#now maybe we can grow that beard back?

[cinamun]

Not Jay beasting out 4 classes in the end and graduating with honors? We love to see it.

Friends, help me in congratulating our favorite deco-turned-not-so-deco UBrite Student on this, the day of his graduation.

Jay ended up majoring in psychology with a focus on the psychology of music. He thinks that being your friendly high school music teacher, or college professor of the pianistic arts might be where its at in terms of his future.

We are just so happy for him and, although it took him a little longer, he had the best motivation EVER to hurry up and get 'er done.

Bless.

[schadenfreudich]

A tiny little bit more facial hair!!!

[onelittlespiral]

Warning: Bear Attacks

As we move into the holiday season, we would like to issue our annual warning about bear attacks. With colder weather setting in, an increased number of bears will be driven indoors as they search for food, warmth, and mates. And bears are far more dangerous in confined spaces.

Take this specimen here for instance. At first glance, he seems like a kind, friendly, fuzzy man who would keep you warm through a cold winter night. Maybe not the most happening upstairs, but he means well. Would you believe that just this summer he looked more like this?

Young and cute, but certainly not the hairy beast we have seen him turn into this season. If you are going out this winter, be aware, and be alert for the warning signs and know what to do if a bear sets its sights on you. First, how do you identify a bear? There are a few common varieties, each with their own quirks:

You have the very standard Grizzly bear, warm and cuddly. Pronounced dad bod. Notice the expression, the signature bear smirk. This will be one of the earliest signs that a bear is on the hunt.

Of course you also have the muscle bears. Their signature muscles will be coated in a thick layer of fur, accentuating their size. Hair will peak out from beneath heavy biceps, and their tank tops give no doubt to the forest underneath. They will often infiltrate and train you up before attacking. They like their marks ready, bro.

Even the smaller, younger cubs present a danger this time of year. They may seem helpless, but let us assure you they are far more knowledgeable than they seem. They can cause some of the most drastic changes in age, hair, and temperament. Countless men soon find themselves caring for their cubs, foraging for them, and assuming responsibility as they age into papa bears for their sweet little cubs.

Now bears will all hunt in their own ways, but there are patterns to their behavior. First, bears tend to congregate together. If you notice one, be on alert for others. Second, beware of beer and whiskey drinks offered to you. These are the trademark drinks of several bear species. Third, monitor the air in a room. That many big, burly men will tend to warm a place up and start to sweat, and bear musk is among their most potent tools to pacify targets. And in greater numbers these effects can be amplified. Their fur traps the musk close to their skin, so the closer they get the more enraptured you will become. If you are subjected to a direct hit from, say, a bear’s pit, it may already to be too late.

In case you find yourself taken back to a bear’s den, all is not lost yet, but far more drastic measures may need to be taken. Continued exposure to them will accelerate any changes, so you must be quick and decisive. First, avoid any food they may offer you, no matter how starved you may suddenly feel yourself becoming. Feeding the insatiable new hunger will only awaken the bear that is growing inside of you. Second, avoid direct contact with their fur. They may appear warm and inviting, and their cuddles are indeed among the coziest in the world. But skin-to-fur contact encourages hair growth as your body grows a pelt of its own. Third, avoid getting under the covers with them. Their body heat will quickly begin to melt your wits and your body will begin sweating, creating a musk of its own to compliment. Take this young man for example:

He barely made it out from a cuddle session with a bear, but some drastic changes have already occurred. His 6 pack abs have begun their journey to a muscle gut. He can hardly go a day without shaving or a full beard will quickly cover his face. And the musk he now produces keeps him far hornier than he ever was before. The effect seems to be limited to just himself, for now. Can you believe he is only 21? Hasn’t been carded in months. He had to drop from his football team, no longer in the right shape for it. He now is much more suited to rugby. And he is one of the lucky ones. This one was not so lucky:

These two photos were taken mere days apart. He was, sadly, subjected to the final transformation: becoming a bear himself. After being taken to a den, accepting some greasy snacks, and cuddled into submission, this poor man was selected to be a bear’s mate. He was laid on his back, had his clothes removed, and the bear started massaging his legs and thighs. He ran his thick fingers over his hole and slowly worked his way inside to stretch him out for what was to come. It wasn’t long before his bear dick was pressed against him, and he felt the thick, veiny cock begin to slowly pump into his cavity. Once bears get started, it is nearly impossible to get them to stop. His thighs slapped against his target’s ass as his wild bush pressed against his hole. When a bear decides to breed, it is hot, steamy, and rough. Moans tend to erupt from victims as their body betrays them, fur pushing out from every follicle, minds consumed by thoughts of sex, food, and men. Their dicks tend to stretch to match that of their mate’s, growing thick as a beer can, and so sensitive. Any memories that conflict with the bear they are becoming are churned by a new, heavy sack. Testicles will swell to the size of golf balls under the effort. Their old lives leak out of their cocks as they are edged, molding beneath their captor until the bear is happy with their target. And then, the bear will come, pumping load after load deep into their new mate. The target’s belly bloats to contain it all, creating the signature bear gut that juts out over their new bodies. The effort will push any last memories out as their cock erupts. Both bears will quickly be exhausted, falling asleep in a sticky, smelly, sweaty heap. And then it’s over. We have yet to discover a way to revert any victims. Not that they would want to. They become enraptured with their new bodies, and begin to hunt on their own for new mates. It is said a bear has an insatiable appetite, and will change as many men as they can get their hands on in a winter season until they find the perfect mate for hibernation.

It is advised that men stay aware, stay alert, and stay away. Report any bear sightings immediately. And stay tuned for any further information.

[bigification]

Spiked

Friday,

I feel strong, but these protein shakes haven't been helping my bulk as much as I want. I'm still too skinny. Maybe I should give them more time though, I've only been taking them for a couple weeks after all. I'll try bumping it up to two a day, and I'll eat more, that should help.

I pick up my phone as I leave the gym and stare at the Grindr app. Should I? Is it fair to Dean that I keep bringing back guys to our place. This would be the fourth time this week, I think I can hold off for his sake. Anyway, I put away my phone and head back to my apartment.

"How was the workout?" Dean asked when I got home. I'm shocked, he's never really been interested in my workouts before. We used to go together before we were roommates but now that we live together, the gym is a rare activity we do apart. Besides, he hasn't really been going that much recently.

"Oh, it was good... I'm just not bulking as much as I want to." I reply.

"That must be why you got those protein shakes, huh?"

Why is he taking so much notice of this stuff now? We can share the shakes if he really wants to, he might just be trying to motivate himself to get back in the gym. But he could just ask if that's what he wants. "Ya, I'm gonna try to drink more, maybe that'll help." I say as I go to the fridge and grab one.

"That's good." Dean says in a flat tone, he usually does this when he's lost interest in a conversation.

I get distracted from the conversation anyway as I drink the shake. Something seems different about it, it's got a bit of a bitter aftertaste now. I figure it's probably just me getting tired of the taste and shrug it off.

Saturday,

I wake up in a cold sweat. This was unusual given that I get up every day at this time to go to the gym. I look to the clock and it's... 10 o'clock. Holy shit, I slept in. I'm usually at the gym by 8. I calm down a bit when I remember it's Saturday, so I have nothing to do anyway.

I roll out of bed and hobble my way to the bathroom. My head is spinning and my stomach is growling, I felt hungover. I didn't drink last night did I? I don't really remember. However, all of that leaves my mind in an instant when I look in the mirror. I rub my eyes and look again. Where do I even begin. An itchy beard now covers my face, despite the fact that I shaved yesterday morning. My sweat glistened on my distended stomach, my six pack buried under a soft bloat. My pecs are swollen and slightly rounded.

What the fuck. My mind is trying to process what's happening, but it can't. I turn to the side and see the subtle S shape in my stomach and my ass. Was it the shake? It couldn't have been, it hasn't done shit for me in weeks and now it does this! You know what, this is fine. I pinch my stomach. It's mostly bloated, just a small layer of fat, nothing I can't work off in a couple weeks. If anything this will give me a head start on my bulk.

I throw on some of my loose gym clothes that do a decent job at hiding my physique, but I still look different. I grab my gym back and try to sneak out, I don't want Dean seeing me like this. I quickly try to rush out the door, but I stop dead in my tracks when I hear Dean.

"I didn't know you were still home, you usually leave before I get up." He says nonchalantly.

"Oh ya... I just decided to sleep in today." I pull my bag to cover my stomach.

"Okay, have fun at the gym. Nice beard by the way, when did you decide to grow it out."

"I've just been a bit lazy with shaving it, that's all." I'm sweating buckets.

"Well it looks good, you should keep it." He smiles at me.

I can feel myself blush, so I smile and get out as quickly as possible. I chug a protein shake on the way to the gym, noting that bitter aftertaste again. It's probably nothing, I have bigger issues to deal with.

Once I start my workout, I feel pretty self conscious about my body. I know no one else could know that something is off, but I still feel off. But as the workout goes on, I start feeling more and more comfortable. I start hitting more reps than I ever have before, though cardio is a bit of a slog. It doesn't matter, I feel surprisingly great. I finish off the workout great, and flex in the mirror for a bit of a confidence boost.

I drink another shake on the way home. As I get home, Dean seems to be waiting for me. He asks how my workout was again. He's acting so weird again. I decide to spend the rest of the day out, drinking the night away. I am bulking after all.

Sunday,

I wake up feeling like I got hit by a truck, with no memory of how much I drank last night. I've never felt like this after a night out though. The more I think about it, the more my mind points me to the shakes. They have to have something to do with this. I don't have time for this right now though, I have to get to the gym.

I brush my teeth and shave, I'm shocked at the beard I grew in just two days. I try throwing on some clothes, but I feel some resistance. My largest gym shirt no longer fits, there's always a sliver of skin showing and it goes past my belly button when I reach up. My shorts fit a bit better, but they hug my ass very tight. I think I'll have to buy some new clothes on the way home.

The workout goes similarly to yesterday. I start self conscious of the fact that my belly is showing and my shorts look like they're about to rip. But the worry escapes my mind when I destroy my routine. I feel so strong.

I feel great by the time my workout ends. I head to the locker room and take off my shirt. Yeesh, I have a full on beer belly now. This is no longer just a bloat, my stomach is covered in a thick layer of fat. I didn't even know you could gain this much fat in only a couple of days, and I'm not even eating that much. And what's with the beard, I shaved this morning and it's already coming back in. Although my arms are looking massive, I could even feel my sleeves stretch from my biceps when I was working out. I stare at my belly a bit as I think about what to do.

I throw on my shirt again and head out. I pull up to a clothing store and pick out a few loose gym clothes that should fit me if I bulk even more.

"Hi, where are the change rooms." I ask an employee.

"Oh.." he pauses for a moment, looking at my belly. I notice that my shirt is riding up more than it was this morning. I instinctively cover my exposed belly with my arms and shrivel up in embarrassment.

"Just over there sir." He awkwardly points to the back of the store.

I grab a few larger clothes on the way out and leave the store as fast as humanly possible. I instinctively down another shake on the way home. Dean didn't say anything to me when I got home, but he glanced at me and then looked away. He is acting so strange.

I woke up in the middle of the night, there was a rattling coming from the kitchen. I walk out to investigate and see Dean doing something with the protein shakes. Is he secretly drinking them at night? He could just ask and I would give some to him. But I see him pour something into the shake and then close it back up again before putting them back in the fridge. What the hell? I try to think of what he could be doing. He stashes something away in the bottom of the cupboard and starts walking back to his bedroom. I quickly hide in my room until I hear his door close, and then I go back to the kitchen to investigate. I look at the protein shakes in the fridge and notice their seals have been broken, I can't believe I never noticed that. I move over to the cupboard and find a small bag with white powder in it. It looks like coke, but why the fuck would Dean put coke in my shakes. And besides, I don't think fat, muscle, and hair growth are symptoms of coke. Maybe I'll give him a taste of his own medicine. I go back to the fridge and pull out the jug of orange juice that Dean drinks every morning. I have no idea how much he put in my shakes, so I just pour a bunch in. I kind of feel like a secret agent, sneaking in a mysterious powder into his drink. I would feel worse, but he already did this to me so I'm fine ignoring my morals this time.

I head to bed, lying awake in my bed for a while. Thinking about what I just did, thinking about the results. It's making it hard to fall asleep, but I eventually do.

Monday,

I wake up feeling better than I had the past few days. I go through my normal routine, throw on my gym clothes, and grab a bite to eat. When I open the fridge, i see the orange juice and protein shakes and I'm reminded of my situation. Every morning I get a few moments of blissful ignorance before it's ripped away. I think for a bit, then grab a couple shakes and put in my bag. I'm kinda liking this new me, the strong me, and the belly is definitely growing on me. I catch my reflection in the mirror as I head out, I'm really committing to this aren't I? I ask myself as I look at the bushy beard that has engulfed my face and the belly and moobs that are unmistakable under my shirt. I smile and then head to the gym.

Every day that I spend at the gym, I get less self conscious. I almost forget about the fact that my hairy gut I exposed to the world whenever I reach up. I only care about the fact that I have been increasing the weight on my workouts every day and it feels amazing.

I take a shower and get dressed for work... Oh shit. I never bought work clothes that fit me, I'm reminded when I try in vain to button up my dress shirt. I stop by the store again and grab a couple shirts and pairs of pants. The thought of the protein shake in my car makes me think of the future, so I buy a few clothes in larger sizes too.

I barely make it to work on time. The day went by fast, but all I could remember were the stares and the comments from coworkers. "You forget to shave this morning Santa?" "Might want to lay off the doughnuts in the break room buddy." "We're concerned about your health." "Did you forget to stop bulking?" That was all I heard today. It was embarrassing at first, but it soon turned to encouraging. Each sly comment just makes me want to grow more. It honestly makes me realize how much I'm enjoying growing, and makes me even more excited to see what happens to Dean. It was hard to keep my dick in my pants today, I think the only reason no one noticed was because they were too busy staring at my gut.

I make it back home after work and dress down to my underwear first thing. Damn I am getting hairy, I run my hands through the forest of hair that has grown all over my body. As I'm doing so, an amazing idea runs through my mind. I'm gonna surprise Dean. There's no way I can hide the changes in my body regardless of how baggy my clothes are, so I'm just gonna show it off. I lay down on the couch by the front door, still only in my underwear, and I wait for him to show up.

"I'm hom- Oh hey..." Dean stutters as he sees me.

"Hey bud, what's up." I say nonchalantly.

"Just tired from work, where are your clothes?"

"I had a crazy workout today, just figured I'd air out a bit. Ever since I started this bulk, things have really taken off for me at the gym." I say while I rub my gut. In trying my best to make him uncomfortable and it seems to be working.

"Okay, well if you need me I'll be in my room." He quickly scurries into his room.

I just chuckle to myself and continue rubbing my belly. I wonder if there's any leftovers in the fridge?

Tuesday,

Same old same old. Get out of bed, get dressed, shave, grab a shake and head to the gym.

I feel so imposing at the gym now. I think I've gotten taller, because I look down on almost every now. I have a beard and a deeper voice than I used to, and not to mention the big gut and strong biceps. I'm like the biggest guy here, and people treat me like it. Women and men stare, and people tend to let me use the machines I want. I also notice myself grunting when I work out, I wonder if the entire gym can hear it. Anyway, the point is I feel amazing. This is the first day I dropped cardio because who fucking needs it, I sure don't. Now I focus purely on mass gain. I'm tired of holding back and I don't care what other people think, I want more.

I arrived at work, rocking far more confidence than I did yesterday, and people noticed. I don't care if they stare or comment, and I don't care that my dress shirt is already too small for me. People even asked me how I gained as much muscle as it did that fast. I just tell them to eat a shit ton and drink protein shakes, but maybe once the jig is up with Dean I'll ask him how to get the powder. I certainly wouldn't mind seeing some of the men at work blow up like I did. This is not the time to think about it though, it's getting hard to hide my boner at work. The only thing hiding it when I sit down is my gut.

I get home and notice Dean is home too. He must have stayed home, I wonder if it's because of the powder. He won't seem to leave his room though, so I'll have to wait until tomorrow to see the results.

I just decide to change into some comfortable clothes and eat my heart out. Though I'm shocked at how small my once 'baggy' clothes are. They barely fit past my stomach, and they ride up past my belly button when I lift my arms.

Fuck I'm getting fat. There is nothing hotter to me right now than the thought of my body growing. I make my way to the kitchen and grab a few more shakes and start chugging, feeling my dick harden with each gulp. I feel like a fucking pig, what has come over me. The shake is dribbling down my beard and onto my shirt, but I can't stop. Once I've had enough protein shakes for a lifetime, I stumble to my room and promptly fall asleep.

Wednesday,

I wake up in a pool of sweat, similar to a couple days ago. My mouth tastes awful and my body feels heavy. I question what happened last night as I roll myself out of bed. I drag myself to the bathroom and freeze in shock at my image in the mirror. Holy shit. I pull up my shirt to see a massive ball belly, covered in a thick layer of hair. I pull my shirt up further and see a pair of soft man tits that now lay on my gut. Every part of my body looks swollen, my arms, my hands, even my face looks puffy.

I let out a loud burp that reeks of protein shake, and suddenly I remember last. I walk to the kitchen and see six empty protein shakes on the table. I chuckle in a surprisingly deep voice before opening the fridge and grabbing a shake. I down it before getting ready to head to the gym. I put on my largest gym shirt and it only reaches halfway around my gut, I try to put on my shorts but I can't get them to cover the top of my ass crack. That's alright, I don't particularly care if anyone sees, it's their fault for looking.

I spend the day at the gym enjoying all the attention from shocked gym goers. They watch in amazement or contempt as this fatass walks around like he owns the gym.

I go to work with a similar energy, though I do have a dress shirt that still barely fits me so at least I'm not half naked going to work. My clothes still leave little to my coworkers imaginations, as I confidently strut my fatass around the office.

I get home and stand in shock as I walk through the door. Is that Dean!? Across the living room stands a morbidly obese man wearing nothing but boots, a baseball cap, and a ripped towel around his waist.

"You did this to me!" The man yells in a gruff southern accent.

"Dean, is that you?" I respond.

"Yea, you dumbass! You gave me some of that powder didn't ya." He turns to face me and reveals the damage the powder did to his body.

"Hey you did it to me first! I was only returning the favour."

"I only put I bit into your shakes, how much did'ya give me!? Look what it's done to me!" He grabs a handful of the fat on his belly, and it jiggles like jello.

"Well I didn't know how much to give you."

"And you're only s'posed to take it when you're workin out, otherwise it only grows fat and not muscle. Beside, why d'ya keep drinking it after you knew?" He asks

"Because I like me this way, it just felt good to get revenge. Why did you even do it in the first place?" I ask in return.

"Because I thought if you got fat you'd stop hooking up with so many guys, and you'd notice me. It was only s'posed to be a bit, but then you started drinkin the shakes like crazy and now look at ya." He responds in a genuine voice. I don't know what to say, so I stand silent. He grabs his phone and approaches me. "This is what I looked like 2 days ago!" He shows me a picture of himself. "I was so happy that I could finally grow a beard. Little did I know why."

"This is what I looked like yesterday." He shows me another photo. "My hair was falling out and my hairline was receding. I woke up looking like I was pregnant, and my pants couldn't fit anymore."

"I was so scared that I ate some of that powder, but I didn't know what to do, so I stayed in my room all day and drank nothing but orange juice. Then I woke up this morning as a bald 350 pound man. That's when I knew you put that powder in my orange juice." He seems frantic.

I didn't know what to do, so I grabbed him and kissed him. "I never realized how hot your accent is until now." I say as I pull away from the kiss, he smiles in return. In the moment, another terribly amazing idea comes to my head. I grab the bag of powder he had left on the table and pour some of the powder into his mouth before snorting some myself. He looks at me in shock for a moment before swallowing it. I smile before dragging his fatass to my tiny king sized bed.

Then next Monday,

I just hit 300 today. I still go to the gym everyday, so that keeps my gut from growing out of control. Though I have had some interesting conversations with my family since. But the shocked faces of my family when they see me and their concerned comments if my weight gain only fuels the fire. Though my dad seems to be the only one who says he likes the new me, says I look manlier. It's funny coming from the next fattest man in the family, only behind me of course.

