#NEW PROFILE PICTURE PERHAPS....? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

feeder86 · 23 days

Text

Tommy's Two Hundred

From the moment Tommy had joined the gay dating app, he’d spotted that the closest person to him geographically was a catfish. It was obvious from the little thumbnail picture that no one with a body that good could live so close by and him not know about it. The picture, showing the massive pecs and toned six pack were guaranteed to have been stolen from some straight bodybuilder somewhere in the world; but definitely not anyone who lived within at least two hundred miles of this backwards town in the middle of nowhere. The guy was probably some lonely, middle aged man seeking some attention that he did not deserve; attention that Tommy had no intention of bestowing upon him.

With his good looks and average height, Tommy soon found himself on a couple of dates with guys from the app. Some a little older; a couple still in college. He always got himself so excited before each one, having enjoyed endless kinky exchanges beforehand, back and forth. He liked it when the guys led the conversation with their horny talk, getting most aroused when they spoke about dominating him and tying him up. He gave these virtual suitors a deep, authorative voice in his head as he read out their messages, imagining the ways they’d seek their pleasure from him. In these fantasies, he built an entire persona for his dates; the way they spoke, the way they acted; the things they would do to him after getting back. He was his own worst enemy. No one could live up to such expectations. Despite being bold and brave behind the keyboard of their cell phones, the guys were never as Tommy pictured them in real life. They were polite and friendly; a little kinky perhaps, but only behind closed doors. It didn’t take more than a few seconds for Tommy’s bubble to burst, leaving him stuck on a dull date with another boring Mr Average.

As Valentine’s Day rolled around once more, Tommy felt the sting of still being single at the age of twenty-four. Friends, who thought they were being helpful, lamented about how difficult it was to understand why a guy so good looking and successful was still on the shelf. Tommy, however, knew that he just wasn’t being plain enough with people about what he was really after. He’d wasted more than a couple of years of his time on guys who were never going to please him in the ways he most wanted. If he was going to find the man of his dreams, he would need to start his dating profile from scratch.

Stripping his shirt and binding his hands with rope, Tommy posed for his new profile picture. He updated his username to include his submissive nature. Then, it was finally time to work on the profile itself. He stripped it bare of the mundane details about his favourite hobbies and movies, his education and aspirations. In their place, he went to town about his kinky interests and desires. He wanted to submit himself to someone entirely, openly and without reservations. Like a form of cosmic ordering, he outlined in great detail the sort of kinky, dominant guy he was on the lookout for, and ended by posting a further picture of his toned, naked body, wrists and ankles bound with handcuffs.

With breathless excitement, Tommy saved his changes and waited with fizzing excitement for his first messages.

Nothing. Sure, his profile had had lots of views, but no one had felt compelled enough by it to reach out.

Days went by. Tommy began to feel that he had made a mistake; that he had exposed himself and his kinks too openly on the app. Perhaps, rather than being turned on by his pictures and words, they were laughing at him instead; his extreme submissive fantasies, too weird and niche for anyone to actually want to meet him. Maybe the man of his horny dreams didn’t actually exist.

By the end of the second week, Tommy had made up his mind to delete the account. He gave his profile one final read, cringing as he tried to imagine it from another person’s perspective, then he stormed onto the app settings and found the exact link he needed to erase it entirely.

Just as he did so, Tommy saw a message pop up on the screen:

‘Nice profile.’

Assuming sarcasm, Tommy skeptically tapped his way into his inbox and rolled his eyes when he saw that the message had actually come from the catfish profile of the guy who supposedly lived right here in town.

‘Thanks,’ he typed back, determined that he would never be rude enough to ignore anyone who messaged him.

‘If you’re really as submissive as you claim, I’d be very interested in meeting you,’ came the next response.

Again, Tommy rolled his eyes at the fake profile picture. However, given that in five minutes time he would be deleting the app for good anyway, why not just click on the profile and take a look?

What Tommy saw next altered his perspective entirely. He didn’t care if the profile picture was a fake; a guy who could write like that, so erotically, about his desires to dominate, could look however they wanted to in real life. Tommy needed to meet them.

What followed over the next couple of hours was a kinky exchange where Tommy literally poured his heart and soul out to the mystery man on the other end. No one had ever shown such an interest in his kinks, nor drawn them out of him with such precision. So, when the offer of a meet at the coffee house in town came up, he didn’t think twice.

Sitting with his back to the door, Tommy waited patiently, but with a realistic mindset that a guy with a fake profile picture was unlikely to ever actually show up. Then, suddenly, he felt a large, warm hand land on his shoulder and a deep, masculine voice rumble into his ear. “Tommy?”

Tommy didn’t turn his head. He wanted to preserve that catfished image of the man he had been messaging for just a few moments longer. Then, from the corner of his eye, he saw that very same man appear in the flesh. Tall, strapping, muscular and handsome; it was as if a beautiful, mid-twenties Greek god had just arrived in his hometown; from out of absolutely nowhere.

“I’m Hunter,” the guy smiled, reaching out his large hand to shake.

Tommy couldn’t help admitting to the fact that he hadn’t believed Hunter’s profile pictures to be real, and Hunter nodded, saying that he had been told the same thing many times. He seemed pleased by Tommy’s appearance too, stroking his knee gently under the table as they settled into their first real conversation.

A few moments later, Hunter was up and ordering coffees for them both. Tommy turned to catch the guy from behind as he stood at the counter: so tall, with such perfect glutes and that broad back adorned with muscular shoulders. Was this really Tommy’s lunchtime date?

Hunter soon returned carrying a tray with coffees and, surprisingly, a large slice of triple chocolate cake, which he placed in front of Tommy.

Politely, Tommy thanked him for it, even though he had not asked for something to eat and actually felt a little awkward picking at it when Hunter did not have anything himself.

“I wanted to discuss our sexual interests,” Hunter stated next, steering the conversation when Tommy seemed to be taking it down a more mundane path. “The domination and submission.”

Tommy felt his cheeks getting hot. There were another two couples close by; probably within earshot. But Hunter didn’t seem to care in the slightest.

“What do you want to know?” Tommy replied excitedly.

“Actually, I think it's time that you listened to me instead,” Hunter replied sternly, putting Tommy in his place perfectly. “It’s lucky that I saw your profile as I don’t use that app much for meeting guys.”

“Where do you usually meet guys?” Tommy asked, sensing that Hunter had paused for him to ask just such a question.

“A few places,” Hunter shrugged, flicking through his cell phone. “These are some of my previous subs,” he offered, holding up his phone and swiping through pictures of himself next to other guys in various forms of submission to him: on their knees, bound and gagged, you name it. “Do you notice anything in particular about the guys I sleep with?” Hunter asked next. His tone was serious and it was obvious that he wanted Tommy to respond in much the same way.

The answer came to Tommy immediately, but he squirmed as he tried to think of a way to reply to Hunter, without seeming rude. “Well, you’re so…” he mumbled, gesturing towards Hunter’s powerful body and chest. “And yet, these guys here… there’re a bit…”

“They’re fatties,” Hunter stated for him; obviously not one to dress his language up. “I need you to just come out with it in the future when I ask you questions,” he stated frankly. “That’s the way I work. No bullshit.”

Tommy nodded, feeling turned on by how direct Hunter could be. Having discussed in such detail what his dream dominant would be, it was almost as if Hunter was slotting perfectly into place.

“Why fatties?” Tommy asked, hoping that mirroring Hunter’s language would please him.

“Because fatties turn me on,” Hunter replied plainly. “I work hard to build my body up. So when I fuck a sub, I need him to be soft and doughy for me.” He reached over to the plate of half eaten cake in front of Tommy and gave it a gentle nudge.

Tommy’s eyes bulged. Hunter wasn’t kidding when he said he didn’t like to bullshit. His meaning couldn’t have been clearer. “So, you bought me the cake because…” he mumbled. He considered leaving it there and posing it as a question to Hunter, but he got the sense that the dominant hunk in front of him wanted him to just say what he believed to be true. “You bought me the cake to… soften me up.”

Hunter smiled for the first time in a few minutes and he leaned in, putting his giant hand back on Tommy’s knee. “That’s right,” he nodded, seeming to be genuinely delighted that Tommy had been frank with him. “Submission for me, is more than just slipping on a pair of handcuffs during sex. Submission is a lifestyle. It should be your entire body. You should wear it twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.”

Feeling his heart beating faster and his palms sweating simply from hearing Hunter’s deep voice speaking at such a volume about things, without a care in the world, Tommy nodded. “I agree,” he answered. “Submission should be a lifestyle.”

“I’m glad you said that,” Hunter nodded again, his eyes now fixed on the still half eaten cake.

“Oh,” Tommy shook himself, picking up his fork again and popping the next bit of cake into his mouth. Instinctively, he apologised and Hunter did not correct him for it.

“I’m not going to lie,” Hunter stated, nodding subtly with approval. “I think this could work between us.”

“You do?” Tommy shot back with so much delight that he immediately wanted to punch himself in the face for it. “That’s cool,” he nodded, trying to seem more relaxed.

“We’ll meet at my place next time,” Hunter told him, draining his coffee as if this interview was already over. “I’ll message you on the app.”

“Okay,” Tommy replied, surprised by how fast the date was over with.

Hunter leaned in. “And make sure you finish that cake,” he whispered into his ear. “Every last crumb.”

Having Hunter so close sent exciting electrical pulses through Tommy’s brain: the smell of his delicious aftershave, those perfect lips so near to his face. “I will,” he replied sincerely, turning to look Hunter in the face in the hope that they may end with a kiss.

Hunter held Tommy’s gaze, studying him. But Tommy knew better than to be the one to initiate a kiss. “I know you will,” the hunk replied after a few seconds. “You’ll be a good boy,” he chuckled, then turned and walked away without a second glance.

Tommy raced home feeling more elated after a date than ever before. Finally, he had found someone who seemed to relate to him on a level that no one had before. And, unbelievably, the guy was hotter than anyone else he had ever dared to dream of.

Of course, there was the one part of the date that he was less sure about. He hadn’t come across someone so into domination that they had insisted their date consume cake for them. But just because it was a little different, didn’t mean that he had to view it negatively. After all, he’d got quite a kick out of complying, hadn’t he?

“Come on in,” smiled Hunter a few days later, opening the door to his apartment.

Just as he had stated in his messages, Hunter had not long got in from the gym and still looked a little sweaty, dressed in tight, and particularly short, shorts, together with a well-fitted compression top that showed off every detail of his exquisite body. He was even taller than Tommy realised, making him feel so insignificant standing next to him. He tried not to faint, right there on the spot.

“Rule number one,” Hunter began. “When you come here, you take your clothes off as soon as you get inside.”

Tommy stared up at Hunter, wondering if he was serious. But as the pause continued, Tommy realised that Hunter was waiting for him to comply. He fumbled for a second, then began unbuttoning his shirt, feeling more than a little embarrassed to be doing this straight away. He’d taken so long to pick out his outfit for their second date. What a waste of time that was!

“Come on, quickly!” Hunter prodded him impatiently.

Tommy kicked off his shoes, removing his pants and underwear in one go, knowing that his dick was going to be pathetically hard already. He stood there after awkwardly removing his socks, not knowing whether to cover his hardness, or act like this was normal.

Hunter nodded with approval. He reached down into the pile of discarded clothes and pulled out Tommy’s underwear, holding them up as if for inspection, and gripping the small waist between his fingers. “Cute,” he chuckled to himself, seeming to find them highly amusing.

But Hunter did not throw them back onto the floor. He carried them as he turned into the apartment, clearly expecting the naked Tommy to do the same.

Following the jock inside and admiring those fine, muscular glutes just ahead of him, Tommy had never felt so turned on in his life. It had been immediate, from the moment he stepped inside. He felt, at that moment, that he would have eaten an entire mountain of chocolate cake if Hunter had told him to.

Hunter led him to the kitchen area, where Tommy was surprised to see that the big man was busy preparing a meal for them both, despite not having even showered yet. A good meal was clearly more important to him.

“Smells delicious,” Tommy chirped politely, still unsure whether to cover his boner with his hand as he trotted in.

Hunter raised his eyebrows in recognition of his comment, but did not reply. Instead, he pulled out a chair at his table and pointed for Tommy to sit whilst he went back to stirring and serving it out.

There was something so sexy about a man in the kitchen. There were so many things on the go and yet Hunter did not seem in the least bit flustered. Everything was under complete control. But as Tommy watched, he noticed that it was all being served onto separate, single plates; not distributed between the two of them as he had expected.

At last, Hunter pulled out a chair and positioned it directly in front of Tommy. Then he sat, spreading his strong legs and looking at his guest seriously. “I enjoyed our date, Tommy. I really did. I think you’re a nice guy and I believe that you would make a great sub for me.”

Tommy smiled back, pleased; feeling the need to tuck his hardness between his thighs whilst Hunter was being so friendly.

“But if I’m going to spend some real time with you, I need to know what you can do. I also need you to see the type of man I really am. You may not like any of what I have planned tonight. You may want to leave. And that’s fine. But at least we'll both know where we stand, and neither of us will get our hopes up, thinking that this is more than what it is.”

Tommy looked from the gorgeous man to the piles of steaming food still on the counter. He knew that Hunter would want him to think for himself and be direct. “You want me to eat this for you, don’t you?” he asked, realising that the chocolate cake slice of their first date had just been the start of whatever kinky play Hunter was into.

Hunter simply nodded. “I want to see how far you’re willing to go for me.”

The stud sat back, lifted his arms and removed the tight compression shirt he was wearing, revealing his remarkable torso to Tommy for the first time.

Chuckling slightly at the obviously smitten expression on Tommy’s face, the large guy leaned in and gave him a sweet kiss on the lips. “Are you ready to do this for me?” he whispered into his guest’s ear, before picking Tommy’s small hands up and placing them on his strapping chest.

The hot, sweet breath on Tommy’s neck, combined with the musky scent of the jock’s body, so firm and strong, made him want to climax there and then. “Yes,” he replied obediently.

Hunter sat back again with a smirk, making Tommy’s hands fall back down. He knew exactly the effect he was having upon the boy. He reached down to the guy’s stomach and, with the back of one finger, he stroked across the light six pack that showed there. “Goodbye, little buddy,” he teased wickedly. Then he stood up, seeming to loom larger than ever without his shirt on, and brought the plates and bowls to the table.

Armed with only a fork and a spoon, Tommy was expected to feast on all of it.

Luck was on Tommy’s side; he hadn’t eaten since lunchtime. Plus, Hunter was watching him, rubbing his back sweetly and advising him on what to eat next; taking him back and forth from one dish to another. But something seemed to happen about thirty minutes in. Hunter changed slightly. He’d had a laid back attitude the entire time that Tommy had been there, as if he wouldn’t have been bothered if Tommy cancelled the date and took himself home instead. Maybe he was used to that. But now he was actively supporting; up and about, fetching the furthest plates so that Tommy did not need to reach. The man’s breathing had altered as well, with deeper, more rapid intakes of breath as he watched Tommy eat. Then, with a small glance down, Tommy saw that the thickest hardness had swollen down one side of Hunter’s gym shorts. How incredible! Had Tommy really excited the dominant man that much?

“You’re doing well,” Hunter praised him; his voice deeper and more gravely than Tommy had heard it before. “I’m impressed.”

Tommy’s stretched out stomach began to really hurt about forty minutes in, yet he continued to push himself as far as he could. Some plates were clean now, which Hunter got up and replaced with some dessert items. Tommy had always enjoyed switching back and forth between sweet and savory items, so the additions to the table were more of a help than a hindrance.

Eventually, the time came when Tommy knew he would have to stop. His pace had slowed and he started selecting those easier, lighter items to make the remaining plates look at least a little emptier. “That’s it. I’m done!” he whimpered, leaning back in his chair and rubbing his painfully distended stomach.

Despite expecting cries or protests from Hunter ordering him to finish the pathically small amount of pasta he had left, or gulp down the last few melting scoops of ice cream, Hunter simply sat there, surveying the destruction on the table. “Where did you learn to eat like that?” he asked, seemingly flabbergasted.

Tommy quietly dredged up a burp to relieve some of the pressure and shook his head. “Don’t know,” he shrugged. “I’ve always had a pretty good appetite.”

Hunter still seemed unable to comprehend what he had witnessed. “I’ve seen some seriously fucking fat boys eat less than half of what you just put away.”

Tommy burped again and found some pleasant relief; more than he was expecting. He knew how expensive the ice cream that Hunter had served him was, and decided to finish it off after all, not wanting to see it go to waste. He could see Hunter staring at him in amazement. “I don’t know what to tell you,” he shrugged, a little embarrassed. “I’ve always had a very fast metabolism.”

“I can soon destroy that,” Hunter growled, giving away just how horny he was. “Natural greed like this… It's incredible. And very rare!”

“Thanks,” Tommy smiled,unsure what else to say.

“Why don’t you stay here tonight?” Hunter asked next, wrapping a big arm over Tommy’s shoulders, like a snake about to suffocate its prey. “I know you don’t have work in the morning. I can make you breakfast.”

A mixture of relief and arousal swept over Tommy. He’d made such an effort to eat, he’d all but forgotten the fact that he’d need to catch the bus home later.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” Hunter teased, as if Tommy needed persuading. He reached for a tiny bottle of lubricant in his shorts and tipped a small amount of it onto his fingertips, before gently massaging the head of Tommy’s hardness.

Tommy gasped and grabbed for the sides of his seat, as if the floor was about to cave in. Hunter was so good at this. All that eating made the oxygen catch in his chest and it took him a few seconds to get his breathing into a rhythmn as Hunter took the reins of pleasuring him. He nodded his head, not wanting to use his voice in that moment for fear of how pathetically weak and needy it might sound.

“Come on Greedy Boy,” Hunter teased him. “Let’s go take a shower together…”

“I can’t come next weekend,” Tommy grinned, addressing his coworkers six weeks later. “I’m away with my boyfriend.”

As predicted, the whistles of delight sounded in the air as they all made a fuss at the news that their colleague was dating at last. Tommy wasted no time in sharing a picture of the two of them together, sitting in his parents’ lounge.

“He’s hot!” blasted one of them straight away.

“He looks like he should be on a catwalk!” squeaked another.

Tommy smirked to himself. He loved the reactions he got to pictures of Hunter. Sure, people might have thought he was punching quite significantly above his weight, but he was still the one who got to be fucked by such a hunk, and not them. However, behind that handsome smile and perfect ‘boy next door’ act Hunter laid on astonishingly thick for all of Tommy’s family and friends, lay the kinkiest, most dominant lover he could have ever wished for. The things they got upto in the bedroom satisfied him completely. After years of dating boring guys, Hunter seemed to swoop in and make Tommy fall hopelessly in love with him in only a matter of days. Tommy was utterly devoted to him. And the best part was, Hunter knew it.

“You haven’t really told me much about these friends of yours we’re going to meet this weekend,” Tommy pondered, sitting in the passenger seat and noting how far out into the country they had gone on his online map.

“Well, why bother? You got along with all my other friends,” Hunter chuckled, obviously keeping something from Tommy about this trip.

Tommy sighed. “Yeah, but they were all co-workers and old school buddies. They don’t know… all the sides of your personality,” he replied diplomatically.

“Well, let’s just say, this weekend will be good for us,” Hunter smiled, leaning back and driving smoothly. “These guys are sexy as fuck, and we all like to play together. I’ve been excited to show you off to them since we first started going out. ”

“Show me off?” Tommy asked. “How so?”

“Just you wait and see,” Hunter laughed, adjusting the developing boner he was getting in his crotch. Something about this was exciting him very much. Then he reached his hand across to stroke Tommy’s thigh and brushed off some of the many wrappers from the drive-thru they had stopped at a good few miles back.

The location, when they finally arrived about two hours later, was nothing short of breathtaking. The house was set in the most charming of spots, overlooking the hills; with eight bedrooms, a pool, and the largest hot tub Tommy had ever seen. They entered, Hunter leading the way, only to see several shirtless men all standing around in the kitchen. They cheered when they saw Hunter and came over to greet him with a hug.

Tommy stood back awkwardly. He’d been so stupid in how he had imagined these men in his head. They were not at all as he had envisioned them; all of them round bellied and at varying levels of obesity; not the types of guys that someone in Hunter’s extreme, peak physical condition would have been expected to associate with. But, then again, Hunter had always said that he preferred fat guys.

“And this is my new boyfriend, Tommy,” Hunter finally stated, pulling Tommy forward to greet them all.

There was a look of surprise on all the guys’ faces. One of them furrowed their eyebrows, as if about to ask whether Hunter was being serious. Then, the first one stepped forward and shook his hand warmly; followed by the rest of them, one by one.

“That was a little weird,” Tommy whispered as the pair of them went up to the bedroom that had been assigned to them: thre master suite no less. “Did they not know that you’re dating?”

“No, they knew,” Hunter smirked, undressing himself and slipping on his tiny swim shorts to head out to the pool. “I date fat guys, remember. I’ve fucked and dominated every one of them in my time,” he continued, checking his perfect hair in the mirror. “So when I told them I was dating the fucking greediest, sexiest guy I’d ever met, they’d probably assumed you were a lot larger.”

“Wait. So do they know that you…” Tommy asked.

“These guys know everything. That’s why I was so excited for this weekend. We can just relax and be ourselves, without having to worry. I can cook mountains of food for you, just like normal, then bring you up here, tie you up and fuck you all night long,” he grinned, striding over to Tommy and kissing him. “Now, get changed,” he ordered, throwing some swim shorts at him.

“Looking good!” growled one of the men as Hunter led the way down the stairs. “I’ve never seen you looking so chiselled.”

Hunter stood and soaked in all of their comments, comically flexing and posing for them all. Then he smirked and tapped one of the guys on his gut. “I could say the same to you, buddy,” he nodded. “This overhang has really gotten a lot bigger since the last time I saw you.”

Tommy inhaled slightly with shock at Hunter’s rudeness. He looked for signs of offense, until he saw that the man instead looked mightily pleased with himself. “Paul has been feeding me a big tub of ice cream before bed every night,” he pointed over at another large bellied guy in the corner, who was obviously his partner.

“Well, it’s really working,” Hunter smiled at him, giving him a deep, horny kiss. “I’m doing the same with this little guy,” he continued, pulling Tommy closer to him. “He was still living with his parents when I met him, but I’ve got him with me most of the time these days. That’s making things easier. Ice cream before bed is one of the things I started him on straight away,” he stated proudly.

The eyes of the men studied Tommy’s body in his swim shorts.

“I’m having to break down his incredibly fast metabolism. It’s not ideal. But if I turn him around, you can see,” Hunter explained, spinning a light and clueless Tommy around and bending him down so that his small butt faced the men instead. “There’s a little more softness forming around his lower back and…” he continued, dropping Tommy’s swim shorts slightly so that his butt cheeks showed, “...his glutes and thighs are filling up a lot more than when I first met him.”

Hunter tapped Tommy’s butt, creating a short ripple.

“Do you see it?” he asked them all.

With his head down, facing away from them, Tommy didn’t know if the guys had nodded in agreement.

“Do you think he’s going to be quite bottom heavy then?” another of the men asked, clearly feeling that Tommy’s butt was wothy of discussion.

“Possibly,” Hunter agreed. “It’s a bit too early to tell. There aren’t many fatties in his family for me to get a good idea of how he might develop. That was one of the first things I checked. But he’s quit the gym to spend more time with me, so that should speed things up a little.”

Tommy felt his swim shorts getting pulled back up and a sweet kiss being placed on his forehead by his boyfriend. Then he was spun back to face the others, just as they all started chuckling with amusement to themselves, noticing the hardness that had developed in Tommy’s crotch during their conversation about him.

Hunter soon noticed as well and joined in the laughing, patting Tommy on his butt proudly. “He’s a kinky little fucker too!” he smirked, repositioning himself behind Tommy, rolling his big strong arms around the smaller guy’s shoulders and gently rubbing his crotch into his lover’s rear.

“I take it he’s a sub?” Paul asked from the corner.

“Of course,” Hunter shot back, gently nibbling Tommy’s ear. “One of the most obedient I’ve ever had,” he whispered. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you Tommy?” he teased, reaching one arm down to stroke the hardness in Tommy’s shorts, even with all the other guys there.

Tommy’s head flopped back against Hunter’s shoulder. In this situation, he felt so crazily out of control, yet it was arousing him in ways he could not explain.

“Anyway, come on, Piggy,” Hunter finally ordered, pulling his large hand out from Tommy’s crotch. “Let’s go try out the pool.” He tapped his lover on his butt, admiring the slight flutter that spread into the guy’s thighs. “But remember, not too much exercise for you. I don’t want you to spoil all the fast food calories I bought you earlier.”

Dinner was served a couple of hours later: a vast spread of multiple dishes, prepared by the varying couples in attendance. They sat in the shade, all of them in their swim shorts, and some of the men spilling out of the tight patio chairs that the rental property had for its guests.

“You finished already, Danny?” Hunter asked the significantly overweight man across the table. “Tommy will be nowhere near finished. He’s got at least another twenty minutes in him,” he boasted.

“It is extraordinary,” one of the others nodded in agreement, seeing how easily Tommy was packing it all in. “Is this how he usually is?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Hunter nodded, reaching over and spooning on another large serving of cheesy pasta, as if he was psychically linked to his boyfriend and knew exactly what he wanted. “He can go like this for every meal: breakfast, lunch, dinner… He’s also a great little snacker as well. I need to eat frequently throughout the day to keep this physique up,” he explained, tensing his large biceps. “So it’s easy to get this one eating with me, and it still never spoils his appetite when dinner time rolls around.”

“How are his family feeling about him dating a feeder?” Danny asked, eyes still on Tommy as he continued to consume.

“It’s still early days,” Hunter replied. “He’s not really started to fatten up properly yet and take shape. Plus, they absolutely love me. I have his mom eating out of the palm of my hand! I’m sure the idea that I’m fattening their son won’t cross their minds for some time yet.”

“What’s his recovery time like?” Danny’s slightly slimmer husband asked next.

“Pretty good,” Hunter nodded again. “After he’s done here, I’ll take him upstairs, jack him off and then let him sleep for a couple of hours. Then he’ll be back up and ready for something else before bed,” he laughed, rubbing his boy’s back sweetly.

Tommy listened to it all as he continued to eat. Below the table, his hardness was weeping into his swim trunks. It wasn’t at all how he anticipated the life of a submissive, but it was still absolutely perfect, hearing Hunter boast about his control over him to all his friends.

“Are you struggling there, Fat Boy?” Hunter grinned as he watched the enormous Jack trying to repack his suitcase in the middle of the lounge that Sunday.

Tommy could tell that Jack was Hunter’s favourite of all the fat guys; most likely because was the softest of them all; partly due to his shorter height, making him rounder and more spherical than the others. Tommy had been with his boyfriend long enough to know when Hunter was getting horny and he sensed the spark of arousal within him each time Jack waddled on by, dressed only in his swim trunks all weekend.

Jack wiped his brow and nodded. “I’m not as sprightly as I used to be.”

Hunter chuckled and nodded in agreement. “Harry has done an awesome job on you. All that fresh fat in that big gut…” He growled in approval, admiring it all. His hardness was getting too much for him and he pulled Tommy gently down into his crotch to pleasure him whilst they spoke.

“I think you’ve got a good one there too,” Jack nodded over at Tommy, sucking away, as ordered.

Hunter sighed with pride and slapped Tommy on his butt, as he crouched across the sofa. “He will be. He just needs time to get into my ways.”

“He looks pretty obedient to me,” Jack chuckled.

“Oh, definitely! Like I said, he’s one of the best subs I’ve ever had. Decent blow job skills too,” he sighed, really starting to feel Tommy’s work now. “I just need to take down this metabolism of his.” He gazed down at the back of Tommy’s head bobbing up and down in his crotch. “I need every part of him to submit to me.”

Jack nodded knowingly, trotting over and rubbing Tommy’s butt as well. “Don’t worry, Hunter. I know you. You’ll have him under control very soon now...”

Over the next few weeks, Tommy felt a creeping tightness in his workpants. He stared in the mirror, hardly believing that the swollen glutes and thicker thighs were actually his. In his constantly bloated state, he hadn’t noticed the disappearance of his light six pack, as a thickening layer of fat began to spread itself around his waist. In fact, it was only as he jumped down from his office chair after finding something on the top shelf of a cupboard, that he noticed the first flutter of that fat, especially in his chest. But after that day, everything seemed to spiral.

“Hunter, I need you to come to my work,” Tommy whispered down the phone.

“Why?” Hunter asked, clearly in the middle of a training session with one of his clients at his gym.

“I bent down to pick up my pen and…”

“You ripped your pants,” Hunter finished for him. “About time. Did anyone see?”

“No,” Tommy replied with relief.

“That’s a shame,” Hunter sighed in disappointment. “And now you want me to drop everything and head over to deliver some larger pants for you?”

“Yes, please!” Tommy begged, knowing that his dominant boyfriend might actually get quite a kick out of leaving him in his ripped pants all day long.

A long, excruciating two hours later, Hunter arrived at the office. Many of the female employees rushed from their desks to greet him, and Hunter flirted sweetly with them, knowing exactly what sort of effect he had on them. It was strangely arousing to see him in action, pretending to take an interest in Melissa’s honeymoon or Fran’s new grandchildren; this charming character that he portrayed with ease.

“Well, I must go, ladies,” he smiled, walking towards Tommy’s office as some of them continued to bleat on. He closed the door behind him and comically put his body against it as if to stop anyone following him in. Then he locked it, just in case. “How do you put up with such boring people?” he sighed, looking straight at Tommy.

“They absolutely adore you,” Tommy reminded him.

“I know. But they’re still fucking boring,” Hunter smirked, checking the blinds were closed properly before striding over to his chubby lover who rose from his chair to greet him with an embrace.

Immediately, Hunter seized the opportunity in those moments of weakness; his strong hands sliding down to the tear in Tommy’s pants, mercilessly ripping them open further.

Tommy’s hands slipped back surveying the damage. Now, even his underwear had been compromised as he felt cool air against his increasingly fleshy glutes. “Please tell me you brought my new pants,” he blasted in panic.

“I did,” Hunter nodded, rifling through his backpack and showing them briefly. “But it’s going to cost you,” he sniggered, now pulling out his hardness from his shorts and nodding for Tommy to lie himself on the table.

“But I’m in work!” Tommy shot back.

“All the more reason for you to stop complaining and get a move on then,” the man laughed back, stroking his thick hardness to warm it up for Tommy’s softening butt.

Tommy lay himself down, realising that one of his most kinky work fantasies was about to come true, despite feeling no less worried that there would be a knock on his door at any moment. He spread his legs, making the tear even more pronounced, then heard the thud of a supermarket cheesecake being dropped by his head and then slid underneath his nose: Hunter’s latest fascination, watching him gorge on something extremely fattening whilst fucking him.

Both of them set to work, Hunter pounding him so forcefully that the cheesecake smeared itself over Tommy’s nose and under his chin as he tried to eat it at the same time. It was clear that he needed to eat fast, save getting it on his white shirt and ending up in exactly the same sartorial predicament again. His tongue came into play, scooping it all up and then pushing whatever didn’t need chewing straight down. Hunter didn’t take long to finish, but the sweat on his brow gave away just how much he had really gone for it. He threw Tommy a pack of cleaning wipes for his face and unfolded the new pants, presenting them like a prize to his lover.

A minute later, Hunter insisted on being walked out of the office; both of them stopped on the way multiple times.

“Yes, we’d love to come over for dinner sometime, Christine,” Hunter smiled politely, both he and Tommy knowing full well that it would never happen. Hunter wouldn’t waste his free time socialising with any of these people, unless there was something in it for him.

“Whart a nice boy he is!” Christine marvelled, standing at the main entrance of the office block, watching Hunter drive off. “So polite and gentle!”

Swishing his tongue around his mouth and still tasting nothing but cheesecake, Tommy nodded in agreement. “He’s the best.”

It felt very festive, turning up at the picturesque rental cottage covered in snow. Unlike last time, Tommy knew exactly what he would be walking into as Hunter’s friends arranged their next meet up. Being from up north, renting these houses was the best way for them to meet up with Hunter, who they all found just as fascinating and intoxicating as Tommy did.

“Someone has been eating well!” the men chuckled, seeing Tommy for the first time in almost six months.

Tommy nodded, taking his big jacket off. In the last couple of months, his cheeks had blown up in a way that was not too dissimilar to a hamster stuffing itself with seeds. Fat had spread under his chin and into his neck, always visible now that Hunter insisted that he stayed clean shaven. Hunter kissed him proudly, always delighted whenever anyone mentioned his boyfriend’s gains.

“I’m guessing you defeated that fast metabolism of his?” Danny laughed, seeing more and more of Tommy’s shape as he removed the layers of winter clothing.

“Did you ever doubt me?” Hunter smirked back, grabbing both of their bags to take them upstairs; never wanting Tommy to burn any calories unnecessarily.

“What do you weigh now?” Paul jumped in after Tommy and Hunter came back downstairs after settling into their room.

Tommy looked to Hunter, knowing that he would want to be the one to tell them all.

“We’re up 70lbs since you last saw him,” Hunter beamed, draping his big arm over Tommy’s shoulders. “I bet you can hardly recognise him with these chubby cheeks, huh boys?”

“I suppose the sweatpants come in handy these days?” Eddie asked, nodding at Tommy’s casual attire as he stood beside his muscular boyfriend.

“Um, I guess so,” Hunter pondered. “To be honest, I don’t let him wear clothes when he’s at home. Do I?” he asked Tommy in an attempt to include him, even a little, in this discussion about him.

Tommy shook his head.

“As you can probably see, his tits are starting to come in real nicely,” Hunter continued, lifting Tommy’s shirt for the boys to see. “Lovehandles are fully in shape now, and the back fat,” he rambled on, spinning Tommy around for their viewing pleasure. “I’ve had to rescue him twice in work now after he’s split his pants,” he laughed, rolling the sweatpants down so that the guys could see the transformation that had taken place in Tommy’s glutes. “And, best of all…” he went on, rapidly spinning Tommy like a ragdoll again to face them once more, “Check this out…”

The boys marvelled in unison as Hunter grabbed a thick wedge of fat that had amassed at the top of Tommy’s groin.

“It’s hard to believe how much fat there is here, considering he’s only 220lbs at the moment,” Hunter grinned. “It’s incredible!”

“Well, we can help add to that this weekend,” Danny smiled. “It’s your first holiday season as a fatty,” he nodded at Tommy. “That’s got to be quite exciting?”

“It’s also our first one together,” Tommy replied, falling back into Hunter’s large chest.

“What are you guys doing for the big day?” Eddie asked next.

“Well, we told Tommy’s parents that we were going to my family. And then we said the exact opposite to my parents. So, basically…” Hunter smirked, pulling his lover into a cute sideways cuddle, “...this little piggy is going to be spending the day sitting on my cock whilst I feed him absolutely everything I’ve been preparing for him for the last month.”

The guys all looked at each other, clearly astounded and secretly aroused by the idea.

“Have you had much backlash from Tommy’s family now he’s getting so overweight?” Danny questioned them later, sitting at the table, waiting for Tommy to finish his meal.

“Not so much,” Hunter replied. “Now his face has started to balloon, people are certainly a lot more aware of it. But his parents aren’t as switched on as mine. My dad pulled me to the side a couple of weeks ago and told me to start going easy on Tommy.” He straightened up, about to do an impression of his father and put on a dull, stuck-up voice. “Your mother and I know exactly what you’re doing,” he began at a fast pace, poking his finger out like a school teacher. “You’ve always been forceful about getting your own way; always the bully we used to get complaints about when you were in high school. But Tommy is a nice boy; the nicest you’ve ever brought home, and you’ve got to start getting your kicks some other way. One that doesn’t involve him getting so out of shape!”

The men all laughed in unison.

“I just tell them I’m going to set up a diet plan for Tommy in the New Year,” he chuckled; setting the rest of them off.

“Well, I can imagine exactly what sort of ‘diet plan’ you’ll have for him,” Danny smirked, knowing his friend all too well.

Hunter nodded and laughed along with them. “Yeah, this fat boy is so fucking screwed!”

Their conversation rolled on. All the while, Tommy continued to eat.

“Good boy!” Hunter sang moments later as Tommy finally put his knife and fork down; his plate cleared. “Was that tasty? That lamb dish is one of Eddie’s most fattening recipes. I should know. I taught him how to make it.”

Tommy nodded his head; utterly stuffed.

“Do you want me to take you upstairs for your pleasure time?” he asked the blubbery boy. “It’s part of his routine,” he explained to the guys. “Or would you rather have it here, so that the other fat boys can see you?”

