and irritation that I must now join the rest of the team as if a mind-numbing heat was not boiling in the pits of my stomach

• • • • •

I'll get the formatting of posting these to be prettier btw I promise 🙏🙏 But anyway just interact with this or tell me directly if you want more.

[hometoursandotherstuff]

Large 1970 Mid-century modern home in Bloomfield Hills, Michigan was renovated in 2010, but still retains the unusual original features. 4bds, 4.5ba, $750K + $30mo. HOA fee.

You don't really see 2 fl. entrance halls in MCMs, but this one has a sweeping staircase, leaded glass doors, and a marble floor.

Definitely not your usual MCM living room with wood paneled walls.

From the living room you step up into the mirror-walled dining room.

In the rec room they retained the most interesting feature, the conversation pit in front of the big brick fireplace. This is cool.

They've got a nice bar in the corner. If they show it, I would assume that it will convey.

The kitchen was updated but still has an MCM look.

The informal everyday dining room has a door to the patio.

Very attractive landing.

The primary bedroom is large and has a private deck.

Walk-in closet.

With all the lights, this looks like an old Hollywood bathroom. Every MCM needs at least one sunken tub.

The secondary bedrooms aren't terribly large, but they do have these large units in them.

Typical 3 piece MCM bath with glass shower doors.

Nice guest room. The bedrooms have the interesting windows that are seen in the front of the house.

Now, this is a cool original MCM retro bath. Look at that tile and the green plumbing fixtures.

The family room in the basement has an MCM style mural and mirror wall. Look at the retro version of that sectional sofa.

There's another bar down here and it's a wet bar, w/a fridge & sink.

What a neat garage, and it has so much storage.

The deck is huge and has a tree growing thru it.

On the other side of the house is a beautiful patio. There's plenty of room for a pool, too. The home is on a .51 acre lot.

https://www.homes.com/property/4488-ramsgate-ln-bloomfield-hills-mi/gq26qr8ckbj2z/

[gainingfiction]

Suitable

Summary: Patrick doesn’t believe in curses. He certainly doesn’t believe that the oversized suit he bought as a gag costume is cursed to make him gain weight. And yet….

(Enjoy my 2022 Halloweight-gain-story! Better late than never, right?)

~

There’s no such thing as magic suits.

At least, that’s what Patrick told himself as he donned his Halloween costume for the evening. The idea was downright laughable. He wouldn’t have given it a second thought, if it wasn’t for the serious expression on the old salesman’s face when he issued his dire warning.

That guy was just weird, Patrick rationalized. It was true: the suit had been purchased from the octogenarian proprietor of an unkempt second-hand store, a heavily-accented man named Yuri who had sworn up and down that Patrick’s prospective Halloween costume was bound by some mysterious curse.

It was literally just a suit. A very big suit, to be fair, but that had nothing to do with magic: its former owner was just fat. Massively, enormously fat, judging by the way Patrick’s slender, athletic frame was drowning in yard after yard of Italian wool.

“You are warned,” Yuri had said. “You will grow into it. Will make you big man. Very big man.”

Patrick scoffed at the mere suggestion. He’d never weighed more than 180 pounds in his whole life. Well, 183, as of this morning. There was no way he’d ever “grow into” such a comically large outfit.

Feeding his belt through the loops, Patrick felt… nothing. No supernatural tingling, no sudden urge to gorge himself at a buffet. He just felt like a fit guy in a big suit. The old man was clearly trying to deploy some strange reverse psychology as a sales tactic. And, to his credit, it had worked. Patrick shelled out twenty dollars just to prove how ridiculous he found the idea of a so-called magic garment, even if it meant that he had no idea how to describe his costume. Sexy Biggest Loser contestant, perhaps?

He studied himself in the mirror, shirtless beneath the gigantic blazer. It wasn’t his usual slutty Halloween apparel, but foregoing a shirt allowed him to show off his tight little pecs and toned abs. Patrick was proud of his hard-earned body, and the way his sculpted jawline and strong cheekbones turned heads wherever he went. No “magic spell” was going to take that away from him.

With a smug smile adorning his perfect pink lips, Patrick left for the party.

The evening wasn’t as awkward as he’d feared. The host, Priti, was an old friend from his college days, and they hadn’t seen much of each other in the two years since graduation. But she welcomed him with enthusiasm, faithfully introducing him to his fellow partygoers: her coworkers from the pharmacy, a few college classmates Patrick had long forgotten about, and, most excitingly, her absolutely stunning cousin, Arjun.

To call Arjun a hunk would be an understatement. He was a walking deity, a 6’2” sculpted fantasy clad in a form-hugging Spiderman suit. If Hollywood needed a new Peter Parker for its endless reboots, they could scarcely do better. His white teeth almost sparkled, his eyes were as warm and deep as the summer sea, his glossy hair perfectly trimmed.

Patrick was smitten from the moment Priti introduced them, and he spent the rest of the evening practically hanging off Arjun’s big, brawny biceps. He was a personal trainer, of all things, and Patrick was quick to point out how much he looked the part. But Arjun didn’t seem put-off by Patrick’s incorrigible flirtation; in fact, he gave as good as he got, trailing his large hands across the lapels of Patrick’s massive suit and praising the quality of the fabric… and what lay underneath.

They were terrible guests, lingering by the snack table, locked in their own smouldering back-and-forth to the exclusion of everyone else in the room. But Patrick didn’t care, guzzling lager after lager and making come-fuck-me eyes at his sexy new friend.

And come-fuck-him Arjun did. They left the party as soon as they could without being rude, practically running to Arjun’s tidy apartment a few blocks over. And boy, did Arjun fuck him. He was a phenomenal lay, a deft top who could throw Patrick around like a ragdoll, bending him over and absolutely railing his toned, slender ass. Patrick came like a geyser, and, after a brief respite, came again.

When they finally collapsed into an exhausted pile, both men resolved to see each other again very soon.

“Very soon”, it so happened, was the next day. And the day after that. Arjun didn’t just look like a god, he fucked like a god, and Patrick couldn’t get enough.