The scale stopped working on Dean after last Thursday, but he has to be pushing 500. I really gave him an insane dose of that powder, and the more fat he got the less capable he was to workout and thus reduce the fat gained. He just sits around and pigs out all day now, and I wouldn't want him any other way. I usually bring home a few meals from a couple fast food restaurants for his first dinner, and when I feel up to it, I'll add a little bit of powder to his meal.

I'm also enjoying work far more. I told all the men at my work about the powder, and within a few days I was seeing results. Some became as fat as Dean by the end of the week, clearly they neglected the part where it said to workout while consuming the powder. Some look like me, with big arms and an even bigger belly. And some have just become muscle beasts, almost like they spent hours a day at the gym. I also feel more imposing at work, people respect me more, even if half of them are bigger than me now. It even helped me get a raise, which funds all of the fast food trips for Dean and I. One day I hope to be the big boss with a silver bushy beard and hulking gut that spills out of my suit.

[misctf]

Getting Over Him

Amanda wiped a few tears from her eyes as she looked into the mirror at her puffy eyes and ruined makeup. This was supposed to be a fun weekend trip with friends. But she didn’t want to be just friends with Brad. She had come to love everything about him: his kind personality, his respectfulness, and physically- he was exactly her type. But while Amanda developed feelings for the blond college jock, he never seemed to view her as anything more than a friend. But she always hoped that maybe one day he would.

“I just wish I could get over him.” She mumbled, drifting off into an uncomfortable sleep, barely registering the odd symbols glowing on the wall.  

Meanwhile, Brad sat at the edge of his bed, feeling like shit. He replayed the events of that night in his head- Amanda bringing up her feelings and him awkwardly turning her down. Brad massaged his temples. He knew she had feelings for him, and honestly he had feelings for her. But he was hesitant, worried about their friendship.

“I’ll talk to her tomorrow.” He mumbled, stripping off his shirt, pants, and boxers. He sighed as he looked at himself in the mirror, “Could use a good workout.” As he turned towards his bed, he noticed the glowing symbols on the wall around him, “What the fuck...”

He saw them when they first arrived, but didn’t think much of it given it was an older home. Now that they were glowing, his curiosity peaked. As he reached out to touch one, several glowing orbs emerged from the symbol, dancing around the room. Brad yelped in surprise, turning to leave, but suddenly finding he couldn’t move.

“What the hell? Help!” But his words were only a hoarse whisper.

“Is this him?” Brad felt a cold sweat wash over him as he heard the voice.

“Yeah that’s the one!” Another voice cooed.

“I can totally see why she’s into him.” Another voice giggled.

Brad was terrified. Sure the house was old, but haunted? There was no way. He moved his eyes around frantically, eventually landing on his own frozen form in the mirror across from him.

“Hmm but that seems to be the problem!” One of the orbs approached him, “She’s totally into blonds.” Brad watched in shock as the orbs moved through his hair, each blond follicle changing and becoming darker until settling on a dark black. Simultaneously, he involuntarily raised his arms, where a few more of the orbs tickled his pits, the hair there changing too.

“H-how?” Brad strained to ask the simple question.

“Hmm but that won’t be enough!” one of the orbs said, “She loves a clean shaven man.”

Brad recoiled as the orbs began to move across his body. Each area they touched, became increasingly itchy. He grunted in frustration as the itchiness became unbearable. However, the feeling peaked and calmed as hair follicles began to push out from his previously well-shaven body. Tiny black hairs emerged from his chest, shoulders, crotch, arms, and legs. The jock’s face was no exception as the dark hairs emerged, giving him a small beard. His body turned, so that he could see how hairy his ass and back had become. But to his horror, the hair began to thicken, covering him in a thick pelt.

“Almost missed a spot!” Brad raised his arms and the orbs worked on growing out and thickening his pit hair.

Brad felt his frustration building, “Why are you doing this?” He forced out. Brad was happy with his appearance- blond, clean-shaved, muscular- and he knew that women liked it too. He couldn’t be seen like this! And he couldn’t even imagine how long it would take to shave.

“He doesn’t seem to be enjoying it!” A voice whined. 

“Don’t worry, we can change that!”

Brad watched as a few of the dancing lights moved towards his cock. He tried to move out of the way, but his resistance faded as they began to massage him, the pleasure causing him to moan. He had never felt anything like it- the sensation as they bobbed up and down on his cock, which had quickly hardened at the sensation. He could barely focus as they continued to dance around him, the jock’s mind consumed with pleasure.

“See! He looks so happy!” The one celebrated as Brad let out another silent moan, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. His arms moved freely, as he rubbed his hairy chest and massaged his nipples, “See he’s sooooo into it!”

“Let’s focus now! Poor Amanda. Always attracted to guys with big muscles.”

As Brad rubbed his hairy chest, he felt his firm pecs start to soften. As he pushed on them, it felt like they were deflating- losing the definition he had worked so hard to get. The jock forced himself to open his eyes, doing his best to resist the pleasure. He wished he hadn’t. Brad watched as his muscular frame began to shift. His pecs had already deflated, and his abdominal muscles followed, quickly losing definition. His arms were not spared as his biceps and triceps atrophied before his eyes. The jock grunted as he felt his shoulders press in on themselves as his back muscles decayed, leaving him more narrow and lanky.

“Wa-wait, please... stop...” He said between pants. He let out another grunt though as a thin layer of fat began to cover his lanky body, a small paunch protruding from where his abs had been.

“Aww don’t cry Brad.” A voice cooed, “Just focus on the pleasure.” Brad moaned and threw his head back as the pleasure in his dick intensified.

“But while he’s definitely not her type now, there’s always still a chance.” A voice whispered, disapprovingly.

Brad felt a shift in his mind as his sexuality flip- a sudden need for cock down his throat or up his ass invading his thoughts. And as these thoughts became cemented, he felt an inward pulling from his dick. He watched as his manhood shrunk- as it did the pleasure there moved to his ass. He moaned as he grabbed his ass and explored his hole with his fingers.  

“Th-this isn’t right!” He huffed, wincing at the higher pitch of his voice. He had never played with his ass like this, yet now he couldn’t help it, the pleasure there dwarfing anything he had experienced from his dick, “Y-you can’t leave me like this!”

“Don’t worry Brady.” A voice whispered in his ear.

Brad was about to respond when he felt an intense pressure in his head. It felt like something was trying to push him out of his own mind.

“Amanda likes him for his kindness and respectfulness.” A voice giggled, “I doubt she’ll care for slutty and judgy!”

The jock became aware of a new set of memories- his time sucking off the football team, the men who bent him over, and the nights he would spend clubbing and partying. He had become a total size queen too, only caring to suck or get fucked by hung men. And as these new interests blossomed, he could sense this new personality pushing him out.

“No stop!” He moaned, “This isn’t real!” He was holding on desperately to his old memories, to who he was.

“We’re doing this for Amanda.” Brad’s eyes widened in confusion, “Just give in to the pleasure.”

Brad moaned, trying to resist. Part of him knew if he gave into the pleasure, it would be over for him. But just as he got closer to climaxing there was a knock on the door. The orbs vanished and the symbols stopped glowing. Brad fell to the ground, huffing, his small cock still rock hard and his ass throbbing with pleasure.

“Fuck.” He whispered, moving his once restrained limbs, “Need to find Amanda.” His thoughts were a mess- his old personality still present, while the new one continued to try and dominate.

The former jock threw on a pair of underwear and opened the door, desperate to find help. However, standing at the door was one of his teammates.

“Shit!” Brad said, again wincing at his voice. Nick looked at him, seemingly confused, “You’ll never believe me man but...” Brad stopped midsentence, his eyes traveling down Nick’s muscular and bare torso. His eyes landed on Nick’s compression shorts, where an evident bulge was growing. He bit his lip- what would it be like to have that python down his throat?   

“Oh uh hey man.” Nick replied, the confusion leaving his face, “You’re Amanda’s friend, right? Brady?” Brad felt his heart sink- did Nick not remember him? The concern dissipated though as Brad refocused on the growing bulge in Nick’s pants, “Uh so...” Brad continued to stare at Nick's bulge, “Uh yeah I was wondering if...”

Brad wanted to resist, to push Nick away and find Amanda, but as he stared at the growing snake in Nick’s shorts, he gave in, “I can help you with that.” Nick grinned and without hesitation, pushed Brad back into the room.

The next morning, Amanda woke up and slowly got out of bed. As she entered the hallway, she watched the door to Brad’s room open. She grew confused when a sweaty Nick walk out, a stupid grin on his face.

“What the fuck?” Amanda whispered.

“Oh hey Amanda!” Nick said, blushing, “Uh yeah, sorry.” He rubbed the back of his head, “Uh thanks for bringing Brady.”

Amanda was about to ask what the fuck he was talking about, but Nick quickly darted to his room. She narrowed her eyes and walked over to Brad’s room, intent on finding out what that was all about.

“Hey Brad, what...” Her eyes landed on a man swiping on his phone in Brad’s bed, someone who she didn’t even recognize. But before she could say anything, something clicked in her head. That was Brady, her gay best friend. He had insisted he come along when he saw the guys who would be going. Amanda sighed, this was so typical of him, “So, had fun last night?”

Brady looked up from Grindr and giggled, “Hun, you have no idea.” 

[mcflymemes]

PROMPTS FROM PRACTICAL MAGIC *  assorted dialogue from the 1998 film, adjust as necessary

sometimes i feel like there's a hole inside of me, an emptiness that at times seems to burn.

be careful what you wish for.

wish you could believe in me.

we have to banish him.

he wants me. just me.

what was that, [name]?

you know what? i wished for you, too.

let him take me.

the nudity is entirely optional.

it wasn't me, it was you.

we'll grow old together.

can love really travel back in time and heal a broken heart?

i think if you lifted my heart to your ear, you could probably hear the ocean.

don't die on me, [name], please.

i bet we even die on the same day.

of course you're going to see me again.

hang on to your husbands, girls.

what wouldn't i do... for the right guy?

i have this dream of being whole, of not going to sleep each night, wanting.

i took an oath to uphold the law.

life is perfect.

don't do that.

i'd like to think so.

i have never asked you for anything.

i feel like i'm never going to see you again.

what are you doing?

i came here to bring in the bad guy because generally that's what i do.

sometimes when the wind is warm or the crickets sing, i dream of a love that even time will lie down and be still for.

i just want someone to love me.

i want to be seen.

please do this for me. please?

hold on just a goddamn second. one step at a time.

that's how you came to live with us.

everything is just so blissfully normal.

i wish you could see us.

they like to meddle in people's love lives.

thought you never wanted to fall in love.

you're saying what i'm feeling is just one of your spells?

fall in love whenever you can.

when you find yourself the center of attention... it's not that they hate you. it's that... well. we're different.

you have the worst taste in men.

i was born with them.

since when is being a slut a crime in this family?

you ever put your arms out and spin really, really fast?

maybe i had my happiness.

you promised me that.

so what kind of... uh... craft do you do.

yeah. it's not real.

curses only have power when you believe them. and i don't.

all i want is a normal life.

that's the point.

yeah, well, you know. all relationships have problems.

that's what love is like. it makes your heart race. it turns the world upside down.

when are you going to realize that being normal is not necessarily a virtue?

well... it's what i want.

now that was me.

i don't want them dancing naked under the full moon.

the guy i dreamed of doesn't exist.

is that why they wanted to hang her? because she's a witch?

i don't even mind the beard.

there's a little witch in all of us.

what was that?

i'll tell you all you need to know.

one step at a time.

you think he's dead?

is he cute?

you came for breakfast? we're having pancakes!

what's wrong? cat got your tongue?

someday you'll explain this all to me.

[frostgears]

port leave

the slap rings loud in the half-empty food court. your face smarts, your eyes water, and your handler's other hand, the one holding her cone of frozen yogurt, doesn't even bobble.

"if your audio didn't pick up 'no', pretty thing," she continues, "then maybe we need to get it serviced. it'll be a shame about the rest of your port leave."

you sense movement and then see: the large bearded man at the next table over. he steps between your seats, interposing.

"miss, are you all right? i just saw her hit you. do you need me to call the cops?"

your handler sighs a sigh born of professional weariness. she puts her yogurt on the table.

"sir, you need to step back. step back slowly."

"the hell i will! you just slapped her! right in front of me!"

"sir. seriously. put your hands down. step back. it is not a 'her' like you think you know. ignore the cute little skirt; it is not a person, it is a weapon system…"

she's talking to him the way she talks to you.

"…you've probably never seen one out of its armor, i get it, i'm not in uniform either, it's my day off. but sometimes these things get confused about the difference between cran-apple juice, avgas, and blood, and they need a reminder of where they are…"

sing-song, reassuring.

"…i'm just going to reach for my service ID here. all above board. again, please don't make any sudden movements…"

"you're sick, lady," the man growls, as he pulls something from his pocket.

you don't wait to find out what. by his next blink, your teeth are at his throat.

"shit! stand down!" your handler shouts. "position 4!"

by your own next blink, you are kneeling at her feet.

there's a large blob on the floor, but it's irrelevant. you have eyes only for your handler.

if you were wearing wings, you'd fan them a little bit. she likes that.

you remain in position 4, hanging on your handler's every word. there's a glow of heat kindling between your legs.

"just a cell phone," she mutters. "hell, sir, i told you, no sudden movements. keep this pressed to your neck, it's clean, just bought it, she didn't get deep."

"somebody," she yells at the gathering crowd, "go get mall security or something. this man needs first aid, and we don't want to risk moving him."

you do not move or signal. you are not somebody. you will hold position 4 until given other orders. you remain in position 4 until all the explanations are done, all the mess is cleaned up. there are stares. you're used to them.

then your handler gazes down at you. your eyes lock to hers.

"you need to listen, pretty thing, when i tell you we're not going back to base yet…"

the heat between your legs grows.

"…now i've got to get another scarf. and i still want to swing by that place with the cute bags… the rest of your leave is cancelled, obviously. maybe shouldn't have even tried. but when we're back at base, i'm for sure gonna need to blow off some steam."

her expression flicks from tired to sharp, hungry. it's all you can do not to squirm, until, finally, she says,

"at ease." □

[russellsppttemplates]

Convincing Charles he should grow out facial hair on this winter break and your logic is that he would look so domestic

"It would look so good, amour!", you pleaded, rubbing your hands on his cheeks, "these beautiful eyes, a scruffy beard", you winked.

"Why now, though? I can do it any other time and try it out", he teased you back. He didn't feel particularly about it, but he was certainly enjoying poking your buttons as you tried to convince him of your idea.

"Because I know it annoys you when you put on your balaclava, so now is the perfect time!", you reasoned, "It would be so domestic, ugh! I can just imagine you in your shorts, making breakfast, and we dance in the kitchen in our pyjamas", you daydreamed. "Do you think that? Maybe I'll consider it", he mused.

"Also, it would fell extra good in my thighs, too", you mumbled, seeing his pupils grow, "just so you know".

(Thank you for your submission ✨️)

[notjoelmiller]

wild thing

MDNI

joel miller x reader (later tommy miller x reader) summary: You like the brothers. They're good to you. Though certainly one more than the other. wordcount: 1.3k warnings: a little bit of violence, drinking, smut (p-in-v), voyeurism (dubious consent from both voyeur and voyeuee with this one, as a warning), joel has a praise kink a/n: wrote this super quick. hope you like it <3

When you meet Joel, you nearly kill his brother.

The brothers search an abandoned house. It’s surprisingly abundant: ammo, canned food, and medical supplies are all added to their stock. They search each room from head to toe, grabbing whatever they can. 

But no matter how much shit they cram into their bags, Joel can’t help but feel like something is wrong. Goosebumps trail up his arms. A tightness around his heart grows with every step deeper in the house. Joel tries telling Tommy, but he shrugs it off.

Tommy rolls his eyes, “Don’t go questionin’ a good thing.”

Then something shuffles. Joel hears it, but before he can even act, you lunge from around a corner, terrifyingly swift, slashing and stabbing a knife in any direction you can reach.

Joel watches the collision, frozen in place, in awe almost. At lightning speed you pin Tommy to the ground. It’s not until your hands close around his neck that Joel manages to snap out of it.

You scream as Joel yanks you off of Tommy, grunt as he pins you to the ground. A single hand sits on your neck. He doesn’t squeeze, yet. However, his other hand comes up to your hand that holds the knife, pinning it above your head.

Joel’s close to you now. Your breath fans against his skin, warm and not at all unpleasant. You shake beneath him, dropping the knife to the ground. Joel sees your every movement like this, feels your body beneath him– your fear. Ten years ago, he may have been disturbed by it. Now, not so much.

“You’re a wild thing, ain’t you,” Joel says with a smile on his face.

“You gonna kill her or kiss her?” Tommy asks. It’s a joke. Joel doesn’t find it very funny. Maybe it would have landed better if there wasn’t blood dripping down the attempted-comic’s cheek. You had slashed Tommy during the collision, apparently. Joel’s proud, but not as much as he is enticed.

Joel lets go of you, slides off of your body painfully slowly. You don’t move, just watch him in the same position he had you in, head thrown slightly back, hand high above your head, thighs apart. It’s debauched the way his eyes linger on you as he grabs your knife– a nice butterfly one. He covers the blade and tosses it on your chest.

“C’mon,” Joel says, offering a hand. “You’re comin’ with us.”

***

The brothers warm up to you quickly once they realize the slash you gave Tommy won’t scar. We need his pretty face, Joel says. Apparently his boyish grin and charismatic tongue have gotten the pair out of some tough spots. You can’t deny, Tommy’s got a face that can calm you on your worst days.

You learn about them. Joel’s older, though you guessed that by the volume of gray sprinkled in his beard. He’s quiet– quieter than Tommy at least, though that’s not hard. He’s guarded, doesn’t like sharing anything too personal with you. One night, when Joel’s off on guard, Tommy lets it slip that he had a daughter. You never dare to bring it up to him.

Tommy’s different, sweeter in a way. He’s more likely to crack a joke, or share a smile when you’re down. He's good with a gun. Joel tells you that he got into trouble a lot back before the infection. You don’t believe it at first. Then you see him smile after getting his nose broken, his lopsided smile accentuated by his crooked nose, blood spilling down to his chin. You believe Joel after that.

You like the brothers. They like you back. You and Tommy grow close, finding a rare camaraderie in your fucked up world. But only because he doesnt know you’re fucking his brother.

It’s an accident the first time it happens. As much of an accident as sex can be. You three find a settlement to spend the night in. The people are nice, they feed you and hand you plenty of drinks.

Be merry, they said.

And merry you were.

His gaze is on you all night. You feel it, but pay no mind. You dance, you drink, you talk, you flirt with strangers, and you drink some more. He’s more reserved, planting himself at the bar while letting you enjoy the festivities.

You come over once he finally catches your gaze. You make small talk.

“How’s the night treating you, Miller?”

His hand snakes around your waist, “Good. Nice watchin’ you have fun for once.”

You smirk, leaning into him, “Yeah?”

He takes you in the back of the bar, chatter and music drowning out the noise of your coupling. He’s behind you, your face pressed into the wall, going at a brutal pace. At some point, his hand comes to clamp against your mouth, quieting you. He doesn’t quiet though, leaning down to your ears, whispering unholy things.

Knew this pussy would be good. Takin’ me so well, baby.

Think they can hear us in there?

Gonna cover you with my cum, let them all know who you belong to.

It doesn’t end with that night. You alternate taking watch, waiting for Tommy to fall asleep before pouncing.

It’s always different, where, how fast, how intimate. The only constant is the way he marks you with his cum. You smirk every time at the carnal nature of it, remembering his words to you that first day you met.

You’re a wild thing, ain’t you.

You’ve come to love the double entendre.

You suspect Tommy knows. There’s only so much that Joel’s hand over your mouth can do, not with how the filthy cacophony of skin meeting skin and Joel’s own moans sounds. He doesn’t say anything, but things feel different. His words almost seem charged. Innocent statements sound like innuendo coming from him. You think– pray –it’s all in your head.

One night, you ride Joel. He doesn’t let you take control often, but something that night makes him want to relinquish control. You’re grateful. Let me take care of you, honey, you coo at him. He shivers.