Tommy looked around at the faces staring at him. All of the men were shirtless and some of them, like him, had come to the table wearing nothing at all. His initial thought was to go back upstairs. However, that seemed like such an effort in his stuffed state. He looked over at a cosy chair by the fireplace and nodded; “Over there.”

Initially, the other kinky guys had pretended to busy themselves whilst Hunter took Tommy over to the chair and began to rub his hardness up and down. However, their curiosity and arousal was soon gettng the better of them, one-by-one, coming to sit on the other chairs or stand nearby watching Hunter controlling his sub.

“Are you a good piggy for me?” Hunter whispered into his ear, making Tommy moan and nod. “You’ve put on so much fat for me this year. Did you see how shocked the guys were earlier? They’re all looking at you now.”

Tommy opened his eyes and looked around. What would he have said a year ago, had he imagined a scenario that was anything like this?

A curious and horny Eddie licked his thumb and began rubbing it over Tommy’s pointed nipple.

Hunter looked across with approval. “Piggy loves that now his tits have come in. He can’t get over how sensitive they are.

Danny licked his thumb and began playing with the other nipple, before Paul came along and grabbed a wedge of Tommy’s stomach fat, as if hardly believing how quickly it had developed.

“You see, you’re the star of the show, Piggy!” Hunter whispered into his lover’s ear.

Tommy’s breathing became a lot heavier as he felt his climax building.

“It’s alright, Piggy,” Hunter continued. “Don’t hold back. You can show them what I taught you to do when you climax.”

Tommy looked into Hunter’s eyes. Was it really okay to let himself go like this? But the orgasm was coming so fast and the urge to do it was becoming too much for him to resist. He gasped, letting go of his inhibition, then snorted, loud and clear, just like a pig, mimicking the tones that Hunter had taught him exactly. Jets flowed across the coffee table in the middle of the room and Tommy shut his eyes, calm at last..

As the New Year came and went, Tommy realised that his weight had spiked at an alarmingly fast rate over the holidays. Hunter had declared, looking at the vast new size of Tommy’s glutes, that it had been the best gift he had ever received. The gains did eventually slow down, but never stagnated. And so, by their first anniversary of getting together, Tommy stood next to his gorgeous boyfriend with over one hundred and ten pounds of added fat on him.

Hunter was more pleased with his own body than ever before as well. He’d spent the last few months bulking his shoulders and glutes, so that even he was outgrowing his clothes. Seeing Tommy swell so fast had given him the motivation he needed to make a real push with his weight training, and he spent much of that summer without a shirt on, both inside and outside of the apartment. He’d inherited a decent amount of money from a great uncle he had never even met, spending most of it on a new convertible and a designer watch that helped to inflate his ego even further. Their kitchen had been the epicentre of it all, with Hunter cooking himself up vast amounts of high protein meals, whilst simultaneously pouring in the butter, oils and grease into everything he made for Tommy.

Hunter’s bulking had also created the perfect excuse for Tommy’s ever swelling stomach. Hunter made no secret of how much he had to consume in order to keep up the strapping muscle on his body. “Most evenings, I’m cooking up food and portioning it out for myself for the next day,” he explained to Tommy’s aunt during their next visit. “But I think the smell of it makes Tommy hungry, and when I go to bed, I hear him rummaging around in the kitchen for hours.”

“Oh, Tommy!” his aunt tutted with disappointment. “No wonder you’ve gained so much weight then. You need to exercise some self control.”

Hunter nodded in agreement, rubbing Tommy’s back supportively; as if this was all one great big intervention, aimed at helping him. The lies just rolled off the hunk’s tongue with such ease and he’d soon be laughing in the car at how easily they all swallowed them. “Come on, Fatty,” he whispered whilst still smiling and waving at Tommy’s extended family as they reversed off the driveway. “Look at their faces,” he laughed. “They really think you’re going to turn things around this time.”

“My aunt spoke to me a minute ago, before we left,” Tommy explained from the passenger seat. “She told me that you’re the fitness expert and that I just need to do whatever you say.”

Hunter laughed victoriously. “Good old Auntie Paula!” he roared, waving one final time to her in particular. “In that case, your fitness expert is taking you home to sit my dick while I feed you your disgustingly oversized dinner. I heard that chair squeaking when you sat on it earlier. Next time we go to see them, I’m going to make sure your fat ass destroys it!”

The summer was coming to an end, but not before the pair of them drove up in Hunter’s new car to yet another rental place for a weekend with the boys.

“I’ve got a surprise for everyone later,” Hunter joked, shirtless and with a strong arm draped over his flabby, newly 300lb boyfriend.”

“Another one?” the boys joked, having just spoken at length about their shock at seeing the swell of Tommy’s chest and underarm fat in particular.

Hunter kept them all waiting keenly. They ate their dinner, recharged and then settled down to some beers in the large lounge. “Want to see something super cute?” he finally asked them, grinning with excitement.

“Is this our surprise?” Jack immediately replied, ready to be entertained.

Hunter nodded. “Look at these!” he cooed, suddenly holding up a tiny pair of underwear he’d been hiding behind a cushion.

The boys laughed. “Awh!” they all sang back. In their world, no one wore underwear that small; even Hunter with his giant glutes and muscular thighs needed a large, or even an extra-large in many cases.

“These belonged to Tommy when he came over to my apartment for the first time,” Hunter laughed wickedly, spinning them around and holding them by the very ends of his fingertips as if to further emphasise how petite they were. “I’ve not even washed them since.”

At this, all the guys began laughing in much the same way. They passed them around, each of them marvelling at their tiny size.

“Your butt used to be so small!” Paul bellowed, draping the underwear over his large gut to show how minute they were in comparison.

Tommy stared at them, suddenly remembering how Hunter had walked off with his underwear on that first date at their now shared apartment. His perspective really had been skewed, hardly believing now that he ever wore clothes that small.

“That was only seventeen months ago, boys!” Hunter shouted, raising his arms up in the air for the admiration he was owed. “That’s how it’s done, my friends! That’s how a real feeder takes control and fattens his piggy!”

The boys all cheered in complete agreement. The transformation, the sheer speed of it all; it was breathtaking.

“He’d never get them on these days,” Eddie laughed. “Not with the amount of fat he carries on his thighs, and that huge butt of his.”

Hunter pretended to ponder the idea; theatrically raising his thumb to his chin and rubbing. “Hmm, do you really think so?” he asked, barely holding back his laughter. “I think we may need to test that hypothesis, don’t you, boys?” he called out, rousing the crowd of fat men into a chorus of cheers.

Within seconds, Hunter had stood up and moved clear so that the other men could move in and do his bidding. Tommy was being lifed and forced out of his current underwear, feeling delighted pats of approval from some of the guys as his big, fat, doughy glutes came on show. The coffee table had been removed from the room, the music turned way down, and he was pushed into the middle of a now cleared space, with all the large, occupied chairs and sofas imprisoning it.

Suddenly, the mood changed. Unlike the others, Hunter was standing, blocking the only path out of the room; his giant arms folded intimidatingly across his immensely powerful, shirtless chest; an inpenetrable wall; a ringleader, ready to entertain.

Even before he started, Tommy could hear little hoots of laughter all around him. He looked up at Hunter’s stern expression and his hardness throbbed uncontrollably.

“As you all remember,” Hunter began, “a short while ago, I started dating a very handsome, a very athletic, and in fact, a very pretty-looking guy…”

His tone was so playful and full of mockery; making the other guys laugh; every single one of them. Then he reached out and took the tiny underwear from the person who had them. Although only a few feet away from him, Tommy looked up at his lover as if the giant man was standing high upon a towering pedestal. The way those cold eyes stared down at him aroused him more than anything else.

“The pride and joy of his parents…” Hunter sang, holding Tommy’s old underwear for them all to see again, “...college graduate, all round nice guy. He told me that he wanted to meet me. Practically begged me!”

Again, the other guys all laughed at that. Tommy’s first foolish mistake.

“He told me that I was the sexiest guy he had ever seen in his life,” Hunter smirked, emphasising the language and slipping a finger up into the crotch of the old unerwear, showing where Tommy’s little erection would have once pushed against them. That got him one of the biggest laughs. “And he promised me one thing…” Hunter went on. “...That he would do absolutely anything that I wanted him to.”

The guys all turned from looking at Hunter, to gazing with awe at Tommy’s fattened body: the rolls and blubber, stretch marks and sag. His complete submission was right there, before their very eyes. Hunter’s will, made flesh.

“What you’re about to see, boys, is my now disgustingly gluttonous, obese boyfriend, trying to put on a pair of underwear that he last wore the second time he met me,” Hunter declared, throwing the tiny material down at Tommy’s feet, filling his large chest with air and folding those enormous arms once more.

Again, the fat men all laughed to themselves, some reaching in again to poke Tommy’s fleshy stomach, or tap his naked, under-exercised butt.

“Taking them off was one of his first acts of submission to me. And now,” Hunter continued, “this greedy, fat hog is about to try and put them back on for us.” He stared hard at Tommy, making him hornier still.

Tommy nodded slowly, hardly believing that this was all happening so fast. Two minutes ago, he had been snuggled into Hunter on the couch, oblivious that any of this was coming.

“Are you ready, boys?” Hunter roared at them all; rousing another cheer of excitement. He was made for this. Showmanship was in his blood. “Count the fat fucker into it for me…” he shouted at an alarming volume.

Tommy glanced at the ridiculously small underwear; his heart beating at quite the pace. He could feel the huge ring of fat under his chin as he looked down and tried to envision how best to do it.

“Three…two… ONE!” the boys all sang with the boisterous Hunter; lifting their bottles of beer up high; eyes wide and excited to see how this would all go down.

With a slight grunt from all that he had eaten earlier, Tommy bent down to pick up the underwear. There were cheers of amusement as his butt crack opened to those standing behind him. Then, turning the underwear in his hands, he lifted one leg to begin to put them on. He stumbled, feeling the fat in his butt and love handles quiver with the force he had to throw his foot down, just to keep his balance.

“Take your time, Piggy. Get it right,” Hunter reminded him in his stern tone. This show was important. These were his friends, and he had brought Tommy here to entertain them.

Tommy nodded. He started again, slipping one foot into the tiny hole and raised the material to his ankles. Now came the trickier part. He grunted, raising his other leg and miraculously slipped that inside as well. The big moment had arrived.

Grabbing onto the tiny waistband, Tommy sucked in his stomach and heaved them up. They began soaring up his legs and then slowed dramatically. just above his knees. They were so narrow, he felt like he needed to spread his legs more to get them up; but there was no room. He pulled at them again, hearing howls of laughter all around him. The effort was almost unbelievable, and yet the underwear raised barely more than a couple of inches. Never mind his giant butt, it was his blubbery thighs that were the problem.

On he struggled, feeling the waistband at last touching the lower part of his doughy rear. He lifted the front part easier, just managing to squish a little of his excited erection inside and then he looked up at Hunter. Had he done enough?

Hunter simply raised an eyebrow and smirked, the guys’ laughter suddenly becoming too infectious for even him to ignore. His smile spread and he laughed too, throwing his arms out and then pumping his muscular chest. Some of the men reached their congratulatory hands out to the feeder for him to shake as he walked around the space where Tommy stood. His victory lap.

“Thank you. You’re right,” he replied to their comments. “Twenty five years old, and look at it now!”

Finally, he came to stand in front of Tommy again, suddenly becoming falsely affectionate and stroking his submissive’s large, chubby cheek. “I’m so glad I met you,” he told Tommy, speaking as much to the other men who were listening in.

“I’m glad I met you too,” Tommy replied, full of love and arousal for his dominant lover.

The men all laughed at Tommy’s words and Hunter looked around at them with devilment dancing in his eyes. His perfect white teeth glistened as the widest smile grew on his face. He knew exactly what they were all thinking. Obesity was beginning to take a vice-like grip on Tommy’s body, and yet the twenty-five year old was still hopelessly under the spell of his wicked boyfriend.

“Good. I’m very glad,” Hunter nodded, lovingly tucking Tommy’s overgrown, sweaty hair behind his ears. He could never resist stroking the extensive chin fat with the back of his finger at the same time; the broad, fat face, freshly shaven as Hunter always insisted upon. “You realise that you’re going to be fatter than everybody here soon, don’t you?” he continued, explaining it to the fat boy like it was an exciting adventure they were embarking upon.

Tommy nodded.

“And that’s okay is it, Piggy?” Hunter asked, playing up to the crowds.

“Yes,” Tommy nodded again. Compliance was so easy.; submission so arousing. And this situation he was in now, so exhilarating and undenyably thrilling. Everything he never knew he needed.

Delving further into the three hundred pound zone was every bit as strange and transformative as the guys had warned Tommy as he left that weekend. Everything jiggled. Everything made him sweat. He had to accept how severely overweight he was now. It was the first thing people noticed when they met him and it was the one factor that influenced how people treated him most. He noted their tones of disapproval and impatience; their blunt answers to his questions and their indignation whenever they saw the gorgeous Hunter kissing him. He stared at pictures of the two of them at his sister’s wedding: his large, bulbous, doughy belly spreading out of his jacket and barely contained within his enormous shirt. He looked at the beautiful Hunter standing behind him, grinning proudly; no one there realising that he was laughing at them all, showing off what he had done to one of their own.

“I think it’s time you considered a new job. One where you can work from home,” Hunter declared, getting up after having fucked one of his new favourite places on his lover’s evolving body: the fat roll encompassing Tommy’s deep belly button.

Tommy nodded. “That would certainly save me a lot of time,” he agreed.

“It would also save you a lot of calories,” Hunter sighed impatiently. “I get so frustrated thinking of you burning off all my delicious breakfasts, trotting that giant ass of your back and forth to the photocopier.”

“But the girls in my office would miss seeing you though,” Tommy joked.

Hunter rolled his eyes. “Another good reason to quit,” he grumbled, chugging down one of his protein shakes and drying off his sweaty body with the towel they left under the bed.

“They actually asked me to apply for a job at another one of our branches the other day,” Tommy considered, remembering how little he had considered it at the time. “Two days in the office, three at home.”

“Where?” Hunter asked with surprising interest.

“North. We’d have to move. At least we’d be closer to Paul, Eddie, and the other guys. But then, it means uprooting your life as well.”

Hunter furrowed his eyebrows in disagreement. “Look at me!” he cried. “I could get a job at any fitness place I wanted. A move away is exactly the sort of thing that we need.”

“It is?” Tommy asked, having never heard Hunter even consider the idea of moving before.

Hunter came over to Tommy, who was still sticky and sprawled out on the bed. The guy’s immense, muscular body made the bed sink slightly as Hunter sat next to him, making the fat in Tommy’s tummy jiggle and lean towards the powerful lover, as if attracted by him. “Listen. You’re now a very fat man. By this time next week, I’ll have you at over 350lbs,” Hunter explained. “But people around here don't see that. All they see is that skinny little dweeb they used to know. That handsome guy with a six pack and no ass, who couldn’t admit that being dominated would make him so fucking horny.”

Tommy chuckled. Hunter’s descriptions were blunt, but always very accurate.

“It’s time we went somewhere new. Where people don’t know about how slim you used to be. Where they will see you the way that I do: just another fat, disgustingly overfed piggy.”

Tommy exhaled deeply, feeling himself getting aroused hearing Hunter using so many of the trigger words that he usually deployed when he was getting pleasured. He nodded. Perhaps Hunter was right. Maybe it was time for a change.

“You make sure that you look after him, won’t you?” Tommy’s mother sobbed, speaking to Hunter as the pair of them stopped to pick up the last of their things and load them into the truck.

“Don’t worry, Angela. He’s in good hands with me,” Hunter smiled back. Now that Tommy had grown wide enough, the big muscular man could rub his boyfriend’s disgustingly overgrown glutes the entire time he spoke to the guy’s mother, without anyone even noticing. “Your boy will be well taken care of.”

They all hugged, with Tommy’s parents telling him how proud they were about his big promotion, as well as how much they would miss him.

“Do you think they know? Even on some level?” Hunter asked as the pair of them got back into the truck. “They have to, surely? No one is that fucking stupid, watching their son get into a relationship and suddenly gaining over two hundred pounds in just over two years!” he sniggered, surprised that no one had mentioned Tommy’s weight today; even with the daringly tight t-shirt he had made him wear.

“Perhaps, on some level,” Tommy considered. At barely average height, his 370lbs was sitting more and more on his stomach these days. Only a few moments ago, Hunter had needed to push against his wide, overgrown butt, in full view of his parents, in order to get him back into the high removal truck they had hired for the journey. “But, if I’m honest, I don’t think they really know what’s going on.”

“So fucking stupid! It’s unbelieveable!” Hunter sighed, turning the volume way up on the stereo and pulling off his shirt as the air conditioning blasted into life. As much as he enjoyed playing the innocent boyfriend, Hunter also longed for recognition, in whatever form it came.

“Goodbye,” Tommy waved to his parents as they started pulling away. He knew they couldn’t hear him. The music was far too loud.

“Goodbye,” Hunter joined in bitterly as he started to steer. “I’ll look after your son. I’m turning him into a big fat pig, y’know!” he shouted loud and clear, although he would never be heard. “I’ll have the fat fucker at 400lbs by the time you see him this Christmas! Goodbye, idiots!”

Hunter laughed with delight at himself as they rolled down the street. He slipped on his sunglasses and opened his window, just a crack, to let in a bit of fresh air.

“Still think this is the right thing?” Hunter asked moments later, reaching for Tommy’s chubby little fingers and holding them sweetly. His question was so ambiguous, with so many different possible meanings, and an infinite amount of responses. Not that any of that mattered to Tommy. For him, there was only one possible answer to any of those questions.

“Yes,” he smiled with certainty. “Two hundred percent, yes!”

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

1K notes · View notes

stllmnstr · 3 months

Text

champagne problems: part one

pairing: jake sim x f reader

genre: enemies to lovers, rich kids au, fake dating au, college au, angst, fluff

part one word count: 15.6k

part one warnings: swearing, alcohol consumption, family drama, a fatal case of second son syndrome

soundtrack: boom - dpr live / bad idea! - girl in red / blood on the floor - kuiper / calico - dpr ian / comme de garçons (like the boys) - rina sawayama / lust - chase atlantic

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

The second son of a wealthy family, Jake Sim has gotten used to always standing in the shadow of his older brother. From grades to girls to talks of becoming future CEO of the Sim Corporation, he’s no stranger to coming in second place. So when an opportunity arises for Jake to finally have the one thing his brother can’t and best him once and for all, he knows he’d be a fool not to take it.

There are only two problems. The first is that the thing his brother wants so badly isn’t a thing at all. It’s you, semi-estranged daughter of the Sims’ closest and most long-standing business partner.

The second is that Jake Sim can’t fucking stand you.

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

PART ONE

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

Fingers wrapping around the stem of your wine glass, you sigh. Punctuality may have been a steep order for someone who you suspect is running dangerously low on both common sense and regard for others, but twenty minutes? Really?

Your eyes land on the obnoxiously ornate grandfather clock next to the hostess stand. In a restaurant with ceilings so high you can barely see them and a carefully curated ambience that practically screams old money, it blends right in. It also gives you an updated timeframe on your would-be date’s tardiness.

Scratch that – thirty minutes.

Pulling out your phone, the absence of any new notifications is almost as annoying as whatever threadbare excuse you’re sure your date will offer you when he arrives. Glancing at the door, it remains devoid of any new patrons. Or perhaps rather if he arrives.

You’re running near empty on both pinot noir and patience, and you use the distraction of your phone to make you seem a little less pathetic. As if this entire restaurant isn’t already privy to the fact that you’re actively being stood up.

Well, you think wryly, at least you look good doing it. The off white ensemble you selected for the evening is Chanel, and vintage, at that. Usually you wouldn’t pull out all the stops like this for something as flimsy as a first date, but men like James Sim have an eye for this kind of thing.

Four years your senior, he’s already carving out a name for himself at twenty-five. You suppose it is a little less impressive, though, when the name he was born with already carries a legacy of its own in the business world you usually do your very best to stay out of. Rumor has it he’s already a shoo-in for the next CEO of his father’s company. When nepotism is that blatant, you can’t do much but scoff and raise a glass to it.

Scrambling for something to do to make your wasted time pass a bit quicker, you search up the social media profile of your would-be date. Honestly, you doubt you would learn anything more substantial about him if he actually bothered to show up than you will from scanning over his feed. In your experience, men like that tend to make up for their success on paper by lacking an actual personality and any sort of self-awareness.

Gym selfie. Scroll. Gym selfie from a slightly different angle. Scroll. Dog photo. Pausing, you suppress a small smile. The dog in the picture is pretty cute, if nothing else. Zooming in slightly, your eyes crinkle at the way the dog’s tongue lolls out of its open mouth in a grin. Well, at least he’s got that going for him, you suppose. A cute dog is enough to bump any guy’s ranking up a few points in your book.

If James Sim is nothing but a sum of his social media profile, it’s not like you expected anything else. After all, this is the heir to the Sim Corporation, a golden boy that was born with a crown on his head and a gold spoon in his mouth. Everything he’s earned has been laid out for him in painstakingly placed steps. His entire life has been guided by a heavy hand and the knowledge that he would one day inherit everything that makes his family worth knowing.

You probably wouldn’t be too concerned with showing up to first dates on time, either. Especially since you doubt he’s ever been denied a second.

Tonight is nothing but a blip on a radar, you’re sure. Something for a secretary to schedule and him to notice a day or five late. Maybe if you’re lucky, someone on his team will send a consolatory bouquet once he does realize the mistake. He is still building his reputation, after all, and you could use a fresh set of flowers for your apartment.

With another slightly pitiful sigh and a final swig of wine, your glass is empty and your optimism is shot. A second glance at the clock says that thirty-eight minutes have now elapsed since your scheduled meeting time. And in your opinion, that’s thirty-nine too late for a first date.

Retrieving your coat from the back of your chair, you figure tonight will be remembered as nothing but a waste of a good outfit. Besides, you suppose forty minutes of aimless scrolling is ultimately less painful than the inevitable headache this date surely would have been had he bothered to actually show up.

Suddenly, you frown. You won’t complain if this date never actually happens, but you may end up with a slight problem. Although you haven’t been on the best of terms with your mother in a long time, tonight was meant to be the final bullet point on a list of favors you owe her.

As you pull your coat on, you consider the best way to frame the events of the evening. Lean into the whole ‘getting stood up’ thing in an effort to earn some sympathy points? Lay out the facts in their most basic form, timestamps included? Emphasize the fact that you waited long past the obligatory twenty minutes for him to actually show up? Or leave your message chain as it currently is, tell her nothing at all, and let her assume what she wants?

They’re all equally iffy, you think. Risky in their own regard.

Signing your name at the bottom of the check, you scribble in a generous tip for the waitress who did her best to check on you often without making it obvious that she knew you were expecting company that never arrived, expertly skirting that line between overbearing and empathetic. At least someone will go home happy, you think, adding an extra zero for good measure.

Exiting the restaurant, you decide to make it two people. James Sim may be a hotshot at his father’s company, but you’ll be damned before you let him ruin your evening. Before you order the Uber back to your place, you add an extra stop at your favorite sushi place. Takeout in the comfort of your own home will certainly be easier to enjoy than whatever Michelin-Star concoction you would have ordered here anyway, eaten in small bites between forced conversation topics, awkward pauses, and too long sips of wine.

And an hour later, you’re polishing off the last piece of an absolutely divine rainbow roll, wearing nothing but silk pajamas and a face mask, with old reruns of your favorite show playing on the TV when James Sim finally glances down at the Rolex on his wrist. He’s finally arrived at the tail end of a meeting that’s running so far behind schedule he has half a mind to just walk out of it. He would, too, if his father wouldn’t actually threaten his life for it.

It’s late, James realizes. Stupid late. So late that he won’t have the time or energy to do anything but pass out by the time he gets home, which really sucks, because he was genuinely looking forward to his date tonight–

“Fuck.”

All he can do is curse, even as the shocked faces of a concerning number of top executives turn to look at him all at the same time.

…

Jake Sim is about to fail his econ midterm.

It will be at least a week before grades are released, but he already knows it. He can already feel it in the way the questions start to swim in his mind, making less and less sense the more he turns them over, in the way his gut fills with dread as the minute hand of the clock at the front of the lecture hall ticks closer and closer to the testing time limit.

And it wouldn’t be that bad, if it weren’t his second time repeating this course.

Oh, his father is going to have an absolute field day with this one. Jake can practically hear it now.

“You failed your midterm? After already failing this course twice? You know, James was actually the top scoring student in his economic section. Dr. Jeong still mentions his term paper every time I see him at the university…”

And that’s if he’s in a good mood. Or rather, if things at the company are going well. Jake doesn’t even want to consider the comments he’ll be on the receiving end of if the news of his failure finds his father already agitated.

Exhaling, he gives his exam one final once-over, scanning for completion more than accuracy. His brain is so fried that he knows it’s of little use to him now. For his own sake, the best thing to do at this point is turn his test in and send a silent prayer to whoever might be listening on his way out the door.

Leaving the lecture hall behind him, Jake puts his phone out of airplane mode and frowns at the two notifications that pop up on his screen. The first is a missed call from his brother, and the second is a message from the same sender, requesting that he give him a call when he has the chance.

Considering that it’s neither his birthday nor a major holiday, Jake is more than a little confused. Regardless, he honors the request, pressing his phone to his ear as he begins the walk back to his apartment. Although it’s significantly less spacious than his childhood home, he finds it far more welcoming in more ways than one.

The outgoing call rings once, twice, three times. Jake is about to be annoyed at the missed connection, but his brother answers in the moments just before he’s sent to voicemail.

“Hey, Jake.” Shocking. He actually bothered to check the caller ID.

“Hey.” Jake’s voice is careful, guarded. It’s not like his personal life is of any importance to his older brother, but he’s not in the mood to answer any questions. He won’t give James any reasons to ask. “I saw your message.”

“Right.” Jake can hear the shuffle of other voices, scattered movements coming from the other line. James sounds busy. Just like always. Usually, that would usually mean he’s distracted. But Jake has the odd feeling that he has his brother’s undivided attention when James adds, “I have a favor to ask you.”

Immediately, Jake’s stomach drops. There are very few things in this world that are not within James Sim’s grasp, and even less that are within Jake’s, relatively speaking. Whatever it is, he must be desperate, if he’s willing to enlist the help of his little brother.

“Okay.” Jake’s voice betrays none of his sudden anxieties. “What is it?”

At least James spares him the agony of suspense. “You know ___, right?”

Jake frowns. Sure, he knows of you. Just like he has a vague idea of every one of his family’s business partners and their immediate kin. Particularly the ones that are the same age as him and attend the same university. But it’s not like he’s close with you, not like he’s ever had an actual conversation of any substance with you.

Especially since the minimal interactions the two of you have had did not leave Jake wanting more. The only child of parents whose last name is on the front of the most successful law firm within a thousand mile radius, you strike him as everything he’d expect you to be.

Spoiled. Entitled. Vapid. Out of touch with any version of reality that doesn’t consist of you getting everything you want at the exact moment you want it. He supposes it’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, considering his own upbringing, but he’d like to think that he’s earned what he’s been given, at least partially. Especially since most of it has been his brother’s hand-me-downs. And it’s not like his father has ever been in the habit of doing him any favors that don’t come wrapped in criticism, comparison, and disdain.

Although rumor does have it you and your mother haven’t been on speaking terms since you left for university, Jake imagines it’s probably because you wanted to bring the limited edition Versace to campus with you, and she insisted it would be safer at home.

Oh, well. Whatever designer dispute happened between you and your mother is no skin off his back. Jake has his own problems to worry about.

One of them being his brother’s question that still lingers on the other line.

Weighing responses in his head, Jake finally settles on, “I guess.” It’s his best attempt at being noncommittal.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t do anything to dissuade his brother. “Do you have her number by chance? My secretary should have taken it down, but she can’t find it anywhere.”

Jake balks, footsteps faltering. An equally distracted student walking behind him nearly stumbles right into his back. Wordlessly, Jake sends them an apologetic look before clarifying, “Her number? Like, her personal phone number?”

“What other kind of number is there?” And there’s the James that Jake knows. Annoyed at the perceived incompetencies of his younger brother, just as always.

Suddenly, Jake’s patience is running short too. James is the one asking for a favor and still has the gall to be annoyed with him. Typical. Jake’s words are clipped when he says, “No, I don’t have ___’s phone number.”

Jake expects that to be the end of it, but his brother won’t let it go so easily.

“Seriously? Don’t you two go to the same school?”

Jake rolls his eyes. “Right, because I have the entire student body on speed dial.”

There’s a pause on the other end. Jake half expects his brother to just hang up on him. After all, he’s never been able to take what he gets, to swallow what he dishes out.

What Jake does not expect, however, is the way James sounds so tentative when he speaks again. “Well…”

“Well what?” Patience already running thin, it’s all he can do not to snap.

“Do you think you could get it for me?”

Jake must be dreaming. This must be a post-exam punishment, a hallucination brought on by over exerting his brain too far for too long. “Do I think I could get ___’s phone number for you?” he repeats flatly.

“Is there an echo in here?” Asshole. At least he’s consistent.

“Just an echo chamber,” Jake mutters away from the receiver.

“What was that?”

“Nothing.” Jake stops for a moment to fiddle with his keyring as he walks up the stairs to his apartment. “No, I can’t get her phone number for you.”

“Why not?”

The key won’t line up quite right. Jake tries again, frustration seeping through. “Because I have better things to do than run stupid errands for you. Why don’t you drive here and get it yourself?”

“Trust me, if I thought she’d give it to me, I’d be there in an hour.”

The lock on his door finally clicks open, and Jake all but throws his bag down after kicking off his shoes. “And what the hell makes you think she’d give it to me?”

“Well, you didn’t accidentally stand her up, for one.” James doesn’t sound embarrassed by it. Just matter-of-fact. Like a date is nothing but a business deal. Something to be rescheduled and redone if negotiations go sour the first time around.

It is enough to stir up some of Jake’s curiosity, though. “You went on a date with ___?” He supposes it makes sense. Even if the rumor mill and its rumblings about your rocky relationship with your mother ring true, you’re still your parents’ daughter. Still a perfect match on paper for the future CEO of the Sim Corporation. The king of a company and princess of a law firm. It’s a match made in heaven, he thinks ruefully.

“No, I didn’t. That’s kind of the whole point here.”

“Whatever.” Jake still doesn’t see what the hell he has to do with all this. “Why don’t you just look up her parents’ number in the company database and get it from them?”

Jake can practically feel his brother’s exasperation through the phone. “Right, because that would go over really well. Hi there," he imitates. “I’d like to make your daughter the mother of my future children. Care to pass along her phone number so I can get started on that?”

Jake suppresses a wince. “Jesus. I see why she stood you up.”

“She didn’t. I stood her up,” James clarifies. “On accident.”

Semantics. And not ones that Jake is interested in. “Either way. I’m not getting her number for you.”

“Yeah?” Jake is unsettled by the way there’s still no trace of defeat in his brother’s voice. There’s something almost sinister when he suddenly switches topics. “How are classes going?”

Jake’s lips pull into a taut line, disaster of an econ midterm still fresh on his mind. “Fine.”

“Really? Even econ? Third time’s the charm and all that?” Well, at least his brother can be counted on to consistently be an asshole.

“Why do you care?” The only thing Jake wants to do is end this call and crawl into bed for a well-deserved afternoon nap. Let his subconscious spare him from thoughts of his older brother and econ and you for at least a little bit.

James has other plans. “You must have taken the midterm recently, right?” Jake’s silence is confirmation enough. “You know, the only thing Dr. Jeong weighs more heavily than the midterm is the final paper at the end of the semester.”

A minute ago, Jake thought you were the last thing he wanted to talk about. The sudden shift in direction in this conversation is starting to prove him wrong. If there’s one thing Jake would rather discuss even less than his older brother’s dating life, it’s school. “What does that have to do with a–”

“And I think I still have my copy of the paper that earned me the top score in my entire section.” The smugness is practically palpable. “I might have to do some digging, but I’m sure it’s in my old files somewhere.”

Jake rolls his eyes, wishes the immediate comparison weren’t the first thing to rise to the forefront of his mind. Wishes it didn’t find him so lacking. Wishes it wasn’t narrated in the voice of his disappointed father. “If you’re trying to gloat, it’s n–”

“I’m trying to strike a deal. Jesus, no wonder you’re on track to be a super senior getting a business degree.”

“This is my third year,” Jake defends indignantly.

“And your third attempt at econ, which I passed in my first year.” He sounds like he’s settling a little too well into the CEO role when he proposes, “I’m trying to make it your last attempt.”

Jake would be lying if he said his curiosity weren’t piqued, even just slightly. “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, little brother, that my term paper, my notes, all of it, are yours.” It sounds too good to be true. It has to be too good to be true. James is a lot of things, but generous and helpful are very rarely any of them. “As soon as you get me ___’s number.” And there it is.

Jake hangs up without bothering to dignify that with a response and hopes it sends a strong enough signal of his refusal. Then, he falls into his bed face-first with a groan.

And a week later, when his econ midterm results are finally posted, the first thing Jake does is let his head fall on his desk with an alarmingly loud thud that has Jay poking his head in the door to make sure everything’s okay. The second thing he does, a solid twenty minutes later, is send his older brother a text.

Jake [7:21pm]: You better start digging through those old files.

…

All things considered, you’re easier to track down than Jake expects. The university campus is big, and judging from the way he can’t remember ever seeing you in a class, the two of you don’t share a major. But the similarities in your social status mean you’re bound to run in some of the same circles, and Jake is able to use this to his advantage.

Ultimately, it takes very little digging on his part. First, he mentions your name to Jay in the middle of an upper body superset in the university gym. Jay frowns, setting the weights back on the rack.

“That name sounds familiar. I think maybe Heeseung knows her?”

That tidbit takes him to Wednesday night, which always finds Jake in the library at a statistics study group Heeseung also makes a habit of attending. On their way out for the evening, Jake stops him by the door.

“___?” Heeseung pauses for a moment in contemplation. “I’m pretty sure she’s friends with Sunghoon.”

And the third piece of the puzzle proves a bit more difficult to click into place. Sunghoon is harder for Jake to find, at least in a way that comes across naturally. Much like yours, Park Sunghoon is a name Jake hears in passing more than anything. He’s a friend of friends, a mutual acquaintance that Jake has never really had a conversation with and certainly doesn’t know well enough to interrogate for your phone number.

But his most recent midterm score is still looming over his head, and the thought of retaking econ again is so nightmarish it sends a shiver down his spine every time he considers it. At this point, there isn’t much Jake wouldn’t put on the line to pass the damn class. Including his pride, apparently.

So when Jake hears from Jay who hears from Heeseung that Sunghoon will probably be at the party Epsilon Nu Eta is throwing this Friday night, he starts to formulate a plan.

And he starts to regret said plan less than twenty-four hours later when he finds himself on the doorstep of a frat party. A frat party. He can’t remember the last time he came to one of these things. At twenty-one, he already feels geriatric as he tugs self-consciously at the sleeves of the plan black long sleeve he put on for the occasion. Something that will hopefully hide the questionable stains he’ll inevitably leave with.

Entering through the front door with hinges that don’t align quite right, Jake has one mission in mind: find Park Sunghoon. Find him and somehow convince him to pass along your number. There’s a fine line to be walked there, Jake thinks. If he comes across as too eager, it will just be creepy. Nonchalance is the name of the game, but he’s never been good at keeping his cards close to his chest.

For Jake, it’s a tall order, which means the only detour he’ll allow himself is grabbing a cup of lukewarm beer from the kitchen before he sets out looking for Sunghoon. The alcohol is an effort to break the barrier of his inhibitions more than anything. To make what he’s about to do feel a little less painful.

Making his way out of the kitchen, Jake wanders aimlessly for a few minutes. He doesn’t know much about Sunghoon, other than the fact that he competes for your university’s figure skating team and is undeniably handsome. A good-looking figure skater, Jake thinks as he turns down yet another crowded hallway, narrowly avoiding spilling his drink. Where would one of those be hiding?

He spends a few more awkward minutes asking around to no avail. Just when he’s on the verge of saying fuck it and making some sort of sacrifice to the econ gods instead, Jake bumps into the man of the hour on his way to the bathroom.

In the chaos, Jake doesn’t recognize him until it’s almost too late. “Hey,” Jake calls out, bladder all but forgotten for now. He’s trying to fake an air of coolness when he adds, “Sunghoon, right?”

“Yeah.” Jake thanks his lucky stars that Sunghoon must be at least two drinks in, because he doesn’t seem weirded out at all by the sudden question from a near stranger.