As the weeks passed, Patrick caught himself snacking more than usual. He never kept junk food in the house, but whenever Arjun came over, he always brought something to eat: a bag of chips, a casserole dish of homemade lasagna, a box of fresh eclairs from the bakery down the street. For a personal trainer, he certainly had a taste for fattening treats. Not that he ever ate them himself: after their marathon lovemaking sessions, when they lazed on the couch, Patrick made short work of whatever offering Arjun laid out on the coffee table, while Arjun treated himself to the most occasional of bites.

Patrick knew he was overeating, and he tried to make up for it at the gym, but the weather was getting colder, and he often found himself skipping workouts in favour of a lazy afternoon with his insatiable fuckmachine. By the end of November, Patrick realized that his pants were getting tight.

He didn’t think much of it. It was winter weight, and he’d seen plenty of guys put on a few pounds in the early days of a happy relationship. And things with Arjun were going so well. He was a trainer, after all. Surely he wouldn’t let Patrick get doughy.

And yet, as the end of the year approached, Patrick was looking very doughy indeed. He was stunned when he stepped on the scale a few days before New Years and saw “197” flash across the display. How could he be almost 200 pounds?

He took a hard look in the bathroom mirror, still steamy from his morning shower. Pudge had piled up around his middle, hiding his abs and broadening his torso. And his pecs were looking noticeably puffy.

He turned around and studied his ass. Patrick’s butt had always been his favourite feature, kept trim and perky through years of dieting and rigorous exercise. It was still round and pert, but it looked bigger, now, and softer. There was more to grab and play with. Patrick cupped a handful, eyes widening as soft flesh gave way beneath his fingers.

“I need to go on a diet,” he said, frowning as he emerged from the bathroom.

Arjun looked over at him from the bed, his muscular body splayed out amid the messy sheets. They had been seeing a lot of each other, hooking up almost every day of the week, and Patrick knew that was part of the problem: Arjun was generous with food, and his visits were wreaking havoc on Patrick’s usual gym routine. It had been nearly two weeks since his last workout, and he was starting to feel soft and flabby.

Arjun’s eyes ran across his body, and he gave a small frown. “You look great to me,” he said, trailing a hand over his own abs. Patrick could see Arjun’s boner starting to tent the bedsheets. That was a little confidence boost, at least.

“I’m almost 200 pounds,” Patrick said. Saying it aloud felt shameful, even if Arjun was used to training far larger clients at his gym. But Patrick had never been big in his life. Even spread over six feet of height, 200 pounds felt like a bigger number than Patrick was comfortable with. “I’m getting chubby.”

Arjun shook his head. “I don’t think so. I think you look sexy. Lots of guys are going for that beefy look, anyway.”

Patrick wasn’t sure about that, but he didn’t want to be argumentative. Arjun was so easygoing, the last thing Patrick wanted was to seem high-maintenance. They hadn’t talked about labels yet, but Patrick was hoping to have that conversation soon. And if he wanted to be exclusive, he didn’t want to kill his chances by broadcasting his neuroticism to the hottest guy he’d ever dated.

But he couldn’t let it go completely.  “Still,” he said, laying a hand over his heart and feeling the flesh that gathered around his nipple. “I need to start working out again. It’s been too long.”

Arjun gestured to his erection, and then patted the bed next to him: “Well, how about we have a little workout of our own?”

Patrick grinned, and nearly leapt into bed.

By mid-January, Patrick absolutely couldn’t avoid buying new pants. His usual rotation now dug into his waist almost painfully, the button protesting against his excesses. And his ass and thighs were an existential threat to the seams, which looked about one wrong move away from total collapse. 

Patrick briefly considered a return trip to Yuri’s messy boutique, but he had no desire to see that weird guy again, or get another warning about magic spells. So he ended up at his favourite thrift store, where he was helped by a very handsome Middle Eastern employee in a Blondie t-shirt.

Patrick had to admit, size 34 fit a lot better than his usual 32s, and he felt his old confidence returning as he strode into the restaurant for a hot date with Arjun.

That confidence began to wane as he sat across from his jacked dinner companion, leaving Patrick feeling distinctly unimpressive. While Patrick had opted for a loose-fitting t-shirt, hoping to disguise his winter weight, Arjun filled out a tailored button-down like he was modelling it for a catalogue.

That night, they made their relationship official. They’d been practically exclusive since Halloween, anyway, spending almost all their spare time together. They fucked relentlessly, but they were also starting to act more like a couple: cuddling on the couch, window shopping downtown… and eating. Well, Patrick was eating, whether they were dining out, or staying in for the elaborate dinners that Arjun carefully prepared. A stud who could cook: Patrick felt like he had hit the jackpot. And now that stud was all his.

He was so excited to have locked down such a catch that Patrick didn’t think twice about polishing off Arjun’s half-finished chicken parm, and then eating 95% of the cheesecake they had planned on “splitting” for dessert.

As it turned out, Arjun was quite the romantic. Now that he was Patrick’s boyfriend, his generous doting ratcheted up to the next level: other couples might swap boxes of chocolate on Valentine’s Day, but Arjun started showing up with heart-shaped boxes of chocolate truffles four weeks before that. Big boxes. Patrick didn’t want to seem ungrateful, so he dutifully munched his way through each one, even as he started to tire of so much chocolate, even as he grew uncomfortably full.

Patrick knew he should have been watching his weight, but his commitment to Arjun (and Arjun’s commitment to him) acted as a safety net, a way to avoid taking a hard look at the consequences of his new relationship. And those consequences were starting to grow: Patrick’s sides now sported a small pair of love handles, just big enough to overhang the waistband of his briefs, and a small dome of fat rested atop his torso. His ass swelled, his thighs thickened… he wasn’t just growing a gut, he was porking up all over.

When he stepped on the scale on Valentine’s Day, the number nearly made him faint. 213 pounds. This was bad. This was very, very, bad. Patrick knew he was gaining weight; his 34-inch jeans, not yet a month old, were already feeling snug. But to have stacked on 30 pounds of pure blubber in just three and a half months… Well, it almost defied belief.