You go slowly, taking time to savor every moment. You grind at the base of his cock, reveling in the friction against your clit.

It doesn’t take him long to reach his peak, the words of affection you whisper to him of no help. You’re almost at your peak by the time he’s cumming. As he fills you, you quicken the pace. Joel reaches a hand to your clit, rubbing in frantic circles, but it’s enough, and you reach your peak in no time.

You shake as you come, muttering incoherent words of praise and thanks to Joel. You shut your eyes for a moment, but just like every time you’ve fucked, reality soon comes crashing down. There is no aftercare, nor any time to cuddle. You need to get back to watch and get fixed up before anything happens or– god forbid –Tommy wakes up.

Speaking of Tommy– your eyes search for him in the darkness, the only illumination offered to you being the dying firelight. You find a shape, vaguely man-shaped. You squint, the details of him coming into clearer view– the rise and fall of his chest, his rifle laying next to him, and–

Tommy’s looking right at you, eyes dark, but alert. You’re still seated on Joel’s cock when you make eye contact with him. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, nor make any indication beyond that terrifying look in his eyes that he knows your secret. 

Then, he smiles, and his eyes close.

Joel has no idea, still coming down from his high. Your eyes flick from man to man. You shudder.

[abibliophobiaa]

Beyond - s.h. x f!reader

Chapter Six: Would I Lie to You, Baby?

special thank you to @myosotisa and @loveshotzz for the beta read and also @myosotisa for helping me with a special scene that takes place in this chapter!!

warnings: minor injury; mentions of alcohol; unwanted advances/flirting/touching - R receiving end; and a whole lot of fluffy modern day!rich!fake-husband!steve x afab!reader. (9.3k words)

masterlist

——

——

 What’s that saying? 

Woman down. 

Abort mission. 

Houston, we have a problem. And boy do you have one. 

The day starts like any other, only because of the rainy weather that has plagued the city since September bled into October, you’ve been forced to take your morning walk indoors. And it’s not like it’s the first time you’ve used the personal gym in your home either. In fact, by now you’ve used it countless times. 

No. Instead, it’s the image that greets you upon entering that is a definitive ‘first time’ for you. Because there’s no forgetting the sight of your husband, bare chested, catching his breath as he rests on a bench. His hair is hidden beneath a baseball cap, a water bottle between his plush lips that manages to spill onto his chest with the intensity he’s chugging it. 

Oh, and his face? He hasn’t shaved in a few days, and Steve Harrington with a growing mustache and beard should be illegal. 

Jail time and a permanent sentence if you have any say in the matter. 

The reason why? 

Riling up his fake wife into a tizzy.  

The optic is…not helping your present situation. The dawning realization that seems intent on reminding you every single day that you’re attracted to your husband. Emotionally, physically—the whole of it. It’s infuriating, daunting and downright terrifying. But he can’t know that—can never know that, because of the deal. 

The deal. The arrangement. The rules. 

But lately, you want to throw them all out and burn that ridiculous contract he had you sign seemingly so long ago now. 

Suddenly, you’re hyper aware of the fact you’re staring, watching as his brows draw high on his forehead. With a swallow, you turn your head away, hating how your damn cheeks start to warm under his scrutiny. 

He’s probably loving it, too. Loving the way you shift on the spot, unsure of what to do beneath his stare, hugging yourself tight. 

Basing it on the smug grin that curls his lips alone, you know he has to be. 

“Figured I’d get in a workout because Charlie is napping,” you explain, stepping further into the room, stopping in front of the endless rows of dumbbells your husband keeps on a rack against the far wall of the room with wall to wall mirrors reflecting your nervous image back at you. “And also because it’s raining, I couldn’t go outside.”

“Uh huh.” He takes a final gulp of his water and places it down onto the floor beside him, about to start more bicep curls when he catches your image in the mirror. “Looking for something?” 

Maybe it’s your inability to figure out what weight dumbbells you should start with. Maybe it’s because you’re already forgetting the layout of the TikTok workout you watched earlier that evening you intended to try. Maybe it’s the fact you know you want to start lifting weights, if only to help with your running and dog walking business (some of those bigger dogs get a little rowdy). Maybe it’s the fact you have absolutely no idea what you’re doing. As a result of all of that, your teeth pinch against your bottom lip, skin taut between, meeting his stare in the mirror.  

“I’ll probably just hop on the treadmill. Go for a walk,” you decide, cowering away from his curious stare to rush to the farther corner of the room where the cardio equipment is. 

The present set up has a treadmill, elliptical, stairmaster, and spin bike. More than you’ll ever need, but you’ll never complain because one of the perks now in being married to Steve is that you were able to cancel your own membership and save a little extra cash every month. Hopping on, you tap on the large screen panel to set your leisurely walking pace, pop a pair of headphones in your ears, and drown out the sounds in the room. 

The plan works. 

For all of five minutes. 

Because you’re minding your own business, bobbing along to “Bad Girls” by M.I.A. as you strut across your runway slash treadmill belt, when Steve decides to lift his weights once more. Uses his knees to help prop them up, going right into a set of overhead dumbbell presses. 

And damn it, if the sight of him when you walked in hadn’t sent you into orbit, this certainly does. 

From where you’re standing you can see his back. The constellation of moles you never really paid much attention to, but now want to mark the path of with your fingers. Want to trace them like the stars in the night sky. With every overhead arch, his sinewy back ripples, muscles in his arms straining, veins sparking to life beneath his skin. You can see the lines of his abdomen, the sweat pooling across ridges, clinging to those perfectly sculpted divots. Can see the way his chest jumps with each movement, making your thighs clench. 

Only—one's thighs shouldn’t clench on the treadmill. 

Except yours do. 

And promptly send you crashing onto the belt, skin ripping from your kneecap in one rapid swipe. 

A giant, gaping black hole in the floor would be a good escape right now. That or a meteor falling from the sky, with its target directed at your head. Anything to rid yourself of the mortification of your current dose of reality. 

Steve’s already dropping the dumbbells by the time you fall onto your rear, nearly crashing into the glass window in the process, your trembling hands clutching your scraped up knee. 

It burns. A white hot heat that has your eyes prickling, embarrassment burning like a heated iron in your chest. And to make matters worse, Steve utters out a soft “baby” as he drops down in front of you, and that might as well signify the end of all life function. Because not only have you fallen off a treadmill ogling your increasingly “not-so-fake-husband,” but now he is calling you “baby” on top of it all.  

“Baby, let me see,” you realize he’s saying as you come crashing back to reality, the hazel of his eyes growing darker as he crawls closer on the floor, trying to inspect your knee. With a reluctant sigh, your hands fall away, revealing the freshly torn skin. “That’s a mean looking burn. Come on, let's put something on that.”

“I’m fine right here,” you argue, back pressing against the mirrored wall.

“Why?” 

His brows lift high on his forehead, left hand curling over the unbroken skin of your left knee. You can see he’s wearing a black silicone wedding band today, not his usual wedding ring, and yet you don’t miss that simple gesture. Always wearing that symbol of your union, while your own are presently sitting high enough in a ring holder so Charlie won’t be able to mistake them for very expensive doggy chew toys.  

“It’s gonna hurt like a bitch.” 

“It’s a little burn, and then you’ll feel better,” he promises, giving your knee a little squeeze. “I’ll be so gentle.” 

“Steve.”

“Honey.”

“Well when you say it like that,” you say, snorting. 

He takes it as joking. Head shaking as you curl your hand around his and allow him to help lift you off the floor, body nearly careening into his at the force of it. But there’s a sincerity behind the joke; the way your heart thumps a little faster every time he utters his affections like that; every time he graces you with a token of his appreciation, or the lingering sweetness of a fond title when no one is around to hear it. Those little moments that are completely yours for the taking, hidden away from those who would watch your marriage under a microscope—those you continue to act in front of to keep up your facade.  

There’s an expectation, though you’re uncertain where it derives from, that he’ll take you to your bathroom, connected to your bedroom. It’s closest to the gym, as it is. But when you pass your doorway and end up in front of his bedroom, drawing the excited gaze of your puppy lazing on Steve’s bed, you find yourself freezing. Pausing in the entryway as you take in his room. Like your living room when you first moved in, it’s minimalistic. Huge, with a california king bed in the middle. But it’s limited in decor. White walls, black furniture and bedding, with a few pictures strewn about his walls. 

This is where he sleeps every night. Where he slips away to when you bid one another goodbye. Briefly, you wonder if he sleeps on his side, or maybe his back. Wonder if he slings a forearm over his eyes or tucks the back of his hand beneath his cheek to draw comfort. Or if he sleeps with the comforter pulled all the way up over his shoulders, or if he prefers them slung low around his hips. All things you shouldn’t be thinking about; especially not now, not as he tugs you along behind him into the adjoining master bathroom, telling Charlie to ‘sit’ in the doorway. 

The puppy drops down onto his haunches, and then lower still, onto his little elbows as Steve gestures for you to hop up onto the sink counter. Palms curl around the edge as he starts to rummage about in his medicine cabinet, finding the topical ointment he’d been looking for. He hadn’t been lying about being gentle. He’s all gentle brushes of a clean warm washcloth damp with water. He then lets the wound air dry as he stands in the cradle of your thighs, looking down at your face.   

“What were you doing for this to happen?” he asks, opening a large band aid to cover the surface of your knee and gliding a small helping of the antibacterial cream there. 

“Just…tripped.” 

“Just a little spill?” 

At your rapid nod, he presses the edge of the band aid down and glides the rest over the surface area of the burn. There’s a bit of a sting, but it settles into a dull ache. His touch lingers. A slow, delicate sweep over the top of your thigh that draws your gaze to his point of contact. It has you wishing nothing more than to lock your ankles around his narrow waist, tug him near, and drag his mouth down against yours. 

Only you don’t. 

Because they’re all fantasies. All fantasies struck up by close proximity to the man. A normal reaction after living with a man like Steve and playing house for four months now. 

Right…?

“You didn’t happen to be distracted or anything?” your husband queries, giving you another one of those swipes of his thumb over your bare thigh. 

Dangerous. 

He’s verging on dangerous territory. 

“My music was pretty loud.” 

He barks out a laugh. “Was it?” 

“Uh huh.” Another swipe. Is it getting hot in this damn bathroom? Must be an October heat wave. “What’s the damage, Dr. Harrington? Will I make it?”

“Might lose the knee,” he says gravely, bowing his head in faux sympathy.

A little gasp spills from your lips, hand curling over your heart dramatically. “The knee?” 

Charlie jumps to attention at that, rushing over to bump Steve’s thigh with the tip of his nose. You lean down a bit to pet him, and holy mother of god he’s still half naked, you remind yourself as your face comes a little too close to Steve’s hip, eyes stuttering on those moles that litter his abdomen. 

And then he’s flexing. 

Fucking flexing, because you’ve been caught. He knows it, too. Lips curling upward slowly in that self-satisfied grin of his that makes your stomach swoop low. 

Woman down. 

Dead on arrival. 

The jig is up. 

I can fix this, you think, clearing your throat. “Actually, if you must know…I wanted to learn how to lift weights. I figured it would come in handy with the dogs. Charlie, too. He’s a little reckless on our walks still.”

Steve listens, patting Charlie on the head for emphasis as you lean back against the bathroom mirror, your knees still on either side of your husband’s hips. 

“And you,” you explain, waving a hand in the air, very noncommittal, and hopefully lackadaisical because you’re still trying to play it cool and all of that, “seem to have a wonderful form.”

“You mean wonderful form.” 

Record scratch. Steve’s finger’s pause in their dastardly trail, your eyes darting up to his. Dark. They’re so damn dark, and you swallow the thickness forming like a knot in your throat. 

Mortification rising, cheeks burning, you amend, “That’s what I said.”

“It's not,” he muses, “but if you say so.” 

Another swipe along your injured knee, while Charlie rests his snout on your other. Both your guys, all together in one room. It would make for a cute family moment were it not for the way your husband’s mouth twitches higher, enjoying your turmoil a little too much for your liking. 

“Remember we’re married. We live in the same home. I can still kill you in your sleep.” It’s a deadpan. But your facade breaks a moment later, a giggle rising up despite your threat.  

He leans in closer, and you briefly wonder if this is the first time you’ve noticed those little green flecks he has in his eyes thanks to broad daylight filtering in through the window. When you’re out to dinner for social functions, it’s usually in those dark, dimly lit rooms where you pretend to be absolutely smitten with the man. 

But after that kiss on your cheek after getting Charlie, there’s been a shift. Additional touches, sitting closer on the couch—under the guise of sharing the puppy, naturally—a brush of shoulders as you pass in the hall. The whisper of a kiss against your temple when you fall asleep on the couch watching your shows (or at least when he thinks you’ve fallen asleep). 

Changing. 

Things are changing with the seasons and each day a new layer is added into the reasons why remaining married to Steve Harrington for the next nearly two and a half years might be the most difficult challenge you’ve faced yet. 

Because the only casualty at the end of this…is your heart. 

You’ve never forgotten that, no matter how blurry the lines seem as of late. 

He whispers, “Remember the wife is always the first suspect.” 

His hand finally moves away, and you loathe that you miss it as soon as he does. Charlie scampers into the doorway as Steve helps you down off the counter, gritting your teeth against the flare of pain in your burnt kneecap. You walk down the hall together, saying nothing, basking in the comfortable silence as you enter the kitchen, pulling bottles of water free for both Steve and yourself. He accepts it gratefully, chugging half before leaning his elbows onto the kitchen island. 

“I could show you,” he says, smiling softly at your arching brows. “How to train. I could teach you.”

“Like…workout together?”

His head dips, fingers coming up to remove the hat from his head. And maybe your heart does a somersault when he shakes his hair out, now grown out quite a bit. 

“If you want to,” he says, rubbing his left palm over his stubbly cheek. 

And you do. So you agree to his suggestion and find yourself standing at a squat rack the next morning, thanks to yet another rainy day in the city. 

Steve’s foregone his shirt again. 

A fact you find equal parts exhilarating and infuriating. 

Him with his low hung gym shorts, highlighting the lines of his abdomen, the line of hair your eyes hitch on dipping below the waistband. 

Charlie sits in the distance, a happily distracted bystander to his parents trying to figure out what the hell they’ve gotten themselves into, thanks to the doggy bone Steve brought home for him the prior evening. 

“We’ll start with just the bar.” At the hesitance in which you approach, eyeing it precariously, he adds, “It's not that I don’t think you can handle more. You wrangle animals every day. But your form is important so you don’t injure yourself. Can’t have you ruining the other knee.”

“Couldn't have that,” you laugh, running your finger along the barbell. “Okay, now what?”

“You’re going to stand in front of the bar, legs shoulder width apart.” He does exactly as he says while he’s explaining, thighs separating just enough as he needs to. “You’re going to wrap your hands around the bar, thumbs around the bar. I’m going to get under and rest it just below the base of my neck.” 

He slips under with ease in a maneuver you’ve seen often enough from the numerous TikTok videos you watched in preparation. His biceps shift with the movement, fingers loosening and tightening as he gets into comfortable positioning. He unracks the bar with ease, spreading his legs a little wider, eyes on his reflection across from him. 

“You’re going to take a deep breath and brace your core before squatting.” 

He demonstrates, the bar clearly too light for him, because there’s no struggle on the descent. His thighs don’t even quiver, they merely tighten, highlighting the definition honed from years of time well spent in the gym. 

“You’re going to want your thighs to be parallel to the ground.” 

He lowers until he’s in the proper position. 

Pauses. 

“And then you’ll drive up through the heel.” 

He rises, hips drawing forward, racks the bar, and turns to you. Growing warm at the sudden attention on your figure, you push down the lip of the hat he wears, rushing in front of him to stand warily in front of the squat rack. 

Suddenly, you’re aware of the set of eyes staring at your form in the mirror that belong to Steve. The way he walks up behind you and curls his palms over your shoulder, kneading the muscle there. Suddenly, you’re overly aware of the fact that here's your ridiculously fit husband, and in front of him…you. 

You’re wearing a pair of running shoes you bought a few years ago, a ratty old tee shirt from your early years of college, oversized basketball shorts, and mismatched socks. 

“You know I can always tell when you’re overthinking, right?” Steve asks, rubbing particularly hard on a spot that has you about ready to melt into his arms and call it a wrap on your workout. 

I’m beat, looks like we’re all done here! Great workout, honey. Let’s hit the showers, you want to say, before folding into his embrace. 

“You won’t judge me? For being nervous?” 

“Why the nerves?” He turns you around to face him, peering down at your eyes. “It’s me. Me…who you’ve seen every day for four months now.”

You shrug, because there really isn’t a reason for it. With a heavy sigh of resignation, you turn back around and face your reflection in the mirror, trying to follow Steve’s instructions closely. Feet, shoulder width apart. Fingers around the bar, thumbs curled, palms facing forward. Duck, slide under the bar and rest it at the base of your neck. 

And here’s the part that has you nervous, the lifting up onto your feet, driving the bar up and out of the rack, wobbling a little bit at the unsteadiness of the suddenness of the weight on your shoulders. 

Before you can even start to panic, Steve’s fingers are hovering underneath the spaces beside your fingers, letting you start to adjust a bit and find your balance.  

“I’ve got you,” he says, chest barely brushing your back as you take a couple steps backward on unsteady feet closer to him. “I’ve always got you. I promise.”

I’ve got you. I’ve always got you. I promise. 

You’re brought back to your wedding day. Dancing in the middle of a room full of strangers, arms around your new husband’s neck, swaying to a song you both liked enough to be the one to “define” your day as a couple for your first dance. Recall those words he spoke then. You’re the Harringtons. You’re not alone. It’s the two of you now. Different, and yet the same. Providing you with the strength you need to steel yourself, righting the bar, and training your gaze on the girl in the mirror. 

And you trust him. Wholeheartedly, you trust him, as you drop down into your first squat. Then the second, and the third. The fourth and the fifth come with a little resistance. Six feels like your thighs are burning. Seven has Steve coming up a little closer behind you, his arms extending out into the air on either side of your waist, hovering beneath the bar. 

“Do you have one more?” he asks, and you try…you really do. 

The descent is fine, despite the quivering of your thighs from exertion. But as you try and push back up through the heel your breath rushes out in a puff, head shaking. Steve hurries forward and pushes the bar up and onto the rack, just as you slide out from beneath it and smack backward into a chest. A firm, yet soft, and sweaty chest. That chest comes equipped with arms that curl around your form to keep you upright, and then linger for a moment as you collect your bearings. 

Like this, you can feel every inch of him. The contours of his body, the fullness of his biceps, the hair on his chest. Can feel the cradle of his hips…pressed precariously flush against your backside. And as you glance up at your forms in the mirror, it’s almost like you’re hugging. 

It’s not even an almost, because you are hugging. 

His arms around your waist. His ringed finger resting comfortably against your bicep. His chin over your shoulder, your cheek flush with his. Spine to chest, ass to hip, his breath fanning against your skin, your chest rising and falling rapidly beneath his weight. 

It’s a perfect moment, and neither of you want to disrupt it. There’s only his breath at your back, his arms around your waist, your hands across his forearms. Peace. Safety. Rest. That is, until Charlie Harrington decides he’s not about to let his parents hug without getting a hug of his own, running over to thump his paws against Steve’s hip, demanding his own cuddles. And you both oblige him, dropping down onto the gym floor to give him all the belly rubs he could ever want, pink tongue rolling out of his mouth, paws in the air. 

Laughter. There’s laughter and Charlie’s little yips of happiness. Laughter and Steve’s eyes on your profile. Laughter and your eyes darting to meet him. Laughter…and this unspoken thing left to linger in the air between the two of you. Laughter and maybe something tentative. Something more? A little breathlessness, the rush of air falling from your lungs as he reaches over and tells you how well you did. The gentle squeeze of his hand around your uninjured knee, a sweep of thumb across your skin, leaving a trail of gooseflesh in its wake. 

Eventually, Charlie gets his fill and scampers off. You return to your training session with your husband. There are gentle touches throughout, his arms there to correct your form, to guide you through the program for the day. There aren’t any more lingering hugs, but that ‘something’ burgeoning remains. 