“I’m Jake.” He reaches his arm out for a handshake. Blinking, Sunghoon just stares at his outstretched hand as long, awkward moments bleed into each other. Eventually, Jake just lets it fall back to his side. “I’m, uh, in a statistics class with Heeseung.”

“Right on,” Sunghoon nods, still unsure if this conversation has a point to it. Luckily, the pleasant haze clouding his thoughts means he doesn’t mind too much either way.

Jake figures there’s no point in dragging this out by exchanging more pleasantries, and he has the feeling Sunghoon might start forgetting his own name, much less yours, if he lets this continue for too long.

“Listen,” Jake starts, trying to sound as not creepy as possible. “I heard that you know ___ pretty well.”

Sunghoon just shrugs. Jake can’t tell if he’s succeeded. “You could say that.”

“I know this is a strange request, but, uh,” Jake scratches the side of his head, “is there any chance I could get her number? I promise not to do anything weird.” Word vomiting, the extra details are spilling out before he can stop them. “It’s not even for me, actually–”

Sunghoon spares him the rest of a rambling explanation. “Sorry, bud. No can do.”

Jake’s stomach tightens in panic. He really, really just needs your phone number. It has him forgetting his earlier inhibitions, throwing caution to the wind even if he’s making a bit of a fool of himself in the process. “It’s for something important, actually. I’m kind of desperate–”

Sunghoon just puts a consolatory hand on Jake’s shoulder, interrupting his train of thought. “Look, man, it’s nothing against you personally, but I have literally never met you in my life. Besides, if I gave out ___’s number to every random guy that asked, I’m pretty sure she’d shave my head.” Sunghoon leans in close, like he’s about to share a secret. Jake’s nose twists at the scent of alcohol on his breath. “And between you and me, I don’t think I could pull off being bald.”

Jake kind of begs to differ, but that’s neither here nor there. He opens his mouth to plead his case again, but Sunghoon doesn’t even let him get a word out.

“Sorry, man, but I really can’t help you.” Pausing for a moment, he considers. “You said your name was Jacob, though, right?” He doesn’t pause long enough for Jake to correct him. “I could ask her if she’s cool with giving you her number–”

“Whose number are you giving out?” And if Jake thought this conversation wasn’t enough of a train wreck already, trust the timing of your entrance to be more disastrous than divine.

Eyes turning to you and your sudden intrusion on the conversation, Jake’s mind goes blank for a minute. And yeah, he kinda gets why his brother’s so hellbent on having a second chance at your time. Dressed in all black, your hair is loose around your face. Even though it likely costs more than most people’s monthly paycheck, there’s nothing inherently special about what you’re wearing. Still, Jake is finding it exceedingly difficult to look away.

It’s something in your aura, he thinks. In the way you carry yourself. Something that money can’t buy. Something that makes his gaze want to linger.

“___!” Sunghoon grins, wrapping an arm around your shoulder, wobbling slightly. You jostle at the sudden impact, inching away from where the contents of his cup slosh dangerously close to the rim. “What a coincidence. We were just talking about you.”

Your brow creases in confusion. Jake tracks the miniscule movement with parted lips.

“You were?”

“Yeah,” Sunghoon confirms, just at the same moment Jake shakes his head, “No.”

Turning your mildly concerned gaze away from your friend, you glance at Jake for the first time. Brow furrowing further, you cock your head to the side as your lips part in partial recognition. He looks oddly familiar, but you can’t quite place him. “Do I know you?”

“No.” Jake shakes his head again, a little too fervently. “I don’t think we’ve ever met. At least not properly.”

It’s an odd way of putting it. You’re about to ask him to clarify when Sunghoon cuts in, clearing up the confusion for you. “It’s Jacob,” he says, as if that should mean anything to you. Turning back to the boy across from him, he adds, “Jacob Sim, right?”

And that clicks things into place.

“Sim?” you echo, realization dawning on your features.

“Yep,” Sunghoon confirms.

Across from you, Jake says nothing. He doesn’t think he could if he wanted to. In fact, he’s pretty sure his life is flashing before his eyes.

“Sim,” you repeat one final time, jaw ticking in agitation as everything starts to settle. “I do know you.”

“Oh, really?” Sunghoon asks at your side, oblivious to the way your tone betrays obvious animosity. A distaste so palpable Jake can practically feel it radiating off of you. Turning back to Jake, he’s apologetic. “Sorry, Jacob. I guess I could have given you her number, then.” Sunghoon smiles sheepishly, as if he hasn’t just made things a million times worse. “My bad.”

Jake’s eyes widen in horror as he scrambles for some sort of defense, an explanation that will dig him out of this rapidly deepening hole, but you beat him to it.

“My number?” The look you give him has a concerning amount of venom in it. “Seriously? God, why are all you Sim men so obsessed with me?”

“That’s not–”

“First your brother views my LinkedIn profile twenty-three times after standing me up, and now you’re harassing my friends for my phone number?”

“Hold on. I’m not harassing anyone–”

“No,” Sunghoon agrees, nodding diplomatically. “Jacob was perfectly pleasant–”

“It’s Jake, actually.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yeah, just Jake.”

“Sorry,” Sunghoon apologizes. Turning to you, he tries mediating again. “Well, like I said, just Jake was perfectly pleasant–”

“I don’t care how pleasant he is.” Your glare somehow becomes icier. “Leave me alone, and tell your dickhead brother to do the same.” Muttering to yourself more than anything, you add, “The last thing I need right now is you practically stalking me–”

“Stalking you?” Jake flounders, an edge of annoyance creeping into his tone. He’s not surprised to learn that you really do think the world revolves around you, but really? Stalking? “Don’t flatter yourself. It’s not like I’m enjoying this interaction any more than you are.”

You don’t back down, crossing your arms over your chest. The movement has Sunghoon teetering dangerously where he leans on you, but you pay him no mind, attention focused solely on the man in front of you. “Then why do you want my phone number so bad?”

“Like I was trying to say earlier when you wouldn’t let me get a word out sideways,” Jake bites, “it’s not for me. I made a deal with someone, and I told them I’d give them your number.”

Your gaze narrows. “Who?”

“What?”

“Who did you make a deal with?”

Jake hesitates, knowing how the truth will sound. Screw it – a lie would likely be just as damning. Still, it takes him another pregnant pause to eventually admit, “... My brother.”

Scoffing in disbelief, you double down on your ire. “Absolutely not.” Shaking Sunghoon off your shoulder, you turn to leave, dragging him with you. Jake’s eyes close; he can’t bear to watch his last chance at passing this semester leave him in the dust.

So much so that he pleads again, “Wait, ___. Please.” Jake is begging now, and he feels a little pathetic for it. Still, he can’t help the way desperation drives him to continue. “You can block him for all I care. I can’t explain everything, but my life is quite literally in your hands right now. I just need–”

“No.” The single syllable vibrates with finality. “Do I have to spell it for you? N-” you bite, enunciating so sharply Jake thinks you might draw blood. “O. No. I’m not giving my number to you or your flake of a brother or anyone else that so much as looks like they might have the name Sim.”

God, is the only think Jake can think as he miserably watches your retreating figure, Sunghoon stumbling along as you drag him with you. I am so fucked.

…

When Sunghoon finally emerges from your guest bedroom an hour before noon the next day, it’s to ask if you’d be kind enough to spare him some Advil. Even with a bad case of bedhead and the aftermath of overconsumption, he still manages to look good, albeit a little lifeless.

“I’ll do you one better,” you tell him, but reach for the small white bottle anyway, shaking out a few tablets and offering them to your best friend along with a glass of cold water.

“Bagels and coffee?” Sunghoon asks over the rim of his glass, with a little more alertness in his eyes than there was moments before.

“Bagels and coffee,” you confirm. A tried and true hangover cure, if there ever was one. And even though your head is feeling nice and clear, thanks to your trusty two drink limit that has yet to fail you, the local cafe a block from your apartment is very rarely something you turn down.

Thirty minutes later and a change of clothes later, the two of you are trading gossip and stealing bites of each other’s orders when the other person isn’t looking at the table in the back corner of the cafe. Sunghoon is just about to stuff another piece of your bagel in his mouth when he notices yet another notification light up the screen of your phone.

Sunghoon nods towards where it rests on the table, bagel suddenly forgotten. “Is that your mom again?”

“Yep.” Your lips stretch thin. You don’t even need to glance down at your phone to confirm. She’s been blowing up your notifications all weekend. “She’s been on my ass about the upcoming fundraiser event for days now. And reminding me about the utmost importance of bringing an appropriate plus-one.”

Across from you, Sunghoon straightens his shoulders. “I suppose it is about time I bust out the trusty old prom suit again.”

You sigh, sending your half-eaten bagel a forlorn glance. “I wish. She told me if I ever bring you again, I lose half my trust fund.”

“What?” Sunghoon looks affronted. “Why?”

You level him with a look. “Does soap ring a bell?”

Sunghoon splutters in indignation. “That was one time,” he defends. “And anyone would have thought those were edible! They were shaped like candies, and they were on a platter–”

“Soap presentation aside, I don’t think that excuse will work on her.” The dejection in your voice is apparent. “Besides, she’s already made it very clear that you’re explicitly forbidden from attending any future family events as my plus-one.”

“Whatever,” Sunghoon grumbles. “Keep all your stupid inedible soaps.” Pausing for a moment, he realizes that still leaves a giant question hanging in the air. “Who are you gonna bring, then? You know, it kind of is too bad your date with Sim number one didn’t pan out.”

You shrug, pointedly ignoring the way your phone screen lights up yet again. It really is a bit of a shame James turned out to be an unreliable flake. One that still hasn’t bothered to apologize to you or even give any sort of indication that he remembered your scheduled date. Still, you can’t think of anyone that would earn your mother’s approval faster. “I’ll probably just fake a stomach flu.” After all, you’re kind of out of options. “I thought about asking Jungwon, but he’s got stuff going on for his internship that night. A big economics conference or something.”

“Speaking of economics,” Sunghoon leans in conspiratorially. “I think I might have some intel on our new friend from last night.”

“How was economics the segue you went with? We were literally just talking about his older brother.” Giving him a look of disbelief, you add, “And what about that interaction gave you the impression that we’re friends?”

“Whatever,” Sunghoon brushes you off before he continues, “Anyway, I heard from Heeseung who heard from Jay that apparently little Sim is hot garbage at economics. Rumor has it he’s already failed the class twice and is on track to do it again.”

You’re not sure why he’s deemed this information relevant to you, but you’d be lying if you said it weren’t a little amusing.

“Really? Jungwon’s taking it now too, and he said that he sleeps through half the lectures and is still pulling an A.”

Sunghoon rolls his eyes. “Well, we can’t all be prodigies.”

Your lips flatten. “Pretty sure you don’t have to be a prodigy to not fail an entry level course three times.”

“Hey, cut him some slack,” Sunghoon argues. “He’s only failed it twice as of now.”

You scoff, entirely uninterested in the gory details of Jake Sim’s academic failures. “Whatever.”

“Either way,” Sunghoon says, “Jay told Heeseung who told me that’s why he’s so desperate for your number.” Confusion makes itself known on your features. You still don’t see the connection until Sunghoon adds, “Apparently he made some sort of deal with his brother that if he gets him your phone number, he’ll help him pass econ.”

A beat of silence passes between you. The barista at the counter calls out a customer’s name. It’s all you can do to not let your jaw physically drop open, mostly because–

“That is probably the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard in my life.” Glaring at Sunghoon, you can’t believe the theatrics of it all. “How many times have I told you to stop believing everything Heeseung says?”

“Technically, Jay said it,” Sunghoon corrects. “And I don’t know... It kind of makes sense when you think about it.”

You beg to differ. “It absolutely does not. What is this, middle school? Are we passing notes behind the teacher’s back and making our friends ask our crushes if they like us back?” It’s ridiculous. Absolutely, utterly ridiculous.

There is no way. Absolutely no way that James Sim, heir to a multimillion dollar company, is wasting his time giving his little brother an economics cheat sheet in exchange for your phone number.

Sunghoon raises his hands in mock surrender. “Don’t shoot the messenger. I just thought you might be curious.”

And you hate to admit it, but you kind of are. Even though every ounce of logic you’ve accumulated in twenty-one years of life tells you that Heeseung is a notorious gossip whose stories are just as much fiction as reality and your best friend is no better. Even though the whole thing makes absolutely no sense at all.

Even though you repeat it to yourself over and over for the rest of the day, that damn curiosity is still there. Pestering you and disturbing your sleep and leaving you wondering if maybe, just maybe, some things are entirely too ridiculous to be anything but true.

…

On Wednesday night, Jake and Heeseung are in the middle of a particularly brutal probability set when a sudden shadow looms over their favorite corner table on the third floor of the library.

Glancing up, Jake finds Heeseung’s gaze already trained somewhere over his shoulder. Jake can’t quite tell if the look on his face is confusion or terror.

“Mind if I join?” The request comes from behind him, posed in an oddly familiar voice. Heeseung is nodding in agreement before Jake has the chance to so much as turn around and identify the intruder.

All is revealed soon enough, though, when you slide down into the seat next to him, ignoring the way Heeseung scrambles to move his things and make room for you in the seat next to him. Instead, you busy yourself with setting your bag on the floor and pulling out your laptop.

It’s all Jake can do to stare at you blankly. This evening, you’ve traded the all black outfit from the other night’s party for something a bit more casual, something comfortable that blends in better to the background of a university library. The sudden proximity also means that the scent of your perfume is quick to waft over towards him.

Jake does his best to hold his breath before his brain can trick him into thinking he likes it.

“Stop looking at me like that.” A bold request for someone who just hijacked a study session and sat down with no explanation, but Jake wouldn’t expect anything less from you.

“Like what?” The words are out before he gives them permission. Across the table, Heeseung is staring too, but all three of you know the command isn’t for him.

“I don’t know.” Glancing at the battery bar hovering just above empty, you dig around in your bag for a moment for your laptop charger. Jake notes that you still have yet to look at him. Instead, you begin to busy yourself with typing something on your computer. “Just stop it.”

He hopes you can feel the way his eyes burn holes into the side of your head as his blank stare shifts into a glare.

Heeseung glances between the two of you. His outburst is sudden. “Oh! I just remembered.” He hits his head for good measure. The acting is wasted on this audience, though. Neither of you pay him any mind or even bother to glance in his direction. “I have to go, uh…” he trails off, finishing lamely with a rather flat, “somewhere else.”

“Great.” Your eyes don’t leave your screen, fingers still flying on your keyboard. “See you later.”

As Heeseung scrambles to pack up his unfinished statistics homework and high tail it out of the library, the air that has suddenly become stifling, Jake glances down at where your fingers are still moving.

Distractedly, he wonders how you can type so fast with nails that long, how you never seem to need the backspace key. How none of the pastel pink that coats your fingernails seems to be so much as chipped. A projection of perfection, he thinks, down to every last detail.

Moments pass, neither of you saying anything.

You still haven’t looked at him by the time you do eventually break the impasse. “I heard you suck at econ.”

And Jake actually cannot believe you. “Did you seriously hunt me down just to rub it in?”

“Rub it in?” That at least earns him some of your attention, even if it is just a brief, confused glance as your fingers pause in their typing. “It’s not like I’m the reason you can’t pass.”

“Believe it or not, you quite literally are.”

You sigh, removing your hands from your keyboard entirely. Then, before he can blink, you spin your entire body in your chair, eyes, shoulders, and knees all directly trained on him. Jake can’t help the way he flinches back a few inches at the sudden change in pace.

“Look,” you start. He can already tell by the way you wrap the single syllable sound in patronization that he’s not going to appreciate whatever you’re about to say. “I can tell that you’re not used to, like, having conversations with people, but usually what happens is you give someone enough information so that they know what you’re talking about.” He’s right.

And he’s quick to defend himself. “Maybe I could, if you’d let me get three words out without interr–”

But you’ve moved on already. “Is the whole ‘deal with your brother’ thing true?”

Jake lets the silence linger for a moment, looking at you in disbelief. “You literally just proved my point.”

You roll your eyes. “I knew what you were going to say, so I sped things along. Now answer my question.” You lay it out for him again. This time, even more directly. “Did you try to get my number because of some deal you made with your brother?”

He’s not sure why it sounds so ridiculous, narrated back to him in your voice. It’s not like it was a brilliant, foolproof plan to begin with, but the way you present it has him feeling about five inches tall.

“I…”

“It’s a yes or no question.” You really don’t beat around the bush, he thinks.

“Yes, okay?”

Looking behind you, you suddenly lean in a little closer. It’s all Jake can do not to flinch back again. Bringing your hand up to cup your mouth, it’s like you’re about to divulge a terrible secret when you whisper, “You’re that bad at econ?”

Jake just sighs. “Worse, probably.”

Frowning, you pull back a few inches. “Aren’t you a business major? Isn’t econ, like, pretty important for you?” If he were thinking clearly, Jake might wonder how you know that. But that only thing his mind has space for right now is annoyance. At you, at this exchange, at the way you so easily pick through his flaws and seem to have no problem laying them bare at his feet like he doesn't already know them intimately.

“Yeah, well, it’s not like I got any say in my major,” Jake counters. He might have more patience for this conversation if he were having it with anyone but you, if you weren’t throwing his own insecurities back in his face with every follow-up question.

At that, something flickers through your eyes. Sympathy, maybe. “Fair enough.” Whatever it is, it’s gone before he can identify it. And it’s not enough to make you pull your punches. “Still though, that’s probably the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” Jake doesn’t need the reminder. “Just get a tutor like everyone else.”

The thing is, Jake has thought about it. On more than one occasion. He’s even gotten so far as filling out the university tutor request form. He just could never quite bring himself to complete the ‘Name’ field without all of the potential consequences forcing him to hit backspace.

He might not be his brother, but he’s not stupid enough to think that his family would ever be okay with the Sim name anywhere near a tutor form. He tells you as much. “And listen to my dad tell me how much of a disappointment I am for not being able to even take a class on my own?” Jake laughs humorlessly. “No thanks.”

A beat passes. Two. You’re not done yet, but you at least have the decency to sound a little apologetic, a little tentative when you say, “Not to kick you while you’re down or anything, but I mean, that has to be better than failing twice.”

Jake just shakes his head. “You don’t know my father.”

You shrug but don’t press the matter further. Truth be told, you don’t know his father, but you do know fathers like him. You have one of your own. The third floor of the library doesn’t seem like the place for that conversation, though, even if you’ve already uncovered more than your fair share of each other’s secrets in the last ten minutes. “I guess not.”

…

Your phone is buzzing far too incessantly for a Saturday morning, much less this early on a Saturday morning. Internally, you curse Friday night you, who forgot to switch it into do not disturb before falling asleep. Face still buried in your pillow, you reach around your nightstand blindly with the intention of remedying that particular mistake and enjoying a few more moments of peace.

Before you can make good on your plan, you make the fatal mistake of reading the message preview before silencing your phone. And suddenly, to your neverending annoyance, you’re wide awake.

Mom [7:36 am]: Looking forward to seeing you next Saturday at the fundraiser.

Mom [7:37 am]: I also noticed that you haven’t indicated who you’ll be bringing yet. Please fill out the RSVP form when you have a moment.

Mom [7:45 am]: James Sim hasn’t RSVP’d yet. Are you bringing him? You should invite him if you haven’t already.

Mom [7:53 am]: I also never heard the update after your date a few weeks ago. Hoping no news is good news. I just spoke with his father the other day, and it sounds like he’s doing great things over at their company.

Mom [8:01 am]: I also heard that he volunteered a few summers ago rebuilding turtle habitats. Wow! I think you two would get along very well.

Groaning, you flip your phone back over. That about sums up how well she knows her only daughter, you think ruefully. If she thought wooing you with turtles was a good idea, she must have forgotten that you’ve had a lingering phobia of the freaky little reptiles since your friend from elementary school had a pet turtle that bit your finger when you were at her house.

Besides, you have serious doubts that’s actually how James Sim spent his last summer in university.

If memories from your social media scrolling serve correctly, rebuilding turtle habitats was code for partying on a yacht for a month straight. You don’t care how he spends his free time, but the way he already has your mother wrapped around his stupid finger is enough to annoy any lingering sleepiness out of your system.

Whatever. James Sim’s white lies are the least of your concerns now, and they certainly won’t solve your problems. If anything, you’re starting to regret not telling your mother anything about your failed attempt at a first date with him. Now, trying to explain that disaster of an evening would only sound like an excuse at best and a flimsy lie at worst.

And even if she did believe you, you still have the glaring issue of next Saturday and your lack of a pre-approved plus-one.

With one final groan, you pull your blanket over your face, trying and failing to banish any thoughts of your mother, James Sim, and the certain disaster next weekend will be.

Despite your best efforts, your worries linger. They follow you into Sunday; they start to make you desperate on Monday. With a diminishing handful of days left until the fundraiser, your anxiety only surges.

By the time Wednesday rolls around, you’re so stressed out that you can barely force your eyes to focus on the nearly blank Word document in front of you, all of the legalese and case details you can usually sort through in your sleep jumbling into one incomprehensible blob.

Halfway through your third reread of a paragraph that details the basics of copyright law, it strikes you. The seedling of an idea so utterly ridiculous it just might be your saving grace.

Your mother probably, definitely, couldn’t care less about James Sim’s so-called affinity for wildlife rescue. No, the only thing that makes him an appropriate candidate in her eyes for this Saturday has nothing to do with his personality at all.

It’s his name that she likes. His family name specifically.

In the middle of your favorite cafe, it hits you. The seedling of an idea sprouts roots, begins to bloom.

If one Sim is good enough to be your plus-one, then surely the other one would be too.

And you know exactly where he’ll be tonight. Glancing down at the time on your phone, you force your brain to think. Now, all you need is a plan. A way to convince him. Something he can’t refuse.

Closing the lid of your laptop, you smile. You know exactly what it is he wants.

Before you leave the cafe, you send a quick message to a friend. Set your plan in place so that the details are polished, irrefutable when you present it to him.

And then you set out for the university library.

When you find Jake and Heeseung sitting at the same exact table on the third floor of the library, Heeseung doesn’t even bother to stick around for the customary greetings. Instead, he takes one single look at you before offering another flimsy excuse about having somewhere to be. Or maybe something to do. You can’t remember, and it doesn’t really matter.

After all, the only reason you’re here is because–

“I have a way for you to pass econ.” Sliding into the seat next to Jake, the same one you sat in last time, you don’t waste any time before divulging the reason for your presence.

If Jake is startled, he doesn’t show it. Statistics homework forgotten on the table, the only thing you see on his face is pure, obvious relief as his shoulders relax.

“Thank god.” Reaching for his phone, he unlocks it, tapping and swiping until he’s ready to enter a new contact. “Give me your number, and I’ll–”

You shake your head, interrupting his train of thoughts. The way you smile makes him suddenly uneasy. He thought this was over, but now he’s not so sure. You confirm his fears when you say, “A different way.”

Now Jake just looks exasperated. If you keep up this habit, he’s about to start failing statistics too. Never mind the fact that he got his hopes up for what he is sure will turn out to be a giant pile of nothing. Still, he humors you. “What do you mean, a different way?”

“I mean,” you start, folding your hands across your lap. Jake has the distinct impression that you’re trying your best to be as convincing as possible. If nothing else, it does pique his curiosity. He’s never seen you be anything but annoyed or uninterested. It’s an interesting change of pace.“I have a friend who’s also taking econ right now and hasn’t scored below a 98 on a single assignment.” Jesus, Jake thinks. Must be nice.

And then you drop the bomb on him. “He said he’s more than willing to tutor you. For money, of course.” you specify, moving on so quickly he hardly has the chance to process what you’re saying. “And it’s not like you can’t afford it, but I’ll split the cost with you. For the principle of it all.” There’s a beat of silence as what you’ve just said settles into the air. “Oh,” you add, remembering the most important detail. “And he’ll be discreet. Under the table tutoring, if you will. No chance of word getting back to Daddy Sim.”

You do your best to give him your most trustworthy smile. Jake just stares back at you, mildly horrified.

When he finally speaks again, it’s to say, “... Please, and I mean this with every single bone in my body, please never refer to my father like that again.”

Not even bothering to look sheepish, the only agreement you offer is a mock salute.

Your poor taste in nicknames aside, it does seem like a pretty sweet deal from where Jake is sitting. He cannot fail economics again, and getting a tutor would mean that his brother couldn’t hold his success over his head, couldn’t claim to be the sole reason for it. And a discreet tutor would be even better. Not going through the official university system would mean a much lower chance of his father ever finding out he got some help along the way.

All things considered, and very much to his surprise, Jake is having a hard time seeing any downsides.

He goes through the list again. First, he gets to pass economics. Second, he doesn’t have to deal with his older brother in the process. Third, he gets a tutor that won’t pop up on his father’s radar, and all Jake has to do in return is–

Wait.

“Hold on a minute.” There’s an unmistakable edge of suspicion in Jake’s voice. There’s no way you went out of your way to find him a tutor, to help pay for it, without getting something in return. The wheels in his mind are starting to spin when he asks, “What’s in it for you?”

Next to him, you smile. It’s small, and if he didn’t know any better, he’d think you almost look nervous. “It’s just a small favor, really.” The expression on your face is not reassuring in the slightest. Still, you insist, “It’ll be easy, I promise. Just a few hours of your time at most.”

Jake knows better than to agree without details. And especially to anything you’re proposing. He’s already preparing to kiss his dreams of passing econ goodbye when he asks slowly,“What is it?”

You sigh, pretenses dropping. If you’re going to convince him now, you might as well do it with honesty. “That annual charity fundraiser event my parents throw. Your parents are usually there, I think. I don’t know if you’ve ever gone?”

Jake shrugs, frowning as he tries to remember. He’s not entirely sure either. After a while, fundraisers and events and family obligations all start to blur together. Although the name does ring a bell, albeit a distant, faint one.

“Anyway,” you continue, “my mother is insistent that I bring a date. Someone she considers appropriate company. You know, runs in the same circles and comes from what she would consider a good family.” Jake nods. He does know exactly what you mean. Picking up on his agreement, you add with a twinge of hopefulness, “Like I said, it would be easy. Especially for you, since you’re used to this kind of stuff. I wouldn’t have to train you–”

That has Jake rolling his eyes. “Let me guess. I get a treat for rolling over?”

The ice in your glare is half hearted. “You know what I mean. There are certain…” You weigh your words carefully. “expectations at these things.” Pausing for a moment, you add, “What I’m trying to say is that I don’t think you’ll eat the soap, even if it’s candy shaped and on a platter.”

If you were trying to clarify your point, you did a terrible job. Jake’s brow pulls downwards in confusion. “Is that supposed to be some kind of metaphor?”

“Unfortunately not.” You shake your head, but don’t explain any further. Sunghoon’s mishaps are not the point of this conversation. A mutually beneficial deal is. Which is why you ask him, “So, what do you say? Are you in or not?”

Is he? Jake says nothing, considering. Mentally, he goes through the list of pros and cons. Pros, he thinks. I get to finally pass econ, and I get to do it without my brother. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, gaze tracking the movement as you nervously bite at your lower lip. Also, I get to show up at an event with the girl he’s been trying to get for weeks now.

He’d be lying if that didn't spark a certain warm feeling in his chest, if it didn’t inspire a sudden bout of preemptive vindication. But there are other things to consider.

Cons, he continues internally. I have to spend an entire evening at an event hosted by your family and make them believe you don’t annoy the ever-loving shit out of me.

Weighing his options, Jake has one more question. “How long would it be?” he asks, and you try to stifle a grin, as if he’s already told you yes.

“The event is technically four hours,” you say carefully, “but I’m sure we could manage to sneak out after a solid two and a half.”

Jake nods, thinking it over a moment longer.

“Okay,” he finally breathes, hoping this isn’t some kind of terrible, elaborate trick, that he isn’t about to sign his life away on a dotted line.

For econ, he thinks. For what’s left of his struggling GPA. He can manage a single night at a mind-numbingly boring high society function. Even if it’s with you. “I’m in.”

And it feels a bit strange, he has to admit, as he watches you type your contact information into his contact list. It feels odd to have your number in his phone with no intention of passing it on. To know that he’s the one who will be using it to confirm the details of this Saturday. To know that his brother will be none the wiser and not at all closer to having any kind of access to you.

And if that strange surge of smugness makes another sudden appearance, well, Jake just figures that no one ever has to know about it.

…

Frowning, you give yourself another once over in the full length mirror that sits next to your vanity. A shimmering, pale gold, the evening gown that flows over your figure was hand-selected by you for this very event. For some reason, you’re having a hard time rediscovering the magic you’d felt trying it on in the showroom here in the soft, ambient light of your bedroom.

Objectively, you’re sure you must look good. The compliments the store attendants had given you were more than just customary, and gold has always been your color. Still, a slew of sudden uncertainties simmer in your gut. Is the slight sparkle too garish? Does the gold wash you out? Your worries feel too big for your bedroom, at too stark an opposition with the peaceful ambience as soft, instrumental music plays from your speaker.

But this particular Saturday evening has its ways of making you feel jumbled where you’d typically be steadfast. Insecure where you’d usually find confidence.

It’s true that your mother has always had a critical eye, and especially where you’re concerned. If you were to search deep enough, however, you’d find that she’s not the person you’re most concerned about making a lasting impression on tonight.

With no small effort, you resist the urge to smooth out invisible wrinkles in the bodice of your dress. A nervous habit more than anything, it’s only exacerbated by the way your phone is still devoid of notifications. The clock on your nightstand is a reminder that your date for the evening should be here any minute, should be sending a message as confirmation of his arrival at your apartment. But your phone is still silent, even as the hour of the fundraiser draws nearer and nearer.

Maybe this was a terrible mistake, you think, a new bout of uncertainties beginning to brew. It shouldn't be a surprise, really. Trust him to be just as flakey as his brother, with absolutely no regard for previous commitments or anyone else’s time. It’s just your luck that you get stood up again, this time by the other Sim.

You're in the middle of disguising your fears and distracting yourself by cursing him and his future bloodline when your phone finally pings with an incoming notification. Well, you think, grabbing your coat, feeling a bit ridiculous for the slight overreaction, you’ll have to look into removing generational curses when you have the time.

For now, you settle with pulling on your heels for the evening, ignoring the way you feel a bit wobbly despite the fact that you’ve walked in far worse. Locking your apartment behind you and striking a slightly unsteady pace towards the elevator down the hall, you whisper a silent plea that tonight isn’t as much of a disaster as you’re afraid it could be.

You watch as the numbers on the elevator screen tick lower and lower, a swirling mix of dread and excitement starting to swim in your stomach. When you finally reach the first floor, you’re surprised to see a familiar face waiting for you in the lobby. Something in you softens, albeit just slightly. You’d incorrectly assumed he would just wait for you in the comfort of his car and spent the whole ride down preparing to awkwardly check license plates in the near dark till you found the right one.

An overwhelming sense of self-consciousness returns to you under the brightness of the lobby lights. Unconsciously, you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, wondering how long it will take him to notice you as you begin to walk towards him. You’ve only made it a few steps when it strikes you that he’s already distracted by something else.

Across the lobby, Jake Sim is engaged in a conversation with your doorman. One that looks slightly heated, by your judgment.

As you get closer, their words become more audible.

“Like I just told you,” The exasperation in your date’s voice is apparent. “I’m here to see ___.”

And you really should make your presence known, should step in and divert the brewing argument, especially since you seem to be the subject of it.

But then you look at Jake. Really look at him.

Realistically, you knew he would come well-dressed. That had been a big part of your reason for choosing him. The Sunghoon soap fiasco aside, you already knew Jake Sim wasn’t someone who needed you to put together a PowerPoint presentation on formal event dress code. He didn’t need you to explain the concept of complementary colors or the advantages of getting a suit tailored. Didn’t need you to explain that Converse were not an appropriate show or that no, a bolo tie is not acceptable attire.

Up until now, you were grateful for his pre existing knowledge. It saved you a lot of time and effort that you could use to focus on other things, like getting ready yourself. But it also meant that you were entirely unprepared to see him like this.

Eyes scanning him again, the immaculate fit of his suit is undeniable, as is the way his dark hair is perfectly mussed. It’s styled enough to avoid withering comments from elderly attendees who have the habit of asking how people see with their hair covering their eyes. But it’s also messy in a way that looks intentional, in a way that makes you want to run your fingers through it, tug at it just a little, just to tease.

It’s not just that he’s dressed well, though, despite the fact that he undeniably is.

No, what has you freezing in your footsteps is the fact that Jake looks good.

“And like I just told you, you’re not on her guest list. So I’m sorry, sir.” There is not a single trace of apology in your doorman’s voice. “But I’m afraid I can’t let you up. You’ll have to contact her and ask her to add you to her guest list.” You’re not sure how he manages to do it without losing any professionality, but your doorman makes it very clear that he thinks that will happen just as soon as hell freezes over.

Jake’s shoulders tense in visible frustration. You have to suppress an actual sigh at the way fabric stretches over the muscle there. “Again, I’m not asking you to. Could you please just let her know that I’m here? She’s not answering her messages–”

“How odd.” The sarcasm is unmistakable.

Getting a little desperate, Jake ignores the slight and continues anyway. “And we’re on a bit of a time crunch, so–”

From here, you can see the way his features start to twist in panic. It’s sobering enough to snap you out of your trance.

Cutting in, you make your presence known. “It’s okay,” you tell your doorman first. “I know him.” Then, you turn to Jake, putting on an award-worthy performance of false nonchalance when you explain, “Sorry I didn’t respond to your message. I was just on my way down.”

You watch as some of the tension drains from his features. “That’s alright,” Jake concedes easily. “I just wanted to make sure we weren’t late.”

A funny feeling, a new one, stirs again. Something in you softens. “I appreciate that.”

You can’t help the way you take another look at him. At his suit, his hair, his face. At him, at all of it.

Mistaking your gaze for scrutiny, he asks, a bit self-consciously, “What do you think? Will your mother approve?”

She will. There’s no doubt in your mind. But you’re not looking at him through her eyes when you tell him, “Yeah, you look good. Really good.”

The last part probably wasn’t necessary, but the way he flushes makes it almost worth it. Casting your eyes downward in an effort to hide a smile, you notice a detail that you missed earlier.

Jewelry. Gold jewelry. A handful of rings on his fingers and a delicate bracelet on his left wrist.

Suddenly, his message from last night makes a little more sense.

Jake [9:02 pm]: What color is your dress for tomorrow?

You [9:08 pm]: Gold. Don’t worry about trying to match. A black suit will be just fine.

Now, you’re grateful he didn’t fully listen to you, touched that he even bothered to ask.

Across from you, Jake is suddenly having a bit of a hard time breathing. The earlier near-fiasco with your doorman all but forgotten, you’re still admiring his bracelet as his eyes scan the length of you, throat bobbing by the time his gaze makes its way back up to your face.

“You, uh,” he coughs. “You look nice too.”

“Thank you.” You miss the way his gaze wanders, can’t seem to find a place to land that won’t dust the tops of his cheekbones an even deeper shade of crimson. “I’ve been looking forward to wearing this dress forever.”

And it is a nice dress, Jake thinks, but he’s not sure how to tell you that’s not what he meant.

Eyes finally landing on your feet, or rather, on the stilettos you’re wearing, he frowns. “I had to park kind of far away.” Meeting your gaze, he adds, “Why don’t you wait here? I’ll pull the car around front.”

“Okay.” Something in you melts a bit at his consideration, at the fact that he even noticed. “Thank you.”

And it is nice, you think, to not be beginning the evening with your feet already sore. To have someone pick up on the little things, even if he’s being compensated for it in the form of half-price tutoring.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you try not to sigh like a lovesick schoolgirl when he opens the door for you, when he puts his hand on the back of your seat as he reverses the car out of its parking spot. Get it together, you think. You’ve turned up your nose at far more obvious attempts at wooing you, and it’s not like Jake is here with you out of his own volition. The thought is surprisingly disappointing, as he adjusts the stereo, soft music filling the silence.

The drive passes like that, in a quiet that’s only uncomfortable if you look at it too close. Eventually, the soft melodies filtering through the stereo become a pleasant sort of background noise as you watch the world blur outside the window.

It would be smart, probably, to sort out your story for the evening and put together something coherent for when the two of you are inevitably asked invasive questions, but you can’t bring yourself to be the one to disturb the peace.

So when you arrive at the fundraiser a handful of minutes later, you just have to hope that the image the two of you strike together will be enough to stave off any unwanted questions for the time being.

Again, Jake opens your car door for you, offers a steadying hand as you step out of it. And when he gives you his arm as you enter through the front door of the venue, you take it, wrapping your fingers around his elbow. Pausing just outside the entrance, you watch as he takes a deep breath.

“Ready?” You’re not sure if you’re asking him or yourself.

Jake answers for the both of you. “Let’s do this.”