For an instant, Patrick thought back to Yuri’s warning. Will make you big man. He shook his head. Surely this wasn’t the work of a magic suit. He had just gotten lazy, and perhaps a bit gluttonous. He had been to the gym exactly twice since New Years, but he was eating far more than he used to, even when he worked out almost daily. Of course he was bound to gain weight.

He broached his concerns to Arjun over dinner. “I really need to stop pigging out,” he said, eying the bread basket that the waiter had just set in front of them. He wanted to grab a piece of bread, but he restrained himself.

Arjun looked bemused. “What do you mean?” he said, as if he genuinely hadn’t noticed Patrick rapidly gaining 30 pounds.

Patrick rolled his eyes, and gestured to his middle. “Look at me. I told you I was getting chubby, and now I’m getting fat. It’s gross.”

Arjun’s face fell. “Don’t say that,” he said, reaching out to rest his hand on top of Patrick’s. “I think you’re every bit as hot as the day I met you.”

Patrick scoffed. “Yeah, right,” he mumbled, avoiding Arjun’s gaze. It was embarrassing: Arjun looked as perfect as ever; clearly he could control himself. And yet, Patrick had done nothing but laze around, sitting on his ass all day at work and then going home to eat. Having sex was about the extent of his physical activity, these days.

“I mean it,” Arjun said, firmly. “You’re gorgeous. I’m lucky to have you.”

That coaxed a smile out of Patrick, but he was still embarrassed. “Even if I’m letting myself go?”

Arjun’s face took on a defiant quality. “I hate that phrase. ‘Letting yourself go’. It makes it sound like you’ve given up on life. But you haven’t. Look at me, are you happy?”

As he gazed into Arjun’s eyes, Patrick considered it. He had the man of his dreams, things were going well at work… finally, he nodded. He was happy.

“Then you haven’t let yourself go. You haven’t given up on life, you’re enjoying life. And if it shows, it shows. I could not care less,” Arjun said, stroking Patrick’s hand, his eyes searching Patrick’s face.

“You work at a gym, though,” Patrick said, resting his free hand on his stomach. His belly now rubbed against the front of even his loosest shirts, making itself unignorable. “You’re surrounded by guys who are way hotter than me, hotter than I’ve ever been.”

“Honey,” Arjun said. “Stop. Let me tell you what we’re going to do. You’re going to eat that bread, because I know you want to. We’re going to get a bottle of wine. You’re going to order the fettuccine, because it’s your favourite, and I’m going to treat you to that lava cake you love for dessert. Then we’re going to go home, get naked, and I’m going to show you how sexy I find every single inch of you. I know we said no gifts, but… I hear I’m pretty gifted.” He smiled.

Patrick had to admit, that sounded pretty good. 

Over the following weeks and months, the pattern repeated itself. Arjun showered Patrick with love, in the form of massive meals and piles of snacks. Patrick outgrew his 34s, and then his 36s. His weight slipped up to 224 pounds by the end of February, and 231 by the end of March. Even as “winter weight” ceased to be an excuse, and sunny April gave way to May, Patrick’s weight climbed beyond 240 pounds, and his 38-inch pants were getting uncomfortable.

He was confronted with a twinge of apprehension every time he checked the scale, every time he had to buy clothes in a size he never dreamed he’d need. And Arjun faithfully assuaged his anxieties, his gentle touch and loving words so soft and soothing that Patrick’s fears melted away.

But it wasn’t Arjun’s gentleness that made the biggest difference, it was his forcefulness. In the bedroom, his enthusiasm only seemed to grow alongside Patrick’s body. In the early days of their relationship, Arjun had been smooth and methodical, confidently gripping the firm edges of Patrick’s muscular frame. But lately, his lust was palpable, almost animal. Patrick could feel Arjun losing control as he gripped and squeezed Patrick’s broad, round stomach, cupped his budding breasts, slapped and groped and generally manhandled Patrick’s ever-fattening ass. There was a new intensity to their sex, already intense to begin with, that filled Patrick an unfamiliar, slightly disorienting sensation: excitement about his fattening body. A desire to grow.

He tried to deny it, at first, to dismiss it as a side-effect of the consistently Earth-shattering sex he was having. But even when Arjun wasn’t around, when he was all alone with just his fat belly to keep him company, that excitement didn’t abate. Something was happening to him. When he stepped on the scales on May 14th, his birthday, and saw that he weighed 251 pounds, he did still feel a little pang of anxiety. But he also felt something else, a distinct and undeniable stirring in his crotch that could only be arousal.

“Happy birthday,” Arjun purred, as they lay in bed that night. Patrick had just enjoyed the absolute best rimjob of his life, a sexual experience like no other. Arjun may not have been a big eater, but he ate ass like an absolute glutton, planting his face firmly between Patrick’s big, round buttocks and going to town with insatiable vigour. “Did you like that?”

Patrick could only nod, still trying to catch his breath. His extreme sedentariness, on top of gaining almost seventy pounds in less than 7 months, had left him seriously out of shape. His old workout routine wouldn’t just be a challenge for him, it would be an impossibility.

Arjun must have sensed how spent their sexcapade had left Patrick, since he gave a slight chuckle. His hand was draped across Patrick’s chubby chest, his nimble fingers stroking Patrick’s perky nipple. Patrick was acutely aware of his double-chin as he lowered his face to look down at his tits; he hadn’t expected that even his nipples would grow, but he was certainly enjoying the added sensitivity.

“You’re really good at that,” Patrick said, lamely, still trying to bring himself back to Earth. “Like, really good at that.”

“Well, you have a very delicious ass,” Arjun said, giving Patrick’s nipple a tweak and making him shiver. With a smirk, he added: “Like, very delicious.”

“Well there’s a lot of it, these days,” Patrick said. He didn’t even know how he felt about that: bitter? Gleeful? His emotions were so muddled, so clouded by his libido—especially in the afterglow—that they had become a Gordian Knot.