It’s in his easy smiles. In his encouragement. In the brushes of his hands at your arms, your sides, your hips with your consent as he shows you how to move this way and that way. It’s in his praises and his promises. And later, it’s in his maneuvering in the kitchen as he prepares you a smoothie, as he looks at your knee again in his bathroom. 

And you…well, you want to explore it. 

Heart be damned. 

 ——

 Breathtaking. The material of your silk evening gown exudes elegance and sophistication. Eye catching, meticulously crafted, and designed for your exact measurements. 

It’s a timeless silhouette that only enhances your figure. Delicate sweetheart neckline that hugs your chest and shoulders, draping sumptuously at the middle of your bicep. Every movement of your body has it shimmering where it hugs the curves of your body, like an inky night sky. 

However, it’s the back of the dress that’s your favorite part. The captivating open design, leading to the fabric that drapes at the smallest point of your lower back. The way the dress falls down to the floor, swaying and shifting as you smooth your hands over the fronts of your thighs one last time. Exhaling deeply, you reach over to grab your rings from their holder. 

For the first time ever, you feel like Mrs. Harrington. Truly. 

“Well, what do you think, Charlie?” The Bernedoodle lifts his head from your bed where he’s been trying to get the squeaker out of his penguin toy. “Do you think your dad will like it?”

The puppy in question rests his head back down on his paws, nuzzling his face into the blankets you have pushed to the edge of the bed. It’s as good a response as you’ll get, and with one last glimpse at yourself in the mirror, you slide your rings up onto your finger and step out into the hall where Steve’s already dressed in a black tuxedo. And…the sight is just as wonderful, if not better, than on your wedding day. 

Hair freshly blown out and coiffed to perfection, facial hair trimmed, the tux tailored to perfection. He’s foregone his glasses tonight, instead opting for contacts, and you rush over when you notice he’s fiddling with his watch, reaching out to help him settle it into place. 

It’s better than locking eyes with him. Better than pretending you miss the way his eyes roam your form, round and full of reverence—for you. As the watch locks into place he catches your fingers within his own, holding them lightly as he takes a step back and gazes at you. 

“You look…” He pauses. Swallows thickly. You wonder if he can feel the sweat of your palms, can hear the beat of your heart slamming against your sternum. “Wow. You’re—well, you’re always beautiful. But…just…you’re stunning.”

“T-thank you.” 

You stutter your reply, parting enough to take him in. Hair curling around his ears, now in need of a trim. The hair along his jawline and upper lip, the dark tuxedo hugging his form. He’s handsome. Handsome in a way that has you feeling a little breathless, a little nervous as he laces your fingers between his own. 

“Should we…?” The words you speak are left to linger in the air, because Steve moves forward and cups the bottom of your chin. Tips your head up just in the slightest and presses a kiss to your forehead. Warm. He’s so damn warm and you’re pretty sure you’ve now lost all feeling in your toes. “What was that for, Steve?”

“I’m just…I’m really happy you're here with me tonight.”

“Part of the agreement, right?” 

It’s meant to be a joke. But Steve’s face drops, mouth drawing into a firm line. He coughs into his elbow, head turning away from you, and in that you know you’ve messed up. And not wanting to start the night off on a bad foot, you curl your arm around his bicep and drag him forward, forehead against his jaw, left to nuzzle there for a moment. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, feeling his hand tighten around yours. “I say things sometimes and I don’t think about how they might be perceived. I think you might actually be my best friend, Steve.” 

“Yeah?” he asks, pulling back enough to stare down into your eyes. “Best friends, huh? I’ll take it.”

“Four months of marriage definitely gets us best friend status,” you tell him, winking. “I’m excited to spend this night with you. I’m a little scared about being around all these people…but I’ll be the perfect Mrs. Harrington, don’t you even worry.” 

“Just be yourself,” he says softly, and you feel your heart jackhammer in your chest. “They’ll love you.”

After that, the two of you make your way down to the main floor as a couple. The doormen whistle and holler as the two of you walk by, dressed to the nines, and apparently looking a little extra loved up, because Hopper gives the two of you a look you’ve never seen before as you approach. Brows high on his forehead, shit eating grin in place, and smug as all hell. 

“Mrs. Harrington,” he says as he opens the door for you and Steve helps you in with an extended hand. “You look wonderful.”

“She does, doesn’t she?” Steve muses as you settle down. 

And fuck, you hate what that does to the butterflies in your belly. They’re not even just fluttering anymore. It’s like they all picked up fireworks and set them into motion. There’s not much time to linger on it, however, as Steve rushes around the other side and clambers in beside you, your left hand sliding over onto his lap. You tell yourself it’s because you’re nervous, because you’re about to be around socialites, celebrities, dignitaries and businesspeople alike. 

But when you don’t let go—well, there’s no one to blame but yourself.

The drive is spent in nervous silence. Your fingers around Steve’s and his around yours, playing with your rings as always. The gala is being held at one of your husband’s hotels, and yet nothing prepares you for the grandeur of the Harrington Hotel looming before you. It’s massive. Reaches high up into the city sky, bracketed by workers prepared to take care of the guests’ cars, weaving in and out seamlessly as evening gown after evening gown pours out of classic cars, luxury cars, limousines, and the like. 

“Hey,” Steve says as Hopper opens the door for you and you both step out onto the busy city streets. You whirl around, facing him. Your chests brush lightly. His hand comes to rest in yours, pulling it up to his mouth to brush a gentle kiss to the skin there. “Eyes on me. It’s the two of us, remember?”

 ——

Harrington Hotel’s ballroom is unlike anything you’ve ever seen. High, vaulted ceilings that go on endlessly. White walls with ornate carvings in their tasteful pillars situated on the outside edges of the room. Drapery that likely costs a small fortune hangs from the walls in sweeping arcs, a projection of your new last initial displayed against the far wall, with the charity information beneath.

The room itself is dim, cast in a pretty blue light, with a large chandelier twinkling from up above. Set on each table are beautiful centerpieces with gorgeous flower arrangements. Various deep shades for the approaching fall season, with candles lit on the table below, flickering atop the tablecloth, gold embellished chairs awaiting their many guests for the evening.

Steve helps you get situated upon arriving at your table, tugging your chair out despite your protests that you don’t need him to. And before you can even utter a request, you’re being handed a glass of champagne from one of the many workers on staff for the evening, and finding yourself tugged into a hug by Eddie, who Steve purposefully placed at your table so you’d have someone by your side at all times throughout the night.

A fact you become increasingly thankful for as time ticks by and Steve’s immediately pulled this way and that way into various conversations you can’t seem to keep up with, before he’s ultimately tugged away from you with a promise to be back soon, your request for another glass of champagne when he gets back met with a glowing smile as he rushes off with another businessman, leaving you alone with Eddie.

 “Nope.” Eddie shakes his head, ringed fingers waving in the air. “Nope. No! I know how this goes.”

“How what goes?”

“You’re eye fucking your husband,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “Your fake husband, need I remind you. This whole charade has an expiration date. You two decided this. You made your bed, and now you both get to lay in it.”

“I am not.” You exhale deeply, watching your husband raise his hand to the bartender, capturing their gaze so he can order you another champagne. “I just…have been spending a lot of time with him lately. And would it really be the worst thing if I was…interested in the man I’m already legally married to?”

Eddie seems to consider this, twirling around his glass tumbler on the tabletop, silver rings glinting in the chandelier light above. “Look. That would be the best case scenario. I’d love for you two to fall in love, be disgustingly gross together forever looking at him the way you are now. But need I remind you of high school? Early college?”

“Eddie…”

“I just don’t want you to get hurt. For a while there it was just you and me against the world.” 

You know this. Eddie’s been there for it all. For that first boyfriend in freshman year you dated for all of one week, and yet felt like they’d ripped the rug from beneath your whole world. 

To that asshole senior you dated while you were in your junior year, thinking that because he was an ‘older man’ that must mean he’s more mature. That must have meant he knew loyalty wasn’t making out with another girl while you went to grab him another beer at a party. 

And then there was freshman year of college. The pre-med student who promised you the world, only to decide two years later he liked the pretty nurse in L&D and broke things off through a text message.  

He’d been there for those major milestones and all the silly relationships in between. The fleeting things, and yet there all the same. Watching your heart crumble over people who never had any right to it in the first place, with his arms tight around your frame in a hug, a glass of wine at the ready, or your favorite tub of ice cream already purchased and thrown into your lap as soon as you let him know you were coming over. 

The stress remains on his face now. The downward drag of his lips, the furrow of his brows, the way his chocolate brown eyes regard you carefully, like you might shatter right in front of him now. 

But Steve…Steve is different, isn’t he? Steve, who stands right now with his elbow on the bar, tuxedo sculpted flush around his bicep, mid-conversation with a man with salt and pepper hair and thick black glasses. They laugh, and you can hear it from where you're sitting, your thumb running idly on the underside of your wedding rings. 

Eddie catches the movement and slides a palm over your own, stilling you in your movements. “Steve is a good guy. I wouldn’t have let you carry on with this crazy situation if he wasn’t—”

“Wouldn’t let me? When have I ever let anyone tell me what I can and cannot do?” 

Narrowing your eyes at him playfully, he amends with, “I would have strongly advised against it. Maybe stood up when the officiant asked if anyone opposed the marriage.” He swallows, giving your hand a squeeze. “He’s my best friend. But you’re family. And if he fucks it all up, I just want you to know my couch is always open. Don’t know if I’ll be around because of tours and all of that, but you know it’s yours. My snack pantry, too.”

You clap a hand over your mouth in a dramatic gasp. “The snack pantry?”

“The snack pantry.” He nods. 

“I wouldn’t worry too much about it, though,” you tell him, rubbing your hand along your forearm. “Pretty sure it’s one sided.” 

At that, Eddie breaks out into barking laughter, drawing the curious gazes of multiple tables around him. Someone even hisses for him to be quiet, and he reaches to grab a piece of caviar, poised at the ready to throw it right back at them. Luckily, you manage to whip your arm out and stop him before he can get himself kicked out of the gala. 

“What was that for?” Your voice is a whisper, but you’re shrieking it at him all the same. 

“One-sided?” Eddie laughs again, head shaking. “I’ve seen Harrington flirt with women. I’ve seen him fail time and time again, and because of that…I’ve seen him give up on the whole thing. He said when it happens, it’ll happen. I always thought that was just a thing people said. Today when you two walked in, he looked so damn happy to have you at his side. This room is full of people, but he’s only got eyes for one.”

Nose wrinkling at his words, you snort. “You’re going soft in your old age.”

“It’s called having you as a best friend since we were in middle school, and knowing if I say the wrong thing you could justifiably stab me and I’d have earned it.” His head turns to where Steve is gripping the stem of a champagne flute in one hand, and a glass of whiskey in another. “I just want you to be happy. I trust him. I do. But at the same time, I care about you enough to also know I don’t want to see you cry over another guy ever again. So I’m telling you again, no matter what…my couch always has space for you.”

“Thanks, Eddie,” you breathe out, sniffling on a shaky inhale. 

The backs of your hands dab beneath your lash line, making sure you don’t actually cry in front of the man, and smile fondly up at Steve when he walks over and leans down to press a kiss to your temple, handing you your glass. 

Eddie dips his head at Steve, extending his fingers around the glass he holds in greeting. He lifts the glass to his lips and downs the rest of his drink in one go, before standing to his feet. “Now if you don’t mind me, I am going to try and talk to Chrissy Cunningham. Wish me luck.”

“You’ve been trying to talk to her for m—” At Steve’s pleading gaze, you pause. 

Eddie’s been crushing on the actress for months now. Met her at some party you'd been invited to, where Steve introduced the two of them. She had shyly waved at Eddie, and he’d waved back. 

Annnnd then they never said another word to one another for the rest of that evening, their nervousness too grand. 

Today she looks gorgeous in a powdery blue shimmering gown that matches the hue of her eyes, blonde hair curled to perfection, falling down from the high, slicked back pony tail on her head. From where you’re sitting you can see her laughing at something her friend has said, a bright smile glimmering in the dim light of the ballroom. 

“Ask her about her favorite song. Or—oh, her favorite cheese!” You suggest, bouncing on your chair, clasping Steve’s hand excitedly. 

“Could also ask her if she’d prefer an extra toe or an extra nipple—”

“Surprisingly enough, I actually don’t want to know what kind of stuff you two are into,” Eddie interjects, pinching the bridge of his nose. He levels his gaze with Steve. “Just…take care of her, okay?”

There's silence. Steve’s mouth twitches, his head nodding once. And then, “You know me.” 

Eddie only smiles. You don’t know what the hell that means, nor do you have time to investigate their odd exchange, because Eddie’s off to find Chrissy. 

 —— 

 The gala passes in a blur. 

Evening becomes night, and the ballroom is suddenly illuminated in a lavender glow. Your husband stands on the stage in the far corner of the space, thanking those for joining, and reminds everyone of the purpose of the evening: raising money for charity. 

All of this, this evening, is nothing to him if he’s not giving back. It’s one of the many things you admire about him. The acknowledgement that though he was fortunate to grow up with a life where he never needed to worry, not all experience the same. And the drive to want to do something about it. 

The room erupts into clapping and people disperse to grab drinks, interact with friends and family members, make new acquaintances, and give their donations. 

Your feet have never hurt more in your life in these way too expensive heels, you’re still itching for a dance with your husband once they announce for those wishing to to walk onto the dance floor, and your champagne glass is empty. 

Caught up in a conversation with a business partner, you offer to refill yours and Steve’s glasses, trying to no avail to call over the bartender. 

All around you you're made aware of the decadence in which these people live their lives. 

Women and men alike seemingly drape over the bar, garbed in fancy suits and flowing dresses. Hair perfectly done, makeup to perfection, men showing off with the most expensive watches, shoes that likely cost a small fortune, cufflinks with family initials on them, encrusted with diamond embellishments. 

Tonight, they behave like you’re one of them. A member of their seemingly secret society. They pass you smiles as you go, veneers glowing in the dim light, those who weren’t present at your wedding congratulating you on your marriage. And for a moment, however brief, you allow yourself to enjoy it. To enjoy the affection from strangers. To enjoy being Steve’s wife. Being perceived as the woman who gets the joy of spending forever with a man so well loved by many. 

“I don’t think I’ve seen you at these social functions before. I would definitely have remembered you,” a voice from beside you practically purrs. You stand up on your tippy toes once more, waving at a bartender who seems to completely miss you as they rush on by, trying to keep afloat in a sea of bodies. The man waves a hand in the air, and a bartender finally notices. “Jason Carver. Quarterback for the—”

“My husband watches your team.” 

Simple. 

Curt. 

He’s shock of blonde hair and a handsome face, a multi millionaire, ridiculously popular for being one of the best at what he does, but you can already feel the asshole aura radiating off of him—made only more so noticeable when you catch the flash of his smirk directed at you, the trail of his gaze on your bare shoulders, and then the flash of his ring on his left ring finger.

Briefly, you recall meeting his wife, Tina, earlier that evening. A smiling face with a hand never straying far from her presently rounded belly. A little girl due in early January, she’d told you fondly, muttering how she hopes the baby gets her husband's eyes. Those same eyes that look at you now with increasingly questionable intent. 

With that knowledge, you train your stare ahead, rambling off your husband’s order and yours. Jason shifts closer, the heat from his body making your skin crawl, back ramrod straight. 

“And your name?”

You tell him in a rush, watching the bartender start on your husband’s drink behind the bar. There’s a touch along your tricep that has your throat closing, the feeling of his breath nearing your ear as he leans down closer into your personal space making your stomach curl. 

“Can I just say,” he whispers, and your eyes dart up to reluctantly meet him, “you are absolutely beautiful.” 

The backs of those fingertips trail your flesh. Unwarranted and unwanted, chest heaving with the flurry of your choked breaths. The room starts to swirl around the edges, Jason’s voice a revolting caress down your spine, colors melding into a kaleidoscope around you.

Harnessing the shiver of disgust into power, you shift out of his grasp, barely brushing against the person standing on the other side of you. “And you, Jason Carver, are making a fool of yourself.”

And then you hear him. The familiar sound of Steve’s voice in your ears, and then feel his hand at the small of your back, the warmth of his palm and the slight tingle of his wedding ring against your spine tethering you back to reality. Grounding you once more.  

Jason stills beside you as the bartender slides your drinks over into your waiting palms. Steve takes his from your extended hand and sips, leaning down to tug you closer and press a kiss to your temple. All still unfamiliar, all still sending new waves of electricity along your skin. 

“I see you’ve met my wife,” Steve says calmly, and you glide your hand over your husband’s chest for emphasis. 

“I have,” he says thickly, dipping his head. 

“Sweetheart,” you begin, “we were just talking about how lovely and beautiful Jason’s wife, Tina, is. He’s so lucky to have someone like her in his life and definitely shouldn’t ever forget that. We were also talking about how exciting it is that they’ll be having a little girl in just a few months. He was just getting back to her, wasn’t he?”

Jason wastes no time in making himself scarce, leaving you to stand near the bar, still pressing against Steve’s side. Neither of you moves for a bit, and you simply relish in the nearness—shocked by the comfort that barrels into your bloodstream over simply having him there. 

“For the record—”

“You didn’t need me to do that,” he finishes, and your brows shoot up because how the hell did he know what you were thinking. “I know you can take care of yourself. It’s one of the things I…honestly admire about you. But I also want to remind you that you’re never alone. You have me. You know that, right? Isn’t that what a…best friend would do?” 

You snort at the title. “I know. I-I do know that, Steve.” 

But you’d been taking care of yourself for so long you don’t know any differently. So instead you glance over to where Jason and Tina are sitting at their table, his hand over her rounded midsection, overly affectionate for someone who had just moments ago been flirting with another woman.

Another married woman, on top of it. With her husband only a few feet away. 

“He’s an asshole,” you tell Steve. 

“I know. I saw him touching you. I watched you tense up.” His fingers trace the path Jason’s had trailed, covering the tracks he left with his own. “I’m serious. You look for me in a crowd, and I’ll always be there.” 

There’s such a sincerity there. A plea behind those hazel eyes that has you swallowing the remnants of your drink and placing it down on the bar, gripping Steve’s hand tightly within yours. Without another word, you pull him along behind you, Steve managing to drop his drink down onto your table before you tug him over to the dance floor where other couples are now slow dancing, far away in their own little worlds. 

“What are you—”

“I want you to dance with me,” you tell Steve simply, stopping in front of him. Your heels to his leather shoes. “I really really want you to dance with me. I feel like a damn princess in a silly dress, at a ridiculously fancy party with my husband, and I want him to dance with me. Because I hate that I’m enjoying this. I hate that my last name is plastered on everything here, and that I’m in this dress, with these shoes on, and I feel like a pumpkin carriage is going to pull up at any moment and take me home. And if I’m enjoying it, and if at twelve I’m going to be whisked away from here, then I at least want the full experience.”

Steve’s not judgemental. He’s never been. Has never questioned your past, wondered where and what you came from. He’s only ever been open to knowing who you are at present. The everyday. The chaotic and crazy moments. The monotonous ones. The time spent watching your shows, cooking to music in your kitchen together, playing with Charlie in the living room as a movie plays in the background. 

But standing before him now. Him in his tuxedo, staring at you the way he is now, his hands moving to curl around your waist and draw you close—it’s the first time you really feel like someone could take a needle to your current reality and pop it. Like all of this would disappear at any given moment, like it’s all a dream conjured up in your mind. You hate it. Hate it so much that your eyes start to burn with it. 

Sensing your inner turmoil, or seemingly just wanting to hold you, Steve folds you into his chest. Rests one forearm low against your back, and curls his hand around yours, swaying you back and forth on the dance floor as “The Way You Look Tonight” by Frank Sinatra starts playing in the distance. Your dress shifts and moves across the floor, your cheek to his chest, head tucked beneath his chin. He’s warm and solid and you can hear the frantic flutter of his heart, and can feel the slickness of his palm against your back. He’s not wholly unaffected by all of this, either. There’s a sense of comfort in it. This unfamiliarity of feeling—and the uncertainty of what? 

“Can I be honest?” he asks at the top of your head. 

“Always.”

“I hate all of this, too.” 