Walking through the lobby, you hand your jackets to the coat check attendant before entering the ballroom where the fundraiser is held. Despite your general distaste for this evening and everything it entails – you sneak a glance at your partner in crime. Well, mostly everything – you can’t help but admire the space around you.

Decorated immaculately down to every last element, your mother truly doesn’t spare any expense or detail when it comes to throwing parties. And like always, she somehow manages to have a sharp eye on everything and everyone, no matter how chaotic or busy. You’ve hardly taken two steps inside the ballroom when she finds you, approaches you will all the grace of a panther stalking its prey.

Pulling you in for a quick hug, the warm greeting she gives you is more for the benefit of onlookers than for you. And it forces you to remove your hand from Jake’s arm.

Looking over your shoulder, her voice is sickeningly saccharine. “And this must be James,” she beams, making eye contact with the wrong brother. Directing her attention to him, she gushes, “My daughter has told me wonderful things about you.”

Your eyebrows raise in disbelief. Jake stifles a laugh, expertly turns it into a cough.

Really? You think. She did all that digging on James’ so-called turtle philanthropy but never bothered to pull up a picture of the guy? And you mean, standard genetic similarities aside, it’s not like the two of them look that much alike.

“Actually, mom,” you spare him the expense of having to correct her mistake, “this is Jake Sim. James’ brother. We go to school together.”

“Oh,” her eyebrows fall at the slip, no doubt an unforgivable social faux pas in her mind. “You never filled out the RSVP form, sweetie,” she somehow makes the term of endearment sound like a curse, “so I wasn’t sure who you’d be bringing.” Trust her to find a way to make her mistake your fault.

Turning back to your date, she tries to remedy her mistake. “Jake, then.” She offers him a smile so forced you’re surprised her cheeks aren’t aching. Looking back at you, she fishes, “And he’s your…?”

Her dangling bait goes untouched. “He’s my plus-one.” It’s an intentional choice of words on your part. In your mind, it’s a neutral enough term that will hopefully let you navigate the evening without too many rumors or invasive questions about your personal life from people you only speak to out of reluctant obligation.

Jake is less used to the way your mother tends to poke and prod, the way she likes to examine the superficial details of your life with a microscope and make sure she can frame them in a way that will be pleasing for public perception. The way she doesn’t ask about your love life because it’s of any genuine interest to her, but because she wants sole control of the rumor mill’s production.

Next to you, he stiffens, feels as though he’s already failed some kind of test he didn’t know he was taking, wasn’t given any materials to study for.

There’s a lot to be said, probably, about the way you pick up on his discomfort so easily. The way your hand returns to the crook of his elbow wordlessly and gives a single, gentle squeeze. Reassuring him, putting his nerves at ease, as you begin to navigate your way out of this conversation.

“We’d better find our seats,” you tell your mother. The only reason Jake can identify the icy edge hiding in the superficial sweetness of your voice is because he’s been on the receiving end of it. On multiple occasions. Directed at someone else, he finds it almost amusing. “Wouldn't want to miss anything.”

“Of course,” your mother concedes, but there’s an undertone there. Jake can tell that there’s a war being waged here, battles and skirmishes in subtext and stilted pauses. He’s no stranger to the way high society likes to wrap up insults in niceties and skirt around delicate topics, but his own family has never been anything but blunt when it comes to their distaste for him and his choices.

He’s still not entirely sure what he just witnessed, but you’re dragging him by his arm to find your assigned table before he can sort through the offending slights and put on armor that may be of any use to you.

Carefully arranged, the maze of tables is easy enough to navigate. Each seat has a white place card in front of it, embossed with a shimmery golden script that matches your dress and holds the name of the guest who’s been assigned to sit there.

You drag Jake past a flurry of names and attendees he half recognizes, stopping only to grab two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter, handing one to Jake before you continue on your mission. After another minute of searching, you find your name at a table a few rows out from the far wall. Rolling your eyes, you can practically hear your mother’s reasoning: Not too close to the wall. Wouldn’t want people thinking I’m trying to hide her. But certainly not anywhere near the center of the room, in case she falls into that pesky habit of being an awful embarrassment.

Standing behind your chair, your eyes find the place card stationed in front of the seat next to yours at the same time Jake’s do.

“Oh my god.” The exasperation is apparent, even though your words are barely audible where you mutter them under your breath.

Because of course this hasn’t already been enough of a train wreck. Because of course the place card next to yours doesn’t have Jake’s name on it. Nope, embossed in the same shimmery gold is the name of another person entirely.

James Sim.

You turn to your date, apologetic. “God, I’m sorry. I really didn’t fill out the RSVP form, but I didn’t think she’d just assume…”

“It’s okay.” Jake gives you some grace. “Really, it wouldn’t be the first time.” And all things considered, he kind of is in his brother’s seat tonight. Attending an event that’s better suited for the future head of the company than his forgotten younger brother. Accompanying the girl that public opinion surely dictates would be a better match for him.

Still, you frown. Reaching for the small clutch that sits against your hip, you rummage for a moment before pulling out a black permanent marker.

Jake glances at you sideways.Your bag of the evening is tiny, barely even big enough to hold your phone. He’s surprised you managed to fit the marker in there, much less prioritize it enough to bring it with you. “You carry that thing around with you all the time?”

You shrug. “Never know when you’ll need to do some DIY vandalism.”

It would be a lie if he said something in him doesn’t soften, just a bit, when he watches you reach for the place card in front of his seat and put a giant, bold X over his brother’s name.

Your handwriting is no match for the computer-generated script, but Jake still likes the place card a little better when you’re done with it, likes the way his name looks next to yours when you set it back on the table, alterations completed.

“There,” you say, looking entirely too satisfied with your handiwork. “All better.” This time, you slide down into your seat before Jake has the chance to pull it out for you. Turning to him as he tentatively takes the seat next to you, he finds a small frown on your lips. “Wait,” you pause, realization written across your features. “Your brother isn’t coming, right?”

Jake shakes his head. “I mean, I don’t know for sure, but I doubt it. He has no reason to come. My parents are on a business trip, so they won’t be here either. And that also probably means he’s more swamped than usual at the office.”

Nodding, you take a sip of champagne. “Good.” Pausing, your lips quirk. “Although it would be kind of funny if he–”

“I think you’re in my seat.” The sudden interruption is flat, leaves no room for arguments.

Startled, the two of you spin in your chairs.

James Sim, despite his brother’s predictions, is in fact not otherwise occupied at his office. Instead, he stands directly behind his younger sibling, strikes an imposing figure where his shadow blocks the chandelier light behind him and extends over his brother and his altered place card.

Eyes flaming, he looks at where his name has been crossed out. Replaced.

Next to Jake, you remain silent, figure that you’ll let Jake handle this one the way he let you handle your mother. Far be it from you to step in on a family matter.

But then you notice the way Jake shrinks a little in his seat, hides a little further in his brother’s shadow. Reaches for the place card like he wishes he could take it back.

Sliding your gaze back to your least favorite Sim sibling, your voice is even, albeit icy, when you point out the obvious, “It’s not actually. Can’t you read?” Jake’s hand stops in its tracks, falls back to his lap.

A quick look your way is the only indication James even hears you. Instead, he continues his one-sided conversation with his brother, a barely controlled sort of fury crossing over his expression. “Hm,” he muses, glancing between the two of you. “Sure seems like you two are awfully close.” Casting an accusatory glare at Jake, he adds, “That’s funny. I could have sworn you said you barely knew her.”

Her. You’re sitting right there, and you don’t even get a name.

It doesn’t go unnoticed by Jake either. And it turns out to be just what he needs to find his voice. You’re almost proud of the sarcasm he manages to muster when he counters, “Yeah, well, this funny thing happens when you spend time together. You actually get to know each other.” Straightening his spine, there’s an unmistakable edge in his voice when he adds, “You know, when you actually bother to show up, that is.”

You hide a laugh behind your hand, albeit not very well. Glancing at Jake, a feeling swells in your chest that you can only identify as pride. You didn’t know he had it in him.

Reassessing his strategy, James turns to you, forcing a nonchalance that is entirely contradicted by the way his cheeks are rapidly reddening. “Actually, ___,” he tries, acting as if the last thirty seconds faded out of existence at his will. “I was hoping to speak to you about something. I’d love to get you a drink if you–”

“Actually,” Jake cuts in, doubling down. “We already have drinks.” Behind you on the table, the two near full glasses of champagne are undeniable evidence. The laugh that spills out of you this time is impossible to hide. Yeah, you decide, between the two of them, you definitely hate James more. Entirely amused, the only thing you wish you had is a bowl of popcorn as you root for the underdog. Not that he needs it. Much to your satisfaction, he’s been landing his punches well.

The giggle dies on your lips, though, when you feel the warmth of another hand suddenly cover the top of yours where it rests on your thigh. Gaze flaming, James follows the movement. Startled, your eyes fly to Jake. The only view you’re offered is of his profile as he keeps his gaze trained on his brother, the challenge in his features unmistakable.

The only consolation he offers for your sudden shock is a small, reassuring squeeze against your knuckles.

And then he says, “And I’d like to keep my girlfriend right here, actually.” At that, he does finally turn to you, eyes pleading, gaze imploring when he seeks your permission. Even though they’re performative in nature, his words aren’t solely for James’ benefit. “If that’s alright with you, that is.”

Girlfriend.

You were perfectly happy in the role of the observer, but now Jake has dragged you into the spotlight. Even though it pains you, you know you can’t leave him hanging. Not when that would mean a sure victory for his dickhead of a brother.

Girlfriend. The word echoes in your head, has you feeling dizzy.

“Of course,” you return hollowly, barely recognizing the sound of your own voice over the sudden rushing in your ears. “Boyfriend.”

When you smile at him, you make sure it looks sickeningly sweet enough to deter James. Your eyes, however, flash with a warning only Jake can read.

“You’re dating?” James can’t hide his shock, and his outrage is just as obvious.

“Yep,” Jake passes you a panicked look. But you don’t need it, don’t need his convincing. You’ve already dug yourself a deep enough hole. Trying to climb out now would only mean everything crumbles.

“Sure are,” you confirm with a tight smile. Turning back to Jake, you add, “Actually, sweetie, I need to talk to you about, uh…” you scramble for a moment. Finish vaguely with, “that thing.”

“Right.” Jake picks up on the threat in your eyes seamlessly, knows there’s only one acceptable response. “That thing,” he echoes.

“Yeah, so,” you turn back to James, barely acknowledging him as you start to stand. “We’re gonna step out for a minute.”

Jake is all but putty in your hands as you switch the positioning of your grip so that the hand that was resting on yours is now encased firmly between your fingers.

“See you later,” are Jake’s breathless parting words to his brother.

“Hopefully not, though,” you alter.

And then you’re dragging him back through the crowd towards the exit, and it’s all Jake can do to not run into the other guests or knock over the delicately balanced trays of hors d’oeuvres waiters carry throughout the room. He’s at your mercy all the way through the double doors of the ballroom, and you pause only briefly to determine which hallway is less likely to have people in it before deciding on the one to the right, towing him along behind you.

Once you’re far enough away from unwanted eyes and ears, you start wiggling every door knob you come across, growing visibly more frustrated until you finally find an unlocked one. Huffing, you push Jake into the spare storage closet first. Following him in, you close the door behind you.

The sudden change in space puts you in close proximity. Your nose is only a handful of inches away from his when you start laying out accusations.

“What the hell?” With the same hand than just dragged him on a half marathon, you shove at his chest. “Boyfriend?” You have half a mind to grab the broom standing next to you and start whacking him with it.

“I’m sorry!” Jake holds his hands up defensively. He doesn’t miss the way you’re eyeing every cleaning tool around you, no doubt deciding which would make the most effective weapon. “I panicked, okay? I just hate that smug little look he gets on his face–”

“Well you’re about to be seeing ‘that smug little look’ a lot more once he calls your bluff!” you half-shout, trying to convey your anger without alerting anyone to your presence.“The timeline barely lines up to begin with. It’s only been what, a few weeks since I was supposed to go on a date with him? And that’s not to mention the fact that there won’t be anyone to corroborate our story, because we don’t spend any time together, since, y’know, we’re not dating.”

Jake begs to differ. You’ve invaded more than one of his Wednesday night statistics study sessions.

But before he can point this out, you’re continuing. “Which means you’re gonna have to come up with some sort of believable explanation for why we break up after, like, three days.”

“Ugh.” Jake drags an open palm down his face. He hates to admit it, but you do have a point there.

Fingers running through his hair, his sudden stress is apparent. And you’re not trying to send him to an early grave, but would it have killed him to think before he spoke? Consider the consequences of starting the exact kind of rumor you’ve been hoping to dodge all evening? You get that his brother is not exactly an easy person to get along with, but was the short-lived victory really worth the potential fallout?

Across from you, Jake seems to be having the same realizations. A million thoughts whirring through his brain, he’s not sure where to place his focus.

After a moment, he settles on optimism. “Look, I think it will be fine.” The more he thinks about it, the more he convinces himself he believes it. “James has been up to his ass in company stuff since the second he graduated, so it’s not like he has extra time to check up on us or anything.” And even if he did, James would have no way of knowing who to ask. Jake has the sneaking suspicion his older brother couldn’t name a single one of his friends if his life depended on it. He would have no idea who to track down to corroborate your so-called romance.

“We won’t have to do anything,” Jake reasons. “I’ll just mention you in passing for the next few weeks if he happens to ask.” Even that should be simple enough. After all, Jake seriously doubts he will. “And by the time the holidays roll around, I can just say things fizzled naturally.” Easy. Simple. Uncomplicated. Mutual, and your pride and his both remain intact. “No big deal.”

Across from him, you weigh his words. It makes sense, yes, but there’s something starting to swirl in your gut that you don’t like. It feels a little too much like dread, like trepidation. Jake can read all of the uncertainty written across your face when you tell him, “I still don’t like it. My mother and your brother were both here tonight and already got different stories from us. This could get messy really quickly. I mean, what if our families start talking–”

“They won’t.” Jake shakes his head. “Your mom thinks I’m just a plus-one, and when my name comes up in James and my father’s conversations, it isn’t to discuss the ins and outs of my dating life.” Of this, at least, Jake is sure. His father couldn’t care less who he dates, as long as it’s not a liability to him, to the company. “Besides, we're university students.” Jake tries to lighten the mood, clear some of the tension. “Twenty-one and immature and all that.” For a moment, Jake imagines what life would feel like if that’s truly all he was, if that’s the only thing he got to be. No added pressure of a notorious last name and a reputation to maintain. Tucking that thought to the back of his mind, he decides he’ll mourn it later. “A short-lived relationship with a story that doesn’t quite add up is practically a right of passage. Not something to be suspicious of.”

You remain silent for a moment, but your hand doesn’t get any closer to the broom.

“Okay.” Some of the tension seeps out of your shoulders as you turn his reasoning over in your brain, nodding as his logic starts to piece together. “Okay,” you reiterate. You still don’t like it, but he’s right about one thing: it is the best option you have.

After all, there’s no way in hell you’re about to go tell your mother that your plus-one is actually your secret boyfriend, and you hate to admit it, but James’ little smirk is incredibly agitating. And it will all blow over, you’re sure. Like Jake said, James and your mother have no real reason to talk, and if Jake is convinced that his brother won’t be spreading this particular rumor, you’ll just have to believe him for the time being.

Letting him out of the closet first, you only imitate hitting him upside the back of the head once before you catch up to him, linking arms again before reentering the ballroom.

As the evening goes on, your worry starts to subside. Thankfully, every other part of the night goes perfectly to plan, even if you do have to force yourself to laugh a little too hard at one of Jake’s awful jokes when you catch James watching the two of you. The second glass of champagne you down helps, if nothing else.

Exactly as you predicted, after two and a half hours have passed, you and Jake are sneaking out the back exit, tiptoeing to his car as the fourth speaker of the evening continues their droning speech inside the event. Your mother is none the wiser to your early departure, and you hope it’s the first in a series of victories for the evening.

When Jake drops you off just outside the front doors of your apartment building, his smile is almost reassuring enough to put that lingering sense of unease to rest where it still sits in your gut.

Makeup removed, hair washed, and evening gown traded for pajamas, sleep is slow to find you a handful of hours later. Eventually, though, it does, and your rest is undisturbed, dreamless.

…

The next morning, with nothing but the pastel tones of sunrise and the sound of his brewing coffee maker to keep him company, Jake Sim stares at the message on his phone in abject horror.

Mom [7:32 am]: I can’t believe I had to find out from your brother! Family dinner next weekend at our place. Bring your girlfriend. :)

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

CONTINUED IN PART 2

⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆ ⋆｡ﾟ☁︎｡⋆｡ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡⋆

note: thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed. part two still needs some love, and I'm hoping to have it out around this same time next week. I'll announce for sure when I have a release date & time. as always, I love hearing any thoughts/comments/screaming you may have. happy reading!

#enhypen fanfiction #enhypen x reader #enhypen x you #enhypen fic #enhypen ff #enhypen fanfic #enhypen au #enhypen scenarios #enhypen fluff #enhypen angst #jake sim #jake sim x reader #jake sim x you #jake sim scenarios #sim jaeyun #sim jaeyun x reader #sim jaeyun x you

1K notes · View notes

makoodles · 1 year

Text

pxelo | tonowari x reader x ronal [nsfw]

masterlist

pairing: tonowari x fem!human reader x ronal

word count: 10k

warnings: nsfw, threesome, human x na'vi, oral sex, p in v sex, v slight femdom (ronal is bossy), size difference

summary: As a human on Pandora, you are used to feeling like an outsider. You cannot bond with the flora and fauna the way the Na’vi can, but that doesn’t mean you can’t watch and admire. You’ve always been fascinated by the Na’vi and their ways of life, and the newness of the Metkayina is equally as captivating as everything else you’ve seen so far. But there’s one thing that has really caught your attention in Awa’atlu. Or, perhaps more accurately, two things. And it seems like you've caught their attention right back

read it on ao3

Awa’atlu is a wonder.

The white sand shores and bright turquoise ocean is reminiscent of a tropical paradise, and the way the Metkayina interact with the world around them is nothing short of beautiful. You watch it all in awe, appreciative and slightly envious by turn.

As a human on Pandora, you are used to feeling like an outsider. You cannot bond with the flora and fauna the way the Na’vi can, but that doesn’t mean you can’t watch and admire. You’ve always been fascinated by the Na’vi and their ways of life, and the newness of the Metkayina is equally as captivating as everything else you’ve seen so far.

But there’s one thing that has really caught your attention in Awa’atlu. Or, perhaps more accurately, two things.

You had come to the ocean-side village alongside Norm to care for Kiri after she had suffered from her episode, and after the other humans had returned to their outpost among the Omaticaya, you had chosen to stay. Initially, your presence among the Metkayina was met with suspicion. As far as you’re aware, they’ve never actually encountered a human before. They watch you with sharp gazes and narrowed eyes, and maintain careful distance from you. You can’t blame them; you represent the people that have invaded their planet.

But over the few weeks that you’ve been living in the village, there are two particular gazes that weigh heavier than any other.

Tonowari and Ronal carry the responsibility for the whole clan on their shoulders, and you understand that your appearance sets them on edge. The way they watch you so closely is understandable, really.

But still. Their stares fluster you in a way that is absolutely mortifying.

They’re both so tall and beautiful, the perfect picture of a united front working together for the good of their people. With the classic azure skin and big blue eyes that are so characteristic of the Metkayina, they’re almost supernaturally attractive. Even though they’re looking at you because they are suspicious, their close regard makes you feel hot and itchy underneath your skin. It might be easier to be watched by them if they weren’t so goddamned attractive.

For the most part, you stay out of their way as best you can. Your presence amongst the clan is disruptive enough – you figure the best thing to do is keep a low profile.

For the most part, that works just fine. You keep close to the Sullys when you can, The whole reason you’re staying in the village in the first place is so you can keep an eye on Kiri, and that involves living among the Sullys in their marui pod. It can be a little uncomfortable, at times – you are the only human, and it can lead to you feeling terribly out of place living with them, especially since you know Neytiri is not particularly pleased with your presence. Despite this, sometimes you find that the clan leaders watch you just as closely when you’re around Jake and Neytiri as they do when you’re alone.

The Sully kids, at least, don’t mind your presence in the slightest. They take to dragging you around the place, which keeps you occupied. Tuk especially seems to relish hanging around you; perhaps it’s because you’re roughly the same size, despite the age difference.

She drags you swimming with her, laughing joyously as she splashes around and explores the reefs along the village. You follow her contently, relying pretty heavily on your exo-mask in the water as you go diving or sitting on the wooden pier leading out into the water.

“Watch me dive, watch me dive!” Tuk cheers, showing off her form as she goes running off the platform and leaps.

It’s not particularly graceful, and she hits the water with a splash that has you wincing from where you’re sitting just outside the Sully marui pod. Still though, when she resurfaces you make sure to clap and smile in approval.

“Wow!” You call, grinning. “So impressive, Tuk!”

Your legs are dangling into the water from the edge of the marui pod, and you feel your skin beginning to warm and dry beneath the sun. You have no proper swimming attire and the clothes of the Na’vi are too big for you, so you’ve taken to swimming in your cotton underwear and old bra. They’re pale purple and covered in delicate little white flowers, and you might be embarrassed about it if the Na’vi weren’t so comfortable with their own bodies. You know they really don’t give a shit about what you wear.

Tuk is grinning, swimming back closer to you with her ears flicking in delight at your praise. “Do you wanna see me do it again?”

“Oh, I would just love to.” You say, lips twitching.

Out of the corner of your eye you can see Kiri floating on her back in the water, her eyes closed and head tilted back towards the sky. She has been quiet since her episode, though you are pleased to see that she looks much brighter and healthier than before.

Tuk has just started to wiggle her way out of the water in order to jump in again when a shadow falls across you from behind. Startled, you raise your head.

Behind you stands the tall, broad form of the Metkayina clan leader. Tonowari cuts an intimidating figure, with his broad shoulders and many tattoos and his neutral, even expression. His ears are lowered and his jaw is clenched, and he stares at you with those bottomless blue eyes in such a way that your heart is sent galloping wildly in your chest.

“Oh!” You choke, startled by his presence. “I- Hello!”

Your grasp on the Na’vi language is pretty good, but your accent sounds thick and clumsy thanks to your nerves. Tonowari tilts his head, watching you closely. The Metkayina are built differently to the Omaticaya; this close, you can really admire the broadness of his shoulders, his strong chest, and his huge biceps.

It takes a moment for you to realise that he’s watching you right back. It appears his focus is on your clothing, however. His brow is slightly furrowed as his eyes trail over your cotton bra and somewhat skimpy underpants. They’re still damp from the water, clinging to you in a way that has turned them slightly transparent. They’re not nearly as revealing as some of the Na’vi coverings, and yet you feel embarrassingly exposed all the same.

You shift, and try to bring your arms up across your chest in a way that is casual. When Tonowari doesn’t immediately respond, you decide to try again.

“Um… are you looking for Jake?”

That finally gets a response from him. He takes a step forward, and you try not to flinch as he lowers himself down to one knee in front of you. You have never been this close to him before, and it feels as though his gaze is burning a hole in you.

“Yes,” He says, and his voice is so low and rough that it sends a shiver down your spine. “I am looking for Jakesully.”

“He-” Oh god, your voice is cracking. How mortifying. You clear your throat hastily. “He is out on his ilu, with Neytiri.”

Tonowari dips his head in acknowledgement. You notice his eyes straying towards your chest again, and you feel yourself grow warm under his gaze. Does he even realise what he’s doing? He must find your human form and clothes completely bizarre. You try not to shrink under his stare.

“I see,” He says, and his eyes dart away from you towards the water, where Tuk is now floating around Kiri. “You have been left alone with the children?”

That rankles a little, despite your efforts to remain calm. You know that both he and Ronal have been eyeing you mistrustfully from the start, but you resent the implication that you are not trustworthy enough to have around the kids.

“I care for them.” You say, and your tone is a little sharper than you had intended. “I wouldn’t let anything happen to them.”

His ears lower, and you wonder if you have upset him.

“You are small.” He points out. “You are not likely to be able to stop anything from happening even if you wanted to.”

Ouch. That one hurt.

You straighten your shoulders, before clambering your way up to your feet. Slowly, Tonowari mirrors you and stands as well. Even at your full height, you barely reach his navel. It’s a fight to keep your expression neutral when faced with the sheer size of him.

“Well,” You say a little stiffly, momentarily distracted by the sunlight reflecting off the glass beads that dangle around his chest. “Jake and Neytiri trust me. I’m enough for them.”

Tonowari raises his chin at that, his mouth turning down as his ears pin back. He doesn’t appear pleased with that statement at all, staring down at you with his lips pressed tightly together. You feel pinned under his gaze, and try not to shift around anxiously.

It’s Kiri’s voice that breaks the tension between you.

“Dad will be back soon,” She calls from the water. When you turn to look at her, you can see the way her eyes dart between you and the Olo’eyktan. “We can tell him to go and see you as soon as gets home.”

For a long moment, Tonowari says nothing. He just keeps looking at you. It’s a little overwhelming, and you find yourself struggling to maintain eye contact. Eventually though, he gives a little rumble deep in his chest and steps back.

“Yes.” He says, his voice a little louder now. “Tell him.”

You nod cautiously, and he nods once in return before turning on his heel and striding away. You’re left standing on the bouncy floor of the net bridge that connects the Sully marui to the rest of the village, wondering just what on earth all that was about.

You can’t help but wonder if you’ve done something to offend the chief’s family. After that one little interaction with Tonowari outside of the marui, it seems like his and Ronal’s staring is upped a notch.

Now, it’s like you can’t leave the marui at all without being under some sort of surveillance. You can feel their intense stares from all the way across the village. While Tonowari’s stares are rather obvious, Ronal’s gaze is more subtle. She watches you from beneath her dark lashes, casting looks in your direction anytime you’re wandering the beaches or following after the Sully’s in the village.

The tsa’hik even watches you when she comes to visit the Sully marui to check on Kiri. It would be easy to miss the way her eyes slide over to you after she examines Kiri, but you are beginning to grow familiar with being watched. It feels like a weight settling over your skin, and you fight not to fidget as you help Neytiri cut up fruit.

“She is doing well.” Ronal says, a little stiffly. “She is strong.”

The relationship between her and Neytiri is still a little strained, but they have established something of an understanding.

Neytiri nods, her ears flicked back in gratitude. “I thank you for your help. Will you stay for food?”

Oh god, please say no, you think in a panic. You don’t know how you would cope sitting in such close quarters with her for so long, especially not if she keeps looking at you like she has been. Her regard is intimidating, but it also makes you feel clumsy and stupid. She’s probably one of the most beautiful women you’ve ever seen, and having her stare at you like that is driving you a little crazy.

“No,” Ronal says, much to your relief. “But I have brought you summauti.”

She proffers a basket of fruit, and Neytiri’s expression softens a little in acknowledgement of the gesture. She takes it, and maintains careful eye contact as she nods.

Ronal’s head turns then so that she is staring at you head-on. It is the first time that she has looked at you properly, not just out of the corner of her eye, and you find yourself startled by the intensity of it.

“Does the sky demon eat with you?” She asks.

You try not to shrink under her gaze, and instead tilt your head up to meet her stare. To the side, you can see Neytiri beginning to frown, glancing between the two of you in clear confusion.

“Yes,” says Neytiri. Though you know she is not pleased with your presence among her family, her shoulders square and she sounds defensive. “She watches over Kiri.”

One of Ronal’s ears twitches, as though that’s not the answer she was hoping for. Still though, she appears to lose interest in both you and the conversation. She just clicks her tongue, before stepping back out through the marui pod and disappearing without another word.

In the ensuing silence, Neytiri turns to you with an almost comically bemused and suspicious expression.

“What was that?” She demands, eyes narrowed.

You’re still watching the entrance to the marui, the fabric of the tent flapping slightly from where Ronal had pushed it aside on her way out.

“I have no idea.” You answer honestly, completely bewildered.

The Sully kids settle into Metkayina life slowly, but steadily. They are learning well, adjusting steadily, and they begin to grow happier and more comfortable with their surroundings. It is heartening to see, especially since they’re such sweet kids.

It’s all going so well. Perhaps it’s inevitable that a wrench is thrown into the gears at some point.

The wrench comes in the form of Lo’ak and Ao’nung arguing, once again. It’s not unusual, and it’s certainly not the first time that it escalates into shoving each other. The problem comes when you decide to try and step in and try to keep them apart.

God, what a stupid thing to do. They’re both bigger than you, and they don’t even really see you as you shout at them to stop. It’s Ao’nung that ends up knocking into you, though it’s not really his fault – it’s his tail that gets you, long and wide like a fin. It smacks into your side and knocks you back into the ground.

You hit the sand with a slap, your head knocking into the ground and sending stars blooming across the back of your eyelids. There’s a sharp burst of pain in your shoulder, and you wince as you reach to grab your arm.

It’s painful and embarrassing, but at the very least it ends their argument pretty quickly. Lo’ak yells louder, calls Ao’nung an asshole, but then crouches by your side quickly to check that you’re alright.

Ao’nung has paused, and watches Lo’ak kneel down beside you to check you over with an odd expression on his face. You’d like to think it’s guilt, but you really don’t think he cares that much.

“You could have seriously hurt her!” Lo’ak snarls, his lips peeling back off his teeth. “She is not like us, her bones break easily!”

“Stop that,” You snap, irritated by all the arguing. “That’s enough.”

Ao’nung’s tail is coiled between his legs, his big blue eyes watching you with an odd sort of heaviness. “I will take you to my mother.”

Well, that damn near knocks the breath out of you all over again.

“What?” You practically yelp, taking Lo’ak’s hand as he hauls you to your feet. “No, no, I don’t think-”

“You are bleeding.” Ao’nung interrupts, reaching out to point towards the arm you had landed on.

You follow his gaze, only to find a tiny scratch on your forearm. You must have landed on a sharp little stone or something. Though it’s oozing a little blood, there’s no pain at all.

“What?” You say again, distracted and a little bewildered. “No, that’s nothing. It’s a little scratch, I don’t need-”

“Oh man,” Lo’ak interrupts, his own brow furrowing. “Fuck, you’re bleeding. Should I get dad?”

“Stop being so ridiculous!” You hiss at both of them, covering the little scratch with your hand. You know that the two of them have gotten worse scratches in their training, nevermind the injuries they’ve given each other. Their overreactions would almost be comical, if it weren’t so embarrassing.

“My mother will wish to see to you,” Ao’nung continues to insist, frowning. “Especially since I was the cause of this.”

The contrition is odd, and it doesn’t seem like he’s going to take no for an answer, especially as he reaches out to grab you by the arm. His grip is strong and rough, and you yelp as he tugs your shoulder painfully in its socket.

He whips his hand away from you immediately, clearly startled by your noise of pain. Lo’ak leaps forward to push at him again.

“I told you she’s easy to break!” Lo’ak snaps.

To your surprise, Ao’nung does not argue back. He just glares at Lo’ak, before looking back at you. Instead of grabbing at you again, he settles for attempting to herd you back towards the village using his outstretched arms like you’re an animal.

It becomes clear that you don’t have much of a choice pretty quickly. Lo’ak soon joins in with trying to herd you towards the tsa’hik’s marui. You have no idea what’s going on but when you try to dig your heels into the sand, Lo’ak loops his arm around yours and pulls you on.

“It’s just a scratch, it’s hardly even bleeding!” You hiss as you get closer and closer to the marui, your nerves flaring as you realise that you’re going to be presented in front of Ronal in a matter of moments.

It’s Ao’nung that answers; his ears are low and his tail is curled between his legs. “We were told not to fight. If my mother finds out later that I disobeyed and also drew blood…”

He trails off, though his meaning is clear. You find yourself confused. They have drawn more blood than the measly scratch on your arm in their past scuffles, so you can’t imagine why they are so contrite about this now. Does he mean that he shouldn’t have drawn your blood? Lo’ak’s concern isn’t entirely surprising, but Ao’nung? You don’t even know the kid, but you can tell that he’s not sold on the idea of having a human around the clan. You getting a tiny little scratch shouldn’t phase him in the slightest.

When Ao’nung marches you to the marui, you shrink into yourself a little.

Ronal is sitting cross-legged on the floor with a bowl of coral, and she’s crushing it down into a fine powder. When Ao’nung pulls aside the fabric covering the entrance of the marui and steps in, her head snaps up to look at him.

“Mother,” He says carefully, before reaching behind him to draw you forward. “The sky demon was hurt.”

The speed with which Ronal stands is startling, especially considering her swollen belly. You try not to flinch back too obviously.

“What happened?” She asks tightly, her nostrils flaring.

Oh man. Ao’nung is braver than you are, because if you were on the receiving end of that sharp glare you think you would crumble to dust. As it is, Ao’nung just ducks his head repentantly.

“I knocked her over. It was an accident.” He mumbles, his ears flat.

“Accident.” Ronal hisses at him, furious. “You were warned-”

“I am sorry.” Ao’nung winces.

Despite yourself, you actually feel sorry for the kid. You were a teenaged idiot yourself once, and it really was an accident on his part. You shouldn’t have inserted yourself into their stupid bickering the way you did.

“It’s not really his fault.” You manage not to quail under Ronal’s gaze when she turns to look at you. “I was underfoot.”

That doesn’t seem to appease her very much, and she just bares her teeth at Ao’nung and Lo’ak once more. “Your father will deal with you later. Out.”

The boys don’t wait to be told twice. They turn on their heels and flee the hut, leaving you alone and nervous as Ronal approaches.

Good lord, she’s tall. As she bends down on one knee to look at you, you start to sweat. Shit, she’s probably the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen in your life. Her elegant features and enormous round eyes are sharpened by the dark tattoos that decorate her face like rippling waves, her face framed by a cloud of soft dark hair. In the privacy of her own home, she is wearing a woven top that is significantly more simple than her usual decorative clothing, and it does almost nothing to cover her breasts. You struggle not to look, cheeks burning.

“Show me.” She demands, her voice husky with aggravation.

You stick your arm out immediately – you value your life far too much to argue with her right now. She reaches out and closes her thick four fingers around your wrist, pulling you a step closer so she can peer at the damage. Honestly, the cut is so minor that you’re embarrassed to even be wasting her time with it.

“It’s really nothing-” You begin, but she doesn’t appear interested in listening to your protests.

“I have a paste that will fix this.” She says instead, pushing herself to her feet.

You’re expecting her to move towards the table further into the marui where there are bowls of pastes and herbal medicines lined up in neat little rows, but her next move takes you entirely by surprise.

She tucks her hands beneath your arms and picks you right up as if you weigh nothing. Even when you yelp in shock, she hardly looks at you at all. Fuck, she’s lifting you so easily that it sends an electric little jolt right down your spine.

With you dangling in the air like an idiot, Ronal steps over to one of the large woven chairs and sits down in it. Bizarrely, you end up sitting on her lap like a fucking child.

You’re frozen, staring up at her with wide eyes. You can’t figure out why on earth she would have put you in this position – how the fuck is this conducive to healing?

She must notice the look on your face, because her brow raises and her ear flicks.

“You are too small.” She points out. “You think I should stay on my knees hunched over just to treat you?”

“No.” You say hastily, still flushed and embarrassed.

Oh god, okay. It’s just so she can reach you. That makes this okay, doesn’t it? There’s nothing weird about this. You’re just… You’re just straddling one of her wide thighs so that she can reach your arm, that’s all. Maybe you’re the one that’s making this weird just by getting awkward about it?

You have to fight not to squirm as Ronal dabs a cooling clay-like paste over the abrasion on your arm. It soothes the light sting, but you hardly notice. Your attention has narrowed down to the point of contact between you and Ronal; you’re still wearing the thin underwear you had been swimming in earlier, which means that you feel mortifyingly bare and exposed where you straddle her single thigh.

When she grips at your bicep, you wince. You’re pretty sure your shoulder is bruising, and Ronal’s little grimace confirms your suspicion.

“You were watching the children when my son knocked you down?” Ronal asks, her voice low.

“Uh.. yes.” You say a little awkwardly. “Kiri, mainly. That’s why I’m here. I’ve got first aid training, so if she has another seizure I might be able to help. Not that you can’t help too of course! I, um, I know that you’re quite skilled-”

Oh god, you’re babbling. The only thing that saves you from total humiliation is the fact that Ronal nods at what you say. Her face is settled into grim neutrality but she seems satisfied with your compliment to her skills.

You can’t help but glance down. The Metkayina are built differently to the Omaticaya – their lower legs and arms are wider, the tails larger, their upper bodies stronger. Their thighs are a little wider than that of the Omaticaya as well, and you glance at where your own legs are sprawled awkwardly around her upper leg, your skintone contrasting oddly with the ripple-like blue stripes across her skin.