“More cushion for the pushin’,” Arjun said, simply, and patted Patrick’s gut.

“So you really like fat asses, huh?” Patrick said. Arjun’s inclinations had been obvious for months, but Patrick had been avoiding the conversation. He knew he was falling for this guy, but he was afraid that Arjun just saw him as a kinky sex-toy, someone he could fatten up and discard before moving onto the next unwitting twink. He knew that was irrational, and horribly unfair to a man who had been nothing but good to him, but he couldn’t stop looking for a catch.

“I do,” Arjun said. He looked Patrick in the eyes, and Patrick looked back. No matter what Arjun’s body looked like, those eyes could make any man fall in love. “But I specifically love your ass, fit or fat.”

“But you prefer it fat,” Patrick pressed on. He wanted an admission, tangible proof that Arjun had been knowingly spurring on his explosive weight gain. Surely it couldn’t be—

Patrick nipped that train of thought right in the bud. It wasn’t the fucking suit. There’s no such thing as a magic suit.

“Yeah, I like it fat,” Arjun said, biting his lower lip as he glanced away. It was a very cute look. Bashfulness suited him.

Patrick had his confession. Arjun was a chubby chaser, and Patrick was getting chased. He was quiet for a few moments, deciding what to do. Did he want to be thin again, an archetypical hottie who lit up a room? If so, he could destroy everything that might have caused this slide into obesity—because that’s what he was, now, fully and definitively obese. He could burn his old Halloween costume, kick Arjun to the curb, and diet interminably until he could see his abs again. It wasn’t too late.

He could also try to lose weight with Arjun; if he was telling the truth, if he really did appreciate Patrick’s body at any size, he would support him. He’d probably still burn the suit, in that case, just to be on the safe side.

But then, there was a third door. A very wide door, beckoning Patrick to step forward until his steps became a heavy, lumbering waddle. He could keep eating. Keep gorging. Keep gaining. Let himself blow up like a balloon, pack on the pounds until Arjun’s handsome face was entirely lost in a sea of ass-fat.

Patrick stepped towards door number three. Maybe he could try it, just for a while. What harm could a couple more pounds do, on top of the 70 he’d already gained? He smiled, lopsidedly. “How fat do you like it?” he asked, finally. “How fat are you gonna make it?”

Arjun looked up at him, mouth agape. “I—You—What?” he stammered.

Patrick doubled down. “What are you gonna do to my ass? How big are we talking: pumpkin? Beach balls? Minivan?”

Arjun inhaled sharply, no doubt surprised by this turn of events. Patrick could feel his boyfriend’s cock swelling against his pudgy thigh. The fact that the suggestion of a minivan-sized ass inspired that sort of arousal told Patrick all he needed to know. Surely he wouldn’t get that fat—it was a little bit of anatomically-implausable sexual hyperbole—but he definitely wouldn’t mind giving Arjun a bigger ass to play with. At least a little bigger.

Patrick didn’t give him a chance to respond. “Why don’t you go get the rest of my birthday cake and you can show me again how much you love fat asses?”

Arjun leapt out of bed like the athlete he was, bare cock standing proudly at attention. “Don’t move a muscle. I’ll be right back.”

Patrick grinned. His 25th year was off to a very good start.

It was hard to get used to the idea that he might actually enjoy being fat, and want to get even fatter. He was naturally thin—he used to be, at least—so the concept that weight gain could be something fun, something to be encouraged, was alien to Patrick at first. And yet, he couldn’t deny his body. His belly was growing accustomed to eating big, and his dick was clearly enjoying it. With those two powerful appendages urging him on, compounded by Arjun’s relentless feeding, Patrick continued to balloon.

I’ll gain maybe five more pounds. Ten tops, Patrick told himself the day after his birthday. And yet, a month later, the scale said he had gained 12. Okay, maybe ten more, he reasoned. 260 didn’t feel as big as he thought it would, anyway. Sure, he was huge, but he didn’t feel that huge. 250 and 260 weren’t so different, right? And besides, what was he supposed to do? Stop eating the food he’d come to love? Go back to the gym he’d abandoned months ago? Deny Arjun the great pleasure of his growing body?

He still had moments of uncertainty. When he couldn’t button his pants, and he realized that he had hopelessly outgrown anything smaller than a 42-inch waist, Patrick felt a pit in his stomach. What am I doing to myself? He wondered, as he made one last feeble attempt to stuff himself into a pair of 40s. 

But when he gave up, and let his hands roam across his gut, his nervousness evaporated. It was so soft, so fun to knead and fondle and play with. He’d gained so much, so quickly, that it still held its round shape, but rolls were starting to crop up, with a noticeable one forming between his breasts and his belly. His love handles expanded, too, and he realized how apt that name was: they really were like handles, slabs of side-fat that he could wrap his fingers around and properly squeeze, feeling the give of so much stretch mark-lined flesh. And he really did love them.

He let his hands slip up further, cupping his breasts, bouncing one and then the other. He felt like an absolute cow as mammary fat spilled between his fingers. Those last 12 pounds must have hit his chest and upper belly hard.

By the time Patrick stood, kicking off the jeans that could no longer handle him, he wasn’t anxious at all: he was horny.

Arjun took care of that.

Over the following months, Patrick felt like a kid who couldn’t go to bed. But instead of “ten more minutes”, it was “ten more pounds”. His ass, a feature that Arjun adored even more than Patrick himself, spread and swelled, and he found himself bumping into things constantly. He could still remember what it was like to have small, hard glutes, but that memory was starting to fade as he buried those glutes deeper and deeper under an ever-growing layer of pure, unadulterated lard. His perky little ass, the crown jewel of his twinkish body, had given way to a pair of vast, juicy buttocks. It was still holding its round shape, each cheek almost perfectly globular and still pert. But as he passed 280 pounds, Patrick could tell that gravity would have the last laugh.