“Steve, it’s horrifying. Our name is on literally everything.”

“I know,” he laughs, the rumble rattling your skull. You nestle in closer, and his arm drags you in tighter. “Does it make you feel less bad if you strip away all of the—” He waves his hand around at the grandeur of the room. “stuff and just focus on the fact you’re allowed a night out where you dress up. Away from school, away from stress, with the people who care about you? Because take all of this away, and that’s all this is.”

It’s not. And even so, you know he’s right. Because take away all the gorgeous scenery, the fancy clothing, the endless drinks, the designer cars, and the end result is the same: Eddie and Steve are here. 

You’re not sure when Steve became one of those constants, yet it’s the truth all the same. 

“If I’m being honest, parties like this usually end up feeling lonely,” he says heavily, and you tip your head back enough to get a good look at him. “I grew up going to these things. My parents were always leaving to talk to friends, leaving me to sit back at the table. And I mean, people talk to me now, but only because they need something. Never because they want to. Not really.”

And that laugh that…wrinkles your nose…

“I want to,” you tell him softly. 

It touches my foolish heart…

“I know. And that means more to me than you’ll ever know,” he mutters back, a little choked, a little breathless against your skin as he lowers his face into the space beside your ear, cheek to cheek now. 

Lovely…don’t you ever change…

There’s a whisper of a kiss against your shoulder, meant for those looking to see, nothing unusual there. And then he adds, “The parties aren’t so lonely anymore either.”

Keep that breathless charm…won’t you please arrange it?

He holds you closer, if possible. Hides his face in your shoulder—trembling against you as though the words he’s spoken terrify him. They terrify you too. The implication of them. The meaning. The lines in the sand that become blurrier by the day. His head leans back, eyes locking with yours, dancing to your lips, then moving back up again. 

His fingers curl around the side of your cheek, and he leans down. Presses his lips to yours in a way that’s familiar. You’ve done this before countless times at dinner. A short peck. The smallest of brushes. Yet you sigh against him all the same, palm resting over his sternum, his hand along your back. Against your skin that burns hot—hotter now. 

“No one is watching,” you murmur against his mouth and open your eyes to find the room swirling around you. 

They’re not. You’re surrounded by a sea of couples on the dance floor. Even Theobald and Cami, who you would try to go above and beyond to sell your marriage to, are tucked away in their own little world. Forehead to forehead, hand to hand, heart to heart. 

Cause I love you…just the way you look…tonight…

But he doesn’t speak. 

Doesn’t say a word as you sway to the song, chest to chest in what feels like a slow motion love potion, his other hand joining the first on your opposite cheek. His eyes roam your face, a frantic slide across your features, before he’s leaning down and kissing you anew.

I’ll be gentle, echoes in your mind, his soothing words like balm across the sudden skip of your heart. He is nothing but gentle as his lips slot with yours, your lower lip between the plush curves of his mouth. Warmth, warmth, warmth abounds as your eyes flutter closed and you lose yourself in it. 

You’re not his fake-wife right now. You’re not under contract, you’re not putting on a performance for investors or chairmen or Theo, you’re not practicing to make sure it all looks real. This is real—the press of his nose against your cheek, how he uses the touch on your jaw to adjust your head to press in at a better angle, the gentle glide of his soft lips around yours as he kisses you like you’re something delicate. Something precious. Something real.

Time stands still and time rushes forward all at once, the moment exploding through all those ‘what if’s and ‘what are we doing’s and ‘should we’s. None of that exists here as your swaying comes to a stop in the middle of the dancefloor, your fingers tucking into the lapels of his tuxedo in a show of please don’t go.

His steady hand skates down, sliding along the side of your throat to press the tips of his fingers into the nape of your neck, thumb beside your ear in a show of I’m right here.

You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until your lungs absolutely burn in your chest, pulling just a sparse inch away to gasp in air like you’ve just surfaced from water. Steve is similarly affected, shoulders in a heaving rise and fall as he presses his forehead to yours. Neither of you say a word as you catch your breath—your eyes lost in the mossy green woven into the golden brown of his hazel eyes, his flicking back and forth between your gaze and the shine of your lip gloss like he can’t think about anything else.

A gentle clear of his throat, a harsh swallow of nerves before his lips, the ones that just kissed you, tilt in a bashful smile. “I didn’t mean to take your breath away,” he murmurs in a tease, hot air puffing against your lower face as he gently laughs.

Unable to find the part of you that wants to tease back, to make it a joke, to keep it safe, you’re pouring out honesty when you tell him, “You don’t have to try very hard to.”

He remains there, you both do, bodies swaying, foreheads pressing close. There are no more stolen kisses, no whispers of breath between the two of you, only the quiet of togetherness that drowns out the rest of the room. There are no decisions for the ‘what next?’ nor the ‘what does this all mean?’ Instead you relish in the moment, hands still around his lapels, his own covering yours, keeping you near to him. 

And that’s more than enough. 

 ——

——

if there was ever a chapter i would love to hear your thoughts on—it’s this one! please consider reblogging, liking, leaving a comment. you all mean the world to me. haha seeing everyone get excited over this fic has made my week. xo luna. 🤍

[onelittlespiral]

FML: Overbaked

I’m playing around with the format on these a little bit. This story has two endings, one of which is here and the other of which can be found here: FML: Underbaked

Consider this the more corruptive ending.

I’ll say up front that this one is on me. My boyfriend and I had been going steady for a while now. He was cute and smart, but after a few years he just wasn’t the kind of guy I could see myself spending the rest of my life with. Things had just gotten… bland. We hardly ever went on dates, spent most weekends apart doing our own hobbies, and sex was a bit like going through the motions. I wanted a change. So, I ordered one. A new “white noise” machine. But it did a bit more than that. You just adjusted the settings and in a few nights it could grow, shrink, age, add hair, add muscle. I think I even saw a setting for a gender flip. It cost a pretty penny but I figured it would be worth it. I ran it for a while with no settings, just so he would get used to it. But, when I had a business trip that was going to take me out of town for the weekend, I figured it was a perfect time to see what it could do.

Before I left I opened the hidden panel and decided to start pretty simple. I would just program it to make him bigger. More buff, more masculine, maybe a bit more dominant. Could be a nice change to get taken care of when I got back. I dialed in the knobs, said my goodbyes, and flew off for the weekend. Meanwhile, back at home, my sweet boyfriend dozed and grew, none the wiser to his changes. And there were some changes. By the time I flew in Sunday night, a whole new man was there to greet me.

“Hey babe, you miss me?” In just a few days he had ballooned in size. His biceps were thick, easily picking me up into an embrace. His pecs were strong and juicy as I held onto them while gazing in his eyes. His kiss was strong and assertive, as he slipped his tongue in my mouth. He tasted like whiskey and smelled like fresh cut sandalwood. And his cock was girthy, as I felt it slowly swell and press up against me. I gave in as he pushed me down to the bed and unbuttoned his jeans. My pants were on the floor in a moment as I laid back in just my jockstrap, ready to receive him.

He pulled me down to the end of the bed, and slowly massaged my puckering hole. I don’t know if the machine somehow taught him how to handle me but as he worked is fingers inside it was so easy to relax and let him stretch me out. He replaced his fingers. I felt his cock, firm and throbbing, as it slid into me. I squeezed as I adjusted to his new size. I felt so full, but it just kept sliding in. As he began to hit my prostate a surprising moan escaped my lips.

“That’s right babe, open up for me.” He leaned in and gave me a kiss. His beard was soft, his lips pillowy. I felt every motion of his body, every little adjustment sent a throbbing through my body. “You’re so cute like this. You ready for daddy’s cock?”

I could only let out an anticipatory whimper as he slowly began thrusting. With one hand he caressed my torso, the other he held my shoulders in place. I was anchored down as he picked up steam. Soon both hands were on my shoulders as he put his weight behind the thrusts. I tried to tell him to slow down, but something about how assertive and confident he was kept the words from my lips. And then it hardly mattered, as he found my prostate and my mind dissolved. He was destroying my ass as all I could do was try not to drool all over myself. All thought was consumed by pleasure as his balls slapped heavy against my ass.

“Fuck, you’re such a good boy. Your ass is so tight. Fuck it feels amazing.”

“Huuuhnuh…ahhh…uhhhhhh…fuck…meeeeee”

I could feel it coming. I tried to ride the waves of ecstasy but he was not letting up. Suddenly he inhaled sharply.

“God, I’m gonna… I’m gonna cum.” he cried. He made no signs of slowing down.

“Cum…cum in-me.” I was about to burst.

He let out a deep growl as with a final thrust he plunged into me and the floodgates opened. At the same time I saw stream after stream hit his chest. We came at the same time. Panting he ran his finger down his chest and popped a thick glob in his mouth

“Yeah, you even taste delicious.”

This time I pulled him to me, kissing his beautiful face as he slowly pulled himself out of me with a wet pop.

And that should have been it. It should have stayed that way. It was supposed to be amazing. But, somehow, life always gets complicated.

It started with work. Maybe it was a side effect. With how he carried himself, he couldn’t help but turn heads when he entered a room. He would talk about how well respected he was, how all of a sudden people gave a shit when he said something. I guess it came with the territory. But that respect turned into a promotion, and that promotion had him working later and later hours. Plus, with his new body, he had to maintain it. He spent at least two hours at the gym, lifting and running and stretching. He would come home smelling musky, and I would basically be waiting in the bedroom to suck on his sweaty cock. Those nights were some of the best. But then he made friends, gym bros to hang out with, and he would get home well into the night, too tired to do much but watch TV before passing out. Then, my work project turned south at the end of the year. Our client was furious and I had to fly out almost every other weekend to some meeting to plead for time or try to get the project back on track. It felt like we just kept missing each other.

“I know it’s been hard to manage time but can we please have this weekend,” he begged one Thursday night, “I miss you. I miss us.”

I sighed, “I can’t. We just have to make it to the spring when we launch and it should be good. But until then I have to keep up with these clients.”

“I know, I know but can’t they send someone else?” He came in close and began to stroke my hair, “I need my good little boy here.”

I flushed and turned away, “You know I’ve been working for years to close this project out. I can’t just leave it when we are this close to the finish line.”

He looked hurt, “So instead you’re just leaving me behind?”

I snapped my head back to his, “You’re one to talk. I feel like I haven’t seen you in months. One promotion and suddenly you want to lecture me on my career? Plus all the time you spend with your gym buds. Enjoying the sauna together?” The moment I said it I knew I crossed the line

“…I’m going to bed.” He slammed the bedroom door behind him.

“BABE! No, that’s not what I meant. Please-” I jiggled the locked handle. No response. Dejected, I turned towards the couch, collecting what throw pillows and little blankets I could.

I tossed and turned all night, yet when I woke up he had already slipped out without a word. I wandered back to the bedroom and tried to find solace in the shower. Warm water ran down my back as mulled over the prior evening. When did things get so tough? It felt like just yesterday we were just some freshly graduated kids, now we hardly saw our friends or each other, just crunched all day at the office. Things back then were so… simple. That’s it! I shut off the water and quickly dried off. In the bedroom sat the machine. We had kept using it just for the white noise. Worked like a charm, who knew? It may have been what caused all this, but maybe it held a solution. There was the knob I was looking for: simple. I took it and cranked it up. I needed change and I really needed it quick. Two nights would perfect. If it was anything like last time, by the time I am back Sunday night this could all be solved. I threw a bag together for my trip and went off to the airport. Today I would give him space, and by tomorrow I had a hunch the problem would practically solve itself…

I woke up the next day, groggy from the flight and meetings yesterday. I was not looking forward to another full day today. Just then, my phone buzzed next to me. A text came through from my boyfriend:

got a long day ahead babe. miss u 😘

He looked so… care free. There wasn’t a bag under his eyes. And he never just texted to say he missed me. He never seemed to have time. Seeing him with his arm frown back and that stupid little smirk got me going more than I expected it to. I texted back:

I miss you too. I hope you aren’t too bogged down with meetings today. Love ❤️

He responded: no meeting’s, boss had a safety talk last week. just work

Safety talk? Whatever, I’m sure he would be fine. Probably one of those cyber security talks from the 2000’s. Either way, I couldn’t dwell on it too long. Had to get ready for this team meeting.

The weekend was a blur. Meeting, crunch, eat repeat for two days straight. I hardly had time for myself, much less checking in on my boyfriend’s progress. But he seemed to be coming along nicely, and I could surmise a bit. His stressful job in engineering had been replaced with construction site manager, then just a regular blue-collar worker. His texts had become more casual, and when I talked with him for a few minutes Sunday morning he was kicking back with some friends having a beer. He even took a nap Sunday afternoon, speeding him along maybe a little further than I would have liked. He sent me this text when he woke up as I was on my way to the airport:

Mmm, I miss u, gonna need ass when ur back

The next text was just a picture of his rigid cock. I chuckled a bit. I definitely had gone a bit too far but we could adjust that later.

I miss you too babe. You should probably get up. I’ll be home in a few hours and you can have me then 😉

Little did I know.

I hopped out of my cab and began working through airport security. I made it to my gate with plenty of time to spare. While I had made it to the gate, the plane, evidently had not. Winds and snow out of the northwest had delayed it. It was supposed to be an hour delay. But as one became two, the storm system had moved south.

Passengers of flight AM267, we regret to inform you that your flight has been delayed. With the current storm system, we are not projecting to be able to leave till tomorrow at 8:47am. On behalf-

I tuned out as my mind began to race. Tomorrow? That would throw off my whole work week! And the product launch would have to be delayed even further if I’m not there…

I began crunching the numbers on how far back this would set us as I hopped on a shuttle to the nearest hotel. With the sudden influx, it took a few hours before I was checked into my economy room next to the elevator. I had made the necessary calls to my team letting them know about the situation and… oh shit. I didn’t even call my boyfriend! He’s probably still waiting up for me. Quickly I fired off a text letting him know what was up. The day had been exhausting, I wouldn’t be up for much tonight anyways. I didn’t even change out of my jeans as I passed out on my bed.

The next morning the storm had passed, so it was back to the airport to catch my flight. We were luckier than most, I figured it would take them at last 2 days to be fully back on schedule. Still, everything had been thrown out of sync with the delay. It was almost 2:30 by the time I was sliding my key into the front door. I walked upstairs to throw my luggage in the bedroom when I stopped outside the door. Inside, I could hear a faint crackle, like the fray of a radio. Just the sound gave me a headache, and I felt an itch in my teeth. And then it clicked, and my stomach dropped. I threw open the door and immediately turned off the machine that had been running all day. A faint breathing was behind me. I turned and my eyes went wide.

There he was, still laid back on the bed, hat on his head, wide awake. The thousand yard stare said it all. He had been listening all night and all day.

I tried to shake him awake to no avail. He was lost in whatever fog had dulled his brain.

“Need… ass… need fuck…” he mumbled. Drool started to drip out his mouth.

I turned back the machine and pried off the back panel. I began urgently analyzing switches and knobs, trying to determine which would reverse the changes. Even just a way to turn the damn thing off. It just kept buzzing and buzzing and buzzing… I felt a tight grip around my waist.

“Come babe, you want cock?”

My boyfriend had come out of his stupor, but not much. His cross-eyed stare had set itself on my body. His paws were rested firmly on my hips as he drug me closer to him.

“Let me go, I need to figure this out”

“No,” he slurred, “I need you.” He leaned in for a sloppy kiss. He tasted salty and sour. His beard was far more unkept and rough. He smelled virile this close, musky and horny. “You like simple,” he said. No, not said. Commanded. All that daddy energy he brought before was somehow put behind those words, and for a moment I felt submissive to him. And he only needed that moment. “Come.” He lifted his arm and stared into my eyes. A wave of stench rolled down and hit my senses with a crash.

His gaze, the smell, and the buzzing in my ears. It was all too much as I was drawn towards his pit. I resisted for a moment, giving a hesitant whiff under his gaze. He made no movement. He didn’t have to. I was soon buried in his pit as I huffed his stupefying scent. In the back of my mind I knew this wasn’t right, that I was supposed to be fighting back. But a different whisper entered my mind:

Didn’t I want this? Wasn’t this my choice? Who was it that wanted it to all be so simple?

He pulled me out for a moment to slip my shirt off before I dove back in. At this point I was practically drooling, and I began cleaning him with my tongue. He stroked my chest and back, squeezing my pecs. They felt soft beneath his firm grasp. He soon switched me to the other side and muttered to me:

“Good boy. So horny.”

I was. I was so horny. The more I licked the more my crotch throbbed. My cock was rigid at attention as he pulled me out of his pits.

He’s so hot. Need him. Need cock.

No, no my brain tried to scream, but it sounded distant. A thick fog was between me and my thoughts. Maybe it should stay that way…

My boyfriend stood up and I fell to the floor. Slowly, he began pulling off his jeans.

I instinctively turned over to receive his cock. My ass was already slick, wet in expectation. Even having sex was so simple. As he pressed his cock against my hole it slid in like a key in a lock. It just felt right. And as he gripped my shoulders and began to fuck me, each thrust felt like a thought was popped in my head. He growled a deep, primal growl as the last thoughts I ever had washed away in the waves of pleasure radiating through my body. My brain felt like the static from the machine. The only thing I had left was instinct. And instinct was telling me to ride the man behind me.

“Fu-uck- m-me- up- da-ah-ddy”

He only grunted as he increased the pace. It felt like hours as the ebbs and flows of our libidos managed to keep us both on edge, so close but never finishing. Till finally, I couldn’t take it any more. I could only manage a moan as I came all over the bedsheets.

“Fuck that’s so hot.” he said, and with one final thrust filled my guts with his dumb cum. Hehe. Cum. As he slid out I couldn’t handle any more. I passed out face down ass up on the bed.

The next morning I was horny again. And then by lunch. And then by bed time. Days blended together as we fucked, ate, worked out, and slept together. The machine next to our bed never got turned off. Wasn’t there something I was supposed to do with it? Eh, it was too complex. Best to leave it alone as I had my brain fucked out for the third time today. I don’t know how we got by. We never moved out of our house. We always got food with no problems. Anyone who came by would just do whatever we asked. The few times anyone came inside they quickly learned that it was a lot easier to simply give in. If they resisted, babe would simply take them back to the bedroom until they changed their minds. They would come out all smiles, agreeable to whatever we needed. It was as simple as that.

[makncheese12]

corbul mic

Summary: what are the odds of meeting a pretty dark haired girl in your uncles bar?

A/N: I do not know Romanian so I used Google translate, GIVE ME A BREAK😭

This is for the short girlies since everyone is apparently taller than Jenna😔

Anything like in italics (I think that’s the word?) is Romanian.

Jenna Ortega x fem!reader

A groan escapes your lips as your head bops up against the shoulder of the boy carrying you in a direction you didn’t know nor did you care.

Your only worry was the fact that every time your head hit his shoulder it would throb as if you were banging it against a pole but if you tried to lift it up to stop it would only grow worse and your muscles holding you up would go out.

Maybe you shouldn’t have drank so much last night. You certainly didn’t think so while you were drinking but as of now, you wanted to bury yourself alive with how you felt.

Another groan as you watch your arms dangle loosely. “Why are you so bumpy?..” you drag out making the man holding you chuckle lightly.

“I’m being as gentle as I can, besides it’s what you get for drinking most of the night.” He laughs as you rest your cheek on his shoulder, beard stubble tickling your face as you do so.

The smell of shaving cream filling your senses as you look up toward his freshly shaven mullet.

“I didn’t drink that much..” you mumble, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. A loud snort comes from him as he rounds a corner.

“Not that much? You were trying to start a fight with a street cat calling it papa.” He laughs and you groan once again. “We come back from a tour and you expect me not to celebrate?”

Three months away from your home town and around the United States with your band and it was far more than a success. Though they were already big in the world and you had only just joined last year, the people seemed to love you just as much as they loved the older members.

It was thrilling, really. Being on stage with hundreds of people watching for the first time after their guitarist left and was replaced by you. It was nerves wracking at first but once the adrenaline came in they were long gone.

A lot of the people were pissed off about how they had replaced the other member so easily and it hit headlines quick after your first performance, people debating if you should even be in the band.

There was even a petition going around for you to be kicked out of the band so the originals could be the only ones. A petty little thing you weren’t really worried about.