When your eyes fall on her stomach, you swallow. You’re so stupid – she has a mate, she has a whole family. You are almost certainly reading too much into this whole thing. You need to get yourself under control.

You clear your throat. “Will your baby be here soon?”

Ronal doesn’t look at you, but hums quietly beneath her breath. “A few more months to go.”

Ah. You had thought that she was closer to the end than that. You try to shift your weight, before realising that there’s no way of adjusting yourself without rubbing yourself awkwardly against her. You don’t want her to get the wrong idea, so you go still.

After a beat, she looks at you from beneath the fan of her dark lashes. “I am big now. It makes moving difficult, sometimes.”

You seize on the opportunity for regular conversation with both hands. Now that you’re this close to her, she hasn’t sent a single glare in your direction. Her gaze is as watchful and intense as ever, but it doesn’t seem to be fuelled by hostility. You’re determined to keep on good terms with her, so you smile as brightly as you can through your mask.

“I can imagine,” You say quickly, relieved with how well this entire interaction is going. “If you’d like, I can help out! I can… I can collect herbs, or gather coral, or whatever you want.”

You don’t think you’re imagining the way the corner of her mouth twitches, but it’s such a small movement that you nearly miss it entirely. She’s still looking at you through half-lidded eyes. This close, her stare doesn’t seem hateful or distrustful at all. It’s enough to have you growing warm and embarrassed where you’re sitting on her thigh.

“It is not just movement,” She says, and her tone has turned very casual. “I am too large now to comfortably be intimate with my mate in the way I would like to be.”

You freeze. That is absolutely not what you were expecting.

“Oh.” You say. It sounds as though you’re being strangled.

“Tonowari takes care of me and my needs, of course. He is a generous mate.” Ronal continues, as though this is a perfectly normal conversation to be having with someone she considers a demon who is currently splayed across her lap. “But sometimes I miss getting fucked properly, like before he put the baby in me.”

It feels a little as though you’ve just been clubbed over the head. Had Ao’nung hit you harder than you realised? Are you absolutely losing your mind right now? There’s no way the woman who has been watching you with a narrow-eyed glare ever since you got here is talking to you so casually.

She looks up from your arm, eyes piercing. “You understand what I mean, don’t you?”

“What?” You breathe, lost.

“You are lonely here, no?” Ronal asks. She has no mercy; it doesn’t matter that you’re obviously confused. “When was the last time that someone touched you? Was intimate with you?”

There must be some translation issue going on here. Maybe your grasp on Na’vi wasn't as good as you thought it was. Or maybe you’re just imagining the undertones that seem to be going on here. Still though, while this is bewilderingly out of your comfort zone, you attempt to match her casual tone.

“I-” You swallow thickly. “A while.”

Ronal hums again. Your arm has long since been treated, but she has not yet let go of you. She is too busy watching you as though she can read every thought in your head from your face. You wonder if she can tell how flustered you are – it must be obvious. Oh god, does this mean that she’s noticed the way you’ve been looking at her and her husband? Noticed the way you’ve been admiring them? You thought you were being subtle.

“Jakesully does not touch you?” She asks suddenly. “Neytiri does not touch you?”

You nearly choke. “No! No, I just- I’m staying with them to help out, that’s all.”

Something in her face changes at that. It’s subtle enough that you nearly don’t notice, but upon closer look you see that she looks pleased.

“You must be frustrated.” She says lightly.

You feel more aware than ever of your position. You’re wearing nothing but your still-damp underwear, straddling the thigh of the large, beautiful woman who is now asking you whether or not you are sexually frustrated. Surely you can’t be imagining this? This can’t possibly be an ambiguous situation.

You should probably be cautious with your answer. You’re in a precarious position as a human within the clan, and you should really think carefully about your answer here. The last thing you need is to cause a diplomatic incident by accidentally offending the Olo’eyktan’s family. But as it stands, you’re feeling reckless and stupid and yes, a little frustrated.

“Yes.” You breathe. “Kind of.”

Ronal begins to smile for real then. It’s not a soft smile; her lips pull back from her sharp teeth in a way that is honestly very intimidating, and her hands come down to land on your hips.

“How long?” She asks, leaning forward to murmur against your ear. “How long have you gone without relief?”

You shudder a little as her breath ghosts over the sensitive skin of your throat. It feels like you’re going crazy.

When you don’t answer, she clicks her tongue impatiently. “A few weeks? Months? Years?”

“Over a year.” You say shakily.

It’s not like you didn’t have options – the outpost for humans living among the Na’vi were full of people looking to get busy with each other, but there was no one that really caught your eye and the old vibrator you kept locked in a chest under your bunk did the job just fine. Or at least, you thought it had. Judging by the growing sense of yearning in your lower belly, you’re beginning to suspect you’re more touch-starved than you realised.

Ronal makes a soft noise, her wide hands flexing and tightening around your hips. “Poor thing. So neglected.”

Her next move surprises you so much you nearly jolt right off her lap. She uses her hold on your hips to pull you further up on her thigh. You slide along her taut skin, your clothed pussy grinding against the corded muscle.

You squeak, throwing your hands up to grab onto her shoulders. When she does it again, a shudder tears its way through your spine. Heat is building fast in the juncture between your legs, and your hips jut forward along her outstretched thigh as she encourages you to rock against her.

She keeps pulling you to rock your hips with one hand as she raises her other hand to tug at your bra.

“Remove this. I wish to see you.” She orders.

You scramble to reach the clasp behind you immediately. Maybe you should think this through a little bit more, but you’re horny and desperate and running on pure instinct right now. You tear your bra off and throw it to the side, taking a breath as Ronal’s hand runs across your bared breasts.

“Oh god,” You breathe, clutching at her shoulders as she encourages you to rock against her thigh.

Sweat is beginning to build around your brow as your panties grow almost uncomfortably sticky. You’re certain she can feel how slick you are even through the cotton of your underwear, but she doesn’t seem to mind.

In fact, it seems to delight her. When the hand on your hip slips from your waist down lower, her thumb comes to rest against your clit through the soft cotton of your panties. You let out a breathy moan of surprise, your nails digging a little into her shoulders as you clutch her for leverage.

“They have not been taking care of you,” Ronal says, right as her fingers dip inside your underwear.

When she rubs a careful circle around your clit you whine, desperate for some relief. She runs her fingers experimentally along your slit. You’re so damn horny that even the slightest touch has you rutting your hips forward into her hand, desperate for her to touch you more, harder.

“Who?” You ask hazily. Your thoughts feel clouded and stupid – her fingers are big, and your head spins when her thick index finger begins to press inside you.

“Jakesully. Neytiri. The forest people.” She rumbles, her ears twitching as you clench around her finger. “You are so wet. You have been wanting this, yes?”

“Yes, but-” You gasp when another one of her fingers enter you, the stretch stinging for a moment before easing into warm pleasure. “Jake and Neytiri have been taking care of me. They just would never- they are mated.”

Ronal snorts a soft chuckle, her fingers curling lazily inside you as you shiver against her. “So? It is not unusual for a mated pair to court another.”

That is news to you. You know little about Na’vi mating practices; polyamory had never crossed your mind.

“What did you think was happening?” She murmurs, fingers twisting. You jerk against her chest, and she huffs another soft snort of a laugh. “You have watched over our children. You accepted the offerings of fruit that I brought. When we watch you, you watch us right back.”

Those sound like pretty normal things to you, but she says them with such weight that you realise pretty quickly that there’s some meaning behind those things that you’ve missed at some point.

There’s a soft scuffling sound at the entrance of the marui pod, and you feel yourself jolt back to the present. Ronal’s hands on you remain steady and firm, which means you can’t move too much, but you still manage to twist round to see who just entered and- oh fuck.

It’s Tonowari.

He stands in the entrance of the pod, his eyes flared wide in obvious surprise and his lips pressed firmly together. You jolt on Ronal’s lap, mortified. Oh shit – he’s just walked in on you in a rather compromising position with his wife.

Fuck, her fingers are still inside of you, and you’re pretty sure you’re dripping all over her hand. Is he angry? Is he going to kill you?

“Ronal,” He rumbles, taking a slow step further into the pod. “We said we would take this slow.”

“She is so eager to help.” His wife says, before turning to look at you with those pretty big blue eyes. “Aren’t you?”

“I-” You choke, looking back and forth between them. What the fuck is even happening?

“She says Jakesully and his mate do not touch her,” Ronal says, her voice low and husky and rumbling in her own chest – it reverberates down through her body which in turn has you clenching tighter around her fingers. “Look at how desperate she is, my love. You would deny her this?”

Tonowari’s deep blue eyes drift over your exposed chest and belly, and down to where his wife’s hand is stuffed down your cotton panties as you straddle her leg. You’re sure it makes quite the sight – you can see the way his gaze lingers around your thighs, where they’re quivering around Ronal’s. He takes another step forward, then another.

“Come and touch.” Ronal encourages him when he gets close enough, her gaze dark and lidded. “She is soft. Softer than you would believe.”

Tonowari reaches out immediately, as though he’s a slave to his wife’s commands. His hand lands across your chest, splayed out over your sternum, and you shudder at the sheer size of it. Fuck, it spans from shoulder to shoulder and down to your tits. It should probably put you off, or at least freak you out a little, but instead you’re sure that Ronal can feel you squeezing around her hand.

He leans down so that his chest is plastered against your back, the heat of him searing against your bare skin. He’s huge, his large hand keeping you tucked carefully against the bulk of his torso as he leans in to murmur to you.

“You want this?” He asks, his breath ghosting against the shell of your ear.

Ronal’s thumb rolls over your clit and your hips jerk, pleasure throbbing up your spine as you take a shaky breath behind your exo-mask.

“Yes.” The word practically comes out on a sob.

You can feel him grin against your throat, and then a big beefy arm is looping around your waist and you let out a startled little sound as you’re hauled into the air again. Just like before, a surprising little shock of arousal shoots through you. They manhandle you so easily, it’s difficult not to get affected by it.

As he holds you against his chest, your legs dangling mid-air, Ronal rises from the chair she was sitting in and tugs your panties off you entirely. She tosses them carelessly to the side before taking the opportunity to assess your naked body as it’s held tight to her husband’s. She must approve, because she shoots a sharp smile over your shoulder towards Tonowari.

When Tonowari’s hand reaches down to cup your pussy, you make an odd strangled noise in your throat. Fuck, his hand is even bigger than Ronal’s – it encompasses your pussy entirely, his thick fingers rubbing curiously at the dampness that has collected between your thighs. He lets out a little rumble of surprise, the sound vibrating into your back.

“You are so wet.” He says, one of his big fingers pressing inside of you just like Ronal’s had only moments ago.

His wife makes a quiet sound of amusement, before reaching to remove her own woven chest covering and small loincloth. As distracted as you are by Tonowari’s touch, you can’t help but gape at her revealed breasts and cunt, shiny with what is unmistakably slick from her own arousal. For some reason, it takes seeing the physical signs of Ronal’s arousal for you to realise that this is real, this is actually happening.

Ronal steps forward, and takes your chin between her thumb and index finger, holding your face firmly so that you’re looking right into her ocean-coloured eyes.

“Tonowari will fuck you,” She says, and you have to fight with everything you have not to moan at the words alone. “Like I said, he is a generous mate. We will make sure you are cared for.”

“Oh, fuck.” You say, like an absolute moron.

Ronal just grins, sharp-toothed and a little bit vicious, before sinking down to the floor. Tonowari follows her as if it’s some unspoken signal. Ronal lays back, her body reclined across the pretty woven rug that covers the spongey, bouncy floor of the marui. When her legs spread, your eyes are drawn to her pussy, blue and glistening between her thighs. You’ve never seen Na’vi anatomy up close and personal like this, and you find yourself cursing your need to breathe through your exo-mask with everything you have. You think you’d give anything to get your mouth on her right now – you’d bet she tastes just like the ocean.

Tonowari settles on the floor in front of her, then pushes you gently onto your hands and knees right in the middle of them. You’re trapped between Ronal’s legs, and you look up at her with wide eyes as Tonowari shifts behind you. She’s watching everything so closely, her eyes following her husband’s every move as he pulls your hips up, causing you back to arch as you’re forced to your elbows.

It takes a moment for you to realise that Tonowari is waiting for Ronal’s guidance, and you look up at her pleadingly. You don’t even know what you want, but you know that if someone doesn’t touch you somehow, you’re going to self-combust.

Under her stern veneer, you can see what is unmistakably amusement lurking in her pretty eyes. She nods at Tonowari; it must be some sort of signal that you don’t understand, because the next thing you know there’s an overwhelming, searing wet heat being pressed up against your cunt.

You almost squeal in shock, and it takes an embarrassingly long moment for you to realise that it’s Tonowari’s mouth that’s been pressed against you.

Truthfully, there’s a pretty big chunk of your brain that can’t believe this is happening. You’re on your elbows and knees with your ass in the air as the chief of the clan kneels behind you and suctions his mouth to your cunt, right there in the cradle of his pregnant wife’s thighs. You wonder if you’ve just lost your mind and are maybe hallucinating. They’re two of the hottest people you’ve ever seen in your life, and you’ve somehow ended up in an alien threesome with them? You don’t even know how this could have happened.

When his tongue starts to prod at your clit, your whole body jerks in surprise. His tongue is rougher than you had expected, textured like a cat’s, and it feels startlingly good as it rasps over your clit. Your hips twitch and chase after his touch, but he keeps you firmly in place with his grip on your hipbones.

“Oh god.” You whimper, head swimming. Without even really knowing what you’re asking for, you whisper, “Please.”

Ronal has reached a hand down to toy with herself, and she watches your expressions eagerly. Occasionally she will look back at Tonowari, as if she’s assessing his performance.

“Suck on her.” Ronal intones. She sounds perfectly neutral – if you couldn’t see the slick coating her fingers as she rubs at herself, you might think she was entirely unaffected by this whole thing.

Tonowari takes direction like an absolute champion, which isn’t something you expected from the Olo’eyktan. On his wife’s orders, he licks and sucks at your clit so eagerly that your back bows and you let out a genuine, overwhelmed sob. Your hips twitch away from him and then back into his mouth by turns, unsure of what you actually want. It’s overwhelming, but it feels impossibly good.

You’re already so keyed up from your earlier grinding on Ronal’s thigh and then her subsequent fingering, so it’s not a surprise at all to feel that familiar coil of heat beginning to build in your lower belly. Maybe it’s down to the situation, but you swear it’s building faster than any orgasm you’ve ever had.

Tonowari’s big, flat tongue rasps over your clit once more, and the coil snaps. You whine pathetically, gasping as your hips hump back against his face as you come, burying your face into your arms. Ronal isn’t having any of that though, and you feel her fingers wind into your hair before she pulls your head right back up – it seems she just wants to watch your face slacken and jaw hang open stupidly as you’re rocked by your orgasm.

As soon as Tonowari realises that you’re coming, his tongue begins to move faster. He laps frantically at you, drawing your orgasm out until you’re gasping and swearing and twitching against his face.

You’ve practically gone cross-eyed by the time your orgasm has shuddered its way through you, and Ronal begins to pet at the side of your head.

“Good,” She says, humming in approval. “You are relaxed?”

“Yes.” You mumble, but it comes out winded and stupid-sounding.

Ronal nods, clearly pleased. “You are ready for him, then.”

Yes, you think, toes curling in anticipation. Oh god, yes. You’re definitely ready for him – you’re so horny, and you don’t think you’ve ever felt so desperately empty in your whole life. You’re clenching around nothing right now; the thought of having someone fill you up sends a tingle of anticipation racing through you.

You’re still a little spaced out right now after your first orgasm, so you don’t notice when Ronal disappears for just a moment only to reappear with a little wooden jar filled with something. It’s only when you feel liquid being dribbled over your pussy that you raise your head, squinting.

“It’s oil,” Tonowari says from behind you. “To help with the stretch.”

It’s the first thing he’s said in a while, and his voice is rough and husky and makes your toes curl. God, he sounds so good. Is he breathless from eating you out, or is it from the anticipation of what’s to come? You wish you could see him properly, but being spread out with your ass in the air for him is a pretty exciting position, too.

Ronal repositions herself in front of you once more. It seems like she’s trying to get the best angle for watching, and she ends up pulling you a little bit further up so that you’re leaning against one of her thighs for support.

The tip of Tonowari’s cock presses against you, far slicker than you had expected, and you feel your mouth drop open. Shit. You can’t see it, but it feels fucking huge. You had known on some level that it would be, of course. Tonowari himself is enormous, it only makes sense that his cock is proportional.

Your eyes flick up to Ronal’s, a little panicked. “Will it fit?”

She grins; an intimidating baring of her sharp teeth. “Yes, little thing. It will fit.”

Tonowari starts to press in, and your brain blanks out at the sensation of the slow, wet slide of him stretching you open.

“Okay, okay, okay.” You chant, breathing heavily.

The pressure of the stretch is intense, stinging a little despite the copious oil and fingering. He takes it slow, rocking into you in little increments as you clutch onto Ronal’s thigh like your life depends on it. She just hums, watching with avid interest as your mouth falls open and your eyes widen with every little twitch of Tonowari’s hips.

You’ve never been stretched so full before, and he’s not even fully seated inside you yet. You wonder if you’ll feel the ache of this for the rest of your life.

With one last little rock, Tonowari is seated as far inside you as he’s going to go. You have no idea if he’s all the way in, but you swear that you’re drooling inside your exo-mask as you struggle to take what you’re given.

Tonowari grunts. You’re sure that you’re squeezing him like a vice, despite all the stretching they’ve done, and his big hands flex where they’re holding your hips. You can practically feel the effort he’s currently exerting to restrain himself, to wait until you adjust to his girth.

“How does she feel?” Ronal wonders. Your face is buried in the softness of her thigh, and when you roll your head to the side you’re greeted with the sight of her rolling her clit between her fingers as she bites her lip.

The sight causes your pussy to flutter a little, and Tonowari swears softly as he drops his head down to rest across your shoulder.

“Tight.” He grits out, an odd sort of noise torn out of his chest right alongside the word. It takes a moment for you to realise that it’s an odd sort of purring.

“Fuck!” You cry out, his rumbling vibrating right through your body.

You’re shuddering around him, your hands flailing desperately around – you don’t know what you’re even looking for, whether it’s stability or comfort that you’re looking for, but you end up finding both. One of your hands is clasped by Tonowari’s enormous paw of a hand, pinning it against the floor (while being so careful not to crush you) as he hunches over you, and your other hand is taken by Ronal’s and held tight by her leg as she rubs at herself with her free hand.

"Breathe, sweet little thing." Tonowari rumbles in your ear.His voice is low and raspy, which makes you tighten up around him mindlessly. The bastard sounds amused. "You're taking it so well."

It takes more effort than you might think to follow that order. Your breath comes in shuddering gasps inside your exo-mask, sticking in your chest everytime he pulls out, dragging along the slick flesh inside you and setting your nerves alight as he presses inside of you inch by excruciating inch.

“Careful.” Ronal bites out, squeezing lightly at the hand she’s holding against thigh as she touches herself.

Tonowari just groans in acknowledgement as he humps into the slippery heat of your pussy. “Talk to me, little one,” He grunts into your ear, pulling you back against him. “Let me hear you.”

“I’m good,” You wheeze, burying your face into Ronal’s thigh. “I’m so good.”

That makes him laugh, throaty and deep as it rumbles against your back. He leans forward so that the entire long line of his torso is pressed against your sweaty naked back, the sheer size of him absolutely dwarfing you. He’s hot against you, the thick length of him inside setting your nerves alight and filling you more than anything you’ve ever experienced.

When he pulls out and ruts into you properly, it nearly drives the breath right out your lungs. He pulls out again, carefully, and then in again.

"Fuck!" You gasp again, squirming a little as he starts up at a steady pace.

Ronal snickers, reaching out to brush some of your sweaty hair off your face. “You see? I told you that you would be cared for. It feels good?”

“It-” You begin, but then Tonowari presses in and the force of it pushes you further up Ronal’s leg, your sensitive breasts dragging along her smooth skin. You wheeze, and try again. “Yes, it feels.. I feel-”

"You do feel good," Tonorwari murmurs into the side of your throat before biting at it, his teeth scraping lightly against your soft skin, "So tight around me. Oh, yes, that's it."

Each thrust pushes you further up Ronal’s thigh, clutching at both her and Tonowari’s hands as though they’re your lifelines as you’re rocked back and forth by turns, like waves on an ocean.

The burning stretch has melted into a hot, liquid sensation that begins pooling in your stomach as you push back to meet his hips the best that you can. It feels so good, and you smile dazedly up at Ronal as you tighten up around Tonowari’s cock; he makes a soft sound of pleasure and wraps his arm firmly around your stomach to keep you close to him.

“Oh,” Ronal coos, cupping your face with one hand, right under your exo-mask. Her voice itself is a little condescending, a little mean, but her touch is so gentle. “Look at that smile. Such a happy girl.”

Goddamn, you should probably be a little annoyed at being on the receiving end of that tone, but to your surprise you find yourself shivering pathetically under her stare.

You just feel so full, and Tonowari’s thrusts keep pressing up unrelentingly against that one squishy spot inside of you that makes your legs go completely weak. If not for Ronal’s thigh beneath your chest and Tonowari’s hands holding you up by your hips, you think you would have collapsed in a puddle on the spongey marui floor.

Tonowari’s hips are rolling into yours at such a rapid yet effortless pace that your breath is catching in your chest and your eyes are rolling wildly. When Ronal slips a hand under your belly to start playing with your clit, you make a soft, broken-sounding moan and throw your head back eagerly.

You can feel his heavy balls slap against your clit with every thrust, and you don't miss the way they begin to tighten and draw up as his thrusts get faster. He adjusts his angle just slightly, but it's enough to have you dropping bonelessly against Ronal’s thigh as you moan.

"Fuck, there, don't stop!" You gasp, the words coming out on a wheeze. You sound as desperate as you feel, all fucked out and stupid.

You’re met with soft chuckles from the mated couple above you, as though they find it absolutely adorable that you’re making demands.

“We’re not going to stop, little sky demon,” Ronal snickers as Tonowari presses a sloppy kiss between your shoulderblades. “Go ahead and let go.”

The combination of his cock rubbing and grinding against the soft spongey part inside of you and the messy stimulation of your clit has your legs trembling and heat growing rapidly in your belly. It feels like you’re being strung tighter and tighter as your orgasm draws closer, and your breath begins coming in rapid pants.

You just manage to get out the words "Oh, yes-!" before the pleasure growing in your belly crests and your back bows as you start to cum. It feels like the most cathartic orgasm ever, like all of the pressure that's been building up in your body is set free with the sweetest release, made all the sweeter by the fact that Tonowari keeps rocking into you the whole way through, the heavy head of his cock grinding hard against your G-spot the whole time.

Ronal makes a sound of deep satisfaction – she has abandoned the rubbing at her own clit in favour of leaning down to press a little kiss to the side of your head. It’s such a soft gesture, so far from what you would have expected from her given her usual stern demeanour.

Tonowari hisses so violently that it almost startles you – you’re guessing that you must be clenching hard around him. Perhaps that’s what sends him over the edge. The purr he lets out is more reminiscent of the roar of a chainsaw than anything else, and you feel the slick gush of his cum inside you as he chokes out a moan.

Tonowari continues to fuck you through his own orgasm until you turn into an oversensitive, whimpering mess. Finally, finally, what seems like the longest and most drawn out orgasm of your entire life begins to peter out. Your chest heaves and your lungs burn as you try to get your breath back, and you wonder absently if the way your heart is thrumming so desperately in your chest is cause for concern. You feel like you’re moments away from a heart attack. Your hips ache and your muscles burn, and your brain feels as though it's been liquefied.

You still feel as though you’re mentally miles away when Tonowari gently pulls out of you, before gripping your hips and flipping you around so that you’re on your back. For a long moment, all you can do is stare at the top of the marui as your chest heaves. There’s not a single thought in your damn head – it’s like there’s been a damn factory reset done on your brain.

It could be moments or hours that you lay there; you lose track of time. But soon hands come to lift you, and you allow your head to fall limply against the chest of whoever’s picked you up. Your eyes are still closed, but you feel yourself being carried and laid down somewhere. Hands are still petting you like you’re a damn cat, but you don’t bat them away – it’s nice, in a way. You feel cared for.

When you finally blink your eyes back open, dazed and exhausted, you find yourself almost face to face with Ronal. She’s peering closely at you, a little crease between her brow that smooths out when you open your eyes.

“Ah, you are awake.” She notes. “Sky demons have poor stamina.”

Her head is cushioned against a big blue shoulder, which causes you to look down at the big blue chest you’re laying across. It seems as though they had relocated all three of you to one of the big hammocks at the back of the marui. You’ve been draped across Tonowari’s big broad torso, and Ronal is tucked right up against his side with her hand resting across the small of your back.

“Go easy on her,” Tonowari chuckles, nuzzling at his wife’s temple. “We will work on her stamina.”

Your heart does a funny little leap in your chest, your once still mind leaping into overdrive.

“Oh, shit,” You breathe, wide-eyed. “I can’t believe that just happened.” A single thought pauses your descent into pure delirium, and you raise your head from Tonowari’s chest and squint at Ronal. “Wait, did you get to come-?”

“Yes,” she says simply. “While you were dozing.”

“Oh.” You say. You’re partly relieved that she was satisfied, but you’re mostly disappointed with the fact that you missed it.

Her smile grows sharper as she notices your reaction. “Next time,” She whispers to you. “You will watch.”

Your cheeks heat and you clear your throat as you grow flustered. Oh god, next time. They wanted to do this with you again. Holy shit.

“We will collect your things from Jakesully later,” Tonowari says, before moving to nuzzle at your temple. “For now, rest.”

“My things?” You repeat, blinking dazedly. “But- I’m staying with them to help Kiri.”

“Kiri is fine.” Ronal grumbles, her fingers moving in concentric patterns across the bare skin of your back. “You may check on her in the mornings and evenings. You do not need to stay in their marui.”

Maybe if you didn’t feel as though your brain had been literally fried from the way they had fucked you, you might have been better able to gather your thoughts. As it is, you do as Tonowari had suggested and rest as you flop bonelessly against his chest.

“Moving in together is a big step.” You mumble. You’re trying to make a joke, but you’re so tired that your tone mustn’t match. As it is, it seems to fall flat.

“Yes,” Ronal acknowledges, her fingers kneading at a knot in your lower back. You swear your eyes nearly roll back at the sensation. “Big step. We have discussed it much and watched you often. We will see how it goes.”

For all her ribbing at you about your stamina, she sounds sleepy herself. The severeness of her features have softened, and her stroking at your back turns lazy. Beneath you, pressed tight to your naked chest, Tonowari is still purring. It sends soothing little reverberations down your spine, encouraging you to relax into his big body. His own handsome face has slackened a little in obvious satisfaction, though he sends you a soft little smile when he sees you looking up at him.

We’ll see how it goes, you think to yourself as your eyes drift closed in the embrace of the two enormous aliens holding you. That sounds good.

#no one look at me rn #tonowari x reader x ronal #tonowari x reader #ronal x reader #na'vi x human #terato #avatar 2 #avatar wotw #avatar x reader

5K notes · View notes

teaspoon-full-of-sugar · 9 months

Text

tangointhenight

pairing: harry styles x reader (au)

warnings: idiots in love trope, long-distance fwb (sounds weird but it makes sense just give her a read luv), switch!harry and switch!reader, detailed descriptions of female and male masterbation, maladaptive daydreaming during a fanfic, mentions of exhibitionism, edging, one singular ‘daddy’, cum swapping, breeding kink, praise kink and degradation, rope play, spitting, choking, mutual masterbation, overstimulation, use of toys (vibrator mostly), crying after sex (iconic)

word count: 13.3k

synopsis: harry records erotic audios, and y/n is an avid listener

author’s note: hello nasties, here’s another filth fic for ya! this has been a long time in the making, and i am so sorry i have been mia for so long, but i am back for the time being to give you this fic. i have wanted to do something like this for a while now, but it’s been a struggle (lots of blood, sweat, and tears put into this). i’m kinda proud of her to be honest, and i hope you enjoy :)

tags: @victoria-styles

masterlist

—

Y/N finally sinks into her mattress after yet another tiring day. She can hear her roommate on the other side of the wall, chatting with her girlfriend over the phone, blissfully ignorant to the fact that she currently has a hand teasing the band of her sweatpants while the other scrolls aimlessly through her phone.

Exhaustion burns behind her eyes, but there’s a desperate ache in her belly, one that demands satiety. She opens the internet app to find it unchanged from the night before, still lighting up in the profile named tangointhenight. His profile picture is a tantalizing photo of his hand, splayed across his thigh, which are clad in tight, floral printed pants, doing wonders for the very prominent bulge. Pieces of paint linger on his thumbnail, a pretty pale mint color, and his skin, tanned with faint freckles and etches of dark ink, looks tempting in the golden light. At his wrist is a braided twine bracelet with cheap beads that have letters that she can’t make out, which looks old and wilted.

She scrolls down, only lingering for a moment to appreciate the photo one final time.

There are some cute little posts and polls in addition to his erotic audios. The newest one, posted just that afternoon, warns not to listen to this in public with a series of cute little emoticons following. If there’s one thing she’s learned about Tango, that’s what she and other listeners call him, is that he’s a bit of an exhibitionist; his audios tend to lean toward nearly getting caught or even being caught (oftentimes leading to a “helping out” situation). She honestly wasn’t into that sort of thing until he started talking about it, and now, she finds it incredibly sexy, the thrill of the quick high and the fear of being caught in such a vulnerable moment.

She’ll definitely have to give the new audio a listen on one of her morning commute trips to the university; perhaps, she could give it a listen while she waits for her class to start, his deep voice teasing and coaxing her into an aching mess. She hopes that it’ll leave her trembling and throbbing for the rest of the day. She wonders if she’ll be able to make it until night before she has to finish herself off or if she’ll have to sneak off to the restrooms during one of her seven minute breaks, foot propped up on the toilet paper dispenser while she rubs herself to her bitter end.

She scrolls down a bit, passing over audios that vary from pillow talk to a dirty fuck in back alleys, before tapping on the familiar link, purple from use, the description teasingly saying: we’ve been visiting my mum for a week, and I haven’t been able to taste you... I guess we’ll just have to be quiet.

It’s one of the first audios she listened to when she was just discovering this new world of pleasure, so it has a special place in her heart. It’s one of his firsts from nearly a year ago, of fuzzy listening quality and nervous voice, but she finds his ramblings endearing; although, admittedly, she thinks anything he does is cute.

She tucks in her earbuds and presses the play button. Tossing the phone to the side, her eyes flutter closed, visions of white dotting through the darkness as they adjust. There’s a subtle cracking sound that indicates that it has finally loaded, and a fuzzy droning sound filters through the headphones. There’s a fan going in the background; it squeaks and grumbles nearby. A door creaks open, one of those fake sound effects that you can buy, but she appreciates the effort.

“Hey, lovie, feelin’ better?”

His familiar voice floats through her ears. She settles even more into her sheets. His voice is a nice, hot cup of tea at the end of a hard day, a drug that leaves her head foggy and senses dulled. His voice reminds her of sleep: deep, soothing, persistent, yet ever fleeting. She yearns for it, like being able to listen to that one mazing song for the first time again or the feeling of sunshine after the long winter months. His voice is intoxicating, reaching a baritone timbre that she can’t quite put to words.

At first, she wanted to put a face to the man who hummed sweet nothings in her ears, who coaxed her to oblivion for nights on end. Now, she’s at ease with never knowing. It keeps things interesting, and she doesn’t think about it as much anymore.

“If only mum wasn’t home, maybe we could’ve snuck a quick one in the shower,” he says. She smirks, picturing him tucked into his childhood bed, a cozy twin that would be a struggle for the both of them to fit in, and he has his old quilt tucked up to his neck, leaving his bare feet exposed because of how little it is.

There’s a moment of silence, then a cute little laugh.

“I know. You wouldn’t want to sin in her godly home, but she loves you, probably more than me. I don't think she would think any differently of you.”

Another beat of silence, then his voice catches in his throat. Y/N smiles softly as he stutters pitifully, slowly, struggling to find his words.

“N-no, y’know tha's not how I meant it,” he says. “Like, she loves you more than she loves me. Not that I don’t love you as much as she does.” He moves, the rustling of his sheets crackling in her ears. She can hear his hand run over his stubble, nails scratching over short little hairs. She wonders if he usually grows out his facial hair or if he’s the type to keep clean shaven.

“She couldn’t possibly love you more than I do.” The bed creaks as he shifts again. “C’mon, babe, join me. ‘S all nice and warm.”

She herself burrows further into her blankets, knowing full well that she’s probably going to be kicking them off in a few minutes. She turns to her side, blinking her eyes open, trying to immerse herself into the fantasy.

“‘M glad you got time off of work to come here with me. I know you could've been spending time back home, but you came here with me instead.” His voice is closer than before, however whispered. Every accentuated vowel that passes through his lips is like a breath of fresh air, and she hums quietly at the sound.

“I really appreciate it. ‘M glad we got to spend this time together.”

She imagines that he tucks her into his neck, coddling her while his fingers trace over the curves of her face, from the furrow of her brow, down to the apple of her cheeks, before stopping at her lips, lingering only momentarily before his thumb would push just past them.

He chuckles suddenly.

“What does it look like I’m doing? Jus’ lovin’ on my girl.”

His short pecks turn into slow, passionate kisses, deep sighs of relief falling from his lips, and she swears she can almost feel his breath on her skin, nose pressed tight to the pulsepoint in her neck as he sponges his lips over her collarbone, teeth nibbling lightly. She tugs the tee up from where it’s settled at her hips to where the curves of her breasts begin, the material squeezing them tightly to her chest. The sensitive skin aches under the tight pressure. She teases her nipples through her thin bra, feeling the tenderness coax chills down her spine.

“Please,” he whines. “Wanna taste you. You can be quiet. I believe in you, love.”

She could picture him now, chin resting on her stomach, eyes pleading with her. She would flick his head at the patronizing tone before brushing her fingers through his hair. Would he have short tuffs or long tresses that she could run her fingers through after a long day, breaking apart the knots that accumulate throughout the day? Does he have pin straight, dark locks that are cut close to his scalp or sand coloured curls that fall gracefully on his forehead? Perhaps, he has a bit of gray peaking through his hairline to match his wise and weathered voice. She could almost moan at the thought. She has always had a thing for older men.

Tango says something, but she can’t really hear it, his words muffled by her racing heart. She pries her pants down shaky legs, leaving them dangling around her ankle, and her fingers work quickly in massaging her puffy clit, arousal wetting the tender skin. Not one for having much patience, she doesn’t wait for him to finish worshiping her body with his mouth before she is rubbing herself through her panties, feeling the cold wetness on her fingertips. Eyes closed, her head falls back on her pillows, legs tensing when she stops suddenly.

“Pretty thighs,” he mumbles to himself between kisses, and she could almost feel his tender touches on the backs of her thighs, which tremble with anticipation. A wetly placed kiss followed by an appreciative hum signals his final descent to her cunt. The sound of languid licks are nearly enough to make her finish, walls clenching miserably around nothing. Fingers slowing close to a dead stop, barely more than a faint fluttering on her sensitive skin, she attempts to collect herself, but it’s difficult when he moans once again, muffled by his furiously working lips.

“Love your pussy, baby.” She melts at his words, eyes rolling back as waves of pleasure rack through her body, hips stuttering in time with each flick of her wrist. “So warm and wet and jus’ perfect for me.” His voice, low with need, makes her throb, arousal slipping into her panties.

She’s close already, an unfortunate effect he has on her. Barely five minutes into her alone time, and she can feel the orgasm begin to build, like an unyielding inferno spreading through every nerve. The stress from her day, the exhaustion with the world, everything melts into just one prominent feeling threatening to burst from her pores. She has to force herself to stop before she falls over the edge in order to draw out this experience as much as possible. She nearly cries out when she pulls her hand away altogether, her poor, puffy clit throbbing painfully.

This continues for a while, the undulating waves of a blistering release and the torture of a cut off orgasm, until the air becomes thick, her heaving breaths heating her empty room.

“There’s my good girl,” he says. “Use me, lovie. Want you to choke me with your pretty thighs.”

His voice is more firm this time, and she could only picture his baleful eyes staring up at her, eager to please her and guide her over the edge. It makes her wonder what they look like; she wonders if they’re a soulful, deep chocolate that darken with lust, a pale blue that reminds her of warm afternoons, or a striking hazel that flickers with green hues in the light.

No matter the color, she is sure that they’re undoubtedly pretty.