By early July, he’d gained exactly 100 pounds, sitting pretty at 283. He hadn’t expected that gaining weight would make him hairier, but it made sense. More surface area needed more fuzz to cover it all, and his gut was getting massively fuzzy. That was one of many unexpected changes. Others weren’t quite as fun, like the soreness he felt in his lower back when he had to stand for more than 20 minutes, a side-effect of living life with a 50-pound medicine ball strapped to his abdomen. But even that wasn’t so bad: it gave him an excuse to live an even more idle existence, with Arjun happy to indulge him.

The sweating was another unwelcome companion. In the summer heat, he could really feel the hundred pounds of added insulation. He used to love going to the beach, playing volleyball with his friends and flaunting his slender body for admiring onlookers. This year, he preferred relaxing indoors, where he could let it all hang out and feel the cool AC on his sprawling belly. Arjun joked that his house was like an icebox, and Patrick pointed out that that was where a pig belonged.

They did make it to the beach a few times, including on Labour Day. Patrick shied away from taking off his shirt, at first, but Arjun talked him into it, and his expression of unrestrained adoration made it all worthwhile. They must have made quite the pair: the personal trainer, 200 pounds of rock-hard muscle, walking hand-in-hand with a red-faced porker who outweighed him by a hundred pounds, rolls of fat bouncing and wobbling as he ambled down the boardwalk.

“I think we’re confusing people,” Patrick said. He lay in the sand, tonguing an overloaded ice cream cone. A middle-aged couple openly stared at him as they walked past, looking from Arjun to Patrick and back again in search of a logical explanation. The explanation was obvious, but clearly beyond their comprehension.

“Well, you’re due for some more sunscreen. How about we really put on a show?” Arjun suggested, licking his lips.

Patrick leaned back, flicking down his sunglasses, and kept working on his ice cream as Arjun slathered his belly with creamy lotion. It was a blatant belly rub, and heads certainly turned at the sight of the stunning jock basting his beloved pig, but Patrick was so focused on the pleasurable feeling that he barely noticed the slack-jawed onlookers. Arjun pressed his fingertips deep into Patrick’s flab, a skillful massage that left Patrick wanting more.

When he finished his ice cream cone, he got his wish: “Roll over,” Arjun said. “I’ll do your back.”

Another shift occurred when Patrick crossed the 300-pound mark. He’d expected 300 pounds to be incomprehensibly fat, a size beyond all reason, but it didn’t feel that much bigger than 250. The difference between 250 and 200 had felt much more pronounced. Sure, he had more rolls now, and his gut hung out well in front of him, but he wouldn’t mind being bigger. He did dispense with the fiction that he’d stop in another ten pounds: he’d reassess at 350. That was a nice, round number, and it wouldn’t sneak up on him the way 10 pounds always seemed to.

He thought back to January, just nine months earlier, when he’d been terrified of crossing 200 pounds. It was an amusing thought; that version of Patrick was positively tiny compared to the man he now was, and he was far from afraid of growing. He was actually looking forward to it. Dating an incredibly sexy feeder had grown his confidence. It had changed him.

Or maybe it’s that suit, a nagging voice in Patrick’s head said. Sometimes, when he was self-conscious about how quickly he was ballooning, he fell back on that old line: it wasn’t his fault, he was the victim of paranormal forces beyond his control. But he knew he couldn’t blame a stupid Halloween costume for his out-of-control gluttony. It was all on him, and his encouraging boyfriend.

Changes were occurring in the bedroom, too. As fat became a bigger driving force behind his sexuality, Patrick leaned deeper into his submissive side. He liked feeling Arjun’s forceful hands all over his bulging body. He liked to hear what a fat, out-of-control pig he was becoming. Just hearing the word “hog” leave Arjun’s lips was enough to ratchet up Patrick’s arousal by an order of magnitude. He was a pig, a desperate little piggy who needed to be stuffed from both ends.

When he could feel Arjun inside of him, his voluminous belly tantalizingly close to brushing the bed, his fat jiggling with every forceful thrust… that was pure heaven. He honestly wasn’t sure he could go back to sex as a skinny boy again. Now that been told that he was Arjun’s pig, felt his hundreds of pounds shake and bounce as he bottomed, he didn’t see how it could compare.

“Can you believe we’ve known each other for almost a year?” Arjun asked one day, in mid-October. He was nearly done unpacking the last of his boxes, having moved into Patrick’s apartment as soon as his lease was up. That had been the source of some debate: Arjun’s place was nicer, but it was a fourth-floor walk-up, and Patrick didn’t think he could handle all that cardio. The rent was cheaper in Patrick’s building, anyway, and between the elevators and the air conditioning, it felt like a better fit for a growing fatboy.

“It feels like we’ve known each other forever,” Patrick replied. He meant it. He thought back to the person Arjun had met, and how much he’d changed in their time together.

There had been one other change since last Halloween: Patrick was starting to wonder if maybe there were such things as magic clothes. Rationally, he knew he couldn’t blame his weight on a spell, but still… Yuri had said Patrick would get fat, and fat was exactly what he had gotten. He was shirtless, his heavy thighs overloading a pair of stretchy basketball shorts. He eyed his gut, admiring the way it bounded forward into his lap, a crop of hair covering his impressive collection of stretch marks.

“Priti’s throwing another Halloween party this year,” Arjun said, as he shelved some of his books. “Any couple’s costume ideas?”

Patrick mulled it over. Just six months ago, he would have been embarrassed by a costume that emphasized his fat. Now, he wanted to display the full magnitude of his size. “Farmer and prize pig? Fat guy, hot wife?”

“Oh, I know. Jabba the Hutt and Princess Leia,” Arjun said, smirking.

“I would love to see you in that metal bikini, but you might get cold,” Patrick said. “We have some time to think it over, at least.”

Arjun nodded. “We could always just repeat our old costumes,” he said. “But I think ‘Biggest Loser contestant’ might take on a new meaning, in your case.”

“That may have been my worst costume ever,” Patrick said. “But I do remember one guy seemed to appreciate it.”

“Well, he sounds smart, and very handsome,” Arjun said. He tossed himself onto the couch, slinging his arm over Patrick’s protruding keg.