And you didn’t care in all honesty, about any of it. As long as you got to play and make music. And after joining the band, your streams from your own songs went up on every music platform.

You of course didn’t show off as much as your bands mates, it was still their show and you were just a prop to make them sound good.

“Let’s not forget how you broke down in tears when the cat ran off.” He completely ignores your earlier statement as the memory resurfaces inside his head, you falling to your knees and reaching for the empty space in front of you.

“Shut up Mikey.” You mumble as he steps up the stairs to the bar, your head bouncing against his shoulder much rougher before he steps inside, the loud bell above the door startled you slightly causing a jolt to invade your body.

“Ah, there’s the little rockstar.” A voice booms through the air as Mikey places you on the floor, arms and legs sprawled out. “Was your fourteen hour nap good, or did you want to sleep some more on the floor?” The room fills with laughter, men and woman in different sizes watch as you sit up slowly.

“Suck my dick.” You say giving him the finger as a man grabs under your arm pit and hulls you up. “Let’s sober you up for tonight.” He chuckles before guiding you to the bar.

You look up toward the much larger man, gray and black being swept back by his bandana, cigarette resting on his ear. His black tank top stretched across his large torso, showing the large amount of tattoos. You would have thought he was mean looking if you didn’t know him.

As soon as you take your seat, your eyes spot the French fries and burger in front of another large man. You reach over and begin shoving a few in your mouth.

“Hey Terri.” You mumble and a grunt in response comes from the man as he watches you steal a large amount of his fries from his plate.

“Did you miss me?” You ask, smiling wide as you look up at the man and watch as his mouth quirks up into a little smirk. He didn’t talk much but you grew to know what didn’t little things meant.

“Ah, shucks!” You say, your own smile growing as you punch his shoulder. He didn’t budge.

As you reach for another handful of fries when suddenly a hand comes down quickly and smacks your hand making you yank back your arms and look up to see the older woman who glares at you.

“Stop stealing Terri’s food.” A frown forms on your face as you lean into the man. “Terri doesn’t mind,” you start before looking up to him. “Do you Terri?”

He grunts in response before his eyes go back to the overhead tv. “See? He doesn’t mind.” You reach out to grab another but she’s quick to smack your hand again before taking his plate, most likely to get him more fries.

Just as she enters the kitchen your uncle comes back out with a plate full of chicken and an empty glass.

He sets the plate in front of you before filling the glass with a clear liquid.

“You start in forty.” He says as he leans against the counter to watch as you scarf down the food on your plate, a small smile resting on his face.

“Did you hear, they’re doing a little show nearby and a bunch of actors are staying in town.” He tells you before sitting up from his leaning position on the counter.

“What’s that got to do with me?” Your voice muffled through your food as you narrow your eyes at the man.

“I want you to behave,” there was a small warning in his voice, one you had heard countless times. It was as if he was asking you to challenge him or disobey. Though most of the time you did, you couldn’t help but gulp lightly.

“This town is a quiet one, let’s keep it that way?” A request? Surely he didn’t think you were that dumb to try and bring chaos into his quiet world.

You may have enjoyed a loud life, but he certainly didn’t. Preferring you to just keep your loud music to a certain level while you played in his bar or the club down town.

You roll your eyes as you shove another piece of chicken into your mouth. “Just because Jonas leaked out location last time doesn’t mean I will.” You huff out quietly, remembering back to the time when the boy had fans rolling into your camping grounds.

“I’m just saying, no funny business.” He says raising his hands up in defense before walking away. You grumble quietly as you continue eating your food.

————

“What do you plan on playing?” Mikey asks as you push your guitar box across the stage. “I haven’t decided yet.”

His face drops into an annoyed look as you open your book and begin flipping through the pages.

“You start in five minutes and you mean to tell me, you don’t know what you’re going to play?” He asks, noses scrunching up slightly as you flip through your work, unpublished songs filled the notebook. Ones you preferred only to play for your towns people.

“My head is still pounding give me a break.” You mumble as you continue flipping through the pages to see what best fit the mood for tonight. You glance around for a moment, a few people play pool and laugh. Others say drinking and quietly conversating. That left the already drunk people who were dancing around the floor and laughing, most of the people drinking now would join the eventually.

It was how it was most nights, doke nights quiet and others full of people; these nights were usually on Fridays.

Fridays were your favorites, ever since you were little when your uncle first brought you into his bar on a Friday after school. Most of your friends were made playing poker, being taught how to really play whether it be cheating, lying or playing truthfully. All you knew was that you were one hell of a poker player and knew everyone’s poker face like the back of your hand.

Sure you couldn’t drink alcohol but that didn’t stop you from having your uncle keep a few jugs of apple juice behind the counter.

You hum quietly before looking through the pages once again. But before you could the book is snatched from your hands all too quickly as Mikey races off.

You stand there for a moment, mind calculating what had just happened before you rush after him. You wouldn’t have really cared if there weren’t songs in their you weren’t exactly proud of and would be teased for months on end for.

“Come here you skinny bastard!” You call out pushes the chairs he had jumped over out of your way. He jumps over the counter before jumping up sliding it into an empty slot made for a different cups.

Your eyes widen as your rush over toward the slot and he slides over the counter once again.

You gape up toward the book that hung out slightly, before reaching up on your tip toes. You don’t even come close to touching it before jumping up, finger tips just barely grazing over the spine before huffing out in frustration as quiet laughs are heard behind you.

Your head whips around to see the source was Mikey, Jonas, your uncle and two younger looking men as they watch in amusement.

“You think this is funny?” You ask voice more than serious as they continue to chuckle to themselves. “Not at all,” your uncle says, eyes scrunching from smiling too hard.

“Just wondering why you don’t reach up and grab it like a normal person.” Your eyes widen and jaw clenches as your glare intensifies, face scrunching up in anger as the men continue to laugh.

“Average! I’m average!” You yell out, arms being thrown up in the air only making them laugh harder.

“Average my ass, your missing a few inches for that darlin’.” Jonas says shaking his head and you narrow your eyes at him.

He couldn’t talk, he was only a five foot nine fully grown man, at least you had an excuse being a woman.

“Come on, guys!” You groan out. “I need to choose a song and now I barely have time.”

“Choose from the heart.” Mikey says in a sing song voice, placing his hand over where his heart was.

“You know my memory is bad.” You grumble before turning back around to look up at the book, the edge taunting you as you do so.

Huffing out, you walk back up to the shelf before placing a foot your foot on the sturdiest thing and pull yourself, making sure your grip on the cabinets are tight as you reach up for the book.

Still, it was out of reach and you huff out as you bring your other foot above the over and once again pull yourself up, fingers grazing over the book. With one last stretch you grasp the book and a victorious smile forms on your face.

It’s quickly wiped off as two fingers jab into your sides and you lose your grip on both the book and and the cabinet.

You hit the floor with a loud thud and groan out, head pounding once again.

Your eyes land on a laughing Mikey as he holds his stomach, and hurting from suddenly laughing so hard.

You grumble loudly as you get to your feet, bolting at him but he quickly moves out of the way and around the bar.

The two of you run around, people moving out of your way and you move around and under people. Some laugh at your antics while others roll their eyes in annoyance, to used to the two of you acting like this.

Just as you round around a corner, you bump into a hard surface. Harder enough to knock you onto the floor.

A loud high pitch noise emits from the back of your throat as you roll on the ground to see who you had bumped into.

Your eyes land on a tall man, haired pulled back into a rat tail of a pony tail as his eyes widen while staring down at you, a large group not too far behind him.

“Well are you just gonna stand there or are you gonna help up a poor woman in need?” You grumble, noise scrunches slightly in annoyance when all he does is look at you.

“Damn tourist.” You mumble before being pulled up forcefully off the ground. Suddenly you’re not longer in pain from hitting the floor as you begin hitting his chest.

“Don’t touch me!” You call out, watching his smile grow before it looks to the man who had knocked you over raising his eyebrows.

“You’re American?” He asks, accent thick as he looks throughout the group around the small round table and you can’t help but do the same. And boy were you glad you did.

Everyone was more than beautiful, no flaws in any of their features as you look over their faces. One man had luxurious hair you were more than jealous of while the girl next to him lacked it.

Your eyes continue to travel over the group before a particular black haired girl caught your eye and you can’t help the way your hearts skips a beat and begins to speed up. Was this what a heart attack felt like?

Freckles littered across her face, dark eyes watching the interaction carefully looking between the three of you as if something bad was about to happen.

“I am so sorry.” The man says, putting his hands up and looking between you two. “It’s alright, it’s her fault for running around like a mad woman.” Mikey replies chuckle lightly but you can’t find yourself to react as you continue stare at the woman.

Her eyes soon land on you and your heart pounds even more, not noticed the other sets of eyes on you. The way her eyes bore into yours makes your palms sweat and you can’t help but gulp lightly as the next words come out of your mouth.

“You’re very pretty.” You say unconsciously as a snort is heard beside you. The girl only furrows her eyebrows in confusion along with the others. Right, tourist. Most don’t know how to speak your language.

But you still can’t help continue to stare, eyes staying locked with hers, palms becoming sweaty at her lack of reaction even if you knew she couldn’t speak your language.

“Alright love girl,” the man says as he lifts you up under your arm pits and carries you toward the stages, eyes never leaving the woman as the people who heard nearby smirk or laugh to themselves. “Let’s get you away from the embarrassment so we can go on stage.”

“They won’t know, they’re tourist.” You mumble as he sits you down on the stage. “And what about the song?” You ask, eyes traveling back toward the book still stuck in the slot.

“I chose one.” Jonas says as he holds out a CD case with sharpie marker written on top of it. A smile forms on your face at the realization of the song before looking up to him. It wasn’t one of your songs but it was definitely one of his favorites.

“How’d you get this on CD?” You ask tapping it in your other hand lightly. He shrugs after fixing his septum piercing and taking the CD. “There are things called printers, you know?” He states making you roll your eyes hard as you stand up on the stage.

Your eyes land on a large group of people you had recognized from down the street and now you really see where he got it from as they all wait in anticipation nearby the dance area.

“Hope your ready to wake up with a sore throat Mikey.” You laugh out as people begin to groan or cheer around the room.

“Everyone got ear plugs that want it?” Your uncle says before holding up the little baggies and people go rushing toward him.

You laugh as you finish setting up the electric guitar and Jonas takes his seat behind his drums.

You can’t help your eyes from traveling toward the group as the small round table, drinks both empty and full litter around the table as they all look around confused. Oh, how you loved chasing off tourist.

You watch as Mikey taps the microphone making a phump phump noise before smiling and looking back at you. He sends you a wink as you raise the strap around your shoulders.

You start the beat off soft, smiling lightly as the group begins to cheer and the customers whistle before your fingers become far more aggressive and Mikey’s high pitched voices yells into the mic, the once silent room filled with loud music you could probably hear down at your apartment if you strained your ears enough.

This wasn’t exactly the music you or your three person band made but it was the request for the night, and who were any of you to deny the fans?

Your eyes travel around the room as sweat begins to roll down your face, hair strands coming undo as you move your head around.

You see your uncle cleaning dishes with a large smile on his face as he watches you all, shaking his head lightly at the crowd as the dance around like a bunch of animals.

Then you look around the room, one or two people annoyed as they drink while the others watch or dance before you look toward the small circle table.

Most of their group watched the people around the room, one held their hands to their ears and one watched your performance. One that made your heart beat more than it was from the adrenaline of playing.

Her eyes stayed glued to you, at least you thought with how far away she seemed. You’re eyes were definitely glued to her.

It seemed to make you sweat a little more the thought of her looking at you made your nerves hit the roof, something you had never felt before. You didn’t even know the woman, hell you didn’t even know what she sounded like and she had you feeling like this. A smirk plays onto your face as you watch her, if she was watching her why not give her a little show? Mikey then steps toward you, mic close to both of your mouths as you sing with him with his voice far higher than yours mixing perfectly.

He had a different look on his face than he did when he went up on stage, usually he looked tense and forcing himself to get loose with the music but now he looked more than loose. He looked comfortable and ready to play for the rest of the night if he could.

Maybe being back home wouldn’t be so bad after all.

A/N: oh don’t you worry y’all, the next chapter there will be interactions, give it time😏 like my others it’s just a little introductory.

This one won’t be as slow burn I suppose😒

[guess-my-next-obsession]

The Bakesale

pairing: pre-outbreak!joel miller x f!reader (Elementary-verse)

rating: E (18+ ONLY, oral (f rec), unprotected piv, slight dirty talk, these two being in looooooooove)

wc: 2.1k

a/n: this is based on an anon request i got ages ago but can no longer find :( so i hope this finds you, anon!! 🫶🏼 also, for context, this drabble takes place between chapter six and seven :)

series masterlist | joel masterlist

“Sorry ‘bout this,” Joel apologized as he carried grocery bags filled with baking supplies into your kitchen. “Our oven’s been actin’ finicky, and I’m not sure what the hell I’m doin’—“

“You’re fine, Joel,” you said, placing a hand on his arm as he stood beside you at your kitchen island.

Things were still new between the two of you, both of you still frantic to impress the other, or at the very least not inconvenience them, but it truly was no inconvenience for Joel to come over and use your oven and advice, especially when it was for his daughter’s soccer team’s bake-sale.

“Still,” he said. “Thanks, baby.”

You felt a girlish smirk growing in your face at his casual use of the endearment, your ears not yet accustomed to hearing such a pretty thing.

“You’re welcome,” you replied, still smiling that bashful smile as you started to unpack the grocery bags. “So what are we making?”

“Sarah got assigned brownies,” he said. “Got my mom’s recipe.”

You continued unpacking the supplies while he pulled a piece of scrap paper with a scribbled list and instructions on it.

“You can read that?” you teased, laughing at your own question.

“Yes,” he replied, dry and unimpressed. “You got a problem with my handwriting?”

“If you were my student, I would,” you said, smirking at the smile that was growing on his face. “But seeing as you’re not, I guess it’s fine.”

“I can read it, that’s all that matters,” he replied, his tone thick with attitude. You laughed and nodded in agreement, reaching your hand out to rub his back in soothing circles.

“Alright, let’s get started?” you asked, turning your head to look up at him as you stood beside him, finding him already staring. “On second thought, I don’t remember you giving me a proper greeting when you walked in.”

“You’re right,” he nodded, his voice low as his eyes flickered to your lips. “Not too late?”

You smiled as you pulled him down to your lips, letting your hands rest on the side of his neck and jaw, relishing in the scratch of his beard against your fingertips. Joel’s arms were wrapped tight around your waist, hugging you close as he kissed you like a man returning to his wife after being lost at sea.

You could feel his love deep into your bones, right down into the marrow, and could feel the tenderness of his heart softening your own with each passing second here in his arms. You hoped this never faded, that the picture in your mind of the two of you sitting on some porch swing, old and grey, watching your children’s children playing in the yard would actually become reality.

“Mm,” he hummed, pecking your lips once more for good measure before pulling away. “I gotta stop before I get carried away.”

“I might like you getting carried away,” you said, giving him a mischievous smile. Joel chuckled and wiped his hand over his face before shaking his head.

“No, we gotta stay focused,” he managed through a sigh. “I only got until four until Sarah’s supposed to be picked up from Jessie’s.”

“Well, maybe if we start now, we’ll have some time left over for—“

“Alright, so I think we’re supposed to preheat the oven.”

The brownies were made and cooling on the counter with an hour to spare, giving you and Joel the perfect chance for some fun while you waited for four o’clock to roll around. Both sets of clothes were shed in a trail leading to your bedroom, giggles echoing off the walls as Joel practically threw your naked form onto the mattress with a grin.

“Made it to the bed this time,” he said, crawling onto the bed to join you.

“I would’ve let you fuck me on the kitchen floor,” you said, lightly scratching his scalp at the nape of his neck.

“Is that right?” He grinned, nudging your cheek with his lips as he kissed his way down to your pulse.

“Mmhm,” you hummed. Your smile faded as his lips trailed down to your sensitive peaks, your fingers in his hair clenching to hold him there. Joel returned your eagerness with a groan before pressing his hips into yours to let you feel his need for you. “Shit, baby.”

“You want it?” he asked, lifting his head up to meet your eyes. You nodded at him eagerly, the sight of his hair tousled from your hands, his eyes blackened with desire, his cheeks pink from excitement. “Can I taste you first, baby? All this bakin’ has me starvin’ for somethin’ sweet.”

“Fuck,” you sighed, letting your head fall back against the pillows as he kissed his way down your stomach, the sight too much for you to take. “Yes…please.”

“Please, what, baby?” he drawled, gripping the back of your thighs to press them up towards the mattress.

“Please taste me,” you moaned, meeting his dark eyes again. Joel smiled and nodded at you before bringing a finger up to your swollen bud, circling it a few times just to watch your eyebrows lace together before lowering it down to your entrance to gather your slick for a taste.

“Goddamn, you’re sweet,” he groaned, sucking his finger clean before lowering his mouth to your clit, kissing it softly.

Your head fell back against the pillow as his kisses turned into sucks that turned into beautiful swirls of his tongue, all of it building you up slowly and gently, like he had all the time in the world.

“Fuck, you’re so good,” you moaned, tightening your grasp on his hair when he found the perfect rhythm. “Fuck, don’t stop. Please—just like that.”

“I got ya,” he mumbled against you in between licks.

“Joel—“

“Come on,” he urged.

“Fingers,” you demanded. Joel lifted two thick fingers to your clit, swirling over it to gather some slick on them before sliding them down to your cunt and pressing in slowly. When he started to curl upwards while he continued working you with his mouth, you felt electricity shoot down your limbs before a white-hot, blinding pleasure washed over you. “S-shit!”

“There you go,” he cooed, sitting back to watch as his fingers drew your orgasm out until you couldn’t take it anymore and reached for his wrist.

“Come here,” you begged, pulling at his arm. Joel crawled back up to hover over your still-shaking form, his hand resting over the side of your face, warming you up like only he could. “I’d say you could do that for a living, but I’m not sure I want to share.”

“That good, huh?” he asked, clearly proud of his work.

“You know what’s even better?” You quirked a brow at him as you reached between your bodies to wrap your hand around his girth, gliding it over your sensitive bud and down to your entrance. Joel looked pained as he pressed into your heat slowly, holding your eye contact the entire time.

“Fuck,” he sighed when he bottomed out inside you. “So goddamn good.”

Your eyes rolled back as he drew himself out only to push back inside punishingly slow, allowing you to feel every single inch of him. Joel seemed just as wrecked by the pleasure as you, his head falling forward to rest against your shoulder as he picked up his pace just the slightest.

“God, baby,” he groaned as your nails scratched down his back to rest on his hips, pulling him even closer. “Ain’t gonna last.”

“I wanna feel it,” you whispered into his ear, earning another strangled moan and a lovebite on your shoulder. “Let me feel you cum inside me, baby.”

“Jesus.” He sat back on his heels and positioned your legs to rest over his shoulders before he leaned forward again to pound into you deeper than he was before. You wanted to sob at the accuracy of each of his thrusts against that spot inside, but couldn’t manage a sound with the way he had you folded in half beneath him. Your hands clawed at the sheets for purchase as his thrusts grew brutal, each one bringing you nearer and nearer to your end. “Come on, baby. Gimme one more and I’ll let you feel it.”

“Fuck—“ You could feel yourself slipping into euphoria again, your mind going hazy as every good nerve inside you lit up. “Joel, fuck.”

“That’s it,” he praised, smiling down at you, though you missed it with the way your eyes were screwed shut. “You ready for me, baby?”

“Please,” you begged.

“Fuck,” Joel’s hips slowed to a stop, burying his entire length inside of you as he reached his high with a wrecked moan. Collapsing onto your chest, you felt your heartbeats race together as you both came down from the heights of your bliss in comfortable silence.

“Mm,” you hummed, turning your head to the nightstand to look at the clock. “And with twenty minutes to spare.”

Joel chuckled and lifted his cheek off your sternum, kissing it sweetly before sitting upright. You smiled widely at the state of him in all his wrecked glory as he wiped his brow and caught his breath.

“You and Sarah wanna come over for dinner tonight?” you asked, drawing his eyes to yours.