“Please,” she whispers faintly.

“More? You want more, my greedy girl?” She nods pitifully, feeling the orgasm build quickly in her belly before she stops once again, fingers pressing into her throbbing clit. “You want my fingers?”

Her walls flutter fruitlessly for some sort of release, for some sort of stimulation. He moans out sharply.

“Feel so good, babylove,” he coos. “So warm and wet f’me.”

She wants to slip her fingers inside, to tease and massage that tender spot that she can barely reach until she struggles to breathe. She wants to feel full, but she doesn’t want to take care of the mess, and it surely won’t be comfortable sleeping in wet sheets. The wipes hidden alongside her other secret toys, beneath mounds of socks and crumpled underwear, do little to take care of the arousal that has pooled between her legs.

She fishes around her bedside table, fingers raking through bundles of panties to find her vibrator, a cheap little thing she got in a set when she first moved into her apartment. Unfortunately, she ran through the other ones that were in the set, and this is the only one left.

She nestles the vibrator on her swollen clit and ticks it on to the lowest setting. This stimulation is different than before; a vague rumbling rattles her bones, making her lips tremble, with choked cries teetering on her tongue. Obscene wet sounds fill her ears, and for a moment, she wonders whether they are coming from the audio or from her dripping pussy, and her thighs tighten around her wrist. She could only imagine the sight of his hands splayed over her hips and on her belly, perfectly pastel painted nails pressing into her wet skin. The shifting of her mattress worries her for only a moment, but her shame melts away, and she loses herself in the sound of his heavy, stifled groans, as if he is truly choking on her. The addition of the vibrator only serves to tease her more as she inches toward the end, brutally building in slow, abrupt waves. She struggles to swallow her whimpers.

He spits suddenly, and her hips jut forward at the sound, an erotic display of dominance, but he makes it seem like such a tender act; she could just melt.

“Can you take another?”

A beat of silence and a sharp intake of breath, squelching sounds growing louder.

“No? That’s alright, lovie, just two, then,” he coos. Her toes curl up a little at his words, hips rising from the mattress. On any other night, she would have craved more; she would have wanted him to coax her open with him telling her that she can take just one more and that she’s his good girl. It’s sad to be turned on by a man simply respecting her limits, but her clit throbs pitifully and some arousal slips out into her underwear.

“Gonna come for me, babe?” His words are slurred and wet. “Make me proud.”

Chills rushing down her spine, her body curls into itself, eager for her release. She wants to come so badly; she wants to feel the pleasure for days afterward, to tremble around her hand until she can’t take it anymore, to come until she’s seeing stars. She wants to make him proud, but she knows that she can’t come yet, or else she won’t be able to hear him finish. She doesn’t have another orgasm in her tonight, and she wants to prolong this experience as much as possible, even if that means holding out on her orgasm. The world spins behind her tightly screwed eyes as she slows her ministrations, the vibrator ticking back down to nothing. Her body reacts before she can even consider the loss, her hips bucking against the toy, attempting desperately to find that little bit of stimulation she needs to finally reach euphoria.

His lips smack loudly as he presses simulated kisses to skin, pulling her back from her foggy mind.

“So good f’me, pretty,” he says, words muted by skin. “So good. Hmm, I knew you could be quiet.” His kisses are slow and tired, unlike before when they were rushed and eager. His mattress grumbles as he moves once again, taking his time to, presumably, trail up the length of her trembling body until they’re suffocating in each other's embrace.

He sighs behind closed lips, heavy and wanton, and she can picture him working his hips into the mattress to find some sort of release. She would pull him up until he was right between her aching legs and press her lips to his neck, feeling his pulse jump at the contact. She would cup his cock through his thin pair of pajamas, teasingly massaging him until he just couldn't take it anymore, caution flying out of his mind as he is overcome by thoughts of her name, her skin, simply her. Trying to form a coherent thought, he would barely be able to hold himself up. She moans quietly at the thought.

“Babylove, we can’t—” He moans, his deep voice splintering. “I don’ know if I’ll be able to control myself.”

She has listened to this audio enough to know what to say to fill the silent gaps to fulfill the ultimate fantasy.

“Please,” she whispers into the dead air, barely audible over her roommate's voice in the next room. “Wanna feel you.” She wishes he was there for her to whisper in his ear, her fingers running up the plain of his back, feeling the heated skin tense at her words. He would quirk an eyebrow.

“Yeah? Y’wanna feel my big cock in y’tummy, pretty baby?”

“Yes,” she whimpers quietly, suddenly very aware of how much she truly wanted to be filled, to have him so impossibly close to her.

“Y’know I can’t say no to you.” She can hear the smile in his voice. She wonders what it looks like, if he beams with an eye-searing grin, his face splitting with happiness, or if he has a shy little smirk, just barely toying on his lips. She likes to think that he has a beautiful smile, filled with warmth and love. She melts a little, a rush of adrenaline coursing through her limbs to the tips of her fingers.

“Get on top.”

She does, eyes still closed as she sits and kneels on her mattress, one hand still between her legs, trying desperately to catch her poor, swollen clit at just the right angle that will leave her thighs quaking, her stomach clenching. Her underwear, which are still stuck around her knees, stretch and snap as her thighs slip and spread further on the sheets.

He moans sharply, and she can feel her hips unconsciously move, as if to pull that sound from him once again. The low vibrations from her little handheld leave her aching for more, nothing more than a faint rumble, but if she flicked it up to the next highest setting, it would surely be heard through the thin walls. Besides, she loves the teasing nearly as much as she hates it, just pushing to the brink before the rush subsides and settles into a quiet lull. Speechless, she gasps for air as yet another jilted orgasm subsides.

She works her hips slowly, careful of the squeaking of her mattress; there are only so many noises that can be passed off as her simply shifting around in her sleep. Her wrist aches at such an awkward angle, but she continues, the burning euphoria just beyond the horizon. He moans, and she nearly follows him, a crest of a cry nearly bursting from her chest but it comes out as a small whimper. She pushes her earbud deeper into her ear, as if to pull him closer.

“Sorry, jus’ feel so good,” he says sheepishly, and she can tell that he’s biting his lip by the faint lisp in his words. It would be torture for the both of them, to be so close but unable to move any faster or harder to finally reach the deepest, most pleasurable part, just barely scratching the itch for intimacy. He whimpers pitifully, and she thinks she might fall apart at the sound, but her stupid vibrator leaves her teetering back and forth between over the edge. She wiggles her hips to try to get a better angle, but with just a hint of stimulation, it’s a torturously slow build up.

“There it is, pretty,” he says, breaths faltering. “That’s the spot. Make yourself feel good, lovie. Use me.” Her legs ache at the awkward angle, trembling with overexertion. She wishes that she could let go of it, leaving it on the mattress with her pussy and thighs holding it in place, so she can grind on it, unhindered by her own body’s exhaustion, eagerly chasing her high. It would also free her hands to tease her breasts again, pulling and pinching at her hardened nipples.

“Love the way you feel, babylove,” he whispers. “Fuck, so wet f’me.” He curses again and again, as if no other words can properly describe the feeling of her, so soft, so warm, so fucking good. She could only picture him in abridged visions, his undoubtedly pretty lips parted with his pretty whimpers sneaking through, his features pinched in pleasure. Her eyes roll back as her orgasm quickly approaches.

“‘M gonna come,” he says suddenly. “Are you close, too?” She whimpers, arousal slips down her swollen lips and into her furiously working fingers, eager to finish alongside him. “Yeah? Y’gonna come with me? Y’gonna come on my cock, pretty?”

She is so close, so unbelievably close, and she struggles to relax her muscles to hold off for just a little longer.

“So fuckin’ good, such a good fuckin’ girl,” he says sharply. His mattress squeaks now, unable to hold back the sharp jolts of his hips, and he lets go of all inhibitions, moaning freely. She could imagine his hand tracing up her belly, cupping her swinging breasts, and he would suckle on her nipples until her fervent hips faltered. He would brush his hands up the curve of her back, digging into the muscles of her shoulders until she fell forward. Faces nestled together, interlocking like pieces of a puzzle, they would breathe each other in, savoring such a close moment of intimacy. It would feel like a lifetime as they waited with bated breath, using each other to get the most pleasure possible.

She comes when he does, holding her breath to keep the moans from slipping, which makes it all the more euphoric, the chance of nearly getting caught at her most vulnerable and the faint lightheadedness making her vision foggy. Her orgasm leaves her legs trembling, slipping away from her still buzzing toy, falling forward into her sheets. She breathes in sharply, barely holding back a pained cry; fat tears of pleasure soak into her blanket as euphoria crashes and beats into her muscles. The heart-racing, earth-shattering, limb-thrashing orgasm makes her chest heave. Just like she wanted, she is left spent on her mattress, the powerful rush still lingering in her trembling body.

She flips onto her back, quickly pulling her bottoms back up onto her hips. In her drunken stupor, her earbuds fell out, and she can vaguely hear Tango’s praises. She picks her phone back up, eyes straining under the bright light, and closes out of the audio.

Her head is light, foggy with the residual high. A dazed smile flickers over her lips, exhaustion settling deep in her bones, finally satiated by her orgasm.

She scrolls through his account once again, this time reading through some of his other posts, like links to playlists and cute stories. Suddenly, the little message icon in the corner looks so appealing, teasing and taunting. Perhaps, she’s feeling a little giddy from her high or maybe it’s from the exhaustion, but she can’t seem to find a reason to not do it.

She sends him a message.

Meanwhile, Harry stares at the blinking cursor petulantly. It taunts him amidst a sea of white, a blank canvas in what should have been a completed midterm paper that’s due in a couple of days. His eyes sink closed, and he starts to drift off, only waking when his hand slips from his cheek, knocking his glasses askew. An old sitcom plays in the background, the canned laughter providing a break in the silence every five seconds. He sighs for the billionth time that evening, struggling to find motivation to even think at this point.

His phone dings, and he happily divulges the distraction, his brows furrowing as he reads a direct message from a user called honeyhi. He’s used to getting comments on his post, with the occasional direct message (which he usually deletes instantly because of poor past experiences), and now, he usually doesn’t think much of them. He isn’t doing it to gain anything from anyone. He just wants to put his thoughts out there, and it’s just an added bonus to get validation from beautiful people.

She doesn’t have a profile picture, not uncommon on that corner of the web, especially since his posts aren’t a lot of people’s taste. He wouldn’t usually indulge in them, deleting them usually instantly, but something compels him to open her message.

Not to be too forward, but I had the best orgasm of my life, listening to your audios. I’ve listened to your audios for a long time, and honestly, listening to you has become the highlight of my evenings ;)

Honey, you have no idea what that means to me.

Truly, his heart swells at her sweet words. It’s nice to get complimented on something you put so much effort into. He bares himself for strangers, expressing such an intimate part of himself for their shared pleasure, and it feels reassuring to get compliments.

I mean it. Also, Tango in the Night is arguably one of Fleetwood Mac’s best albums. Definitely top three.

Most people assume it’s a sex thing.

I wonder why.

He laughs a little at the dry comment.

So, what are the other two in your top three albums?

Pre or post Stevie Nicks?

Post, of course. What kind of question is that?

That was a test. You passed. I think we’ll get along just fine, Tango.

I think so, too, Honey.

—

Y/N rushes past the postman, nearly toppling over when her bag shifts slightly on her arm, her thick binders peek out of the top and dig into her arm. Her hand furiously slaps the elevator button, and she stands impatiently, her dangling keys shaking at her hip. The doors tremble as the weight teeters down to the main floor, far too slowly in her opinion. For a moment, she considers just running up the three flights of stairs to her floor, but that feels a little too eager.

She and Tango have their weekly phone call tonight, and her classes ran long today; that coupled with the stand-still traffic made her more anxious than usual to get home. She always calls first, since her schedule is the most complicated, and she’ll feel absolutely awful if she was late for their call. She feels silly getting worked up over such a small thing, but their friendship progressed beyond the occasional messages in the past month, and she honestly looks forward to their weekly talks. Tango is such a beautiful and humble person, and he is such a stable place of comfort. She knows that he will be understanding and have an independent, secondary perspective on any situation.

He is someone she can rely on for just about anything.

The bell dings above her, and the elevator doors finally part. After barreling inside, she sinks against the railing, glancing at the time, which is still just before her usual calling time. She sighs sharply when the doors begin to close, relief tugging on her shoulders.

However, a hand pushes through the lift’s doors before they can shut, and she bites back an irritated groan; she probably could have made it to her apartment by now if she had ran up the stairs. The man slides in and gives her a grateful nod, accompanied by a small smile. Much to her delight, he presses the ‘close door’ button quickly, and they’re met with no interruptions this time. It’s a quiet ride, despite her nervous feet tapping, and he taps away on his phone,

She admires him out of the corner of her eye, forgetting momentarily about her anxiety. Half of his hair is pulled back in a small bun, exposing the darker locks underneath, and a bandana pushes back the frizzy flyaways that would normally frame his face. The thick strands curl slightly at the ends; there’s one tight coil that she wants to tug on. She could easily become enamored with him, with his pretty green eyes and day-old stubble. His bag has H.E.S embroidered on the bottom corner. A coral colored, gem necklace rests beautifully on his tanned chest, which is mostly covered by a near see-through white top, covered with a baggy, gingham jumper.

After living in the building for two years, they have run into one another on several occasions but have never really spoken. He lives on the second floor, and he goes to the university as well.

When he leaves, after offering another nod and quick smile, she calls Tango. He answers after the second ring.

“Hey, sweets,” he grumbles, not as chipper as his usual self. Her heart sinks a little. He had his midterms last week, and she can only assume that the results are not what he had hoped.

“Oh, no,” she says. “What happened?”

“‘S nothin’,” he insists, but she can hear the irritation in his voice. “‘M jus’ getting myself worked up over nothin’. How was your day?”

Clearly not wanting to talk, he changes the subject, which is something Y/N has grown used to over the past few months. He doesn’t like to vent when he’s too upset because he’s afraid of lashing out and taking his aggression out on her. Thankfully, she has also learned how to distract him. Usually, his annoyance melts away within minutes, and he is his usual, bubbly self again.

“Well, let me tell you, I nearly killed the postman today, and someone nearly hit my car today.”

“What?” He asks incredulously. “Please, elaborate.”

And so, she does.

A couple hours later, Y/N’s in her kitchen, making avocado and tomato toast for the fifth time this week. Her roommate is gone for the weekend, thankfully, which means she can get more stuff done without interruptions (and she can talk to Tango for as long as she wants without getting interrogated about it). His mood had improved significantly after she was able to make him laugh at her own expense (he especially liked the story about how she grabbed her iced coffee too quickly this morning and spilled it all over the barista’s hand).

“I have a question,” he says quickly, as if he wouldn’t have the courage to ask if he held onto it for a moment longer.

“Okay,” she says slowly, almost fearful at the sudden change of tone in his voice.

“Would you be able to listen to something I recorded the other day?” He giggles nervously. “I dunno. I just feel a little,” he makes a little noise, “off about it.”

Stunned, she stares at her phone, the seconds ticking by before her very eyes, and despite the fact that the only reason why they know each other is because she listened to his audios, she’s a little taken aback by the question. Before she knows it, too much time has passed for her to brush off as anything but bewilderment. She stutters.

“I—uh—sure?”

“You don’t sound too sure.”

“No, I am.” Stubborn and not willing to back down, she digs herself a deeper hole, despite the odd feeling growing in her stomach. “Yes, I will listen to it for you.”

“Okay, then,” he says breathlessly. “I’ll send it to you.”

Neither know what to say now. Conversation usually came easy to them, so it feels so strange to be stuck in such an uncomfortable silence. Now, she’s gone and ruined everything because of her hesitation. Why did she even hesitate? There’s no reason to be embarrassed. They’re both very open, sexual people, and it’s nothing to get so worked up over. Maybe, it’s the fact that it’s him, and she knows him so well now. Compared to before, when he was just some stranger on the internet, she knows his likes, dislikes; hell, she has even spoken to his cat, and it feels wrong because he is her friend, and that’s not what friends are supposed to do.

“It’s not weird. Is it?” He asks shyly.

“Of course not.” She says it a little too quickly. Admittedly, it feels a little weird, now that she thinks about it. It would be like walking in on your friend having sex. Then again, the only reason why they really know each other is because she listened to his audios (which is basically him jerking off to his dirty thoughts). However, it’s not an aspect they spoke about too often, usually after a couple of drinks. Their friendship, despite how it began, is purely innocent. They were each other’s comfort person; they were there to vent, laugh, and talk with. Neither ever hinted toward anything different, other than the occasional, playful flirting.

“No, I’ll listen to it for you. What are friends for?”

She doesn’t know why her heart is beating so fast.

“Thank you,” he says.

“So,” she says, “do you want me to listen to it now?”

“Eager, are we?” He hums teasingly.

“Shut up,” she scoffs.

“I mean, if you wanted to hear some dirty talk, all you had to do was ask.”

“Please, stop talking.”

“Y’know I’m always down to clown.”

“I’m hanging up now.”

True to her words, she doesn’t wait for him to answer before she ends the call.

Her phone dings a second later with the link along with another cheeky message. The link is to a private web upload platform, and she feels special for a moment. She wonders if she should just listen to it while eating her toast and go about her usual routine, or if she should do what she usually does when listening to his audios. Is that what he would want, though? Would it make him feel uncomfortable? Is it more weird to just listen to him moan in her ear while doing mundane tasks around the house?

Granted, they have had some conversations about sex and the like, but this feels so much more intimate, especially because he knows that she’s going to listen to him jerk off, not to even mention the obscene things that come from his mouth.

What does it mean for their friendship? Perhaps, it’s not even meant to mean anything, just a sincere favor asked between two friends. Maybe, it’s meant to be a step toward something more on his part. Is that even what she wants?

She brushes off that thought quickly, as she has for months, because deep down, she knows it would just end up in disappointment.

Oh, what a mess.

She’s headed on a downward spiral that has no chance of stopping unless it’s hit by a freight train to hell.

She opts to forgetting her toast and slips into her bedroom, falling onto her blankets giddily. She presses play on the audio, her heart racing as it loads, and leaves her phone face down next to her ear, eyes closing to fully immerse herself, trying to ignore her anxiety.

“Hello,” he says slowly, almost shyly, and it feels like one of their late nights again, with him talking through her phone and her cuddled in bed, listening eagerly. “I’ve just gotten home, but I’ve been thinkin’ about this all day. Couldn’t go to sleep before gettin’ it out there, y’know.” He giggles, a pretty little noise she’s heard many times now. He laughs a lot, sometimes at himself, but mostly in response to her. He even laughs at her corny, little puns, which she appreciated.

“And ‘m really hard right now, so that doesn’t help either. I haven’t really been able to come in the past two weeks. Been too busy with… life, I guess. But a friend of mine talked to me about the world of BDSM. She’s a kinky little shit.”

Y/N’s heart lurches, stomach twisting with an unrecognizable feeling, knowing that the certain friend he is talking about is her. She remembers the conversation well, even though she was a little tipsy and very high, mostly because it was also the first time they had actually spoken on the phone, and it began as it normally does, about mundane things that happened that week. Somehow, the conversation shifted to kinks, and she told him that she wouldn’t be opposed to more sinful acts in the bedroom, most of which her previous partners had not indulged.

“I’m pretty vanilla, I guess. I just love to love people. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with that. I’ve never really been into that sort of thing, but now, I can’t stop thinking about it, and I’ve been kinda into some dark, dom stuff lately,” he admits slowly. “Dark for me, at least, which, again, doesn’t say much.” There’s another laugh, radiant and delicate.

“I dunno why, but I’ve been fantasizing about taking you into our room. A little lackluster, I know, but I’m not into the dark, dingy places, like those sex dungeons they have in the movies, where there’s lots of leather, red lights, music, quite the ambience.” He stops suddenly, and she could imagine his lips pursing to cease his ramblings. She wishes he wouldn’t do that so much; she wishes that he wouldn’t doubt himself and his beautiful way with words. If only he could be as confident in himself as she is in him.

“I just want to lay you down on our bed with our fluffy blankets pushed off to the side. Then, if either of us need to take a moment or stop, we can.” Her heart swells a little at his words. Even though he’s trying to talk about, in his words, “dark, dom stuff”, he is still so sweet and considerate, and she can’t help but soften. He trails off.

Faintly, she can hear him yank his belt from the loops, and it’s, honestly, one of the hottest things she has ever heard; the teasing glimpse of what could come far more erotic than anything any of her other partners could do. She could only imagine what it would feel like to have him in front of her, shirtless with his pants low on his hips; maybe he would be wearing the same floral pants he is in his profile picture, the ones that are unbelievably tight. She would be splayed on the bed, just observing this beauty of a man, waiting patiently for him to come and ravish her.

She’s sure that his tattoos cover more than just his arms, but how many more is a question that haunts her. The thought of a big tattoo on his thigh that she can grind on while he moans about how much of a good girl she is has led to many obscene dreams. She imagines black images carved into his chest, perhaps a trail of floating rose petals from his collar bone to his peck or a hellish looking snake wrapped around his waist. More vividly, she envisions a bold tattoo just beneath his belly button, one that she would scratch at while he violently pounded into her, one that she would kiss and lick before she would take him in her mouth.

Oh, what she would do to be able to feel his skin on hers.

She dips her hand beneath the band of her shorts out of habit, toying with the silky material of her panties. She tries not to think too much about her feelings, fearing it would deepen the ache in her heart.

“Anyway, you’d be on the bed,” he says, his usual slow, stifling voice pulling her deeper into the fantasy, “naked, on your knees with your pretty pussy facing me. You’re all tied up, starting at your wrists and ankles, and there would be a pretty knot down your spine that I can grab while I fuck you from behind.”

Her cunt throbs at the sudden turn. She could only imagine: her face pressed into the pillows, choking on the sheets, her muscles tight, aching beneath the restraints, and her voice raw, sobbing from overstimulation. Exhausted and wanton, she would take anything that he would be willing to give her. He would shove her face into the mattress, mounting her, and he would tug on the rope until it felt like it would permanently embedded in her wet skin, telling her how much of a good little slut she is, taking him so well.

She doesn't know why she’s drawn to rope play; perhaps, it’s all a part of the subtle nuances of the sex, the intimacy of tying the complex binds around your partner and the intricacies of sensory manipulation with such overwhelming stimulation. It’s so much more than just being bound while fucking. There is such a deep reliance on the other person to understand your body, your limits, your needs. It’s about trust and vulnerability. She thinks of it in such a melodic and romantic way; it must have resonated with Tango.

“Or I’d tie your arms to your legs, keeping you spread open for me on your back, with knots around your belly, the lead falling between your tits.” Her eyes flutter closed. While rope play is something that she has always wanted to try but never felt comfortable enough with another person to act on it. He would be different though. She cups her pussy, languidly running her fingers through her wet folds, feeling the arousal slip down her skin before settling on her sheets.

She pinches her clit, and her legs immediately jerk around her arm. Feeling far too sensitive for that type of stimulation, she simply strokes through her lips, focusing her ministrations on the delicate inside, close to her sopping entrance, enjoying the slow build.

“Then, I could hold onto your neck while I fuck you, and I like being able to see your face, to see how good I’m making you feel, to see tears of pleasure run down your pretty face. You could suck on my fingers while I fuck you, deep and hard. D’ya wanna choke on my fingers, pretty?”

She wants absolutely nothing more. She would gladly suck on his fingers if it meant that she could see the look of awe in his eyes, lust darkening his features when she bites teasingly on his nail.

“But if you’re on your knees, I could watch you in the mirror and still see your face. From behind, I can see your pretty, tight pussy take my cock.” He whimpers. “I haven’t decided which I would rather have.”

She can’t decide, either.

Then again, they could always have both.

“Of course, I wouldn’t give you my cock that easily. No, you’re going to be crying for me, begging for me to fuck you, and I dunno if I would fuck you right away or make you beg for it. I think for the first bit, after you’re all tied up for me, I’ll tease you, just barely touching you, pulling on the lead, the ropes tightening around your aching body. I think your tits would look so pretty all tied up f’me, babylove.

“When you’ve finally had enough, crying for me to stuff you full of my cock, I’d let you come, but I’d only use my fingers, never giving you what you really want. Maybe I’ll put a little vibrator on your clit and leave you there, having you come again and again until it hurts. I’d have you keep your panties on, of course. Don’t want you making a mess of the sheets, and then, when I finally give you my cock, I’ll put them in your mouth to keep you quiet, and so you can taste yourself.”

His moans are in the forefront in his sensual song, mixed amongst a symphony of bed and friction sounds. She matches his pace, flicking her wrist in time with the sound of him working his wet cock. She massages the entirety of her pussy, messily rubbing her fingers from the tip of her poor, swollen clit to her throbbing opening.

“Fuck, babylove, you’d be so good f’me, taking my cock so deep in your pussy. Would you cry f’me, pretty? Cry for daddy to fuck you into the mattress.” A rumbling groan finally breaks free, and she is so close to falling apart, her high festering into her muscles, burning through her nerves; her skin feels hot to the touch. She struggles to breathe, but she doesn't yearn for air as much as she does her end. Tears in her eyes, she clutches onto her blanket, tugging it in her mouth to keep from crying too loudly. She sobs, feeling a familiar tightness in her body, just beyond her grasp. Her hand still moves over her pussy, arousal seeping through trembling fingers, but she can’t reach her peak with such light, varied stimulation, her hips buckling.

“My pretty rope bunny,” he mutters. He’s desperate, truly just rambling on and on about anything that comes to mind. “My pretty honey,” he whimpers, almost inaudibly, “honey, honey.”

For a second, she thinks of the times that word has passed through his lips in less sinful situations, a slow, lulling honey when he’s trying to get her attention, sweet and innocent. That’s his special name for her, and she wonders if, possibly, he thinks about her in the same way she does, if he wishes to be with her in such an intimate way, just as she does. She thinks, incredulously, that maybe she isn’t overanalyzing the situation.

His bed squeaks faintly in the background, just barely heard over his withering voice. She can only begin to imagine what he looks like in that moment, legs tense, feet digging into the mattress, his hips thrusting to fuck himself into his fist. The head of his cock would peek through the top of his fist as he coerced his release free. She wishes she could see what he looks like when he comes, when he finally reaches his most euphoric moment. It’s such a primal thing to witness, to see someone liberated of all inhibitions, to observe them completely succumbing to their instincts. It’s such a beautiful thing to see someone acquiesce control and thrive so harmoniously with their body.

“I wanna wrap my belt around your throat.” He swallows thickly. She whines along with him. Perhaps, she’s just fooling herself, but she can swear that she could almost hear the sound of a leather belt squeezing in his fist. A pitiful pool of wetness slips between her ass cheeks.

“My cock hurts just thinking about how you’d sound.” He moans, mimicking the desperate heaves that would undoubtedly slip through her lips as he pulls his belt tightly around her throat. “Then, when you’re bratty, I can just wrap my hand around the belt and make it tighter.

“Please,” he mocks weakly, “please, sir, I’ll be good. But you’re just saying that to get what you want. You’re just a naughty, little slut aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she returns weakly.

“Maybe, I could get you a collar and pull you around with that. Would you like that?” He hums. “Of course, you would. You’re my pretty, little bunny.”

In any other instance, she would feel humiliated to be so aroused at being so weak and submissive to another, but he could convince her to do anything at this point. She’s close, toes curling and muscles tightening, and she waits for his familiar profession that he is also near the edge, but the silence that follows is deafening, a disappointing resolution to an intense narrative. It makes her stop completely, wet hand flipping her phone over to see that, indeed, she had listened to all of the audio. It knocks the air from her lungs when she realizes that that was it. She isn’t going to hear his cute little whimpers as he comes nor his sweet aftercare.

Frustrated from her ruined orgasm, she calls him instantly, and he picks up after the fourth ring this time, as if he knows that she is this needy and frustrated. She doesn’t give him the chance to greet her.

“That couldn’t have been all of it.”

“Well, hello to you, too—”

“I didn’t get to hear you come.”

“Is that what you wanna hear, honey?”

“Well, yeah, I always come with—” She stops before she says something she’ll regret, but by the sound of his laughter, it’s already too late. She wants to hide away in embarrassment.

“It’s only partially finished. I thought I told you that.” She can hear the teasing smirk he surely has plastered on his face, the cheeky bastard. “I just wanted to hear what you thought so far before I finished it. There’s no point in finishing something that I already feel isn’t worth the time.”

“Well, then,” she stutters quickly, “How does it end?”

“How do you think it should end?”

There’s a certainty in his words, as if he has already accepted her as a lover, and she knows that he is giving her the opportunity to initiate the next step. Fear squeezes her chest, and for a second, she worries that she isn’t brave enough to follow through. Every fiber of her being is pleading with her to just take that risk, but another, more rational side of her, is saying it’s better to say a quick I don’t know, and they would move on as normal.

“Where would you come?”

Oh, it feels so filthy to ask that, but it’s so relieving to hear the hum of approval that passes through his lips.

Her heart races, not like before; this is exciting and new and arousing, and it feels wrong. She doesn’t even know what he looks like; hell, she doesn’t even know his real name, and she’s so fucking ready and willing to give herself to him. There’s just so many reasons to not pursue him. She feels ashamed, almost, that she is weak for a man she knows nothing about.

“Hmm, that’s a good question. Where would you like me to come?”

But how can she not get weak when he asks her things like that?

Shivers bloom on her skin in sunflower blossoms. She knows what he wants to hear, and usually, she would tease him, telling him that he didn’t care if he even came or not, but the throbbing between her legs is relentless, and she’s just lust-drunk that she’ll say just about anything to get what she needs. She begins rubbing herself again, focusing solely on her clit this time instead of the entirety of her pussy in the palm of her hand. Breathing out shakily, she answers honestly.

“Everywhere.”

He moans, and she knows that was the right answer.

“Everywhere? Such a greedy girl. You want me to come down your throat? You wanna taste it? Maybe, I’ll have you choke on my cock, fuck y’face until you’re crying.”

After he was done fucking her, she’s sure that he would yank her up either by the rope around her breasts or by the belt around her neck (she can’t decide which yet) and put his cock by her mouth, rubbing himself over her lips and chin, but never quite pushing past the barrier of her lips; no, she would be the one to open her sweet mouth for him, her jaw lax and tongue wet as she takes everything he’d give her.

God, yes, she wants to taste him. She wants him to use her in every possible, degrading way: to use her mouth while she tied up, under his mercy, to fuck her face until she has tears dripping down her cheeks, wetting her heaving chest, to come down her throat until she’s choking on him, but he would pinch her nose and make her taste it until her vision was blurry.

“You’d take it all, babylove. Won’t you?”

He asks so innocently, his deep voice having a soft twinge, but she knows that it’s not optional, not that she would choose otherwise. She would greedily lap at his cum and drink it all, proudly showing off her empty mouth when she’s done. Maybe, he would insist that she keep it in her mouth and pull her into a wet, heated kiss, prying her lips apart so he can taste himself on her tongue.

“I could make a mess on your belly or your tits, and then, I could lick you clean. Or I could mark up your thighs and watch it drip onto the sheets.”

The thought of him marking her with his come is nearly enough for her to reach her peak. A voice in the back of her head chastises her for being so greedy; this is something she has fantasized about since they started talking, and it’s going to be over before it can even begin at this rate. She needs to distract herself, to focus on anything other than the painful throbbing between her legs.

“Or I could come inside you.”

That’s the last thing she needed to hear.

Only because it makes a thick bead of arousal seep into her sheets. It makes her finally give in and sink two fingers inside herself, and fuck, she’s so wet and swollen and pliable. She sobs, truly biting back even louder cries behind gritted teeth. She curses again and again at the feeling coursing through her veins, heat spreading in her belly as her hips frantically move against her ministrations.

“By the sound of that moan, I think that’s definitely preferred. Such a filthy girl. Y’want me to fill your belly? Want me to mark you as mine?”

She just knows that he could fill her to the brim, but he would want to prolong the experience as much as possible, teasing her with his cock and coaxing her to beg for his cum.

She could just imagine the determined look in his eyes, so close to coming, but he would pull out, just barely teasing her trembling entrance with his twitching cock. He wouldn’t move, and when she would beg for him to put it back in and just fuck her until she couldn’t breath, he would say very simply: if y’want my cum so bad, put my cock back inside.

God, his face would be gleaming with this power, satisfied with seeing her so needy for his cum. Shamefully, she would put one of her hands on his hip while the other grasps his cock, pushing on him until he sinks entirely inside her once again, but he still wouldn’t move, simply filling her, the both of them twitching with arousal. He would demand that she make him come if she wants it so bad, as if it's a gift from the heavens.

“Are you touching yourself?” He asks, and only then does she realize that she was drowning in her fantasy; the sudden change makes her stop rubbing herself, her vision hazy. She parts her lips with wet fingers, slipping back down to her entrance, gently prodding inside until that euphoria builds once again.

“Yes,” she admits shamefully. “‘M so fucking wet for you.”

“Dirty little slut,” he says sharply. He has no room to judge, especially since she can hear the all-too-familiar sounds to him jerking his cock, wet sounds of his fist passing over the thick head echoing in her empty room. She is near tears at this point, so needy and high and horny, but she wants to make this last.

“Would you let me come? Please, can I come?”

It’s his turn to moan with approval, and she feels proud. His heavy breathing in time with hers, he seems to be lost in pleasure, voice hitching as he struggles to find words. Her orgasm swells to a near crest once again, but she wants to hear him finish. At this point, she knows what it sounds like, from the frantic ramblings to the guttural moans, and he’s not quite there yet.

“Do you think you deserve to come, honey? You think you’ve been a good girl f’me?”

“Yes, I’m a good girl—fuck—please, please, I need to come.” She stumbles through her words, what little power she held in her withering grasp deflating instantly from his words.

“I dunno, I think you’re a brat who just wants to get off.”

It’s painful how much his words impact her, volatile muscles spasming while she staves of hee end. She whimpers, sinking further in her headspace; she feels a cloud settle in her vision (or perhaps those are tears), overwhelming yet freeing.

“No, I’m your good girl,” she insists.

“I think you’ll have to prove it to me, honey,” he replies slyly. “I don’t think I’ll let you come quickly. I want you to beg for it. Can you do that f’me, babylove? Beg me to come.”

“Fuck, I’m so close,” she says. “Please, please, I need it. Please, let me come.”

“You can do better than that,” he says, voice cracking. Their harmonious sounds of excitement drive both of them closer to their orgasms.

“Oh, god—please, I—fuck—I need it so bad. ‘M so close, please.” She can barely speak coherently. Chills wrack her sore body, waves of throbbing pleasure threatening to break her. She wanted—no, needed—him to finish.

“Come f’me, Honey,” he says. “You’re my good girl, so good f’me. C’mon, babylove, come with me.”

She does. With ears ringing and eyes closing, she comes until her pussy aches. It feels never ending, euphoria consuming every part of her sweat-laden flesh, chilling and fiery, for hours—or perhaps only seconds. She can’t tell.

“Thank you,” she whispers, her vision blurry. Her body trembles with residual aftershocks of her intense orgasm. She lays spread open on her bed, her pussy still too sensitive to close her legs entirely.

“Thank you for letting me come.” In her daze, her limbs fall away limply. All she can do is exist at this moment. She vaguely wonders if he finished with her, the thought of his deep moans fueling another fire. A part of her is disappointed that she wasn't present enough to listen to him, but another part knows that more opportunities will come.

“You’re so welcome, honey,” he says sweetly. “I think we both really needed that today.”

She hums, still recovering from such a powerful end. She slowly regains her breathing.

“I guess I should be thanking you because that’s one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had,” he says. She laughs.

“You flatter me.”

“I’m serious. Nearly gave myself a pearl necklace.”

And just like that, everything continues as normal. Both know that the other is naked and satiated, but neither feels uncomfortable with the fact. If anything, it makes things relieved, open, or comfortable. They’re both giggly in the golden after-glow.

“What does this mean for us, Honey?”

As, yes, the dreaded ‘talk’. Fear immediately spikes in her veins, and she struggles to find her words. Before she can answer, he begins speaking again.

“Look, I really like talking with you, and I don’t want this to make things weird, but I meant what I said earlier. That was probably one of the best orgasms of my life, and I don’t think that I could live without your pretty little moans now that I’ve heard them. Maybe, we can do that again. We don’t have to put a label on it or anything, if you don’t want to.”

Her heart sinks. Is that all that he wants?

“Right, it doesn’t have to be anything serious, just us having some stress relief.” Her words are dry and forced, feeling like bile in her mouth. She grits her teeth. What the hell had she just gotten herself into?

“Hey, uh, it’s late, and I have to wake up early tomorrow. Same time next week?”