“Yeah, but he has a bit of an ego,” Patrick teased, kissing his man on the cheek. “Thank God he’s great in bed.”

Arjun snuggled in closer, and Patrick melted beneath his forceful touch, delighting as his bare belly was kneaded and rubbed. Whatever the costume, Patrick couldn’t wait to spend another Halloween with Arjun.

~

“I really don’t think it’ll fit,” Arjun said, staring at the suit that Patrick had worn for Halloween just three years before.

In that time, he’d gone far beyond doubling his weight: he’d shot past 400 pounds, and now hovered—or rather, sprawled out—around 460. Naturally, his gains had slowed down, but he was still growing at a fairly rapid rate, and he could see 500 pounds in the not-so-distant future.

“Just let me give it a try,” Patrick said, feeling defiant. The suit had been so outrageously large on him, swallowing his lean body. But as he held up the pants, each leg larger than his waist had once been, he was forced to reckon with the fact that they looked smaller than anything he usually wore.

He stepped into them as gingerly as a man of such impressive proportions could hope to, and started to pull them up. But as the fabric gathered around his thighs, he could feel trouble brewing. As he started to tug them over his ass, he knew that this was a fool’s errand.

Too proud to quit, he kept trying, his enormous gut swaying and wobbling from the motion, the exertion starting to take his breath away. He could feel his rolls quivering and his ample breasts bouncing as he pulled pointlessly on the waistband. He’d covered a little over two thirds of the sprawling hillsides he called an ass before he finally surrendered, out of breath and sweating.

He sighed defeatedly. “I definitely can’t wear this to Priti’s wedding.”

Arjun rubbed his broad back. “Hey, no worries. We can give it away. And who knows, maybe we’ll find a tailor who can turn a canvas tent into a kurta big enough to fit you.”

Patrick laughed. “Or maybe we can just go shopping at Big & Tall. And as for getting rid of this suit, I think I know where to go.”

He had to go back to the place where it all began, the source of this mysterious garment. There had been a brief window of time where it had actually fit, but for most of the time Patrick owned it, it had gathered dust in his closet, either too big or too small for public consumption, taunting him all the while.

He’d told Arjun long ago about Yuri’s bizarre warning, and Arjun had dismissed it as quickly as Patrick once had. Patrick knew it was nonsense, but still… if he had the opportunity, he wanted to hear it from the source.

He paused to rest and recover for a bit once he’d stripped off the pants, sitting on the bed as Arjun carefully placed the massive outfit on a hanger. Finally, Patrick got up and stuffed himself into an enormous pair of sweatpants, before pulling on a colossal t-shirt that nevertheless failed to fully contain his girth, leaving sizable swathes of fat exposed at the front and on the sides.

He waddled his way to the elevator, different rolls and bulges shifting and bouncing with every step. Finally, he reached Arjun’s car, relieved to be able to sit down again. He dropped himself into the passenger seat, and the car dipped to the side beneath so much added weight. Driving him to work must have been hell on poor Arjun’s gas mileage, but Patrick was getting too fat to safely operate his own little sedan.

He gave directions to the shop, eager to see if it even still existed. Perhaps that was part of the magic, and it had never existed at all… but no, eventually Arjun turned onto the quiet street at the edge of downtown, and parked mercifully close to the store’s shabby storefront. Somehow, it was very much still in existence.

Patrick lumbered through the doors, expecting to see Yuri doing some sort of mysterious ritual. Instead, he saw a handsome young man in a purple tracksuit, staring distractedly at his phone. The store was empty, just as it had been last time, and no neater than Patrick remembered.

He bellied up to the cash register, resting the frontmost portion of his gut on the counter to take some of the load off his back. “I’m—” he paused, realizing that the short walk from the car had left him out of breath. Jesus, I’m out of shape, he thought. He looked around for Arjun, who wore an unimpressed expression as he browsed one of the disorganized racks. “I’m here to donate this,” he managed, his breathing having slowed enough to converse.

The guy looked up from his phone, awestruck. Patrick was used to being the fattest person a lot of people had seen in a while, sometimes ever, and he had acquired a taste for their shocked expressions. He liked to watch their eyes try to explain to their brains the full scope of the human being in front of them. Patrick sat the suit down on the counter. “I bought it here a couple of years ago, but it doesn’t fit anymore.”

“Uh, okay,” the guy said. Clearly this was TMI. The cashier at his go-to thrift store always seemed excited to hear about Patrick’s escalating poundage, but he was a rare breed. “You can just leave it here.”

Patrick couldn’t just leave. He’d come here for a purpose. “But… I’ve got to know,” he said. He glanced around the store, still empty, and lowered his voice. He leaned towards the cashier, who looked more confused than ever. “Is this thing really cursed?”

The cashier goggled at him. “Cursed?” He repeated, probably questioning his hearing.

“Yeah. That’s what the old man who works here told me, but I didn’t believe him. I was smaller than you when I bought it, but now look at me.”

“Wh—old man? You mean uncle Yuri?” The guy said. His face broke into a broad grin and he covered it with his hand. “Okay, I’m sorry, but that suit is definitely not cursed.”

“Look at me, though,” Patrick repeated. “I’m a whale!” To drive the point home, he grabbed the part of his belly that poked out from under the hem of his shirt and gave it a shake, sending waves of gelatinous motion through his rolls of flab.

“Okay, but…” the cashier sighed. “Yuri is a weird guy. He likes fat guys. Half the clothes he sells are supposedly ‘cursed’ with some spell that makes guys fat. But it’s not real. He just thinks he can fatten guys up with the power of suggestion. I don’t know why he does it, it’s not like they ever come back.”

Patrick folded his chubby arms, forcing his voluminous cleavage together. “So the ‘power of suggestion’ made me gain 275 pounds?”

The cashier’s eyes widened. “Well, what have you been eating?”

Patrick considered his consumption that morning. It was only 11 AM, but he’d already eaten two breakfasts. The first was a handful of sausage McGriddles with a half-dozen hashbrowns, washed down with a large iced mocha, and followed up with half a dozen powdered donuts. “But… maybe it’s the suit that’s making me hungry,” he said, halfheartedly, realizing how ridiculous he sounded.