“I gotta ask first, but I think that sounds nice,” he said, grinning as his eyes seemed to admire your own disheveled appearance. “God, you look good like this.”

“Because I’m naked?” you asked with a teasing tone.

“That’s a part of it, I’m sure,” he chuckled. “But I just like seein’ you like this. You look like one of those Renaissance paintin’s or somethin’.”

“A painting?” you laughed. “Am I a sexy painting at least?”

“The sexiest,” he replied. “Now’s your turn to say somethin’ sweet to me.”

“Oh, is that how this works?” Joel nodded like a child. You smirked at him as your eyes trailed down his sweaty neck, the neck you daydreamed about kissing every single day since you met him, to his broad, lightly freckled, golden chest with just the tiniest bit of hair on it. His stomach had you licking your lips, the muscle behind the softness of his tummy making an appearance after his show of athleticism. When you reached the patch of hair above his length that was still buried inside of you, you shook your head and tutted at him.

“Joel, you are the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen,” you said, lifting your eyes back up to meet his. “You’re going to think I’m joking, but after you…I really think I’m ruined for all men.”

Joel laughed, tipping his head back before meeting your eyes again, his hand smoothing your and down your thigh.

“Well, I plan on keepin’ you all to myself, so I don’t think you gotta worry ‘bout any other men.”

“Is that right?” you asked, smirking as you accepted his body on top of yours again, your arms wrapping around his shoulders to hug him tight. “Glad we got that settled.”

The day of the bake sale arrived, and since Sarah had invited you to her game that went on simultaneously, you found yourself standing beside Joel and playing salesman at his plastic table set-up.

“Your mom’s recipe is popular,” you noted as you grabbed another empty pan from the table, setting it on the cooler filled with soda and water (and a beer or two hidden at the bottom) that Tommy brought.

“You haven’t gotten a piece?” he asked, sounding almost appalled. Reached for the last remaining tray full of brownies, he picked one up and handed it to you. “Here.”

“No,” you chuckled. “I don’t have any cash on me.”

He tilted his head and gave you a flat, unimpressed look. “You did all the damn bakin’, you deserve a piece.”

You finally accepted the brownie from his fingers and unwrapped it before ripping the corner off and taking a bite. Joel’s thumb lifted to the corner of your bottom lip, wiping a bit of chocolate off and sucking his finger clean with a wink.

“How was it?” he asked, smirking cheekily at you as you tried to play off your fluster. With a smirk of your own, you tore off another piece and lifted it to his mouth.

“I can confidently say…it’s the best I ever had.”

•

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•

•

•

[lovefoolholland]

santa doesn’t know you like i do

summary: in which matty tells you you are everything he wants.

warnings: angst, but honestly not much.

a/n: felt inspired by sabrina’s fruitcake. hopefully a first of many christmas’ short one shots.

English is not my first language !

The moment Matty had started growing facial hair, everyone knew. They just knew, it was obvious, that you finally had him entranced and with no sign of turning back.

“You would look really good with a beard” and just a man in love would follow through and through to show you how much he listens to you.

But how come— when he looks at you from afar all lovey-dovey, takes you by the waist when talking to other people, and tells everyone he wrote songs about you mid-concert— the two of you hadn’t made it official?

And here you stand, in the middle of a Christmas Eve party at Charli’s and George’s, taking a sip of eggnog while Matty is lively talking to his bandmates, and you’re just there. Alone.

Maybe it’s your boring white Rory Gilmore sweater. Maybe it’s your blurred lipstick from earlier, after you kissed Matty’s tears away from his cheeks right after he told you about Pitchfork naming him Villain of the Year. Or maybe it’s the eggnog that’s making you a little dizzy.

You put the glass down and take a glass of water from the kitchen. That is when you feel a pair of familiar hands around your waist, making you put the glass on the counter and whip your head to the side with a smile.

“Hey gorgeous” Matty says with his usual raspy, (goddamn) sexy voice tone.

“Hi,” you say in response “what’s up?”

“Just wanted to see how my girl was doing,” he tells you, kissing your cheek and making your face grow hot “let’s go talk to the guys, okay?”

“Okay” you answer softly.

He guides you back to his circle and this time around things go more swiftly than before. You have always gotten along with Matty’s friends, but it was just that situationship factor that didn’t make you feel good around them. Like, why was Matty keeping you there if you weren’t, at least officially, his girlfriend? He’d never asked you the question, he’d never hinted at it at least, he just introduced you to new people as ‘Y/N, my friend.’

“Can I go home with you after the party?”

Matty scrunched up his nose at your question.

“Of course. Why are you asking? You always stay at mine, right?”

You gave him a weak smile and nodded.

“Yeah… Just needed to get sure.”

Matty immediately noted the way you weren’t comfortable at all, you saw it in the way his eyes shifted from confused to harshness.

“Come on, let’s just go now.”

“What? No, you’re having a great time now.”

“But clearly you’re not,” Matty says a little louder than expected, and you lift your head from his to look around with a small frown “why do you care if someone hears us?”

“I don’t– Just, come on, let’s go talk somewhere more private.”

Taking his hand on yours, you drag him to one of the empty bedrooms, closing the door behind you with a sigh.

“I’d be making a joke about you wanting to get me alone and shit, but honestly you’re scaring me a bit” Matty commented, furrowing his brow as he took your other hand in his.

“I’m okay just…” you sighed “Matty, what are we?”

There it was, the question that would probably scare him away. For good or for bad, it had to be asked.

“What do you mean?” Matty asked, even more confused.

“I mean… Are we boyfriend and girlfriend? Friends with benefits? Friends that sometimes hook up?”

Matty put his lips in a thin line before answering.

“Y/N, we started this because you wanted just to fuck.”

That makes your heart drop, and you have to fight the urge to sigh in defeat.

“Yeah, I know, but it’s been almost a year, and… I mean… I like being with you.” you explain to him, biting your lip slightly before continuing talking “We go on dates and we have clothes at each other’s apartments. We’re close. We’re not just a couple of people that want to fuck anymore!”

Matty was startled by the way your voice had risen and your cheeks were starting to get red from frustration. And so were you, but you didn’t care, this needed to be finally solved.

“Babe, breathe.”

“Breathe? How do you want me to breathe?!” you asked him, slipping your hands off his to put them in your head “I think I have the right to say that out of the people in that room, I know you better than anyone. We’ve been through each other’s good and bad Matty, why… Can’t I be the one to give you everything you want?”

Matty immediately steps up to you and takes your hands off your head, placing them on his chest so you can feel just how warm he is. His eyes pierce into yours and then you feel it. His heartbeat, going a hundred times a minute. It makes you flustered that just like that, he can calm you down, but once more, it perfectly shows how good he knows you.

One or two curls fall onto his forehead as he looks straight into you and starts talking. You curse in your head that even in this time and place he looks freaking gorgeous.

“Y/N, I didn’t make anything official because you never told me you wanted to make it official,” you open your mouth to argue but he doesn’t let you speak “no, don’t argue against that. Communication is the key if we want something formal between the two of us, and God knows I’ve been craving to be with you and brag about you ever since you asked me to be your fuckfriend, but I didn’t do it because I thought you didn’t want to.”

You gulp and frown. It is true, the two of you didn’t communicate clearly with one another.

“Yeah, you are… Right,” you say with a sigh, squeezing his hands in yours for reassurance. He does the same in response and that makes you blush in a soft manner “why didn’t you say anything though?”

Matty raises an eyebrow.

“Did you just see yourself? You were almost breaking this off.”

“What?! No I wasn’t!”

“Yes you were,” Matty said, a small smile on his lips “you’re neurotic sometimes babe.”

“Oh shut up.”

“Make me.”

In a swift and quick move, you land a kiss on his lips, and when you pull back with a smirk, he puts a hand on your neck and pulls you in to devour your lips fervently, but quickly, leaving you dizzy as he pulls back.

“There,” he says, smiling widely now as he watches your eyes blurry with love and happiness “happy?”

“Very much.”

Matty smiles and grabs you in a hug, squeezing your body against his as you huff out a ‘I hate you’ and he murmurs a ‘And I love you’. After pulling back you hook your arms on his neck and he puts his hands on your waist.

“Oh and Y/N?” he asks in a whisper.

“What?”

Matty leans in, kisses your cheek and says to your ear:

“You are the one that can give me everything I want.”

[chocolatechubby]

Bernie's Big & Tall

By Fatbrwncub

(posted with the permission of the Author)

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

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

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

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

The phone rang ten times before someone answered at Bernie's. When someone did pick up, they were so out of breath I had to wait a couple seconds for a "hello". Then I remembered what type of establishment this was---all the employees probably looked like the guy I'd just met. Well, if for no other reason, they could hire me to answer the telephone. I smiled. It turned out to be Bernie himself on the line. Before I had a chance to say "Hello", or introduce myself, Bernie cheerfully announced: "Danny! Joe said you'd be calling! When can you start?" I was stunned. I stammered out, "B-but you don't even know me!" "I don't have to!" was his amiable reply. "Anybody that Joe picks will work out fine!" I didn't have the guts to tell him that I had no idea who the hell "Joe" was, but then maybe he was an old friend of my family's. Who was I to look a gift horse in the mouth? Especially from such a large horse!

Bernie's Big and Tall was in a little strip mall just outside of the city. It took me two maps and three detours to find it. I almost gave up, but something told me to keep looking. A small card shop on one side and a bakery on the other flanked the store, and were the only other establishments in the complex. I was sure the employees at the Big and Tall kept the bakery in business because it was too far away from anything else to have a regular clientele. The store itself was rather unimpressive: a sign painted on the window proclaimed "Bernie's" with a silhouette of a rotund man underneath. A couple of half dummies sat dejectedly in the window--the clothing which covered them obviously too large for their frames. The one rather curious and slightly impressive item was the door to the front of the shop. It was huge. Much larger than the doors in most retail establishments, it must have been custom made for Bernie's king-size clientele. What did it feel like to need extra room for everything? When I put my hand on the handle to push the door open, I got the strangest feeling that if I stepped across the threshold of this place, my life would change forever. "This is ridiculous!" I remember thinking to myself "It's just a job for goodness sakes!" I pushed the door open and went in.

Lone Star's "I'm Already There" was playing on a far off country music station as the bell over the door gave a little tinkle. The place had that slightly musky perfume of your grandfather's closet-that subtle scent of fine pipe tobacco and Old Spice. The shop was much bigger than it seemed from the outside, and had a second level with a balcony and offices that overlooked the showroom floor. For a moment, I felt as if I was on a sound stage for "Land Of The Giants"-everything seemed oversized. From the racks that were set up for the tallest of the tall, to the suits that looked like they were made for Guinness Book Fattest Man nominees. All were neatly hung on rotating racks or show room displays. I'd never worked retail, but somehow I felt right at home. From above boomed a lusty voice: "Danny!". I looked up to find a large man leaning on the steel railings of the balcony. It didn't seem possible, but he was even bigger than Joe from the unemployment office. Every part of him was fat-from his puffy hairstyle, to his big feet. He looked like a balloon character from the Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade. I half expected to see wires attached to him with people below maneuvering him. "Bernie?" I queried and his hearty laugh confirmed it. "None other my boy! Come on up!"

Bernie's office was at the top of the stairs. As I bounded up, two at a time, Bernie let out a chuckle "That's something you don't see many of our salesmen do!" He ushered me ahead of him and I walked through another enormous door to find myself in a small room, made smaller by its furnishings. It consisted of a small oak desk, and a computer-standard office fare. However, the large refrigerator, stand-alone pantry, coffee maker and microwave were not. "Before we begin, may I offer you something to eat?" Bernie asked, already carefully maneuvering his way around the desk to the refrigerator. It was somewhat surreal watching this super-sized man practically squeeze his way through the cramped quarters. He opened the refrigerator to reveal a small deli: meats of all kinds, exotic breads and cheeses, beverages ranging from soft-drinks to fine wines, all carefully stocked within its quarters. Bernie rummaged through, and pulled out an overstuffed submarine sandwich and began munching. His grunts of pleasure permeated the office, and instead of revulsion, I actually enjoyed watching this man eat with such gusto. For so many years, I had deprived myself of some of my favorite foods in exchange for the washboard stomach that I possessed. Maybe, if I worked here, I could live vicariously through these guys. My internal reverie ended with Bernie's voice. "Well at least share a cup of coffee with me. I hate nourishing myself alone." I smiled my assent and Bernie squeezed his way to the coffeepot. I was not a big coffee drinker, but I figure a little kiss up wouldn't hurt my job prospects any. Besides, for some reason the coffee smelled particularly delicious.

Bernie produced two mugs-each with the Big and Tall logo I had seen on the front door of the shop. "How do you take yours?" he cooed. "Black" I answered. "Well you must indulge me one small addition to your mug…I make my own blend of spices that seem to really liven up the coffee-nothing much, just some cinnamon and vanilla. Stuff like that. You're not allergic to anything are you? I told him no, and he took a small packet from the standing pantry, tapped it lightly on the desk, tore the corner and emptied the contents into my cup. The granules looked like Folgers Crystals-little flecks of something shiny danced and fell gracefully into the mug. Bernie took a small silver spoon and began stirring the coffee. The aroma was like nothing I had smelled before. Memories of big Sunday breakfasts and hearty Thanksgiving dinners suddenly became as vivid as if they'd happened yesterday. Nights spent eating cotton candy and funnel cake at the local carnival-laughing with my friends and gorging on hotdogs-all seemed palpable. Bernie brought the mug close to my nostrils and placed my hands around it. "Drink, my boy. And then we can talk about your joining us at BB&T."

Almost mesmerized, I brought the cup to my lips and took a sip. It was the most delicious thing I had ever tasted. The beans of the coffee blended with the spices and my taste buds seemed to spring to new life. The thoughts of all of the goodies I had denied myself over the years began to turn into a craving, then a hunger. I could feel my stomach began to growl for food. I had grabbed a McMuffin when I'd left the unemployment office, but that had been several hours ago. It was natural for me to feel starved. But in the middle of a job interview? I had to eat something. As if on cue, Bernie produced an enormous plate of chocolate chip cookies. "Have one?" Bernie again cajoled. "I--I--…" I stuttered, but no other words would come out. The cookies looked like manna from heaven. I could feel the drool forming on my tongue. I grabbed one and placed it in my mouth. It melted like butter, blending with the coffee and exploding my senses like an orgasm. My crotch leapt, writhing with the rise and fall of my breath. I came up for air, took another cookie and a sip of the coffee. Again, the exact same sensation-yet more intense. I thought I was going to erupt right then and there. I gulped more of the drink and began inhaling the pastries with lightening speed. In less then ten minutes the entire plate was empty. The wildest thing of all…I was still hungry!

I looked up at Bernie, who was standing over me with a knowing smile. "It's always better to talk on a full stomach." He went to the refrigerator and pulled out another overstuffed submarine sandwich-twice the size of the one he'd just eaten. "Are you sure I can't tempt you with one of these?" My mouth opened automatically, and Bernie floated over and placed the monstrous hoagie in my hands. I tore into it as if I hadn't eaten in weeks. In between bites, Bernie suggested that we carry our meeting to The Blue Whale, a restaurant frequented by he and his staff. As I rose to go, onions and lettuce falling everywhere, Bernie touched the intercom on his desk. "All right boys…" the echo of his voice could be heard in the showroom below "…time for our foray to The Blue Whale! Close up shop!" In between munching, I could hear, and feel great activity from the floor below. The floor vibrated much like it had done in the unemployment office. We moved out of the office and onto the balcony to a sight that would have sent my old faggy friends into a tizzy. Below were five of Bernie's staff-each one plumper than the next. They stood at attention as we came down the stairs. Bernie introduced me to each, ending with their newest salesman, Dominic. He had to weigh at least 350 pounds. "This is our baby!" Bernie gushed, pinching Dominic's flushed cheek. "Been with us about a year" he poked Dominic's round middle. "He's starting to fit in quite nicely." Bernie lumbered towards the door, pulling me along with him. "Daniel here will be joining us for lunch-and hopefully more. Make him feel at home." And still in a spin from all that had happened since walking through the doors of Bernie's Big & Tall, I was off to The Blue Whale.

The Blue Whale was quite nice--muted tones of aqua and gray gave it warmth and style. A Bach concerto whispered softly as Bernie and the other salesmen took their seats. We had been ushered to a table in a private area of the restaurant--one large enough for the substantial girth of our party. It was obvious that Bernie and the gang were regulars, because all of the wait-staff knew everyone by name. It was also pretty obvious that time that the entire staff of Bernie's was gay. Underneath a curtained archway, a cadre of handsome waiters looked ready to break into a chorus of "Hello Dolly". They giggled and whispered as if they were dance hall girls anxious to see which gentleman would pick them out of the crowd. The headwaiter, who looked to be about Bernie's size, clapped the others to attention. "Don't just stand there like a bunch of schoolgirls! Take these gentlemen's orders!" he barked. "Oh Jacques," Bernie cooed "...just bring us our usual!"

I was returning to normal, my appetite assuaged and my pants screaming to be unzipped-my distended belly playing hide and seek with the buttons on my shirt. It was time to ask about hours and pay, and all the standard stuff. As I opened my mouth to get down to business, the first of the waiters arrived with the appetizers. There was enough food to feed a small city. Plate upon plate of mouth watering delicacies passed before the table: shrimp wrapped in bacon, small puff pastries stuffed with creams and cheeses and meats-anything that I had ever seen at fancy buffets was now being placed under my nose. I thought of the spectacle I must have made in Bernie's office, and my stomach began to turn. The thought of more food was making me nauseous. And then the coffee arrived. Jacques himself brought out the ornate samovar and ushered it towards Bernie. "Monsieur Bernie" he chimed. "Ze coffee wis your special mix eez ready". As Jacques opened the spigot and poured the first cup, the table went silent. Unbelievably I could feel my stomach loosen. I could feel the insatiable hunger I had felt in Bernie's office return. It was as if I had never eaten the mound of cookies. Just the aroma of the incredible liquid wafting into my nostrils was enough to make me want to stuff something in my mouth. All around me, the other men were having a similar reaction. I remember seeing episodes of "Wild Kingdom" with sharks or packs of wolves in a feeding frenzy. There was a primitive ritual about to happen, and everyone knew it. As the coffee was passed around, Dominic, began to sweat. When a cup made it to him, he grabbed it, and chugged down the hot liquid as if it were the first drink of a dehydrated man. He then grabbed the nearest tray of hors d'oeuvres and began shoveling them into his mouth. Sweat glistened on his brow as he tipped the tray up and up until he was literally swallowing and chewing almost simultaneously. A waiter quickly scurried over and began wiping his brow and massaging his hardening belly. I sat in awe as I watched each of the sales guys fall into the same kind of trance-that is until my cup reached me.

I recall one of the adventures of Homer's "Odyssey", in which Odysseus and his men encounter the witch Circe. Once on her island, she turns most of the men into animals. Bernie had led his men into the modern day version of that adventure. I don't remember much about the rest of that meal. As my haze parted from time to time, I was aware of grunts and moans of pleasure coming from around the table. Slurping and guzzling and licking were followed by burps and the occasional button pop or zipper pull being loosened. Halfway through the fourth course, everyone abandoned silverware and began eating off of plates and trays with their hands and mouths. I found myself caressing and licking the gravy off of plates as if it were a lover. No mouthful seemed enough-I couldn't get the food in fast enough, and the sounds and sights around me seemed to urge me on. By dessert, each man was no longer able to feed himself. The waiters took over and began shoveling whipped cream, cakes and pies into our dazed faces. I can't tell you how much I ate, but I literally couldn't move. My belly was as hard as a ripe cantaloupe and I closed my eyes and slept.