She hopes that he doesn’t think that she regrets what they did, and she hopes he doesn’t think too much into her abrupt ending of the call. It’s not a total lie; she does have work early tomorrow morning, but she has had more than a few days where she was running on two hours of sleep and a miracle. She just wants to get off the phone before he hears the contemplation in her voice.

“You think I can wait a week after that? You have too much faith in me.”

“I think you’ll survive, babe,” she says.

“Good night, babylove.”

“Good night.”

She falls asleep quickly after, dreaming of the nameless, faceless man who she bares her soul to.

Later that night, as Harry edits the finally finished audio, he thinks back to Honey and their mutual pleasure, feeling like an absolute idiot for saying that it was nothing serious. He wasn’t expecting her to agree so emphatically, so quickly.

Although, what had he expected? He was the one who suggested it. No matter, he can’t have a relationship right now, especially a long distance one. He would just end up getting hurt, but he likes her too much to stop talking to her completely. He finally took their relationship further even if it won’t lead to anything more.

—

“Are you ready to admit defeat?”

Y/N lets out a breathy laugh, despite her current situation, her hand rubbing leisure circles on her already sensitive clit, which still throbs from her first orgasm of the night. Tango murmurs praise in her humming ears.

She’s not really sure what they are, and she doesn’t want to think about it. It would only complicate things more.

Friends? Definitely.

Well, maybe not definitely, since she doesn’t even know his name, but what other word could she use to define their relationship? What sort of friends would say such filthy things to each other? Why would he call her ‘my honey’ so emphatically if they were ‘just friends’? Too afraid of misinterpreting his intentions and embarrassing herself, she doesn’t mention anything, and he never does either, but it keeps her awake at night, wondering what they could be if she could just put her feelings to words.

This would be the second hour of their phone call, and it only took them ten minutes for the conversation to turn into one of their “stress relieving sessions”. Both of them had a terrible day; she was late for the first day at her new job (they were understanding given the circumstances, but it still left a sour taste in her mouth), and he slept through an exam. She eased him into a submissive headspace quickly, babbling about what a good boy he is and how proud she is of him. Within minutes, he came, and she whispered all the filthy things she wanted to do to him until he was completely spent, his cock milked of all remnants of his seed, twitching and throbbing with empty orgasms.

He easily fell into the dominant headspace after his quick high, and he was adamant that he could make her come more than any of her other partners, even without him truly there. She knows that he can; hell, she has touched herself to his voice more times than she could count, but she likes teasing him, hearing him get all riled up and stubborn.

“Are you gonna come again, honey?”

“Nope,” she breathes, “Not even a little close.”

“You’re obviously lying or not trying,” he says sharply, and a sense of pride swells in her chest at her ability to get a rise out of him without even trying. She smirks.

“What are you gonna do? Punish me?”

“I might have to.”

She’s sure he would, too, but it would be in the most pleasurable way possible, with his mouth and fingers and cock stimulating her until she comes so many times she can’t take anymore. Her fingers trace her most intimate area, nails scraping against her quivering core. She sinks two fingers inside, feeling her sopping pussy swallow them easily, adjusting quickly and craving more. She tries to find that sweet, spongy spot inside her, but she can’t seem to reach it.

“Wish it was your fingers,” she mumbles, her movements certain and even, but it’s never enough for her greedy body.

“Yeah, lovie?” He croons, “they’d be so big in your tight little pussy.” She hums, wishing that he was there to stuff her in every way possible.

“Would you wear your rings?”

“For you? Of course.” Her eyes roll back at the thought; his thick fingers could tear her at the seams, and with the added texture of his rings, she would be coming within seconds. Her clit throbs, blood rushing in time with her racing heart, and she massages it harder, wanton and waiting for yet another release. “C’mon, babylove, Come for me. Make me proud,” he coaxes. His words make her fall over that edge once more, thighs shaking and pussy weeping. She’s sure there’s a creamy stain beneath her, seeping into her wet skin.

“Again,” he demands. She thinks she may break. “Keep going, babylove. Where’s that toy you told me about?”

He knows that she won’t be able to come much longer on her own, with the pain overwhelming the pleasure.

“It’s so far away,” she whines.

“Go grab it, love,”

Her legs tremble as she twists around, reaching blindly into her bedside drawer. She can’t close her legs too much without getting overstimulated; her legs ache and twitch. Once the toy is situated just above her clit, she ticks it on. Her body reacts immediately, limbs jolting about, hips ducking away, and her voice catching. Gasping, she almost wants to take the toy away, the stimulation being far too much.

He thinks differently.

“Turn it up higher, lovie,” he says so sweetly. Her chest feels like it could almost collapse into itself. Still dizzy from her orgasm, she’s not sure if she can take it, her body fighting against her. She wants to beg and plead for something, but she doesn’t even know what for. Is it for yet another orgasm that will surely be more powerful that any other? Or is it for the burning at every nerve ending to stop?

“I dunno—”

“You can take it, such a good little bunny for me.”

The vibrator ticks to the next setting, a sharp, persistent sound echoes in her empty room, followed by an even louder shout. She has not control anymore. Thankfully, she’s home alone or else it would be an awkward morning with her roommate listening to her cries of pleasure well into the night. Her hand shakes, but she presses the head of the toy harder to her clit. She lets out a guttural groan, feeling euphoria seep from every pore.

“There it is,” he moans, breathing growing ragged. He’s surely jerking himself off, basking in the pleasure with her, and it makes her arousal burn deeper. She wants to put on a show for him, to egg him on and make him feel as good as he makes her feel.

“There’s my pretty girl. Let me hear you, baby.”

She can barely squeeze out a few breathless whimpers from her chest, hedonistic—no, animalistic—sobs crash through her. Pain and pleasure fight for control, just as her mind and body do.

“Feel good?”

“Yes,” she says weakly. “Feels so good.”

She comes quickly with a silent cry, her lips parted and face scrunched. Saliva slips from her open mouth, and she is unable to wipe it away, lewdly dripping down her chin to her neck before finding it’s place on her dirtied sjeets. The recovery period is quicker this time; it’s either that or her body is becoming numb to anything but pleasure. It feels like it’s never ending with the vibrator still nestled tightly to her puffy cilt. Her lips are surely swollen now too, tender from too many orgasms, yet still sopping with arousal.

“Don’t take it away,” he says, “You got another one in ya. You can do it, lovie.”

His voice is muffled beneath blankets where her phone lies, lost in her ravenous bouts of pleasure, limbs writhing and tossing. Her body aches when she twists to put it back up by her ear to hear him more clearly, muscles tight from her previous orgasms. Legs closing slightly, she whines when the toy presses harder against her clit, hips ducking away from the strong vibrations, eyes fluttering closed. Her phone falls out of her grasp once more, but the light illuminates the dark room, casting a warm glow.

“Please—”

She’s not really sure what she’s begging for; it just slips out, a weak plea. Perhaps, she just wants him to be there instead of on the other end of a phone call, in some faraway place she doesn’t even know. The room would feel so much warmer with him here, her back pressed to his chest, their sweat mingling. Maybe he would wear those pretty lace stockings he showed her a picture of once, the glittery fabric coarse against her skin as he teases his toes along her leg, keeping them spread. His freckled and inked arms wrapped tightly around her middle, paying special attention to her tummy, he would whisper sweet things in her ear and press on the area right below her belly button, telling her of how he wants to grind his pretty cock against her soft middle until she is sticky with his precum, how he can fuck himself that deep inside her. She would feel him for days after.

“I know it hurts, baby, but just one more, then you can go to bed.”

It sounds so nice, the thought of sinking into her pillows for a good night's rest, but an orgasm sounds even better, one leaving her spent and satiated and sleepy.

“Such a good girl f’me.”

As much as she wants to, the sensitivity becoming nearly unbearable, she can’t stop; she wants to make him proud, to prove to him that she’s his good girl who can take it. Even though he’s not truly there with her to hold her and make sure she comes, she still wants to do as he says. Her legs tremble, threatening to close.

She squeaks when the vibrator hits a particularly sensitive angle on her clit, and she bites into her pillow to keep from crying out. Her hips work desperately, to reach that high for the last time, just one more, like an addict itching for one more hit. It’s her fourth orgasm within ten minutes, and this might just be her breaking point.

“I dunno if I can.” Her words slur, and she can feel spit dripping down her puckered lips. She suddenly wishes he was there to wipe it away, thumb soft and subtle against her skin, lingering on her puffy lips.

“One more, babylove,” he insists. “Just one more. You’re doing so well.” She bites back a mangled cry, eyes squeezing shut, her thoughts lost in a dark chaos. His voice is the only anchor amidst a dizzying high, coaxing her through her stupor with sweet words.

“My pretty girl, my good fucking girl, taking it so well.” His gravelly voice pulls her from drowning, his words gritty from his clenched jaw. “You’re not hurting too much, are ya?”

His deep voice is soft, lilting with a tender care she needs. She could simply melt, blanketed in the warmth of his rich voice.

“A little,” she admits, a dull ache in her belly when she clenches too tightly. “But it feels so good.”

The vibrations pulse through her body, leaving her voice shaky, and she shifts slightly, hips digging into the mattress. It settles on the underside of her clit, and it’s so close to that one spot, until finally—there, there, there—right there. She groans, low and guttural, drawn out from the depths of her chest, animalistic almost. Her body burns and trembles for a second before yet another strong, unrelenting wave drowns her. Every muscle in her body tenses as the head of the vibrator finds the one tender spot on her clit, catching at just the right angle that leaves her eyes teary, world dizzy. She knows it’ll be painful if she doesn’t pull away, a harsh orgasm building, but she can’t stop, not with him listening to her, waiting for her final bitter end.

She’s doing so good for him, such a good bunny. She trembles in the wake of such a violent euphoria, weak moans slipping in time with her belated breathing. It passes through in waves, the pain, a bittersweet burning welling deep inside her, but a different ache persists, one that leaves her yearning for more, one that makes her dig her feet into the mattress and press herself harder on the toy. Her toes curl, and her back arches, free hand twisting the sheets.

He hums appreciatively.

“My bunny likes it when it hurts. Doesn’t she?”

“Yes,” she sobs, “I want it to hurt.” Hips shuttering away from the relentless vibrator, Y/N feels her final orgasm build, pain lingering around the edges as her muscles twitch.

“Such a dirty little slut.” Her back arches at his filthy words, arousal pooling beneath her. She could feel it wetting her thighs. “Just f’me, right, honey? Just my pretty slut.”

She comes quickly, eyes rolling back as it overwhelms all of her senses. She feels tense yet relaxed. A broken cry breaks from her swollen lips as she shatters, falling apart for the final time. Her muscles quiver, tiny shocks lingering in the aftermath of so many orgasms in such quick succession. Her limbs ache. Her heart races. Her pussy throbs. She knows that this will be all she can take, her body completely spent. She can’t find the energy to keep her eyes open, and they roll back.

“You alright?”

“Yeah,” she says, still struggling to find her breath and collect her thoughts, but when she does, a smile breaks her face. She feels everything and nothing all at once, so perfectly numb. She finds herself laughing incredulously because that cocky little bastard was right: he made her come more times than anyone has before. She laughs until tears slip down her warm cheeks.

This is the part where the emotions start to become just as overwhelming as her release. So much sinks in all at once, and she realizes just how alone she is, and she wishes he was here to pull her back down to earth, to hold and to love. She feels deflated. The sexual release is such a rush, but it brings devastating lows. With tears in her eyes, she struggles not to cave into herself.

“You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah,” she lies, a sob curling in her lungs, forcing its way out in a blubbering mess. Once the first one escapes, the rest follow easily. She can’t seem to stop, heaving cries wracking her already sore body as she clutches onto her pillow. She fists her phone to her ear in an attempt to be closer to him, but that makes the feeling grow worse, settling to a black hole in her stomach, sucking all euphoria from her. Tears soak into her skin and sink into her ear, muffling his comforting words.

“Let it out, babylove,” he says softly. “I know, I know. I know. Sometimes it can just get really overwhelming.” His words are gentle, just as he is, and maybe that’s what makes this even worse. He is everything she wants. He is just so perfect for her in every way, but he is ao far from her reach. Maybe it would be better if he wasn’t such a good person. Maybe that would make the yearning go away. She’s quiet, slowly breathing through stuttering sniffles.

“Hey,” he says softly, “Go pee and clean yourself up, babe. Know you don’t like feeling all wet down there. It makes your peach all sticky.”

She nods, knowing full well that he can’t see her, but doesn’t move. She honestly doesn’t think she can.

“Go on,” he murmurs when he doesn’t hear the familiar rustling of her sheets. “‘M right here, honey.”

A few more tears squeeze out of her eyes at his words. It makes her whole demeanor crumble once again; she’s upset because he’s not really there, he’s not there to hold her and kiss her and love her, and that’s not fair. She just wants to have him here to tell her that everything will be alright; she wants him to be there to laugh with, to just be with. He is such a good part of her life, but she just wishes that he could physically be there in the way she dreams.

She cleans up quickly, tossing her spent underwear into her dirty laundry. Just as she had suspected, the remnants of her orgasms stained her thighs.

What’s that ache in her chest?

“Good girl, feel better, lovie?”

She nods and whimpers, unable to calm her trembling lips.

“Good, ‘m right here, babylove. Y’did so good, so proud of you.”

She crawls back to bed moments later, shuddering breaths and swollen eyes being the only remnants of her breakdown. She sniffles and wipes her wet eyes with the back of her hand, which smells vaguely of her feminine wipes.

“Sorry, if it was too much,” he says.

“No, no need to apologize,” she says quickly to get rid of any lingering guilt he has. It felt amazing, to be tested just beyond her limits, to be pushed to a shattering breaking point, to trust him to know what she can take. “It was nice. I just sorta—” Her voice breaks. “I dunno. Everything just got a little overwhelming. I think I’m better now.”

“What do you need from me, honey?”

She nearly starts crying again at how sweet he is. She almost could imagine that only a few minutes ago he was calling her his dirty little slut and demanding her to come until she could handle it.

“Just talk to me,” she says.

“So, I saw a couple dogs today,” he begins awkwardly. “Well, I was attacked by two little frenchie’s when I was walking to class, and it completely made my day ten-times better. They were so cute with their chubby little legs.”

He rambles on about his week, and it feels nice and familiar.

She’s nearly asleep when he begins talking about his mother. Apparently, she was visiting him last week, which was nice for about a day; then, he began realizing why he moved away in the first place: she is so smothering.

“And my mum is always nagging me to go out and socialize. She was like,” he breathes in, adjusting his tone to a falsetto. “Harry, you’re never gonna be able to find anyone if you don’t…”

He continues as normal, chattering away in his low, sleepy voice. She doesn’t think he even realizes his slip up, words spluttering out of his mouth so quickly that even he probably couldn’t hear it. She smiles as sleep finally overwhelms her.

Harry.

His name is Harry.

—

#also if this is too niche and it flops lets just forget it happened #okay? okay.#harry styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles x reader #harry styles smut #harry styles one shot #harry styles fanfiction #ellie writes #ellie writes smut #ellie writes filth #gif not mine #credit to owner

2K notes · View notes

ichcor · 4 months

Text

synopsis: two stressed, hot babes (you and shoko) decide to have spontaneous one night stand in a car

a/n: gotta love women

tags: MINORS DNI, shoko ieiri x fem!reader, smut with no plot, car sex, alcohol consumption, cunnilingus (both receiving and giving), scissoring/tribbing, they're both adults, reader still lives with strict parents, ending is nonexistent, not proofread

"I'll pick you up in an hour." the text had you widen your eyes in both surprise and excitement, your lips gently curving into a smile as you clicked on the small profile picture to view your new hookups' pictures once again. A doctor (you assumed, based on her white lab coat) with long brown hair, a sweet exhaustion dwelling in her brown gaze above lilac eye bags. Cool was what you would've described her if you ever happened to come across her on the street, but now that she was in between your dating app matches and you talked with her for mere 30 minutes, hot suited her better.

When you stepped out on your front door an hour later, the chill of the night tickled your freshly shaved skin on and in between your legs, making you more aware of your swelling wetness - as if you didn't already face it in the shower. Shoko was leaned against her car, her black mini skirt poking out from under her black leather coat. God, the way she instantly devoured every detail about you with her tired eyes while her soft, glossed lips wrapped around the butt of her near finished cigarette, it nearly made you just drag her upstairs and ignore the fact your parents would've heard everything.

"Everything alright?" she asked, her velvety voice jolting you out of your lustful reverie.

"Yeah, I just..." you started, your eyes immediately leaving hers when she tossed away the cigarette butt, revealing her cleavage from under her coat. "I'm not sure where we should do it. My place is a no-go, and you said the same about your own."

"The backseat of my car is quite comfortable." she said as she opened the passenger door for you. A slight smirk curved her lips when you glanced at the backseats that were completely folded down, leaving a wider, blanket covered space. This wasn't her first time, you thought, as you fastened your seatbelt and Shoko started the car. The clouds of her blueberry candy perfume wrapped you around as the radio played Cheri Cheri Lady, a mix of rain and snow flying against the windshield as she kept driving on nearly empty roads.

"I have wine back there if you're interested. No glasses, though." said Shoko. Perhaps she knew you were a bit anxious about the whole ordeal and that alcohol might help you ease up a bit. If she did, she was right; your fingers wrapped around that bottle of red wine in no time, you put it to your lips, and drank of that sweet nectar without hesitation. The rich taste coated your tongue, making you realize that it was no cheap alcohol that you just gulped down, while the warmth from your stomach began to spread towards your limbs.

"Already blushing from a sip of wine, how adorable" Shoko cooed as one of her hands left the steering wheel to caress your exposed thigh. The soft of her fingertips felt cold against your flesh, making you shiver a little under her touch. "Oh? Too cold? Maybe you could do something about that."

So you took her hand and kissed her knuckle velvet, the bottom of her fingers, brushed your lips against her freshly manicured nails before you invited her pointy and middle fingers in your mouth. Your eyes watched Shoko's eyes darken, and her smirk deepened as your tongue caressed her fingers, gently sucked on them like the good girl she had already knew you were while she drove her car onto a small road surrounded by woods.

Your heart jumped a little when you realized you were really in the middle of nowhere, but you would have been lying if you said the thrill of it all didn't make you wetter than you already were. As if she read your mind, Shoko took her fingers out of your mouth to frame your flushed cheeks in her hands as her lips finally collided with yours. Her lip gloss and yours mixed into a sweet coat, melting on your tongue when she pushed hers into your mouth. She smiled and gently moaned into the kiss when your hand traveled from her cheek to her breast, she felt your hand hesitate a little when you realized she didn't have a bra on.

"Go ahead, princess." A chuckle bubbled in Shoko's chest as she took off her coat and top, revealing her perfectly erect nipples inviting you for a taste. She yelped a little when your mouth nearly devoured her breast as your hand fondled the other, your tongue teasing that slightly brown nipple with hunger while she caressed the top of your head with one hand as her other hand helped you get rid of your coat.

"I see you can barely wait to get your pussy ate." she said when your tongue wetted her cleavage as you made your way up to the soft crook of her neck. A firm grab on your hair made you look into her eyes; you were both flushed and drunken with lust. "God, you're so cute, I can't wait to ruin you. Climb on the backseat!"

Already half naked and the car already warmed up, you thought it best if you didn't open the door to go to the back of the car. Instead, you took her words literally and began to climb through the front seats to get to your destination; unbeknownst to you, your dress lifted up and you had your entire wetness on display right in Shoko's face. A big mistake, you realized soon when she held you back by gripping into the flesh of your ass and spread your cheeks wide. "What a naughty girl. No panties, and already soaking wet from just kissing a stranger." she smacked your ass, leaving a tingling feeling of pain that only made you more wet. "Are you a bad girl?"

"Yes," you moaned as Shoko began to kiss your inner thigh, leaving a bite and another slap on your ass as she found your answer unsatisfactory. "Yes, mommy."

Like a divine gift, her tongue gathered your hot wetness between your folds as you held yourself up with your two arms as your tummy rested on the front seats. Shoko hummed, licked and sucked on every inch of your wet pussy as if it was her last meal on Earth; her nails teased against your skin before spanking you when you wanted to hold back your sweet moans. When the soft of her thumb began to caress your clit, you could not hold back anymore. Your shameless screams and moans filled the car and the woods as she devoured your pussy and played with your clit until another gush of wetness stained Shoko's face and your legs trembled with your first orgasm. "Good girl, go and lay down."

With a cloudy mind and shaking limbs, you obeyed. Your eyes lazily followed her figure as she got rid of her clothes, tossing them to a dark corner of the car before she climbed on top of you to embrace you in another sloppy kiss. The taste of your own juices tingled with sweetness against your tongue as she stained your face with the cum that you orgasmed on her. "Sit on my face...please." Your begging made her smile once again, her exhausted eyes livening up with lust once more before she maneuvered herself around in the tiny space to use your face like her personal saddle while your nose teased her clit.

"Ah, look how excited you got me." Shoko whimpered as her own wetness started get licked away by you as your hands held into her waist. From your view, she looked like a goddess; the interior light of the car shone gold in her dark brown hair, her brown eyes gazed down upon you with want and need, one of her hand teasing her beast as the other raked through your hair, her battle scars from the past faint on her abdomen as you eagerly devoured her freshly trimmed pussy. Her looks alone made you lose your mind, but her voice could make you cum once again without her touching you - and you were determined to make her scream in pleasure.

"Oh, my" she moaned when your hands found her chest, your fingers eagerly and roughly playing with her nipples. The way it made her arch her back, it made you tongue her hole faster as you rubbed your nose against her clit. You knew she was close to cumming when her grip in your hair tightened and she couldn't help, but rock her hips against your face. To both of your surprise, you welcomed her orgasm with firm slaps on her ass. Whereas she clearly enjoyed the spanking, she knew she could not let you get away with such a thing.

Before you knew it, the cold air hit your wet face and Shoko's wet pussy was placed against yours. "So fucking wet, hng." she whimpered to herself, biting her lip as she began to massage her folds with yours, her arms holding onto one of your legs as she began to roughly rock her hips. Wet clit against wet clit, pussy on pussy - the sensation nearly drove you mad, your throat already feeling hoarse and dry from the screams you simply could not hold back as your nails dug into Shoko's waist.

"Hmm, I'm gonna cum." you moaned, making Shoko whimper "Oh, yeah?" before she grabbed both of your legs and folded them up against your chest as she held you from under your knees. The pose left you feeling completely dominated and exposed before Shoko began to vehemently her pussy against yours once again, the wet sounds nearly disappearing between the high-pitched screams and moans as you both ride through the orgasm.

#shoko ieiri #jjk x you #jjk smut #jjk shoko #shoko ieiri smut #shoko ieiri x reader #shoko ieiri x you #shoko ieiri x y/n #brainrot #shikari writes #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk imagines

440 notes · View notes

satoruwiki · 2 months

Note

Are you over stripper gojo?

i am… NOT 👹

☆▒ DOUBLE LIFE!➜ ★

minors, ageless and blank blogs dni.

cw: afab!f!reader; suggestive content; not proof read.

w.c: 2.3k

Satoru always had a cover response.

"So, what do you do for a living?" The blonde girl asked, sipping her cocktail— a little too bitter for her taste.

"I'm a teacher, a private teacher, to be exact," he replied, resting his chin on the palm of his hand.

The possible reaction would be bemusement, laughter, thinking he was joking, followed by something along the lines of "didn't think you would be a teacher; you seem more like you work as a model or somewhere in the fashion industry," Satoru had it all memorized.

The most skeptical would narrow their eyes and stare at him like he just said the earth is flat confidently. Satoru would then pull out a white business card, with his name, phone address and 'job' written in Times New Roman font, all uppercase in platinum colour - because Satoru was cunning enough to order himself business cards for these occasions - and hand it to them.

People after that would not question him further; what is there to be asked? The teaching profession is not the most exciting of all— maybe ask him what he teaches, but beyond that, there is nothing; it's the perfect job to cover up his... nocturnal activities.

His cover-up was perfect, steady, almost unbreakable, almost.

Until you came into the picture.

—

"Now, I think I can kind of see you as a teacher, though I'm surprised no talent scout or casting director has ever contacted you to be part of a fashion magazine or commercial," you said, scanning him head to toe. The man before you was a total adonis, tall, handsome, charismatic, charming blue eyes with a smile that could melt any girl's heart; it was hard for you to believe he hadn't ever been the face of a brand or a high fashion's magazine cover, perhaps he worked as a high-end host as a side gig?

"Oh, believe me, I have," Satoru answered, taking a swig of the colourful cocktail, his face contorting into a slight grimace afterwards, "It's just not really my thing, y'know. I don't know if I'm ready to be People's hottest man alive."

"How humble," you snort, taking a swig of your drink yourself. Satoru chuckles in return; the sudden buzz of his phone interrupts your conversation, and he gives you a shy smile. He gestures with his right hand for you to hold on a second, to which you nod; holding his phone with his left, he gets up from his seat and walks away to take the mysterious call.

After a few minutes, he comes back with a sorry look on his face. You get the vibe that something happened, and the date's probably over. "Sorry, as much as I'd like to stay longer, I can't," he says, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair, "y'know, private teacher things, one of my students needs me for an upcoming competition, gotta teach him to master twinkle twinkle little star on the violin."

Now, you don't like to overthink; however, the thought that the phone call could've been a fake emergency call lingered in your mind after he left, even though he did apologize again through text and supposedly 'hoped' you guys could reschedule for another date, you still thought his sudden departure was weird.

—

"Oh, that sounds like he didn't like you and faked a rain check," Utahime said through the phone.

"You think so?" you replied uncertainly, sounding somewhat sad and disappointed, the corners of your lips forming a pout. "Fuck, this is why I don't go out with guys who know they're cute. They have it over their head and think they're the big deal."

"Well, I told you he looked like a prick when you first showed me his profile."

"All men look like idiots to you, Uta'," you rolled your eyes, putting the call on speaker as you opened your freezer, "That's why you're single."

You heard Utahime gasp through the phone, seemingly offended by your teasing, which made you chuckle a little. "I'm single because I chose to, in case you forgot- What's that sound?"

"Oh, nothing, I'm just going to drown my sorrows in ice cream," you replied casually, closing the freezer door and opening your ice cream, "and watch some mediocre rom-com to distract me from how mediocre my love life is."

"Girl, no. Put that back and start picking an outfit; we're going out."

"Uta, thanks for the invite, but I'm tired. I just had a disappointing date, I don't really feel like going-"

Utahime interrupted you abruptly. "No buts. We are going out. I heard there's a new club that does ladies' nights on Fridays, and it just happens to be Friday. Forget about that damn date, you'll have others coming. Let's go out, yeah?"

You thought about her proposal and, well, she was right, the failed date wasn't that big of a deal, not so much as to spend your night sulking on your sofa eating ice cream. You sighed, putting the ice cream back in its place, "Fine, at what time do we meet?"

—

"I heard the guys here are hot, so much so that some girl's blood pressure went up because of how sexy their dances were, or so I was told," Utahime said in your ear, her voice barely audible over the blasting music.

"You told me we were going to a club," you chided, averting your gaze from the scantily clad men. Geez, were they covered in... oil?

"Club, male strip club, what's the difference? You go to both at night, and there are men in skimpy clothing," Shoko joins and shrugs nonchalantly, not seeing the reason for your apparent embarrassment, "Come on, don't be such a prude, pick yourself a cute guy for a private routine. It's on me if that eases you up," she nudges you, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

You sighed heavily; Utahime wasn't wrong. Some of the guys were kind of... hot, you suppose. But how were you supposed to ask for a private dance? Should you just come up to them and ask them? You've never been to a male strip club, and you don't know the 'unspoken rules' when interacting with a stripper yet.

Your anxious thoughts were interrupted when the crowd surrounding the main stage got suddenly louder, a pair of lights pointing toward it. You couldn't understand what the DJ was saying; the mic was so close to his mouth that it sounded like he was eating it, making his words unintelligible. Or maybe you had a bad hearing. Because the crowd, including your friends, started to cheer, wooing and lifting their shots in the air.

A song started to play throughout the club; you guessed that whoever was about to do his routine was the 'star' of the club because of how lively the crowd of girls was. The lights coordinated with the beat of the music, creating a surprise appearance of the long-awaited dancer on stage with his back turned.

Your heart stopped, jaw-slacked and speechless, as he turned around, unbuttoning the top of the fireman's outfit he was wearing one by one. Holy shit, that was—

"Uta'! It's him!" You nudged your friend frantically.

At first, she frowned in confusion, but it was only in a matter of seconds that it dawned on her. Having the same reaction as you, Utahime gasped and nudged you back, "Oh my god, you're right! It's the idiot from the date! Hell, I knew that 'teacher' thing was too weird for someone like him," she folded her arms, "and he sure does like the attention."

You looked back to the stage; the white-haired man had now fully unbuttoned his top, flashing his incredible, glistening abs on full display - you kept doubting whether it was oil or sweat that made them glint under the lights - and swaying his body seductively to the sound of the music.

Even if you tried, you couldn't exactly hate him for faking an emergency call or lying about his real job. Not when he looked this fucking hot doing it.

Satoru (if you remembered his name correctly) took off the jacket, tugging it down excruciatingly slow, showing off his ripped biceps and tossed it aside. Your eyes were captivated by the sensuality of his movements, his muscles tensing and rippling, making you swallow hard at the eroticism that carried his routine. And hell, with that frown and that sly grin, he looked so fucking hot as he danced to the beat of the music.

The more you watched it, the more doubts came to mind. Satoru could be famous; he had the charisma and appeal to be, so what brought him to this? Was it out of necessity, or did he enjoy it? Questions that would never be answered because you would never see him again after this.

Or so you thought before you were given a push (literally), coincidentally while Satoru was looking for a volunteer to pull up on stage.

Call it bad luck, but Satoru took your hand from all those who begged to be chosen, helping you onto the stage. Satoru couldn't recognize you under the dim lights of the club until he was face to face with you. He felt his heart work twice as hard, his eyes wide as saucers for just a second, masking his panic with a toothy grin.

In full view of everyone, Satoru sat you on a chair as part of his routine and stood behind you, the pad of his fingers skimming over the skin of your arms, trailing down to your wrists, his fingers wrapped around them and lifted them into the air.

"So you're not a teacher?" you murmured, feeling your heartbeat in your throat at the proximity of his lips against your neck.

"You got me, I'm not; sorry for lying to you," he whispered back, a small laugh coming from him as he took your hands to run up and down his beefy torso, feeling his every muscle rippling under your fingers.

A gasp escaped your lips as gasps of astonishment from the audience. God, it was a miracle you hadn't fainted by now. You swallowed dryly, falling prey to his erotic dance and his very presence, his hands guiding yours to rest on his hard-worked thighs and then roaming up your neck, the heat of his skin making contact with yours as Satoru pressed himself against you. You knew this was part of his dance routine, yet it felt so intimate, too much sexual tension and lascive, like a moment that shouldn't be shown to the public and kept taboo.

"Want me to tell you a secret?" he breathed, his laboured breaths blending with yours.

"Another one?"

"I was thinking of doing this to you on our second date," he confessed, a seductive smile to your eyes peeking out from the corner of his lips, "but it seems fate wanted to bring it forward."

"Do you believe in fate?"

"Nah, but doesn't it sound nice?" he huffed, tilting his head playfully, his white locks tickling your cheek, his hips sensuously grinding across your lap.

Satoru could sense your uncertainty in touching him and how much you wanted to do so. You moistened your parted lips and startled at every brush of his bare skin against yours, your hands tensed and trembling, refusing to explore any more of his anatomy. "Touch me," he instructed.

"What?"

Satoru pulled away from you, taking your hands into his, helping you to stand up and wrap your arms around his neck. With a firm grip on your thighs, you encircled your legs around his waist. "They want a show, and I know you're dying than just laying your soft hands on my body. Let me feel you all over me."

You felt your face burning, his innuendo going straight to your core. His words did things to you, like your skin prickling and leaving your mind blank. Bashfully, you complied; your shy hand travelled from his neck down to his abdomen, exploring every inch of his pale flesh as he carefully laid you down on the floor. He pried open your legs, easing his way between them, which made you wonder if this was still part of the routine or if you were about to get arrested for public indecency and be registered as a sex offender.

You finally understood why he was so popular at the nightclub; a routine by Satoru was like having clothed sex, the way his head dipped between your legs, alluding to him eating you out while moving every part of his lower body to the rhythm of the music or the way he acted out rhythmic sexual positions with you, made his touch feel igneous under your skin and sent a throbbing in your nether regions.

Fortunately (or unfortunately for you), the routine came to an end; beads of sweat rolled down his forehead as he caught his breath and -painfully- said goodbye to you in front of the crowd, mentally grateful for the dim lighting of the place that hid his tented pants after his very sexual dance routine.

As soon as you stepped off the stage, your friends were all over you, bombarding you with questions, jokes and the occasional sly comment.

"So, are you going to meet him again?" Shoko asked you with a teasing -and very nosy intentioned- glint in her eyes.

"I... I don't know," you stuttered bashfully, still recovering from your heart rattling in your ribcage. As your friends kept teasing you to no end, you felt a vibration of your phone, forcing you to take it out of your pocket. Your breath hitched, and that sensation in your lower back became present again as you read the contact name.

"Next date at my place? ;)" —Satoru.

244 notes · View notes

roosterforme · 1 year

Text

Right Girl, Wrong Time Part 8 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You fulfill your promise to visit both schools. You can't deny that Miami is beautiful and offers a lot of things you want. But San Diego has Bradley, and it's time for you to figure out where your priorities lie. During your trip to California, you reach out to a new friend to discuss your decision.

Warnings: Fluff, swears, and angst

Length: 4500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a sequel to accompany my story Old Habits Die Hard (you'll want to read that one first)!

Check my profile for my masterlist

Your flight touched down in Miami on a Monday morning in late July, and you couldn't get over how disgusting the weather was. Once you had your luggage, you made your way outside to get in line for a taxi, and you thought you were going to melt. Your lungs felt uncomfortable from the humidity, and it was blazing hot for so early in the day.

You were completely stuck to the seat, and your taxi driver was weaving in and out of traffic. "How much further?" you asked him cautiously, but he was already making a turn toward an absolutely beautiful campus. You peeled yourself off of the seat and braced yourself as you opened the door to the wall of humidity once again.

When you made your way to meet the dean of students with your suitcase and sweaty clothing, you wished you had decided to visit during the winter. And now you had to sit through several meetings thinking about the fact that you hated this weather, perhaps even more than the Chicago winters.

If you were too cold, you could always snuggle up to Bradley.

And then there he was. Again. Right at the front of your mind. You promised him you'd take him out of the equation of which job was the right one for you, but you just didn't know if you could do it.

"Is that correct?" The dean of students was talking to you, and you had no idea what she was saying. She would literally be your supervisor's boss if you took the job here, and you were busy daydreaming about Bradley.

You pushed some of your sweaty hair out of your face. "Uh, could you repeat that, please?"

When you finally got the conversation back on track, you left with a schedule for the next three days. You'd be meeting dozens of people, sitting in on a calculus lecture, looking at curriculum, and taking tours.

You learned pretty quickly that the best time to go out was late at night. You also learned that the Cuban food trucks made some of the most delicious things you had ever tasted. You went out to dinner with some of the deans, and you toured what could become your future office.

It was all very nice, and luckily heavily air conditioned. There was nothing wrong with any of it. But you weren't convinced it was actually right. Until you took yourself on a tour of the library and found the study rooms. They were sterile, with harsh fluorescent lighting. And the doors had windows and didn't lock. You laughed and took a few pictures, including a selfie of you frowning. You'd send them to Bradley when he got back.

On your last day in Miami, you stopped at a coffee shop before doing some sightseeing. You opted for an iced coffee to try to fight away some of the heat, but even in a sundress, it felt horrible outside. You were just pulling the fabric away from your tattoos when you bumped into the person behind you.

"I'm so sorry," you told him, holding your hands up in surrender. "I'm not used to the heat."

He smiled at you. "You're not from Miami."

You shook your head. "No. And I actually think my blood got too thick after living in Chicago? Is that a thing? Are you from Miami?" You eyed him up and down. He was handsome, and his clothes looked pristine, like he was somehow magically avoiding sweating to death.

"Born and raised. And never left," he confirmed. Even his smile was charming. "You're up," he nodded with his chin, letting you know it was your turn to order.

"Oh, thanks," you mumbled, reaching for your wallet as you ordered an iced coffee. But he insisted on paying for your drink along with his, leaning slightly against your shoulder as he handed his credit card to the barista.

You turned to thank him once again, and his face was close to yours. As you opened your mouth, his eyes darted down to your lips.

"Do you want to get dinner with me tonight?" he asked, leaving you just staring at him for a beat.