The dreamboat behind the register arched an eyebrow. “C’mon, dude. You seriously believe in magic clothes?”

Patrick hesitated. It all seemed crazy, to him, but how else could have turned into such a fatass? He’d been a hunk! There had to be a supernatural explanation.

The cashier picked up the suit and studied it. “I remember this. People don’t bring us bespoke Italian suits very often. The guy who gave it away lost a bunch of weight, he said he wouldn’t need it anymore. Does that sound cursed to you?”

Patrick frowned. His ego compelled him to come up with some explanation other than gluttony and sloth, something that would absolve him of responsibility for his own fattening choices. “Well, maybe Yuri put a spell on it.”

The cashier rolled his eyes. “Listen to yourself, man. Yuri was a professor of statistics at Lomonosov. Not some wizard. He moved to this country to hit on chubby American boys, like yourself, not to hex twinks, or whatever you think happened to you.”

“Chubby” seemed like an understatement, given Patrick’s current state of morbid obesity, but he appreciated the guy’s generosity. “So I’m… just fat, for no reason?”

The guy smirked. “Well, I’m sure there’s a reason, but it’s not this suit.”

As if on cue, the reason for Patrick’s staggering size appeared at his side. “So, no curse?” Arjun said.

The guy rolled his eyes. “No, no curse. I can take it off your hands if it doesn’t fit anymore, but I wouldn’t expect anything to change.”

Patrick was pensive as they left the store, contemplating what he’d just heard. So Yuri had just… made it all up? Because he was kinky? 

Then what was this all about? Patrick wondered. Surely there were more direct ways to indulge in your kink. It all felt a bit strained.

“I don’t know,” he said, as he waddled over to Arjun’s SUV. “I still think the spell could be real. I mean, I was wearing the suit when I met you, and you’ve been a horrible influence.”

Arjun seemed to consider this theory. “Eh, come on. I’ve dated gainers before, and they’ve all gained weight without magic clothes to help them. And now that the suit is gone, do you really think you’ll stop gaining?”

Patrick sighed. Was he the author of his own massive fate? Was there really nothing supernatural at play? He felt like pointing out that those guys had been gainers when Arjun met them, but he continued before Patrick had the chance.

“But…” Arjun rubbed his chiselled chin as he reached the driver’s side door. “Maybe you’re onto something. Maybe our relationship is the spell, the thing that’s turned you into such an insatiable gainer. Maybe it’s our love that’s magic.”

Patrick laughed out loud as he started the process of heaving himself into the passenger seat. “You’re so damn cheesy. C’mon, man. ‘Power of love’ my fat ass.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Arjun smiled. “Speaking of cheesy, want some poutine?”

Patrick pawed at his massive gut, which grumbled its demand. “That depends, lover boy. Is it magic poutine? Will it make me even fatter?”

Arjun’s smile broadened. “I think we can figure something out.”

[pandoradoesotherstuff]

Being in a "Relationship" with Darkiplier Would Include:

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A/N: I've never written about Dark before, so I thought it would be fun to try. Hopefully, it's not terrible. It's also super short. Oops. 😅😅

Enjoy! 🖤

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There's no such thing as truly being in a "relationship" with Dark.

He's an all powerful being afterall, he uses you for his own means and yet you can't pull away.

Dark is the type of person, entity (demon?) that comes and goes as he pleases. Sometimes you see him fairly regularly and sometimes you don't.

He likes to gift you extravagant, if sightly odd, antiques. Such as an 1920's cameo broach with a portrait that looked suspiciously like Dark only with slicked back hair or the strange gold gilted broken mirror which you could swear you see other figures in out of the corner of your eye.

Bringing you to a large old manor house named after a long dead Hollywood actor to "stay over".

It's beautiful and elegantly decorated, but something about it feels...off. Like a strange energy you can't quite put your finger on...

[mischievoushiddleston]

Sensual Temptation

Paring: Tom Hiddleston x Reader x Eric Winter

Warning: Threesome

Masterlist here

It was an evening Y/N would never forget. The air was electric as she entered the luxurious penthouse suite. The city lights shimmered through the large windows, casting a gentle glow into the room. Tom Hiddleston and Eric Winter, two of Hollywood's most charismatic men, stood there waiting for her. This was a night she had only dreamed of, but it was happening, and the anticipation made her heart beat faster.

"Good evening," Tom greeted her with that unmistakable smile that could make anyone's knees weak.

"Hey," Eric added, his voice warm and inviting. Stepping forward, he handed her a glass of champagne. "I hope you're ready for an unforgettable night."

Y/N took the glass, feeling the bubbles tickle her nose as she took a sip, her eyes darting between the two men. Their gazes were intense, full of desire that mirrored her own.

Tom approached her, his hand gently touching her arm. "Shall we begin?" he asked softly, his British accent sending shivers down her spine.

"Yes," she whispered, barely able to contain her excitement.

Eric stepped behind her, his hands resting on her hips. "Let's make this night unforgettable."

Tom leaned in and captured her lips in a slow, passionate kiss. His tongue teased hers, eliciting soft sighs from her. Eric's hands glided up her sides, his lips trailing over her neck, leaving a trail of kisses that made her skin tingle.

"Let's go to the bedroom," Tom suggested, his voice hoarse with desire.

Y/N nodded, allowing them to lead her into the luxuriously furnished bedroom. The bed with its silk sheets beckoned to her. Tom and Eric began undressing her with a reverence that made her feel like the most precious person in the world.

Tom's fingers skillfully unbuttoned her blouse and slid it off her shoulders, while Eric opened her skirt and let it fall to the floor. They admired her body, their eyes drinking in every inch of her as if they wanted to etch the sight into their memories.

"You're beautiful," Eric murmured, his hands exploring her curves and making her feel warm and desired.

Tom's lips followed the path of his fingers, kissing her shoulders, her collarbone, and descending lower. "Absolutely breathtaking," he agreed, his breath hot against her skin.