When I awoke, the entire table had been cleared off. Any trace of the feeding frenzy had been wiped away, and all of the men had been cleaned up and were groggily coming to themselves. If it weren't for the screaming pain coming from my stomach, I would have thought it all a dream. Standing above me was a beaming Bernie. "I hope you got enough to eat." The boys and I do this at least three or four times a week. Don't worry about the bill…I take care of that." I sat up and blinked. I couldn't believe this was happening. Bernie handed me a packet of papers-the standard Human Resources forms to fill out along with information about my salary and benefits. My eyes almost popped out of my head when I saw how much I'd be making. It was at least five times what I would have made at the "Y". How could he afford to pay for all of this? Bernie saw my reaction. He said "Don't worry, this salary is only temporary. With raises and incentives you'll quadruple it in no time. So do we have a deal?" Was he crazy? I propped myself up on my swollen stomach and shook his hand. "On one condition" I said. He cocked his fat head and his chins wobbled. "What's that, my dear boy?" "That you give me some of that coffee to take home"

In the beginning, everything went along pretty normally. The store practically ran itself. And I was more than content--I was happy. The first time I noticed something different was after my initial lunch with the guys. The next few days, I was ravenous. I ate from morning till night. And I craved the coffee with the secret ingredient introduced to my by Bernie. One morning, about a week after I had started working, I rolled out of bed and began getting ready for work. Sleepily I showered, shaved, and stumbled into my clothing. I stepped into my dress slacks and pulled them to my waist. They wouldn't close. With my swimmer's lifestyle, I had been a perfect size 32 for years. I never had to worry about putting on weight. I went to the scale in the bathroom and stepped on. Since I had begun working at the store, I had put on ten pounds! "Not acceptable." I thought to myself. I sucked in my stomach, fastened my pants and made a mental note to go to the gym more often and most importantly--to cut out lunching with the guys. But somehow neither thing seemed to happen--I was constantly working until after the gym closed. And not going to lunch with the Bernie and the gang became as unthinkable as not having cup after cup of the delicious mysterious coffee. I began to have strange dreams: I would dream I was in the middle of Africa in the bush country, taking pictures of wildlife, when the earth would begin to shake. Suddenly an enormous Bull Elephant the size of a building would come crashing through the tall grasses and block the sun. I was terrified until it would dawn on me that I was the Elephant! Then, understanding my power, I began breaking down trees, even mountains--growing more enormous with each new conquest. After one of these dreams, I would always wake in a sweat, run to the kitchen, and raid the refrigerator--absent-mindedly eating until I was sleepy.

After about three months of this, I could no longer hide the results. I tried to wear my size 32 pants until they had all systematically exploded off of my frame. My suit jackets had begun cutting off the circulation in my arms, and my old shirts were laughable on my new frame. Between the daily lunches, midnight binges, and very little gym time, I had gone from 180lbs, to 230. My pants size had gone from the perpetual 32 to a 42.

One night, about a week before my 30th birthday, I tiptoed into the bathroom when I thought Sean was sleeping. I took off my clothes and stepped in front of the full-length mirror. My face was so round! I was beginning to develop a pronounced double chin. My thighs and ass were full and big, and my stomach was beginning to grow into this ball of soft flesh. And my tits! I remembered my high school gym teacher teasing Jeffrey Lowell and Scott Taylor: two fat kids in my class. He used to call their soft round mammaries "man-tits", kidding them about having bigger ones than most of the girls, (which was true). I used to find those two guys fascinating: the way they lumbered onto the field for class, the way they looked in the showers. I knew I was gay back then, but it was something more than that. And here I was with my own set of "man-tits". I touched the right nipple, and then the left--crossing my arms and inadvertently giving myself cleavage. Electricity shot through my entire body. My nipples had become so sensitive! Caught in my exploration, it took me a moment to realize that my lover Sean was standing behind me. He had come in to use the toilet and noticed me in the mirror. "You're fat," he said as he sleepily relieved himself, kissed me on my chubby cheek and padded back to bed. He was right. I WAS fat. But looking in the mirror, I wasn't sure that was a bad thing. I touched my nipples again and headed for the kitchen.

The next day at work, Bernie and the guys threw me a birthday party and presented me with two gifts. The first was a container of the special ingredient for my coffee, and the next was a new suit from the store. It was the first size that we carried for big men. I was still a size or two away from needing to shop at Bernie's and had decided to keep it that way. "No offense guys...", I said, "...but I plan on never wearing clothes from our store!" "Well we can always get it taken in." Bernie quickly replied. "We just wanted to show you how glad we are that you're here. Now cut the cake and have some coffee!" I declined the cake, but I had 3 cups of coffee. That evening determined to change my eating habits for my 30th year on this planet, I took off early and headed for the gym. On the way, I passed restaurant after restaurant, fast food joint after fast food joint. I kept thinking to myself, "You've got to lose weight." Yet every time I would ask myself "Why?" I couldn't come up with a good enough answer. Until I thought of Sean's comment in the bathroom: "You're fat!" "You could lose him", I thought. I steadied myself and pointed the car in the direction of the gym. When suddenly, a little voice spoke to me: "But if you go to the gym right now, you could lose YOU." Suddenly I was starving. I turned into a Kentucky Fried Chicken, ordered a 20-piece bucket, and ate the whole thing in the car.

When I got home, Sean had prepared a huge meal of pasta, fresh bread and salad. Even after my trek to the Colonel's, I wolfed down plate after plate. Sean announced that he had news--good and bad. The good news was that he had landed a choice modeling assignment with a top agency. The bad news was that the agency was out of the country and he would be gone for at least 5 months! I felt like I was going to die. I wanted to scream, "It's me isn't it? I'll lose the weight! Don't go!" But instead, I stuffed some more food in my mouth and hugged him tightly. I loved him too much to stand in his way. And if he found someone else with a swimmer's build who made him happy...so be it. Sean had to leave the day before my birthday. As he hugged me before he boarded the plane, he whispered, "See you later fat boy", in my ear and walked away. And I knew I'd never see him again. When I got home, I pulled out the suit Bernie and the guys had given me and put it on. I looked like a kid playing dress up. Even though I was working on a size 44 waist, the pants had to be at least a 46. I thought of Sean and suddenly felt free. I sat down with a mixing bowl of Captain Crunch and heavy cream and imagined myself filling out the pants.

What happened next is all a blur. Knowing that I had lost Sean, I poured myself into my work and my food. Both satisfied me intensely. The store was doing great business. It seemed that the more I ate, the more productive I became. I was growing daily. Every time I turned around, a button would pop or a zipper would break. I began to carry around safety pins to keep my clothes up--it became a running joke around the store. The guys who used to seem enormous to me suddenly began to look average. I became the star at the Blue Whale. The waiters would line up to be my encourager and with Sean gone, I used their attention to help me forget about Sean. Bernie, who was no slouch at the dinner table, would watch me in amazement as I polished off plate after plate of entrée after entrée with all the trimmings, the servers massaging my distended belly and cooing at my appetite. Then go to work on the dessert cart. I stood in the mirror more often now. I was officially fat by anyone's standards. My face was so round that sometimes I wouldn't recognize myself. Because I was constantly lifting heavy boxes, my arms were huge and firm, as was my chest. But my stomach became my favorite area. I would hang out at the bar around the corner from my apartment and drink beer after beer to the amazement of all the guys. I started wearing suspenders because no pants it seemed would hold my ever growing gut.

In the first month after Sean left, I put on 35 lbs. I tipped the scales at around 265. From then on, not a waking (or sleeping) moment went by that I didn't eat something. I even took food breaks in the store. Bernie was right about the suit I was given for my birthday--I DID have to have it altered...eventually it had to be let out--twice! Sean would call and we would have stilted conversations. He would ask me if I was still gaining weight, and I would avoid talking about it. He would tell me he loved me, but I knew it was just talk. The company had extended his contract--he didn't know when he'd be back. Every now and then, I would get a postcard from some exotic place saying, "Having a Wonderful Time, Wish You Were Here". But I was too busy to notice. I was becoming the Elephant of my dream. I could feel my power.

In the next few months, I surpassed all store sales records, and there was big talk of a promotion to store manager. Except for the prospect of leaving this location, I couldn't have been happier. At least, when I wasn't thinking about Sean. The 5 months had quickly become 8 and then 10. In that time, my physical gain had become as impressive as my professional one. In the year since I had begun working at Bernie's, I had gone from 180 to 380 lbs. My waist had gone from a 32 to a 62. I was beginning to make earthquakes of my own.

One night I awakened from a dream (in which my stomach broke through the walls of the Empire State Building) by a voice in the darkness. "My God! You're huge!" it was Sean's voice. He was standing over the bed. He sounded different somehow. My first instinct was to grab him with my big arms and engulf him in my newfound mountain of flesh and warmth. But anger quickly welled up inside of me and I sat up in bed--the third empty large pizza box falling off of my stomach. "Yes I am." I said proudly, "You got something to say about it?" "Yes..." he said-I could hear the smile in his voice as he moved closer. "We are going to need a bigger bed." And with that, he turned on the light. My mouth dropped. When Sean left, he had been a 6 foot 1 inch, 170 lb. cover boy: now standing before me was a 6 foot 1 inch, 285 lb. (he told me later) gorgeous Buddha. His round face now covered with a lush beard. It was obvious that he was gaining weight faster than he could buy clothes to fit him: the T-shirt he was wearing wouldn't fit over the big round belly protruding over his tight size 48 jeans. "How?!...Why?" I stammered. "By eating dummy!" he laughed. "And I have a feeling that the delicious stuff I borrowed from you to put in my coffee helped". "But I thought you didn't like me fat!" I was almost crying now. Sean sat on the edge of the bed--which groaned under the over 600 pounds of us. I could see how horny he was as his great stomach heaved. "You never asked. You just assumed I wouldn't want a fat lover. I loved watching you pig out. I'd come in the bedroom after you'd gorge and jack off. Didn't you notice how intense our love-making got after you started putting on weight?" "I thought you were over-compensating because you loved me." I said. "Of course I love you Danny, but not in spite of how much you weigh-your size turns me on! I want you as big as a house!", was his breathless reply as he kissed me full on the lips. "And I hope you're ready for me to join you." He took off his shirt to reveal burgeoning man-tits and the most beautiful belly I had ever seen. He straddled me, opened my robe and began exploring my under-belly, kissing it and licking lower and lower. I felt hungry and horny at the same time as I pulled him to my crotch. We broke the bed that night.

T hat was three years ago. When I waddled into work the next day, I was beaming. Sean and I made love all night, and then spent the entire morning eating the breakfast to end all breakfasts. During which, he told me of his adventures in Europe. He spent the first few months pining over me-not eating, not sleeping. Once he began drinking the coffee, his appetite returned and he immediately found solace in food and proceeded to eat himself out of his misery. Of course this began to show on his waistline, and after a month, he was let go from his modeling contract. As luck would have it, a photographer on the shoot also worked with a new European catalogue designed for big men. He introduced Sean to the head of the company and the rest was history. Sean spent the remainder of the tour eating and posing in the finest cities of the Old World. He really had a wonderful time and wished desperately that I had been there. We decided to get married and spend our honeymoon eating our way through all of the spots he had discovered in his travels.

When Bernie saw me, he sensed the change immediately. "My boy, either you had sex last evening, or discovered that Little Debbie delivers-which was it?" We were in his office, munching on crullers. We had positioned ourselves so as to be able to reach the refrigerator and standing pantry without moving: we had become so large that it was impossible for the two of us to move around. "Both" I laughed. I told him of Sean's return, and of his amazing transformation. I told him that my life was complete: I had a job I loved, and a partner whom I adored. Bernie smiled, and in it, I thought I caught a hint of bittersweet sadness. "Well then," he said. "…my job is done." And he immediately began opening drawers, removing papers and stuffing them in a nearby briefcase. Stunned, I spattered out "What are you doing?"- crumbs spewing across my white shirt. Bernie smiled, and calmly explained. "I am a business man my dear. I have many other BB&T locations to check on. Joe, the man you met at the unemployment office, is my lover. He's already gone off to our store in Portland, and now I can join him. We needed to find a manager for this store that we could depend on and trust to carry on my traditions. We found him." He reached over and patted my stomach, which was wedged against his desk. "But…but…" I searched for words. How could I tell this man that he had become my mentor, my father-my friend! I blurted out the first thing that came into my mind. "But where will I get more of Bernie's Secret Mix for my coffee?" Bernie laughed "make it yourself darling-I told you, it's just cinnamon and vanilla." I stared at him blankly. "But what about the secret ingredient? The stuff that makes us so ravenous?" Bernie chortled "The secret ingredient my boy, is you."

I looked down at myself. At 400 lbs., my 4X dress shirt was already gapping in the front around my stomach. People moved out of my way when they saw me coming because of my size. My whole world had become food-I expressed myself in how much I indulged. Was Bernie saying that this had been my destiny all along. I thought back to High School-to Jeffrey Lowell and Scott Taylor-to the big men who would intrigue me when I was with my friends. I realized, not only did I want to HAVE them, I wanted to BE them. And now I was. I guess he was right: it was in me all the time.

So now I run Bernie's Big & Tall Store #836. We consistently bring in the highest revenues of any in the chain. We also have the fattest staff. I've had my offices expanded to include a full kitchen, and have hired my favorite chef and waiters from the Blue Whale to prepare in house meals for my staff. I surpassed Bernie's weight about a year ago, and am so fat that I had to install a freight elevator to get to the second floor, because the steps are impossible for me to maneuver. I am fast approaching Guinness Book proportions. As for Sean-he now models for Bernie's catalogue. He quickly outgrew the standard sizes, and a new super-size line was developed. Sean also recruits new employees for the store. He now tips the scale at over 500lbs., and is the most beautiful roly-poly thing I've ever seen. So you see, dreams come true in the strangest places. Who would have ever thought that I would find my life's calling in an unemployment line? Now if you'll excuse me, I'm about to interview a potential salesman that Sean found, and I have to brew some coffee.

By the way…are YOU looking for work?

The End.

copyright 1998 by Fatbrwncub

[topazy]

Teen spirit

Pairing: Carl Grimes × reader, Maggie Greene × sister reader

Warnings: Swearing

Chapter: 5.07

“Why can’t Maggie be in here?”

An older woman with auburn hair named Deanna smiles at you. She was in charge of Alexandria, and she would be deciding if your group would get to stay or not. You didn’t mind talking to her initially, but what made you uneasy was her videoing your conversation and not allowing your sister to sit in the room with you.

“I won't bite,” she smiles. “I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable; I just want to ask you a few questions.”

When your group first arrived in Alexandria, everyone was made to hand their weapons over, and now being asked personal questions... it felt intrusive. Deanna straightens out old-fashioned flora curtains before wiping her finger along her bookcase, which was fully stacked. She smudges the dust between her fingers, then turns to you and asks, “How long have you been out there?”

“Uh, I’m unsure. Two years maybe.”

She sits down in the chair across from you and asks, “How did you all find each other?”

“When someone got shot, they were brought to my family's farmhouse so my dad could help save them.”

She looks intrigued. “Is your father a doctor?”

“No, he was a veterinarian.”

“Smart man. I’m assuming because you’re referring to him in the past tense, he’s no longer with us.”

“I lost my dad not long ago.”

“Have you lost anybody else?”

“I lost my big brother Shawn, mom, and cousin Arnold all on the same day. Walkers attacked them. My dad and sister were killed by people.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she says, sounding sincere. “How old are you?”

“Fifteen.”

Deanna shakes her head and says, “You are far too young to have lost so much. I truly am sorry. So, as far as I’m aware, Rick is the leader of your group.”

“Yeah, pretty much.”

“How do you think he does?”

You thought you could handle a few more questions, but tears began to swell. You didn’t like being asked anything because it brought everything you'd been through back. “Rick is a good person; everyone in our group is. We’re a family.”

—

Your group was given two large houses to stay in for now, but so far everyone has just gathered into one and is taking turns cleaning up. Being in the walled-off community felt like being in a TV show where the rich housewives live in the suburbs. The only thing you felt was normal was Daryl cutting open a possum while sitting on the porch. Your eyes widen when Rick walks outside; he has showered and shaved off his beard, making him look like a completely different person.

But then again, you looked different. After showing Rosita how to braid your hair, a nice blonde woman named Jesse dropped off some clean clothes for you to wear, along with toys for Judith.

“Has anyone been there yet?” You point to the house next door.

“I don’t think so,” Carl says, looking up at his dad. “Can we go check it out?”

Hesitantly, Rick agrees. “You can go look; just be quick and stick together.”

—

The house next door was nearly identical, aside from a few decorations. Growing up on a farm, you’d never dreamed of living in a modern home built like this. Carol had come with you to check it out; she was now leaning out of the kitchen window, talking to the people who live in the house next door.

When you hear a thumping noise coming from upstairs, you jump and grab Carl’s wrists. “Shit, sorry.” Feeling heat rush to your cheeks, you let go. “I’m just on edge.”

“It’s fine.” Carl offers you his hand. “I get it; I’m scared all the time too.”

He loosely holds onto your hand as you walk up the stairs, and when you reach the room, the noise is coming from Carl. He pulls out his knife and waits for you to do the same before pushing the door open. The room looks like a typical teenage hangout spot; the floor was covered in magazines, comics, CDs, and weirdly designed pillows with posters of bands you’ve never heard of before pinned to the walls.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” Carl says, “These are probably things we would have been interested in if things were different.”

“Not me,” you sigh. “I would never have been allowed magazines with half-naked women on the cover. Shawn was grounded for two months when Maggie found a magazine with a woman wearing nothing but a bikini under his bed.”

Carl laughs while kicking a dusty blanket aside to see what’s underneath it. After a few moments of silence, he says, “You never talk about your brother much.”

A fleeting smile tugs at your lips. Being the youngest, Shawn completely doted on you, and as a child, you would follow him around like a shadow. He always had time for you. His death hit you so hard because you thought he would always be there to protect you, but he died trying to save your mom from walkers.

“Hope? You okay, you kind of zoned out there.”

Hearing Carl’s voice, you snap out of your thoughts and back to reality. “Yeah,” you say, smiling at him. “I was just thinking that my brother would have really liked you.”

—

You bite the insides of your cheeks to stop yourself from laughing. Judith looks so confused as an elderly couple. Natalie and Bob Miller fuss over her. It was clear there weren’t many kids around, and this was the first time anyone had seen a baby in years, so they were all excited to see Judith.

“Is that Jesse?” Carl asks quietly.

You look up and see his dad talking to her, “Yeah, she’s nice.”

“My dad seems to like her. He says we’re to go to her house later and meet her son, Ron.”

It was weird; the idea of being a normal teenager was starting to freak you out.

—

After showing you around his home, Ron led you and Carl up to his bedroom to introduce you to his friend Mikey and girlfriend Enid. You were still trying to wrap your head around the idea of returning to school in the afternoons, which was held in a garage, when Carl nudges you with his elbow to gain your attention.

“Sorry, what?”

Ron chuckles. “I said cool bracelet; where do you get it?”

“Em, Carl found them,” you mutter.

“Neat, kind of like a souvenir of the apocalypse.” He pushes his bedroom open. “Enid, Mikey, this is Carl and Hope.”

After an awkward introduction, Ron lists the different things that they do while hanging out, such as reading comics, playing video games, and playing pool. The fact they had electricity from solar panels was mind-blowing enough, but seeing all the stuff they had was leaving you speechless.

You smile at Enid as you sit on the edge of Ron's double bed, while Carol joins the other boys in playing video games. You thought it was a little bit in bad taste; they were playing a zombie video game, but don’t mind watching until a particular scene happens: one of the players finds a sword and begins decapitating the undead.

You and Carl exchange a look before you excuse yourself. “I gotta go; I need to help Maggie with something.”

—

Rick isn’t the slightest surprised when he enters Carl’s new bedroom and finds you in it as well. You were staring out the window in his room that overlooks the woods outside, watching as walkers gathered on the opposite side of the wall. While Carl lay on his bed, staring up at the ceiling.

Rick sits at the edge of the bed, asking, “How was Ron’s house?”

“What do you think of this place?” Carl asks him.

“Well, I think it seems nice.”

“Yeah, I like it here. I like the people, but they’re weak. And I don’t want us to get weak.”

The people here don’t have a clue what it’s like on the outside, and if the walkers broke through the wall, most of them would be dead in five minutes.

When Rick leaves, you go and sit on the floor with your back against the bed. You pick up one of the comics Carl found earlier, place it in your lap, and start to flip through. Feeling a tap on your shoulder, you look up and ask, “What?”

Carl looks as if he’s struggling to say something; after a moment, he swings his arm lower and links his fingers with yours.