"Wow," you laughed, startled that he was already asking you out. "Thank you, but no," you said, shaking your head, thoughts of Bradley filling you up and making you warm.

He just nodded once. "You're not wearing a ring. Are you seeing someone?"

You took your iced coffee from the barista and said, "Something like that."

"Well, you don't sound so sure," he replied, grabbing his drink and following you to the door. "We could just go out as friends."

"Friends?" you asked with a laugh. "You don't even know my name."

"You could tell me," he said, his tone hopeful now.

But you just shook your head and told him, "I have an early flight tomorrow. But thanks anyway." You made your way outside as he called after you, but you didn't look back.

The next morning you flew back to Virginia for a few days, before continuing on to San Diego.

-------------------------

Bradley could only spend so many hours per day working out. And when he wasn't flying a mission or eating a meal, he was usually looking at pictures of you on his phone.

He had texted you almost nonstop when he first boarded the aircraft carrier in the port in San Diego, finally calling you to hear your voice one more time before he was out of range of phone service. He kept replaying the way you said 'I love you, Beer Boy. Be safe.' before you ended the call.

You had texted him a few newer photos of yourself. Nothing crazy, but he still felt his entire body stir every time he looked at them. Which was frequently.

And when he had to take matters into his own hands, he thought about that UVA study room, and how fucking happy you made him feel. He thought about your tiny office and your bedroom. He thought about how it felt to have you wash his hair.

He could not stop thinking about you. He tried, but it didn't work. The fact that he hadn't imagined that perfect weekend with you was almost too much to bear. Now that he'd had you in his life again, he couldn't go without.

Bradley assumed you had visited both schools by now, and he was almost hoping he didn't get another chance to have a facetime call. Because he would try to use it on you. And he was terrified you were going to break his heart again, something he could better brace himself to handle from the comfort of his own home. He would call you then.

--------------------

San Diego had a lot of things going for it, primarily the weather. You seemed to be able to go outside in the middle of the day in August without nearly passing out here. Miami definitely lost points for that one.

You also liked the beaches better. They were a little more rustic and not as crowded. Everything moved at a bit of a slower pace, and you thought you could get used to that.

But your office space would be smaller, and the labs were not as updated. The salary was also a bit lower. You had called Veronica a few times, trying to sort through all of your feelings and expectations.

And you honestly tried your best to remove Bradley from the equation, just like he had asked you to. But when you did that, it was almost an even split. Neither school seemed to be able to pull through and clench the top spot.

As you paced up and down the windswept San Diego beach at sunset, you just felt like crying. You were afraid of disappointing yourself, but you were even more afraid of making the wrong decision where Bradley was concerned.

You knew what you wanted to do, but you didn't know how well he was going to take the news when he was back on land again. But you swiped away your tears and checked the time on your phone. You needed to go meet up with someone very important.

---------------------

Bradley was up and pacing in his khaki uniform, and it wasn't even light outside yet. He thought he could barely see land in the distance from the observation lounge, but maybe that was just his mind playing tricks on him. He wanted to get back, needed to be able to talk to you.

It had been six weeks. And it had felt almost as painful to him as the previous ten years without you. Because all of his memories were fresher now, a little more crisp around the edges. Your voice had faded in his mind, but was never quite forgotten. But now he could hear everything so clearly.

He wondered if you were still in Virginia. Maybe you would let him come see you again for a weekend, prolong the pain and suffering if necessary. It would be worth it to be with you again, even if you left him after that to go to Miami.

"Come on," he muttered, checking his phone to see if he had service yet. He needed to make sure Nat remembered to pick him up, but then he would plan the rest of his day around whenever you were available to talk to him.

There was no way his eyes were playing tricks now. He shielded the sun from his face with his hand and squinted, and he could definitely see land. He'd be on the dock in an hour tops, and now he was starting to feel very anxious. So he jogged out onto the walkway to get some fresh air, but even that barely helped.

Suddenly his phone started vibrating with dozens of messages and alerts, letting him know he finally had phone reception. So he called Nat with a pounding heart.

"Rooster!" she greeted when she answered after one ring. "Are you docked already? I haven't left my house yet."

"No," he said, his voice a little shaky. "Getting there, but not quite yet. Less than an hour."

"Okay, I'll leave soon. And before you ask, yes I started your dumb Bronco for you once a week."

That got him to laugh. "Thanks."

But he could always count on Nat to know exactly what was going on with him. "Are you going to call her soon and see what she's doing?"

He cleared his throat a few times. "You know, I thought I could wait until I got home and got settled. But I think I need to call her now, Nat. I'm a mess."

"I know," she replied softly. "I understand that you need to know what's going on. Just give her the benefit of the doubt, okay? Hear her out and don't judge her decision?"

Bradley raked his fingers through his hair. "I could never judge her, Nat. I just can't stop thinking about her."

"You thought about her the whole time?"

He sighed and turned away from the early morning sunlight. "The whole time."

"Oh, Bradley. Those ten years did nothing, did they?"

"No. Nothing."

Nat hummed through the phone before saying, "I'll see you soon."

Bradley paced the length of the carrier, grasping his phone in his hand. It would be late morning in Virgina. He could call you now. But if you crushed him on the spot, he would definitely prefer to be at home while he cried and drank himself into a state of forgetfulness.

If you told him you were going to Miami, but you still wanted him, he would somehow make it work. But if you told him you were going to Miami and that he wasn't going to fit in your life, he was going to have to do all of the things he really didn't want to do. Delete all the photos of you. Delete your phone number. Try to move on for good.

Because it felt like a blessing that he ran into you again last month, but he knew there would never be a third chance for him.

"Fuck," he grunted, unable to wait another minute. He pulled up your contact in his phone and looked at the recent picture of you before tapping the screen

One ring. Two. Three. Four.

"Bradley?"

"Sugar," he gasped, feeling lightheaded and dizzy.

"Hi! Are you back in San Diego now?" you asked, your voice impossibly soothing even though he knew it could break him.

"Almost," he replied, wishing he didn't have to talk over the sound of your soft breaths instead of just listening. "I can see the dock now."

"You're still on the aircraft carrier?" you asked.

"Yeah, Sugar. I couldn't wait another minute to call you." He took a deep breath. "Did you visit both schools?"

You paused for a beat. "Of course I did. I promised you I would."

He squeezed his eyes shut and asked, "How did you like Miami?"

"It was great," you told him, and his heart sank. "The offer is incredible. They have the most state of the art lab facilities I have seen since Chicago. And the offices are huge."

Bradley was cradling his forehead in his hand, thinking about getting dumped by you in his fraternity house. Thinking about how that didn't hurt as much as this potentially could.

He forced out the words. "And if you pick Miami, where does that leave us, Sugar?"

"Bradley? I'm actually meeting up with someone shortly here. Can I call you back later?"

His heart was pounding, and he let out a little laugh, because he knew he'd let you get away with this kind of shit forever. Which was why he would have to stop himself. "Yeah."

"Great, I'll talk to you soon. And Bradley?"

"Yeah, Sugar?"

"I love you."

You ended the call before he could respond. He didn't know what to think as he slowly made his way back to his bunk to gather his things together. He waited in line to deboard the carrier, and once he was on the dock, he heard Nat yelling his name.

"God, you're loud," Bradley told her, scooping her up into a tight hug. "I could hear you a mile away." He felt a little bit better now as she rubbed his back and let him hug her.

"In spite of all of your flaws, I missed you," she told Bradley with a smile, leading the way toward her car. Bradley grumbled a bit, shifting around trash and food wrappers before he could even climb in.

"This is disgusting," he said, nearly gagging as something sticky met his arm. But the terror that was the interior of his best friend's car took his mind off of you for a moment.

"That's just because you're a neat freak."

"I always have been," he agreed, "but this is next level, Nat. So gross."

As she pulled out into traffic, Bradley turned the radio on and listened to Nat tell him about work.

"What else did you get up to while I was gone?" he asked, rubbing his hands along his face.

"Oh, well I met up with a new friend I made on Instagram."

"Instagram?" he asked. "Really?"

"Yeah, she's new to the area," Nat said, giving him side eye. "I actually really think you guys would get along. I could introduce you?"

He turned to face her as she waited at a traffic light. "Nat. Come on. You know I'm waiting on Sugar." Saying the words out loud brought back his bout of nerves, and he kicked some trash out of the way so he could stretch his legs out.

"I know. It was just an idea," she said, zipping down the street once again.

"I called her," he admitted. "But we didn't talk much. She said she'd call me back."

"Really?" Nat asked, looking alarmed. "Do you know where she was?"

"Not sure. Probably Virginia, unless she already moved to Miami."

"Maybe she's out looking at apartments?" Nat asked, turning onto Bradley's street.

He didn't even want to fucking think about that. He pictured some soulless highrise in Miami, and he couldn't even imagine you there. Not after your cute little cottage with the crumbling front step. "Maybe," he mumbled, suddenly anxious to get inside his house and be alone.

Nat pulled her car in his driveway behind the Bronco; he loved that thing, and it couldn't even bring a smile to his face right now. "Thanks for the ride, Nat. I'd invite you in for some coffee, but I'm just not feeling up to it."

"No problem," she said, rubbing his shoulder with her small hand. "Why don't you call me later when you feel like it? Maybe we can get dinner or go to the Hard Deck?"

He sighed, popping the passenger door open. "Maybe."

When he started to climb out, Nat said, "Oh, Bradley. Almost forgot. I left something sweet inside for you. I hope you don't mind."

He just gave her a thumbs up, because if she went grocery shopping for him or left him something to eat, that was more than okay with him. He closed the door and waved to her, digging his house key out of the side pocket of his duffle as he walked up to his porch.

But then he froze. There was a bright yellow post-it note stuck to the middle of his pristine, white front door. He had even painted his door white for a reason, and he never wanted anything marring it. Except maybe for this.

He climbed the steps, tossing his duffle aside, and reached for the note.

BEER BOY

I love you

With shaky fingers, Bradley shoved his key into the lock and wrenched the door open.

------------------------

You had been immensely enjoying your dinner with Natasha. Once the two of you had connected on Instagram while Bradley was away, you made plans to meet her in person while you were looking at San Diego State. And now you fully understood why she was Bradley's best friend.

"I feel like I already knew you!" Nat said with a bright smile over drinks and dessert. "Is that weird? That this doesn't feel like I'm meeting a stranger?"

"No, it's not weird," you agreed with a laugh.

"Bradley has told me so much about you over the last decade. I know more about you than I do any of his other more recent girlfriends, and I'd actually met them in person," she indulged over a glass of wine and some cheesecake. "Maybe I shouldn't be telling you that." She winced at you.

You took a deep breath. "Here, I'll make us even. I got a tattoo in honor of Bradley after I moved to Chicago."

Nat just rolled her eyes. "I already knew that. He told me over facetime like three weeks ago."

You buried your face in your hands as she chuckled. Then you groaned. "I know which school I want to pick. But I think Bradley is going to have a hard time coming to terms with it."

Nat's eyes went wide. "What does that mean?"

"Well...." you began, pausing to collect your thoughts. "If I tell him I picked the University of Miami, I'm afraid I'll break his heart, and mine. Again. But, if I tell him I picked San Diego State, he's going to act all high and mighty, and tell me I shouldn't be making this decision for him."

Nat set her empty wine glass down a little hard. "You know, you're absolutely right! But he's just going to have to get the fuck over it! I know he loves you, and he would be so happy to be with you. So if you want to move to San Diego, don't let him try to stop you."

You both looked at each other before bursting into laughter. "He's making this a lot more complicated than it needs to be!" you groaned.

"He's the worst," she said, nodding in agreement. "But also the best."

"Yeah, he really is," you agreed with a small smile, really missing him right now. "Well, this was so much fun, but it's getting late." You noticed it looked like your waiter was hoping you'd vacate the table soon so he could leave.

"I hope you do pick San Diego. We could hang out," Nat said, setting down some cash on the table.

"Oh, didn't I make it clear? I'm definitely picking San Diego."

Nat actually squealed and ran around the small table to hug you. You let yourself relax into her embrace. "I'm so happy for Bradley," she muttered, releasing you with a huge smile.

"When he's being a noble pain in my ass about it, I'm calling you for help. But for now, I'm going to head back to my hotel room."

Nat grinned at that. "Why don't you just stay at his house? I have a spare key."

Your eyes went a little wide. "Without him there? You don't think he would mind?"

"No. I think he would love that."

And so you ended up staying at Bradley's house for three nights. It was just as surreal as running into him at the bar had been! His house was spotless, just like you expected it to be. But when Nat gave you a little tour, you were shocked to see so many familiar things. The spare bedroom had a framed Grateful Dead concert poster that you remember from his bedroom at the Beta house. And his office was complete with a solid wood desk and his dad's Navy desk lamp.

But after Nat left you on your own, it became increasingly difficult not to be nosy. On the morning he was due to arrive back home, you were running your fingers along his bookshelves, and you came in contact with something familiar. You pulled down your old, purple notebook from your differential equations class.

"Oh my goodness," you gasped, flipping through the pages. Because along with your old math notes, you saw little doodles and messages in the margins that matched Bradley's handwriting. You closed your eyes, and you could perfectly picture the way you used to sit on his lap in the study room while he messed around with your notes. He had written your name surrounded by a bunch of little hearts. You saw where he had written Beer Boy and Sugar with some cute little stick figures, and you laughed.

He had been moving around all over the world, and bringing this notebook with him everywhere. Your eyes filled with tears, and the desire to be with him was so strong.

And then he was calling you. You were so nervous to see him, and you didn't want to get into your decision over the phone, so you tried to throw him off.

"Bradley? I'm actually meeting up with someone shortly here. Can I call you back later?"

He sounded so dejected, so you made sure you told him you loved him before ending the call. Then you made his bed and quickly tried to tidy up his house. You fixed your hair and makeup, but he still wasn't back yet. Nat had sent you a quick text as soon as she saw him on the dock, but that had been quite a while ago.

You were pacing the length of his living room now, terrified that he would be annoyed that you'd spent a few days here. Then you heard a car in the driveway and peeked out through the window to see Nat's dirty car.

"Oh god," you whispered, finally getting to see Bradley after six weeks. He looked so handsome, and you had missed him so much. You scrambled back to the middle of the room when you saw him walk up the porch steps, a look of shock on his face.

The sound of the key in the lock and the way he swung the white door open wide had you chewing on your lip.

"Sugar?" he asked, standing in his entryway and gaping at you.

"Hi, Beer Boy," was all you could manage to say as your heart pounded in your ears. But he looked so stunned, you felt yourself start to smile.

He took a few steps closer to you. "What are you doing here, baby?"

You felt like you could melt inside. Just the sight of him in his uniform had you aching. He was gorgeous, and you loved him so much. You took a step closer as well.

"I was actually wondering if it was okay if I had my boxes shipped here? I don't have an office for another week or so, and I'm still looking at apartments."

He was running one hand through his hair, making it stand on end, and his mouth was open, but no words were coming out.

"Unless...you don't want me to?" you whispered, watching him slowly close the distance between the two of you until he was standing barely a foot away.

"Please, Sugar. Please tell me what that means."

You swallowed hard, looking up at him. You gently ran your hands up to rest on his chest. "I'm picking San Diego. I'm picking you. I'm picking us. If that's still what you want, too?"

A strangled sound escaped his lips, and then his mouth was on yours and you were in his arms. He kissed you deeply as your arms gripped his shoulders, and he held you tight.

"You mean that?" he asked between kisses, nibbling at your lips, barely giving you a chance to answer as he deepened the kiss. Just as you were relaxing into his embrace, he pulled his lips from yours. "You really mean it, Sugar?"

"I really mean it, Beer Boy."

He closed his eyes and ran one hand over his face, sighing deeply. But he still held you snug against him. Then he opened his eyes and gazed down at you.

"I've been dreaming about this for ten years," he whispered, brown eyes soft. "I love you."

"I love you, too," you replied with a smile.

He nodded, and you ran your fingers along his mustache, making him smile. "You can send all your stuff here, Sugar." He kissed your fingers. "You should move in with me. Don't leave or look at more apartments. Stay here."

It felt right. You knew it did. Just like San Diego State felt like the place for you. "Okay. I'll stay."

He licked his lips and kissed your forehead twice, pulling you impossibly closer to him. "And be my girlfriend again?" he whispered against your hair.

You smiled and buried your face against the collar of his uniform shirt. "You were the best boyfriend I ever had. You can have the title again."

"I love you," he whispered, over and over until his lips found yours again.

-----------------------

It feels soooo good! But, only two more parts to this story! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 9

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@callsigndiamond

@harper1666

@throwinsauce

@beebslebobs

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@monte-carlando

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@apparently-sunshine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@topgunbb

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@callsign-jupiter

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@andycanbeemotional

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@starlightstories

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@hecate-steps-on-me

@xoxabs88xox

#bradley rooster bradshaw x reader #rooster x you #rooster fanfic #rooster x female reader #rooster x reader #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw x female reader #bradley bradshaw fanfiction #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley rooster bradshaw #bradley rooster x reader #rooster bradshaw x female reader #top gun fanfiction #top gun maverick fanfiction #top gun imagine

805 notes · View notes

starhrtz · 6 months

Text

desc. x as your boyfriend! (hint of modern au)

note. IMPULSE HCS AT 1AM (might be VERY ooc sadly)

Boyfriend!X who would always compare his height to yours, even if you're just a couple inches shorter he'll try to subtly show it off wanting you to praise him or smth

"hm, it seems i've grown taller, you can tell right!" he would say in an energetic voice as his lit up while he waits for you to agree.

Boyfriend!X who wouldn't want to admit that when both of you used to be in class, instead of writing notes and listening to the teacher he was instead writing down about how you looked today. The small changes that he began noticing, you tying up your hair more due to the hot weather, the new keychain on your pencil case that you were matching with your friend.

"jeez it's been 1 month of dating and we haven't match anythings but profile pictures.." he would sulk and pout as he paced around his room to try and think of something, something unique that only both you and him have! After a while, his eyes lit up before he quickly doodles a quick sketch as excitement filled him.

Boyfriend!X who the next day gave you a gemstone bracelet that matched the bracelet on his wrist saying it was part of his "failed experiments" as the rock had cracked two of the EXACT same shapes but in different colours? Sure, as X blabbered more on how he got the rock the more unbelievable his story was. But his intentions were rather cute.

Boyfriend!X who is basically a genius as he helps you with your schoolwork, he's quite clingy as well always hugging you from behind as you sat at your desk doing your work while he points out some errors.

Boyfriend!X who is strangely... A good cook? He often makes you breakfast and your lunch, often using this as an excuse to spend more time at your place during the weekends as he prepares your meals.

Boyfriend!X who's mind is constantly thinking about you and he always talks about you whenever he gets the chance. Perhaps thats why you have been having trouble sleeping and sneezing so often these days...

#★ — writing #reverse 1999 #reverse 1999 x reader #r1999 x reader #x reverse 1999 #x r1999 #x reverse 1999 x reader #reverse 1999 headcanons #r1999 hcs #r1999

297 notes · View notes

wip · 6 months

Note

Hi there! I am a long time user (over a DECADE on my original blog), but this is a brand new blog I just made, on the web, after seeing a post about the creation process for new blogs and wanting to test it myself. I like the suggestion that people follow some tags to start, to help put some good stuff on their For You page! However, you'll also notice that this blank blog with a generic name and default appearance looks an awful lot like a bot. And there is also an influx of spam bots right now as well - @changes always tells us to report those when there's a new wave of them, and we usually block them too. I think I've managed to discern the difference after looking at the suggested names vs some actual bots, but most people can't. Suggesting random names for new users (which is fine on its own), sending them to an unskippable page where they have to follow *people* (not just tags) before they've had a chance to explore the site, and not ever pointing them in the direction of their personalization settings (which are buried in the new layout) is going to end up with a lot of new users getting blocked and reported as spam! Perhaps after the tag following page, you could redirect people to the Blog Settings page, where you can have informative pop-ups suggesting people add a profile picture and header that reflects their personality/interests, and point out the description section to "Tell people about yourself!" You could make the page skippable if you think it would discourage people who just want to jump right in, but it would be really useful. I see on the app that a section like that comes up when you go to your own blog, but I think it should be a step in the sign-up process, before you follow anyone. Skippable, but encouraged. (Also, the requirement to follow individual blogs REALLY needs to be skippable) Encouraging new users to have a profile picture, header, and personalized bio would really help in preventing real users from getting blocked by all the cool blogs they're trying to follow who think that they're spam bots! Getting blocked for no reason won't encourage new tumblrs to stick around! Please, encourage some individuality from our new internet neighbors, so they can become our internet friends 💙

Answer: Hey, @lefttragedysandwich!

Thanks for getting in touch with this. We are very aware of this situation, and we are trying to find the best way to solve it—without just adding more steps to onboarding, which (unfortunately) most people won’t do.

This, in turn, just adds friction to signing up for Tumblr, which means fewer people sign up to join us. Which means fewer internet neighbors, let alone less individuality.

But this is an important question to answer, and we are grateful you raised it with us. As and when we have a good solution, we’ll announce it on @changes. Keep your eyes peeled, and hopefully, it won't be too long.

Best,

—The Tumblr WIP Team.

#feature #blog #new users #your suggestions

225 notes · View notes

apesoformythoughts · 2 years

Text

#chuck #what even was this episode #new profile picture perhaps?

1 note · View note

oonajaeadira · 7 months

Text

Detected

Fandom: Merge Mansion / Tim Rockford

Pairing: Tim Rockford x f!reader

Reader: Adult female. No other physical descriptors; no use of y/n.

Rating: T. Fluff.

Warnings: Mention of serial killer that targets women.

Summary: Nobody sees you the way Tim does.

A/N: I dunno, I just had a hankering to write for Tim and looked down my list of tropes thinking I might be able to scratch the itch and accomplish a fic for my Year of Tropes at the same time. Something hit me in the right places for a little piece of sweetness, so here we go, with SECRET IDENTITY.

This is really fluffy. Like stupid fluffy. Moreso than my regular stuff. Just let me have my little trope. This one didn't go through a lot of draft revisions, it was just a fun little thot that needed out.

“Why don’t you take the afternoon off, Sunshine? Get some rest. You’ve been here ten days straight.”

Tim’s the only detective in the unit who talks to you directly, certainly the only one that doesn’t just call you ‘hon’ or ‘sweetheart’ or ‘girl.’ You’re pretty sure he’s probably the only one in the department that knows your name, but he rarely uses it.

That isn’t unusual. You’ve always been the quiet one, the mouse, the wallflower. It’s your superpower, being able to go unnoticed. You’ve never been reprimanded, never bad-talked, never held up as a bad example.

But then, neither do you often find yourself praised or called in for opinion. Never once have you been asked to join anyone for happy hour or coffee.

So many times you’ve been standing in a meeting room and not once been addressed. So many times you’ve overheard something that perhaps you shouldn’t have just because you were below anyone’s notice.

It bothered you so much more when you were younger. Not the case anymore.

You’ve learned to love your quiet life, shuffling around the records room, carefully tagging and bagging, filling out the document cards, compiling files, taking meticulous photos of items for court cases and detective scrutiny. Nobody comes looking for you, so you get to take your time, a kind of professional meditation. At least once a week you notice a detail on a piece of evidence that you might make known to one of the team. Usually this gets you a thanks, but more often times a brush off that ends in the detective later gaining the credit for the discovery.

Tim is different. Observant. He actually listens when you bring him something of interest and asks for your opinion or your second eye. He still does that thing where he puts the pictures of people and evidence you provide up on the wall and connects it with string. He will stare at that board for hours, getting up every now and then to pace, then turning the chair around to straddle it backwards so he can lean over the back and look again, hoping to find the one connection that the string can’t touch.

And yet, even when he’s concentrating this hard, he’s fully aware of his surroundings.

So much so that he even notices you’ve slipped into the room to stand behind him--you, who goes mostly unnoticed when standing in full view of most people.

When you don’t answer him, he turns his chin back over his shoulder, his sharp profile coming into relief against the organized mess of the illuminated case wall.

He’s so very handsome. And it’s a shame he doesn’t seem to know. Or care.

Snapping free of your musings, you finally answer. “Yeah, it’s been a busy week. I’ve still got the Murray case to document. There’s a lot of entries.”

Turning fully to look at you now, he takes his time formulating a new response. “That case is closed. There’s no hurry. You work too hard. It’s Saturday.”

You shrug and smile. “I like my job. And you're one to talk.” Nodding to the evidence wall, you step more fully into the room. “Any movement on this? Sure I can’t help you? Anything I can pull from archives?”

This is a tough one. There’s a lot of speculation as to the mangled bodies in the pictures. A new one found last night, a week old. The probability is high that there’s one club downtown that’s producing them all and a definite suspect, but the record’s clean. There’s no grounds for warrants.

He gives you one more thoughtful glance before turning back to his work. “Not unless you have anything that correlates this last one to Club 88 or to Mike Cross. But no. Thanks. Get out of here, live your life, be free. I’m gonna go grab an interview out at the pier but then I’ll be here all night.”

He’s hungry. You can see that look in his eyes, he’s close, he just needs that one connecting piece of evidence and he’ll empty the coffee pots in the breakroom tonight looking for one.

“You’re hungry, Detective Rockford. At least let me call in some takeout for you before I go? Lau’s number 22 with chicken, right?”

He simply nods. “Thanks, Sunshine.”

“You got it, Detective.”

—-

Your pager goes off two hours later.

Special case. Could use your help. Pier 13.

You’ve been waiting for the call.

Upon arriving home from the department, you’d closed your blinds and turned off the lights, pulled on the dark pants and long fitted coat, tucked your hair up under the black hood and pulled it low. Gloves. Boots. Plain and unassuming in this fall weather.

You’re able to walk out the back door of your apartment building and take a path through the alley as the sun is setting without anyone giving you a second glance.

The only piece of your disguise you truly need is the vocal changer mask, but that stays tucked in your coat pocket until you arrive at the pier.

Once you can smell the water, you take a moment to hide your face, your voice, and your identity under the dark, nondescript mask–a blank slate of void where a face should be–before stepping out of the alleys and making your way to pier 13 where Tim Rockford stands looking out over the harbor at the lights starting to come on over the bridge.

“What can I do for you, Detective?” The voice that grates out of your mask is low, warped, almost sultry.

Tim, for all his awareness, misses your entrance. This is the strength of your powers. Snapping out of his reverie, he spins to find you only feet away, your long coat fluttering in the breeze.

And an awed smile spreads across his face.

Tim is the only one on the force that smiles when you show up as the Shadow. The rest of the cops tend to startle, recoil, not understanding how you simply seem to appear out of the air, unfold from the shadows, melt into the darkness itself.

“Thanks for coming, Shadow,” he says, his trenchcoat joining in the fluttering conversation of overwear. Pulling a few pictures out of his pocket, he holds them out and you take them.

A new mangled body. A hurried photo of a man with light skin and dark hair and blue eyes. A blown-up scan of license plate. You recognize them from his evidence board but say nothing, letting him make the request.

He explains the supposed serial killings, the patterns, the suspect, the license plate that isn’t his but was caught on surveillance near a couple of the dumping grounds.

“I’m pretty sure it’s him,” he concludes, poking at the photo of Mike Cross, “but I’m lacking something damming.”

“You mean you're 100% sure it's him. You're a thorough man; wouldn't just jump to conclusions. And you want me to go hunting.”

“I’d rather you just go take a listen. I don’t really want you to put yourself in danger.”

It’s a good thing he can’t see you smile. Trust Tim Rockford to be the one detective that worries about the safety of the city’s resident secret, pacifist vigilante.

“I’m touched by your concern, Detective. But I haven’t been caught yet. Even if danger catches a glimpse of me, I’m very good at hiding.”

“I know. But it’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.” He smiles a little sadly. “I wish you wouldn’t hide from me. But I know why you do.”

It should be surprising–it’s not like him to cross this line–but instead, his statement warms you. Tim has always been grateful for the Shadow’s help, respectful, believed in your ability. But he’s also come to treat the Shadow as a friend. There’s something that tugs at your heart, knowing this dedicated, handsome, intelligent man truly trusts you but also respects and admires your limitations.

If only he knew how much you wish you could tell him, show him, let him know how much you admire him too.

He only blinks when you seem to melt into thin air, becoming one with the lengthening shadows.

_____

Club 88. The back alley. A black car belonging to Mike Cross. Nobody here to notice you but the rats as you duck around the back and inspect the bumper, find a magnetized plate cover hidden underneath that matches the photo in your pocket.

There’s the connection. Now for something that threads the needle.

_____

Maskless and hatless, you simply take up a serving tray and follow Mike Cross and a young pretty thing through the swinging “employees only” door and down a back corridor of the dark, thumping night club. Making yourself busy with empty bottles on the tray, you watch him pay a man and step into a private room with the girl. The man goes to find something else to do, nearly knocking your shoulder as he passes, as if you’re simply a tower of inventory boxes or a rogue tray of dirty dishes…or just some random hostess he doesn’t have time for.

Easy.

You’re able to enter the dimmed room under the guise of bringing in bottle service. The couple doesn’t even notice you while they make out on the couch in the VIP lounge. You simply dip your hand into the pocket of the jacket he’s left on a chair and lift his wallet.

Might as well take the gun that’s there too. Just in case.

Time to get moving while he’s distracted.

_____

Using the address on the ID in his wallet, you make your way across town.

It’s easy enough to slip past the doorman. Unfortunately though, Mike’s apartment building has security cameras on every floor. This calls for a little distraction. Easy enough. All you need is the pad of paper and pen you carry in your pocket.

Knock on door 312. Explain you’re responding to a noise complaint in apartment 313. There is no apartment 313? That’s odd. Maybe it was apartment 311?

When the occupants of 311 and 312 speculate over the possibilities–which apartment was the loud one? Who called in the complaint? They bet it was 211 down there, what a bitch….

It’s just enough time for you to use your jiggler key to work open the lock for Mike’s apartment and slip inside. Not only have they seemed to forgotten about you, but if anyone ever plays back the security tapes, their eyes will just slide right over you and concentrate on the gossiping neighbors in the hall.

Mike’s apartment is clean and sparse. By the looks of the set up of the living room, he likes to sit in the center of the couch, put his feet up on the coffee table while he drinks his beer (water ring stains on the veneer top) and watches tv. Not much on the walls. Books on the bookshelf, but no knicknacks.

You don’t know what you’re looking for yet, but you’ll know it when you find it.

There are a few places you start. The drawers in the kitchen. The freezer. The bedside table. Shelves in the closet. Medicine cabinet. Somewhere you'd stash something unassuming but precious but that you don't want anyone else to come across and ask questions.

But it’s as you pass back out through the bedroom, and lightly push the door open a bit wider that you hear a clinking and tapping on the other side.

There, hanging off a hook on the back of the bedroom door, is a silver chain.

With five women’s rings on it.

Yahtzee.

You snap a few photos with your phone before moving through the apartment again, looking for anything else, just in case your first instincts were wrong.

But your instincts are very rarely wrong.

Criminals love trophies. Little keepsakes of their thrills. Look for a collection of something that seems out of place and you’ve probably found your clue.

You’re just about to call it good and head out when you hear a key turning in the lock.

No need to panic, you’ve got this.

As Mike enters and kicks off his shoes before making his way to the bathroom, all you have to do is stand silently beside the far side of the bookshelf.

He doesn’t even turn on the light. Even easier.

Once the bathroom door closes, you’re able to silently slip out.

“It’s only a matter of time before somebody really sees you.”

Doubtful, Tim. But I wish I could tell you how sweet your concern is.

____

True to form, Tim’s is one of the only lights burning at the office when you slide through the department well after midnight.

It’s not often that you show up here as the Shadow, but you make sure it’s only at night when most of the lights are out. Even if you’re seen engaging with one of them, the detectives all know to look the other way and not to ask questions when someone on the force has requested your services.

They see nothing, and say less.

When you get to the back offices, you have to stop for a moment in the shadows and take in the scene.

Tim’s here in the dim room, standing at a desk full of evidence bags. The one with the knife in it lays on a lightbox, the glow of which reaches up to caress his face, dragging at his cheeks and the bags under his eyes, his brow and bottom lip succumbing to the pull of contemplation.

You have to wonder if the detective has any joys outside of his work, if he reads or paints, if he’s into woodworking or collecting memorabilia. You often find yourself wishing you had the means to learn more about him and find yourself watching him from across the office as if you could read it in the stretch of his aching neck, in the hunch of his gun-holstered shoulders.

But you’ve grown used to your quiet life. You wouldn’t know what to do with yourself if someone else actually paid you enough attention to let you into their life–

“What have you got for me?” he asks, and you flinch. He hadn’t even turned around.

“Plenty," you rasp through the voice modulator. "How did you know I was here?”

“I always notice you,” he says. “And I could ask you the same thing.”

“Where else would you be?”

“I have a home.”

“Do you ever go there?”

He laughs and finally turns. “Yeah, not lately.”

Emerging from the darkness, you hand him a few photos you ran off from your phone at home, knowing he'd appreciate the analog. There's the plate cover. The ID. The chain of rings. You also hand over the gun you pinched. “Just in case you need to run a match on any casings.”

It’s here that Tim’s look grows sour. “You took this off him?” Then he tilts his head, scanning the photos. “This one…taken inside his house?”

“Yes. Most likely a collection of his trophies–”

“You went into his house??”

His intensity stops you. Something’s….wrong. “It was necessary. I wasn’t seen.”

“I told you, nothing dangerous. What if he’d come home?”

“He did.” This gains an unprecedented look of alarm from the otherwise calm and calculated man. “I told you, Detective, I wasn’t seen. I never am. That’s what I do.”

“That’s not the point, Sunshine. He murders women and dumps their bodies. This is different from the drug smugglers and counterfeit runners you usually surveil…”

He stops, registering what he just said only a couple of seconds after you do, a calm sigh of regret washing over him before being replaced by the bloom of concern.

You could choose to ignore it.

But it's useless. Tim would never let an assumption take hold as truth unless he had absolute proof. He’s the best. The best of the best and doesn’t even know it. So long you’ve wished to tell him, to make him see what you see in him, but it would mean opening yourself, becoming visible, being seen.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. This is your superpower, this anonymity, this blurring at the edges, this void of connection…

And you should back away when he approaches.

But you don't want to.

Nor do you dodge as he slowly reaches up to remove your mask. Your hood. Fits his palm to your jaw and runs the length of a cheekbone with his thumb. “It doesn’t work on everyone, Sunshine. Not if they really want to see you.”

As his warm, weary brown eyes find yours, two thick, generous tears spill down your cheeks, two surprising hot spikes of your heart right there on your face. It’s like being thrust underwater without the chance to take a breath, the panic of suddenly being the center of someone’s attention, and you gasp for air only to release a sob, slapping both hands to your face in embarrassment.

Tim doesn’t pry your hands away, he merely runs a knuckle over one as if to say, hey, you’re still hiding.

And you realize that you are.

When you finally don’t have to be.

When you lower your guard, he’s waiting there patiently to welcome you back.

“You okay?” he asks, handing you a napkin for your tears.

Nodding, you take it and use it quietly before swallowing, trying to steady a voice out in the open. “What now?”

He looks pointedly over at his desk and gestures for you to head over there. “I thought maybe we’d start with dinner. I figured you'd come by.”

There are two Chinese takeout boxes on the blotter, both bearing a code in black ink.

22C. His standard.

Lucky13. Your favorite. With the sauces on the side, just like you like it.

Speechless, you look at him in awe. You do see me.

And he tucks his hands in his pockets, softening back at you with a look that can only be described as Yeah.

_____

In the following days you’re able to hunt down photos of the killer’s victims that clearly display their hands and the rings that you found in his apartment.

Undercover targets are planted in the club to entice Mike Cross, and sure enough, he takes one to the back room, pays for privacy, extra for a later cleanup, but gets caught with his fingers around her throat as a whole squad breaks down the door to take him into custody.

There’s no doubt he will never see the outside of a prison again.

Club 88 is shut down and a long investigation into its ownership and practices begin. The Shadow is called in by the investigating team for your fly-on-the-wall services and at first you’re afraid that perhaps, now that you’ve been seen, that the shine of your powers has dimmed or–to be more precise–a newfound confidence makes you even brighter than before.

On the contrary, you’ve never felt more powerful or more in control of your abilities.

Perhaps because the one person who can detect your sunshine also pours pride into your shadow.

Or maybe it’s the regular diet of Lucky Number 13 and a new morning view these days. Who’s to say?

____

MASTERLIST

CHARACTER MASTERLIST

#merge mansion fanfiction #tim rockford #tim rockford x reader #tim rockford x f!reader #year of tropes

331 notes · View notes