Y/N reached out eagerly, eager to touch them as well. Her hands slipped under Tom's shirt, feeling the hard muscles of his chest, while Eric's shirt followed suit, revealing his toned upper body. Both were perfect, and she couldn't get enough.

Eric's hands found the clasp of her bra, and with a skillful movement, it was gone, leaving her exposed to their hungry gazes. Tom's mouth found her nipple, sucking and teasing until she cried out in pleasure. Eric's hands massaged her other breast, his touch firm and demanding.

"Lie down," Tom instructed, his voice gentle yet firm.

Y/N obeyed, stretching out on the cool sheets, her body already vibrating with excitement. Tom and Eric stripped completely, their erections evident and ready.

She lay there, her naked body stretched out on the silky sheets, her senses overwhelmed with anticipation. Tom and Eric stood before her, their muscular bodies exuding pure masculinity. Their eyes roamed over her perfect forms, feeling the heat rising between them.

Eric knelt beside her on the bed, his hands gliding over her thighs, parting them gently, while Tom leaned over her and pressed his lips to hers again. His tongue demanded entry into her mouth, while Eric's fingers found her wet pussy and began to massage it gently. Her body arched with pleasure, and a soft moan escaped her lips.

"You feel so good," Eric murmured, his voice deep and husky. He lowered his head and let his tongue glide over her clit, making her gasp with pleasure.

Tom's hands roamed over her body, stroking her breasts, massaging them firmly. His lips found her neck, leaving moist, hot trails. "We want to hear you scream, Y/N," he whispered against her skin, his voice a promise of pure ecstasy.

Y/N could barely think, her body instinctively responding to their touches. Eric's tongue played skillfully with her clit, while his fingers penetrated deep into her, driving her to the brink of madness. Tom's hands kneaded her breasts, playing with her hard nipples, every pull and squeeze making her cry out in pleasure.

"Please..." she pleaded, her voice a hoarse whisper.

"Please what?" Tom asked, his eyes sparkling with desire. "Tell us what you want."

"I want both of you..." she barely managed to say, her body trembling with excitement.

"Then you'll have both of us," Eric muttered, his voice a dark promise. He withdrew, and Tom took his place between her legs. She felt the tip of his hard cock against her wet opening, and another moan escaped her lips.

"Are you ready?" Tom asked, his eyes searching hers.

"Yes, please," she answered, her voice trembling with desire.

With a powerful thrust, Tom entered her, his hard cock filling her completely. She was so wet and ready for him that he effortlessly slid deep into her. A loud moan escaped her lips, and her body tensed with pleasure.

Tom paused for a moment, letting her feel the full length of his cock, before slowly withdrawing and then plunging deep into her again. His movements were powerful and possessive, each thrust bringing her closer to the edge of ecstasy.

As Tom moved inside her, Eric knelt beside her head and guided his hard cock to her lips. She willingly opened her mouth and took him deep inside, letting her tongue glide over his length and sucking him eagerly.

"You feel so damn good," Tom gasped, his movements becoming faster and more intense. He leaned over her, his lips finding her breasts again, sucking and kneading them as he thrust deep into her.

Y/N was overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through her body. The combination of Tom's powerful thrusts and Eric's hard cock in her mouth made her tremble with pleasure. She could feel the climax building inside her, every movement, every touch bringing her closer to the edge.

"I'm so close..." she gasped, her voice trembling with lust.

"Come for us," Eric murmured, his voice a dark, demanding promise.

With one final deep thrust, Tom exploded inside her, and the intensity of his climax sent her over the edge as well. Her body arched with pleasure, and a loud cry escaped her lips. Eric followed shortly after, his hot seed filling her mouth, and she greedily swallowed.

Tom, Eric, and Y/N lay exhausted and satisfied next to each other, their bodies still trembling with the intense lust they had just shared. But the mood in the room quickly changed as their eyes met, and the unspoken longing flared up again.

"Ready for a second round?" Eric asked with a mischievous grin, his hand gently sliding over her hip.

"I thought you would never ask," Tom replied, his eyes flickering with desire.

Y/N could feel the heat rising within her again as she looked at the two men. "I'm ready," she said, her voice a soft whisper filled with anticipation.

Tom sat up and gently pulled her towards him, his hands caressing her back and drawing her closer to his hot body. He let his lips glide over her neck, leaving moist, hot kisses on her skin, while Eric knelt behind her and let his hands glide gently over her buttocks and thighs.

"On all fours," Eric commanded softly, his voice deep and longing.

Y/N obeyed, lowering herself onto hands and knees, her body vibrating with anticipation. Tom knelt before her and lifted her chin, his lips finding hers again, kissing her eagerly and passionately.

Eric positioned himself behind her and let his fingers glide gently over her wet pussy, preparing her once more for what was to come. "You're so ready for us," he murmured, his voice a deep rumble.

"Please, Eric," she pleaded, her voice trembling with lust.

With a powerful thrust, Eric entered her, his hard cock filling her completely. She moaned loudly, her body tensing with pleasure as he began to move inside her. His thrusts were deep and powerful, each one bringing her closer to the edge of ecstasy.

At the same time, Tom took his place before her again, his hard cock throbbing with anticipation. She willingly opened her mouth, taking him deep inside and letting her tongue glide over his length, sucking him eagerly.

"You feel so damn good," Tom gasped, his body tensing with lust.

Eric quickened the pace, his thrusts becoming harder and deeper. "Come for us, Y/N," he demanded, his voice a dark, longing growl.

With one final deep thrust, Eric exploded inside her, his hot seed filling her, and the intensity of his climax sent her over the edge once more. Her body arched with pleasure, and a loud cry escaped her lips as she exploded in an ecstatic climax.

Tom followed shortly after, his hot seed filling her mouth, and she greedily swallowed.

Exhausted and satisfied, the three of them collapsed onto the bed, their bodies still trembling with the intense pleasure they had just experienced. But even in their exhaustion, the desire between them remained palpable, and they knew that this night was far from over.